A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars

  73

  Hyperspace. 36 BBY/964 GSC.

  I frowned, studying the face of the disguised Zeltron woman from the secure holocom terminal in my room on the Redoubt. We had been on Kamino for only a little over a month now, taking advantage of the opportunity to train the girls against the other Mandalorians and the clones. Vhonte Tervho, the ginger haired Mando woman leading the Cuy’val Dar, had immediately agreed—on the condition that I train with them. Or rather, with her, specifically. I wouldn’t say no to a good sparring partner, so I had agreed. We had only left because I felt it was time to move on, and I needed to start assembling parts to build up a properly intimidating ‘Sith’ outfit for my Darth Logis persona that wouldn’t immediately connect her to me. I had a destination in mind and I didn’t exactly appreciate being interrupted for anything that wasn’t important.

  Manually checking that the line was secure, I ordered, “Go ahead.”

  Xana Ceres, the CIS agent assigned to Mandalore by Jenza—and unofficially assigned to me, in the role Master Dooku had tasked me with on Jedha—nodded. “I’ll keep it brief. Two opportunities have come up in your general vicinity. And before you ask, we don’t know exactly where you’ve been since you went dark again, just that you’re approaching Tatooine now.”

  I frowned. “Tell me they’re not actually on Tatooine.”

  “They’re not on Tatooine,” she shook her head. “Ryloth and Philaxia.”

  “Who?”

  “Orn Free Taa and Onaconda Farr, respectively,” Xana answered, looking down at a data pad. “Orn is going home to collect some new assistants.” Looking up, she met my eyes and clarified, “Slaves.”

  “Of course,” I murmured, nodding. Orn Free Taa, a twi’lek with proportions that made him look more like some strange mutation from a hutt, was well known as perhaps the most corrupt member of the Senate. And yet, in all the years it was public knowledge, no one ever seemed to do anything about it. He had been investigated a time or two, but nothing ever came of those. They had been firmly dropped. Cases dismissed for lack of evidence. Pretty much everyone suspected bribery, but no one could prove it. That he would be going back to Ryloth to collect and keep his own people as slaves because he got bored of the last ones didn’t surprise me one iota.

  “As for Farr, we’re not sure. He received a coded communique my people are still working to break, and then immediately called his personal ship crew and told them to prepare to leave for Philaxia,” Xana continued.

  Farr was a rodian. I didn’t generally like to stereotype, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t stereotypes for a reason. Hutts, neimoidians, rodians, toydarians, jawas—all shared bad reputations to varying degrees. Very well deserved reputations. Finding a genuinely good member of any one of those races was like, well… like finding a Zeltron that wasn’t a sexual deviant. They existed, but they were so rare as to be a statistical blip.

  Farr was not high on the list in terms of priority, but not low either. Somewhere towards the middle. He was corrupt, but he was a rodian. It was a case of ‘dog bites man.’ It was expected, really. No one really cared, specifically for that reason. And that very apathy was the problem.

  “What do we know about Philaxia?” I asked. It didn’t sound familiar, but then, I didn’t know every planet in the galaxy by heart.

  Xana hummed, tapping away at her tablet. “Not much. It’s in the Expansion Region, grid square J-16. Part of the Har Worlds sector with Chyron, Har Binande, Rellnas, and Viyent. They’re a backwater. Population under a billion. Lots of smaller cities spread across the livable landmass, the largest being where the spaceport was built. No exports of note, other than a tithe of food to the Republic. High average tech level with a lot of use of cybernetics. High crime rates in the cities. Honestly? It looks like the kind of place I’d go if I wanted to get lost in a crowd and disappear, then hop on a freighter bound for some agri-world in the middle of nowhere to lay low. Or if I wanted to run a smuggling ring or pirate gang and avoid the big names.”

  Crossing my arms, I asked, “You think that’s why he’s there? Dealings with pirates?”

  “Or something along those lines. Either way, he’s up to no good. So, what do you think?”

  I hummed quietly, pulling up a map of the galaxy along with our current relative position. As Xana said, we were just passing through grid R-16 towards the Corellian Run. Ryloth was just to our southeast, along the Run. If I wanted to go after Orn, we could get there ahead of him and set up in advance. We’d have plenty of prep time on world.

  Ryloth, despite being a longstanding member of the Republic, was actually a cesspit. Their primary exports were doonium – a metal used in starship construction, ryll – a mineral with medicinal uses but mainly used in production of that strain of the drug spice, and twi’lek slaves. They were the Republic approved version of the hutts’ planets.

  Killing Orn on Ryloth wouldn’t really have the sort of psychological impact I’m going for. He’s so corrupt, and that knowledge is so pervasive, that no one is going to lose any sleep over his death—and most of the average citizens will likely quietly cheer for it. The sort of feeling one gets, knowing that a corrupt politician has met a fitting end. The problem is, even dressed as a Sith, done on Ryloth it could easily be dismissed as just him having annoyed someone enough to send an assassin with some fancy gear. In short, the man makes for an excellent target, but the choice of venue is poor. If I want to maximize the psychological impact of his public execution to send the proper message, it needs to be somewhere people think ‘that can’t happen.’ In other words, Coruscant or some other core world.

  Going to Philaxia, on the other hand, would run the risk of missing our target. We might be too late. The Redoubt was fast, but it was a lot of ground to cover. I wouldn’t have much time to source local materials to work on my Sith outfit, so I’d have to make do with what I had already. However… I didn’t have to kill Farr as a Sith. Killing him openly wouldn’t send the same kind of message as doing the same with Orn. After all, he was a rodian. If I tracked him down and killed him semi-anonymously on some random planet, that would just be expected. Realistically, as long as I didn’t wear my gear stamped with my clan and personal identification, I could just wear a set of Mando armor, go put a blaster bolt in his head, and it would be just a day ending in ‘y’ as far as anyone who cared to look was concerned.

  The rodian senator went to a shady backwater planet in the Outer Rim and got himself killed by a Mando bounty hunter? Wouldn’t even make the front page. People would automatically jump to the proper conclusions themselves—that he got himself involved in something he shouldn’t have, messed with the wrong people, and got himself killed for it. Typical rodian business.

  If I take out Farr on Philaxia relatively covertly, or even openly with a little bit of disguising my identity, I can maintain my anonymity and save the big reveal of a Sith for when it will have the most impact. Him being a rodian has the built in assumption that whatever happened, he brought it on himself. I can take advantage of that—especially well out of sight of the Jedi or any other law enforcement who might actually care about his timely death.

  And then there’s the other reason for choosing Farr, I mused, my mind turning to Allaya, and the promise I’d made to her mother. I’d say a corrupt senator qualifies as important enough by the clan’s standards.

  My decision made, I turned my attention back to Xana. “Send me everything you’ve got on Farr.”

  “Already done,” Xana nodded. “Good hunting.”

  I disconnected the call and punched in the code for the bridge. A moment later, the comms officer picked up and I quickly relayed our destination. Once that was done, I gathered my data pad and went to track down my Padawans. I found them in the meditation room, working on basic formulas. The pair of girls looked up as I entered, closing and locking the door behind me and waving the tablet. They stood, radiating curiosity as they waited for whatever was coming next.

  “We’ve got a mission. I’ll be letting the two of you handle it, for the most part. Allaya, you’ll take the lead,” I began, and the girls nodded.

  Perking up, the redhead asked, “What’s the job?”

  “This.”

  I handed her the tablet and she frowned as she began reading. Asajj crowded in at her side, reading over Allaya’s shoulder. I felt it the moment Asajj realized what this was, and the blonde girl looked up and met my eyes, the question unspoken but obvious. I nodded.

  Finally, Allaya asked, “Okay. So this Anaconda Farr is a senator and he’s been doing a lot of illegal stuff. Are we going to arrest him?”

  “No,” I shook my head.

  “Then wh—” She blinked, realization coming over her. “Oh.” A pause, then another realization. “Wait, you want me to…”

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “It’s part of your trials as a member of the Singing Mountain clan. Augwynne was very specific on the conditions and requirements.”

  I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting, but what I got shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. Allaya simply nodded, a feeling of resolve coming from her as she asked, “Where is he and how should we do this?”

  “A planet called Philaxia. It will be some time before we arrive, so we have plenty of time to prepare. As for how…” I sat down on the mat in the center of the floor and the girls joined me. “We’ll be tracking him through an urban environment, posing as Mandalorian bounty hunters.”

  Asajj frowned. “But we are Mandalorians. Why would we need to pose as anything?”

  “We won’t be wearing any identifying markings and we’ll likely be moving separately to cover more ground, using the Force to find our target. Once we find him, how we take him out is up to you.”

  Allaya considered for a moment before nodding. “Can I wait to decide how until we find him?”

  “That’s the best thing to do. I’ll prepare some alternatives to a blaster just in case. And no lightsabers,” I warned.

  As Allaya nodded and began thinking things over, Asajj asked, “Why are we going to kill a senator?”

  At that, Allaya paused, then sent me a curious look. “Why are we killing a senator? Mom probably wasn’t that specific. And won’t that be super dangerous?”

  “Not as dangerous as you’d think,” I shook my head. “He’s trying to avoid attention, so he won’t be traveling with a large security detail. As for why… a few reasons. What we know, that is what my intelligence team have gathered over the last month or so, is listed on the tablet. Like a majority of the senate, he’s corrupt. In a just universe, he would have been arrested and tried for his crimes already. Unfortunately, because of his position and power, he is beyond scrutiny without being caught practically in the act of murder and he has the ability to just pay to make the legal system leave him alone.

  “It’s that power and the ability to abuse it that makes his crimes worthy of execution. We have a department combing through publicly available senate records and I’m sure if I asked, they give us an estimate of how many people he’s screwed over in the course of his career, if you’d like to see it. The short explanation is that the more power you have, the greater your ability to influence the world around you. Your actions and inactions have consequences. Not just the immediate consequences—what we call first order effects. They have effects out to second, third, fourth, and so on out to the galactic scale at times. The more power you have, the greater your reach, the worse the damage you can do. However, there is a difference between ignorance, incompetence, or just simple oversights or mistakes and in being actively malicious. In trading and selling your power to others for personal gain, at the expense of countless others. Neglecting your duties because they’re inconvenient, or because doing them would cause problems for the people you’ve allied with…”

  I sighed, looking between the two girls, before focusing on Allaya. Thinking on it, I began to realize that perhaps Augwynne had something more in mind than simply making sure her daughter wouldn’t flinch away from violence and that her kills were politically significant. I was beginning to suspect that the intent was to make her think about why these people needed to die. To see exactly what sort of things she should be willing to kill for, as a leader of her tribe. What she shouldn’t tolerate in other tribes.

  Reaching out, I tapped the data pad. “Do you think your mother would tolerate having him for a neighbor?”

  Allaya shook her head immediately. “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  She frowned, considering it for a few moments. Eventually, she said, “He’d screw over the tribe and probably sell us out to the Nightsisters. He’d get a lot of people killed.” Blinking, she looked down at the tablet. “Oh.” Frowning, she asked, “If he’s that bad why is he still a senator?”

  “Political chicanery, most likely. That, and he consistently votes for anything that will help his own people, so as far as they’re concerned he’s doing his job in representing their interests. At the expense of everyone else perhaps, but they don’t care about that. Not that I can blame them. Caring about others more than your own people is a mental illness and a different kind of corruption,” I shrugged.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Beside her, Asajj asked, “When will I get my chance?”

  “You can have the next one,” I sent her an amused smile and the girl nodded. “Now, let’s go back to my office and pull up maps for Philaxia, so we can prepare.”

  Philaxia. 36 BBY/964 GSC.

  Allaya followed her target at a distance, keeping low on the rooftops so as not to silhouette herself against the sky or the other buildings as she watched the rodian move along the streets through the optical zoom provided by her helmet. Building lights and the flash of passing traffic lit the street below, casting strange shadows over everything that the night vision couldn’t quite compensate for. The buildings and advertisements lit the sky around her in a riot of colors she had never seen before, filling the night with neon stars close enough that she could reach out and touch them.

  It was… beautiful. A dance of people and vehicles against the city backdrop, with buildings so tall they touched the clouds. It was something she would have never been able to see in the village.

  But for as pretty as it was to look at, there were drawbacks.

  It was loud. The constant whoosh of air parting around moving vehicles. Horns and sirens going off everywhere, setting her nerves on edge and making the instincts that had been instilled in her by her clan on Dathomir think that she had been noticed every time it happened.

  And it stank. Goddess, it stank to high heaven! Not just the body odor of a million or more filthy aliens crammed in together, but other, even less pleasant scents. Scat, urine, vomit. Smoke. Burning oil, metal, and chemicals. The stench from whatever it was most of the residents were smoking that made her nose tingle and left her feeling queasy.

  Perhaps worst of all? Her sense of the Force was off. Everything around her felt dangerous. Not the sort of natural danger she was used to on Dathomir, where she had learned every danger there by heart. No, these were mostly unknowns. She didn’t know what they were. Why some of the vehicles passing above felt like they were one wrong move from exploding into a fireball and crashing down on her head. Why nearly everyone around felt like they would happily kill her rather than look at her, when she was on street level.

  The only constant was the even greater sense of danger, radiating like a beacon and allowing her to pinpoint her Master in the surrounding chaos. That danger wasn’t directed at Allaya or her… clan sister. It wasn’t directed at anything really. It was just there. Like a big cat. Crouched, alert, and ready to pounce at any moment. She still felt eager. Excited. It was weird.

  Her Master had been acting strangely from the moment they had entered the planet’s orbit with the Rusted Silver, running disguised as a small personal luxury yacht. Instead of heading straight to the city where their target was, the red woman had detoured away, taking a flight above the atmosphere towards the mountains.

  She had landed the ship and left them there, before returning carrying a cloth wrapped bundle, wearing that excited smile that made Allaya’s skin crawl and made her want to run away and hide. After that, she had called in a team from the Redoubt for a ‘recovery mission,’ then she’d taken both their blasters and retreated to the back of the ship, instructing Allaya and Asajj to get them to their destination. When they landed, their Master had handed their blasters back, along with issuing both of them a blaster rifle identical to the one she carried.

  “Lead, report.”

  The quiet voice from the radio bud in her ear pulled her focus back on the present. “Snake is still moving.”

  “Roger that. Scout, report.”

  There was a brief delay, then Asajj replied. “Found a group waiting in a building ahead. They’ve got a uh, delivery truck? One of the shorter ones. It says ‘fish’ on the side. But it feels like there are people inside it.”

  “Hmm… Understood, Scout. Possibly unrelated. Hold position and wait.”

  “Roger,” Asajj answered.

  The building at the end of the street loomed large. It was an old, abandoned factory of some kind, and Allaya could see the truck in question parked in front of a door that looked like it was supposed to roll up into the ceiling. Below, Anaconda the rodian looked both ways as he came to a ground intersection, before hurrying across the road and into the factory parking lot towards the front of the building.

  “He’s going in,” Allaya relayed.

  “All units, converge on the building. Meet on the roof,” her Master ordered. “Radio silence from here on.”

  Allaya rushed ahead, jumping down and landing in a roll and a rustle of the cloak she wore. She stuck to the shadows, moving quickly as she kept low and out of sight of Farr, moving towards the building. As soon as she reached it, she pointed her rifle up at the roof and fired the secondary weapon—an under-slung line launcher silently shooting off a grappling hook that hit a large chimney on top of the building. The electric winch pulled her up quickly as a shadow passed overhead, only the quiet flapping of cloth marking its passage as her Master landed on the roof first.

  Pulling herself up, Allaya found her Master waiting with Asajj. Silent hand signals they had practiced and drilled over and over on Kamino directed them to move quietly towards the back of the building and a skylight there. Their Master flicked her lightsaber out at the window and ignited it. Instead of the familiar white-silver blade and hum of a lightsaber, they neither heard nor saw anything from the blade except a very faint distortion in the air and a ripple mirroring their Master’s arm movement. The only sign of its passage was a melted, cherry red lump of metal where the latch had been.

  Allaya’s mouth fell open as she realized now what it was her Master was so excited about. Excitement filled her as she glanced down to the rifle slung across her chest, before she forced herself to focus on the mission. Their Master caught their attention and signaled again.

  ‘Spread out. Hide. Establish crossfire position. Observe targets. Wait for go/no-go. Fire on signal.’

  Allaya and Asajj nodded and their Master held the window open. Allaya swung herself down and inside, onto a support beam running along the roof. Seeing the entire underside of the roof was crossed at nice, even intervals by the beams, she grinned and hopped to the next, and the next—easier than running through the trees back home.

  Following her sense of the Force, Allaya found the group Asajj had pointed out and quickly spotted her target joining them. She found a nice beam with a good view on everyone and settled in to watch, easing her rifle up into position and taking aim at the rodian. Her helmet did most of the work for her, tied into the sight on the gun and telling her it was on target. However, knowing her Master would know if she relied only on technology that could fail, Allaya began doing the math and using the Force to line up her shot.

  A formula to get the target’s range and speed as he stopped moving to begin speaking with the people he’d come to meet, even as her Master and sister took their own positions and set up. Feed the range into an aiming formula, confirming what her helmet was already telling her as a green line only she could see formed between herself and Anaconda. Run the ranging formula again to get the other targets, feed their numbers back into the same targeting formula. More lines, these red. Hold the formula in her head and concentrate. Tune out what he was saying—

  “Let me see them, then. The children.”

  The formula stuttered, but Allaya got it back up quickly.

  Children? What?

  One of the men standing around, a burly twi’lek, moved over and undid a latch on the back of the truck as he pulled a flashlight out of his pocket. Pulling the door up, he shined the light inside. Allaya couldn’t see inside the truck from her angle, but the sense of danger from her Master abruptly went silent—before returning, focused on the men below. The radio bead in her ear clicked once—the signal to hold.

  “All accounted for,” the twi’lek grinned, before closing and latching the back of the truck.

  “Excellent,” the rodian nodded. “Have them delivered to my ship. I’ll send the payment to the usual account.”

  “Good. Pleasure doing business with you, senator.”

  Three clicks. ‘Fire at will.’

  Allaya’s finger brushed the trigger. The blaster in her hands kicked slightly—a bit more than a normal blaster rifle. There was no telltale glowing bolt, no sound of blaster fire—just a faintly visible distortion streaking silently through the air, and then the senator’s head exploded. Four more heads popped like over-ripe melons in the next seconds as Allaya shifted fire to another target, her Master and sister opening fire as well.

  Allaya focused on the red lines and turned, lining up another as they began to move, and squeezed the trigger when it turned green. Another head popped.

  Her Master’s voice sounded quietly in her ear. “Get in there and clean them up.”

  Allaya dropped her rifle, letting it rest against the armor on the front of her chest. Pulling the vibro blade she had been issued for this mission by her master from its sheath, she leapt down from the rafters, directly onto a man’s shoulders. Allaya’s weight drove him to the ground as she bent down and pulled the knife across his throat.

  Asajj flew in from the other side, kicking a man who had been about to attack her from behind onto his back and firing a burst from her rifle into his chest and face, before drawing her own knife and going for another kill. Getting to her feet, Allaya found the next target and rushed towards him as the twi’lek man ran for the truck’s cab.

  “Don’t kill that one. I want him for questioning,” her Master ordered and instead of cutting his throat, Allaya hit him in the middle of the back and sent him sprawling to the ground, before punching an armored fist into his face. The twi’lek man screamed as she felt his nose and teeth break under the punch, and she did it again, and then again when he wouldn’t stop.

  “Clear!” Asajj called from somewhere behind her, echoed a moment later by her Master.

  “That’s enough,” her Master said, and a pair of arms pulled her off of the man.

  Looking around, Allaya saw the building was full of dead aliens—the three of them were the only ones standing. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, and Allaya’s body felt like a tightly drawn bow string. She began to shake as her mind poured over what she had just done and she felt cold sweat rolling down her body, making her shiver.

  Her Master’s hand landed on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze she barely felt through the armor. Allaya forced herself to breathe and focus on the here and now. “What now?”

  “Now, we interrogate the suspect. Focus on the Force and watch,” the red woman instructed, and Allaya nodded. She felt something in the Force wash over the man—a feeling like a silent demand to obey. “The children. Where did they come from?”

  The twi’lek shrugged as his face went slack and Allaya felt the man’s mind surrender under the assault from her Master. “I don’t know. I’m just a middle man. The senator comes to me when he wants new toys, slaves, workers, whatever. I don’t ask what he wants with them, cause it’s none of my business. I talk to some guys I know. They bring ‘em here, I pay ‘em, then I hand the brats off and get paid. Everybody’s happy.”

  “Not the children,” her Master pointed out, her voice sounding annoyed.

  The twi’lek man shrugged again. “Everybody who matters.”

  Allaya silently watched as her Master asked a few more questions, before drawing her pistol and executing the man with another of those silent, nearly invisible bolts. Holstering the weapon, the red woman drew something out from under her cloak. Pushing a few buttons, she tossed it on top of one of the corpses before using the Force to drag them all over on top of it.

  She motioned for them to follow as she climbed into the truck. Allaya let Asajj go first, then climbed in after and closed the door as her Master got them moving. Behind them, there was a bright flash of light and heat intense enough that Allaya felt it through the window as they moved off. A look back showed the building quickly burning up behind them, the bodies long gone.

  “Where are we going?” Asajj asked.

  “The local authorities, to turn them over. That’s due diligence on our part. What happens after that isn’t our responsibility,” their Master answered absently as she checked her holocom and pulled into traffic.

  Allaya turned to watch the city streets pass by as it began to rain, water streaking the window and distorting the pretty lights. Quietly, their Master said, “You both did well tonight. I’m proud of you. Make no mistake, you did a good thing.”

  “Mm,” Asajj nodded. “What now, Master?”

  “Well, after turning the children over to the authorities, we’ll go back to the ship and leave the system. Then, it’s back to training while we wait for news and the next target. I think we’ll go somewhere nice for some R&R and shore leave.” She considered for a moment, before chuckling. “May as well be Zeltros.”

  The cab of the vehicle fell silent, save for the sounds of traffic. Eventually, their Master took them down and parked in front of a police station. After a quick talk with the local police, and a few credits changing hands, the back of the vehicle was opened and the children ushered inside the building. Then, their Master led them away, leaving the truck with the police as well.

  They hailed a speeder and made their way back to the spaceport. Allaya yawned tiredly as they stepped out of the speeder, her body feeling like she’d run around all day as her eyes fought to stay open, while they made their way not towards the ship, but towards what looked like a cantina.

  “Why are we going there?” Allaya yawned, wanting nothing more than to just lay down and sleep.

  Her Master turned her helmeted head in her direction briefly. “Mandalorian tradition.”

  Allaya felt herself perk up a bit at that, as Asajj asked, “What kind of tradition?”

  “You got your first kills. You’re not adults yet, but that still calls for a drink.”

  The redhead smiled, nodding and letting out a quiet, “Mm!” as they followed their Master into the spaceport cantina. As was becoming a matter of habit, drilled into them both by their Master, Allaya scanned the interior—sweeping her eyes over everyone there and taking them in. Making assessments on their threat level and hostility based on what she felt in the Force.

  Only one thing really drew her attention. In one corner a group of six people who looked like they were up to no good sat around a table—a human, two rodians, two twi’lek, and a zabrak from the look of it. All of them looked in their direction as they walked in. Allaya’s Master turned and fixed her helmeted gaze on them and they abruptly turned away, their quiet conversation resuming.

  Moving into a corner, they sat down around a table as a waitress approached. Behind them, the door to the cantina opened and once again, the chatter stopped.

  “What’ll it be?” the twi’lek waitress asked of their Master, as she glanced up towards the door and went momentarily stiff.

  Allaya turned to look and spotted a second group of Mandalorians at the door, looking around. Two of them—a man and a woman—wore matching dark, black and gray patterned armor. Another man wore red and green armor, while the last woman’s was blue and white. All of them were armed to the teeth. The new group spotted theirs immediately and began making their way over. As they did, Allaya felt danger in the Force ratcheting up.

  “Something that will teach impressionable youths the perils of drinking,” their Master answered, amusement in her voice, and Allaya just knew that whatever she was going to have to force down was going to be vile. “Human standard, though. Don’t actually want to poison them, just make it feel that way.”

  The waitress let out a nervous, distracted chuckle. “Will do,” she nodded quickly, before turning to the newcomers. “What can I get for you?”

  “Pitcher of whatever’s on tap for the table,” the man in the lead answered as they took their seats around the table next to the one Tanya had chosen. As soon as they sat, Allaya watched the leader turn towards the blue-clad woman and nod in their direction. The woman’s sigh was audible as she made her way over and stopped between Allaya and Asajj, facing Tanya. That put her at an angle to the people she came in with, leaving them looking partially at her back.

  Allaya focused her attention on the blue-clad woman as she saw Asajj watching the group that had come in. The woman who had joined them smiled, or at least it sounded like she did as she asked, “So, what’s the occasion?”

  “Their first kills,” Allaya’s Master answered, studying the other woman with a small tilt to the head that Allaya knew meant her curiosity had been aroused.

  The other Mando woman chuckled, nodding. “That’s one to remember. Mind if I sit?”

  Their Master considered it for just a moment before gesturing at the seat the blue armored woman had been leaning against. She pulled it out and sat down on it backwards, leaning forward on the back of the chair. Humming, the blue-clad woman studied them for a moment before asking, “What clan are you with?”

  “Can’t say. We’re not actually here, if you know what I mean. As soon as we finish here, we’re leaving the planet,” her Master explained.

  “Ah. Black ops stuff,” the blue woman nodded. The male Mando nearby cleared his throat as he and the other two watched and the blue one sighed. “Right, anyway. So listen. Things are starting to get… hairy. Trade Federation is making moves. There’s talk that a bunch of planets in the Outer Rim may secede. We’re all Mandalorians. We all follow the Code. But we’re out in the shit, not sitting on our asses on Mandalore, sipping wine and going to parties or whatever they’re doing now. We’re the real Mandalorians. We should stick together.”

  The waitress came by and hurriedly dropped off their bottle and four glasses, before moving to the other table and leaving a pitcher there. Then, she practically sprinted back into the room behind the counter.

  Their Master hummed as she took the bottle and opened it, before pouring. She slid one of the glasses each to Allaya and Asajj, then pushed a third to the blue woman. “I’m listening,” their Master nodded, finally pouring her own drink. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Sorry,” the blue-clad woman chuckled, reaching up and undoing her helmet. Pulling it off revealed a pretty woman a few years older than their Master, with red hair, bright green eyes, and a scar on her left cheek—a scar that matched a place on the redhead’s helmet that had clearly been patched and welded at some point in the past. “Bo-Katan Kryze. And you are?”

  That sense of danger around their Master swelled. The metaphorical cat sat up as something finally fully captured its attention.

  Allaya’s mouth went dry and she glanced at Asajj, who had likewise gone stiff and was slowly reaching below the table. Allaya prepared herself, shifting her arm under her cloak until her fingers brushed the hilt of her lightsaber. The lightsaber she wasn’t supposed to use for this mission, but if things went poorly, she may be forced to.

  “Heh.”

  Adrenaline flooded Allaya’s body and all of the tired feelings were blown away as she went on high alert.

  They’re all gonna die.

  Her Master chuckled quietly as she reached up and unsealed her own helmet. White hair spilled out of the bottom as she pulled it up and off her head. Across from her, Bo-Katan froze, drink halfway to her lips. Her eyes went wide as they locked with Tanya’s, and Allaya’s Master smiled.

  “That’s right, we skipped the introductions last time we met, didn’t we?” Allaya’s Master mused, before casting a glance at the other Mandos. Returning her gaze to Bo-Katan, she answered. “It’s Tanya.”

  A quiet whimper of sound escaped the elder redhead, and Allaya couldn’t help but relate. That was the same sound she and Asajj made any time their Master mentioned live fire training. The woman downed her entire glass, before reaching for the bottle and pouring herself another.

  “I’m not drunk enough to deal with you.”

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