Star Wars: Vergence IV, Prologue

 PROLOGUE

Ord Talavos, ten years ago

“Vostal is quite the beautiful city, I have to say.”

Xalren Mithric, Prince of Falleen and Underlord of Black Sun, stood on a balcony that oversaw the city in question. The architecture, archaic in design, felt both ancient and new at the same time. This was owed to the fact that the ancient city had been recently rebuilt after it had been devastated over a thousand years ago during a great war between the Jedi and the Sith. Who exactly had rebuilt and why was a mystery to the Falleen prince; a mystery that he was content with leaving unsolved.

“Indeed it is,” a voice said from behind him. “But you didn’t come here to see the sights, did you, Prince Xalren?”

Xalren turned to face the large dragon-like being sitting upon a throne situated across from the balcony. Drakmos the Despised, self-proclaimed ruler of Vostal, stared back at him with narrowed golden eyes.

“You are remarkably perceptive, Despised One,” Xalren replied, stepping away from the view. “If it suits you, then I will not waste your time any further and get straight to the point.”

“Please do,” Drakmos rumbled, folding his clawed hands in front of him.

The Falleen walked over to stand in front of the throne, meeting Drakmos’s eyes with his own. “Have you ever heard of an organization known as Black Sun?”

“I have heard rumors of such an entity,” Drakmos answered. “Word travels often from Takodana, which is not too far from here.”

“Ah yes, the pirate queen’s domain,” Xalren said, barely hiding the disdain in his tone. “Anyway, there was a time, less than three decades ago, that Black Sun was one of if not the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy, rivaling the power of both the Hutts and the Empire itself.”

“Lovely hyperbole.”

“It may sound that way to you, but it was the truth, at least as I remember it. After the loss of Prince Xizor, Black Sun failed to maintain its prominence in the wake of the New Republic’s rise and saw a pitiful end eight years ago while in the hands of an equally pitiful bounty hunter.”

Drakmos sank back in his seat, resting his head in his hand. “I hope there is a point to this story of yours, Prince, for I find it awfully boring so far.”

Xalren’s lips twisted into a humorless smirk. “My apologies for wasting your time, Despised One. I will cut it short then: I am seeking to rebuild Black Sun and restore it to its proper glory… and I would like to use your city as grounds for its restoration.”

Drakmos peeled his lips back in a sneer, revealing rows of sharpened fangs. “And why my city, as opposed to any other in the galaxy?”

“The location of Ord Talavos on the galactic grid is strategically viable. As you say, it is not far from Takodana, giving us a close connection to the criminal underworld and the opportunity to recruit agents. It is also outside of the Republic’s jurisdiction, allowing us to operate in peace and build our empire without disturbance.”

“All very good points,” Drakmos admitted. “But what do I get out of it?”

“Well, that depends entirely on what you want out of the deal.” Xalren splayed his arms out far and wide. “Name your desire and I will give it you.”

“Get out of my city and never return.”

Xalren chuckled, shaking his head. “Come, now. Be reasonable, Despised One. I am not lying when I say I will give you anything.”

“And what if I don’t want anything from you?” Drakmos retorted. “Perhaps I have everything I could ever need. I have an entire city to myself, after all. What could you possibly offer me?”

“How about a guarantee of security?” Xalren’s eyes narrowed. “After all, you wouldn’t want anyone threatening your city, would you?”

“Ord Talavos has not been on any galactic charts for over a millennium. I’m not worried about anyone with hostile intent finding us.”

“But I have. And if you will not allow Black Sun to set up operations here in Vostal… then what exactly is stopping us from letting word get out about Ord Talavos’s rediscovery?”

“Ah. So you are threatening me then.”

Xalren raised his hands up. “I am hardly in the position to do so, Despised One. That said, there are forces out there that would jump at the chance to seize Ord Talavos for themselves. Provide Black Sun with hospitality, and we will ensure that your secret never gets out. If you refuse….”

The Falleen trailed off, leaving the implied meaning of his words unsaid. Drakmos seemed to catch on, small clouds of smoke puffing out of his nostrils as he huffed in frustration.

“I believe you have made yourself clear, Prince,” Drakmos muttered. “Very well. You and your little criminal empire may set up operations here in Vostal. So long as you keep to yourselves and bring no attention to my planet, then I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”

Xalren grinned, revealing pearl white teeth. “I assure you, Despised One, that you will be grateful for making this decision.”

Ord Talavos, two years later

“This was not part of our deal!” Drakmos bellowed at the Arkanian male standing before his throne.

Sal Tyrius, Vigo of Black Sun and Prince Xalren’s chief lieutenant, maintained a calm and even composure even in the face of the Despised One’s wrath. “What wasn’t part of our deal?”

“This!” Drakmos gestured out the open balcony that gave them both a view of the city outside. Freighters and starships were flying to and from the city, dropping off all sorts of unsavory characters… and not all of them associated with Black Sun. “Your Underlord promised to keep Ord Talavos hidden, but now look! People from all over the galaxy are now roaming in my city! They know its location!”

“I assure you that Black Sun has not disclosed Ord Talavos’s coordinates to anyone—”

“You might not, but what of the people out there who aren’t associated with either Black Sun or with me? What’s stopping them from leaking the planet’s location, if they haven’t already?”

Tyrius shrugged his shoulders, displaying little concern. “I’m afraid that’s outside of our control. We have done our part to keep a lid on things, but things inevitably fall through the cracks.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Drakmos snarled. “Your irreverence shows that you clearly do not care about honoring your word. And here I thought Prince Xalren was a respectable man….”

“Any issues you have with the Underlord should be dealt with between the two of you personally,” Tyrius said. He paused, bringing a finger to his lips as he seemed to mull something over in his head. “Has Prince Xalren ever offered you a position in Black Sun’s ranks?” the Arkanian then asked.

“He has approached me on more than one occasion,” Drakmos muttered. “I have refused him each and every time.”

“Then you have no interest in joining a criminal organization?”

“What would I possibly have to gain from that? I already had everything I could possibly need long before you and your ilk came to my planet.”

“Clearly things have changed,” Tyrius said wryly. “If you want total control of your city back, you would have to go through Xalren and the rest of Black Sun. Pardon me, but I strongly doubt that you would come out of that encounter unscathed, let alone with your life.”

Drakmos glared at the Vigo, baring his fangs. “Watch yourself, Arkanian. I am this close to flirting with such a prospect.”

“But you must acknowledge the fact that if you truly had the strength to overthrow Xalren and drive Black Sun off your planet, you would have done so by now. Wouldn’t you?”

Drakmos leaned forward in his throne, nearly rising from it. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that if you want to challenge Xalren, you need to play him at his own game. You need a criminal empire of your own, one that will match Black Sun in strength. Not only then will you be able to rid yourselves of us, but you would also send a message to anyone else who happens to stumble across Ord Talavos. In time, the system will fade back into obscurity and you will be able to return to the life you had before we came along.”

The dragon lord’s eyes narrowed into slits, regarding Tyrius carefully. “Why are you even telling me all this? Aren’t you Xalren’s chief lieutenant?”

“Yes, but that hardly means I’m loyal to him,” Tyrius said. “It just means I have more money than any of the other Vigos. It makes no difference to me whether his attempt at reviving Black Suns succeeds or fails; I will end up all the richer regardless.”

Drakmos leaned back in his throne, folding his hands together as he continued to eye the Arkanian warily. “Even if I were to follow your advice, where would I even find the means of accumulating such a power base? I won’t find it here in Vostal; my people are hardly the criminal type and the ones you have brought here are mostly loyal to Xalren.”

Tyrius smirked. “I have my connections. Do you think Xalren is the only crime lord I have made an association with?”

“Truly, he was wise to put his faith in you.” Drakmos snorted, puffing out more clouds of smoke from his snout. “Fine. I will humor you. Could you get me in touch with one of these associates of yours? Preferably without Xalren knowing.”

Tyrius grinned, his teeth shining just as brightly as Xalren’s had when he spoke to the Despised One two years ago. “Why, certainly. There is one crime lord in particular who has been making quite the name for himself out on the Outer Rim lately. Even the Hutts aren’t willing to cross him.”

“I’ll believe the stories once I’ve met him myself,” Drakmos said, waving his hand flippantly. “What is his name?”

“He calls himself Malvis.”

STAR WARS: VERGENCE

Book IV: There Be Dragons

Star Wars: Tales from the Jedi Order - What They Grow Beyond

 WHAT THEY GROW BEYOND

Coruscant, 44 BBY

“It sounds like the operation on Galidraan was an overall success!”

Yoda saw the Chancellor’s lips move, heard the words coming from his mouth. Yet it took him a long while to realize that the words were being spoken directly to him, with the expectation of a response. By the time he realized this, Master Windu had already taken the responsibility of answering, no doubt sensing his elder peer’s unease.

“Indeed, Chancellor,” the young Korun man said. “Your men in the Judicial Forces are to be commemorated for their victory.”

“Ah, but it was the Jedi who won the battle,” replied Chancellor Kalpana, seated at his desk with withered hands clasped before him. “Were it not for their presence, the Mandalorians would have surely proved victorious.”

Yoda’s long ears twitched and he did his best to keep the annoyance he felt out of his voice. “Victory there is not to be had in this for either side. Killed, many Jedi were.”

“Yes, and their losses will certainly be mourned,” the Chancellor said. “But the goal was nonetheless accomplished, was it not? The Mandalorian invaders were crushed and defeated, their numbers reduced to but one man.”

Yoda lowered his head to hide his deep frown. He knew it would be pointless to explain the root of his disquiet to someone like Chancellor Kalpana, a man who saw the Battle of Galidraan as nothing more than fuel for his reelection campaign. To Yoda, it meant something far more deeper, more personal, than even some of his fellow Jedi could grasp.

The Jedi had gone to Galidraan at the personal request of the planet’s governor, who had said that Mandalorian warriors were invading his homeworld and slaughtering his people. This news had come as quite a shock to some in both the Republic and the Jedi Order, as the Mandalorians had been thought to have foregone their warriors ways since the Excision that devastated their homeworld nearly seven hundred years ago. In response, the Republic had sent Master Dooku to lead a task force of Jedi and Judicial Forces to quell the uprising. While the Mandalorians were indeed crushed, killing all save for their leader according to Dooku’s report, eleven Jedi had also been killed in the process along with most of the Judicial Forces that had accompanied them. It was perhaps the bloodiest battle the Republic had ever seen in the past few centuries. Not since the disastrous Nihil conflict had this much blood been shed.

Not for the first time since hearing the debriefing report did Yoda wonder if such violence was even necessary. He understood why Jedi had been sent in the first place, of course; the Order had a long, millennia-spanning history of dealing with Mandalorians. As Kalpana had said, the Judicial Forces would have been swiftly wiped out had they alone been sent to Galidraan. It was perhaps only thanks to Master Dooku’s own knowledge of the Mandalorians’ warrior ways, having studied their history in the Archives, that “victory”—if it could be called that—was achieved.

Yoda was brought back to the present moment when he sensed the door to the Chancellor’s office opening. He peered over his shoulder to see Dooku himself stride into the room, trailed by the young blonde woman that was his current Padawan learner. Komari Vosa was no older than eighteen, and yet her blue eyes carried a heaviness that Yoda had only seen in more experienced Jedi Knights and Masters. It was a heaviness that carried over to her master, whose grave expression was enough to chill even the hottest of environments.

“Ah, Master Dooku!” Kalpana greeted the Jedi, no doubt oblivious to the weight that burdened their shoulders. “Thank you for taking the time to visit me personally. I wanted to congratulate you on your success at Galidraan.”

“There are no congratulations to be had for something like this,” Dooku replied, his deep voice thick with solemnity. “We Jedi find no pleasure in taking lives, even those of our enemies.”

Kalpana nodded curtly, clearing his throat. “I understand, Master Jedi. Regardless, I am sure the people of Galidraan are grateful for your actions in defending their world. And I can assure you that the Republic is grateful in seeing an end to these Mandalorian interlopers.”

“The ensured safety of the Republic is enough, Chancellor.”

Yoda studied Dooku carefully from where he sat, analyzing his former student’s face. Although Dooku did his best to hide it, Yoda knew him well enough to see the conflict in his eyes, the shame and the remorse. No Jedi ever took pleasure in killing; that much of what Dooku had said was true. But Yoda sensed that there was something more to his old Padawan’s discomfort, something that he could not yet put into words. Perhaps it was not that different from what Yoda himself was feeling in regard to this incident.

Then again, Yoda doubted anyone in this room could ever fully understand or relate to what he was feeling. None of them were as old or as experienced as he was. Even Chancellor Kalpana, whose old age had become a major detriment to his reelection campaign, had nothing on the eight centuries Yoda had lived. Yoda remembered the Mandalorian Excision after all; he had been a mere Jedi Knight back then, but he remembered it nonetheless. He alone fully understood the root of the Mandalorians’ resentment against the Republic and the Jedi. The Battle of Galidraan was perhaps the inevitable culmination of that resentment; a bloodbath that had been unavoidable.

Yoda cast his emerald gaze to the Chancellor, who stared back at him from his warm, wrinkled face. Wise as he was, Kalpana’s eighty years were but a droplet of water in the vast ocean that was Yoda’s life.

“I will not detain you any longer, Master Jedi,” the Chancellor said. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend to. Besides, I am due for a session in the Senate in a few hours.”

Yoda nodded absently and was the first to rise from his seat, with Windu shortly following him. After bowing in farewell to the Chancellor, they turned for the door, where Yoda expected to see Dooku and his Padawan still standing there. However, the two Jedi were already gone, walking ahead of Yoda and Windu before either pair had the chance to acknowledge each other. As they walked out of the Chancellor’s office, Windu glanced at Yoda, a dark eyebrow raised.

“I sense unease coming from those two,” the younger Jedi Master said. “As well as from you.”

Yoda sighed, putting both hands on top of his cane. “Very perceptive you are, Master Windu.” 

At twenty-eight, Mace Windu was the youngest member of the Jedi Council, having been appointed not too long ago. Regardless, the young man exuded a wisdom in him that Yoda had seen in few Jedi outside of those already sitting on the Council.

Age is more than a count of heartbeats. Age is how many times you have failed.

If that lesson, one that had been passed down to him by his own teacher long ago, was true, Yoda wondered if that meant he was beyond the years he had physically lived… or if he was still catching up.

“Distress I sense in Master Dooku,” Yoda continued, walking alongside Windu to the turbolift that Dooku and Vosa had just gone through. “In his Padawan as well. A deep scar the conflict on Galidraan has left on them.”

“Indeed,” Windu said gravely. “It has been many years since this many Jedi have been lost in a single year. Between this and the conflict against the Stark Combine, I dread that a pattern is beginning to emerge.”

Yoda grimaced. “Let us pray that it does not become one.”

*  *  *

Upon returning to the Jedi Temple, Yoda knew right away where to find his former apprentice.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was where many Jedi went when seeking a place to meditate. Its flowing waterfalls and verdant flora created a serene environment that allowed one to clear their mind and attune themselves with the Force. Yoda himself had come to this retreat more time than he could count, and it was here that he found Dooku sitting alone in the center of the expansive chamber, his back to his former teacher.

As Yoda approached his old Padawan, careful not to disturb his meditative trance, Dooku suddenly spoke, stopping the older Jedi Master in his tracks. “Komari did well on Galidraan.”

Yoda harrumphed, clasping his hands over his walking stick. “Killed many Mandalorians, did she?”

“She held her own against twenty of their warriors. An impressive feat, wouldn’t you say?”

“Impressive?” Yoda grunted. “Impressive, is it, to take lives?”

“A Jedi takes lives only when it is necessary,” Dooku replied. “In this situation, it was necessary for her to strike down her enemies. If there had been any other option, I’m sure she would have taken it.”

“Certain, are you? Much conflict I sense in young Vosa. Desperate to please you, she is.” 

Dooku opened his eyes and slowly looked over his shoulder to look at Yoda, a questioning gleam in his dark eyes. “To please me?”

“See it, do you not? Knowing you as well as I have, difficult to please you often are. Make your students desperate for approval, you do.”

Dooku arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Seen it in young Qui-Gon, I have. See it now in young Komari, I do.” Yoda sighed, hanging his head low as he shook it. “Important it is to show your Padawan when they are on the right path… just as important it is to show them when they are diverging from that path. A balance to be kept there must be.”

“I fail to see how I am doing things wrong, Master,” Dooku said defensively. “Besides, if I recall, you were rather difficult to please yourself when I was your student. Perhaps we are not so different.”

Yoda’s ears twitched as he reflected on his former student’s words. He thought back to the many times a young Dooku had expressed frustration at Yoda’s way of teaching, which often involved him leaving Dooku to figure things out for himself rather than to tell him plainly how to solve a particular problem. Yoda had known it would have been the best way for his apprentice to learn and become a great Jedi, and become a great Jedi Dooku had. But perhaps Dooku had taken the wrong lesson from that. While Yoda saw it important to let students figure things out on their own, it was also just as important for their teachers to encourage them and to guide towards the solution rather than to leave them wholly in the dark. Dooku had apparently missed that aspect of the lesson, for it was because of his aloof nature that Padawans like Komari or even Qui-Gon often did foolish, ill-advised things in order to get some semblance of approval from their master. The fact that it had taken young Komari to kill twenty Mandalorians in order to get any form of praise from Dooku was also not an encouraging sign.

Had Dooku failed to pick up on an important aspect of the lesson Yoda had taught him all those years ago? Or had Yoda failed to make it clear to him?

It was not the first time Yoda had asked himself such a question. Having trained as many Jedi as he has, for as many years as he has, it was inevitable that he would one day ask himself the question no teacher ever wanted to ask: Where did I go wrong?

Yoda shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. There was no need to go down that line of thought; Dooku had not yet given any cause for it. There was still room for improvement, yes, but that was true for both of them—as it was for all Jedi, young and old.

After holding Dooku’s gaze for a long time, Yoda said, “Perhaps not. Even so, advise you I do that you not let your Padawan think that killing enemies is the only way to elicit praise from you.”

Dooku nodded sagely as he turned away. “Yes, I plan on a talk with her after I have finished meditating.”

“Disturb you no longer, I shall,” Yoda said, already turning away. “May the Force give you peace.”

“Thank you, Master. And may the Force give you the same.”

Yoda allowed himself a smile as he turned and walk away. Despite the assuring words however, he still could not help but feel that there was still a cloud hanging over him. Perhaps he would need to return to the Room of a Thousand Fountains to clear his mind as well…. 

*  *  *

It was not until several hours later, after the funeral held for the eleven Jedi that had fallen at Galidraan, did Yoda find the remaining root of the cloud.

After most of the Jedi had left the chamber, he found Qui-Gon Jinn—Dooku’s first Padawan learner—still standing in the room, looming over one of the sealed coffin chambers. Master Adi Gallia, a close colleague of Qui-Gon’s, also lingered in the chamber, observing her fellow Jedi with a concerned expression. She then met Yoda’s gaze and, with a simple nod of his green head, she too departed from the chamber, leaving the old Master alone with the forlorn Qui-Gon.

As Yoda slowly made his way over to him, Qui-Gon began speaking without looking up from the coffin chamber. “I failed him.”

Yoda looked up at him, tilting his head to one side. “Failed him?”

“If I had been a better teacher—a better Jedi—then Feemor would still be alive,” Qui-Gon elaborated, closing his eyes. “He would not have fallen to those Mandalorian barbarians.”

“Blame yourself for others’ shortcomings, you should not,” Yoda said sternly. “Taught him everything you knew, you did. Passed the Trials, he did. From that point, separate your paths became. Feemor’s strengths and weaknesses became his own, just as have your own you do.”

“That doesn’t explain Xanatos.”

Yoda sighed heavily, bowing his head. “Had this conversation before, we have. A complicated case, your second Padawan was. Too old he was for training; attached to his homeworld, his family, his wealth.”

“Yes, I made a mistake in bringing Xanatos to the Temple,” Qui-Gon said. “Perhaps I made a mistake in even taking on a Padawan in the first place, let alone taking on a third.”

“Every Jedi makes mistakes, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said solemnly. “Defined by their mistakes, some of the greatest Jedi Masters are.”

At last, Qui-Gon diverted his gaze from the lowered coffin to meet Yoda’s gaze. His blue-gray eyes, wrought with conflicting emotions, carried an aura of surprise. “Even you?”

Yoda allowed a small smile. “Me, especially. Over eight hundred years have I lived; mistakes I have made, how many do you reckon?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “To be honest, Master, I find the concept of you making a mistake to be impossible.”

“Impossible, hm? Make mistakes often, I do. Without even realizing it, perhaps.”

“What do you mean?”

Yoda gestured with his walking stick. “Walk with this, I do. Touches the ground everyday, it does. How many insects do you think I have killed with it, without meaning to?”

“I’m pretty sure Coruscant is too sterilized for there to be insects in the first place—”

“Another world, then. Dantooine. Visited there I did, not so long ago. Festering with life it is, big and small. Walked through a garden with my stick, I did. How many lives were lost then, hm?”

Qui-Gon’s expression became one of contemplation as he looked away from Yoda; not at the coffin containing Feemor’s below but rather up ahead, at nothing in particular.

“Learn from our mistakes, every Jedi must,” Yoda went on. “Not the first Jedi are you to have lost a Padawan, nor will you be the last. Many students have I lost; more than anyone can count. But stop me from teaching that does not.”

Yoda allowed those words to hang in the air as he turned to leave the chamber. He walked a few steps towards the exit, then stopped to look over his shoulder at Qui-Gon one last time. The other Jedi Master, deep in thought, managed to meet his gaze.

“We are what they grow beyond, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said quietly. “That is the true burden of all masters.”

Qui-Gon acknowledged his words with a simple nod. Yoda then walked out of the chamber, his shoulders straining from the weight put upon them.

Star Wars: Of Wraiths and Razor Crests, Part 6

 FINALE

The Sungrass

Face stared at the datapad in front of him, its blank screen taunting him. It was the first time that he, as commander of Wraith Squadron, had been put in this position; a position that he knew his predecessor had been put in countless times.

How do you tell someone that their son is dead?

He hadn’t even seen Tezalt die; Runt had told them about it after he had met up with them following the Mandalorian’s departure. He wasn’t sure if he should blame himself for not being more strict with Tezalt or for bringing him along in the first place; with Tezalt for letting his arrogance get to him a second time; or with the Trandoshan that had actually dealt the killing blow. Or perhaps there was no one to blame at all besides the sheer cruelness of fate.

He knew that anything he wrote would sound cliché, empty, anything but heartfelt. But he knew he had to write something. Tezalt’s family—if he had any—deserved to know what had happened to him.

A knock sounded at his door and Face, grateful for an excuse to delay the inevitable, said, “Come in.”

The door opened and in walked Zaedra. For the first time since he had met her, the Rattataki woman did not look cold or acidic; instead, she looked humbled and perhaps even mournful. It was an attitude change that he had not seen coming, although he had already been surprised to learn that Zaedra had not made any attempt to double-cross Piggy and his team. 

Stopping in front of his desk, Zaedra stood in a straight and formal manner and uttered seven words that Face was not expecting to come from her: “I would like to join Wraith Squadron.”

Face blinked at her in bemusement, taken aback by both her request as well as the fact that she had already pierced through the Hawk-bat facade. Deciding to feign ignorance one last time, he said, “Who’s Wraith Squadron?”

“Idra told me who you really were. The Wroonian woman,” Zaedra added as if Face wouldn’t know who she was referring to. “She told me that she didn’t want to lie to me anymore and thought she could trust me.”

“I’m not sure she and I are on the same page yet,” Face said wryly. “Why do you want to join?”

“Because I think you’re fighting for a good cause and I can help you in that fight. I have many connections to the underworld, to people like Neyrr and Evazan. I can help you track down more of them.”

“What about Imperials? We tend to go after those guys too, even more often than crime lords.”

“Some of the people I’ve worked for have dealt with Imperials,” Zaedra said. “I can help you there as well.”

Face leaned back in his seat, eying the Rattataki carefully as he stroked his beard. “You’re not the same woman I met back on Trigalis. What happened to her?”

Zaedra hesitated, opened her mouth as if to refute his statement, then closed it as she gave it a second thought. “I heard what happened to one of your own,” she then said, her voice soft and quiet. “I saw how it affected you and the others when you found out. All my life I’ve been an assassin, killing whoever I was paid to kill, never thinking twice about the life I would be denying them. Some of them deserved it, sure, but others… others were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They had a whole life ahead of them and I just took it from them in a blink of an eye, denying them a future… just like Tezalt was denied his.

“I saw the impact death has on people, how it hurts more than just the person that died, and I decided I didn’t want any part in it anymore.”

Face raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to kill people as a Wraith, too.”

“I know.”

“You might even get killed in the process.”

“I know.”

“And you still want to join?”

“The way I see it, there’s a difference between killing for profit and killing for justice. I’ve done plenty of the former and I’ve had enough of it. I’m ready to start doing the latter.”

“And how do I know you won’t go back to killing for profit once you get bored of the ‘killing for justice’ thing?”

Zaedra did not respond immediately to this, no doubt having not been prepared for the question. That was good, Face thought. It meant he could still be one step ahead of her if he wanted to.

When Zaedra still did not speak, Face said, “How about this: we’ll bring you with us to Coruscant and you can start training there. If you meet the bare minimum requirements, and you haven’t changed your mind yet, then you can become a Wraith.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

“Well, if you exceed expectations and you haven’t changed your mind, then you can join Rogue Squadron, Aggressor Wing, or literally anyone else because they’re better than us in every way. Or you can still join us for the hell of it or because you have a death wish. And if you do change your mind by that point, then you can kark off to Hutt Space or wherever it is evil assassins hang out.”

“You don’t think I’ll fail the tests?”

“Not at all. You strike me as someone who does everything to the best of her ability. The real test you’ll have to pass is one that isn’t on anyone’s list but mine.”

“And what test is that?”

Face smirked. “You won’t know that unless you fail it. If you pass, then it won’t matter anymore.”

Zaedra huffed in frustration. “You are a very strange man. All of you are strange.”

“Good. If you’ve come to that realization, then you’re already on the right track.” Face nodded to the door. “If that will be are, you are dismissed. I have something important to attend to.”

Without a word, Zaedra turned sharply on her heel and walked out of the office, leaving Face alone once more and back to his dilemma. As he started to type out the letter he didn’t want to write, he could only cling onto the futile hope that he would never have to write this letter again.

Nevarro

Greef Karga whistled as he counted out Din Djarin’s payment in front of him. “You scored a big one today, Mando. Over twelve systems’ worth of currency for this one!”

The Mandalorian said nothing, waiting for the other man to finish paying out. Once Greef was done, Din collected his winning, put them safely away, and then leaned back in his seat to look at Karga. “What’s the next one?”

Greef laughed. “Come on, Mando. Don’t you ever rest?”

“This one was nothing. Nor were the ones before it. I’ve barely gotten a day’s worth of work yet.”

“Then take the rest of the time off! You deserve it.” Greef gestured widely to the rest of the common house. “Get a drink, mingle with your fellow hunters—”

“I don’t mingle.”

Greef sighed. “No, I suppose you don’t. Look, I’ve only got so many pucks—”

“Let’s see them.”

Greef let out a defeated huff and slapped down four holopucks onto the table, displaying their contents. “Here. A few low-lives who still haven’t paid their debt to me. One of them is a Mythrol accountant who ran off with some of my money. I wish I could offer you something more challenging, but—”

“I’ll take them,” Din said, snatching up the four pucks. “They should keep me busy for a couple of weeks, maybe three.”

“I’m sure you’ll take care of them in less than that,” Greef said. “Save travels to you, Mando.”

Din Djarin did not return the farewell. He never did; he would see Greef Karga again after this job and after the next one. And if not Karga, then some other Guild agent. It was the cycle that had become his life and he did not see anything breaking that cycle anytime soon.

This was the Way, after all. And nothing would change that.

Ring of Kafrene

The room had been emptied of Hawk-bats and Mandalorians alike, leaving behind nothing but the bodies of stormtroopers, scientists, and one Trandoshan. The body of Doctor Evazan had been taken away by the Mandalorian to present to his clients, whomever they may be. Perhaps the body would be authentic enough to fool them, but Evazan would not be around to find out when or if the Mandalorian returned.

Stepping out of the cell he had been hiding in, the real Cornelius Evazan stepped out and peeled off the pluripleq that had allowed him to disguise himself as a Rodian. As he pulled off the gloves that had given him long, suction cupped fingers to complete the disguise, Evazan walked over to a communications panel that had been mercifully left undamaged from the firefight and keyed in a code to a secret comm frequency, hailing the Star Destroyer that guarded the Kafrene asteroid belt.

“Doctor to Impervious. The operation has been aborted. Repeat, the operation has been aborted.”

“I figured something was about to go down,” replied the Imperial officer aboard the Star Destroyer. “It would appear your contact had been correct.”

“Indeed.” Evazan made a mental note about paying Ruudka extra the next time he approached her for another name to use. She had warned him of the Mandalorian bounty hunter that was on the hunt for him; rather than shut down operations on Kafrene immediately, he had instead decided to toy with the idea of using the Mandalorian as a test subject. Thus, he had disguised himself as a Rodian prisoner while one of his assistants was disguised as Evazan himself. Everyone had played their parts remarkably, even if it had cost them all their lives (besides his, of course). Granted, he wasn’t sure how the Mandalorian had been able to find him in the first place and he entertained the idea that perhaps Ruudka had given away one of his aliases. Still, that would be business he would have to settle another time. Right now, he needed to clean up shop here.

“Send a shuttle down to pick me up,” Evazan then said to his Imperial contact. “I will explain what happened later. Also, let the Mandalorian and his pirate friends go; it would be beneficial if we maintained the illusion that I am dead.”

“True,” the Imperial officer said. “It has worked for you before, hasn’t it?”

“More times than I can count,” Evazan chuckled. “Besides, this gives us a decent enough excuse for the Moff when he asks why the operations has been delayed slightly.”

“You’re not going to tell him about your results here?”

“Why should I? What the Moff doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“If you say so. It’s not my neck that’s on the line. I’ll send a shuttle down to you shortly.”

“Many thanks, captain.” Ending the call, Evazan turned around to survey the room one last time. Satisfied with the results, he headed for the door and left it all behind.

Star Wars: Of Wraiths and Razor Crests, Part 5

 PART V

The Sungrass

“Kafrene. Evazan is on Kafrene.”

Face hadn’t wasted any time upon returning from Neyrr’s residence with Kell, Dia, and Zaedra. As soon as they were aboard, he had ordered for them to take off and within minutes the Xiytiar-class transport was departing from the swamp world of Trigalis and all of the headaches it had induced behind… at least until he reported everything to Cracken. The Wraiths and their new ally (if Zaedra could be considered that) were all gathered on the bridge, watching as the starfield transformed into the swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace.

“Are we sure he’s still there?” Kell asked.

“If he’s not, we should at least find a lead to wherever he may be now,” Face replied. “In any case, it’s better than nothing.”

“Do we have a plan for when we get there?” Shalla asked.

“Our Hawk-bat disguises should still hold up there. The Kafrene system isn’t under any strict government jurisdiction, at least not since the Empire fell. These days, it’s nothing more than another hive for scum and villainy.”

“We seem to get those a lot,” Tyria remarked. 

“It’s one of our areas of expertise, so it makes sense,” said Piggy. “Though if one of us needs to dress up as a dancing-girl again, it should be Elassar.”

The Devaronian medic put a hand over his heart. “I would have no shame in doing so.”

Confident that everything and everyone was prepared and underway, Face turned away from the viewport to look at Tezalt. The Duros was looking rather forlorn and being very transparent about the fact that he was avoiding his leader’s gaze.

“Tezalt, I would like to speak with you in private,” Face said in a controlled and even voice.

Tezalt merely nodded and he followed Face to his office. Once they were inside and Face had sat down at his desk, the Duros wasted no time in starting the conversation.

“Sir, I would like to apologize for my actions back on Trigalis.”

Face looked up at him, keeping his expression neutral. “And why is that?”

“I messed up. I had meant to hit Neyrr with the sleeping agent and the Rattataki with the poison dart. I was going to hit him first and then her, but then she brandished a knife and I… I….”

He paused, staring at Face as if he was expecting his leader to finish his sentence for him. Face did not give him that easy out and remained silent, waiting for the Duros to continue.

“… I panicked,” Tezalt finished with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I fired my darts out of order and ruined the mission.”

“I wouldn’t go that far just yet,” Face said. “We ended up getting Evazan’s location, even if it wasn’t straight from Neyrr himself. And, provided that Zaedra doesn’t end up stabbing us in the backs, we might come out of this with either a new Wraith or at least someone Intelligence could use in the future. So your error may very well end up doing us some good in the end.”

Tezalt’s eyes lit up in surprise at this and he straightened up. “So… I didn’t foul things up?”

“Right now, it’s too early to say. Regardless, I don’t want you to think it’s suddenly okay to start making mistakes and putting your teammates’ lives at risk.”

“Of course not, sir. You have my word.”

“Words are empty without actions to support them. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing—except for that small slip-up on Trigalis—and we should be good.”

Tezalt nodded curtly and saluted sharply once Face had dismissed him. Once the Duros had departed, Face dropped all sense of formality and slumped back in his seat, staring at the ceiling.

How do you do it, Wedge? Just how do you do it? One should be given ten medals for putting up with this stuff for this long.

Lost in his thoughts, Face lost track of the time and did not stir from his seat until he received a ping on his desk’s comm. Answering it, he was greeted by Piggy’s voice, and even through the Gamorrean’s vocoder he could detect a sense of unease in his teammate’s words.

“Captain, you should return to the bridge. We’ve got trouble.”

Apprehension knotted up his stomach as Face walked briskly from his office and stepped back onto the bridge. Right away, he saw that they had come out of hyperspace and entered the Kafrene system… and waiting for them there was an Imperial Star Destroyer guarding the asteroid belt.

“Oh, Sithspawn,” he said.

“Crass, but appropriate,” said Runt Ekwesh, the Wraiths’ communications expert. The equine Thakwaash, like most members of his species, had a myriad of different personalities and there was no telling which one he was using at any given moment. The one Runt was utilizing now spoke with a short, clipped accent, not unlike the way most Imperial officers tended to speak. “They’re also hailing us. Would you like us to put them on?”

“Fine, but no visuals,” Face said, putting on his Kargin voice again. “I forgot to put on my makeup.”

Runt complied with the order and the voice of a Core-accented Imperial came through the comm.

“Unidentified spacecraft, please identify yourself and state your purpose.”

Face motioned for Runt to transmit a clearance code before speaking. “This is General Kargin of the Hawk-bat Independent Space Force, commander of the Faceless Pirate. Maybe you’ve heard of us.”

“I do not care about your reputation. Please state your purpose.”

“We’re here to pick up supplies from an old friend of ours. Nothing more.”

“Uh-huh. And what is the name of this friend?”

“We call him One-Arm. He’s a Besalisk with only one arm. A sad tale, that one.”

Face paused for a moment, praying that the Imperial would not inquire any further. He wasn’t sure how long he could maintain this level of improvisation. 

After what felt like forever, the Imp responded with a tone that indicated that he wanted nothing more than to be done with this conversation. “Your code checks out, Faceless Pirate. You may proceed.”

Face did not allow himself to relax until the ship had passed the Star Destroyer and entered the asteroid belt, making an approach for the Ring of Kafrene. Even then, he could still feel a knot of tension in his stomach.

“I guess that confirms Evazan is here,” Kell remarked. “I don’t see why else they would be hanging around this system.”

Shaking his head, Face said, “Stay on your guard, Wraiths. It looks like we’re gonna have a lot more on our plate than we anticipated.” 

Ring of Kafrene

Din Djarin awoke to the sound of screaming.

Through the tiredness of his eyes, he was able to deduce that he was in some sort of cell, bars separating him from other cells as well as what appeared to be a large, round chamber. In the center of the chamber was some sort of operating table, upon which was a shackled creature screaming and thrashing as coat-wearing scientists and stormtroopers mulled about their business. Once he had dragged himself onto his feet, Din stepped closer to the bars and was able to make out one scientist in particular with a heavily scarred face, his nose looking as if it had been nearly shredded off his face.

“Evazan,” the Mandalorian voiced aloud.

“He’s a madman,” a tiny voice said from nearby. Din looked over to the cell that was adjacent to his and saw a petrified-looking Rodian standing their with his long fingers tightly wrapped around the bars. His black eyes were wide with fear and Din could swear the kid was shaking.

“We’re going to be next,” the Rodian continued, nodding to the howling malformed creature as Evazan pricked it with needles. “It won’t be long before that’s us.”

“What the hell is he even doing?” Din asked.

“I don’t know. He’s been injecting us with some kind of fluid. A fluid that turns people into… whatever that is.” The Rodian moaned as he sank to his knees. “Oh, please, somebody kill me now. I don’t want to go out like this. Not like this. Please, no—”

“Quiet!” A stormtrooper marched over to the Rodian’s cell and thrust a stun baton through the bars, sending a shock coursing through the prisoner’s body. The trooper then snapped his helmeted head to look at Din. “That goes for you, too.”

Din stared back at him silently. After a moment, the stormtrooper walked away, seemingly content that his work here was done. Din then returned his attention to the center of the room as Evazan threw up his hands in frustration.

“Bah! This one is a lost cause. Kill it and throw it in with the rest.”

His assistants complied and stuck a needle into the creature’s neck. The being’s movements became less fierce and violent before going completely still. They then unlatched its restraints and two stormtroopers came over to drag its body away. Dusting his hands off and putting a new, clean pair of gloves on them, Evazan looked around the room before setting his eyes on the Rodian.

“Bring that one over here.”

The Rodian cried out and scrambled to the back of his cell as the same stormtrooper from before walked over to open his cell.

“I’ll volunteer.”

The trooper froze as all heads turned to look at Din. Realizing that he was the one who had spoken, the Mandalorian stepped up to the front of his cell and stared directly at Evazan from his visor.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, I think I would make a far better candidate than some Rodian weakling.”

Evazan cackled, a sound that sent a chill down Din’s spine. “And what makes you so certain?”

“I’m a Mandalorian. We’re the best candidate for anything.”

Evazan seemed to consider this, scratching his chin. “True,” he admitted. “We haven’t tested one of your kind before.”

“With all due respect, doctor,” one of the assistants piped up. “From my understanding, Mandalorians are a society rather than a race. Therefore, they would not be genetically distinguishable from any other humanoid race unless—”

“I don’t care!” Evazan snapped. “Besides, we were going to use him after the Rodian anyway.” He gestured to the stormtrooper. “Fine. Bring him out. But no funny business, Mando!”

Din watched as the stormtrooper walked over to his cell. As soon as the white-armored soldier had pulled the door open, the Mandalorian lunged at him, grabbing his weapon arm and twisting it. The stormtrooper let out an agonized scream as he dropped his blaster, which Din quickly retrieved. He then shot the trooper in the abdomen before pointing it at Evazan just as other stormtroopers drew their own weapons and aimed them at him. Meanwhile, the Trandoshan hunter from before dropped down from the rafters and took position next to Evazan, eyes gleaming with hunger.

“I said no funny business!” Evazan shrieked.

“Do you hear anyone laughing?” Din retorted.

“Oh, I think it’s hilarious,” the Trandoshan hissed. “The fact that you think you can take us all on… it’s cute. Real cute.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Evazan said. “We’re on a tight schedule. Just kill him and be done with it.”

“Say no more, Doctor.” The Trandoshan reached behind his back and brandished an Amban disruptor rifle—a weapon that Din had been carrying on him before being captured. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to try this thing out.”

Din knew that he was outnumbered and outgunned, armed with an E-11 that would not do much good against a Trandoshan with a disruptor rifle. He looked from the Trandoshan to the stormtroopers, weighing his odds. Then, he aimed at the ceiling and blew out the lights.

*  *  *

“Sithspawn, he could be anywhere in this dump.”

“Quiet,” Face hissed as he, Kell, and Shalla walked through the crowded streets of Kafrene. For the mission, he had decided to bring the entire team along, splitting them into groups to cover more ground. He, Kell, and Shalla made up one team, Piggy, Tyria, Elassar, and Zaedra another, while Dia, Runt, Idra, and Tezalt made up the last one. Tezalt had also been given the task of scouting out from above, leaping from high point to high point as he scoured the ground from above like a vhork.

So far, however, they had not made much progress. As Kell had said, it was hard to pick out anyone or anything distinguishable from the ruffians and outlaws that roamed the streets. They hadn’t even run into any Imperials yet, which Face might have considered a good thing if it wouldn’t also have been a good indicator that they were close to Evazan’s position.

As they pushed their way through an oncoming surge of people and avoided some pushy Bimm traders, Face spotted Tezalt as the Duros leaped from one side of the street to the other, landing on the rooftop of some nondescript building. He motioned Kell and Shalla to follow him into an alleyway, taking them away from the bustling crowds and giving them a vantage point of the building Tezalt had just jumped to. He then brought out his comlink and called Dia on it.

“Seku, what’s Skinny Boy do?” he asked, using the aliases and nicknames they had agreed upon.

“He said he spotted some stormtroopers on a rooftop,” Dia replied. “Horse Boy’s following him to track his movements.”

“I’ll put him on then.” Switching his comlink’s receiver to Runt’s frequency, Face said, “Horse Boy, how is Skinny Boy holding up?”

“Our friend has successfully taken down two stormtroopers,” Runt replied, still speaking from his “eloquent” personality. “He is now proceeding into the compound.”

“What? No, blast it! Tell him to stand down!”

“Wait. Now he has stopped. He is now motioning us to join him.”

Face breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. Go with him, but be careful.” He then switched back to Dia’s frequency. “Seku, send Slicer Girl over so she can help us get into the compound. Then join Snort’s team and continue patrolling the streets. Make sure no unwanted company comes our way.”

“Copy, General,” Dia replied.

Within minutes, Idra met up with Face’s group and they discreetly made their way to the compound Tezalt and Runt had gone to, finding a locked door on the side. As the Wroonian slicer got to work on the lock, Face brought out his comlink again to call Runt and Tezalt.

“Have you two made any progress?”

“We hear fighting coming up ahead,” Runt responded.

Face could only hope that the “we” included Tezalt; Runt, as with all Thakwaash, often spoke in the second person to account for all of his different personalities. “Don’t engage,” he said. “Hold back and wait for us to get inside.”

“We copy.”

A few minutes later, Idra got the door open and Face’s team carefully stepped into the compound, blaster drawn. They had only taken a few steps inside when they started to hear the sounds of blaster shots and screaming coming from up ahead.

“That probably explains the lack of security so far,” Kell muttered.

“Everyone, be on your guard,” Face reminded his teammates. “This could get messy.”

*  *  *

The wide chamber below the air vent Tezalt was peering through was plagued in shadows, lit up only by the stray blaster shots that fired wildly into the darkness. During these brief moments of illumination, he could make out several stormtroopers, some humans in labcoats, a massive Trandoshan, and someone wearing Mandalorian armor. He had no idea who was fighting who and which side anyone was on, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the people themselves had no idea who they were supposed to be shooting at.

At one point, the Mandalorian activated a flamethrower on one of his gauntlets to scorch one of the stormtroopers, lighting up a good portion of the room. That was when Tezalt spotted a heavily scarred man standing in the center of the room, huddled behind an operating table.

“That’s him,” he breathed, drawing his sniper rifle. “That’s Evazan.”

“Leader told us not to engage,” said Runt, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s right there, Runt. We can’t let him get away.”

“We cannot mess this up. Not at this point in the mission.”

Tezalt snorted. “’Mess up.’ You don’t know anything about ‘messing up.’ I messed up back on Trigalis. I won’t make the same mistake here.”

Runt frowned. “How can you be so sure? Didn’t Leader tell you—”

“You don’t know what he told me,” Tezalt snapped. He situated his rifle to poke its barrel through the vents before adjusting the night vision sensors on his scope. “Look, I’ll only shoot this thing once, okay? Sleeping agent, no lethal toxins.”

“What if you miss?”

“I won’t.”

“Your stubbornness will get you killed,” Runt warned.

Tezalt tried to ignore the Thakwaash as well as the nagging voice in his head. Face gave you a second chance, it was telling him. Don’t let it go to waste.

In all his life, Tezalt had never been given a second chance. His parents hadn’t when he had expressed his desire to enlist rather than pursue a political career. His flight instructors hadn’t when he got low test scores. The squadron commanders he had requested transfer to certainly had never given him a second thought, let alone a second chance. As ashamed as he was to admit it, Wraith Squadron truly were the only people he had found a place with; who had given him a chance to prove his worth.

Of course, what had he done with that chance? He had killed someone that had been important to the mission. If they hadn’t gotten the information they needed through other means, he wasn’t sure if Face would have given him that second chance.

A second chance that he was now risking.

The flames from the Mandalorian’s flamethrower went out, plunging the room into darkness again, but Tezalt could still see Evazan through the night vision scope of his rifle. He had a clear shot of the doctor. There was no way he would miss this.

Runt put his hand on his shoulder again. “Don’t do this. Wait for Face and the others to—”

“Don’t touch me,” Tezalt hissed, shrugging Runt’s hand off. “You’ll mess up my shot.”

“Did you hear what we—”

“We can’t wait for the others. Evazan will probably have escaped by then. This is our chance!”

“You’re making a mistake.”

Tezalt scowled as he lined up his shot again, getting Evazan in the direct center of his targeting reticule. “I never make mistakes.”

He squeezed the trigger of his rifle.

“I am the best.”

He fired the gun and the toxin dart with the sleeping agent flew out of the barrel, through the vent, and towards Evazan. At that moment, a stormtrooper walked directly into the dart’s path and it went straight into his exposed neck. The armored soldier fell, causing some of his teammates to trip over his body in the dark.

Tezalt felt his heart sink into his stomach. He could barely feel Runt tugging on his sleeve, telling him to get moving.

In the distance, he could hear one of the other stormtroopers say, “Up there! In the vents!”

Runt was already on his feet, calling to him, telling him to run, but still Tezalt remained where he was, sniper rifle still in hand. Blaster fire began to pelt the vent he was hiding behind; some of the bolts were sure to slip through the cracks and hit him, perhaps even end him.

Instead, what ended him was a Trandoshan armed with night vision and a disruptor rifle. The last thing Tezalt saw was a flash of purple light and then he saw nothing.

*  *  *

Din Djarin seized on the Trandoshan and stormtroopers’ distraction to make his move. Jumping onto the Trandoshan’s back, he plunged a knife he had hidden in his boot directly into the reptilian’s neck, cutting into a sensitive spot that was not protected by scales. The Trandoshan let out a howl of pain and dropped the disruptor rifle he had just used to kill whoever had been up in the vents. Dropping down, Din rolled over to his disruptor rifle, picked it up, and pointed it at the Trandoshan. One shot was all it took to disintegrate most of the lizard’s body, leaving behind only a few scraps of clothing and pieces of armor.

Checking his helmet’s heads-up-display, he saw that there were only a few stormtroopers left. While there weren’t any charges left in the disruptor rifle, he was confident that he wouldn’t need it to take care of them. Throwing the disruptor onto his back, he picked up a discarded E-11 and used it to shoot down a stormtrooper that had been about to approach him from the side. His HUD warned him of a stormtrooper behind him and he narrowly dodged the blaster bolt before blasting them as well. That left just one and he could see the stormtrooper standing near the operating table Evazan was hiding behind.

“Drop your weapon,” the stormtrooper said, pointing his rifle at Evazan, “or the doctor dies!”

“What makes you think I need him alive?” Din asked. 

“The same reason all of the others wanted him. You think you’re the first bounty hunter to come after him?”

“The Trandoshan already told me as much. Besides, the puck I was given said dead or alive. It doesn’t make a difference to me if you’re the one who shoots him, so long as I’m the one bringing him in.”

The stormtrooper started to shake, his bluff having been called. His weapon arm started to twitch as he seemed to decide between shooting Evazan or the Mandalorian. Din kept his own weapon aimed directly at the trooper’s chest, waiting patiently for him to make the wrong move.

In the end, Din did not have to wait for that long. A blaster bolt flew out of nowhere and hit the stormtrooper in the chest. As the Imperial soldier fell to the floor, Din turned around to see three humans and a Wroonian standing there with their weapons drawn, their outfits suggesting they were pirates or outlaws.

“Lower the weapon, Mando, and no one gets hurt,” growled the leader, a heavily scarred man. “Besides, I think we’re on the same side here.”

“What makes you so sure?” Din asked.

“You want Evazan, right? So do we. And I’m pretty sure we want him for the same reasons.”

“Those being?”

“That he’s a menace to galactic society and needs to be brought to justice,” said a dark-skinned woman.

“That’s partially correct,” Din replied. “I’m just here to collect his bounty. Doesn’t matter who wants him or for why. I take it you’re doing the same?”

The four pirates exchanged glances with each other. “I wouldn’t say we’re doing it for the credits,” the leader then said. “But maybe we can come to an arrangement where—”

“Forget it,” Din cut him off. “I didn’t go through all of this work just to share my bounty with some low-life pirates.”

“We’ll pay you whatever your client is paying. In fact, we’ll double it.”

“I don’t believe you even have that kind of money.”

“Believe it.” The pirate leader brought out a handheld holoproject and switched it on, displaying the image of a Starbird along with some aurebesh text. “We’re with the New Republic. Captain Garik Loran, at your service.”

Din stared at the man’s credentials for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t know if your telling the truth or not, but I also don’t care. I got here first so the bounty is mine.”

Garik Loran sighed as he put the holoprojector away. “Have you even caught him yet or is he still cowering behind that table?”

Din looked over to Evazan’s hiding spot. The doctor was indeed still there… but he also wasn’t moving. The Mandalorian carefully stepped over to Evazan, crouching down to get a better look at him. He touched the doctor’s shoulder, moving him slightly… and the man’s head flopped lifelessly to the side. Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth, his empty eyes staring into nothingness.

“Dead,” he muttered. “Must have had a suicide capsule in his mouth or something.”

“Blast,” Captain Loran cursed. “We needed him alive.”

“Looks like those guys did the same thing,” said a large dark-haired man standing with Loran. He nodded to one of Evazan’s lab assistants, laying there with their jaw hanging open in a similar fashion. “They really don’t want us knowing what they were up to here.”

Still crouched next to Evazan’s corpse, Din looked over to the cell where the Rodian prisoner had been, only to see that it was empty. He had no idea if the kid had been killed in the crossfire. He also didn’t want to get up and find out for himself.

“If you don’t mind,” he said as he rose to his full height, “I will be bringing in my bounty.”

“Just as well, I suppose,” Loran said with a shrug. “I hope you get your credits’ worth.”

“So do I, Captain,” the Mandalorian said quietly, gazing down at Evazan’s body. “So do I.” 

Star Wars: Of Wraiths and Razor Crests, Part 4

 PART IV

Trigalis

Face paced back and forth in the main hold of the Sungrass, the transport that the Wraiths had brought to Trigalis as part of their pirate ruse. While they were still on the planet, their ship was still a good distance from New Coronet, which was sure to be in disarray now that its ruler had been inexplicably disposed of. He had no idea how that matter was going to be resolved, if they even could resolve it. Trigalis was not under New Republic jurisdiction and it would be a hassle to place a new leader in charge; a hassle that was well beyond the Wraiths’ scope. What had originally been nothing more than a hunt for a mad scientist had turned into something much larger than just that. Something that Face had virtually no experience in handling.

I can’t wait for Cracken to give me an earful about this, he thought bitterly to himself. He stopped moving when he saw Elassar emerge from the ship’s medbay, where they had taken the unconscious Rattataki woman.

“Is she awake?” Face asked.

“Awake and angry,” the Devaronian medic replied. He gestured theatrically to the door. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Stepping into the medbay, Face saw the Rattataki woman—civilian fatigues thrown over her revealing dancing outfit—laying on a berth with her hands binded together in stun cuffs. Upon seeing Face, the pale-skinned woman bore her teeth at him in a malicious sneer.

“How long do you plan on keeping me around as your ‘trophy?’”

“Depends,” Face replied, dropping the growling vocalizations of General Kargin. “How much can you tell us about Doctor Evazan?”

The Rattataki blinked, perhaps taken aback by Face’s query as well as the fact that he sounded different now. “Why do you want to know?”

Face held back a smirk. That alone, at least, confirmed that she knew something about Evazan. “If you know anything about him, I’m sure you could think of a few reasons why.”

The Rattataki chewed on her lower lip, no doubt weighing her options in her mind. If she held any loyalty to Menas Neyrr, it was most likely moot now as she shrugged her shoulders in acceptance. “I’ve only seen him visit Neyrr in person a few times, usually to make repairs or modifications to his Decraniated servants. If they had any other contacts, I was not made privy to them.”

“And what exactly was your role for Neyrr? Part-time dancer, part-time bodyguard?”

“More or less, although the bodyguard aspect was always full-time. The dancing part of it was just a helpful ruse, to lure his visitors into a false sense of security.”

“It certainly accomplished that,” Face admitted. “Do you have any idea where Evazan could be now?”

The Rattataki thought for a moment. “The last time he visited, he told Neyrr that he would have to lay low for some time and would not be able to contact Neyrr for security reasons.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“A few weeks, maybe a month. And before you ask, no, he did not give any clues as to where he would be.”

Face swore to himself. “So we’re back to square one.”

“Now, now,” the Rattataki said in a patronizing tone. “Don’t give up hope yet. I have the passwords to Neyrr’s personal files, which include recordings of his conversations with Evazan. I can access them and get you information that could prove useful to you.”

Face raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you could just give us the passwords? I mean, we’ve got a slicer.”

“Yes, but I have something to bargain for.” The Rattataki grinned wickedly as she held up her cuffed hands. “And I know that you’re not dumb enough to pass this opportunity.”

“And how do we know you won’t double-cross us?”

“Double-cross you to who? Neyrr’s dead and I’m out of a job. If I do this for you, maybe you—or whoever you work for—can get me a new one.”

I wouldn’t count on it, Face thought but decided to keep this comment to himself. Instead, he walked over to the Rattataki and released her hands from the cuffs. “All right. I guess you’re on our team, tentatively at least. Do you have a name for us to call you by?”

Rubbing her hands, the woman said, “Zaedra. Call me Zaedra.”

“Welcome to the Hawk-bats, Zaedra. I’m sure we’ll get along fine, so long as no one finds a knife in their back.”

Zaedra smiled coldly at him. “I can’t make promises that I won’t keep, General.”

*  *  *

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

Each iteration of the word was punctuated with a blaster bolt as they hit the tree trunk that Tezalt was taking his anger out on. There were enough scorch marks to make the bark look charred black rather than its original brown.

How could he have been so stupid? He was supposed to be the best, he was the best, and yet he had still messed up. He hadn’t even missed his target, because he never did, but it had been the wrong target and he should have known that.

Face had not yet called him in to reprimand him for his error, but he knew it was coming. The commander had gone back to Neyrr’s place with Kell, Dia, and the Rattataki they had captured to retrieve some information the Koorivar apparently had secured away. Naturally, they had left him behind with the others. No sense in giving him a chance to foul things up a second time.

A plasma bolt lanced from his rifle and went straight past the tree he had been aiming at. Releasing a howl of frustration, Tezalt threw the weapon down and dropped himself to the ground, pulling his knees against his chest.

“Should you really be treating equipment like that?”

The Duros glanced up to see his fellow Wraith Tyria Sarkin carefully approaching him, a concerned look on her face. He averted his gaze from hers, not in the mood for empty sympathetic looks.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

“Well, I was hearing blaster shots, so naturally I had to come out here to make sure you weren’t in trouble,” Tyria replied as she sat down next to him. “I take it things didn’t go well back in New Coronet?”

“You mean your boyfriend hasn’t told you?” Tezalt snapped. “He was there. He saw what happened. He saw what I did.”

Tyria frowned. “What did you do?”

“I fouled up, okay? I wasn’t thinking straight and I killed Neyrr when I wasn’t supposed to. That’s why the others had to go back; if I hadn’t messed up, we would’ve been off this swamp by now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much over it,” Tyria said. “We all make mistakes. For some of us, that’s how we got here in the first place.”

Tezalt shook his head. “That’s no excuse for making them in the first place. Especially in this line of work, when they can get you killed.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. I’ve seen plenty of my teammates die to understand how true that is. But you can’t let your mistakes bring you down. Do better, yes, but if you keep focusing on your failures, you won’t be able to see your strengths. And that might prevent you from succeeding.”

Tezalt groaned as he got up to his feet, walking over to his discarded rifle. “Thanks for the lecture, but I didn’t ask for it. Besides, I’m sure Captain Loran is going to give me an earful of the same when he gets back.”

Tyria sighed. “Look, I know what it’s like to feel responsible for doing something that you shouldn’t have done. I once let someone use me to do something that I knew wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” Tezalt whirled on her and pointed a finger at her, his red eyes alight with anger. “Don’t you dare.”

“Dare what?” Tyria replied, confusion in her eyes.

“Don’t even think about comparing our experiences. We are nothing alike, Antarian Ranger. You’ve been given chances and opportunities that I never did. I have suffered through things that you never have and never will.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tyria retorted, shooting back up to her feet, her green eyes now blazing as well. “What could you have gone through that could be worse than what I did? My home was destroyed by the Empire and my family—my people—were killed. What about you?”

Tezalt stared at her, his eyes still raw with emotion, but his mouth simply gaped open in silence, unable to conjure words.

Tyria blew her breath out and relaxed her stance somewhat. Now it was her turn to avert her gaze. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have….” She shook her head. “I’ll never have a chance at becoming a Jedi if I say things like that. That’s probably one of the reasons Skywalker rejected me in the first place.”

“You… you have the Force?” Tezalt croaked, his previous resentment fading somewhat.

Tyria snorted. “I have the bare minimum requirement of ‘having the Force,’ whatever that entails, to qualify for Jedi training. I approached Skywalker after Endor and he did his best to teach me, but I was… unteachable, I guess. Just didn’t have what it took.”

“But you still want to become a Jedi?”

“Of course I do. It’s always been my dream. I grew up with the Antarian Rangers, who were one of the last strongholds of pro-Jedi sentiment that hadn’t yet been wiped out by the Empire. I only signed up for the military when Jedi training was officially ruled out. Then I met an instructor who manipulated me to do dirty things and blackmailed me when I threatened to expose him. That’s how I ended up with Wraith Squadron: because I was at the bottom of everyone’s list.”

“You were a washout then,” Tezalt murmured. “Just like the others.”

“Except for you, apparently,” Tyria said dryly. “Kell tells me how you’re always bragging about being the best.”

“Clearly I’m not.”

Tyria shrugged. “That’s not for me to decide. But, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you sign up for Wraith Squadron? If you thought so highly of your skills, you could have signed up for Rogue Squadron, or Aggressor Wing, or… literally anyone else.”

“That’s the thing, Ranger.” Tezalt slung his rifle onto his back and began the trek back to the Sungrass. “I did.”

*  *  *

Din Djarin would have been lying to himself had he said that he had expected the first alias Ruudka provided him would come up with some results.

A quick trip to Obroa-skai and a curt conversation with the head of the planet’s census center had told him that Hamma Jooak had signed up for the Obroan Institute less than a year ago and was currently assigned to a project for Dr. Insmot Bowen. Said project was taking place in an asteroid belt deep in the Thand sector. There were no details as to what exactly the project entailed or whether it was still even underway. Still, it was a lead worth investigating and without hesitation Din had made the jump to the Kafrene system where the asteroid belt was said to be located.

Upon coming out of hyperspace, Din was greeted with a sight that he had not been expecting to see: an Imperial Star Destroyer within the orbit of the Kafrene asteroid belt. He wasn’t sure if the capital ship had spotted him and made sure to bring the Razor Crest to a decelerated speed as he approached the asteroid belt. Within minutes, his comm console lit up, indicating an incoming transmission, and he pressed a switch to accept it.

“Unidentified spacecraft, please identify yourselves and state your purpose.”

As Din transmitted a Guild clearance code, he had to wonder what an Imperial vessel was even doing out here in the first place. While he did not pay much attention, if any, to galactic affairs, he knew enough to know that the Empire had collapsed five years ago and that the New Republic had risen to take its place. And as far as he knew, the Republic did not utilize Star Destroyers, at least not in the sectors he had found them operating in. Still, the Thand sector was remote enough to have not yet fallen under the Republic’s control. And so long as the Imperials didn’t give him too much trouble, Din didn’t really care who was in control at this point.

“I’m destined for the Ring of Kafrene,” Din said over the comm. “I’ve got some business to take care of.”

“What kind of business?” asked the Imperial officer on the other end.

“I’m with the Bounty Hunters’ Guild. What business do you think?”

“No need to get snippy with me, son. What is the name of your guild house?”

Din frowned beneath his helmet. This conversation was lasting far longer than he would have liked. “I work with the house that operates on Nevarro. I’m sure you’ve got them in your database.”

There was silence on the other end for a moment and Din was expecting another passive-aggressive response. However, the Imperial surprised him again by saying, “Your clearance code checks out, bounty hunter. You may proceed to your destination.”

Baffled as he was by this entire exchange, Din decided not to let this chance go to waste and proceeded to pilot his ship into the asteroid belt and towards the trading post that lay at its heart. A man-made colony that connected two malformed planetoids, the Ring of Kafrene had a labyrinthine layout, making it ideal for criminals and outlaws to get lost in. It was also convenient for anyone involved in a secret project, which Evazan—or “Hamma Jooak”—evidently was.

After landing his ship in a deserted docking bay, distinguished by graffiti of stormtrooper helmets marking its walls, Din Djarin set out from the Razor Crest and dived straight into the crowded streets. The people that resided on Kafrene were not unlike those he had seen back in Port Town on Cloud City, although here there was a greater presence of bounty hunters and mercenaries. It made him wonder if he was the first bounty hunter to come here in search of Evazan and if someone had already beaten him to the punch, causing Evazan to relocate yet again.

The sound of a tiny ping prompted Din to bring out his tracking fob. The blinking red sensor told him that his quarry was close; if not Evazan, then someone else whose biometric signature had been registered with the fob. With someone who was wanted in as many systems as Evazan was, it was only natural that Evazan’s information was some of the first to be included in the tracking fobs when the Guild introduced them to its hunters recently. The fact that it had taken this long to find him regardless was not something Din was concerned with at the moment.

The beeping got louder as Din approached the door of some nondescript building just off the side of the street he was walking down. As he walked over to it, a hand gliding to his holstered blaster pistol, a large shape suddenly jumped out of the shadows and grabbed him by the arm. The tracking fob fell from Din’s hand as his assailant grabbed his other arm and pinned them behind his back before slamming him against a wall.

“No bounty for you today, Mando,” a raspy voice hissed into his helmet’s audio receptor. Through the limited peripheral vision that his visor granted him, Din was able to make out his attacker to be a Trandoshan. A forked tongue slithered out of the reptilian’s mouth as they spoke. 

“I didn’t think Greef Karga had already given the puck to someone else,” Din grunted against the Trandoshan’s grip.

“Oh, no. I’m not here to collect the doctor’s bounty. Not anymore, at least. As it turns out, he’s made enough credits for himself to pay very handsomely for his own protection.”

“Do you think he’ll still pay you for confirming his location to me?”

“What makes you think you’re going to live long enough for that to matter?” the Trandoshan retorted.

Din responded by throwing his leg back and kicking the Trandoshan in the lizard’s armored codpiece. The force of the blow was enough for the reptilian to loosen his grip somewhat, allowing Din to slip his right arm free and use it to elbow the Trandoshan hard in the face. The other hunter cried out as he staggered back, massaging his broken snout, while Din spun around and drew his blaster, pointing it at his assailant. The Trandoshan lunged just as he squeezed off a shot and the lizard tackled him to the ground, knocking his blaster out of his hand and pinning him down. Scaly hands wrapped around the Mandalorian’s neck as the Trandoshan held him there, malicious intent gleaming in his eyes.

“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, Mando,” the Trandoshan cackled at him. “Either that, or Karga wants you dead and out of the way. Do you have any idea what Evazan is doing here on Kafrene?”

“Not… really my… business,” Din managed to choke the words out as he wrestled to pull the Trandoshan’s hands off.

“It is, because it explains why you have to die. Just like the others did.” The Trandoshan leaned down and licked his tongue against the visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “I’m going to enjoy devouring your remains, Mando. It’s been too long since I’ve had a full meal.”

Din could feel his vision leaving him as it became more difficult to breathe. Just as he was about to slip away into darkness, he saw a figure dressed in white emerge from the shadows behind the Trandoshan. He heard them speak but couldn’t quite make out the words. Suddenly, the Trandoshan started to loosen his grip slightly, enough to keep Din from passing out but not so to allow him to fight back.

“You’re in luck, Mando,” the lizard hunter growled. “You might get a chance to see what the doctor is cooking after all.”

The figure in white made a gesture and a pair of stormtroopers walked out from behind them, approaching Din with their blasters raised. 

“Hope to see you in your nightmares, Mando,” the Trandoshan hissed before getting up and releasing Din. Before the Mandalorian could make a move, one of the stormtroopers fired a stun bolt and Din was plunged into darkness. 

Star Wars: Of Wraiths and Razor Crests, Part 3

 PART III

New Coronet, Trigalis

There had been a time where the city of New Coronet had once been a well-known, perhaps even respectable trading post located along the Five Veils Route. Those days were long past however, as the city—while still maintaining its opulent and picturesque appearance—had since become a haven for criminal activity.

Over the years it had passed between several hands; during the Clone Wars it had been under Black Sun’s control, while the Galactic Civil War had seen the Hutt Clans briefly take control of the trading post. These days however, it was said that New Coronet was under the jurisdiction of a Koorivar crime lord by the name of Menas Neyrr who had once been associated with Crimson Dawn, one of the many crime syndicates that had risen to prevalence during the Dark Times. The crime lord in question was said to have acquired a number of Decraniated servants that had once belonged to Crimson Dawn. This supported the reports of Dr. Evazan being on Trigalis; it would only make sense that someone in possession of Decraniated servants would want to be in contact with their creator. Whether Evazan was still even on Trigalis was, of course, another question entirely.

When Face had told the other Wraiths all this as he briefed them for their mission, Kell Tainer had spoken the question that was likely on most of their minds.

“What disguises are we going to use to get close to Neyrr?”

“Good question,” Face had replied. “I was thinking about resurrecting our old Hawk-bat aliases for this one. Based on what we know of him, Neyrr does not really pay much attention to events that happen outside of his personal sphere. He also really likes pirates.”

“He does?” Shalla had asked.

Face nodded. “Yes. And dancing girls, though I’m not expecting anyone here to dress up as one. Unless anyone wants to volunteer, that is.”

Face had been about to move on with the briefing, not expecting anyone to have taken him seriously, when Piggy—slowly, with very deliberate reluctance—raised his hand.

“I’ll do it,” the Gamorrean said, a dour note in his mechanical voice.

Everyone stared at him incredulously. Everyone, that is, except for Elassar, who had a wide toothy grin on his face.

“You… you will?” Face asked, not believing what he was about to say. “You will dress up as a dancing girl?”

“Yes.” Piggy closed his eyes as he forced this word out, opening them to shoot a glare at Elassar.

“But you’re a Gamorrean. And not a girl.”

“It can often be difficult to tell male and female Gamorreans apart,” Elassar said. “With the right amount of cosmetics and costumery, I’m sure we can pass him off as a female Gamorrean with Neyrr being none the wiser.”

Face looked between Piggy and Elassar as the former glared at the latter while the other simply smiled back. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

“Piggy lost a bet to Elassar during our mission on Ord Biniir,” Shalla said in a tone that suggested everyone except Face was in on this. “I guess this is his punishment.”

Face refrained himself from sighing or rolling his eyes. He knew that he was in no position to comment on his teammates joking around and pranking each other, especially considering he himself had been the team’s designated joker from day one. Since becoming the commander of Wraith Squadron however, he had come to see things from a different perspective. At the very least, he now knew what it was like for Wedge to deal with the Wraiths’ antics.

“Where are we going to find a dancing girl outfit that’s large enough to fit Piggy?” asked Tyria. “No offense,” she quickly said to the Gamorrean, who merely shook his head in exasperation.

“We won’t need to,” Elassar said. “For I’ve already procured one.”

From behind his seat, he produced what was indeed a typical dancing girl outfit—bronzium harness, lashaa silk skirt, and all—that had been enlarged so that it could (at least somewhat) modestly cover up a Gamorrean’s body.

Kell gawked at Elassar. “Did you… did you make that yourself?”

“And you had it here this entire time?” asked Idra.

“Yes to the second, no to the first,” the Devaronian medic replied. “I found it at a shop back on Wielu. I believe the proprietor had said it was tailored for an Askajian client that the designer had mistaken for a human.”

Face shook his head before looking back at Piggy. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t—”

Piggy waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Captain. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to the bet. Besides, if it helps us get close to Menas Neyrr, and by extension Evazan, then it will be worth it.”

“Hopefully not too close,” Kell said with a shudder.

“And do I want to know what the bet was about?” Face asked.

“You’re better off not knowing,” Dia said cryptically.

Deciding there would be time later to follow up on that particular detail, Face had finished up his briefing and the Wraiths got to work. The plan was, on the surface, relatively simple: Face would lead a team of Wraiths, disguised as a group of pirates known as the Hawk-bats, into New Coronet and present Piggy—dressed up as a dancer—to Menas Neyrr and get themselves an invitation to his social gatherings. They would then feign interest in the Decraniated and gently grill him on where he had gotten them and whether he was in touch with their creator. Depending on how talkative Neyrr was on the matter, he would hopefully give them at least an idea on where Dr. Evazan was if he was not already on Trigalis. From there, they would follow that lead and hopefully catch Evazan in practically no time at all.

Upon reaching Trigalis, Face took his team of “Hawk-bats” down to the surface of the swampy world and made their way to New Coronet. Said team consisted of himself as the scarred General Kargin; Dia as the sultry Captain Seku; Kell as the heavyset Lieutenant Dissek; and Piggy as their nameless dancer. Tezalt would take position outside of Neyrr’s residence and keep an eye out for any potential trouble, while Shalla would be waiting with their getaway vehicle in case they needed to make a hasty retreat. If all went to plan, they wouldn’t need to make one, but Face was experienced enough to know that they needed to take as many precautions into account.

After making their way through the bustling streets of New Coronet, passing by wary and fearful looks from civilians, Face’s team reached the residence of Menas Neyrr, a remarkably plain building compared to the fanciful architecture that made up the rest of the city. Standing guard were two masked figures, who both raised their hands to halt the approaching party.

“State your name and business,” demanded the first guard.

“General Kargin of the Hawk-bat Independent Space Force, at your service,” Face growled back, giving the guards a mock bow. “I come to your master with a gift.” He gestured to the shackled Piggy, dressed in his revealing attire.

The two guards regarded the Gamorrean carefully. “Another dancer,” the second muttered. “How many does he have now?”

“Too many,” the other guard replied, shaking his head. “He might as well turn his place into a brothel at this point. I’m sure he’d get a lot of good business.” He then returned his attention to Face and his crew. “We’ll have to pat you down for weapons and comm devices. Standard security procedure.”

Face raised an eyebrow . “Comm devices?”

“Let’s just say the boss is a tad paranoid when it comes to certain pieces of technology.”

Face nodded, doing his best not to let his apprehension show. He had expected to lose their weapons to security, but losing their comlinks as well meant that there would be no way to signal Tezalt, Shalla, or any of the others. As he wracked his mind for a backup plan, he and the rest of his crew acquiesced to the guards’ security check and handed in their weapons and communication devices. The door then opened and the Hawk-bats were led into Neyrr’s residence.

Face wasn’t sure what a crime lord like Menas Neyrr spent his money on, but it certainly wasn’t on such things as lighting and air conditioning. The rooms were poorly lit, with lights flickering and more than a few of them having gone out entirely, and there was a horrible humidity that made him sweat under his pirate clothes. As they finally got to the main room, a wide open expanse, he felt his stomach turn as he realized why. Many dancers—mostly female, some male, all of different species—were dancing upon the large floor, sweat gleaming from their exposed skin. Menas Neyrr himself was seated on a low-sitting sofa, dressed in elaborate maroon robes as he sipped from a wine glass, clearly enjoying himself.

Face spared a glance at Dia. Although the Twi’lek woman maintained a neutral expression on her face, he could see the fury raging in her dark eyes. Like many Twi’leks, Dia had spent many years in slavery and had done her fair share of dancing for the amusement of her owners. No doubt this scene was bringing back bad memories for her.

The guard that had led them inside walked over to Neyrr and tapped the Koorivar on the shoulder, whispering something into his ear. Neyrr’s eyes lit up as they redirected their focus to Face and his crew and he stood up hastily from his sofa. The contents of his glass sloshed onto the floor and some of it even landed on the guard’s uniform, eliciting a disgruntled sound.

“Welcome, welcome!” Neyrr exclaimed, his speech slurring. “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Face greeted him with an overly formal bow. “We are the Hawk-bat Independent Space Force. My name is General Kargin; with me are Captain Seku and Lieutenant Dissek.” He gestured to Dia and Kell respectively before indicating Piggy. “We would like to offer you an addition to your troupe.”

Neyrr took a moment to regard Piggy, rubbing his chin. “A Gamorrean dancer,” he mused. “That’s… that’s different, I will admit. But I am hardly one to complain. Does she have a name?”

Piggy made a snorting sound and Face said, “Snort. We call her Snort.”

“Snort,” Neyrr repeated. “Well, that’ll be easy to remember, at the very least.” He then waved Piggy over to where the other dancers were performing. “Go on and make yourself at home, Snort. I’m sure you will make a lovely addition.”

As Piggy navigated his way over to the impromptu stage, Neyrr snapped his fingers twice and a Rattataki dancing-girl broke off from the others. She rushed over to Neyrr’s side and dropped to her knees, bowing her pale white head as her purple skirt billowed out beneath her.

“How may I serve you, master?”

Neyrr waved his hand to the spot where he had spilled his drink. “Clean up that mess, will you?”

“Of course, master.”

As the Rattataki hurried off to perform her duties, Dia stepped up Neyrr before Face could stop her, flashing a toothy grin at the Koorivar.

“If you don’t mind, could we perhaps relocated to a more… private area? We would like to discuss business matters with you.”

Neyrr eyed her warily before looking over to Face. “Does this one speak for you, General?”

“Captain Seku is my right-hand for a reason,” Face growled, a vocal sound that was just as much in-character as it was out. “I would trust her with my life.”

“Even so, with all due respect, I would much rather see her on the dance floor than a Gamorrean—”

Dia stepped closer to Neyrr, her eyes blazing as her grin broadened. “Are you rejecting our gift?”

The Koorivar held up his hands, his wrinkled face stricken with panic. “Of course not! I was… I was simply—”

“Perhaps we should take our business elsewhere,” Dia went on, looking over her shoulder to raise a hairless eyebrow at Face. “Should we, General?”

Face pretended to consider. “Well, I was hoping to learn where we could get our hands on some of those Decraniated folks I’ve been hearing about. But since I don’t see any around, maybe we came to the wrong place.”

“Is… is that what you want?” Neyrr asked. “Is that all you came to me for?”

Face shrugged. “We Hawk-bats are of simple pleasure. I did my research before coming here and thought you would like an addition to your collection of dancers in exchange for some cyborg servants. Or, barring that, finding the person who made them so we could make some ourselves.”

A cold silence fell over the room and Face could have sworn he felt a chill run down his spine, despite the humidity of the room. The dancers had inexplicably stopped dancing, with Piggy being the last one to stop as he picked up on the tension that had suddenly developed.

Swallowing hard, Neyrr quietly said, “I see. You’re after him, aren’t you?”

Face frowned, exchanging uneasy glances with Dia and Kell. He tried not to look too much at Piggy, lest it give too much away. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t try to hide it. It’s the only reason anyone even asks about those lobotomized cyborgs. It’s because they want him. The Doctor. He’s wanted in more systems than you can count on both hands.”

Face cleared his throat. “Well, I can’t say I know anything about. I don’t know anything about their creator; I didn’t even know he was male until you said it just now.”

“You know, you’re not the first ones to come here,” Neyrr continued. “I can’t tell you how many bounty hunters have come to me looking for… for him. I stopped counting after the eleventh one.”

Face could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He was really starting to wish they hadn’t handed their weapons over. “And what did you tell those bounty hunters?” he found himself asking without meaning to.

“I didn’t need to tell them anything. Their fate was the same as what yours will be,” Neyrr said. “Death.”

*  *  *

From the safety of his hiding spot atop a building adjacent to Menas Neyrr’s residence, Tezalt had watched as Face and the others had been forced to hand over their weapons and comlinks to the crime lord’s guards, depriving them of defense and communication. Right away, Tezalt knew that he would have to improvise.

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he moved out of his hiding spot and jumped down to the rooftop of Neyrr’s residence, which was much lower than the building he had been hiding on. He tucked his legs in to absorb some of the blow and rolled forward before getting back into an upright position and rushing over to a door that led down into a stairwell. Naturally, the door was locked, but Tezalt had enough basic slicer knowledge to get through that obstacle. Idra may have been the Wraiths’ designated slicer, but that didn’t mean she was the only one who knew how to hack into a control panel.

Once he was through the door, Tezalt ran down the staircase, his lanky legs taking him from one step to the next in rapid succession. As he turned at the halfway point, he spotted two guards standing at the bottom of the stairs, their backs turned to him. Once he was sure they hadn’t heard or noticed him, Tezalt carefully unslung his rifle and attached a modifier that would fire two poison darts. After taking aim with the help of his scope, he fired each dart in quick succession and the two guards dropped lifelessly to the floor. Tezalt then finished his descent down the staircase and followed the sound of voices. One of them he recognized as Face, deep and growly to put up the persona of General Kargin. 

As he turned a corner, he came face to face with another guard. Upon seeing Tezalt, the guard reached for his sidearm but the Duros moved quickly, grabbing his arm and pulling him in to knee him in the gut. As the guard keeled over, Tezalt produced a spare poison dart and stabbed the guard in the neck with it before quietly lowering him to the floor. Once he was sure the guard was in a spot where he would not be immediately found, Tezalt resumed his journey.

The voices grew louder as he neared what he was sure to be the main hall, loud enough for him to make out some of the words. “Is that what you want?” said a voice Tezalt presumed belonged to Menas Neyrr. “Is that all you came to me for?”

“We Hawk-bats are of simple pleasure,” replied Face. “I did my research before coming here and thought you would like an addition to your collection of dancers in exchange for some cyborg servants.”

Tezalt slowed his walk to a near crawl as he reached the corner of the hallway he was in, peering around the open doorway to see Face’s crew and the Koorivar crime lord they were confronting. Not far away were a group of dancers in revealing outfits, a disguised Piggy being among their numbers. None of them would be able to see him from where they were standing.

“Or,” Face continued, “barring that, finding the person who made them so we could make some ourselves.”

Tezalt could feel a chill enter the humid room as everyone went still and silent. The dancers (save for Piggy) halted their performance to stare at Neyrr and the Hawk-bats, their expressions blank. Another slave girl, a Rattataki woman who had been scrubbing something on the floor, also stopped and rose to her full height, an icy expression on her face.

“I see,” Neyrr said quietly. “You’re after him, aren’t you?”

Tezalt kept his eyes on the Rattataki woman as she slowly moved to take position behind the Hawk-bats. They did not seem to notice her, their attention solely on Neyrr, as Face said, “I’m sorry?”

Neyrr continued talking but Tezalt tuned him out as he readied his sniper rifle, loading it with his two darts. One of them was poison while the other carried a sleeping agent. As he started to take aim, he debated in his head who he would hit with each dart. At that moment, he heard Face speak with a hint of apprehension in his voice.

“And what did you tell those bounty hunters?”

“I didn’t need to tell them anything,” Neyrr coolly responded. “Their fate was the same as what yours will be: Death.”

Tezalt saw a flash of silver as the Rattataki woman drew a knife from a hidden sheath on her thigh. Instinctively, Tezalt pulled the trigger of his rifle and one of the two darts flew out and struck her in the neck. Before she even hit the floor, he redirected his aim to Neyrr and fired the second dart, hitting the Koorivar in the same spot. 

An armored guard that had been standing there prepared to draw his weapon but Kell got to him first, grabbing his arm and forcefully bending it in a way that arms were not meant to bend in. As the guard cried out in pain over the sound of cracking bones, Kell wrenched the blaster free from his grip and pressed it against his chest. He pulled the trigger and Tezalt saw a flash of light before the guard crumpled lifelessly to the floor. All that remained were the other dancers, who continued to stand there with blank expressions, barely reacting at all to what had just happened.

When Tezalt emerged from around the corner he was hiding behind, Face was kneeling beside Neyrr’s body, checking for a pulse. “Blast it, Tezalt,” he muttered, glaring at the Duros. “He’s dead. We could have brought him in for questioning.”

Tezalt stared back at him before nodding over to the Rattataki woman. “What about her?”

Dia checked the woman’s vitals before reporting back, “She’s alive. Unconscious, but alive.”

“I hit her with a sleeping agent,” Tezalt explained. “We can bring her in for questioning.”

“Why didn’t you hit Neyrr with the sleeping agent?” Kell asked, not bothering to hide the complaint in his voice. “He’s the one who would have had all the answers. I doubt she knows anything.”

“Look, I panicked, okay?” Tezalt snapped. “She was about to kill you and I reacted without thinking. I was going to hit Neyrr first and then her, but then….”

The Duros trailed off and Face sighed. “Well, it’s too late at this point. We’ll bring her in and let someone else take care of Neyrr.”

“What about the dancers?” Kell asked.

Dia turned to them, looking at their blank faces, and spread her arms. “You are no longer tethered to this man! Seize this chance to embrace your freedom! You can hold the Hawk-bats in your debt for giving you this opportunity.”

The dancers glanced amongst themselves, uncertain expressions on their faces. Then, a Nautolan dancer said, “Can we join you?”

Dia blinked in confusion and Face looked up from Neyrr’s body. “I’m… I’m sorry?” the former asked.

“We have nowhere else to go,” said a Theelin performer. “We’ve been cut off from our homes, from our families. We have no means of transportation and whoever comes in to take Neyrr’s place will simply treat us the same way he did us, if not worse. I may not speak for everyone here, but… I would like to join the Hawk-bats.”

The Nautolan dancer nodded in agreement, as did several of the others. In fact, all of them did save for Piggy, who was now staring at Face with an expression that Tezalt thought suggested some sort of twisted amusement.

With a heavy sigh, Face said, “Aye. Let me call for transportation and we can discuss details later. I just hope there’ll be enough room for all of you….”