Destinies Untold is going to be a series of Star Wars stories separate from the main storyline in Vergence.
Rishi, 5 years after the Battle of Endor
“Okay. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. A Jedi and a—”
“I’ve heard it a million times, Gerrin,” Jador groaned, running a hand over his face. “Please, just for once, spare us your terrible jokes.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!” Gerrin protested, his tiny teeth showing over his bulbous chin. “A Jedi and an X-wing pilot walk into a… no, wait. A Jedi and a—”
“Stuff it,” snapped Zadan, the third member of Jador’s party. Wearing a vocoder due to his species’ lack of vocal chords, the Anomid’s voice came as a sharp, mechanical rasp that drew the attention of anyone who heard it. At the very least, it was enough for Gerrin to quiet down and return to his plate of Drutash grubs.
Jador sighed as he shook his head, glancing around the mostly quiet cantina. While Rishi had been a necessary stop, it was still much too close to Hutt Space for his liking. While the three of them did not have that large a bounty on their heads individually, as a package it was enough to entice any bounty hunter looking to make a quick credit. It didn’t help that Rishi was somewhat of a haven for unsavory characters ranging from smugglers to pirates to mercenaries. If there was ever a place in the galaxy for a bounty hunter to start looking for someone like Jador, it was here.
Tapping his fingers nervously on the table, Jador glanced back at Gerrin. “Are you about done already?” he asked impatiently.
“What’s the rush?” the Keteerian replied, slurping a worm into his mouth.
“We shouldn’t linger on any planet for too long. The Hutts probably have people looking everywhere for us. We should keep moving if we want to shake them off our tail.”
“It might be too late for that,” Zadan intoned dryly.
Jador felt the color leave his face. “Why do you say that?”
The Anomid made a single gesture with his head and Jador quickly looked over his shoulder to see an armored figure step into the cantina. They were covered head to toe in brown and silver durasteel armor, a helmet distinguished by a T-shaped visor covering their face. After taking a quick scan of the establishment, they began to make their way over to the bar, where a Snivvian tender was waiting to serve him.
“A Mandalorian,” Jador breathed, turning back to the others. “You don’t see much of them lately.”
“That’s not just any Mandalorian,” Zadan hissed, lowering the volume of his vocoder enough so that only the other two could hear him. “That’s the Mandalorian.”
“Can’t say I’m familiar with him.”
“He works for the Bounty Hunters’ Guild; specifically the house on Nevarro. I don’t think he’s ever let a bounty get away from him. He is relentless and ruthless; never a good combination.”
“You think he’s after us?” Jador asked.
“Rishi’s a pretty crowded place,” said Gerrin. “There’s bound to be someone else here with a bounty on their head. Just relax and act cool and maybe he won’t notice us.”
“Wishful thinking never ends well,” muttered Zadan. “I say we just leave now.”
“No, that would look too suspicious. He would surely notice us.”
“What’s he doing now?” Jador asked Zadan, who had a clear view of the Mandalorian.
“He’s just sitting at the bar with his drink,” the Anomid replied. “I don’t know how he plans to drink that without taking off that bucket of his.”
Jador drew in his breath, putting a hand on his knee to keep it from shaking too much. “What’s a Mandalorian doing all the way out here anyway? I thought their sector was liberated after the Empire collapsed.”
“It was, but the clans are in disarray. The Imperial occupation of Mandalore doubled the number of splinter factions, and they each have a different idea of how Mandalore should be ruled. Unless they can put aside their differences and reconcile, it’s just an endless cycle of chaotic infighting from here on out.”
“How do you know so much about Mandalorian politics anyway?” Gerrin asked.
“I’ve worked with a few Mandos in my time. None of them were like him though.”
“Have you worked with him before?” Jador asked.
Zadan hastily shook his head. “No, thank stars. But I have worked with Ran and he told me….”
He trailed off and Jador watched as his pupils dilated, causing his own heart to begin skipping every other beat.
“He’s getting up from his stool,” Zadan said, his voice lower than a whisper.
“And?” Jador hissed back.
“And he’s walking over to us.”
As soon as the Anomid had spoken these words, Jador heard the sound of boots softly hitting against the wooden planks of the floor and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt the presence of someone standing behind him. An arm then reached over his shoulder and dropped three puck-shaped devices onto the table between the three patrons, switching them on one by one. As Jador, Gerrin, and Zadan all stared at the small holographic representations of their faces, a cold voice spoke from behind Jador.
“I can bring you in warm… or I can bring you in cold.”
Jador barely had time to process those words when Gerrin suddenly sprang into action. He pulled his chair back so fast that it fell to the floor, drew his blaster so fast that it sent his plate of worms flying off the table, and yet none of these movements were fast enough for him to avoid being shot square in the chest from a single blaster bolt fired from the Mandalorian’s blaster pistol, which he had somehow managed to draw in all that time.
Zadan was the next to move, leaping out of his own seat and unsheathing a vibroblade from a scabbard on his back. Jador heard the first notes of what might have been a battle cry until he felt the heat of another blaster bolt whiz past his head and fly straight between the Anomid’s eyes.
Before Zadan’s body had even hit the floor, Jador could already feel the barrel of the Mandalorian’s blaster pressing against his temple. Swallowing hard, he slowly and deliberately held his hands up, making sure they were as far away from his holstered blaster as possible.
“Warm,” he croaked. “I choose warm.”
“Smart,” was all the Mandalorian said.
OF WRAITHS AND RAZOR CRESTS
PART I
Nevarro
“It’s a shame you had to kill Zadan Isp. I hear the Crymorah had a pretty hefty price for him alive.”
Greef Karga glanced up at the Mandalorian sitting across from him as he counted the bounty hunter’s payout. He knew it was futile trying to gauge one’s expression when they hid their face with a mask all the time, but even with those Greef was usually able to get a read on their body language after working with them long enough. But not with Mando, as he had taken to calling this one. There was no getting a read on Mando, ever after all the years they had spent working together.
“Still,” Greef went on. “All’s well that ends well. I’m sure Raaxus the Hutt will be pleased to add Jador to his collection of carbonite-frozen freaks.”
As he said this, he slid the stack of credits over to Mando, who accepted them without a word. After counting them himself and storing them away, the Mandalorian lifted his masked face to look at Greef again.
“Do you have any other jobs?”
Greef chuckled. “Eager to get back to work, are we?” He considered for a moment before reaching into his pouch and putting a new puck on the table between them. He activated it and the image of a heavily scarred man materialized.
“This is one that I’ve been sitting on for a while. Doctor Cornelius Evazan, wanted in over twelve systems on various accounts of medical malpractice and all sorts of twisted experiments. He was reported to have died on Necropolis nine years ago but word’s gotten around that he’s still alive and kicking.”
“Do you have any leads on him?” the Mandalorian asked.
“Nothing solid, I’m afraid. He’s been spotted all over the galaxy. I can give you a list of locations and their time stamps, but that’s all I’ve got.”
“I’ll take it.” Mando grabbed the puck off the table as he got up from his seat. Without another word, he headed for the door and was out of the common house before Greef even had a chance to stop him if he wanted to.
Not much for goodbyes, that one is. Greef shook his head. But if he gets the job done, then who am I to complain?
Wielu
It should have been a normal shore leave. Originally, it had been just that, but some genius had decided along the way that it would provide a good opportunity to perform some undercover work while still, perhaps paradoxically, enjoying some much needed rest and recreation. They had gotten some intelligence on an abandoned Imperial outpost located on the planet they would be visiting, so surely it wouldn’t have hurt to check it out.
Only it did hurt. Because apparently their information on the outpost was either outdated or a deliberate misdirection, because as it turned out the base was still swarming with stormtroopers. They had made it as far as the main control center when the white-armored soldiers began marching into the corridor behind them, opening fire with E-11 blaster rifles. Catching them unawares, the stromtroopers had managed to score a few hits before their targets managed to find cover and started firing back, leading them to the predicament they were in now.
Yes, it should have been a normal shore leave. But when it came to Wraith Squadron, “normal” tended to launch itself out of the airlock.
Huddled behind a terminal station that was serving as cover, Face Loran—the self-proclaimed “genius” who had come up with said undercover mission—looked over to the Devaronian medic and his human patient that he was protecting.
“How is he, Eleven?” Face asked over the sound of blaster fire.
“I’m great, thanks for asking,” replied Elassar Targon.
“I’m talking about Kell, laserbrain.”
“A few minor abrasions, but he’ll be fine.”
Kell Tainer, the man in question, managed to lift his arm long enough to give a weak thumbs-up.
Face gave a single nod before emerging from behind his cover to squeeze out a few more blaster shots, taking down two more stormtroopers in the process. He took the opportunity to scan the area for the other Wraiths, seeing no sign of them. Most likely they were taking cover as well, adding to the crossfire whenever he wasn’t looking. At least, he hoped that was the case. It was better than considering the alternative.
Another stormtrooper suddenly appeared from around the corner and Face quickly ducked to avoid their blaster shot. As he did, he caught Elassar staring at him and looked over at the medic.
“You know,” the Devaronian said. “This was a very stupid idea.”
Face scowled. “I know.”
“I mean, sneaking into an abandoned Imperial outpost without at least triple-checking our information is one thing—”
“I know.”
“—and going in without at least pretending to be stealthy or quiet is another—”
“I know.”
“—and don’t get me started on that whole thing with the cameras—”
“Eleven, if you shut up, I promise to pay for your funeral.”
Elassar seemed to give the idea some thought. “Well, that’s considerate of you, at least….”
Ignoring him, Face reached for his comlink and called into it. “Wraiths! Please tell me you’re alive, even if it means you’re just huddled behind cover doing nothing.”
“Eight here,” same the mechanical voice of Piggy. “Two's working on slicing into the computers to get the turrets online.”
“Turrets?” Face echoed. “This place has turrets.”
“Yes. I suggest you get down as low as you can because this could get—”
The rest of the Gamorrean’s speech was drowned out by the whir and whine of turrets deploying from compartments in the ceiling. Face heard the stormtroopers react in alarm before screaming as the guns fired upon them. The Imperial soldiers started to exchange fire with the automated guns, and a burst of sparks above Face told him that they succeeded in destroying at least one turret. The crossfire continued for another few minutes before things all of a sudden got very quiet. The turrets made another whining sound as they powered down, and Face could no longer hear the sound of marching boots or any other sort of movement.
Slowly and carefully, he emerged from behind his cover to see the corridor littered with the bodies of dead stormtroopers, with no live ones in sight. From behind the terminal adjacent to the one he had been using as cover, Piggy poked his head out, followed by Shalla Nelprin and a young blue-skinned woman. Idra Daloo was one of the newer additions to Wraith Squadron, a Wroonian slicer who had nearly been kicked out of the Academy for allegedly slicing into simulation computers to catch a classmate for cheating. Regardless of the morality behind her actions, she was clearly good at slicing and the Wraiths had been in need of a good slicer after losing three of them during the hunt for Zsinj over the last couple of years.
As Piggy and his group walked over to join Face, Elassar, and the injured Kell, Piggy handed Face a small cylindrical object.
“What’s this?” Face asked.
“All of the data we were able to extract from the computers,” Piggy explained. “No idea if there’s anything good on it; it was kind of hard to analyze it while we were being shot at.”
“We can check it out once we’re back at the base,” Face said. Speaking into his comlink again, he said, “Seven, this is Leader. We’re done here; be ready to pick us up at the entrance.”
“Copy, Leader,” responded Dia Passik. “Do I want to know what the holdup was?”
“Well, you can come over and look at the dead stormtroopers to get a good idea.”
“I thought the base was supposed to be abandoned.”
“Yeah.” Face grimaced as he surveyed the unsightly scene in front of him. “Clearly, someone didn’t tell them that.”
* * *
Back at the Wraiths’ base (it was supposed to have been their vacation home but clearly that hadn’t worked out), the assembled members of Wraith Squadron were gathered around to listen to Face’s report on his team’s mission as well as whatever information was on the code cylinder that they had managed to extract from the outpost’s computer.
“Most of the data is heavily encrypted,” said Idra Daloo, the team’s new slicer. “It will take me a while to decipher all of it, if even that. What I have been able to decode so far tells something about a person by the name of Evazan.”
Several of the Wraiths shifted uncomfortably at the sound of this name.
“Evazan?” repeated Kell Tainer, a bacta patch taped to his forehead. “I’ve heard of him. He’s a nasty piece of work.”
Face nodded in agreement. “Both Wedge and General Cracken have told me about him. One of his more notorious ‘creations’ are the Decraniated.”
“The what now?” Elassar asked, his face taking on a lighter shade of gray than normal.
“The Decraniated. People who have been stripped of their individuality and made to be as subservient as droids. Heck, even some droids have more freedom than they do. At least some droids like Squeaky have personality. But the Decraniated are emotionless slates.”
“And why would the Empire need or want someone responsible for something like that?” asked Tyria Sarkin, the Wraiths’ designated infiltrator. Face probably should have brought her along to sneak into the Imperial outpost. Then again, he didn’t think an infiltrator would have been necessary for a base that was supposed to have been abandoned.
“The data does not say why Evazan was working with the Empire,” said Idra. “Nor does it say anything about the Decraniated. It could have been for something completely unrelated.”
“I shudder to think what,” opined Lad Tezalt, the team’s Duros sniper.
Face got up from where he was sitting. “Let’s send this information to Cracken and see if he can give us any leads on where Evazan could be. If there’s an Imperial warlord out there making use of his services, then they need to be stopped as soon as possible.”
None of the other Wraiths voiced any disagreement, although Kell did raise his hand to ask, “Does this mean vacation is over?”
“I don’t think it ever really started,” Face said dryly.
* * *
Save for the quiet hum of the engines, the Razor Crest was as silent as it ever was. Just as Din Djarin preferred it.
Navigating the gunship away from Nevarro, the Mandalorian bounty hunter plotted a course for the nearest planet on the list Greef Karga had provided him. Located in the Anoat sector, Bespin didn’t exactly seem like the type of planet someone with Dr. Evazan’s reputation would visit. Cloud City was hardly a festering hive for scum and villainy and a single whiff of criminal activity would get him arrested by the Wing Guard. Still, if Greef Karga’s sources were legitimate, then it was good a place as any to start, if only to get a good lead on the rogue doctor.
As he let the navigational computer do its work, Din could not help but reflect on the conversation he had overheard from Jador and his companions back on Rishi. He had heard them talk about Mandalore and its liberation from the Empire, and about how the disparate Mandalorian clans were fighting over control of the planet. None of this aligned with what he had been told by the Tribe that had raised him. According to them, the Empire had scorched Mandalore to a cinder, rendering it uninhabitable. That was why the Mandalorians were spread out across the galaxy, hiding in coverts on planets such as Nevarro. Was this simply Imperial or even Republic propaganda that Jador and his friends had been spouting?
Din had considered visiting the covert on Nevarro before leaving, to speak with the Armorer that led the Tribe and present her with this information. But he had thought better of it. Besides, what did three rogue smugglers knew about Mandalorian history? It would have been foolish to take anything they had said to heart. There was only one Way of the Mandalore, and that was all that mattered.
Once the computer had finished plotting a course to Bespin, Din Djarin pulled the hyperdrive lever and the stars stretched into thin lines of white.
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