Aliit ori'shya tal'din

Sliding his helmet into place, Caldus meandered through the enclave. He left his filters open, appreciating the heady fragrances drifting from kitchens. Laughter spilled through open doors, and the familiar thump of heavy boots against metal gangplanks loosened the tension in his shoulders.

Outside, the grey sky hung low over the jungle, shedding a constant veil of rain. Storms didn’t often rage on Dromund Kass. The lightning and violence were reserved for the people who lived there. Still, dark clouds rolled across the jungle canopy and the distant horizon flickered with atmospheric displays that never seemed to end. 

Caldus stopped at the railing overlooking a vast jungle. The tops of trees swayed with the wind while pinpricks of shadow moved through their gaps. With the light patter against his beskar, Caldus didn’t register that someone had joined him until she sighed.

Fynta stood with face bared to the sky, eyes closed while rain slicked her skin. She wore faded, grey beskar with no embellishment apart from the dents and dings from battle. It was a neutral color that set her apart from the stylized traditions of their people. Altan had chosen reds and yellows in honor of his birth parents and his new beginning with Jos and Valk. Caldus was pure vengeance. 

When Caldus grunted to get the woman’s attention, her lips pulled into an annoying smirk. “It’s refreshing out here.” Fynta opened one eye to glance up at Caldus. “Like I can finally take a full breath.”

That was fair. Hutta had reeked and the pit cages must have been worse. Since they were both standing in the rain, Caldus leaned against the railing to put himself closer to Fynta’s height so that he could be heard over the leaf slapping deluge. “Why were you there?”

Fynta blinked, her blue eyes flashing in the near constant lightning from above. “I hear what you’re asking, but I’m not tracking the meaning.”

”What made you choose to go into those pits?” Caldus gestured at her smaller form. Even in heavy armour, she seemed breakable.

Fynta had been impressive on the sands, but Caldus also hadn’t missed the cuts and bruises that marred her body when she came upstairs in a pair of too small shorts on the Mantis. Nor the scars. “I know Cinlat was a slave there, but you weren’t. Why is it your place to free them?”

The question sounded shallow, but part of Caldus needed to know what drove her, and why no one had done something similar for him. Not until Altan and Jos, at least. He owed them more than he could ever repay.

Fynta shrugged and propped her forearms on the railing beside his. The act felt oddly familiar, and Caldus resisted the urge to jerk away. Fynta didn’t seem to notice. “No one else was going to. Who gives a wamp rat’s shebs about some dirty little alien kids on a backwater planet, right?” 

Caldus bristled, but Fynta kept talking, her arm sweeping out over the jungle. “This was never meant to be us, vod. We are a free people, so why do we bow to the Empire? We are supposed to be better than this.” Fynta’s tone took on a bitter note, the words half laughed while lacking amusement.

“Mandalorians are a historically violent and volatile society.” Caldus countered; after all, his species had been pushed to near extinction because of them. Then it occurred to him. “You weren’t born into Clan Ordo were you?”

This time, Fynta snorted. Caldus wondered if it sounded as painful when he did it. “No. My clan was on the losing side. Only a few of us made it out; I only did because of Verin. I’d just passed my verd’goten the day before. We were celebrating. But I was useless in the fight.”

Fynta tilted her head up again. “We were all those little kids that needed rescuing. Me, Cin and Verin.” Again, a single blue eyes opened to pin Caldus with its speculation. “You too, I think. We can’t save them all, but we can save some.”

While Fynta went back to enjoying the rain, Caldus pondered an alternate path where he had been rescued. What would his life have looked like without the shit they’d dragged his soul through? Maybe he’d be halfway decent. Someone who didn’t snarl when people got too close. 

“What really happens to the ones who have nowhere to go?” He knew what Cinlat told Altan, but Caldus also knew where the profit margin for marginally healthy kids registered.

Tilting her head, Fynta brought her brows together as she looked up at Caldus. Though he was still safely ensconced in his helmet, he felt like she was staring directly into his soul. He saw the recognition then, the way those brows sprung apart as she pieced together bits of his story that he wasn’t ready to share. “Forget I asked.” 

Caldus shoved from the railing, but Fynta stopped him with her answer. “Cin didn’t lie to you, the organization we work for places those kids with vetted families who know how to deal with traumatized children.” 

Instead of stomping away, Caldus returned to the railing. He didn’t lean against it this time, but let his palm rest on the slick metal. Maybe he was crazy, but Caldus desperately wanted to know that there was still good in this galaxy. He needed Fynta and Cinlat, even Verin, to be the real heroes he’d always looked for.  

The rain grew heavier and Fynta blinked at the roiling sky. “This place sucks. Want to have some fun?”

Fynta was already walking backwards towards the enclave entrance. Caldus followed, but he kept his guard up. “Depends on what your idea of fun is.” Her answering grin made his fur stand on end. At least, until she patted the blaster attached to her thigh. “Shooting range?” 

“What else?” Fynta chuckled and spun on her booted toe, the cybernetic landing with a loud clang. “Give your brother a call, I’d love to see if the rumors about his aim are true.”

Caldus hesitated, then rang Altan. His brother didn’t answer immediately, and when he did, there was a grogginess to his speech that suggested an impromptu nap. “Want to meet Fynta and me at the range?”

”Really?” Caldus heard the rustling of his brother scrambling. “Yeah, what should I bring?”

Caldus glanced at the black hair leading him deeper into the Mandalorian Enclave. “Bring the rifle, let’s put on a show.” 

“Awesome.” Altan disconnected the call. He’d gone from half asleep to fully alert in seconds. Normally, it took Caldus’s constant nagging to get the younger Togruta moving. 

As he followed Fynta, Caldus allowed himself a satisfied smile. The excitement in Altan’s voice eased something tight in his chest. Altan wanted space to grow, but Caldus was having trouble giving it to him. He’d only had this life for seven years, and he wasn’t ready to let go of the few people who meant so much to him.

Caldus lengthened his steps to catch up with Fynta. The deeper they traversed into the enclave, the fewer helmets were within view. Caldus’s fingers twitched, but he eventually reached up and pulled it from his head. A few passers by took a second look at him, but most nodded and moved on. 

Fynta palmed open the door and practically hopped down the familiar steps. The smell of burnt ozone and scorched duracrete hit immediately. He snagged a pair of frequency blockers from the table at the bottom and let the crack of blaster fire fade into a low thump that he felt more than heard.

As Caldus turned to offer a pair to Fynta, she went still, then stooped lower and began to creep forward. Caldus leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching with muted interest as she drew closer to a specific Mandalorian on the firing line.

The blond human had his elbows propped on a stand, eye pressed to the sight of a rifle. The redhead beside him mirrored Fynta’s grin, nodding encouragement. The smaller woman looked familiar; the mismatched eyes and cybernetics wrapping the side of her face tugged at a memory.

Caldus watched Fynta take up position directly behind the unsuspecting man. The cacophony of an active shooting range disguised any noise she might have made. Not to mention the redhead’s laughter. 

Caldus wasn’t sure of Fynta’s intention until he saw the tell-tale deep breath of a man about to pull the trigger. She saw it too and jabbed her fingers into the section between his chestplate and pauldrons. The blond human jerked back with a curse as the shot went wide, and the two women howled in laughter. 

“Megin utreekov…” The man’s ire morphed into a wide grin when he found Fynta standing behind him. He had Fynta by a few inches, sweeping her into his arms and spinning her around. “Jate haa'taylir gar, Akalenedat.” 

Caldus snorted at the nickname he’d heard attributed to Fynta before. Hard Contact. Obviously the Pits weren’t the only place Fynta liked to fight. 

Ruffling the blond’s already disheveled hair, Fynta bumped fists with the redhead once her feet were back on the ground. At last, the woman remembered that Caldus waited by the door and waved him over. “This is my partner for a while, Caldus Bruun. Caldus, this is Torian Cadera, and Jurr—”

“Fett,” Caldus realized. When the redhead tilted her head, eyes squinted as if trying to place him, he clarified. “We haven’t met, but you grew up with my brother.”

“Oh.” Jurr squinted harder, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever meeting a Cathar. But, my memory isn’t what it should be.” A little of the light left her eyes, but the smile remained friendly.

Caldus opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard the distant footsteps of a lanky Togruta on the stairs. He smiled politely and stepped to the side so that Altan would have an unobstructed view of his childhood friend. He knew that Jurr sent updated images of her cybernetics when they changed so that his brother wouldn’t forget her face. It also amused him that in all the things the two talked about through texting, it never occurred to either to mention they might be on the same planet.

As expected, the footsteps stumbled at the bottom. No doubt Altan saw his old friend immediately, but it took Jurr a few seconds to pry her attention from Caldus. When she did, those formally dull eyes lit with excitement and an ear piercing squeal of glee ripped from the small woman as she took off in Altan’s direction.

Caldus watched Jurr sprint towards his brother and resisted the urge to intervene. She stopped directly in front of Altan’s wide eyed and frozen form, but she didn’t hug him. Caldus could see the girl vibrating with the desire to do so. Instead, she stretched her hand between them and grinned. “Hey, Altan.”

Finally, his brother broke into a wide smile. To Caldus’s surprise, the Togruta wrapped one hand around his small friend and tugged her in for a stiff embrace. Caldus hoped the girl appreciated the effort that took his brother. 

“Childhood friends, huh?” Torian asked, thumbs hooked in his belt while he smiled at the two. “You must be the one she’s always texting. Can’t pry the damn datapad out of her hands.” Caldus grunted in understanding.

Fynta clapped her hands, calling everyone’s attention to her. “This is even better since I’m terrible at introductions. Altan, this is Torian. Since you already know Jurr, let’s have some fun, yeah?”

The next two hours disappeared beneath friendly competition and a mountain of spent practice ammo. Altan and Jurr, also trained with a sniper rifle, were currently trying to see who could shoot further. She had the advantage with her cybernetic hookup to the scope, but Altan didn’t seem to care. Caldus hadn’t seen his brother so relaxed since they left Rishi. 

The smell of cleaning solvent and hot metal hung thick around the work bench while half-disassembled weapons littered the surface. “So, how do you all know each other?” Caldus asked while scrubbing the firing pin in his blaster. He’d taken his turn, but spent most of his time watching Altan dial in his rifle.

Everyone knew the name Cadera. The family’s patriarch had started the rebellion that Fynta lost her family to. The stain of that failure still clung to his son. Jurr was a Fett, another prestigious and old family name. Caldus was more interested in how far back they went as a group. Fynta mentioned being on the losing side of that brief war too. Had she been a part of the Cadera Clan?

“Fynta and Verin joined Clan Ordo after my verd’goten. They were older than the rest of us, but that just meant they had better imaginations when it came to getting into trouble.” Torian chuckled at Fynta’s agreeable nod. “They taught a whole generation a lot of bad habits.”

“I honestly don’t remember how I met Jurr,” Fynta added. 

Before she could continue, Torian coughed into his fist. “You were drunk.”

“Probably.” Fynta tapped the tattoo surrounding her right eye. “Jurr is a hell of an artist; even as a kid. She liked to take advantage of inebriated vod for practice.”

“Still does,” Torian interrupted again. Caldus felt like he was watching a verbal sparring match as much as the two went back and forth.

Fynta huffed a laugh full of unhealthy pride before continuing. “She offers a bet, usually something involving coordination, then gets to use a piece of their flesh for practice when they inevitably fail. I think she was practicing lines and curves that night. I don’t remember exactly what I agreed to, but I woke up with this and a headache from the Void the next morning.”

Torian cleared his throat. “You told her that you believed in her dreams and to make sure her art would be displayed for everyone to see. Then you passed out.”

“So, no drinking for you on the mission,” Caldus concluded. 

Torian barked a laugh while Fynta pulled an affronted expression that reminded Caldus too much of Verin. “I’ll have you know, my alcohol tolerance is much better now.”

When Caldus didn’t respond, Torian smirked. Movement caught his attention just as Jurr and Altan returned to the table they had claimed. “That is amazing tech. And your aim is insane,” Altan said while breaking down his rifle. He didn’t so much as glance at the rest of them, but Caldus was used to that. 

“I guess our Ge’tal’ika won?” Torian smiled fondly at the girl who beamed in response. Altan merely nodded, having no problem being beaten by superior technology. 

It wasn’t until the conversation had progressed without input from Fynta that Caldus realized she was gone. Her blasters had been dismantled and halfway cleaned, the rod and cloth still jammed down the barrel. Caldus glanced around the room, finally spotting the woman against the back wall with one hand covering her ear. Their eyes met, and she nodded at the mess before him. Caldus got the message, and set about finishing the task of cleaning her weapons while Altan started on his.

When Fynta rejoined them, Torian was mid-story about some trouble she and Jurr had found in a cave on Corellia. The woman in question clapped a hand on his shoulder. “As much as I’m sure these two would love to hear more disastrous stories from our childhood, we have to go.” 

Caldus handed Fynta her reassembled blasters and watched her check them before sliding each one into the holsters on her hips. “Cinlat and Verin have information for us?”

“We need to get back too,” Torian added, nudging Jurr while she and Altan had their heads together in quiet conversation. Both looked up like they’d forgotten about everyone else, then Jurr rolled her mismatched eyes. 

Caldus waited for the group to move, replacing the frequency blockers in a long line with the others. Torian took the lead, Fynta squeezing in behind him while they chatted about who would win the Melee. Now that his ears were uncovered, he heard the uneven clang of each step Fynta’s cybernetic struck. 

The datapad on Fynta’s belt vibrated, catching Caldus’s attention. Even on the step behind her, he could still see the screen as she thumbed it on. “Tonight?”

If Fynta was annoyed that Caldus had read over her shoulder, she didn’t show it. “Yeah, looks like Imp Intel has run out of patience.” Torian asked about the contract she’d accepted, and she shrugged before hooking the device back to her belt.

Behind them, Jurr and Altan still murmured to one another. Caldus caught the odd word echoing up the tunnel and smiled. Blaster sights. Tech upgrades. And—Bantha farms? He must have missed something as someone had chosen that moment to activate a weapon that resulted in a floor rattling boom below them.

Just not the head he had requested. 

Using her ability with the Force to get an audience with Huttsbane and one of their spiritual leaders, Noara had laid out her dilemma and plan. The freedom fighter had hated the idea, threatened to just kill her himself and be done with it, but the Elder had seen the wisdom in it. The head in the bag belonged to a young Evocaii male who had died the day before from swamp fever. The Elder had promised her it wouldn’t be infectious anymore but she was still very glad to have it out of her hands. 

As expected, the Houk didn’t even open the bag to inspect the contents. 

“Who's more savage? The savage or the savage-killer?” Nem’ro asked. 

“Uh... wait, I know this one....”

“Shut up, Carnus.” Nem’ro said, sounding irritated before turning his attention back to Noara. “One time might be luck. Your next target will not be so easy to reach, though he shouldn't put up much of a fight when you find him.”

Internally Noara wanted to groan. Of course he wasn’t done making her prove herself. 

Nem’ro continued, unaware of her annoyance. “How much do you know of what is happening here on Hutta?”

“Some kind of turf war between you and another Hutt.” Make had told her a little about the unrest in Jigunna when they arrived but she hadn’t been too concerned with the finer details at the time. 

“The upstart Fa'athra lays claim to things that are mine. He moves against my factories, sends his scum to make trouble in Jiguuna. Some fools think Fa'athra is becoming a stronger Hutt than Nem'ro. One is Yalt, my ex-accountant. Yalt now works for Fa'athra at the factory in the Rust Yards. The accountant must die for his betrayal.”

“You're kind of a one-solution Hutt, aren’t you?”

“I like things simple,” Nem’ro said with a deep laugh. 

Noara forced a smile, “anything else I should know before I head out?” She hoped not but needed to make sure she had all the relevant information to get that sponsorship. 

“After the accountant Yalt is dead, take his head to the cantina. Yalt's wife works there. She encouraged his disloyalty to me. Give Yalt's head to her.”

It took all of Noara’s self control not to show her dismay at his instructions. Another head? What was his fixation on heads? Taking the man’s head to his wife just seemed unnecessarily cruel. “Harassing people isn't exactly my line of work.” she said, not feeling much hope she could work around that part. 

“If you're going to the Great Hunt, you must be willing to do anything, little girl.”

For once she couldn’t even argue internally with the Hutt and it left a very sour feeling in her gut. 

Noara wasn’t sure she could keep the disgust off of her face as she left Nem’ro’s palace and headed directly back to the Poison Pit. She knew she should head out on his errand directly, but she wanted to check in with Mako and see if she was okay. They had talked over their comms when Noara was finishing up with Huttsbane and she had sounded very freaked out about the “bone face” guy. She also wanted to see if she was okay after taking care of the others, burying Braden and Jory wouldn’t be easy. She was struggling with their sudden deaths and she had barely known them, Mako was far more attached. 

She found the slicer right where she expected, leaning over the computer terminal with her fingers going a mile a minute. “Hey Mako,” she said, hopping up to sit on the edge of the table and digging around in her bag looking for an energy bar to eat. 

Mako turned around and smiled, “how did it go with Nem’ro?”

“He made me deliver a head to him.” Noara frowned, that was a memory she didn’t want to have. “Now he wants me to go kill his accountant, who defected to work for Fa'athra, cut off his head and deliver it to the man’s wife.”

Mako’s eyes widened and she opened her mouth. Then closed it. Then her whole body shuddered in revulsion. “Are you going to do that?”

Grimacing, Noara huffed out a breath. “I don’t know, maybe? I don’t want to but if it’s that or the mission… and catching up with Tarro Blood.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out how far I am willing to go today.” Really that had been the theme of her day, pushing her line in the sand back farther and farther than she ever imagined. And she wasn’t even in the hunt yet. 

“I appreciate you wanting to help me avenge Braden and Jory,” Mako said, “but I'd understand if this is too much.”

“Thanks, it’s not too much yet. I can manage,” Noara said, looking again for her energy bar and giving up when she realised it wasn’t there. “I should get something to eat then head out.”

“You stay here and relax for a minute, I’ll go grab us some grub.” Mako said, heading for the door when Noara nodded gratefully. 

It had been a long day and she could use a moment to turn her brain off. Reaching into her bag she pulled out her datapad and opened the holonovel program. She had only read for a few minutes when she sensed four people heading toward their room. Dropping her datapad she grabbed the nearest weapon, her shoto saber, and pressed herself against the wall just to the side of the doorway. 

It was only a moment later that four figures crossed the threshold, three in what she recognized as Mandalorian armor and one wearing a dark red hood over his montrals.

“We plan,” the one closest to her, in armor painted brown and orange, said as he stepped into the room and Noara moved before they could spot her. 

Using just enough of Force to make sure she could move him, she pushed the armored man against the wall and held her now-ignited and glowing blade near his throat. He yelped when she grabbed him but otherwise didn’t react. The three others drew their weapons and Noara prepared to grab her main saber if she needed it. 

“Who are you? More of his lackeys?” Noara hissed, resisting the urge to Force compel him to answer. She was already uncomfortable with how often she had considered manipulating those around her to satisfy her own ends. 

The man raised his empty hands slowly, “We might be in the wrong room.”

”Release him, or I’ll add a new hole to that pretty face, girl,” the only female Mandalorian, who was even more petite than Noara was, in the group snarled. Noara didn’t need to know anything about her to hear the possessiveness in her voice. Good. Hopefully his life being on the line would keep her from shooting until Noara got an answer. Shooting her now would no doubt make her hand twitch and it would be yet another decapitated head on Hutta. It was becoming a morbid theme to her day. 

”Whoa, what the—“ Mako ran into the room, shoving the Torgruta’s arm away when he tried to bar her path. “Easy, these are friendly. Sheesh, I leave for five minutes and you’re all ready to kill each other.”

Relief washed over Noara as she lowered her blade, but she kept her other hand on the man’s chestplate, pinning him with just the slightest touch of Force. “you know these Mandalorians, Mako?”

”Yeah, well, mostly.” Her brown eyes widened. “No way, you’re Cinlat. I’ve read all about your tactics. Do you mind if I pick your brain a little? This is our champion for the Great Hunt and I’d love to get a professional’s opinion.”

”Only if she lets my husband go.” The woman’s voice was now emotionless and lacking the possessive undertones. Interesting. She also found it interesting that Cinlat was Force sensitive. It was just a whisper, so faint Noara doubted she could do anything active with it, but definitely noticeable. 

Satasafied these were not more of Tarro Blood’s lackeys, Noara deactivated her saber and stepped away from the man she had threatened. Truthfully she was glad she hadn’t had to kill him. This mission would contain enough death already without her adding to it unnecessarily.  

“Sorry, we’ve run into some bad luck with Mandalorians lately.” 

Mako’s shoulder slumped at her words and she wanted to kick herself for reminding the other woman of her loss. “Are you okay with them? I need to—do something.” 

”I’m good. Be careful out there.” Mako said, passing her the wrap of questionable meat she had been holding and waiving her away before turning back to the Mandalorians. “Sorry. Like Noara said, we’ve hit a rough patch. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

Noara didn’t stick around long enough to hear what the Mandalorians wanted. If Mako wanted to share her business she would later. Right now Noara needed to get some calories into her body and go see a man about a head. 

Maybe. 

Noara needed to send Leena Oran a fruit basket or something. Anything to show her deep appreciation for the stealth generator the other Jedi had given her. It was literally a life saver, keeping her from having to kill Fa'athra’s gangsters and opening herself to potential injury. The time it saved was also a major bonus. As Noara slipped her way past yet another patrol at the edge of the Rust Yards, she could only imagine how long it would have taken to fight her way inside and back out again. 

Instead of a long grueling series of back to back battles she was in and out of Fa'athra’s place in about an hour. It had taken her longer to locate Yalt than it had to get into the compound. 

To her horror the man she had been sent to kill was an elderly man. One stuck between two bickering Hutts threatening him and his family. It had been easier to arrange the farce with Yalt than with Huttsbane, the man was more than willing to disappear. He even offered to crash Fa'athra’s financial accounts to make Nem’ro happy. 

He had even offered her some of the credits, taking some for himself to get him and his wife safely off world. In any other situation Noara would have refused any sort of payment, especially when it felt like she was being paid not to kill him, but Mako had mentioned earlier that most of Braden’s credits had already been tied up in their preparation for the Hunt. The funds would ease the burden of accomplishing their goals. 

With the influx in credits Noara didn’t even think twice about scanning her credit chip to pay for a taxi to take her all the way back to Nem’ro’s place. Watching the trees pass by as the taxi flew, Noara was hit with a deep sense of homesickness. This was by far the longest she had spent away from Naboo since she arrived there as a child. She didn’t remember anything about Ord Mantell, she only knew it was where she was born because it was listed on her personal files in the Jedi Order’s computer system. 

Part of being a Jedi was knowing she wouldn’t live on Naboo all her life, that a more nomadic lifestyle awaited her, but it didn’t stop her longing for the familiarity of the world she knew. She wondered if it would ache less if she was on a planet that wasn’t so obviously sick from the industrial pollution that was slowly choking the life out of Hutta or devoid of natural elements like Nar Shaddaa. 

With the taxi ride it took far less time to arrive at Nem’ro’s ‘palace’ than it had taken to trek through the swamp to Fa'athra’s factory. Yalt had said he would contact his wife and pass on the details of their plan. She only hoped he had, or what she was about to do wasn’t going to work. 

Once again she was walking into the Hutt’s premises with a head sized bag in her fist, though this time it was filled with a wadded up bit of fabric to give it the shape and size of a head. After entering the building she headed for the small cocktail bar set off to the side of the main cantina floor, where Yalt said his wife would be. 

Sure enough an older human female was working the bar that matched his description. 

The woman looked up at her approach and Noara saw a flash of recognition before she smoothed the expression away. Mistress Yalt seemed to be quite the actress, sounding polite but completely casual as she spoke. 

“Hello, can I help you?”

“I bought you something,” Noara said as she tossed the bag, which the woman caught and then recoiled in horror. 

“... what is that? Yalt!” Mistress Yalt screeched her husband’s name, cradling the ‘dead’ to her chest and pushing past Noara to flee the room. Noara watched her go, along with everyone else in the cantina. They wanted a scene no one would miss and the woman had certainly achieved that. 

Now to find out if she had impressed Nem’ro enough to earn that sponsorship. She suspected the Hutt was not done making her jump through hoops. 

Noara had just entered the long hallway leading to Nem’ro’s throne room when she became aware of a presence lurking in the shadows. She turned toward it as a Rodain female stepped forward. 

“Here is the fraud I’ve been looking for. The one pretending to be a bounty hunter.”

Noara had no idea what the Rodain wanted, or why she was being accused of pretending to be a bounty hunter. She was of course, but no one other than Mako knew that for sure. Hoping to goad the Rodain into giving her more information, Noara decided to play dumb. “Hello yourself. How are you doing on this fine day?”

Her tactic proved effective quickly. One of the things Braden had told her while they were preparing for the Hunt on Nar Shaddaa was that some people just could not help but monologue, and if someone started, to let them. You never knew what could be learned, people rarely watched what they said when they assumed they were going to win the impending fight.

The Rodian glared at her, “don't be high-and-mighty! Not with me! Tarro Blood doesn't want you in Great Hunt. Smart person would take the hint. You're not smart. I hear all about how your weak master is butchered! Now you have no team, no support. Tarro Blood tells me I take you out, he makes sure I get in Great Hunt. Even if I have to let Blood win, just being in Great Hunt is big honor. I think after I go in Great Hunt, I come back and have statue made of me stepping on your head.”

There it was, all Noara needed to know. Tarro Blood wasn’t finished trying to prevent her from entering the hunt, but this was a new tactic. Bribing other hunters to join and then throw it wasn’t much more honorable than killing Braden and Jory but at least no one would need to die this time. 

“You're going to join the Great Hunt to throw it?” Noara asked, raising her hand and reaching out to the Rodian’s mind with the Force. “That's a terrible plan. You want to leave this place and rethink your life choices.”

The Rodian’s expression smoothed out and she spoke in a monotone voice, “I want to leave this place and rethink my life choices.” With that the woman turned around and walked away from Noara. 

Glad she was able to avoid unnecessary violence, Noara continued on her way back to the throne room.

Nem'ro was once again pleased to see her, calling out as soon as she entered the room. “There she is! My people say Yalt's wife left town as if all the akk dogs on Hutta were after her. I also saw that you crashed Fa'athra's accounts. Above and beyond, bounty hunter. Truly powerful.”

“I aim to please,” Noara said, putting her hands on her hips and fixing him with a serious look. “Now you can see how capable I am. Put me in the Great Hunt, Nem'ro.”

“Soon, soon, my impatient bounty hunter.” Nem’ro gestured for her to come closer. Noara obliged but she wasn’t happy to be standing closer than necessary to the hutt. Speaking quieter than she thought him capable of, he continued speaking. “I have one more simple task for you. Something I need an outsider for. There is a traitor in my house, someone who works for Fa'athra’s interests over mine. My own beastmaster, he plots against me and thinks I do not know. He is down in the beast pits below us, go and pull the alarm switch to draw him out. Kill him and rid my house of traitorous scum.”

He gestured to the large retractable doors built into the floor below him as he spoke and Noara understood his meaning. The pits were made for Nem’ro and his guests to watch the fights, he would no doubt be watching his next assignment he had given her. 

There would be no trick or sight of hand she could pull this time to avoid violence.

“Will this truly be the last thing you will ask of me? I want that sponsorship.” Noara wanted to hear him confirm it before she agreed to what would obviously be entertainment for him and his guests. 

“You don't trust me, little bounty hunter?” Noara gave him a pointed look and he laughed again. “Smart. Fight for me and will get what you deserve.”

Somehow Noara doubted it would be that simple but, like in many things, it did not appear she had a choice. 

Carnus led her to the lifts on the other side of the palace and told her the bottom floor was where the entrance to the Beast Pits was. 

“Try not to lose fast,” he said with a grin, “make fight fun to watch little girl.”

Scowling at his back, Noara stepped into the lift and selected the right floor. As the car began to move she pulled out her blaster. It had been in an underarm holster for the entirety of her time on Hutta. So far she had not felt the need to use it since Vexx’s hideout. Really the last time she had used a weapon that day was to threaten that Mandalorian she mistook for one of Blood’s minions. 

However she suspected the Beastmaster would not face her in a fair fight and the animal fighting pits of the Hutts were common knowledge, even to her. She didn’t know what they would have to throw at her, she needed to be ready for anything. 

Stepping off the lift Noara followed a short hallway and then a large cavernous space opened before her. The ground was covered in sand and rocks and along the walls were multiple animal enclosures. She could see the animals pacing behind their bars and did not think for a moment they would hesitate to attack if unleashed. 

Blaster still in hand, Noara crossed the space and approached the alarm Nem’ro had spoken of. It was set next to another space blocked off by a set of barred doors, but on the other side was not an animal enclosure. It looked like the Beastmaster’s living quarters. 

Since there was nothing else to do, Noara hit the alarm. Three things happened at once, and none of them were a surprise. An alarm rang out, the Beastmaster, a human male with an impressive beer gut appeared behind the bars in front of her, and the ceiling started to retract. Noara could already hear the voices of Nem’ro’s guests and the loud rubble of his laughter. 

Beastmaster laughed as he appeared, “you call me just like Nem'ro said you would. So stupid. Now I kill you and Nem'ro give me big reward.”

“At least one of us is being played here.” Noara said, and she had a feeling it was her. There was no sense of deception in the man’s words. The Hutt had no intention of giving her the sponsorship, he just wanted a show. 

One she wasn’t sure she wanted to star in.

The Beastmaster was reaching for a control panel on the wall and she only had a split second to act. With the blaster already in her hand it was easy to lift and shoot before he reached the bottom that would release the beasts. 

The Beastmaster went down with a cry and she could hear the people above her reacting. Apparently they were not entertained. 

Turning she looked at where Nem’ro was seated and glared at the Hutt. It was clear from his expression he had not expected her actions. Shaking her head she holstered her blaster and stride back across the sand toward the lift. 

“Clever hunter!” Nem’ro said when she entered the throne room. “You killed the beastmaster and kept him from unleashing his terrible beasts on you. I confess I wanted to see how you would fare against them. See how you’d do in the Hunt firsthand.”

Noara stopped several feet away from the Hutt and placed her hands on her hips, looking up at him and for once letting her true feelings show. “Am I meant to believe that? I know you told the beastmaster he would be rewarded for killing me.”

“Now, now don’t be angry little hunter. Deception was the only way I could eliminate my beastmaster without upsetting things here. Carnus here did not think you would survive but I had a feeling you would surprise us all.”

Carnus didn’t look apologetic at all when he shrugged at her. That wasn’t unexpected. 

“I’m good at surprising people but this is enough games Nem’ro, are you going to sponsor me or not?” Patience was something Jedi were known for, and Noara was no exception, but she was running short on it now. 

Nem’ro did that little bob that passed for a head nod. “A representative of the Great Hunt will be here shortly. When he arrives, you would merely have to hand him my sponsorship token to enter the Great Hunt. Unfortunately... I already gave the Great Hunt sponsorship token to someone else.”

Noara closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, reaching out her senses to center herself in the Force. Needing the calming effect it would give her. “Are you telling me you’ve had me running around collecting heads for you for something you can’t even give me?”

“I didn’t expect you to live out the day.” Nem’ro said with a weird shrug and for once Noara thought he was actually being honest. “The sponsorship is just a token, a small holo with my authorization given to its bearer. Someone fierce and deadly on Hutta has the sponsorship token. If you want it so badly, find him and take it! Ha!”

“Really, just like that? No more run around?”

“Yes, yes. If you succeed, I win. If you fail, I still win. Either way, the toughest hunter on Hutta goes to the Great Hunt with my name!”

Noara wanted to call him a cheat. She wanted to point out how insane this was. But she knew neither reaction would help her and really, she wanted to be away from him.“I don’t suppose you are going to tell me who has your sponsorship token, are you Nem'ro?” she asked with a sigh. 

The Hutt laughed, “oh, now, that would make it too easy, wouldn't it? This is a better test, the Hunt won’t give you targets on a platter.”

Fynta was still taking in her new companions when Caldus let a gasp slip. She knew by those widened eyes that Cin had removed her helmet now that they were safely aboard the ship. When Fynta pried her gaze from the brothers, Cinlat was finger combing through white curls that she kept loose even under her helm.

Cin’s paleness made her recognizable, something that the older woman hated. She was beautiful in her own way; Cin hated that too. ”I’ve worked with this organization for years,” she continued, ignoring the staring males as she headed deeper into the ship. “They’ve got contacts in the Jedi Order, Sith Council, Republic and Imperial Military, the underground… their reach spans the galaxy.”

The Torgruta’s posture slumped, air escaping between his lips like maybe he hadn’t been convinced of their motives until just then. It was Caldus who spoke though. “Why did we go through all of this trouble for eleven slaves? It’s hardly a dent in the Hutt’s trade.”

Fynta had heard the phrase voice like rolling thunder from those romance novels circulating the Clans, but his was a fiefreking rockslide. Each growling syllable built on the last until the entire sentence roared to life. Fynta had never heard anything like it, and wondered how best to keep him talking.

Cinlat narrowed those iridescent eyes on the big Cathar, then turned and walked out of the room. “That was rude,” Altan whispered.

Fynta thought it was a fair question. She’d heard of the Beroya Brothers, how Caldus took his Verd’goten at nearly twenty and his ruthlessness when it came to completing his mission. Still, he needed to understand. ”Those scars across Cin’s left eye,” she started. It wasn’t her story to tell, but these two deserved to know why they’d been dragged all over the Hutt world. “She got them in those pits.”

Molten eyes widened, and the Cathar’s chin dropped enough to give Fynta a glimpse of the sharp teeth hidden behind that beard before he snapped it shut. Altan shoved his brother’s shoulder as Fynta headed in the opposite direction of her sister. No doubt Verin was already in the cockpit.

As Cin started up the stairs ,Verin’s voice crackled through the outdated intercom. “Buckle up, we’re about to lift off.” Fynta took one of the chairs built into the wall and pulled the straps across her chest.

Caldus and Altan joined her. While the Cathar remained stoic, Altan had found his voice. It was smooth, like a rare silk. His markings gave the impression of crimson skin the same color as his hood, giving way to a bone white mask. “How often do you do stuff like that?”

Fynta lifted a shoulder. She still wore the silk wraps from the auction, though they were a bit grimy after a trek through the swamp. The stale air of the ship raised goosebumps along her skin. Fynta rubbed her hands along her arms while she spoke. “When we can. Sometimes we learn about the auctions too late, or we’re on the wrong side of the galaxy. A lot has to fall into place to make it work.”

Caldus squeezed into the seat between Fynta and Altan, and she greatly appreciated the warmth he radiated. The man was bigger up close than he had been across the cargo bay, with thighs twice the size of hers. However, when Fynta tried to get closer, the Cathar jerked his leg away. Fynta took the folded arms and stiff posture as a sign that he didn’t want to be touched. Sighing, she leaned back into her chair and tried to think warm thoughts.

”Are you always the bait?” Altan leaned as far forward as the seatbelts would let him to speak around Caldus. The ship rumbled to life, rocking as Verin lifted them off the ground. One lekku slipped free of the hood, now pulled over Altan’s head to hang over his shoulder, his brown eyes wide with anticipation of her answer.

Fynta studied the Togruta and his complex armour. The hood was attached directly to his chestplate, wrapping around it to create a sling or she supposed, a hood when he needed. She’d never given thought to how a Togruta helmet would work either. It looked…complicated. Lots of links and interconnecting parts that retracted into each other.

It wasn’t until Caldus also turned to stare down at Fynta that she realized she hadn’t answered. Despite their efforts to stay separate, he took up more than his fair share of the seats. Fynta pressed her legs tighter together and leaned around him too. “Only recently. It used to be Cin, even Verin has taken turns, but it’s easier for me. I can be…persuassive.”

Caldus rolled his eyes while Altan blinked rapidly. Fynta desperately wanted to know the Cathar’s story. How did he end up in the Clans, after everything her people had done to his? He had to have been running from something serious. Instead, Fynta focused on Altan. “You are Beroya’s boys, right? How’s Rishi?”

”Warm,” Altan answered, successfully distracted. Fynta found that she wasn’t ready to explain the seedy side of their family business to the younger man. She doubted he was naive, but there was still a spark of youth and innocence in his eyes that she’d like to keep there.

While Caldus continued to scowl at the far wall, Altan wove his story in as few words as possible. “I was born there, in a little fishing village. There was a turf war and my parents got caught in the crossfire. Jos felt bad and brought me home to Valk when I was six.”

The loud exhale from the Cathar between them made Altan lean back to look at his brother. “What?”

”Ignore him,” Fynta said as she leaned back into her seat. “He’s just grumpy.”

An honest smile broke over the Togruta’s face, bright and nearly painful to look at because of its lack of restraint. Fynta would need to remember that for the future: take the kid’s side against his brother, win his favor. She didn’t want to alienate Caldus though, so she changed the subject again. “Verin mentioned that we are doing a mission together. Do either of you know what it’s about?”

Any answers were cut off by the man in question announcing that they’d made it off Hutta and everyone could move around. Caldus unfastened the harness and shoved from the seat. “I need to crash, where is a good spot?”

Fynta followed suit, motioning for them to join her in the hallway. “The room upstairs belongs to Verin and Cinlat, but there are plenty of bunks down here.” She gestured to the left where two beds jutted out from the wall. Then across the hall where four more sleeping cabins were built into it.

Caldus threw himself onto one of the beds in the first room, his helmet rolling onto the floor. Fynta wanted to know the story behind that too. It was unique, kind of like the brothers. They would be identifiable wherever they went, but Fynta figured that came with the armour. She hoped whatever the job was didn’t require discretion.

“I’m going to hit the fresher and take a nap. You two get some rest. It’s a four hour trip back to Dromund Kas.” The last place Fynta wanted to go, but apparently where their benefactor waited. At least the ban had been lifted. Verin swore that she wouldn’t be shot, impaled, or choked on sight. He hadn’t been able to give such assurances once she opened her mouth.

Fynta turned from the brothers with a smile, but paused when Altan stuck his head back into the hallway. “Thank you.” He offered a small, flat smile that looked almost painful. Nothing like the previous one. Fynta filed that away for future speculation.

“Any time,” Fynta answered, though she got the sense there were layers to his words that would take her a long time to untangle. Altan vanished back into the room just as quickly, the door snapping shut a moment after Caldus’s unintelligible grumble.

Technically, the Beroya brothers had just stolen Fynta’s room, but since they weren’t staying on the ship long term, she didn’t see the point in kicking them out. As she stood before one of the sleeping cabins, Fynta decided Caldus wouldn’t have fit anyway.

Before she could climb into a bunk, Fynta wanted to get into something more comfortable. She stomped from the room and stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Toss me some clothes!”

A wad of fabric vaulted over the railing, unraveling on its way down and scattering in different directions. She managed to snag the shirt, but the boxers and socks evaded her. They were clearly Verin’s, no way she’d ever fit into Cin’s stuff. Fynta snatched them from the floor, stuck her tongue out at the brother she couldn’t see, then stomped back to her room.

Once the door shut, Fynta shucked the rags from the auction and left them in a pile on the floor. She desperately needed a shower, but it had been nearly two weeks since she’d had a full night’s sleep. She flopped onto her stomach on the too thin mattress, pulled her feet in as she rolled deeper into the cubby, then activated the privacy screen. Blessed darkness surrounded her; she was asleep before she pulled up the blankets.

The nap had been nice until a large hand pinned Fynta’s shoulder to the mattress. She shot up, a sharp pain slicing through her knuckles when they collided with something hard. By the time Fynta opened her eyes, Caldus had staggered from the bed and had his hand over his mouth.

A dull ache settled in immediately, like her bones were a little too big, veins clogged with sand, and brain made of barbed wire. Fynta knew it was a side effect of coming off the stims, something she told herself she’d deal with later each time she took another shot. Later was now, and past Fynta was a bitch.

Groaning, Fynta slung her legs over the bed, her cybernetic responding sluggishly with her body so out of sorts. She needed vitamins, electrolytes, probably some kolto…Fynta banged a fist against the metal leg to shift it into position, maybe a mechanic.

“Verin sent me to wake you,” Caldus growled, an actual growl, like an angry manka cat but with words.

Fynta lifted her eyes, noting the way the stripes on the Cathar’s face pulled towards the center when he frowned at his hand. There was blood on his bottom lip when he spoke, more on the tips of the fingers he glared at.

”He must not like you.” Fynta decided as she forced shaky muscles into action. Her stance was wobbly, but she didn’t think she’d fall over.

Caldus touched his lip again before shifting his fiery gaze to Fynta. “The feeling is mutual.” Fynta wasn’t sure if that direct eye contact was a threat against her or her brother. She honestly didn’t care. That was a future Fynta problem.

Without waiting for Fynta’s response, Caldus turned for the door. “Come on, we’ll be there in an hour.”

Fynta followed at a slow pace, stopping next to the fresher. Caldus paused, looked back, then snorted. “Be quick.” Fynta didn’t need to be told twice. She wasn’t quick either.

By the time Fynta exited the shower, attacked her hair with a towel, and snuck into her old room to snatch some clothes, there was less than twenty minutes of hyperspace left. She tugged the soft shirt over her head as she climbed the stairs, her cybernetic announcing her approach with each clanging step.

Fynta decided at the top of the stairs that she should have chosen pants instead of shorts, so she made a show of stuffing her legs into the shirt Verin had tossed her earlier just to stretch it out. Her brother laughed and swung his gaze lazily over to Caldus. “Forgot to warn you that she’s violent in her sleep.”

The Cathar’s lip had stopped bleeding, but the swelling pushed that part of his beard further out. Caldus answered with a rude hang sign he definitely learned from the Vizla Clan, and Verin laughed harder. “I think you and Fynta will get along just fine.” While she grinned, Caldus bared his teeth.

The group had gathered around the table in the upstairs lounge, small plates of rations laid out like a feast. Some even still had food on them. Fynta snagged one of those and stuffed the uj cake into her mouth while she studied her companions.

Caldus still wore the lower half of his armour, but had rid himself of the chestplate and helmet. He was still a massive guy, but had managed to find a shirt that fit without being too tight. His brother, by contrast, was buried under a robe and a pile of blankets that looked like he’d raided every bed but hers. Verin lounged in his kute, as usual, and Cinlat still wore full armour minus the helmet. Of all of them, Fynta was the least dressed. She took another plate of rations and waddled over to one of the empty chairs. Not a graceful moment, but Verin’s shirt gave satisfying pops as Fynta tested the seam’s limits.

“Do you think she was Sith?” Altan asked, picking up a conversation she’d clearly interrupted, which immediately gained Fynta’s attention.

Cinlat propped her hip on the armrest of the chair Verin had claimed. “Doubt it. She wasn’t creepy enough.” The woman had never been much for touch, but she liked proximity to him, and that seemed to be enough for Verin. As long as they were happy, Fynta didn’t pry.

”Could she have been a Jedi?” Caldus asked, claws stroking through his thick beard. His gaze was focused elsewhere, and Fynta could see the wheels turning while he picked whatever it was apart.

Verin snorted and slid an arm around Cin’s hips. "You really think a Jet’ii would get into something where they have to kill just because a piece of paper says so?"

“Who are we talking about?” Fynta popped another piece of cake into her mouth. She assumed this was something that took place while she was elsewhere, but being out of the loop annoyed her.

“I bet she took it off a Jedi’s corpse,” Cinlat decided, ignoring Fynta for the most part. Fynta huffed and the woman’s white eyes focused on her. “The up and coming Great Hunt Champion, according to Altan’s contact. The real question is, did that slip of a girl do the deed, or was the Jedi already dead when she found it?”

Fynta nodded, appeased. The answer to that question would make the difference between a champion and a dead hunter. Fynta set the empty plate aside and reached over Caldus for the leftover eggs. He snarled and slapped her arm away. Fynta lifted a brow at the cranky Cathar, who sighed and grabbed the object of her desire and shoved it at her.

After nodding her thanks, which seemed to annoy him further, Fynta focused on her sister. “Why didn’t you join this one, Cin?” The eggs weren’t half bad, which meant Verin must have cooked.

The woman waved her hand. “Been there, done that. More than a decade ago. I’m past the hype.”

Verin coughed, and Fynta hid her wince. She knew he brother wasn’t past it, and that Cin was his only chance at a shot in the big leagues. There was defeat in that desperate grab for water that the Mandalorian in Fynta pitied. She wanted her brother to find fame and glory, but he might have to choose between that and his wife in the end. Fynta knew which choice he’d make.

“Moving on. We need to plan for Dromund Kaas.” Cinlat bent forward to clear plates away from the holo embedded in the middle of the table and activated a map. “It’s been four years since Fynta was allowed to step foot on this planet—“

”Not that it stopped her,” Verin muttered over his glass. Fynta’s grin widened while Caldus shifted a side eyed glare at her.

Cinlat ignored her husband. “Even with a pardon, I want all of you to stick to the Enclave. We shouldn’t risk Fynta pissing anyone off before we get the actual contract signed. That will come directly from Imperial Intelligence. They’ll meet us on our turf, where we control the narrative.”

”Why aren’t you going?” Caldus asked, his question focused on the white haired woman across from him.

A heavy silence fell over the room while Verin leveled the Cathar with a sharp glare. Fynta didn’t see a reason for all the secrecy. She’d read the dossier, what was available of it, at least, and knew that her older sister wouldn't be a good fit for this job despite her years of experience. “Cin’s Force sensitive.”

Caldus jerked around to look at Fynta, open astonishment pulling the stripes on his face apart. Fynta was fascinated by how they morphed with his moods. Slowly, he turned back to the huntress, who wore the stoic expression that rarely left her features. Fynta chuckled. “Not enough to be useful, mind you, but enough that this thing we’re hunting might sense her. Speaking of which, do I get to borrow the Mantis?”

”Over my dead body,” Cin deadpanned, seemingly unbothered that Fynta had outed her. At best, it gave Cinlat pretty eyes that she hated and uncanny aim. No telekinesis, no mind control, or lightning…but enough to make her a liability when hunting something that could sense the Force.

Verin cleared his throat, pulling the brothers’ attention from his wife. At least one of them. Altan stared at Cinlat like she was a puzzle he’d like to take apart and put back together. Fynta could just make out the white center of his face, but everything else was lost in the shadow of his hood. There was nothing menacing in it, but Fynta could practically feel the younger man’s curiosity. ”I’ll work on travel arrangements when we get planetside. I’m thinking—“

Altan interrupted Verin’s planning from beneath his cozy pile. “We can take our ship.”

Another snarl from Caldus told Fynta that by our, Altan meant Big Brother’s ship. Altan sank further into his fabric cave. “It’s big enough for the three of us to travel in and—“

”Not an option.” Caldus had become more snarly as the conversation progressed, and Fynta wondered if that was just his voice. Not that she minded, it did pleasant things to her body that would probably annoy him further.