Summary: This is a mostly original story involving a version of Fynta who never learned discipline from the Republic military. She is a nuisance to everyone and very good at killing. Which is handy because the Sith have a problem and they expect her to clean it up.
Chapter Word Count: 2,114
Chapter Rating: T
Ao3 Link
Humans infested the galaxy. They wrote the laws and dominated almost every government. Even among the Mandalorians, humans carved out the legends for future generations to aspire to.
Caldus expected the famed Verin Ejnar to be…more. After all, he was the husband of famed Great Hunt champion Cinlat Ejnar. Member of the favored Clan Ordo, and survivor of the Mandalorian Schism. He had a reputation for being clever and reckless, much like his sister.
But Verin Ejnar was just another forgettable human with brown hair and blue eyes. The only thing interesting about him were the old tribal tattoos across each cheek. Caldus wondered if they were his former clan. The one that hadn’t survived the Schism.
“So you see why we’re interested in hiring your boys,” Verin continued, speaking to Jos Beroya instead of Caldus or his brother. “We’ve heard great things about these two, and this mission requires a specific set of skills.”
Jos leaned back, fingers linked over his stomach. Caldus had to admit that his buir wasn’t anything special to look at either. Jos was a relic of a bygone era where Mandalorians served only themselves. His balding head shone in the overhead lighting and a full, greying beard marked the years since he’d been Caldus’s age. Still, Jos was special. Without the Beroyas, Caldus would still be a slave.
“We’ve heard things about your girl too,” Jos countered while leveling a steady glare on Verin. “Like how she was the sole survivor on her last official mission.”
Fynta also had a habit of ignoring the Clan’s suggestions and doing whatever she wanted. Caldus wondered why no one had come down on her, then remembered that Mandalorians prized that kind of attitude. After all these years, he still couldn’t fully wrap his mind around the freedom his new life was supposed to offer.
”They had it coming,” the bounty hunter grumbled. There was venom to his words that intrigued Caldus. He wanted to know what could excuse letting one’s entire team die.
Caldus took the opposite posture of his father, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He let his claws slide free of their sheaths in open threat. “Given her history, why should we trust her?”
Altan, seated on the other side of their father, glanced up from his datapad. His warm eyes focused on the human across from them, open curiosity written all over his features. He didn’t speak, though. Altan either said nothing, or went on for hours about his latest obsession.
Verin licked his lips, clearly searching for the right words. “Fynta is loyal, alright. To the people who deserve it.” The man gestured between Caldus and Altan. “And you boys come from a clan without Sith leashes. That is what we need for this mission.”
Caldus inhaled, not bothering with subtlety. His senses weren’t honed well enough to detect much, but the acrid stench of a lie was usually strong enough for him to taste. It was a skill he was still perfecting. The air smelled as clean as it could on the planet plagued by dark side storms. Whatever Caldus sensed, it didn’t come from Verin. Just the musty scent of saturated soil and wet duracrete.
Finally, Altan joined the conversation. ”And what about the mission on Rendilli?” Altan’s voice lacked the guttural snarl that Caldus spoke with. People trusted him faster, seeing a docile young alien instead of an angry predator like himself.
Verin ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the closed door. “That was personal business. We’ve paid reparations to the clan.” They were meeting in a conference room within the Mandalorian Enclave, a room regularly swept for listening devices. That didn’t mean that the walls were deaf.
Jos nodded. Even Caldus understood. For all their united front, the clans still bickered and betrayed. It was more subtle now, and the chiefs frowned upon such actions. “You see my dilemma, don’t you?” Jos lifted one hand in a gesture of helplessness. “I brought these boys to enjoy the Great Hunt send off. Valk would have my balls if anything happened to them.”
Caldus had never heard of The Great Hunt until a few weeks ago after the announcement reached them. The galaxy’s best thieves, murderers, and psychopaths all gathered under one roof to prove who could kill the best. Then, Altan had explained in excruciating detail how the event worked. It sounded interesting enough that Caldus agreed when Jos asked if they wanted to accompany him to the melee.
Verin leaned forward, finger tapping on the table as he spoke not to Jos, but Caldus and Altan again. “Your buir speaks wisdom, but do you want to be known as his body guards forever?” Even though Caldus knew it was a ploy to gain their favor, he felt it working. Each time the older hunter addressed him instead of his father, Caldus felt a swell of pride. It pissed him off that the man was so obviously playing on his emotions. Even more so that it was working.
Caldus glanced at his father’s narrowed eyes, but the old clansman said nothing. Altan toyed with his helmet where it sat on the table. The brothers wore them any time they were outside of their personal quarters. Not because Caldus and Altan’s species weren’t known, but Beroya was a small clan indentured to a larger one. No one cared that Jos and Valk had taken in two alien boys until they were at a gathering. Then, they were the topic of whispers and speculation. Neither appreciated being stared at.
“Perhaps you should explain why you need our special skillset.” Altan’s voice didn’t waiver. He’d been practicing maintaining eye contact and speaking with more confidence. If Caldus hadn’t heard his brother rehearsing in the mirror before this meeting, he’d have thought the Togruta a natural.
Altan’s face was stern, but open. He took everyone at face value and rarely lied. Caldus scolded him constantly about his inattention to his surroundings and willingness to trust strangers. It was always hard to rectify that with the man who could pick up the most minute details and take down a target from four hundred meters. The man whose leg bounced even now, yet could remain motionless for hours while hunting or dealing with the internal components of a terminal.
”I’m glad you asked.” Verin plopped his holo in the middle of the table to display the contract details for all to see. “It’s vague, but looks to me like the Sith bit off more than they could chew. Some installation on Malachor created something that broke free. Rumor has it the thing is intelligent and Force sensitive. Three Sith have fallen to it. Last known location is Nar Shaddaa.” He pushed the holo closer so that everyone could see. “The Empire has reached out to us to clean it up. We need expert trackers who are Force Null and capable of eliminating a threat of this magnitude. I hear that’s you."
Altan leaned forward to study the text while Caldus picked apart every word Verin said. “What have you heard?”
The older man spread his hands. “That no one tracks better than Caldus Bruun, or is a better shot than Altan Dhorro.” When Caldus narrowed his eyes, the man grinned. “Your buir likes to brag when you’re not around. Visiting clansmen have corroborated though. Is it true neither of you can access the Force?”
Caldus bared his teeth, but Verin appeared unfazed. “Yeah.” It was more of a grunt than a proper word, and Jos kicked him under the table, likely for being rude. If Caldus had been born with the Force, no one would have torn him from his mother. They couldn’t have sold him like livestock or made him toil for hours under the sun in a field too close to a warzone. They wouldn't have dared—
“Verin isn’t kidding about it being vague.” Altan’s words snapped Caldus from his spiral. He left the details to his brother. Reading had never been a strong suit and Caldus hated anything that made him feel weak.
Altan looked back at Verin. “I assume we’ll learn more once the contract is accepted?”
The man nodded.
“Why are you here, instead of your sister?” Caldus had heard of Fynta Wolfe. She was somewhere between his and Altan’s ages. Rumor had it that she was unpredictable and fearless; feral, even. It should be her convincing them to join what sounded like a suicide mission, not her brother.
The laugh that broke free of the older Mandalorian sounded pained. Verin’s hand went back to his hair, making the ends stick up further. “Fynta doesn’t know that she’s been hired yet.”
Jos lifted a bushy brow. “Wait, the contract is already validated? Why in the Void are you bothering my boys then?”
”Because she won’t pass on this once she hears about it.” Verin sighed and pulled the holo back to himself. He stared at the scribbled words hovering between them, tension lining his forehead. “She needs a team capable of holding their own and your boys fit the bill.”
When those dark, blue eyes looked up this time, Verin stared directly at Jos. “I need to know she’s with good people for a change. And the creds are…ridiculous.”
“I’ll do it.” Altan answered before Jos could argue. The Togruta nodded at the contract. “I’m curious about Fynta. For all the death that surrounds her, most speak highly of her.”
”Is that what they call it?” Jos muttered, then lifted his hands in surrender when Verin glared. “I just mean she’s got a bit more shereshoy than might be good for her is all.”
This time, Verin snorted. Caldus noticed that the man didn’t deny those allegations. Caldus flattened his palms on the table. “What the fuck, I’ll go too.” He couldn’t leave Altan alone with someone as unhinged as Fynta sounded. This way, he could blame it on looking after his little brother instead of satisfying his own curiosity. Altan had only beaten him by a heartbeat accepting Veirn’s offer.
Besides, the older hunter was right about one thing. Caldus came to the Mandalorians for the respect he’d never been offered as a slave. This would be a step in that direction. He couldn’t live in the Beroya shadow forever. He wanted to see the galaxy; stake his claim.
Jos let out a long breath that ruffled his beard. “Valk is never going to let me back in the house.” There was genuine concern to his words, but Caldus caught the twinkle of pride in those sky blue eyes. They’d made the right choice and their father was proud. Even if voicing it would incur their mother’s wrath.
Altan stood to seal the deal with a handshake. Caldus did the same, gripping Verin’s ungloved hand a little harder than necessary. Despite the lack of deception, Caldus didn’t trust the man. He was too eager. It felt like there was something important that he’d held back, but Caldus couldn’t be sure if it had to do with the job or just Fynta in general.
With that settled, Jos stood to clap each of his boys on the back. The man barely reached their shoulders, but he’d always been a giant in Caldus’s eyes. Altan offered a tight smile that looked too stilted to be natural. “You trained us well. We’ll be fine.”
”I know.” Jos’s grin was more believable, but just barely. “Forgive an old warrior for worrying about his boys. I’ll not be heading back to Rishi alone, mind you. Your buir is scary.” The old man gave a mock shiver that never failed to make Altan’s smile light up in earnest. Caldus rolled his eyes. The two bickered and bitched, then would disappear for hours into their room. It was disgusting the way they fawned over each.
Verin snatched his holo with a grin. “Excellent. We leave in the morning.”
The three from Clan Beroya paused to look at the rouge hunter. ”Leave where?” Caldus asked, his hand still resting on Jos’s shoulder. He expected Fynta to be here, just not in the meeting. It should have occurred to him earlier when he asked Verin why she hadn’t joined him to press for more information. Verin had evaded the question with the ease of a politician, and that set Caldus on edge even more.
Verin hooked his comm on his belt, grin widening until it looked like it would split his face. Caldus took a step back and the man chuckled. “Did I forget to mention that we have to break her off Hutta first?”
@actualanxiousswampwitch since you asked, here is a height comparison of the crew (I’ve been meaning to do this, you just gave me an excuse). Caldus and Altan are indeed, large boys. It just so happens that Khem is bigger. Khalu is tiny.
Summary: Fynta is a brat. Verin is equally a brat. When the Wolfe siblings are together, they reach new levels of petty. Everyone else is trapped on a ship with them. But, at least they are leaving Hutta behind.
Chapter Word Count: 3,504
Chapter Rating: T
Ao3 Link
Fynta was tired. She’d run on stims and carbs for the last two weeks. She’d been punched, blungeoned, poisoned, and blown up…that last one was her fault, but it still hurt. Now, she wanted a hot shower and to sleep for a week.
Climbing the entrance ramp to the Mantis felt like summiting a mountain with a broken toe, since the big guy in the mythosaur helmet unceremoniously dropped her at the bottom. Fynta would give it to the aristo that she’d kicked in the face, he left an impression. She should have used her cybernetic foot, but she hadn’t been aiming to kill the man.
Fynta stopped and cursed, causing the Mythosaur to look back at her. “Should’ve just killed the hut’uun.” His visor remained on her for a few more beats, then turned without comment and vanished inside the ship. She hobbled up after him, sealing the airlock behind her.
”Seven younglings, four females, and one old geezer who got off at the wrong spaceport,” Cinlat recounted as Fynta entered the main room of the Mantis. “My contacts have identified all but two of the kids. They’ll keep the unidentified safe while delivering the rest home.”
”So, we did it?” Altan, as Fynta had learned her impromptu doctor was called, sat on the edge of a crate in the cargo hanger. His long legs nearly reached the floor. Without the distraction of a prize fight, Fynta realized how young the Togruta was. He toyed with the crimson shawl around his neck with an absentness that spoke of familiarity.
The brute that had carried her stopped next to Altan and pulled his helmet free. Fynta missed a step when the golden eyes of a predator appeared from beneath it. He shook out his brown hair, strings of it having come loose from the knot on the back of his head. When Caldus reached a hand up to run his fingers through the mess, Fynta wondered how she’d missed the claws before.
“We did,” Cinlat confirmed, a note of pride in her tone.
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.
“We’ll figure out transportation after the Intelligence meeting,” Cinlat offered while the brothers stared at one another. Fynta couldn’t be sure, but the way the hood shifted made her think that Altan might have rolled his eyes. “For now, let’s go over negotiation etiquette.”
Summary: Sparks fly, and this time it's not entirely Fynta's fault. Verin gets a chance to show off some special skills. Caldus still isn't impressed. Fynta gets swept off her feet. Cinlat isn't impressed either.
Chapter Word Count: 3,139
Chapter Rating: T
Ao3 Link
Verin tried to keep from radiating smugness, but he failed. In truth, he hadn’t tried too hard. Caldus had a stick up his shebs that needed to be removed the old fashioned way. By reminding the vod’ika that the galaxy was an unpredictable place that eats its young.
”She shouldn’t have won,” the Cathar muttered again as they made their way towards the exit as a group. He’d been complaining about Fynta’s inexplicable win since the fight was called. “She must have drugged that Trandoshan.”
”I don’t think so,” Altan countered. He’d been quiet while they walked, but Verin had a suspicion that the younger vod had been analyzing everything he’d witnessed. “I was down there. The competitors didn’t have any weapons or sources for poison.”
A rough chuff of annoyance filtered from Caldus’s helmet before his speakers went silent. Verin chuckled to himself. Altan might be catching on to the chaos that was Fynta Wolfe, but Caldus would be in for a rude awakening once they were off on their own. Verin almost hated to miss that.
The corridor opened once the throng of gamblers and cutthroats cleared the tunnels. Half dressed cocktail waitresses waited to relieve the crowd of what creds they still had. Verin was considering getting a proper room for the night when Altan waved a hand. “I’m getting a call from Mako.”
”Here.” Cinlat led them to an alcove, waving away a too young Twilek with barely concealed marks around her neck. Verin curled his fists in an effort not to drag the girl with them, but without knowing who her master was, he might be inviting more trouble than they could handle at the moment. Blowing out a breath, he followed when Cin motioned for Altan to set his comm on on a tilted table.
Mako appeared in the center, her face brighter than the last time Verin had seen it. He wondered how that saber wielding hunter who jumped him was progressing. That thought triggered a silent vow to stop walking through doors first. Between Fynta and Mako’s little bounty hunter, Verin felt short of a few lives. While he hadn’t kept up with the standings for the final Melee like he wanted, Verin hoped to be back in time to see it in person.
“Congrats on the big win. Your pockets will be full tonight,” Mako grinned. Cinlat smacked Verin without looking at him. She hated gambling, but Verin didn’t see it as a bet when the fight was a sure thing. Mako must have thought the same, because she laughed. “Don’t be too mad at him. That bet got you invited to a lucrative auction, which I assume was the end goal.”
”Where is it being held?” Cinlat asked, ignoring the girl’s chipper mood. Verin inched a little further away just in case she decided to hit him again.
Mako tapped on something out of view, her tone turning serious. “I just sent the details to Altan.” Verin didn’t miss the way the Togruta flinched when his datapad buzzed. Mako continued, making a point to look into the camera. “This is as far as I can take you. Things are getting real here, and I need to focus on my hunter.”
Verin leaned around his wife so that Mako could see him. “Anything we can do to help?” He figured they owed Mako’s crew something. She’d turned a potential week’s worth of footwork into a seventy-two hour event.
“Thanks, but no. This is something we need to take care of on our own.” Mako’s smile returned as she settled on Altan. “Until next time. Good luck!”
The call ended, a holo menu popping up where Mako had been. “Make your selection or please vacate the table,” a cheerful droid intoned.
Cinlat moved first, and the rest fell in behind her like proper Mandalorian men. Once outside, she stepped into an alley and waved for Altan to produce his datapad. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Altan thumbed open the device and angled it for Cinlat to see. Given she was the shortest of them, Verin and Caldus were left crowding in behind her. No doubt she hated that as much as he hated having his back to the open air, but Cin was practical above all else. She stowed away any discomfort and pointed at the display. “Looks like we can start bidding now. Final bets will be in a few hours in person; directions to come.”
”Guess we need to make an impression then.” Verin held out his hand, then cleared his throat when Altan didn’t respond. “May I?”
”Right.” Altan handed over the device, nearly dropping it in his haste. Caldus must have said something privately because the Togruta’s faceplace turned towards his brother and nodded. His shoulders lifted, then dropped, but neither of Beroya’s boys said anything else.
While the brothers sorted themselves out, Verin considered his options. Fynta was the champion and already had an absurd number of credits placed on her. Verin was torn between horror that these people wanted to purchase his little sister, and pride that she’d garnered so much favor.
In the end, Verin errored on the side of ridiculous and threw caution to the wind. Cin let out an uncharacteristic snort when she saw the amount. “It’s a good thing we plan to be off planet when they try to collect.”
”That won’t matter to the Hutts,” Caldus countered, joining the conversation once more. “They’ll send someone after us.”
“Not if they are all dead.” The silence that followed his suggestion made Verin look up from the datapad. All faceplates angled towards him. Verin grinned and nudged his wife. “How do you want to play this?”
Caldus shifted from foot to foot, while Altan stood so still that Verin wondered if the kid had fallen asleep. Cinlat took back the datapad, and Verin knew she was retracing the same lines of text over and over until something popped out at her. “Someone needs to play the noble,” she finally decided.
Again, all helmets shifted in Verin’s direction. He held up his hands and tried to back away, but Caldus now stood behind him. ”Why me?” Though he put on a show of whining, Verin didn’t mind playing a spoiled little prick living off daddy’s credits. It meant he got to eat the snacks while the rest played bodyguards. He couldn’t appear too eager, though. He had a reputation to uphold.
Cin simply pointed at the boys. “Cathar. Togruta.” Then at Verin. “Human.” He noticed that she left herself out of the lineup. Cinlat didn’t remove her helmet in public and that was that. Caldus would simply snarl at everyone, and while Altan had shown an impressive knack for blending into the background, that wasn’t what this part of the mission needed.
In the end, there was only one option. Verin gave a weary sigh. “Guess I should go shopping." Cinlat smacked him again.
Finding a decent outfit that wouldn’t cost the same as a refuel for the Mantis took the rest of the afternoon. Verin settled on a forest green doublet made from a synthetic velvet and brown pants. He liked the outfit. Caldus said it made him look like a tree. Cheeky little—well big—very big bastard.
”Do you think they are okay?” Altan asked, his voice hushed through the earpiece Verin now wore. His armour had been stashed beneath a stall by the exit. If everything went as planned, he’d grab the duffle on his way out. If it didn’t go as planned, well he’d still grab it on the way out. Cinlat had laid out a simple enough strategy that so long as everyone did their parts, they should be able to grab the kids and Fynta, then slip out in the chaos.
”I’m sure they are fine,” Caldus rumbled. It took Verin a little too long to realize that Altan meant Mako and her crew, not Fynta. A twinge of annoyance tightened Verin’s chest, but only briefly. Mako was Altan’s friend, Fynta was someone new. Someone who had also taken down a Trandoshan bare handed. He supposed that meant she could handle herself in the youngster’s eyes.
“It’s time,” Cin interrupted, moving towards the doors along with several others who had been milling around in the private lounge. “Surround Verin on all sides.”
That was easier said than done in such a small room where tables and chairs offered respite to the denizens awaiting their turn for excessive booze and gambling. Cinlat stood in front of Verin, while Caldus took the back and Altan covered whichever side faced the crowd. They herded him around the wall like professional bodyguards would,. then walked him into the main auction room.
Inside waited a scene from an entirely different world. Gone were the dusty, sticky floors. Gleaming metal replaced them, polished enough for patrons to get a peek up the skirts of the serving girls. Proper food sat atop trays, along with flutes of drinks that Cin warned against sampling, but tempted Verin nonetheless.
Even the slaves here were higher caliber. They had rounded hips and fat on their thighs. Everything in this room had to be from the personal stock of whichever Hutt who sponsored the fights. Verin made a point to wink at a curvy Mirialan who offered him a drink; she offered a wide smile that didn’t reach her equally green eyes.
“Do we have a position on Fynta?” Cin’s visor scanned the room, her impatience only visible to Verin. He cursed silently, forgetting for a moment the memories this glamourous setting would dredge up for her. Cinlat had been the Champion for nearly a decade before she won her freedom. She’d seen this room too many times to be impressed. She knew what lay beneath it.
”Just now,” Altan answered privately. “She’s on the floor below, but it looks like she is moving. Should we wait?”
“No. We move now.” Cinlat angled her head towards a door that one of the serving girls slipped behind. “This is our best chance of getting downstairs. Altan, you’re with me.”
When Caldus started to object, Verin spoke over him, masking his words by touching a glass to his lips. “Listen, vod’ika. Altan and Cin are the least threatening of our group. There are going to be frightened women and children down there.”
Everyone ignored the Cathar’s snarl, Cin pressing through the crowd towards the door. Minglers moved out of the way, sparing her a cursory glance but nothing more. Altan stepped closer to his brother. “They’re right. It has to be us.”
When Caldus gave a stiff nod in response, Altan started after Cin. He received more respect, members stepping aside to let the tall youth pass. Still, no one seemed overly curious. No doubt they assumed that Mandalorians had been hired for their safety.
Verin watched them go, then motioned for Caldus to follow him. “Trust your vod. This is what we do.”
”Yeah?” Caldus asked, confusing Verin with the note of bitterness in his tone. “You’ve done this a lot?”
Verin stopped on the outer edge of the room near one of the exits and leaned against the wall. He studied the Cathar, trying to work out where his anger came from and if he was going to be a problem for Fynta. Verin didn’t want to separate the brothers. Hell, Verin wasn’t sure if he could force Caldus to stay behind, but he might not have a choice if the Cathar didn’t show his worth soon. Altan would be invaluable to Fynta’s mission. Caldus might be a liability.
”Yeah,” Verin finally answered, turning back to watch the crowd. “We have.” He’d see how this went, then speak with Fynta privately. For all her recklessness, she was usually a good judge of character.
Caldus rumbled another growl, but any retort was cut off by an announcement that bidding was about to begin. The Cathar’s helmet swung towards the opening floor panels in the center of the room where a platform raised Fynta into view. As expected, she wore little more than scraps of crimson silk and a set of cuffs around her wrists. He didn’t miss the trail of dried blood down the side of her neck either.
Verin snorted when the platform came to a jerky halt and Fynta was ushered onto a crystal platform so that she could be studied up close. “They should have chained her ankles too.” He ignored the way Caldus’s helmet swiveled in his direction. “Just watch.”
Crossing his arms, Verin waited for the vultures to circle. Fynta stood tall on her stage, shoulders back and somehow managed to make the revealing clothing a challenge. Verin wasn’t sure if their parents would be proud of the woman she’d become or beat the osik out of him for letting her continuously pull stunts like this. Probably best that they didn’t know.
“Are we just going to let them treat her like that?” Caldus groused as the smartly dressed patrons in their gowns and robes discussed Fynta’s usefulness. Verin heard all the usual suggestions from a champion in smaller fights or a bed slave. For depraved people with too many credits, most lacked imagination.
Caldus took a step towards the stage when a well muscled human with an impressive mustache grabbed Fynta’s ass. Verin snagged the Cather’s paldron. “Watch,” he urged. “And get ready to run.”
It happened quickly, as mostly things with Fynta did. Caldus’s hand had barely curled into a fist, no doubt planned for Verin, when the mustached man got too close. Fynta’s foolishly unbound foot connected with the hawkish nose, staining that magnificent mustache a grisly shade of red. Blood sprayed and the woman with the man shrieked obscenities. Fynta vaulted from the stage and tackled another patron to the ground. Verin tapped Caldus’s chestplate. “That’s our signal. Think you can hit that fancy chandelier from here?”
Caldus turned in the direction Verin indicated, hand already resting on his blaster. Verin saw the moment his plan registered, because the Cathar turned his face back to him. “A little cliche, isn't it?”
”Only because it works.” Verin had his eye on the main power line on the wall behind him now. “Let’s help Fynta sow some chaos.”
Caldus took a step towards the commotion, then paused. “You’re not concerned about collateral damage?” Even as he said it, the blaster slipped free of its holster.
Verin poured contempt into his voice as he released his father’s beskad from his belt. “I don’t give a shrill’s balls what happens to these fuckers.” Then, he spun and slammed the blade into the main powerline. There was a moment of pitch black silence before yellow generator lights flicked on.
An eerie chuckle echoed from Caldus’s direction a moment before the massive light fixture crashed into the crowd below, scattering food and cutlery. That’s when the screaming started in earnest. “What about your sister?” Caldus asked over their shared comms.
As if summoned, Fynta appeared from the gloom, slamming into Verin. He caught her before she rebounded, then spun her towards Caldus. “Found her.” Verin laughed when Fynta punched his chestplate, then swore and shook out her hand.
”We’ve got the kids. Heading to the shipyard.” Cin’s voice crackled in Verin’s ear as if she was coming out from underground and just got a signal back. The tightness in Verin’s chest eased at the sound of her voice.
”Time to go. They got what we came for.” Verin tucked Fynta beneath his arm to shield her if shots were fired. Caldus crowded in behind, acting as a shield without needing to be ordered. Verin counted that as a good sign.
The exits clogged with panicked partiers, but having a metaphorically two ton Cathar with them went a long way towards clearing a path. No one seemed to care that the night’s prized entertainment was escaping. That would be the Hutt’s problem, after all. No doubt there would be a bounty on Fynta’s head. Verin pitied anyone who tried to collect it. He snatched the duffle with his armour and corralled Fynta out the doors.
Finally outside, Caldus snatched the jacket from a Nautolan male and slung it over Fynta’s shoulders in a move so smooth that Verin realized this kid was probably no stranger to thievery. No one spoke until they’d made it past the city gates where Verin shucked his fancywear in favor of his beskar’gam. Only once they were trekking deeper into the swamps did Fynta take a deep breath and tip her face towards the moon. “So, where did you park?”
”Cin’s deeper into the swamp, I’m sure.” Verin cursed when he remembered the fighter back at the spaceport. “I’m going to have to come back for my ride. Jex is going to be pissed.”
As the city shrank in the distance, so did the cacophony of a ruined night's fun. The darkness filled with creature calls and the chirp of bugs, the lights steadily growing further apart until Fynta gripped Verin’s arm. He realized that not only was she half naked, but had no night vision. She cursed and stumbled, and Verin looked down; or shoes.
“Shab Fyn’ika. You should have said something.” Verin turned his back towards her and squatted. “Hop on.”
”We’re the same size.” Verin heard her eye roll, even if he couldn’t see it. His thighs were already burning when Fynta shoved his shoulder.
Straightening, Verin faced his sister. “I’m still an inch taller and heavier. Now get on my damn back so that your feet don’t get shredded out here.” The contract had a time limit and they were pushing it by coming here first. If Fynta had to take more time to heal, Verin wasn’t sure how a benefactor with that kind of reach would react.
”I’ll carry her,” Caldus rumbled, stepping between the siblings before Fynta could counter. “We don’t have time for your bitching.”
“I do like a man who can sweep me off my feet,” Fynta added with a challenging eyebrow at Verin. He raised his hands and stepped back because Caldus was right. It wouldn't take long for a search party to catch their trail. Which put Cin in danger too.
Caldus snarled through his speakers. “Shut up and get on.” The Cathar crouched in front of Fynta, bracing one hand on the ground for balance, while Fynta hooked her fingers into his pauldrons. Caldus stood with little effort, gripping her thighs and trudging forward. “You coming, old man?”
Verin made a sound of outrage and jogged to catch up while Fynta threw her head back in laughter. His earlier thoughts of protecting his sister from the cranky Cathar evaporated as they teamed up against him. Those two clearly deserved each other.
Summary: Altan and Caldus learn the difference between protective and overbearing as little brother stretches his wings. Also, Fynta fights a Trandoshan.
Chapter Word Count: 2,643
Chapter Rating: T
Ao3 Link
“And I’m saying that Altan can monitor security with Mako while we deal with the pits.” Caldus folded his arms, taking the wide stance that Altan knew so well.
Altan was expected to fall in line because he so often did. He didn’t like conflict and oftentimes said the wrong thing. Instead of everyone agreeing that his answer was the most logical, they got snappish or silent, leaving Altan to replay the conversation over in his mind until he figured out what went wrong. It was easier to agree and let others have their way.
This was different. Altan had volunteered to join this mission because he wanted to show what he was capable of. It hadn’t been a surprise when Caldus joined, but a small, treacherous part of Altan had hoped his brother would stay behind.
So, instead of slinking back and letting Caldus choose his path, Altan straightened his spine and looked his brother in the eye. “I’m going.”
Verin and Caldus turned from each other to face Altan. He resisted the urge to slump into his cowl and locked his knees. It was both unnerving and a relief when Cinlat stood from the barstool she’d perched on to join him. “He’s right. This won’t work without him. Verin has Mandalorian markings on his cheeks and you can’t go five minutes without snarling. It has to be Altan.”
As if to prove Cinlat’s point, Caldus bared his teeth. Altan prepared for the fight that usually followed, but Cinlat cut everyone off. “It’s decided and we don’t have time for a new plan. If you don’t like it, go wait at the bar.” With that, she turned and marched from the room. Altan followed before Caldus could pull him aside for a private scolding. Verin’s answering chuckle marked him as next and Altan assumed that Caldus would bring up the rear.
Even though Altan could see over Cinlat’s head, he kept his gaze on the back of her boots. He didn’t want to see their surroundings as they traversed the path down to the fighting pits. As pretty as the planet looked from orbit, Altan hated this place. It reminded him too much of how they’d found Caldus. The matted fur and malnourished body of a boy still in his teens. Altan hadn’t realized that they were rescuing a slave that day, only that his buir would know how to help.
Those memories of his brother soothed the irritation of their argument from moments before. The longer they followed the winding tunnel towards the screaming masses below, the more certain Altan became that he needed to make his brother see him as an equal, not an obligation. Caldus didn't owe Altan; he didn't need to be his keeper.
A pang of awareness echoed through Altan’s mind, mapping out the dozens of writhing forms in the spacious room below. Normally, he had better control over this ability, but it always slipped when he was stressed. Hutta was a mass of chaos that overstimulated his senses, and Caldus's brooding protectiveness wasn’t helpingAltan's focus.
“Altan, are you ready?” Cinlat asked, startling him from his thoughts. They’d made it to the Pit and she leaned over the railing, no doubt checking the lineup below.
It was a simple task. Present himself as a medical specialist, easy given his fascination with alien physiology, then find Fynta and implant the small tracking chip that Mako had given them. It would only last four hours, so they had to wait as long as possible in case the fights ran over. All she had to do was tap it to signal it was time to pick her and the kids up.
Altan glanced at his brother before responding. “I’ll be right back.” He tugged the hood up and tightened the white cross on red arm band. Caldus held his helmet, and even though Altan raised his chin and started down the stairs with a straight spine, he couldn’t wait to slip back into the anonymity of his bu’cuy.
As Altan descended the spiral staircase, he reminded himself that he was not that lost little boy anymore. He had overcome a lot to get to this point in his life, and no one, not even a well meaning family, would strip him of that independence.
At the bottom, Altan tapped the armband when a human guard intercepted him. “I’m to do a final check on the fighters.” It didn’t matter that he was a head taller than the human, his heart thundered at the prospect of getting caught.
In the end, the guard grunted and stood aside. “Make it quick. Start at the front.” Altan nodded, then hoped his dismay didn’t show when he saw that Fynta was at the back.
Altan made his way down the line, relying on the medical training Valk had insisted he learn. She’d said Caldus didn’t have the patience for it, and at least one of her sons needed to know how to put the other back together. Altan checked eyes and teeth, temperatures and injuries. A couple of the men had severe infections from rusty blades. One wouldn’t last the night no matter how well he did on the sands. Not with how high his fever was. His veins were already thick and twisted, eyes glazed. Altan whispered well wishes that seemed to fall on deaf ears and injected both men with a standard kolto blend.
By the time Altan reached Fynta, the first fighters were already in the pit. The guard stood with crossed arms and his back to the lineup. Altan lifted the syringe. They’d come up with a whole story about Fynta having a fever and needing a kolto injection, but it wasn’t necessary while the guard’s attention was focused on the meaty thumps beyond the gate.
Altan met Fynta’s gaze, her eyes were a dark blue, he realized for the first time. The kind that reminded him of the darkest parts of the ocean where the most terrifying creatures lurked. Fynta lifted the brow beneath her tattoo, then tilted her head to one side. Altan found her immediate trust unnerving, but injected the tracking device anyway.
”All done.” Altan brushed a kolto cloth over her skin to clear away the blood, using the opportunity to lean closer. “Touch this to activate.” It was all he could risk saying and he hoped she would understand. Verin seemed confident enough, so Altan had no other choice but to trust her brother’s instinct.
“See you soon.” Altan cringed as he backed away. He hadn’t meant for that last bit to come out. Luckily, when he glanced back at the guard, the man still wasn’t paying attention. Without another word, Altan started back up the winding stairs, nodding to his allies waiting up top.
“Good work.” Cinlat’s praise stopped Altan from admitting the embarrassing part about him nearly blowing it all at the end.
The smaller woman started through the crowd, shoving people away from her. Grumbles halted as soon as they saw her faceplate. Before following, Caldus pressed Altan’s helmet into his hand, then gave a gruff snort of approval. At least, that is how Altan chose to take it. No one ever actually knew what went on in his brother’s head.
When Altan had replaced his helmet and removed the arm band he felt a pang of disappointment. It felt like losing a character from a book, except that character had been him. For a moment, Altan had been someone important, a respected member of a crime lord’s staff who had been allowed behind the inner workings of a fighting arena.
With a sigh, Altan tugged his hood over his helm to further hide his real identity and slipped back into being the quietly odd Togruta that he’d always been. It was a relief to reach the private box that Mako had secured, as all the subterfuge and swapping out of personas left him exhausted.
“I didn’t mean offense. You know that, right?” Caldus leaned against the wall behind where Altan sat. He’d known this conversation was coming. There was a plea in the big man’s voice. Like he was afraid that anyone he angered would turn on him. Altan supposed Caldus expected everyone to betray him eventually.
Altan activated his speakers with a sigh. ”I understand, ori’vod.” Though, no one seemed to understand that it wasn’t just the Beroya shadow Altan needed to step out from under, but his disability too. Even though he’d stopped wearing the mark on his helmet, Caldus still saw it.
Audible relief filtered through their private line and Altan firmed his tone. “But, I’m not a child. If I need to step back, I decide when that is. Understood?” He didn’t want to have this argument again. He needed Caldus to respect him as an adult, otherwise, no one else would.
Silence stretched between them. Altan didn’t have to see his brother’s face to know he was scowling, teeth grinding while he decided if a rebuttal was worth the long winded bickering that always followed. “I know,” Caldus finally answered. Then, more defeated, “I know.”
The sounds of battle rang from below, but Altan had no interest in the fights themselves. From what he’d seen, they were all bulky males and females like his brother. Most were alien, a few he couldn’t put a name to. So, he spent most of the fights identifying and learning about those.
While Altan spent his time on the net, Caldus loomed in the corner opposite Verin and Cinlat. His arms were still crossed, fists clenched as he watched the display below. Only Altan would have noticed the occasional flinch or twitch.
”You want to see something entertaining?” Verin called from where he leaned on his elbows, looking over the railing. Cinlat had perched on the edge of a stool with her feet propped next to him.
Altan closed his program and moved closer. They were dragging one of competitors away, a long streak of green tracing his path. Verin’s vizor faced Altan. “Fynta is next.” Even Caldus straightened for a better vantage, though he didn’t leave his corner.
If memory served, Fynta was smaller than most of the combatants and without the inherent armour and natural weapons that many of those had been born with. She was human, with weak skin, small muscles, and no claws or teeth. Altan knew Fynta had won several of these to get to this match, so he was interested in her fighting style. Perhaps it could compliment his own since he didn't have a lot of bulk either.
As soon as new sand was spread over the residual fluids, gates opened to reveal the final champions. The crowd roared to life, heckling, encouraging, or simply propositioning. A few bottles landed in the sands, and laughter rang out when Fynta picked one up, tried to drink, only to hurl the empty thing back at the crowd with a demand for something better.
Now that he’d done more research, Altan realized that the Trandoshan entering opposite from Fynta was also female. She stood well over a head taller than Fynta, with claws that glistened under the harsh lighting and sharp teeth poking between her lips. The Tradoshan paid no mind to the audience that Fynta riled up. Her black eyes were locked on her target, violence imminent.
”She’s going to get shredded,” Caldus remarked on their private line. “No way Fynta walks away the victor.”
Altan didn’t answer. Verin didn’t look concerned. In fact, Cinlat seemed more relaxed now than he’d seen her since their arrival. Those two knew something Caldus didn’t, and Altan desperately wanted to figure out what.
The fight started quickly. Fynta still had her back to her opponent when the Trandoshan roared. In a movement so fluid it looked choreographed, Fynta ducked the swipe of claws and her cybernetic leg connected with the female’s shin. When the Trandoshan spun with a snarl Fynta hurled a hand full of sand into her opponent's face.
The Trandoshan staggered back with another guttural noise that was probably a curse, the leg Fynta had kicked giving out momentarily. Fynta used the female’s momentum against her, diving forward to ram her shoulder into the Trandoshan’s stomach.
Cinlat tisked. “Sloppy.”
Caldus’s helmet swiveled towards the small woman at the same time as Altan’s. He thought the move looked flawless. Verin chuffed a laugh. “She nearly added some new scars to her collection.”
When Altan turned back towards the fight, he understood. Fynta threw herself backward, narrowly missing the claws as the downed female swung blindly at the last place she’d sensed her foe. “She should have kept her distance,” Altan guessed.
Cinlat nodded, but she didn’t comment further. A little tension had entered the woman’s posture, and that made Altan nervous. Suddenly, Fynta looked even smaller, and he wasn’t sure if he could keep watching.
”She’ll pull it off.” Verin patted his wife’s thigh without taking his attention off the fight. Altan took a deep breath and made himself look, because he wouldn’t learn if he didn’t. Whether it was from her victory or mistakes remained to be seen.
Before the Trandoshan could regain her feet, Fynta darted close again and landed a solid kick to the female’s head with her prosthetic. Altan would have protected that leg as a weakness if he’d been in her position, but Fynta wielded her missing leg like a weapon.
This time, Fynta didn’t pull back when her opponent landed on her back, but pushed the attack. Altan would even call her relentless. Blood spread across Fynta’s knuckles as she rained blows on the Trandoshan’s sensitive spots, the eyes, nostrils, and ear holes, but Altan wasn’t sure who that blood belonged to. It looked like the fight might be won until the female managed to get her hands around Fynta’s throat. She hurled the smaller human to the side, Fynta landing in the sands with a grunt.
Both women scrambled to their feet, and the traditional circling began.
”It was a good start,” Caldus mused over his speakers for all to hear. “But, the Trandoshan knows her tactics now.”
This time, Verin snorted and straightened. He pressed his fists into his back and arched it with a groan. “Boy, not even Fynta knows her own tactics until she’s in motion.”
Altan didn’t think that was true, but he had to admit to a certain adaptability to the way she fought. Rolling, shoving, dodging, punching. Whatever opening Fynta found, she exploited. Altan really wanted to spar with her, to understand how she made such rapid adjustments. He was also a little afraid of her, so would probably never ask.
As the Trandoshan began to tire, Fynta made her move. The female stumbled forward when her foot sank into a miniature sand dune pushed into place by Fynta’s circling. She leapt on the female’s back, arm latched around the thick neck and locked on the other side. Fynta’s legs wrapped around the Trandoshan's waist and she jerked backward. Altan thought he heard the snap even over the crowd’s cheers, but he knew it was his mind filling in the gaps.
They fell as one, the Trandoshan landing on Fynta, red tongue lolling out from between those sharp teeth that had never found their mark. Fynta’s legs unravelled from around her opponent, then she kicked the female to the side and stumbled onto her feet with fists raised. The crowd roared with excitement as Fynta was announced the new reigning champion of the sands. Bidding would open in an hour, please see the ladies at the exits to collect any winnings.
Just like that, the fight was over, and the crowd began to press towards the doors.
Verin turned to face Caldus and even Altan could tell the man was grinning. “You were saying?”
After counting off the rooms, Verin knocked twice, paused, then added a third before tapping his datapad against the locking mechanism. Caldus heard movement on the other side and held his arm out in front of Altan to stop the younger man from following. The resulting clang that had Verin stumbling backward from the room he’d entered brought Caldus unending satisfaction.
”Shab Fyn’ika,” Verin huffed from where he sat in the middle of the hallway.
The woman in question stormed from the room with a heavy bottle raised above her head for another strike. She stopped, dark brows raised. “Verin? What the hell are you doing here?” The same deep blue eyes that Verin had found Caldus and Altan. “And who are these beasts?”
A snarl slipped free from Caldus before he realized she was remarking on their size rather than their species as he still wore his helmet and Altan was half hidden behind him. Caldus swallowed the retort and straightened.
Fynta Wolfe had the kind of brown skin Caldus saw on the field workers as a kid. Her black hair glistened in the harsh lighting, and there was indeed a target tattooed around her right eye. Upon closer inspection, he could pick out the similarities between the siblings, though Verin’s coloring was lighter.
“We’re here to rescue you.” Verin shoved up from the floor without the aid of those standing around him. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”
Verin flashed a brilliant smile at the blonde across from him. He’d seen her request a room, heard that she was in port while her cargo hauler was unloaded. For the last three hours he’s learned everything he could fit into his few brain cells about hyperdrives and their intricacies.
Just when it looked like Verin might have scored a meal and room for the night, movement drew his attention to the bar. The entire pub was a hive of motion thanks to the live band and the end of a long work week. But, Verin knew that figure, and that she wasn’t supposed to be here.
Verin kept one ear on his mark’s excited chattering while his eyes tracked the lean figure in unmarked beskar. Fynta angled towards the bar, which Verin didn’t find troubling until he realized who stood there.
”Fierfek.” Verin’s muttered curse didn’t seem to faze his dining partner. Nor did the haste with which he slid from the barstool. Bodies crowded closer, making it more difficult to reach Fynta before she screwed up his plan for the evening.
The man Fynta set her sights on was a stranger to Verin, but his armour wasn’t. The white skull surrounded by flame. That Verin knew; so did Fynta.
Verin almost called out to his sister, but she was helmeted and wouldn't hear him over the dim of the cantina. Verin’s was still sitting on the table with the blonde, abandoned in his haste to stop his sister from being an shabbing dikut. They were going to have a long conversation about this once he got his hands on her.
That conversation was going to have to wait…
Time slowed as Fynta siddled up to the man, the crowd seemingly parting for her while they hindered Verin. The man’s laughter settled into a chuckle as he turned towards Fynta. Verin’s mind supplied the sort of razor sharp details brought on by trapped adrenaline: human, blue eyes, grey streaked hair and beard, laugh lines around the man’s eyes and the leathery texture of his skin that hinted at a lot of time in the sun. Then, it all went red.
The man had barely gotten the traditional greeting past his lips before Fynta’s knife skewered his throat. He wasn’t a tall man, and Fynta’s aim was true. Those icy eyes widened, one hand reaching for his throat while the other shoved her away. Verin followed the arc of ruby droplets that slung from Fynta’s blade as she stumbled back. Verin registered abject pride that she’d kept her hold.
The two men with Fynta’s kill crowded their comrade and he vanished into the press of panicking patrons. Verin managed to reach his sister just as the tide of patrons swelled towards the door. He snagged the back of Fynta’s armour and let the momentum carry them towards the door. Fynta didn’t fight, which led Verin to hope that when the authorities viewed the footage, they would see clan violence and nothing more. This would be handled internally, not their problem.
The blonde had vacated their table, but Verin’s helmet still sat there unpilfered. He snagged it as the mod carried them past then emptied into the streets. There were fewer screams than Verin expected, as if the crowd realized half way through their stampede that this didn't involve them. People dispersed with quick steps in different directions, but there was no running or calling for security.
Verin dragged Fynta by her chest plate own the street as discreetly as possible without releasing his hold. When they reached the relative safety of an alley six blocks away, he slammed her against the wall with one hand while unlatching her helmet with the other. It clattered to the ground alongside his, and Verin snarled in his little sister’s face. “That was a ures‘mird .”
Fynta’s expression was so cold that Verin felt a pang of fear. He shoved it down and forced heat into his glare. She was almost as tall as him now, skinny from lack of food, but muscled like everyone in their family had been. He saw no remorse, no thrill, those deep blue eyes that they shared were dead.
Slowly, Fynta removed Verin’s hand from her armour. “So was attacking our clan.”
Verin stepped back, his brows pulling together as Fynta followed him. “They thought they were untouchable. I want them to know they aren’t. That some of those who survived still remember the old way.”
Finally, her lip curled as she raked Verin with a glare that brought life back into her eyes. “Like you used to.”
That accusation ignited Verin’s temper and he shoved her back into the wall, beskar sparking where it struck the duracrete. “I’m trying to keep us alive, you ungrateful adiik.” When her eyes narrowed, Verin straightened. He saw the hunger in her again, the predator caged behind the guise of survival. This ill would never be enough for his little sister. There was too much mando’karla in her.
”Fine,” Verin acquiesced. He’d been playing it safe, keeping them under the radar and alive until something better came along. Clearly, that wasn’t what Fynta wanted. He’d do anything to keep that dead look from her eyes.
Verin let his lips pull back into a feral grin. “You want to hunt ,little wolf? Let’s hunt.”
”Good work, Bruun.” Master Deynn walked the line of prisoners, five in total knelt before their conquerors, red faced in the presence of justice.
They had come in as a team of three, Caldus, Khitt, and Kadu. Caldus had been chosen to lead given his years studying the Mandalorian scourge on their galaxy. This was a good take. This crew had been tormenting merchants in the surrounding shipping lanes. Caldus had received a tip that a target of high value would be passing through, and the trap had been set.
Master Deynn had waited on the ship, ready to provide back up but testing the leadership and teamwork of his students. It hadn’t been needed. Caldus beat back the swell of pride in his chest. Now was not the time for empty gloating. He’d done his job.
Caldus almost flinched when Khit slapped a webbed hand onto his shoulder. “You did it, brother.” With a squeeze, the Nautolan turned back to their prisoners and forced two of them towards the ship by the leads attached to their shock cuffs. Kadu did the same, offering only a quiet nod of approval. His captives stood without complaint, blank expressions just shy of serene. That left the big one for Caldus.
”On your feet.” Caldus was a large man thanks to his birthright. But this grizzled Mandalorian made him look average. He squared his stance and met the man's hard glare “I’ll not ask again.”
”I’m comfortable,” the old man said. He was bald with an impressive beard that had long since gone grey. Scars marked most of his visible skin, and there was a paleness to his left eye that gave the impression of blindness. He sure as shit didn’t shoot like he was blind.
Sighing, Caldus reached for the man. Perhaps it was because the Mandalorian was in his sixties that Caldus didn’t anticipate the attack. He should have known better. All of his research over the last three years pointed to the fact that an old Mando was a dangerous Mando.
One second the prisoner sat on the ground, cuffed and ornery. In the next, pain splintered behind Caldu’s eyes. Blinking away the tears, Caldus reached for his weapon only to find it missing.
The hum of a lightsaber filled the room, then the clatter of cuffs hitting the floor. Caldus’ stomach followed suit. “This is neat,” the man said, whirling it around in a sickening display of skill. He flashed a gap-toothed grin. “I think I’ll add it to my collection.”
”I think not.” Caldus was not that scared boy in the temple anymore. He would not be duped by another of these vermin. Squeezing his hand, Caldus fell back on training older than the Jedi Order. Of his master in the dark days of rage and death.
The lightsaber clattered at the man’s feet while he clawed at his throat, eyes bulging with fury instead of fear. “How…” the Mandalorian croaked.
Caldus stepped closer to look his prisoner in the eyes. “You are too dangerous to face a jury.” This man would escape again, and his next victim might be a guard. Their death would be on Caldus for leaving such a highly trained criminal in their care when they were not prepared.
The man managed a wheezing laugh through the phantom grip on his throat. “You can’t—“ A crack echoed through the bay, tightening into a ball in the pit of Caldus’s stomach. He made himself watch the life leave the man’s eyes; made himself watch as they rolled back and his body hung limp with toes barely touching the floor.
Caldus released the neutralized threat and stepped back. A strange numbness filled him, pushing back the horror that he knew would come. He sensed a presence at his back but couldn’t muster the energy to turn.
“You did what you must.” Master Deynn spoke softly, making the moment feel almost reverent. It was a vulgar enough thought to shake Caldus from his daze. He faced his master and found serenity on the striped features. “Go calm yourself, then meet me in my quarters once we’ve entered hyperspace.”
Caldus nodded, heavy legs carrying him to his room aboard the ship. There was a small fresher, so he splashed water on his face and avoided the mirror. He’d done wrong, and Deynn had every right to punish him. He’d called upon the Dark Side of his powers. Over the years he had suppressed them, but they were always there with the siren song of an easy victory. He’d given in today. That couldn’t happen again.
The next hour felt no different to Caldus. He sat on his bed, meditating in an attempt to bring himself back into balance. He’d only partially succeeded when the intercom in his room popped to alert him of an imminent message. “Bruun, please report to the commander's quarters.”
”On my way,” Caldus replied. This would be the moment when Master Deynn tired of his failures and tossed him from the Vanguard Program. Caldus wasn’t sure he could master the politics of the Order Proper. How they maneuvered with words instead of weapons. Perhaps he would wash out altogether.
By the time Caldus arrived, he’d concocted an impromptu defense and come up with nearly a dozen promises to earn another chance. The door opened before he could knock, so Caldus stepped into the room to face an uncertain future.
”Please, sit,” Master Deynn gestured at the empty chair across the desk. Caldus obeyed, eyeing the bronze chest plate laid out between them. “Do you know what this is?”
”The armour the Mandalorian chief wore.” Beskar, they called it. Nearly impenetrable even by a lightsaber. A Mandalorian's armour was sacred and an expression of the individual. It was as good as a thumb print for those who knew what to look for.
Master Deynn nodded. “We don’t tell boys what it takes to be admitted as a soldier of the Vanguard because the trial of passage is different for each.” Caldus pulled his eyes from the armour to the Cathar who had trained him since he was eleven years old. The old man was the closest thing to a father that he could remember.
“We fight a dirty war,” Deynn continued, “One that requires sacrifices of us that taint our souls. But, it is all for the greater good. For the protection of the Republic. Do you understand?”
Caldus nodded, paused, then shook his head. A pleased smile pulled at his master’s lips, exposing the yellowed fangs beneath. “Why did you kill this man?”
”He’d already taken me by surprise and escaped his restraints,” Caldus answered. “And I’ve studied their tactics for years. All I could think of is the harm he could do once he was in a prison with an untrained guard.”
”Exactly.” Master Deynn slammed his hand on the desk with enough force to make Caldus jump. “You corrupted yourself to save those who would be harmed. That is the kind of sacrifice the Vanguard requires of its soldiers.” Caldus started to speak, then snapped his mouth shut. He wasn’t being evicted.
Master Deynn gestured at the chestplate. “We have a tradition in our ranks. Wealth means nothing to us, we live for the people, no profit. However, you are allowed to keep one item of value from your trial. Only one.” The old Cathar trailed off, leaving Caldus to infer the rest.
”The armour,” he said without hesitation. Caldus placed his hand on the cool metal and scratched his claws across it. “I will meet my foe on an even battlefield.”
