Chap 25. Nar Shaddaa arc: Old ghosts

The young man snapped his fingers, pointing at the sith with a triumphant expression. "I remember now. You were on Korriban, helped my hound."

Rathari frowned, trying to think back. He'd gotten here by some sort of spatial distortion, folding two points to reduce its distance. He hadn't even known that was possible, but now that he did recreation would be a high priority.

He looked to the sith, a child fresh from Korriban, and saw he was in the process of bowing. Even Rathari had to admit it looked proper, although doing so before an unknown entity was rather cowardly.

"Lord Marka Ragnos." Morgan, if he remembered his file, murmured. "I am glad to have been of service."

Marka Ragnos? Unlikely. Ghosts were tethered to the place of their death, and that Lord of the sith had not died on Nar Shaddaa. He stayed quiet anyway, because lying or not, the stranger was far more powerful than himself.

"Yes, yes. My pup is hunting Old Hekka's right now, having the time of his life." The orb beckoned, Rathari blinking. He'd sworn the thing had been humanoid, before.

Morgan walked forwards, bowing again when he stopped. "Now then, why are you here? Not for my little science experiment, surely? That would make this a wasted trip."

"No, my Lord." Morgan assured, and Rathari heard only the slightest tremor in his tone. He approved. Relying on the Force for all things was a wasteful habit. Especially here, where feeling another with the Force would be rather like staring into the sun and trying to make out birds. Some basic acting skills should be taught on Korriban, doubly so with how most sith wore their hearts on their sleeves.

"Ah, here to kill that one, then." The lizard pointed to him, and Rathari thought he'd seen the orb change. Absurd, the stranger had been a lizard since the start.

Morgan looked pained. "No, my Lord. I am here on orders of my master, to kill a spy. When I learned Rathari was trying to acquire a fragment of the Star Forge I planned to stop him, but changed my mind when I saw the Lord fight."

Star Forge? All he'd heard was rumours of a self replicating machine. Even the researchers had no idea what it was, and he'd spend a couple hours looking over their findings. 'So how does a baby sith know?'

The dark skinned man looked disappointed, patting Morgan on the shoulder reassuringly. "Oh. Well, plenty of time for you to grow. Remember, all paths lead to the same Source."

Source? Morgan seemed to agree this was getting off track, venturing with a question of his own. "What happens now, my Lord?"

The man blinked, pointing at Rathari. "That one has been rude, impatient and altogether a bother. I suppose I'll take care of him, and then we can talk about why you're still clinging to those petty notions of honour."

Rathari focussed, stepping back into old habits as his hand fell to his lightsaber. "You may not find that as easy as you are imagining, whoever you are."

Morgan had made space, abandoning manners as he retreated. The lightly tanned man laughed, more amused than mocking. "People always assume I mean to kill them. Trust me on this, sith, there is no death. Not in any way mortals can comprehend."

He swung high, knowing the mad entity had already made up his mind. The man didn't move, didn't defend himself, until the lightsaber cut through his body. Then he reformed, like gathering smoke, and shook his head.

Rathari stepped back, dropping the ineffective lightsaber to draw on his internal reserves. Panic tried to grip him when he couldn't push it out of his body, the stranger holding the Force as still as stone.

"You are well trained." The man praised. "You plan and reassess. Can admit when you do not know something, and seek to change because of it. You are also going to kill Morgan should I let you live, if only because he knows about this place. About the fragment."

His heart stopped, Rathari checking reflexively on his shields even as half his mind descended into blind panic. He found them perfectly intact, drawing from his internal reservoir of power. How?

The entity turned his back on him, walking over to a carefully relaxed Morgan. Rathari ignored them, grabbing hold over the Force and massaging his heart manually.

"Now. It appears to me you have been ignoring my advice given to you on Korriban. Bold, but not wise."

Morgan replied something, he had no idea what, and Rathari struggled to find the rhythm needed to keep his brain from starving. He'd learned a host of medical techniques when he was fresh out of Korriban, a response to the high amount of bodily trauma he'd suffered, but a manual cardiac massage was not something he'd ever needed to perform before.

"Ah." The entity spoke, appearing briefly embarrassed. Rathari wanted to growl, every word the man said thundering in his ears. Distracting him. "Perhaps a three fold tesseract was not the best way to convey information to mortals. Allow me to explain."

The other sith's reply was lost again, Rathari forcefully ignoring how he could hear one but not the other. His lungs were less effective than they should be. A cursory look at his shields revealed them to be thinning, something that should not be possible in the slightest.

None of this, he admitted, was lethal.

"Do you understand?" A brief silence, then a laugh. "Good. Flattery will get you everywhere."

Rathari looked, his eyes drawn by a surge of Force, and saw that a vaguely egg shaped machine had appeared. The fragment, if common sense had not abandoned him.

"I'm done studying it, a pleasant distraction from my other works, so I leave its fate up to you." A pause, something Rathari was coming to understand where Morgan's replies. "I see. You meant it, then? To destroy this machine?"

A lightsaber ignited, metal dripping to the floor as Rathari heard his prize be destroyed. He collapsed, playing dead and not having to pretend all that heavily.

The entity hummed, pleased as a button. "No hesitation. No greed. Very good. Go on now. Leave an old man to his thinking."

The entity bowed over him, having taken a step stretching hundreds of feet, and cleared his throat softly. "He's gone, you can stop pretending."

Rathari struggled to his feet, a task he found to be alarmingly difficult, and looked at the entity. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"Because no one grows without strife." The man replied, sounding surprised. "So that's going to be your penance. Kill Morgan, kill his soldiers and apprentices, then come back. I'll restore your shields, your connection to the Force, everything."

The man shaped his fingers, pointing at his chest. "Quick thinking on the cardiac massage, my good man, but then it seemed like something you'd know."

"I'm." Rathari coughed, his lungs shuttering. "I'm weak. Weaker than I've been for years."

The entity frowned. "I'm not going to set a fully realised sith Lord on him. This is a test, not an execution. It will be a fair proving, however. You'll have the strength as you did when you walked the galaxy fresh from Korriban. Just as long as Morgan has. Who has learned more, I wonder?"

Rathari nodded, not seeing any other choice, and turned when the entity waved his hand. 'You can restrict power, strange thing, but not knowledge. I've been a sith Lord for over a decade, no matter how you limit me.'

Following the orders of some entity rankled, although not enough to do anything about it. Having to manually keep his heart beating limited him further, but he caught up soon enough. Part of him, the angry impatient part, wanted to pounce now. To dispatch the two women and snap the neck of that meddling sith like a twig.

He held back, not seeing a good angle to attack. The trio was fresh, silent and keeping a close eye on their surroundings. He was wounded, had spent hours cutting through an endless swarm of droids and had no idea how far his imposed limits stretched.

Rathari practised as he followed them, working the Force much like a muscle. Feeling where it complained, ran against walls in a manner he had never felt before. He had maybe half an hour before they came to the facility, if they kept this pace, and that would have to do.

He'd gotten the Force under control when he left the glare made by the entity, briefly wondering if the whole sector could feel it. Like a star going supernova, infusing everything with its power.

Only, when he tentatively reached back, he could feel none of it. His tendril disintegrated when it crossed some invisible line, but before that he could feel nothing. He shuddered involuntarily, lightly brushing away a wave of detection when it came his way.

His target relaxed marginally when his scan revealed nothing, although they kept on high alert until they passed a pair of soldiers and reached friendly territory.

Rathari frowned, did one final check of his ability, then decided it would have to suffice. He charged, rounding the corner and pushing off the wall with explosive force. The two soldiers had just about raised their weapons when his lightsaber cut through them.

Waves of alarm and fear swept over him as he felt his target turn to meet him. He prepared, carefully setting up a mental attack that would incapacitate his target. Incapacitate at the least, but with how little power he could infuse before the structure warped he would have to see.

The three sith bounded across the hallway to meet him, their formation widening to fit the large space, and Rathari noted an unusual degree of teamwork.

It wouldn't matter. He let his attack fly, his eyebrow rising up when his target met it halfway. Cancelling out Force attacks was too advanced for a mere apprentice. His mental attack weakened, although his prey failed to dismiss it entirely, and struck home.

His two neophytes collapsed in a heap, their eyes rolling up as they went boneless. The man himself only stuttered, a wave of rage briefly washing over his face before it went blank. Rathari frowned deeper, drawing his lightsaber and sinking backwards into the Force.

'Countering techniques, solid mental defences.' Rathari tested his opponent's shield, finding it a dome of power. 'Able soul defences.'

His picture of Morgan was refined as the man closed the distance, raising his lightsaber to block an incoming attack. He took a half step back, lessening the power of the following kick. He blocked the remainder, his forearm intercepting the foot.

Bone fractured as he slid to the side, the pain failing to distract him. 'Extraordinary strength. Delay, learn and counter.'

The mantra settled him deeper into the Force, his precognition heightening as he turned aside a crippling blow to his knees. He retaliated with a needle, poking the sith's shield to cripple his enforcement. It was unravelled before it could touch him, and Rathari's control had degraded enough he couldn't hide them inside a larger technique.

He tried another mental attack, point blank and forgoing skill for power. Some of it was unravelled again, but he estimated roughly seventy percent crashed into Morgan's shields. The man stuttered again, slowing for just a heartbeat or two, and Rathari went on the offensive.

His lightsaber went low, armour slowing the blow enough his opponent managed to save the leg, before carving a ruinous path upwards to his throat. Durasteel melted, but before he could finish it he had to slap aside a knife.

It bought his opponent enough time the man centred himself, another knife slipping free. The one on the floor joined its brother in circling the pair, out of reach of his lightsaber but close enough to punish any lapse in attention.

Rathari snorted, breaking the finger-light control of the man's knives with a twist. They wavered, but another connection was established before they could fall. He tried again, deflecting a kick with his leg. This time he briefly flooded the hallway, infusing his Force into the air. He nodded, satisfied, as the knives clattered to the ground.

Then he nearly lost his spine as they went for his back, catapulting forwards as his opponent went for his throat. He twisted to dodge the steel, Morgan's fist catching his windpipe and collapsing it.

Without air this fight had a deadline, his control stretching further as he tried to force it open. Horrid pain laced his neck, small panes of power restructuring his trachea. Air inflated his lungs, but Morgan took the exact worst moment to attack.

His control was split between keeping his heart beating and his windpipe from collapsing. Another two seconds and it would have stabilised, but his shield was enveloped by dozens of tendrils. Twisting and grinding, breaking until a fracture appeared.

Rathari was just slightly too slow. His foot locked up, its muscles disobeying orders as his balance suffered. The lightsaber came for his chest, a killing blow, and he realised too late it was a feint. By then his lightsaber was in the wrong position, his opponent twisting.

The kick broke four ribs, damaging his heart further and embedding him into the wall. He'd managed to avoid breaking his spine by layering the Force behind himself, looking at his opponent. As wounded as he was, Morgan's condition was worse.

A large, jarring cut stretched from his upper leg to his navel, the melted steel burning flesh. His left eye was watery, likely from the strain his mental shields suffered, and he didn't close in for the kill.

Rathari saw why that was as he climbed to his feet, shaking his foot. The wounds were closing before his eyes, flesh filling them from within. It looked horrid, like someone had forced pulsing skin into the wounds, but Morgan seemed to care little. He shook his head, tested his leg, and waited.

'I won't win a battle of attrition.' Rathari thought, frowning. 'Healing. Fleshcrafter, by the looks of it. Another four minutes until my brain starts starving?'

Soldiers appeared, interrupting their duel, and he wanted to scoff. Throwing their lives away was more ruthless than his profile suggested, buying him only fractions for each. Morgan flicked his hand to his apprentices, his men dragging them away.

Six stayed behind, hands tightly clutched around ancient looking weaponry. Slugthrowers.

He kicked off, flying to land in their middle and take care of them before his body filled with lead. His speed was still fast enough he landed without being shot, but the soldiers didn't aim for him.

They threw themselves backwards instead, a rough circle forming with him in the middle. That normally wouldn't have been a problem, his speed more than able to close the distance, but they managed an impressive twenty feet.

Impressive enough he hesitated, unsure, and that was something he hadn't done in a long time. It was punished immediately, dozens of slugs tearing through the air. He dodged most, blocking what he couldn't.

Molten slag punched into his body, the damage not nearly what an intact slug would inflict. Before he could charge his opponent appeared, forcing him to block.

'They're trained against sith.' He noted, stepping back to avoid the lightsaber and having to duck to avoid a slug. 'Fleshcrafter. He enforced them.'

This was beginning to look like more than he could handle, his escape route being blocked by four soldiers ready to fill him with slugs. He felt fear in them, fear aplenty, but they stood regardless. He sped deeper into the facility instead, something they hadn't expected.

He raced by more soldiers, leaving them be. Killing them would give his opponent time to catch up, but he had a plan. The profile hadn't been wrong, not entirely. The rage Morgan had felt when he killed his two soldiers had been real, so a hostage could be useful. His captain.

Rathari burst into the command centre, said captain looking at his arrival with cold eyes. He appeared behind the man, his lightsaber coming up to rest against his throat and stilling the knife that had appeared in Quinn's hand.

The kick took him off guard, forcing him to take a balancing step and feeling searing pain in his leg. He looked, seeing the knife had missed his artery by an inch. One of the women, a pureblood, readied her lightsaber. 'They aren't dead?'

He crafted another mental push as the captain made space, being interrupted before he could complete it. The second woman attacked his shield, and he was weakened enough he had to reinforce it. His mental attack was abandoned, the two women circling him like hounds.

'Buying time.' He decided. Rathari blinked. 'That should have been obvious.'

He checked his lungs, feeling one of his ribs had poked a hole in his left lobe. Blood was pooling inside, his brain already slowing. He closed the hole with another pane, his control stretching further still, and went on the offensive.

Morgan intercepted him, his eyes clear, and he moved to block. The circling sith bounded forward, one aiming for his neck and the other going for his knees. He turned aside, dodging the lightsaber coming for his neck, but his knee burned.

He rolled as he collapsed, clearing some space, and he heard Morgan bark something. His brain tried to puzzle it out, panicking slightly when it took longer than it should have, but by then a rolling wave of Force crashed into him.

Their combined power overwhelmed his weakened shield, flinging him through the table. A directed tendril of power came after, only barely fought off, and he struggled to his feet as they advanced.

The women stayed on the defensive, letting their master occupy his attention and snipping at his heels. It was frustratingly effective, his body collecting minor wounds even on the defence, and he used a moment of peace to jump through the room.

His knee damaged further from the stress, more hanging on than attached, but the hallway offered a moment reprieve.

Until those soldiers appeared, slugs tearing through the air and forcing him to defend. One impacted his back, half turning to see the captain take aim again. It also brought his attention to a corpse slumped against the walls, Dellocon's face staring back.

He focussed, barely managing to turn away from the lightsaber coming to take his head off, and a hail of slugs impacted his chest.

The soldiers abandoned their careful aim when their master jumped back, half a hundred more slugs shredding his internal organs. More than he could dodge or block. More than he could handle.

'Killed by a ghost and apprentice. How humiliati-'

His thoughts stopped when the lightsaber sheared his head in two, the briefest shock going through him before all feelings stopped.

Morgan waved, Alyssa and Inara stepping forwards to cut his body into pieces. Jillins came after, dropping an incendiary grenade on the mangled corpse.

Quinn called for medics as Rathari burned, the sith Lord's body disappearing into ashes.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette reclined in her pseudo throne, overlooking the expansive floor below. Only days ago it had been an abandoned warehouse, now emptied and cleaned.

Dorka stalked between the mercenaries, divided into four rough groups. Vette smiled lightly, seeing the exhaustion on some of their faces.

When the call had gone out she'd pay double for the first three hundred that signed up; they'd been flooded. It had allowed her to be picky, weeding out the arrogant and hopeless. Four days now. Four days Dorka had been putting them through their paces.

One third retention was a horrendous margin, true. These would not be simple hunters and enforcers, though. She had plenty of those, more streaming in as her reputation grew and money flowed. No, these would be her elite.

Her second barked at some fool almost dropping his blaster, getting a fierce glare in return. The mandalorian laughed, a mocking tilt to his tone as he asked if the man wanted to leave.

'Well, they have time to shape up.' She reasoned. More when they're in transit.'

Vette stood, going unnoticed among the spectacle forming below, and walked into her office. An actual office, once belonging to some supervisor. Amelia was seated at a desk twice the size of her own, two attendants flanking her.

Her assistant stood as she entered, bowing her head as Vette waved her off. The two former slaves, now turned into Amelia's very own minions, had dropped to the floor.

The gesture of submission made her more than a little uncomfortable, not that they'd ever know, and brought up bad memories in the process. Their boss whispered something, both women standing with their eyes averted.

Amelia had assured her they'd come around. It was depressing to think they were among the most mentally stable of her rehabilitation program, most stable among thousands. It was a bit of a money pit, right now, but Vette had glared at all the naysayers and they'd shut up.

Maybe she had glared at Dorka when he'd lightly asked if the money sent there could be better spent elsewhere, same difference. She'd just as lightly informed him it would make for very fertile recruitment grounds, giving them a steady stream of recruits.

That had the benefit of being true, even if it wasn't her prime motivation. She dropped into her chair, made for comfort over style, and rapped her fingers against the table.

"I'm sure he will be back soon." Amelia assured, signing some documents and coming to stand before her desk. "In the meanwhile."

Vette glared half-heartedly, huffing. "Like I spent all my time worrying over some guy. I'm a pirate queen, above such petty things."

"We are not pirates." Amelia denied gently. "And no. You also spent it in furious conquest, terrifying both our own people and the enemy."

She huffed again. "Some fear will do them good."

A list of their holdings and manpower was deposited on her desk, Vette looking it over reluctantly. "Four hundred and ninety eight businesses of varying prosperity, a detailed account on pages seventy three to one hundred and nine. Two thousand and seventy one employees, one thousand eight hundred and fifty combat ready, a detailed account on pages thirty one to fifty eight. Nine subverted territories in the process of converting, with- I'm not reading this again. What's new?"

Amelia smiled, taking the datapad. "The Glorious Sons of Varos have offered their surrender. Captain Helioas has accepted, following current protocol, and is seeing who will be allowed to join his crew. The Mantos Droid corporation, such as it is, has been neutralised. We are buying up their holdings cheaply and looking for someone to run the rebranded enterprise. It should, given time to recover, become the most profitable company under our control."

"Switch to fortifying and securing our current holdings." Vette twirled in her chair, catching one of Amelia's assistants taking notes. "We, and by that I mean us in this room and the people being drilled by Dorka, won't be here to oversee for much longer. How we doing on finding someone to run the place?"

Her second second in command, someone who she probably needed to give a proper title soon, frowned. "Gregor is our favourite candidate. Former gang leader, using the money he made to start Gregor's Shipyard Inc. The company went under some years ago. Revenge, from what my people could find, for insulting the wife of a rich tourist. He killed the tourist not long after, but his fortune had dried up."

Vette hummed, putting her sniper on the table and disassembling it. She found she concentrated better when her hands were busy. "Why'd you like him?"

"We got his daughter private medical care, she's better now, and he seems grateful for it. Little ego, likely because he is old, and knows how to run both legal and illegal operations. By all accounts he is loyal, competent and experienced with Nar Shaddaa."

"But?" Vette asked, laying out her cleaning kit. The one downside of slugthrowers, other than having to carry munitions. They had to be cleaned twice as often.

"But I see no reason for him not to turn on us when we leave. The plan of using a small, well trained army to establish footholds on whatever planet Lord Morgan is going to is a sound one. I don't see why any would remain loyal when we leave again."

She nodded, turning over her weapon and taking off the barrel. "Good question, my most loyal minion. Firstly, we'll control the money. He could lie, report less than what he's made, but that's what we have Miraka for. She'll set up algorithms and other tech magic to monitor any discrepancies with the company's revenue. If we were a typical outfit, getting our money from protection schemes and drugs, you'd be right. We're not. Our enforcers will be protecting weapon shipments, supplying muscle and defending territory. Few hard credits, difficult to syphon."

She wiped the barrel clean, picking up a bore brush. "So we're the ones paying for the mercenaries. He could take control anyway, true. Subvert contracts and such. Should that happen we'll have to come back, clean house. I don't think it will. Why won't they, Amelia? Why will people hesitate to turn on me?"

"Because you spent the last week showing what happens when they displease you." She said quietly. "They might forget."

"Then I'll remind them. Hand me the cloth?"

Amelia did, making her smile. "I do worry about Morgan. I haven't been aimlessly venting that worry on Nar Shaddaa without a plan. If you ever have questions about my motives, ask. In private, mind you, but I won't get upset with you. Who do you like for Gregor's second?"

"Captain Helioas." She answered, looking back at her assistants. One brought over a different datapad. "Here's his report."

It was hours before she got out of her office, stretching her legs to see most of her so-called private army collapsed on the ground. Dorka was stalking among them, displeasure written over his face.

He approached when he saw her, waving his hand at the room and lowering his voice. "They're improving. You sure we can't put some veterans in there?"

"Better if they're young, new. We can train them, and I'd rather not have moles this early."

Dorka nodded begrudgingly. "So you keep telling me. Didn't escape my notice I've been doing most of the training."

"But you're so good at it." Vette grinned, stepping over a prone young woman groaning on the floor. She clapped her hands, the sound nearly deafening those closest to her. "Everybody up."

She cajoled them into a rough circle, sitting them on the floor like children. The phrase herding cats came to mind, although most cats weren't this well armed. "You, my special minions, have seen what my second can do. Some of the better behaved ones have even seen what I can do."

Four women flinched slightly, sitting together. Dorka had told her they were the best of the crop. Disciplined, well trained. Inexperienced, but solid. So she'd taken them on a little excursion.

'Maybe breaking that cyborg over my knee was a tad much.' She frowned. 'Nah, that was cool as fuck. They'll get over it. Look, they're even sitting together as friends.'

"The rest of you, errant children that you are, need to be reminded who the biggest bully of this schoolyard is. Jess, Dials, Krilka. Up."

Those three were the troublemakers. Aggressive, used to being the toughest around. It gave them an edge. It also shot unit cohesion in the face. They stood, looking at each other. "Don't just stand there. Hit me."

Dials shrugged, dancing forwards and japping at her head. She shot her forehead into it, making sure the fist collided with the thickest part of her skull, and Dials screamed as he broke four fingers. "Next!"

Jess and Krilka exchanged wary glances, moving forward as a pair. Good. "Don't be scared. Eating children is only for thursdays."

Jess's face scrunched up at the taunt, stepping out of sync with her partner. Vette shot towards her, Krilka a step too far away to help her properly, and kicked her in the chest.

Two arms and a braced position, in addition to her holding back, saved her from any broken bones. She still fell on her ass, her eyes wide as she stared at the twi'lek. Krilka pounced, Vette leaning aside with a yawn. "Come now, you've been acting like you own the place. Surely you can do better than this?"

They couldn't, and she spent the next five minutes or so hammering that fact home. To his credit Dials had struggled to his feet, helping where he could. She gave him points for trying.

"What the fuck is she made of." Jess complained, the trio slinking back to the line. They found their old spot had closed, having to split up to find space.

"Dorka, want to show them how it's done?" She called, sending Jess a smirk. The woman paled, still cradling her shoulder. Her second didn't get a chance to respond, Amelia striding onto the sparring floor and leaning close.

"Captain Quinn has reported mission success. They got back to the Aurora some minutes ago."

Vette smiled, a mean glint in her eye. "Finally. Making me wait for a whole week. Rude."

"Take an hour break, then you're on patrol. Dorka will see to your schedule. Valkyries, with me." She called. The four huddled women stood when she pointed at them, exchanging uncertain looks.

The oldest, she hadn't cared to remember their names, spoke up. "Valkyries?"

"You're all pretty, fighters and female. Warrior women in service to some god who's name I can't remember. Extinct religions fascinated me once. Ignore the bit about shepherding dead souls, it's not important here."

By their confused looks that hadn't cleared anything up, but they also didn't ask for clarification. She decided that was good enough, stepping into one of her ships. Confused or not, her four guards took their positions.

Travelling without a guard had become somewhat less feasible over the last week, annoying as that was. These ones were competent, though, and usually kept silent. It added to her image to have well armed people following her, and that mattered more than it used to.

Coming to the dock she saw crewmen on guard, stepping aside when she waved at them. The woman's confusion grew, something that amused her if nothing else, but by the time she came to the Aurora's hangar bay doors she had more important things to do.

Like flinging herself into Morgan's arms, jumping when she was still a good twenty feet away. Her legs pushed, she sailed into the air, and laughed when Morgan took a steadying step backwards.

The strength of his arms surprised her, wrapping her up and burying his face in her shoulder. He murmured something, she couldn't quite hear, and she pulled back to put her forehead to his. "I missed you. Don't take so long to kill a sith Lord next time, it's inconvenient."

Her guards approached as his face blanked briefly, something she noticed but didn't comment on, and he put her down. "I was just about to look for you. They're with you, I assume? Otherwise my men are being surprisingly cool with four unknown strangers in their middle, all heavily armed."

"My valkyries." She introduced, grinning. "Minions, meet Morgan. I've been assured he's sith."

"You're. You're dating a sith?" The third oldest asked, seeming to regret opening her mouth the second she did. "Not that that's any of my business, of course."

"Omens of war. Fitting." Morgan kissed her head, being the perfect height to do so, and turned. "Come, I imagine we have stories to share. Odin's maidens can get something to eat while they wait."

She frowned, turning her back to her guards as they walked. "Odin? No wait, more important. Why'd you flinch?"

"I did not." He denied, sidestepping an opening door and waving off the torrent of apologies. "I very pointedly didn't display any emotion, actually."

"Same difference."

Morgan sighed, smiling briefly. "I'll start, then. Come, I can get some healing in as we talk."

He pulled off his shirt as they came to their room, a jagged scar running from thigh to navel. She flinched, anger and fear surging. Vette calmed as he sat, reminding herself he was a big boy and could take care of himself. "It went well enough until we got ambushed at night, four of my men dead on the ground."

She listened as he talked, seeing him slip half in a trance as he prodded the scar with his fingers. By the time he came to the fight with Rathari, only briefly mentioning talking with some long dead sith, the scar had become lighter. Less noticeable. "My armour saved me, as is becoming standard, but I hesitated."

"Told myself I was buying time, fixing the wound. That's true, even, and could have been a smart play. But it wasn't a play. I found old fear coiling in my gut, telling me what I would be leaving behind. You made me feel things, wretched woman."

She ignored the last part, forced sarcasm as it was, and dropped into his lap. "You won anyway."

"I did. Got over myself, you could say. He killed two of my men before we even engaged him. Ragnos lied."

Morgan shook his head, leaning into her hand as she combed his hair. "That feels wrong. He didn't lie, and Rathari was weaker. Saw him tear an army apart without breaking a sweat, but somehow I killed him? A test."

It sounded like he'd just come to that conclusion. She hummed. "Old ghosts. I'll shoot him, next time. Make the bad man go away."

He snorted, letting himself fall backwards. She went with it, lying half on top of him as he stared at the ceiling. "Nine of my soldiers died. They got Dellocon, shot him as he tried to slip past their patrols. Can't even say I shouldn't have brought them."

"Why'd Rathari bring the spy, anyway? Seems smarter to put him in a safehouse somewhere."

Morgan shrugged. "Keeping him close? Maybe Dellocon was getting cold feet about defecting, wanted to run off. Can't exactly ask the man."

"What did you get up to?" He asked after a minute of silence.

He turned to look at her. She smiled, going boneless and forcing him to catch her lest she slip off. "Nothing as exciting as you. Took over what I could from Wisi, securing contracts and businesses and such. Suppressed or took over the gangs trying to take their own cut, let people know who's in charge. Laid the foundations for an interstellar crime empire, establishing footholds wherever we'll go next. Just normal stuff. Oh, that slaver women is dead. Halidrell, I think. Got hit by some angry Wisi loyalists. It was hilarious. Took care of them after, mind you. No sense letting them run around. The cartels have been quiet, fitting with your 'the weak are worthless, even other hutts' theory."

"So normal." He praised, not even mentioning the slaver. "Not my theory, either. Concerned about leaving these footholds to govern themselves?"

She scooted forwards, pressing a kiss to his lips and smiling. "I'll deal with it. I can spare a few hours, if you want to decompress?"

His lips curled against her own. "How generous. A massage sounds nice, I've gotten all stiff from lying on the floor like this."

Her heartbeat jumped slightly as he lifted them both up, grinning as the tightness in his eyes relaxed slightly. "I'll even return the favour."

"I'll see what I can do."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Darth Baras, arguably the seventh most influential sith after the Dark Council, stared at a report and hesitated.

'We followed Lord Morgan into the depths of Nar Shaddaa, encountering a research facility along the way. Our Lord informed us this was to study a device called the Star Forge Fragment, a topic on which I will confess my ignorance. We saw the enforced in action, tearing through beasts like wet paper. They possess the strength of a cyborg with none of their weaknesses, and many of my fellow soldiers have told me they would join their ranks if they could. I am unsure, as it seems to require a level of loyalty I'm not comfortable giving to a sith. Almost forgot. The enforced engaged a sith Lord and survived, some even scoring lasting wounds. It is a point in their favour, I will admit, but I still hesitate. Not that they are recruiting, and I get the feeling they pick their members with care.'

It was scattered at best, a personal recollection recovered by his agents. He'd been spending close to an hour reading them, thoughts put to writing without order or structure. This was the seventh soldier that told more or less the same thing, Baras putting down the datapad.

'My apprentice went into the bowels of Nar Shaddaa, killed Rathari, his slave started a criminal enterprise and his fleshcrafting has advanced enough he is starting to enforce his soldiers.' Baras summarised. 'Quinn's reports are becoming less useful by the cycle, the captain of Morgan's ship hanged the man I sent to blackmail her and my apprentice seems to have developed genuine affection for his slave.'

He flicked at his datapad, the official status of said slave appearing. 'Yet has not used his growing influence to free her. Good.'

That is where his indecision came in. Or, if pressed, his hesitation. 'The creation of enhanced soldiers would be a boon, yet it was almost laughably easy to figure out he needs to be close to reapply it. Insurance should his soldiers betray him? An inability to make it permanent?'

His apprentice would not continue to grow in captivity, of that he was sure. Out of spite or not, fleshcrafting needed a measure of creativity not compatible with active imprisonment. What he had is what Baras would get, and he would not settle for a few hundred super soldiers when he could have millions.

'Leave him be for now, then.' He decided. 'More useful as an enforcer. Assign watchers to keep an eye on his slave's criminal dealings. Maybe get Imperial Intelligence involved?'

He walked to his long distance communicator, spent a second to get into the right mindset, and hailed his apprentice.

Morgan's body appeared, carefully submissive in a bowed position. Baras approved. "It seems your business on Nar Shaddaa is over, my apprentice. Lord Rathari dispelled and Dellocon eliminated. Halidrell Setsyn's death was unfortunate, but the ends justify the means."

His apprentice didn't seem to care one way or the other about Halidrell, at the very least assuring him he'd not become a bleeding heart. "With the death of both my compromised agents the time has come to set out sights on Nomen Karr and his gifted padawan. She has trained on Tatooine and claimed on Alderaan, so that is where you will go. My agents have yet to find a solid lead on her home planet, so Tatooine will be first."

Morgan stayed silent, appearing as little more than a soldier awaiting orders. Baras knew better, yet he found it was a convincing display. "I am certain Nomen Karr brought his gifted padawan to Tatooine to train with a legendary master named Yonlach. Find him, kill him. The bond between padawan and master will be severed, and the girl will be unbalanced."

"By your orders, master." Morgan replied. "Are there limits in this objective?"

Baras waved his hand. "Tatooine is a backwater. Kill every man, woman and child. Burn any house. As long as Yonlach dies I care not what happens to the rest of that wasteland."

His apprentice bowed again. Baras disconnected, displeased with that interaction for reasons he could not name. 'We will see how he deals with the tracker on his ship. Knowing Karr he will move to eliminate, though I doubt the man will come in person. A test, apprentice, to see if you still have use as my enforcer.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan waited patiently, his presence fading slightly as he matched the patterns of the Force, until Teacher spoke. "I agree. Rathari should have been capable of more, dismissing the slim possibility that sith Lords have weakened since my time. You dealt with him, but I should not have to mention how monumentally stupid hesitation is at a moment like that."

"I was afraid." Morgan said, shrugging helplessly. "Afraid of losing Vette, of abandoning the spark of happiness I found. Of death, as banal as that sounds. I'm surprisingly fine if that makes me weak."

Teacher shook his head. "I keep forgetting that you are young. A fear of death does not weaken you. Do you think I forged a holocron not seen before or since because I was happy to die? That people strive to improve and grow because they wish to give the reaper a more fulfilling experience?"

"I hesitated. Feared death where I didn't before. Nearly killed me, so I will have to argue for weakness."

"Wrong." Teacher denied. "You were uncaring about your death, a form of severe functional depression. Now you have to make peace with it. That everyone, no matter how immortal they claim to be, will die."

Morgan didn't have an answer for that, something Teacher clearly noticed, so the man moved on. "Show me what you've learned."

He did, blending as far into the Force as he could. The cube said nothing, moving on to unravelling techniques. Teacher provided them, low in power but quick. Their construction was masterful, taking twice as much power and time to deplete. His mentor hummed, tilting side to side.

"Not bad. Unraveling will grow with practice, as will camouflage. Both are skills well suited to your strengths, although finding a talented blademaster will need to become a priority. The master fulfils that role, normally."

He snorted at the sarcasm, petting the cube. "You're a great teacher, even if you can't swing a lightsaber around."

"I would get more respect, that's for sure." Teacher scowled, floating out of reach. Morgan didn't comment how he could have done so before being touched. "Call those two eye candies you insist on employing. You need some proper practice."

"I'm pretty sure that counts as sexual harassment." Morgan said mildly, calling Alyssa and Inara. "That or you suck at names."

Teacher didn't respond, a silence falling over the room. He didn't mind, letting his mind wander and focussing on his breathing. The power of his lungs, enforced as they were, drawing the air from all around. He opened his eyes when Teacher spoke, a hesitant tilt to his tone. "You said you spoke with Marka Ragnos?"

"If you call what we did speaking. I was scolded for ignoring information I didn't know was being given to me, praised for destroying the Star Forge Fragment and instructed to find the Source. Don't ask, no idea what that is either. Told me to abandon honour, deepen my connection to the Force and trust nothing but the One True Sun. If he didn't give off power like a nuclear reactor I would name him inane, if not insane."

The arrival of Alyssa and Inara interrupted whatever Teachers reply would have been, both bowing lightly. "Welcome. Teacher wants me to train unravelling techniques, you two need to work on your mental shields. I don't suppose either of you will complain, seeing as they saved your lives against Rathari?"

Neither did, bowing their heads in mute compliance and moving deeper into the room. "Good. I don't employ mental attacks much, if ever, because they're costly. That and I'm not supposed to really know any, nor have a mental shield capable of resisting them. Something to learn on Tatooine, perhaps?"

The last bit was directed to Teacher, the man humming noncommittally. "I've never put too much stock in them. Works great against anyone not shielded against them, or those not particularly powerful in the Force, but against those that can they become less than useful. Breeds overconfidence."

"I'll defer to your expertise." Morgan said, turning to his pupils. "I'm essentially going to scream at you, every now and then, and it's your job to shield against it. The Enosis trained you how?"

"With varying success." Alyssa said. "It's difficult, focussing on maintaining two shields at once."

"True." Morgan leaned right, stretching his shoulder and feeling his scar pull on skin. "Let's begin."

He was distracted as he trained, destroying techniques and blending the chaotic Force to hide him. Neither went all that well, his mind nagging at a detail he'd missed. Hours of training didn't reveal it to him, and neither did an early dinner with Vette.

Putting it out of his mind seemed best, letting it come back on its own time. He didn't feel all that reassured when he stepped onto the bridge, wondering how Vette had gotten here before him. "Commander, Vette. Am I interrupting?"

Clara shook her head, Vette grinning. "Kinda. What's up?"

"I wished to go over the last details for our departure to Tatooine with the captain. Unless you have the relevant information, commander?"

The woman nodded, pulling up her datapad. "The last crew on shore leave returned three hours ago. Engineering has reported all systems operational and captain Quinn has accounted for his men. We're fully supplied for desert operations with additional water supplies having arrived this morning. In short, everything is in order."

Morgan nodded. "Excellent work. How are our finances?"

Vette whirled around from where she'd been scratching at a console. "Knew I forgot something. Amelia, pull up the present list?"

"My lady." Her voice drifted from a small speaker on Vette's armour. "It's on your datapad now."

Clara cleared her throat awkwardly. "How long has she been listening?"

Vette waved her off, skipping over and shoving a datapad in his hands. "A present!"

"A present?" Morgan repeated, looking over a list of addresses and account numbers. "Thank you?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's money. Income streams, specifically. Quinn put it in your name already, asked him to keep it on the down low until I could surprise you. Surprise!"

He smiled, shaking his head. "Thank you. In my name?"

"Sith owned." She confirmed. "Tax deductible or something, Amelia would know. Quinn said it should be enough to pay for his men and the ship, although not much more. Your mysterious benefactor, that's me, will gift more when she expands her criminal enterprise."

"Tax exempt." Amelia provided.

"That."

"You didn't have to do that." Morgan said. "I'd have figured something out. Can't be easy running a syndicate when you give away money."

Vette shrugged, sticking her tongue out. "You take that illegally obtained money and you like it. Besides, the sith hovering over my shoulder made taking over way easier than it should have been. People are scared you're going to go on a rampage if they don't get out of my way or something. Silly."

He was about to reply when two more joined them on the bridge, Quinn and Kala halting when they saw he was in a standoff with Vette. He shook his head again. "Thank you. Don't strain yourself on my account, please. Captains."

Quinn nodded, Kala seeming distracted. Morgan turned to the man. "How are the men?"

"Rest was sorely needed. Morale is holding, considering."

Morgan nodded. "Good. I saw new faces. While I do not consider my memory to be exceptional it is not so bad as to have forgotten whole squads of men."

The captain shrugged. "Captain Kala recorded their names over the past week as they arrived. Most requested reassignment here, others are those I poached from Rathari. They were too wounded to move here. What resistance I faced at approving their official reassignment vanished when you returned, and the Lord did not."

"Imagine that." Morgan answered dryly. "Give me a short summary? I'll read the full report later."

"My command currently holds ninety six men, with lieutenants Helen and Kartwick as my senior staff. I've organised them into squads led by sergeants, those enforced by you answering to me alone. Still working out where they fit into command."

Quinn nodded, as if to assure himself that was everything, and Morgan did some math. "Do we have enough funds for that? I don't know if Vette's present accounts for the increase in men."

"Already included." The man answered. "There is also an Intelligence agent waiting for you outside, pretending to be a messenger."

"In a moment. Vette?" Morgan called, the twi'lek turning from where she'd resumed her talk with Clara. "Everything done on your end?"

She managed to look both bored and lightly insulted at the same time. "Got a ship, my second is in charge. They already left a few hours ago."

Morgan nodded, ticking another item off his mental list. "Let's go see what John wants, then. Captain, prepare for departure."

He passed a still distracted Kala, the woman saluting belatedly as he passed and nodding her assent.

John was indeed waiting outside, looking different enough Morgan blinked. The man grinned, holding up a datapad. "Got a message for you."

He closed the distance, some soldiers nearby relaxing when Morgan waved them off. "Good news, I hope? Certainly nothing to do with me getting a confused message when I inquired about Vette's enslavement, I assume?"

The man flinched, more for the effect than because he got caught. "Meant to talk to you about that. A necessary evil, I assure you. It would broadcast to everyone you actually cared about her, not playing some sick game or having her brainwashed."

"People think I've brainwashed her?" He had meant for that to sound casual. John shook his head a tad too quickly. "No one whose opinion matters. Point is, freeing her would do more harm than good."

Morgan didn't much like the sound of that. "It means she goes back to Korriban should I die."

"I don't happen to think she'll go back to a cage without violent complaint. She's a connected woman, these days."

Point. "Why are you here?"

"Because my superiors ordered me to keep my distance." John grinned. "And life is just so much more interesting when I don't. I also come bearing gifts."

"Following us to Tatooine, then?" Morgan asked, accepting the datapad. He looked it over, seeing a list very much like the one Vette had given him. "What is this?"

"Fraid so. It'll be great fun, tracking you through the desert. That, my good friend, is your property. I muddled the papertrail some, although whoever handled the digital side is good at what they do. Young though, so I fixed some mistakes. It looks better like this, promise."

He'd have to warn Vette John was poking into her people. "Thank you. Slightly concerned Imperial Intelligence is getting this much into my business, but that's beside the point."

"Well, that's all I came here for. Be seeing you."

"One moment." Morgan didn't even try to make it sound like a request. John turned. "Should something like this come up in the future, where you strongly believe my actions are detrimental, I will listen. Even if I disagree, I will hear your opinion. Don't ever assume to make such decisions for either Vette or myself."

A flicker of concern flashed through John's eyes, briefly, but he smiled. "Sure thing."

The man disappeared through the crowd, leaving him standing at the entrance of his hangar. Morgan turned, walked back inside his ship, and got to his quarters before someone bothered him again.

Although in this case he was the one barging in, Vette waving without turning from the holo. "So forty containers won't be a problem?"

Armie nodded excitedly, waving his hands. "No problems, no problems. Will be two point six million credits. Boss lady smart, will sell for three on the streets of Nar Shaddaa no issue."

"Good. Gregor, my captain on Nar Shaddaa, will see to the details. You have his address?"

The jawa nodded, disconnecting after setting a new meeting. Morgan walked deeper into the room, kissing her shoulder and wrapping her into a hug. "Friend of yours?"

"Armie." Vette said, twisting in his arms. "Jawa that got us that armour on Balmorra. Seems the factories are up again, or he's raided some stockpile, either way he got stuff to sell."

"Big money." Morgan confirmed. "Should help with whatever you're planning for Tatooine."

She smiled. "A girl should have her secrets. Come, I made dinner. That's a lie, I stole it, but it's good food."

He shook his head fondly, finally able to put the nagging sensation from his mind as she tugged him to the kitchen. "Some downtime would be nice."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Kala stood on the bridge, her full staff manning the consoles, with her hands clasped behind her back. This is where she liked to be, the vastness of space blurring just beyond the windows as they made ready to come out of hyperspace. No awkward social interactions she'd inevitably fuck up. No scrambling for etiquette as Morgan appeared from nowhere. Just her and the stars, infinite potential at her fingertips.

"ETA of thirty three seconds before disengaging hyperspace." Her navigation officer called.

She nodded, looking over their planned route. They'd been able to mostly chain routes together, their computer was smart enough to factor that in, but here they'd have to stop and recalculate. This journey was nothing extreme, sticking to well mapped hyperlanes. A good shakedown run, letting the crew get their footing.

"ETA fifteen seconds before disengaging hyperspace."

This would be their only stop before reaching Tatooine. Kala frowned. Their only stop? She looked to the map, her mind rapidly planning alternate routes, but she saw none. A horrid feeling spread through her stomach.

Her command to sound battle stations was met with hesitation, distracting her for a brief moment. She snapped them out of it. "Lower viewport blast shields. Prepare fighters. Deflector shields to full draw."

Her officers scrambled as the seconds ticked by, lights starting to blink and informing her of various decks reporting their readiness. "Missile launcher armed and ready to fire on your command."

She nodded, her mind calming as five seconds turned to three. Her stomach settled, only her clasping hands indicating her nerves. "Do not fire unless fired upon, or on my orders."

Hyperspace disappeared as their engines cooled, her navigation officer already calculating their new vector. She looked at her map, the ship's sensors reporting three vessels arrayed to intercept. Three Hammerhead-class cruisers, odds she wouldn't face on a good day.

With fifteen seconds to prepare this wasn't a good day. "Keep fighters close and have them prepare their own hyperspace calculations. Hail them."

"No response. Unknown ships are moving and setting deflectors to full!"

She could see that. "No non-critical chatter. Bring us to defence point nine."

Millions of tons of durasteel moved on her command, pointing its heaviest armour directly to the enemy ships. She was vaguely aware of their Lord joining her, although he wasn't saying anything. "Launch three missiles at each enemy."

The explosives fired, invisible but for the enemy's fighters detonating them. Only a single one got through, breaking against the shield of ship two. Her readings displayed a seven percent drop in power, a grin forming on her lips. "Attack ship two, set fighters to screening manoeuvres. Concentrate fire on grid eight four. They don't have the numbers to overwhelm us."

The next few minutes were a haze, her ship accelerating as the enemy scrambled to get into a proper defensive position. She kept changing the angle of attack, their confusion evident as they adapted a rough defensive line unsuited to intercept her.

"No central command." She mused. Louder, she said. "Fire two missiles at random intervals between ten and twenty seconds, target only enemy ships one and three. Engines, ramming speed."

The captain of ship two panicked as he, or she, but statistically he, realised what she planned to do. The two other ships could have, should have, torn her to shreds before she could manage it.

They didn't, her shields blocking their unfocused fire until it was too late. Ship one got close, but didn't have the firepower to disable her on its own. "Brace for impact."

This is what she lived for, feeling her ship tear into the Hammerhead with violence uncounting. She kept an eye on her sensors, no breach warnings appearing in her hull. "Engineering, get me an update on armour effectiveness."

She listened with half an ear as her fighters tore three boarding pods to shreds, four more getting through and rapidly closing the distance. "Armour at estimated eighty four percent effectiveness."

He sounded surprised. She wasn't. Shields of a Hammerhead-class cruiser shouldn't have dropped by more than three percent against her missiles. Still in need of repairs, then, and assembled with haste. No central captain appointed, so drawn from different sectors and fleets. "Brace for boarding. Escort one and two, focus on disabling enemy fighters."

Her pilots acknowledged, men she'd known since her early command. Crewmen that had spent the better part of four thousand hours in simulations, honing their craft as they hunted pirates. The enemy fighters dropped from six to four, then two before they retreated. 'Who said being friends with crime lords doesn't pay? Never heard of the Empire shelling out for mark nine deflectors and type four manoeuvre thrusters.'

"I'll help deal with the boarding parties." Morgan said, appearing as calm as ever. "If possible disable ship one without destroying it. There is someone I wish to talk to either on board or in contact with it. This is your command, I will add, so do as you deem best."

"Understood."

He strode out, Kala turning her full focus back on the battle. "Send fighters wide, no more than nine clicks, and converge on ship three. Arm bombs and destroy its shield. Move us to intercept directly, ramming speed. Bank at twenty clicks and fire payload in sync with fighters."

Her people moved, her grin refusing to go away as the captain of ship three set to dodge her. Like she was that green, ramming two times in a row and not being sure it would have weakened plating. Her ship turned, their heavy plating to protect them from ship one, and her missiles impacted two seconds after those of her fighters. The deflectors dropped, her turbo lasers cutting deep into their armour.

Ship one got its act together, heavy fire concentrating on her engines. "Disengage, turn to meet ship one. Fighters, intercept enemy missiles and keep those bombers off us."

Fighter four disappeared from her radar at the same time as ship three made a wild jump to hyperspace. She winced internally, saying a quick prayer for her lost pilot. Ship three's departure suited her fine, on the other hand. 'That'll be missing for a while, assuming they don't get sucked into a black hole and die.'

"Hail ship one and move to put some space between us. Shields?"

"Hailing. Shields holding, but we need time to recharge."

She nodded, feeling the vibrations in her legs as one missile got through her defences. Her armour was thick enough for it, the chances these quickly assembled ships carried special munitions low enough to be discounted.

"Terminus-class." The enemy captain, an older man with deep stress lines, greeted. "Not looking so good there."

She was giving him time to recharge his own shields with this, but then she was betting her rate was better than his. "More so than your two friends. Jumping into wild space like that was risky, speaking of genius or panic. I'd go with panic, seeing as they didn't angle before leaving."

"I have someone that wishes to speak with your Lord, captain."

"Nah." She denied, pulling up her camera's. "He's busy."

She shared the view, Morgan just finishing cutting a droid in two. He turned, two blurs tearing past the screen and coming to stop over his shoulders. He looked around, dismissively cutting down a soldier clawing at his feet. "See? Tisk tisk, ship three, leaving your boarding parties behind like that. Hope that wasn't a friend of yours, seeing as he's probably as dead as ship two."

The captain disconnected with an angry scowl, likely seeing this break was helping her more than him, and she smiled wider. "Move to defend."

'Older, a veteran from the first war. Will move to bring his heavy weapons in range. Armour is damaged, but they have few fighters. Another sign this was hastily cobbled together, counting on the Hammerheads alone to destroy us.'

Morgan joined her on the bridge by the time she wrapped up, a well placed missile taking out their engines. "One Hammerhead-class cruiser, disabled and gift wrapped. Preparing boarding pods, they won't dare shoot with us this close even if they find a turret that's still operational."

She was giddy enough at the victory her usual nervousness couldn't even touch her. Morgan nodded. "Good work, captain. All enemy boarding parties disabled. No casualties, although the med-bay will be crowded for a few days. Turns out three sith and a squad of super soldiers are very effective at taking care of unwanted guests."

Kala got herself under control, tugging down her uniform from where it had gotten crumpled. "I imagine not. We will assess damages in the meantime, ensure we can still make it to Tatooine."

The sith nodded, leaving as Clara walked up. "That was fun. Let's not ever ram a Hammerhead again, please?"

Kala snorted, turning into a full laugh after a second. Her officers joined her as nerves and adrenaline found their release. "First rounds on me when we get to Tatooine. Well done, boys and girls, well done."