Sunon's hand edged towards the blaster at her waist, and the hands of the nine men in the warehouse did likewise.
One, two, three.
She tapped her pistol, marking the three men across from her. Six more stood next to her. Her side had the numbers, but numerical superiority wouldn't mean much if she was one of the unlucky few to get dropped when their guns left their holsters.
"What do you mean you don't have the credits?" said Fenn to the dealer across from him and Sunon. The human was her boss, at least until this deal was settled—through violence or otherwise. His name might have had someone picturing a youthful scrapper with a full head of hair and a devil-may-care attitude. And that might have been true, thirty years ago. Now, he was just one more burly low-level chief for the Black Suns, with a nose for money and a knack for cruelty.
Not that he had the brains to rise any further in the cartel—and not that he would be taking Sunon with him, even if he did. The man was a racist, through and through. He wore his hatred for aliens—near-human Zabraks included—on his sleeve, and let Sunon know just what he thought of her every chance he got. She let it roll off of her like water off a raincoat. As soon as someone higher-up noticed her talents, she'd be done running security for these low-level deals. Then, things would get easier. Then, there'd be no stopping her.
It also helped that his racism was misdirected. One of the dealer's men—a Zabrak—hadn't taken his eyes off of Sunon since they'd walked into the warehouse a minute ago. Even with everyone ready to draw their weapons, his gaze kept moving up to the top of her head. They looked much the same—red skin, black tribal markings over their faces, small horns poking out of their dark brown hair—but he could tell there was something off about her.
"It means we wanna work on credit." The dealer in front of Fenn hoisted up his belt and gestured at the Zabrak and human standing alongside him. "How long we been buying from you?"
"Long enough for you to know that's not how this works." Fenn motioned for one of his men to shut the trunk of the cruiser idling behind them.
"So it's like that, is it?" The dealer slid a hand down to his own blaster, and Sunon coiled her fingers around her blaster grip.
"Yeah, it's like that." Maybe it was complacency, or pride, or maybe just laziness, but Fenn made a move a man should never make when in a standoff. He turned his back, sighing and signalling to the man near the cruiser that they were leaving.
Sunon drew her blaster. She hadn't even realized she was doing it, but her trigger finger knew what was happening before her brain did. Ten blasters were in hand in the blink of an eye, and the Zabrak's was rising to meet hers. Just as she caught a glimpse of that jet-black barrel moving towards her face, everything went white and silent.
He couldn't have beaten her. She was better, faster—and she had moved first. A ringing filled her ears, and she was sliding along a hard surface. First metal, then rugged concrete. She spun around on the floor and tried to stagger to her feet, but her jacket twisted with her and brought her crashing back down in a flail of arms and legs.
"Up!" came a voice through the haze. It couldn't be her. Here? Now? She prayed that it wasn't. Let it be the police. Let it be a rival gang.
A strong hand brought her to her knees, then to her feet, before pushing her back-first against a wall. Her vision swam, a senseless array of colors and swirls that gradually turned back into a view of reality. She was in an alley somewhere in the endless cityscape of Nar Shaddaa, with the warehouse nowhere in sight and the noise of cruisers overhead filling her ears. A human woman's scarred face stared back at her, creased with anger and topped with a head of tight red hair grayed with age. A few years ago Sunon would have been looking up at the woman. Now, they saw eye to eye—but only in the most literal sense.
Keeping a tight grip on Sunon's shirt, the woman drew her hand back and slapped her across the face. Then a second time, and a third, until her head was reeling all over again. She could have fought back, but she didn't. The sooner the woman's anger was out, the sooner she would stop.
"You want to tell me what the hell you were doing?" Maliss said between heavy breaths. She was getting old.
Sunon looked from Maliss' raised hand back to her face. "My job."
Her frown deepened and she motioned as if to strike again, but then yanked Sunon from the wall and sent her stumbling towards the street ahead.
"Running security for the Black Sun isn't a job. It's a death sentence." Maliss pointed ahead of her. "Move."
She marched her captive to a taxi stop, where the two got into an automated cruiser en route to one of the urban moon's many starports. Brief thoughts of taking off running at their stop entered Sunon's mind, but she pushed those aside. Maliss wasn't going to shoot her, but she wasn't above using the handle of her gun as an impromptu blackjack—she'd done it before. And one didnt run from a Mandalorian bounty hunter, even if they were retired with creaky knees and a tight back.
All Sunon could do now was let herself be taken home.
They reached the docking bay Maliss had landed her shuttle in. She shoved Sunon up the ramp of her ship and closed it, then pulled open the younger woman's buttoned shirt and plucked two small discs no bigger around than grapes from either side of her chest. The jagged black markings running up Sunon's face faded away, leaving her with the full red face of a Sith. Next came the fake horns, peeled off her head with a pained wince as the glue clung to her tousled hair.
"Sit." Maliss pointed to the cockpit, and Sunon stomped over to the co-pilot's chair before slumping down with crossed arms and pursed lips.
"Am I your prisoner?" Sunon said.
Maliss laughed. "Sure. You're my prisoner."
"And when we get to Tinnel?" She leaned over her armrest and stared the woman in the eyes. "I'm gonna be your prisoner there, too?"
"Is this leading up to another 'You're not my mother'?"
"I'm an adult!" She slapped her chest. "I can make my own choices."
With a dismissive scoff, Maliss turned back to the ship controls and brought their ship out of the docking bay. "Obviously not."
They descended on the planet of Tinnel IV, and soon came within view of home—a homestead of modest appearance and respectable size, the only building in an endless sea of long grass. Starships sat all around it, though none of them worked. Maliss routinely bought junked ships and had them hauled there for refurbishment. Some of them had been there for years. Sunon doubted whether she'd ever made a profit on the business. It seemed like more of an outlet for her boredom when drinking no longer took the edge off. As they circled around to the group of landing pads behind the home, another ship came into view, and Sunon's heart skipped a beat when she recognized the small shuttle.
"Well, well." Maliss grinned and twisted her fingers around the flight sticks. "Get ready for an earful."
She set down on one of the two remaining pads, and they both left the shuttle behind to walk across the catwalk leading to the home. Maliss used the door controls beside the garage, rolling up the shutters. At the center of the room sat their visitor, a purple-skinned Twi'lek in a loose black vest. She smiled and stood up from the stool she was sitting on, crossing the workshop with arms spread wide to embrace Maliss. The Mandalorian took her head in both hands and delivered kiss after kiss to either cheek, not stopping until the Twi'lek finally pushed her away. The Twi'lek glanced over at the waiting Sunon, then put a hand on the small of Maliss' back and turned her towards the doorway leading further into the home.
"I'm starving," she said into Maliss' ear. The Mandalorian left the other two alone, and the Twi'lek stalked towards the uneasy Sunon.
"It's good to see you, Ayahe," said the Sith.
The Twi'lek grabbed the other woman by the arm and looked up into her eyes. Even though she was a good half a foot shorter, Ayahe had a way of making her younger sister feel as if she was being looked down on.
"She is sixty-one years old. She cannot be chasing after you like this."
Sunon frowned and pulled her arm from her grip. "I didn't ask her to."
"She will do it whether you ask her to or not. So stop." She put her hands on her hips and glared at her until the younger sister was forced to look away.
"Alright."
"Good." She put a hand on top of her head, then withdrew it and turned to follow Maliss into the home.
"Wait!" Sunon scrambled for one of the work tables and scooped up a metal disc, knocking aside carefully-organized screwdrivers before hurrying back over to Ayahe. "A miniaturized repulsor lift."
The Twi'lek took it in her hands and looked it over thoughtfully. "This will never have enough battery life. That is why they do not miniaturize them." She handed it back to her sister, then turned to leave.
"Oh... right." Sunon placed the repulsor where she had picked it up from, then carefully repositioned the screwdrivers beside it before hurrying after Ayahe. Maliss hadn't even made it to the kitchen. She was seated on a couch in the center of the living room, glass in hand and a bottle of Corellian Ale on the table.
"I thought you were going to make food!" Ayahe grabbed her drink.
"Alcohol is food." She tried to snatch the glass back, but the Twi'lek was too quick and the Mandalorian too old.
Sunon sighed. "I will cook."
As she walked past the table to the kitchen, Maliss pressed her lips tight in a covert smile and leaned over the table, shifting the small metal statue in the middle just slightly to the left. Sunon stopped dead in her tracks, frowning and looking Maliss in the eyes as she moved the decoration back to the middle before continuing to the kitchen.
Ayahe wrinkled her lips and sat down beside her mother. "Do you have to do that?" she whispered.
Maliss took a deep breath in, struggling to hold back her laughter. "I can't help it."
Half an hour later they were sat around the dinner table, Ayahe talking circles around the other two as she discussed work. Sunon only understood half of it—more than Maliss, at least—but she kept up as best she could, nodding along eagerly as Ayahe laid out the problems presented by large-scale solar energy production. The Sith kept quiet, for the most part. She had learned at an early age that asking the Twi'lek stupid questions brought angry responses—and she didnt want that. She wanted her sister to keep talking, and keep smiling.
After dinner was over and Sunon cleared the table, she turned back to see that both women had left. She dropped the plates into the sink and sprinted outside, just barely managing to catch Ayahe in the cool night air outside her waiting shuttle.
"Let me come with you," Sunon gasped out. During dinner she had prepared a subtle, meandering conversation to lead up to that final request, but time wasn't on her side.
Ayahe stopped and turned to her, giving the girl a weak smile. "I am on my way to a science conference on Corellia. You would not enjoy it."
"I need to get out of here." Sunon grabbed her wrist and shook her arm up and down. "I will carry your bags. I will set up your tech. You do not even have to pay me—"
Ayahe held up a hand, halting the flow of words in its tracks.
"You know why you cannot come with me."
She did. She'd heard why a hundred times. A thousand times. There were few places in the galaxy where the Sith race was not feared and hated. Least among them the human-dominated core worlds of the Republic, such as Corellia. Tricks like the one she'd pulled on Nar Shaddaa worked some of the time, but not all of the time. And when they didnt, that meant she had to back that fear of her up with action.
Ayahe's hand began to slip from her grasp, but Sunon pulled her back.
"When are you coming again?"
The Twi'lek smiled and brought her in for a hug, then patted her on the back. "As soon as I can."
And like that it was over, far too soon for Sunon's liking—both their brief visit and briefer moment of affection. Every trip home the Twi'lek made was shorter than the last, and every conversation between them grew more difficult as Sunon had less to talk about and Ayahe had more to think about. She feared that soon, they would be complete strangers.
Back in the living room, Maliss was seated on the couch, glass in hand once again.
"She left," Sunon said. Maliss met her announcement with silence. "It was nice seeing her a whole three hours this month."
"She's busy," Maliss said, twisting around on the couch to look back at her. "You could learn something from her. Do something constructive with your life."
His lip twitched in annoyance. "I was doing something, before you dragged me back here."
"Moving spice isn't constructive." She turned back around and swirled her drink. "Your sister is doing stuff that's gonna save lives."
"How many lives have you saved?" Sunon shot back. She had been forced to listen to too many war stories not to throw them back in the Mandalorian's face. Maliss rolled her eyes and shook her head, then turned back around. Sunon's hands clenched into fists as she walked around to the front of the couch to face Maliss. "I'm not a genius,like her. I'm working with what I've got. What you taught me."
Maliss looked down at her drink and smirked.
"Tried using the Force lately? Maybe that'll pan out—"
Sunon stepped towards her and hauled her fist back to punch her, but in the blink of an eye Maliss was off of the sofa and pulling Sunon into a tight hug, keeping the Sith's arms locked to her side.
"Sorry, sorry. That was too far." Sunon squirmed in Maliss' grip, but she wouldn't let go until Sunon had calmed down enough for the Mandalorian to release her without risking a fist to the face. "Sit down."
Maliss' hand still tight on her arm, she lowered her onto the couch, then took a seat beside her and handed her a drink. Sunon hung her head over her knees, not wanting to let her see how much she was still stewing over her words.
"You have a home," Maliss said. "And a family. Lot of people wish they had that much."
"You're not my family," Sunon said. "Not really." They'd argued far too much over the years for those words to hurt Maliss—if they ever had.
Maliss took a deep breath in and leaned back, as if preparing some great declaration while she wondered whether to start with it at all. "I'm your aunt," she finally said. Sunon's eyes snapped to hers and she stared at her, dumbfounded, until Maliss looked off to the side and shrugged. "Well, your great-aunt. On your father's side."
Too many emotions rushed through Sunon at once for any single one of them to take hold. She looked back down and ran a thumb along the rim of her glass while she tried to decide how to form a question around the mass of confusion filling her mind.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
Maliss let out a low groan, as if she were being forced to recall some memories she would rather have left buried.
"It would've led to some... messy questions."
Both fell silent for a time, the Mandalorian staring off into space while Sunon kept her eyes fixed on her untouched drink. She raised it to her lips before another question—the one she had wanted to ask first—refused to be held back any longer.
"So why are you telling me this now?"
When Maliss spoke again, her voice was quiet.
"They've been gone for sixteen years." Sunon nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "They're not coming back."
Sunon's breath caught in her throat, and when she finally opened her mouth to speak, she could not keep her emotions from flowing out with her words.
"I know," she choked out. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she tried to tuck her chin down further before giving up and simply hanging her head as shallow breaths became retching sobs.
Maliss wrapped her arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. "Your dad was a crybaby, too."
After she calmed down enough to pull herself free, Sunon went upstairs, returning to a bedroom that felt increasingly alien, yet painfully familiar. Home had become a dirty word in her mind, a nicer name for a cage she kept being dragged back to—and not even a gilded cage. There, among those scrapped ships and cluttered workrooms, she was dying a slow death. She wasn't dramatic enough to pretend that her life was anywhere near its end, but that end—no matter how far off—would look just like the present moment if something did not change.
And those dreams of change were vanishing one by one. She walked over to her bed, then stopped and spun around towards her desk and thrust her hands at the electronics and weapons atop it, willing the Force to flow through her hands.
Whatever that felt like. She had never felt it. The offspring of a Sith woman and a man who had trained—however briefly—as both Jedi and Sith. By all rights, she should have been a prodigy. But providence had seen fit to throw another unexpected event into the mix and given them a daughter without a hint of Force sensitivity. This galaxy had miracles, children with amazing powers who were born to normal parents. Why not tragedies, as well?
The only talents she had were those Maliss had instilled in her from an early age. She'd taught her how to shoot, how to fight, how to patch a wound—how to kill, even. Then, the training had stopped. At first, Sunon thought Maliss had simply gotten bored of the lessons. Then she realized what Maliss had—that Sunon was getting too good. That she loved having something she could finally excel at. That she wanted to put those skills to use.
As Sunon's hands fell from her failed attempts to topple the computer atop her desk, she noticed something. An icon was blinking in the corner of the otherwise blank screen, indicating a missed call. She sat down and pulled up the call log to see one 'Avam Yet' listed at the top of the log. He had been her original in with the Black Suns. Not that he was some seasoned crime lord. In fact, he was a year younger than her, little more than a boy. But he had grown up in the underlevels of Coruscant, and had there made connections that spread far and wide like the roots of some muck-dwelling swamp cypress.
Avam had brokered Maliss' purchase of a junked freighter years ago. The thing had almost certainly been stolen, but it was one of the few ships to ever get repaired and make the trip out of their yard and back into the stars. That deal had also given Sunon her one lasting connection to the outside world. It might not have been a path to something pretty, but at least it was a way out.
She tapped the screen and dialed Avam, then quickly hung up and tied back her hair before placing the call again and folding her hands on the desk. He came on screen a few moments later, eyes frantic and youthful brow furrowed with anxious lines that shouldn't have formed for another twenty years.
"Sunon!" He leaned forward and grabbed both sides of his viewscreen. "I've been trying to reach you for a day!"
She had prepared herself for this. Her employers would want to know why she had vanished from a deal gone bad. Letting them know she was even alive was a risk, but she had to take it.
"I can explain what happened." She swallowed and readied the version of events she had concocted. "The dealer didn't come with credits. Fenn told him—"
"They don't care about that!" Avam exclaimed, then took a moment to calm himself. "Listen. There's something big going down on Corellia in two days. They want you there."
"Me?" she pointed at her chest, and he nodded.
"This came down from the sector head. They said you, specifically."
Sector heads weren't just thugs. They were feudal kings, crime lords ruling over entire swathes of the galaxy in a loose conglomeration under the Black Sun umbrella. Most kept their identities a secret, ruling through violence and fear.
"What is it?" Her voice shook with uncertainty. "You're not giving me a lot of info here."
"They're making a push on some local gangs. You know they're not gonna tell me more than that."
She swallowed and sat back in her chair. This was exactly what she had been waiting for—so why did she feel so afraid? She tapped her thigh with her finger, stopping at the count of three before starting again.
"What do I tell them?" Avam said.
Her gaze snapped back to the viewscreen. "Yes!" She didn't leave her doubts time to stop her from seizing the opportunity she'd been given. "I'll be there."