Author Note: It is my personal opinion that the trooper storyline has the most potential to be something fantastic in the SWTOR game. Out of all the classes, I keep going back to that one (I've played through it way too many times to be healthy) and got the idea about two years ago that I wanted to know what happened between missions. That being said, the Mandalorian culture has always piqued my interest and there was nothing by way of background on the "commander" of Havoc Squad, so I figured, why not?

I have no idea how long this story will end up being and I will veer wildly from canon from time to time for the sake of keeping things interesting. Otherwise, I tried to remain as true to the story as possible without just copying it down. I hope you all enjoy, please feel free to leave comments, reviews, and constructive criticism. I can take it, really.

Obviously, I do not own the characters from SWTOR.

Cover Image was made by Sharrash.

Jorgan is customization 2, for reference.

Mando'a Language resources: mandoa. org & Glossary from Karen Traviss's Republic Commando series (It's been suggested by a reader that I also incorporate the translation of the Mando'a, so I'll start adding footnotes to the bottom every time a new word is introduced. If you have further questions, please feel free to message me.)

Honesty & Trust

Command Center
Fort Garnik
42 hours after arrival on Ord Mantell

Fynta Wolfe had little time to come to grips with her uncanny promotion. Lieutenant, she thought as she found the room where she had stashed her rucksack two long days ago and checked to make sure everything was still there. Once satisfied she made for the exit, happy to be rid of this place. So far Fynta had been shot, blown up, betrayed, and promoted. It was a hell of a day. Leaning against the wall just outside, Fynta slid down slowly, eventually coming to rest on the ground, and relished the peace while she waited on Jorgan. Just when she'd started earning some points with the guy, they had to pull this osik, it was cruel, even for the army.

Light was just starting to peak over the horizon when Jorgan nudged her foot with his boot. Fynta gave a start, not realizing she'd dozed off. He offered her his hand and pulled Fynta to her feet. "Need to get that looked at as soon as we are aboard the shuttle," Jorgan said, nodding to the wall where her reopened shoulder wound had left a nasty looking blood stain all the way down to the floor. He didn't sound empathetic, just annoyed.

"Right." Fynta's body had been numb until then; now it ached all over with sharp pinpricks where the skin was torn.

Jorgan snorted. "Yeah. Come on." He slung his leg over the speeder Fynta had used during her time here, but didn't sit. "This is the only one available, we'll have to share." Eyeing her shoulder and leg, Jorgan's brow bones drew together. "You want to ride or drive?"

Fynta considered for a moment before coming to the only logical conclusion. Damn it, I'm in no condition to be operating anything. "You know, I haven't the slightest idea where the shuttle pad is. Why don't you drive?" She felt rather proud of that excuse. Given she'd been immediately shoved into a walker with no windows upon arrival, it wasn't unthinkable that she wouldn't have her bearings. Fynta had spent a lot of time getting lost here.

Jorgan seemed to agree and situated himself towards the front of the long bench seat. Leaving room for Fynta to climb onto the speeder behind him, opting to hold onto the shoulder plates of his armor. This was the first time she'd seen him in heavy armor and it added a considerable amount to his already bulky frame. Fynta hoped it was a big shuttle.

Whatever she had hoped for, what they found was considerably smaller. General Vander's shuttle was nothing more than a skiff at best. Fynta clambered off the speeder first and adjusted her satchel strap to take some of the pressure off her torso. Jorgan got off next and handed the keys to one of the uniforms nearby. Even with their ranks now being equal, the younger sergeant saluted before leaving to perform his duties. When Jorgan joined her again, Fynta smiled. "Your men respect you."

The Cathar turned his icy blue eyes back in the direction of Fort Garnik, the intricate pattern of stripes combined with the dots above his eyes give Jorgan the impression of a perpetual frown. "I guess I'll miss this place in a way." Then he shrugged and headed towards the small vessel awaiting them.

Inside was clean at least. All the metal surfaces shined from fresh polishing, the bridge sat one, there was a room with a small bed with a lavatory and single stand shower connected. Two bunks were built into the wall and a table and bench bolted to the floor. Another small room sat off to the right with a single bed and a dusty med droid. Other than a few shelves for holding weapons, the rest was empty.

"I'll plot our course, you should see the med droid," Jorgan said, dropping his pack on the floor and making for the bridge.

"Sounds good." Fynta dropped her ruck next to his and flopped down on the bench. Two days' worth of exhaustion washed over her. She had every intention of seeing the med droid, but instead, darkness overtook her.

Aboard General Vander's Shuttle
3 days, 12 hours to Coruscant

Fierfek.

That word had been replaying in Jorgan's mind since the convoy ambush. He knew that word, every Cathar did. Aric had gone through his new commanding officer's file so many times it was starting to look like a well-read novel. There was no information on Fynta Wolfe prior to her joining the military. No birth records, no parents, nothing. It wouldn't be unheard of for an orphan to be absent from the system but he didn't think that was it. He had another theory brewing and it wasn't one he was happy about.

I found that shabbing bomb.

Lieutenant Wolfe's words echoed again and again. Normally Jorgan might attribute it to something seen on a holovid, but the way she used it indicated intimate familiarity. The Cathar in him warned Jorgan against turning his back on this woman. However, the soldier in him wanted to trust his commanding officer. Fynta had nearly killed herself to save those troops in that convoy and she'd stood up for the kid who reported Virk's crimes. For the first time in Jorgan's career, he was completely out of his depth and it had nothing to do with the mission.

Taking a deep breath as he sank into the captain's chair, Jorgan tried to clear his mind. So far, his new lieutenant had been nothing but gracious. She'd had ample opportunity to retaliate for the treatment she had received when she first arrived on Ord Mantell. As of yet, Fynta hadn't given him any real reason to distrust her. Just his gut.

Jorgan watched the stars stretch out before him as they made the jump to hyperspace and tried to keep his bitterness in check, knowing his demotion wasn't Fynta's fault. After all, her supposed squad mates had nearly killed her, or at least they'd sicked the Imperial hounds on her. Jorgan sighed and rubbed the top of his head in frustration. He could just be overthinking this entire situation and making matters more complicated for himself. It was time to face it head on and make the best of it. To stop seeing enemies in every face. He would keep an eye on Lieutenant Fynta Wolfe, but he had to trust someone and she was all Jorgan had at the moment. The Cathar stood in a hunch to climb out of the cramped cockpit and back into the main part of the ship.

"The coordinates have been entered, shouldn't be lo—" Jorgan stopped. For a brief moment he thought Fynta was dead given the unconventional angle she had slouched into, but then he saw her shoulders rising and falling. Nearly two days without rest and only one stim. It really shouldn't be a surprise to find the lieutenant like this. She was exhausted, sobered by Tavus's betrayal, thrown head first into command, and in pain. The med droid had probably given her something to help her relax. Then Jorgan realized the medbay was dark and Fynta was still wearing all of her armor.

Now he was in a bind. Initially, Jorgan's instinct was to move the woman to a more comfortable position, but then again, this was a female whom he barely knew, and now his CO. In the end, he decided it wasn't decent to leave her like that, so Jorgan sat her up straight and undid the two clasps on the shoulders of the timeworn armor. Given the awkward position and Fynta's dead weight, the clasps on the sides of the chest piece took a little more doing, the left top one had been glued shut by dried blood. He hadn't realized she had lost so much.

Finally, the armor fell away, revealing the reopened wound under Fynta's arm. It was red and raw around the edges, indicating it might be getting infected, no doubt from something in that blasted volcano. Jorgan opted for carrying the lieutenant to the medbay instead of waiting until she woke up. He was surprised to find that the woman was heavier than she looked, completely solid, all muscle. Jorgan marveled at the fact that she never stirred, even when he deposited her on the cold, metal table.

The med droid remained dormant so Jorgan walked over and knocked on the top of its dome. The eye lights lit up, sputtered, then relit. "Greetings. How may I be of assistance?" It asked in a soothing tone.

Jorgan motioned for the droid to follow, stopping at the lieutenant's unconscious form. "Full exam. She's got a shoulder wound, possibly infected, and something going on with her leg." He had noticed her limping when they got off the speeder.

Without a word, the droid set to its task. Jorgan watched for a time. She looked young, too young to be so badly banged up. Too young to be in command. I'm now taking orders from a twenty-seven year old girl, an old enemy if my theory is right. It was absurd if he worded it that way.

The med droid removed more of Fynta's armor with clawed hands, being an older model it wasn't as intricate as the ones replacing him, but his programming would be up to date. As the droid cut away at the fabric of her bodysuit, Jorgan saw fine, white scars running the length of Fynta's arm and he suspected they weren't the only ones. She was reckless and took chances that he wouldn't have even considered. The damn girl had a death wish. Fynta wasn't going to be happy when she saw what the droid had done to her only suit of armor, either. They would need to swing by the barracks on Coruscant to get her something a little better. Maybe something blast proof given her affinity for blowing things up.

Jorgan stood watching until the droid began peeling away the more personal articles of clothing and decided now would be a good time to get some rest too. "Let me know if there is anything serious," he told the droid before making for the bed in the captain's quarters. If the lieutenant wasn't going to use it, someone should.

When he woke, Jorgan wasn't sure what time of day it was. There was no sun or moon here, but he felt rested. Dressed in the clingy bodysuit all soldiers wore under their armor, his life being so encompassed by duty that he didn't even own civilian clothing anymore, Jorgan figured he'd check on their status and was surprised to find he wasn't the only one up.

"You snore horribly, you know," Fynta said from the table where she was eating something that looked vaguely like pasta. Jorgan stopped and gaped at her. He hadn't realized how pale she had been until seeing her now. Her skin was tan, nearly the same color as her dark blond hair. It made the blue of the target tattoo around her right eye stand out more prominently. Fynta's hair was much longer than expected too. Being free of its braid, it now draped over her shoulders to what he would estimate to be mid-back. It was wet too, had she used the refresher attached to the captain's quarters while he slept?

Fynta started laughing, it was a deep laugh, the kind you felt more than heard. "I'm only teasing, Jorgan. I actually had to check for a pulse to make sure you were breathing." Jorgan must have been more exhausted than he knew if she'd not only been able enter his room, but touch him without him waking. The shower hadn't roused him either. Jorgan guessed that made them even.

"You're one to talk. I thought you were dead when I came out here to find you on that bench." He crossed his arms. "Thought you'd at least wait until we left atmo."

Lieutenant Wolfe stretched and winced. "Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, it was extremely uncomfortable."

The Cathar frowned, it didn't make him feel better.

Fynta nodded to her left arm, now in a sling, with a raised eyebrow. "Your doing?"

"I woke the med droid."

"Well, thank you. I'm not sure what it pumped me full of but it should be standard issue in medpacs."

"What's that you're eating?" Jorgan asked, changing subject abruptly. The smell reminded his stomach that he hadn't eaten in a while, nothing substantial, at least.

Fynta looked down at the bowl as if she'd forgotten about it, "I have no idea. But it's good." Leaning forward, she reached across the table and grabbed a brightly colored bag, "This, however, has your name on it." She spun it around and sure enough, ARIC JORGAN was written across the front. This time he smiled.

Fynta laughed again. "He may have made your life a little more difficult, but you can't say that General Vander doesn't like you." Then her smile slipped a little and she shoved the bag towards him. "All the cupboards are stocked. I say we enjoy these few days of real food. It'll likely be back to rations once we meet with General Garza."

Jorgan took the bag and sat across from her. "I'm assuming the droid says you'll live?" He asked as he tore it open and savored the sweet smells wafting out. Vander's efforts at placating him would not go to waste. Though, it was odd sitting across from the lieutenant, eating snacks and conversing like they were. Especially given that neither of them said more than two words to one another since they'd met that hadn't directly involved the mission or her squad.

Fynta nodded. "One busted rib, a dislocated shoulder, he's taken care of the infection and closed me up again, and a bruised tibia. All non-lethal." Then her nose wrinkled, "Ugh, what is that?"

Jorgan paused with the piece of dried fruit half way to his mouth. That was a more extensive list than he'd expected. Fynta was being remarkably casual about it. Then he remembered the scars running down her arm, maybe this was all just part of the job for her. "It would be embarrassing to die right after taking command," he commented, holding out a piece of the fruit, a peace offering.

Fynta took it gingerly and sampled a small bite. "It tastes better than it smells," she admitted, then proceeded to eat the rest. "So. Tell me something about yourself. I know you commanded the Deadeyes, which you'll tell me about someday," she said, emphasizing the word with finger quotations and eyeing the bag in his hands. When Jorgan slid it closer to himself, she continued, "I hardly know you and we are a team now. You've got to give me something."

Jorgan shrugged, "Really not much to know." What he meant was he had no idea where to begin. He was four years her senior, his life had been full, no doubt about that, but little of it could be found outside his file. Duty was his life.

Fynta misunderstood, of course. "Come on now," she purred, sliding a file across the table and tapping it with her finger. It was her file. "You seem to know all about me."

Jorgan met her gaze, she still wore a smile, but her dark blue eyes were predatory. "It is standard procedure to look into new soldiers coming under your command." He felt like he were on the defensive, it was a feeling he didn't like.

"It's also standard procedure to leave the file where it belongs when the mission is over." Fynta thumbed through the pages, "It looks well read. Should I be flattered?" She asked, steepling her fingers below her chin. Jorgan got the feeling this was a trap and there were no right answers. Blast, he hated having female CO's.

"If you like." He sighed when her eyebrows shot up. "I like to know who I'm serving with. Especially is they're giving the orders." Fynta didn't look convinced. "Look, I am a soldier. I fight for the Republic, I have been decorated, promoted and now demoted. My number one goal is catching the traitors who did this to me. When I signed on with the Deadeyes, my CO was Lieutenant Vorne—certified war hero, as decorated as they come. When he gave an order, we trusted it, followed it to the letter. A squad needs that kind of commitment to operate effectively." How could he fully trust a woman he knew nothing about? Most of Fynta's file was missing, not obviously redacted, just plain not there.

"So you're saying you don't trust me?"

"I'm saying trust requires more than a slick new promotion. Havoc Squad is the Republic's most elite outfit. We tackle the missions no one else can handle. Traitor or no. Tavus is a tough act to follow. You think you're up to it?"

"I wouldn't be leading Havoc if I didn't." Fynta went back to flipping through her file. "There isn't much by way of excitement in here," she said casually. "They left the good stuff out."

Jorgan met her eyes again, they were unwavering and solid steel now. She was challenging him to see who would blink first and Jorgan knew his original assumption was correct. "You're Mandalorian."

Fynta's tone never faltered. "I should know better than to use Mando'a in front of a Cathar." She sighed and shut the file. "It just slipped out."

Blast it. He wished he hadn't been right. "We tend to remember those things, yes." The planet Cathar had been utterly destroyed by the Mandalorians long before either of them were born, but wounds like that tended to fester over generations. Jorgan nodded at the file, "There's a big gap in there. So, what's your story?"

Fynta's eyes narrowed. "Tell you what, I'm going to level with you—I'm going to trust you." Somehow Jorgan felt as if she had started this entire conversation just to lead them to this point. "But what we discuss here never leaves this shuttle." He nodded, best not to interrupt her now.

"Even though Mandalorians technically swear allegiance to no one, our current Mand'alor is aligned with the Empire. By Republic definition that makes me a defector. I joined up after my parents died and my clan was decimated. I was fifteen and I wanted to fight, but I don't agree with the Empire's total dominance plan and I'm not the mercenary type. The local gangs were a bit too brutal; I need something to fight for. So, I came to the Republic and offered my skill set."

Jorgan was surprised by her candor. "Well, you've got plenty of confidence and raw talent. That explains where you came from but not the five year gap in your career." If Fynta was fifteen when her clan was destroyed, then she'd already been a trained killer. They started young, Aric knew. All the military did was give her free kit.

"That, my friend, is the part that can't leave this shuttle." Fynta dropped something onto the table. It was a camera with a built in listening device that looked like it had been ripped out of the wall. General Vander wouldn't be pleased.

"Okay, you've got my attention." Jorgan looked from the device back to her, hovering between anticipation and apprehension.

"I don't advertise the Mandalorian angle because it tends to make people nervous, but I'm not exactly hiding it either." Fynta's hand spread out over her file. "I was recruited straight out of commando school by an elite squad of. . ." she paused, trying to find the right word, "Well, I'm not sure what we were but we fixed things. We cleaned up embarrassing messes, spied on the enemy, paraded targets out for snipers, and pretty much whatever else was needed. We worked intimately with the SIS. But we didn't exist, not because we did the hard jobs like Havoc Squad but because we did the messy jobs. Dirty politics were a large part of it. Two women in my unit were responsible for ousting that corrupt senator last year. The hard way."

Jorgan remembered that incident. An esteemed senator from one of the Core Worlds was forced to resign after being caught in bed with not one but two other women. Neither of them his wife. Somehow the press had gotten a tip on where to be and what time. "They were the women?"

Fynta nodded. "What the holonews didn't tell the Republic was that he was selling our military secrets to the Empire and the court system couldn't touch him. So they brought us in. I called in the tip myself." She spoke with no emotion, as if she had been rehearsing this for a while.

"So, the dirty jobs." Jorgan had been so curious, now he wished he could change that. Fynta was an attractive young woman, he didn't want to imagine what that line of work had forced her to do.

"I was the one they called for the more aggressive jobs," she said, seeming to read his mind, "I'm a pretty good shot and snipers need proper clearance to take out a target. I didn't. If the press hadn't done their job, then I would have taken care of it." Fynta put her palms flat on the table, "There you have it, apart from mission specifics that should fill in the gaps." She pushed herself to her feet and leaned across the table, still staring at him as if asking if he were satisfied.

As best as Jorgan could tell Fynta had been completely honest, the details weren't his business. "Thank you," he said at last.

Fynta moved stiffly across the room to a small bin to throw away her trash. She was wearing a clean undershirt and her fatigue pants. Jorgan had seen hundreds of women dressed in similar fashion. Some wore it better than others and he noticed for the first time she had an attractive figure. Something that was usually hidden under bulky armor. Her injured leg added extra swing to her hips.

"So why tell me all of this?" When Fynta looked over at him with furrowed eyebrows, Jorgan elaborated. "I mean, you could easily have ordered me to shove it and left it at that." It's what he would have done.

The lieutenant bent slightly to scrape the rest of the pasta stuff into the bin before answering. "Because despite our rocky beginning, I like you, Aric." It was strange to hear his first name, almost alien. "Vander was right, you are a good man and the galaxy needs more of those." Fynta straightened and leaned her uninjured hip against the counter, studying him. Jorgan couldn't fathom what she was thinking. "And we need to trust one another. You and I are going to be chasing the most dangerous people in the galaxy. Trust begins with honesty." Pushing off the counter, she gave a wink. "Enjoy your treat." As he watched Fynta limp across the room with her head held high, Jorgan realized this was a completely different woman from Ord Mantell. She was playful, assertive, and dangerous, which he found oddly attractive. That wasn't a good thing.

Over the next couple of days Jorgan got to know the lieutenant a little more. Conversation was easy between the two. Fynta often cracking jokes and teasing whenever she found an opportunity. Jorgan doing his best to not let those opportunities arise. She was winning that battle. Nothing else was said about personal matters or the need to get to know one another, although he had the sneaking suspicion that every time he opened his mouth she learned something new. Well, so had he. Although Fynta's leg was nearly mended, Jorgan noticed she used more humor when she was in pain. Her brow furrowed when she was considering a tough decision, something he took advantage of when playing Sabacc. And her eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline when Fynta thought something was out of line or issuing a wordless dare. Jorgan had seen that face a lot. It was hard to tell what was considered out of line for Fynta. Mandalorians had extraordinarily loose morals in some areas, yet rigid guidelines in others and only they knew which was which. By the end of the trip Jorgan was beginning to feel more like Fynta was his comrade instead of his commanding officer.

At the moment, he was staring at the controls on the bridge. They would be dropping out of hyperspace soon, then on to Coruscant and their next mission. It wasn't until he felt movement that Jorgan became aware of Fynta leaning on the back of the captain's chair. No matter how vigilant he tried to be, she had a way of sneaking up on him. "After all the chaos on Ord Mantell, this trip has been nice, wouldn't you say?" She yawned and backed out of the cabin to stretch.

Jorgan followed. "I always feel claustrophobic in hyperspace." Although he'd never realized that until he voiced it.

Fynta leaned against the wall, arms crossed under her breast, measuring him again. "I rather enjoy it. It's quiet." Clearly his indignation was showing because she flashed a wide smile. "What I mean, is no matter what is going on out there. In here, it's peaceful."

"Huh, never thought of it that way." They stood in silence, Jorgan contemplating this new outlook on hyperspace, Fynta, well there was never any telling what was going on in her head. For all the talking she did, Jorgan was discovering that the lieutenant kept her private thoughts close.

Fynta was the first to break the silence. "I wonder if I could get your help with something." She tilted her head to the side, again making her look younger and more innocent when her hair fell over one shoulder. Fynta had a way about her that made whoever was caught in her sights feel needed. Jorgan was learning to combat it, it was amazing what could be accomplished in just a few days.

"With what?" He asked warily.

Fynta threw back her head and laughed. "Good, you're learning!" Jorgan felt like he'd been caught in her trap already.

"My leg seems to be mended and I've nearly got the med droid to give me the all clear. Apparently its programing says I must wait a full week before doing anything strenuous. However, we will be in Coruscant space in a couple of hours, I don't have a week. So. . ." Fynta paused, her dark eyes measuring again. "I thought perhaps a little hand to hand, followed by a medical exam might convince it otherwise."

It wasn't the request Jorgan was expecting, but he saw her point. "So, you want a sparring match?"

Fynta nodded.

"Where are you planning on doing this?"

"There is the trick, my Cathar friend." Fynta tapped her chin and looked around the small shuttle. "I'm thinking the engine room. It's certainly large enough, so long as we don't get too crazy."

"Alright," Jorgan agreed. "On one condition. I won't be held responsible if you end up injured again."

"Deal," Fynta said as she spun on her heel, pausing to look back over her shoulder. "You coming, soldier?"

The engine room was located down a ladder at the bottom of the ship. Jorgan had insisted on bringing the med droid just in case. Fynta had consented grudgingly. The droid placed itself in a corner and waited, motionless. They stood face to face, the two large engines humming to both sides, and the steam and condensation of the pipes making the air humid, Jorgan was already sweating.

They had agreed to hand to hand, no weapons, no armor. At some point, though, Fynta had started some music and it echoed down from above, just loud enough to be heard over the industrial sounds of the ship. She swayed along with the tune while she finished plaiting her hair. It wasn't what Jorgan would have chosen for a fight, being too soft and instrumental, but then again, he wasn't much of a music enthusiast.

Fynta stood before him with a teasing smile on her lips, her limbs relaxed and knees slightly bent, feet apart. She looked completely at ease. Jorgan shifted his own stance, turning to the side to present a smaller target for her, most of his weight on his back leg. Upstairs, the music shifted and a stringed instrument picked up the beat and was joined by others until they had all worked into a fast paced flurry that made his heart hammer. At that same moment, Fynta made her move and Jorgan was looking up at her from the ground. He hadn't seen it coming, but he'd sure as hell felt it.

"Now you're warmed up," she taunted, dancing backwards.

Jorgan leaped to his feet and straight into an attack, grabbing her arm, but Fynta twisted away to elbow him in the ribs. He swung with the other hand; she blocked with her forearm and boxed his ear, all the while dancing a circle around him. At one point Jorgan managed to get his arm around Fynta's neck and was sure he had her, but she'd stomped his insole and slipped away again.

"You're not holding back are you?" Fynta teased, a wide grin on her face.

Jorgan held his ribs and growled. "Not anymore."

They had agreed to no fists, so open handed, he struck at Fynta from every direction available to him. She blocked here and there, then Jorgan landed a blow directly to her sternum, knocking her to the floor.

Fynta was up almost as quickly as she'd gone down. "Kandosii!" There was a light in her eyes now, making them shine. The two soldiers spun and twisted and grunted with each hit. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jorgan was aware of the music, almost as if they were moving in time with the instruments. This was a dance, he realized, and Jorgan knew how would end it. He waited for Fynta to make a specific twist, the one that would put her in reach of his right arm just before she would elbow, head butt, or knee him, he wasn't sure which. When she did, Jorgan was ready.

Grabbing hold of both of Fynta's arms, Jorgan snapped them to her sides, in the same movement sweeping her closest leg. It left Jorgan unbalanced but he thought it worth the risk, somehow envisioning a scenario where he let go as Fynta started to fall. What actually happened was their legs became entangled and they both went down, Fynta on her back, arms pinned with no way to slow her fall, Jorgan on top, his hands still holding her. He got the brief satisfaction of seeing the surprise on her face before his weight drove the breath from her lungs and Fynta's knee caught him in the groin, making Jorgan's own attempts to breathe just as difficult.

Jorgan rolled over with a groan onto his back next to her, panting. The med droid glided over smoothly and scanned them both. "No new injuries. You are cleared for duty," it reported before using its pressurized air boosters to scale the latter and return to the medbay upstairs.

Jorgan heard a strangled "Yes!" next to him and turned his head to find that the lieutenant was beginning to clamber to her feet. Slowly. Fynta stopped at a sitting position and forced a deep breath. Her eyes no longer shone with the same intensity, but she did look on the verge of laughing. "And what are you smiling at?" She asked.

Jorgan hadn't realized he was. There really wasn't a single reason why other than the fact that he felt great. No doubt his abdominals would be sore tomorrow, along with a few other places, but for now Jorgan felt exhilarated. He felt alive. Climbing to his feet as smoothly as he could, Jorgan offered Fynta a hand. "That was fun," he said, pulling her upright. "It's been a long time since I've had training like that."

"See. I knew you had it in you." Fynta brushed the dirt from her clothing and patted his shoulder as she made her way towards the ladder. Stopping halfway up, she looked over her shoulder again. "You coming, soldier?"

Jorgan was beginning to appreciate his new lieutenant. She had yet to call him sergeant and he would bet a pile a credits that was intentional. "Right behind you, boss."

Mando'a Footnotes:

Osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)

Fierfek: a Huttese slang word that meant "hex" or "curse," but was commonly accepted to mean "poison" by non-Huttese-speaking races. Later adopted as an expletive.

shab - excrement (used as a curse)

Kandosii! [Kan-DOH-see] Nice one! Wicked! Well done!