"Akaanir'ika jii, ramaanar ori'nakar'tuur."

"Train now, die much later."

— Mandalorian proverb

Mandalorian freelance transportVoid, exact coordinates unknown, hyperspace tunnel en route to Mandalore system

Cin Vhetin sat back in the pilot's seat, propped his feet up on an empty section of the control panel, and watched the swirling blue-white tunnel of hyperspace as they blasted their way through it. The roiling maelstrom of hyperspacial energy cast strange, otherwordly highlights across Void's cockpit, but he didn't lower the ship's blast shields to cut off the view. Many rumors claimed one could go insane from staring at the whirling lights for too long, but after years of interstellar travel, he found it strangely calming.

He absently rubbed his chin, turning a large fragment of twisted, burnt metal over and over in one hand. The metal was smooth and cold, always so cold. The edges were as sharp as razors and would slice deep if he wasn't careful. It didn't stop him.

He ran the pad of his thumb over the raised insignia on the metal's surface, the picture torn in two by the jagged edge of the fragment and now showing little more than a few parallel lines. He hadn't figured out what the symbol meant yet, despite years of trying. To this day the piece of shrapnel remained a mystery, a haunting reminder of days past that seemed to follow him wherever he went, nagging and clawing at his attention at every inopportune moment.

He closed his eyes and ran his thumb over the cool metal. Despite his ongoing frustration regarding the shrapnel's origins, it had become something of a comfort to him, like his own personal worry stone to ease tensions after tough or unexpected missions — missions such as the prison assault on Corulag.

The gentle hum of Void's engines and the steady vibrations of the deck under his feet slowly began to ease away, leaving him in near-perfect silence. His head slowly began to throb with a steady, familiar pain just behind his temples. All his senses focused in on the piece of shrapnel between his fingers, feeling its cool surface as he opened his eyes again.

When he opened his eyes, his vision was tinted with blue. He knew from prior experience that his eyes were currently emitting a steady glow and soft sapphire-white smoke was wafting up around his face. His vision began fading to black and he heard an echoing scream, distant as if the sound had been torn from the throat of a faraway banshee.

"There's someone in there!" a similarly distant voice cried.

"Get him out! If he's alive, he's going to need medical attention."

Another scream.

"Dammit, he's bleeding everywhere."

"It's a miracle he survived."

"Cin."

"Kriff, look at him! Are you sure he's alive?"

"Hurry. He doesn't have much time."

"Cin!"

Vhetin started, jerking forward in his chair. The piece of shrapnel fell from his hands and clattered away across the floor as he scrambled to grab his helmet. Instinct kicked in and he reached for the pistol holstered on his hip. He only hesitated when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"Easy, Cin," Rame said, squeezing his arm. "It's just me."

Vhetin slowly felt himself let out a long breath, the trance broken. The light faded from his eyes and all his senses flooded back to him in a strange, chaotic blur. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Rame glanced at the piece of shrapnel lying on the ground, but Vhetin quickly scooped up the fallen shrapnel and tucked it away into one of his belt pouches, out of sight.

The older man settled into the copilot's seat, pulling his helmet off and resting it on the floor next to him. He glanced over at his friend with a slight frown; Vhetin knew he wasn't in for an angry rebuke, but a lecture was far more possible.

"You know you aren't supposed to be doing that. Looking into that thing's history again."

"The deal was a month," Vhetin said, clearing his throat with no small amount of difficulty. "It's been two since I tried last time."

"You know what I mean. It's dangerous for you to dig so deep. You almost died last time. It could kill you if you try again."

"I let my impatience get the better of me last time," Vhetin said, shifting in his seat. "I reached too far, too fast. I'm in control now, and I won't let it happen again."

Rame shrugged and settled back in the copilot's chair with a frustrated sigh. "I'm not in the mood to argue. Just… be careful, all right? I'd hate to lose you over something as stupid as a burnt-up piece of metal, and I can think of several people who would think the same way."

"All right. I'll be careful." Vhetin nodded, eager to change the subject. He stared into hyperspace for a few moments longer, then closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. He took a deep breath and then another, calming his still-racing heart.

It was some time before he gathered the will to speak again. When he did, there was a note of dry amusement in his voice.

"Say it."

Rame shook his head. "I'm not going to."

"Say it."

"You should have more respect for your elders."

"I hardly think you're old enough to be considered an elder. Say it."

Rame sighed explosively, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Fine. You were right."

"About?"

"Come on, Cin, don't make be grovel."

"About?"

"So the girl wanted to be a bounty hunter, just like you said she would. Whoopdy-fierfeking-doo. It still doesn't mean she'll want to work with a partner."

"I'm not convinced I want a partner," Vhetin said quietly. "Not yet."

"But you said-"

"I said she would make a good bounty hunter," he corrected. "That if she decided to team up with someone, they may be very lucky if she's trained right. She shows potential. That's all."

"You confuse me, Cin. Just like she does."

"She wants to be trained as a bounty hunter so she can mete out justice to evil, corrupt, manipulative people." Vhetin shrugged. "I can't think of a better reason to undergo the training. So if she wants to be a bounty hunter, I say let her."

"Yeah," Rame said, "but people call you a borderline sociopath, so excuse me if I don't take your view of things at face value."

Vhetin sighed. "Please put emphasis on borderline when you say that."

"Sorry," the other man quickly apologized. "But you know I'm right, don't you?"

Vhetin didn't answer, and his companion didn't press him for a response. After a few moments of awkward silence, Rame finally shrugged and pointed out, "She's still got a long way to go. She may not even have what it takes. Our training isn't for everyone."

"Do you even remember her personnel file?" Vhetin asked. "The girl is smart, determined, and dedicated. She's used to fighting to get what she wants. I think she'll make it."

"And what if she isn't like Brianna? What if she takes our training and decides to go off on her own?"

Vhetin frowned and sat up, looking over at his red-armored friend. "What do you mean?"

"She said she wants to become a bounty hunter so she can do a little good," Rame said. "Administer justice in an unjust galaxy. But what happens if she decides to leave Mandalore after her training is finished and you two find yourselves on opposing sides? How does killing her to get at a bounty fit into your own pursuit of justice?"

Vhetin frowned deeper. Rame had a point. He couldn't begin to count the times he'd had an aruetii bounty hunter at gunpoint. The hunting trade was a cutthroat industry. Hunters these days had no problem shooting each other in the back to get at a target. Many hunters had as many tallies on their helmets for fellow hunter kills as they did for their targets. Even those who did it for more than simply money, like Vhetin, often found themselves at odds with their compatriots.

It was entirely possible that he would find himself at odds with this new girl, even if she made it through the rigorous training necessary to survive in the galaxy's criminal underworld. And it was equally possible that they would find themselves fighting over a bounty. Vhetin knew that one way or another, it was not a fight she would win. It was not a comforting thought.

Rame nodded, satisfied that his argument had struck home. "I thought so. The other day I asked her if she knew what she was doing. Now I pose the same question. Do you know what you're doing?"

Vhetin didn't speak. He didn't have an answer. Not yet.

"Let's just see what happens," he finally said, scowling behind his expressionless T-visored helmet. "It may never come to that."