Sunon sat in the cockpit, feet extended under the console and hands folded on her lap, and eyes pointed forward at the dizzying warp tunnel flying past at the speed of light.
Faster than light, actually. It said something about the technological achievement of the hyperdrive that its very existence demanded new idioms and expressions to capture the experience. There was something oddly comforting about being carried along by something she couldn't understand. Normally she hated feeling like she wasn't in total control, but not now. Now, she felt relaxed. The flashing lights and low hum of hyperspace didnt let her sleep, but they did the next best thing and drowned out all the little thoughts that stuck in her mind like thorns. The tension that constantly gripped her shoulders dissolved, and as long as she was careful not to move, it was like she didnt even have a body. She wasn't herself anymore. It was as close as she ever came to meditation, a practice she was told her biological mother had been fond of.
Then, Sunon's fingers twitched. That was the first sign that something was wrong—it often was. She looked around the cockpit, then went back to the ship's command center. No messages on the comms console, and not a thing was out of place. A tingle kept crawling up her back, that itching sensation she got when something wasn't where it should be.
The hermit.
Sunon rushed down the stairwell and through a hall to the cargo bay. The door to the supply closet she had used as a makeshift holding cell was left ajar, and the Force dampening shackles she had put on the woman lay on the ground.
"You're in hyperspace, on my ship," Sunon called out as she drew her blaster. "If I have to wrestle you back in there, it's not gonna be pretty."
Whether or not the Force dampening cuffs were busted, they clearly were escapable, so that was no longer an option, and she couldn't simply tie up an unruly Force user and expect her to stay put. She would have to drug her unconscious. Luckily, Sunon kept just the right chemicals onboard for more benign therapeutic use on herself.
"Come out here." She tapped her blaster on metal as she weaved around crates in the cargo bay, eyes darting to every shadowed corner and tangled netting. If Ibayo had opened the door to the ship's interior, Sunon would have gotten an alert in the cockpit. Nor had she left since Sunon came down the stairs—she had kept an eye and ear on the door the whole time.
As she prepared to set her foot down on the grating, she heard a creak beneath her—but not from her. It was too soon. Sunon spun around, jamming her blaster into Ibayo's shoulder and squeezing the trigger. Ibayo had gotten the drop on her, though, and her hands gripped the sides of Sunon's head before she could react. In an ordinary brawl, getting caught by surprise wasn't the end as long as it didnt mean immediate death. If there was one thing Sunon could do, it was fight—for a long, long time.
But Ibayo didnt need to fight a battle of attrition, a war of bloodied fists and broken bones. All she needed to do was say one word.
"Sleep."
No nightmares.
Not even a dream. It was the deepest, most relaxing sleep Sunon had in years. That didnt stop her from waking up in a fury, though. The room was pitch black, but a few passes of her hands over the walls told her it was the same supply closet she had thrown her captive in. She could hear a distant rumble, but not from inside the ship, which was still. This came from further away, like the roar of another ship. They had landed.
Sunon found the door and held her boot just next to the handle, then gave it a few good kicks until the lock broke and the door flew open. The cargo bay ramp was open, and the forested swamp outside told her exactly where they had landed.
Taris—Sunon's original destination.
A maglev train roared across the ground a few hundred feet out, spraying up leaves and wet dirt as it beat a path to the city that lay miles in the distance. Towering skyscrapers shot right up out of the ground, with little in the way of suburbs or low-lying commercial outskirts to soften the transition from wilderness to urban center. The source of that odd layout lay in Taris' history. Long ago, much of the planet had been covered in multiple levels of tiered urban sprawl. It was a major hub of Republic industry and trade.
Then, Darth Malak's short-lived Sith Empire had turned the planet to slag. Rebuilding efforts began soon after, and rivers of blood, sweat, and tears had cleared the endless fields of wreckage and established some modest settlements. It was held up as a testament to Republic resolve. Now more than ever, with hundreds of worlds still recovering from the war with the Eternal Empire of Zakuul, people needed that hope.
But the rebuilding off Taris had begun over three hundred years ago.
No one living now would be around to see worlds like Darvannis become anything resembling functioning members of the galactic community. Not their children, either. Maybe their children's children, in the case of some particularly long-lived species. The war had been a special kind of violence, inflicted on generations who didnt even exist yet.
Not that Sunon shunned all violence, when its aim was surgical and its goal was just. She looked down at her wrist communicator to see that she still had a fix on the hermit's collar. She may have been able to slip out of the cuffs, but clearly wasn't willing to risk prying a ring of explosives from her neck.
A smart choice.
So Ibayo had instead called her bluff, and bet that Sunon wasn't willing to blow her head off. She was right, and the Sith had no way to remotely subdue the woman. After this she would need to look into adding shock capabilities to the device. For now, she had to hunt her prey down the old fashioned way. Sunon made her way back up the ship's central stairway and into her bedroom, then discarded her armor in favor of a hooded beige robe that would allow her to blend in. She kept the fake horns and tribal markings, though. Here on Taris, she would need them more than ever.
With her disguise complete she left the ship, hopping from the ramp onto wet soil to make her way towards an an approaching maglev train. Unlike Darvannis, Taris had a functioning government—and law enforcement. Luckily, getting Ibayo back on the ship wasn't her goal. Letting the woman loose in the city had always been Sunon's plan. She would let her run around, get her face caught on camera, and see who showed up to claim her. With any luck that would be Tralus—or at least someone who would bring her a step closer to him. What she couldn't allow to happen was the hermit getting captured before Sunon got eyes on her. She needed to move fast.
Sunon stopped before the path the passing maglev train had carved into the ground and waited as the next one thundered towards her. She couldn't hide much under her robe, but she had kept her wrist guards—and the grappling hook coiled inside the sleeve. The train roared by, gusting her with air as she raised her hand and pointed it at the passing cargo containers. She squeezed her fist and bent her wrist, and a metal dart attached to a cable shot out and dug into the wall of one of the cars, undoing the spool of cable in her bracer so quickly that it began to smoke.
This was going to hurt.
After a windy ten-minute ride atop a hovering traincar, Sunon arrived in a trainyard on the outskirts of Olaris city. Construction droids the size of small spacecraft stomped to and fro, dumping vegetation into open cars that were then sealed up and pushed into line with others in preparation to leave the station. The entire setup looked to be automated, and the Sith was able to climb over the perimeter fence without being spotted. That put her in the middle of a dozen factories and waste disposal sites, but nowhere near her target. Her wrist computer couldn't give her an exact fix on the collar, but it put Ibayo at least ten kilometers deeper inside the city. That was a problem. There were no taxi stops or tram lines nearby—nothing but endless factories and streets full of unmanned load lifters moving from building to building. Hijacking one was possible, but a big risk. There was a reason she hadn't simply flown her ship to the starport. She didn't want to risk her arrival being known.
So, she ran. Through half-empty streets and chugging factories, slowing down only to check Ibayo's position on her wrist. The woman hadn't moved more than a hundred feet since Sunon had left her ship. That, at least, was good, but it didn't do much to quell her worry. She paced herself, resisting the urge to break into a full sprint to get to her bait before someone working for Tralus grabbed the hermit. If that happened, all was lost. Her first lead on the man in two years would be gone. Worse—he would know she was looking for him.
She had often lay awake and wondered if he thought of her like she thought of him. Obviously his feelings wouldn't resemble hers—he had no reason to hate her with the deep-down burning passion she kept kindled in her chest. But did he ever wonder what had happened to the Sith who escaped him? Did he worry about the loose ends he had left dangling that night on Corellia?
Eventually, she decided that he had most likely forgotten about her entirely. She had only met him briefly, but even then could tell he was not a man who gave himself over to rumination and second-guessing. He was one of those grandiose types that liked to call themselves 'men of vision'. Someone who always looked forward, never back. The fact that he probably didn't give her any thought made her furious. Then, that too, she came to terms with. Her revenge would be like a blade that came out of the darkness with no warning. There was no poetic justice or irony about the fate she envisioned for him. Just one man, who killed one woman too many.
Sunon looked down at her wrist again. Ibayo was close. The factory district had given way to gleaming government buildings of silver and white that seemed to grow taller the deeper she moved into the city. The factories to her rear with their rust and grime had been ugly, but suited the swampy planet. Not only did this area look out of place on Taris, but Sunon herself stood out awkwardly in the clean surroundings of the government district. Everyone she passed flashed her odd looks and gave the 'Zabrak' a wide berth. No doubt Sunon looked like a lunatic beggar, racing through the streets in a robe and muddy boots while panting with exhaustion.
Despite the distance they kept, they were all moving in the same direction as she was. Government officials and military personnel in formal dress, many carrying along loved ones in hooked arms. They were converging on a walled compound that sat much lower than the towering buildings around it. As Sunon drew closer to the open gates, she noticed a flag flapping in the breeze above. It depicted a white leaf below a red drop of blood, atop a green background—Mandalore's flag.
Ibayo had sought refuge in the first embassy she could find. Or worse—Tralus, a Mandalorian, was working out of the embassy and had captured her. Both possibilities had her breathing even harder than when she had been running. Sunon pressed herself to the compound wall, then slipped in behind one of the gate guards as he scanned the crowd for anyone suspicious like herself. The inside of the walled embassy grounds was a vast garden of greenery and fountains. A stone path led to a square building in the center, an odd construction of modern metal features adorning ancient wood and marble. Dozens of windows lined the three floors of the embassy, and a string of guests ran down the path to the entrance. Sunon did her best to blend in with them, but drew even more stares than she had outside the compound.
As she drew closer and scanned the outside of the building in an effort to find an alternate route inside, she realized such a thing was unnecessary. There was Ibayo, meandering around the exterior of the embassy like some uncertain functionary. A gold-plated droid was playing gatekeeper at the front doors, checking the invitations of the people in line one after the other. A few well-dressed guards with holstered blasters were keeping watch as well, but the droid was the one she would have to get past. No doubt that was the source of the hermit's hesitation. She couldn't use her powers of Force persuasion on a robot.
Sunon strode over as fast as she could without breaking into a run, shoving through the gathered politicians before grabbing Ibayo by the neck and dragging her behind a corner of the main building.
"You think you can run from me?" She pinned Ibayo against the wall and pointed her exposed wristguard at her. It might not have looked very threatening, but the hermit was smart enough to know that contained within were multiple methods of disabling her.
"I've been waiting for you," said Ibayo. Sunon glared at her in confusion, and the hermit cast a wary eye at the guards patrolling the embassy gardens. "You may want to lower that." She tapped Sunon's bracer. "Pretend we're having a normal conversation."
Sunon hated being told what to do by a woman who was nominally her captive, but she was right. Now wasn't the time or place to try and show who was in charge. The collar was reminder enough. She lowered her arm and stepped back.
"Explain," Sunon said. "Why make me chase you here?" An embassy wasn't the strangest place to seek refuge, but Ibayo hadn't run screaming for the guards. That, at least, made Sunon willing to listen.
"I was not completely forthcoming with you on Darvannis. When I looked inside the Mandalorian's mind, I saw a plot—to kill someone." She nodded at the building behind her.
"Well? Who?"
"I did not see a name. Only a face."
"Why the hell would you not tell me that?" Sunon was tempted to lift her up by her neck, but reminded herself not to make a scene. She was having trouble enough keeping her voice down. "I told you I want the man who put a bounty on you."
"But do you care about stopping a murder?" came the cool response. Ibayo was right to think that the Sith didn't care—she didn't. In any other situation, she would have clubbed the hermit over the head and tossed her over the embassy walls, then dragged her back to the ship. But Sunon had a very good reason to concern herself with what she had just been told.
"Tralus will be here." Sunon scanned the palace grounds, noting guard patrols and the building's layout. "He was last time."
"Last time?" Ibayo wondered aloud. The Sith didnt answer. She was busy unwinding Ibayo's cloth armwraps.
"Give those to me."
She was confused, but obeyed. The Sith pulled off her muddy boots and tossed them into a nearby bush, then took the strips of cloth from Ibayo and wound them about her feet.
"You're my servant," said the Sith.
"You plan to get inside looking like that?"
Sunon knew she looked like a beggar, but there were still two things to take away from her disguise. She wiggled the horns on her head until they came loose, then took the two discs off of her chest that maintained her fake facial markings. As the last black lines on her cheeks faded, Sunon dropped the horns into Ibayo's hand.
"I'm not a Zabrak drifter," said Sunon. "I'm a Sith ascetic." Instead of trying to blend in with the prim and proper crowd—a tall order for her and the Miraluka—she would do her best to stand out.
Ibayo rolled the horns in her hand for a moment before looking up at her in realization. "You're a Sith?"
Sunon didnt bother responding. The hermit seemed to have more questions past the obvious, but the crunch of grass behind Sunon had her glancing back to see a guard approaching.
"Is everything alright here?" The question itself was polite, but his tone made it clear that he wasn't happy about two women lurking in secluded areas of the embassy grounds.
"Mind your own business!" snapped Sunon as she turned to face him. The man recoiled, giving both women one last frightful glance before returning to the embassy entrance. His reaction wasn't surprising. It was the same she'd seen on the few occasions she went out without her usual Zabrak disguise. She was a Sith, chastising a woman who looked like a servant outside of an embassy. The guard must have taken her for a visiting ambassador from the Sith Empire.
Not that it was much of an Empire anymore. It may have ultimately fared better than the invading Eternal Empire, but the Sith had fractured into dozens of different cliques and fiefdoms, many no more than a single system in size. To make matters more confusing, factions routinely splintered and re-formed as they waxed and waned in power. No one in the galaxy could possibly keep a mental list of which Sith mattered. If you were, say, an embassy guard, you simply had to assume that any Sith was someone of importance until proven otherwise.
As a bounty hunter, that sort of attention was never what she wanted. Here, it was exactly what she needed.
Sunon waved Ibayo along with her and made her way to the front entrance and up the stairway. Every lined-up guest they passed muttered their distaste at the line-cutters or exhaled sharply in frustration, though none protested louder than that. Before the pair reached the doors they were stopped by the reception droid and a human guard. The one who had interrupted Sunon earlier stood nearby as well, and eyed her nervously.
"Invitation, please." The droid held out a hand, palm extended downward and holoreader ready to scan whatever invite they were supposed to have arrived with.
"Ibayo." Sunon jerked her head at the droid while keeping her gaze fixed forward and nose turned up in a show of regal arrogance. "Invitation."
The woman patted her hands up and down her robe, making a great display of searching as Sunon became ever more visibly irritated.
"I don't have it, Mistress."
The Sith drew a sharp breath inward, nostrils flaring and forehead creasing as she spun about.
"You what?"
Ibayo cowered and held her hands out protectively. "I must have left it on the ship. A thousand apologies, Mistress." It was good acting, but fear wasn't hard to fake with the much larger Sith bearing down on her.
"The ship left already, you idiot!" Sunon cocked back her arm as if to backhand the other woman.
"Hey, hey!" The guard from earlier rushed over, backed up by two comrades who had not themselves been willing to intervene. "Just give us your name, alright?"
Sunon cleared her throat and leaned in towards the droid. "Sunon Vathamma." Her birth mother's surname was the first Sith name to come to mind, and it was as good as any other. The droid stood silent for a few moments, then emitted a harsh buzz.
"My apologies. You are not on the list."
"I'm not on the list?" Sunon sputtered in mock disbelief and turned to the waiting line of people on the steps below her. "And these people are?" She pointed at a man in Republic formal dress. "Who are you? An office drone? Some glorified accountant?" Her attention went to a tentacled Twi'lek woman further up the steps. "And you! A dancer? Hired entertainment for the men without wives?" Groans of disgust and angry jeers came from the crowd. Sunon ignored them and spun back to the guard.
"I will not be embarrassed like this!" She pointed a finger at his face. "Do you want to explain to your employer why relations with the Trasskian Sith Ascendancy suddenly went cold?"
Her accent was starting to slip, but the bewildered man was too busy trying to figure out what she was talking about to notice. Clearly he had never heard of such a political body. Neither had she.
"Alright, just—" He looked from her, to the ever-growing line, to the embassy doorway behind him, then sighed. "Please head inside, and accept our apologies. We'll try and figure out what happened to your invitation."
Sunon strode past him without another word, followed shortly by Ibayo. As soon as they were inside they hit a wall of other guests, though there seemed to be a general flow of movement towards a larger room up ahead. They shoved through and entered a grand hall lined with tables set under balconies, all of them packed with people. The center of the room had been set aside as a dance floor, and a dozen or so couples twirled about with joined hands.
Bounty hunting tended to put one in odd environments, but this was by far the most alien one Sunon had ever experienced. Not only did she feel out of place, but she looked it, too. Without fail, every set of eyes she passed shot to her and then darted quickly away, never to look back. A bare-foot Sith in a simple robe was a strange sight in this high society gathering. She didnt blame them for staring.
"Well?" Sunon muttered to Ibayo.
"Pale skin, blonde hair, very pretty."
Sunon scanned the crowd and noted a dozen faces that matched the description. No doubt dozens more were scattered throughout the packed embassy. Ibayo was the only one to have actually seen her face, but the shorter woman couldn't see above the heads around her.
"Go find an empty chair to stand on," Sunon whispered to her.
Ibayo stared at her for a moment. "You know I don't have eyes, right?"
The veil made it easy to forget. Miraluka could use the Force to 'see' in a certain sense of the word. They claimed to see the reality underlying everything else, and could pick out subtle changes in a person's emotions or even sense ill-intent behind the words of the most practiced liar. But apparently, picking out a face in a crowd was beyond her.
"Describe her better," said Sunon. There were just too many people to sort through. It seemed impossible.
"I have a better idea." Ibayo grabbed her wrist, and Sunon felt a tingle like sparks creeping up her arm. "Open your mind. I will see what you see."
Sunon wasn't one for opening up. She certainly didnt like the idea of throwing open the gates for a Jedi to probe around in. Unfortunately, she didnt have any other options. At some point that door guard would run a check on her, see she wasn't who she claimed to be, and she would be ejected from the party she had crashed.
"I don't want you digging in there," she hissed at Ibayo.
"There's nothing in that head I would want." She gripped the Sith tighter, ensuring her hold was secure. "Look around."
Sunon did as requested, slowly swiveling her head from side to side as she circled the edge of the dance floor. Most of the faces in the room were pointed there, though the slow and clumsy dancers were more just something to stare at while people chatted with each other. Sunon caught snippets of conversation here and there. Core world politics, Tarisian immigration efforts, the reestablishing of old hyperlanes—too complex to understand in bits and pieces, and too dry to care about. Her attention shifted back to the dance floor, where she noticed a man and a woman moving faster than the rest.
"There!" hissed Ibayo. The woman certainly fit the description. Fair skin, long golden hair, and enough jewelry that her natural beauty was almost obscured by the glint of gold and gems. The blue-uniformed man twirling her about had dark hair, a fashionable amount of stubble, and a boyish charm that his dance partner seemed enthralled with. She laughed as he led her across the floor, stumbling here and there while he didnt miss a step.
Sunon cleared her throat and leaned in towards the man beside her. "Who is that woman?"
The old man gave a polite laugh, as if he wasn't sure the Sith was serious. "Thats our host."
"Our host?"
"Nara Jendri. Mandalorian representative to the Republic."
"The Republic?" Sunon eyed him doubtfully. "Mandalore isn't in the Republic."
"Ambassador, I should have said." He shrugged and gestured at the dancing pair. "And who knows, someday soon they may join. God knows she's pushing for it."
The elegant young women didnt look a thing like the Mandalorians Sunon had met in her two years spent on the edges of known space. Out there, among the mercenaries and warlords, it was easy to forget that many Mandalorian clans had become domesticated.
A tug on Sunon's sleeve brought her attention back to Ibayo.
"That man she is with. He is plotting something."
Moments after her warning the dancing pair began to slow their waltz and edge towards the edge of the dance floor.
"You'd better not be bullshitting me," Sunon muttered to her.
"I am not bullshitting you. He intends to do something bad. I can sense it."
This is what Sunon had been waiting for. She just hadn't expected to have to make a move so soon. Nara leaned in towards her companion and whispered something, then entered the crowd and made her way to an open doorway at the side of the room. The man went off in a different direction, then doubled back and followed her into the hall. They were meeting up somewhere else—somewhere private.
"Stay here." Sunon jabbed a finger at the ground. "You don't leave this building without me."
Gamin rounded another corner in the embassy halls, and the crowds that had grown thinner vanished entirely. The party could still be heard through the walls, but there wasn't a soul in sight until a sealed set of doors ahead of him slid open.
"Psst!" Nara leaned out and beckoned him forward. He jogged over and slipped inside the room just before the door closed behind him. She flipped on a light switch, illuminating dozens of pedestals lining the long, pillared hall he was now in. Each one was topped by an artifact on display as a symbol of Mandalorian cultural heritage. A cracked vase, a rusted sword, an ancient stone tablet—none of it looked very valuable.
"We're all alone," said Nara.
"Well, not quite." He pointed at a security camera in a nearby corner. Nara flashed him a smile and went to the control panel beside the door, and within seconds the room's surveillance was switched off. Politicians and royalty had to be careful about extra-marital affairs, even within their own home. No cameras meant no surveillance footage of what they were about to do.
Nor what he was about to do.
"Now we're alone." She turned back to him and slid her hands over his neck, then pulled him in close. Their lips met and he grasped her waist, spinning her about and pushing her back against a pillar. Her eyes were closed but his remained open, scanning the room and its many treasures. Finally, one of them caught his eye—a jeweled necklace, flashing gold and green in the light, plenty small enough to fit in his pocket.
His lips began to slip from Nara's but she grabbed his cheeks, bringing their faces back together. Keeping one hand on her hip, Gamin extended the other out past her and felt for the necklace. It was a good ten meters away, but the room was empty enough and the necklace small enough that he had little trouble using the Force to lift it from its stand and draw it slowly towards him through the air. The piece of jewelry was only halfway to him when his mind turned to other matters. Namely, the woman thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He'd told himself earlier that he would be out of the embassy as soon as he'd gotten what he'd came for. On the other hand, he really liked Nara. You could steal someone and still like them, after all.
Nara pulled back from their kiss, her eyes still closed and forehead resting on his. "Let's find a bench," she whispered.
His silent deliberation ended there. As he focused on pulling the necklace the rest of the way to him before they moved positions, Nara's eyes shot wide open and then narrowed sharply.
"What are you doing?" she barked out. He dropped the necklace, thinking she had caught him red-handed. Then he noticed that her vision was focused on something behind him. A towering, red-skinned woman in a beige robe stood in the doorway. He hadn't even heard the door open.
"Get away from her!" the intruder snapped, raising her clenched fist and pointing it at him. She had no weapon in hand, but he caught a glimpse of something metallic wrapped around her shrouded arm. Even without that, her size alone had him raising his hands and backing away from both her and Nara.
"She was just showing me your many cultural artifacts," he said with a reassuring smile. Despite the distance he put between he and Nara, the Sith continued to advance.
"Who are you?" Nara shouted. "Get out of here this instant!" She laid hands on the strange woman, only to be rudely tossed back towards the doorway.
Gamin turned to run, but she caught his collar before he could make a move, throwing him back against a pillar.
"Where is Tralus?" A knife shot out of the Sith's wristguard and she pointed it between his eyes.
"W-who?" he stammered. The woman's expression hardened and she squeezed his neck.
"You'll tell me everything you know." Her entire body quaked, and he thought she might snap him in two from sheer rage. "I'll take your eye, your fingers, your nose, until you tell me where he is!"
He had no idea what she was talking about, but sheer terror overwhelmed any ideas about questioning her further. This woman was going to kill him, and he didnt even know why.
"Guards!" screamed Nara out the open doorway. She moved to help Gamin, but seemed to double-think that plan once she took another look at the Sith. He couldn't blame her—he had tried to run away himself.
"You've got to the count of ten to give me a location." The Sith's voice was a low whisper that trembled as she spoke. It wasn't fear, though. He could tell that much. She was trying to hold back her anger. "Those guards will be here after that. You won't." Her knife slid down to his neck and dug into his flesh, making him wince in pain as warm blood trickled down. Even if he could manage to get a few words out with her choking the life out of him, what could he say to satisfy her? He was a dead man.
"One..."
As he closed his eyes and embraced a strange end to a stranger life, he saw something. A long, form-fitting black helmet with two red eyes appeared from thin air behind Nara, a foot above her head. Two ivory tusks jutted out of the mask's jawline, giving it the appearance of a hunter's trophy. The air continued to ripple, and a pair of broad shoulders appeared as well.
"Two," said the Sith.
Nara's eyes were focused on Gamin's, but she looked as shocked as him. He didnt know why until his eyes travelled lower, to the red blotch of blood spreading outward from the left side of her chest. She gasped and choked, then looked down at the sword thrust through her chest.
"Three."
Nara's death was silent. Neither she nor Gamin made a noise, but the Sith seemed to sense what had happened only a split-second after he did. Maybe she saw his eyes focused on Nara instead of her, or saw shock and anguish replacing fear. Either way, she released Gamin, spinning about and shooting her knife from her bracer at the assassin. It came within an inch of taking Nara's ear off. It didnt come anywhere close to the assassin. He was already on the move, throwing Nara from his blade and rushing at the Sith. Gamin staggered away from the pair to Nara, catching her just before her head struck the ground.
"Nara!" He shook her, but her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Blood streaked the marble floor where she had fell, and more ran from both sides of her torso, soaking his pants. Too much blood.
"Guards!" The word caught in his throat halfway through. It didnt matter—he could already hear feet beating down the hall outside. And Nara was dead, anyway. She hung limply in his arms, muscles slack and body running cold as her warmth bathed him.
Behind him, the assassin was closing in on the Sith. He took short, careful jabs at her with his blade, ducking around pillars and swiping aside priceless antiques as he sought to disable her. The Sith stumbled and rolled away, but it wasn't like the times Gamin found himself on the losing side of a melee. This was practiced, purposeful. Each change in her stance forced the assassin to either overextend or draw back, an advantage the Sith pressed in attempts to disarm him or take swiping kicks at his legs, all while keeping her hands ready to catch his should he try to strike at her with the blade.
Then, she did catch it. Her hand squeezed his, forcing him to drop the blade into her waiting palm below. It was a masterful move, and for a moment he expected to see her thrust the sword through the assassin's heart—but she stopped. Her entire right side jerked and spasmed, as if an electric shock ran through it. Later he would realize that the weapon had been booby-trapped, rendered unusable by anyone but the wielder. But right then, the Sith seemed to have had a stroke out of nowhere. The assassin picked up his sword and raised it above her exposed chest, ready to strike.
Gamin didnt move a muscle. He couldn't say it was because he was more worried about the Sith than the assassin. The latter had just run a sword through the heart of the woman lying dead in his arms. No, it was something much simpler than that. It was fear. He was afraid to act.
Just as the Sith was about to receive the same fate, the patter of feet reached the doorway—but it wasn't a guard.
A dark-skinned woman with a veiled face and woven robe shot into the room, slid to a quick halt, and raised her open hands at the assassin. The assassin pulled back immediately, taking off in a full sprint towards the other end of the room—but there was no door, only a solid wall of metal and wood. As the assassin ran, he took something from his belt and hurled it against the wall, blowing a gaping hole outward that he then leapt through to the courtyard below. The veiled woman ran past the prone Sith in pursuit, but seemed to give up once she saw the distance that had formed between them. She ran back, giving Gamin—and the dead woman in his arms—a quick glance before kneeling down beside the Sith.
"Don't worry. The guards are coming."
"Guards?" the Sith spat, rolling onto all fours. "Look at this!" she gestured at Gamin and Nara. The assassin was gone, his victim was dead, and the murder weapon lay on the ground a dozen feet away. It looked as if the Sith had just killed her. Worse—it looked like he had just killed her.
"Red tauntaun!" the Sith shouted at the other woman. She looked just as confused as Gamin, until her necklace unsnapped and fell to the ground. The Sith picked it up and hurled it past him into the hallway, towards the approaching guards he could hear as a roar of clanking boots and clattering rifles. The hall exploded in a shower of marble and wood, knocking him flat to the ground and pelting him with debris. He opened his eyes to see Nara's lifeless face staring back at him, and nearly shrieked in horror before a hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out from under her.
"You're coming with me." The Sith's face was inches from his. He might have nodded—he wasn't sure. Before he knew it, he was running with the two women towards the evening sunlight streaming in from the hole the assassin had escaped through. The Sith's hand remained on his collar, pulling him along faster than his legs could move. When he reached the edge, he didnt have to think about jumping—she threw him.
Sunon hit the ground running. Her captive didnt. The man hurtled from the second floor of the embassy, hit the grass, then rolled on his side until his starched dress blues were painted a deep green. He was dressed like a naval officer of the Republic, but that had to be a disguise. Whether he was working with the assassin or not, he and Sunon both wanted the same thing—to not get captured by Tarisian authorities. Once that was accomplished she could ask him a few pointed questions. For now, she was his savior. She ran back, picked him up, and then threw him towards the embassy gates, propelling him into a run once again.
A large crowd was gathering on the front lawn to gawk at the gaping hole they had just jumped out of, and a few guards pushed through the crowd to try and take charge of the situation. Behind Sunon and her two companions, the guards she had delayed with Ibayo's collar reached the inner wall and spotted the Sith who no doubt stood out like a sore thumb. They shouted at her, though she couldn't make out the words over the shrieks and yells of panicked partygoers. Any second now, those guards were going to start shooting.
Sunon reached the edge of the crowd and decked a guard who was managing the crowd with a single punch, then picked up his rifle and fired wildly at the outside of the embassy. The first few laser bolts went through the hole in the wall, forcing their pursuers to take cover. The next dozen she swept across the entire front of the building, shattering windows and taking chunks out of walls.
Then, the rifle was ripped from her hand and thrown off into the distance. Not by a hand, but by an unseen force. She spun around and spotted Ibayo standing within the fleeing crowd near the gate, open palm pointed at the Sith.
Regardless, the shots had their intended effect. Whatever order the guards inside the embassy had managed to keep broke down, and the front doors were thrown wide open by a surging tide of people that spread out into the courtyard amidst panicked screams and urgent cries. She turned back to the gates and joined Ibayo in a full sprint towards the street ahead, quickly merging with the seething mass of fleeing guests. She was half-tempted to haul the hermit to the ground and lay into her, but she held back for the same reason she had let loose on the embassy and sown so much chaos.
They needed to escape—fast.
It wasn't just a matter of getting out of the government district, or even out of the city. The longer they remained on Taris, the wider a net authorities would cast and the more resources they would bring to bear in their search. System patrols would converge over the city in space, orbital defenses would come online, and starports would shut down in an effort to catch the three people suspected of murdering a Mandalorian ambassador. Their escape didnt need to be clean—it just needed to be soon. Sunon rolled up her sleeve as she ran, pressing a few buttons on the computer before turning her attention to the crowd.
For a few terrifying moments, Sunon thought she had lost the third of their group. Then, as she neared the gates, she spotted him. He wasn't trying to get away from her, or even moving at all. His back was pressed up against the gate post, eyes darting around frantically until he spotted her running towards him.
Sunon recognized the wide-eyed look. This wasn't a man who was used to being thrown into the deep end of life. He sure as hell wasn't an assassin. He had no idea what to do, and she was the only person who was giving him some direction. That meant he would follow her—even if she had nearly killed him.
As she neared him she went to grab him by the jacket again, but he broke out into a run beside her. Ibayo trailed along behind the two, and soon all three were a block away from the embassy, weaving between government buildings in cramped alleyways. Most of the fleeing crowd had stopped at the street outside, huddling behind the assumed safety of the courtyard walls. That noise grew distant, leaving the sound of sirens that grew nearer and more numerous with each passing second.
"Where are we running?" Ibayo gasped out at her. "Or are we just running mindlessly?" Sunon could tell from her voice that the woman was getting tired, and the man beside her was dripping with sweat and grimacing up at the sky in pained exertion.
"There." Sunon pointed out the alley and across a main road to a park in the center of the district. No doubt the other two were confused by her answer, but they weren't in any position to protest. Nor did it matter if they understood.
The trio shot out into the street, bringing traffic to a screeching halt. What few cruises weren't automated careened onto sidewalks and ran into one another. Sunon slid over the hood of one such car, and as she jumped spotted a few of the flashing sirens drowning out all other noise in the vicinity. They were surrounded.
Then, another noise broke the dull wail of the police cruisers. A harsh screech, far more ominous than the sirens overpowered by it. But too Sunon, it was a comforting noise. A thunderous boom sounded up above the street across from the park as a red-and-grey blockade runner took out a chunk of skyscraper in its speedy descent towards her. She had modified the Mantis for automated landings, but even in a landing space as big as this it wasn't perfect. Normally she would be able to make manual adjustments through her wrist computer, but she was too busy running for her life to worry about some property damage. They were already wanted for far worse than that.
The jets on the bottom of the Mantis roared as it neared the ground, setting a gazebo alight before the bulky ship crushed it to bits. The ramp slammed down on the grass, and all three sprinted into the vessel's cargo bay. Ibayo and the Republic man slowed down as soon as they saw the ramp closing behind them, but Sunon didnt stop there. She knew that the most dangerous part of their escape was just minutes away. She hauled up the stairwell and ran down the hall to the cockpit, not even bothering to sit down before she triggered the ship's autopilot to take them into orbit.
With that done she sat down and buckled in, taking over from the autopilot as the ship lurched from the ground and angled towards the sickly green sky above. The ship shook and shield alerts sounded out, but that was just small arms fire. The worst was yet to come.
Jump jets took the ship into orbit, throwing her head back and making her chest feel as if someone had heaped a building on it. She could only wonder at how the two in the cargobay were faring, and the thought had a slight smile flickering across her face.
The mottled green sky gave way to the clean, crisp blackness of space, and her grin disappeared. Cruisers and swarms of frigates were converging above. More ships dropped out of hyperspace behind them, heralded by flashes of light and followed by alerts on the console in front of her.
First one lock. Then two. A dozen. Two dozen. Ship after ship got a fix on her, turning in space in preparation to fire. She had already prepped the hyperdrive during their ascent, but they were still too close to Taris to risk a jump. Doing so now would risk being torn apart by the planet's mass shadow.
She knew that, but the ever-narrowing corridor of empty space in the gauntlet of ships ahead stood as a reminder of what awaited if she delayed. Not capture—death.
The turret batteries on the Republic ships erupted in a display of red and green light, and a split second later her ship was rocked by enough cannon fire to take down all but a sliver of her shields. The Mantis was meant to run blockades, not entire armadas. The cockpit filled with the sound of alerts and warnings, all telling her what she already knew—one more round like that, and it was over.
Her sweaty fingers wrapped around the lever for the hyperdrive, and her eyes flickered down to the console. They still weren't far enough out. The edge of a vast grey sphere wrapped around their green blip on the map, showing that Taris still had them in its grasp. Then, her gaze shot back to the window in front of her. Red and green lights all across the line of ships, beginning as a faint glow before growing into a blinding fireworks display. Space itself seemed to erupt, and Sunon wrenched down on the lever. A seamless white replaced the colorful array of blaster fire, then twisted and churned into the familiar sight of a warp tunnel.
Sunon slumped back, letting her trembling hand slip from the lever. Her heart was racing, her ears rang, and reality seemed to take on a sharper quality, like she could tune nothing out. It was always like this after close calls. She could keep her cool when circumstances demanded, but once she was in the clear that debt came back with a vengeance.
Steadying her shaking arms, she pushed herself from the chair and went back to the cargo bay. There were shouts—two voices, one far more frantic than the other.
"You need to calm down." Sunon stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the bay to see Ibayo attempting to soothe the red-faced man in front of her.
"Calm? Calm!" the man shouted. He ruffled his hair madly, sounding as if he was on the verge of alternately laughing and crying all at once. Sunon took the remnants of her own shock and pushed them down deep, then stalked calmly down the stairs. As she reached the bottom the man spotted her and rushed over.
"Let me off!" He spat the words right into her face, but it wasn't bravery allowing him to get so close to her. It was panic. When she didnt respond he took a step back, drew a deep breath in, then waved a hand slowly across her field of vision.
"You will let me off at the nearest starport with all your credits." The words were ridiculous, but the tone of his voice was a soothing warmth that wrapped around her. It seemed impossible, but there was no mistaking the pull she felt on her mind. Sunon drew her fist back, then brought it crashing into the man's gut. All the air left his lungs as a pained wheeze, and he fell to his knees.
"Did you just try to use the Force on me?" she said.
"Enough!" Ibayo stormed over to Sunon. Only her mouth was visible beneath her veil but it was drawn down in a furious scowl. "You might have killed someone back there. Do you even care?"
Without her collar, the hermit was more dangerous than ever. Sunon kept her at arm's length, one hand poised at her throat and the other cocked back, ready to strike.
"Don't you dare touch me," she spat. The woman backed off, and Sunon gestured at the man on the ground beside her. "He's dangerous!" She said the words mockingly, imitating Ibayo's own breathy voice. "He's going to do something. I can sense it!" Sunon jabbed a finger at her. "If I killed anyone, its your fault."
The Sith spun about and stormed over to a work bench, then pulled a blaster from the rack above and walked back over to the pair.
"What was he doing there?" She pointed the pistol at the man and Ibayo, unsure of who to threaten. "Tell me!"
Ibayo frowned, but reluctantly knelt in front of the man and grabbed the sides of his head.
"Gamin Yar," she said.
"And he's... what? Republic navy?"
She shook her head. "That's not his uniform. He is a nobody. He was there to steal from the wealthy." Ibayo let go if his head and sighed, leaving Gamin reeling from the after-effects of having hs mind violated.
"What the hell was that?" he gasped, scrambling away from the two women.
Sunon was silent for a moment, then broke into an uproarious laugh that rang the bay walls.
"Is something about this funny to you?" Ibayo said. Sunon couldn't honestly say it was funny, but things had gone so wrong that she could think of no other response than to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
"A bounty hunter couldn't find her target. You, a Jedi, couldn't save one woman from an assassin." She walked over to Gamin, who had backed himself against a crate. "You're a thief, right? Did you steal anything good?"
He was too taken aback by her mad grin to speak. All he could do was shake his head slowly from side to side.
"Great." Sunon turned and went back up the stairs, all the while tapping her blaster against her thigh. "Terrific."
Ibayo and Gamin remained in the cargo bay, unmoving and unspeaking as a few more halting laughs rang out from deeper in the ship. Then, those too went silent.
