To Mould A Man From Clay

Chapter Eight

Old habits die hard. Even after you've technically died.

"Jirax?" Mako doesn't often use his name, and as he removes his helmet, shaking his sweaty hair free, he sees just how disturbed she still is by the entire ordeal on Nar Shaddaa.

"What's on your mind?"

She looks down, to the side, up towards the ship's ceiling, anywhere but towards Jirax. Her hands fumble with loose strands on her shiny new coat. Her hair is down, out of its typical brown hair clip, and she shrugs. Her brows narrow, and it looks like she's annoyed with herself for her own hesitation.

Jirax wants to tell her to take her time, to not force it out, but instead his voice is gruff and sour. "Spit it out or stop fidgeting."

She nods and sighs. "Are we assassins?"

"Depends on how ya define 'assassin.'"

"Someone who premeditates killing another living being. You kill for money."

"Well you do none of that. So you ain't no assassin. I am, I suppose, though you're reapin' some of the benefits—the payload, at that."

"I told you to kill the Eidolon. We planned how we would get him to show his face. We killed him, even if you're the one who pulled the trigger…" Mako closes her eyes, swallows hard, and nods. "Well, so to speak."

He sighs. Everyone has to have this talk in this line of work. "Is your conscience knocking on your skull?"

"He killed my friend. You killed him. It should be an eye for an eye but it's hard not to feel… responsible."

"If ya hadn'ta told me I'da killed the sonuvabitch either way for the hunt."

"You might have taken the bounty in the end."

"No, I wouldn'tve. Didn't need the payout. He insulted me, thought he was a better hunter. Don't allow none of that. S'bad for reputation and all. Gotta always have the teeth bared and the claws sharp." Jirax turns and drums his fingers against the metal grating by the intercom. He thinks he should leave before this conversation waxes philosophical and moral—and he ain't none of that.

However, he takes a deep breath, turns, and takes a step towards her. He places a steadying hand on her shoulder. "First few time's are the hardest, but ya get through it one way or another."

"I don't want to be a murderer."

"What, you think it was murder? It was a job."

"We could have turned in a live bounty."

"You told me to kill 'im so I did." He shakes his head and grunts. "If ya can't take the idea or killin' a man, well, hell Mako, I'll carry it for you. You ain't killed a man never and you likely won't. We'll keep it that way if you want."

"I should've killed the Eidolon. For Anuli. I just…"

"Like I said, ain't easy the first time. Killin' a man."

Mako runs a hand over her face and through her hair. "Can we have this conversation on the bridge? I'd like to get away from Nar Shaddaa as soon as possible."

"Ain't gonna hear no argument from me."

They head through the upper level's hallway to the bridge, and Jirax sits down in the captain's chair, leans over the galaxy map, and plots a course out of Hutt space into the dark.

"Jory taught me how to shoot a blaster. I mean, I knew how to fight…kids have to know how to protect themselves on Nar Shaddaa. But he taught me the right way. How a hunter shoots." Mako smiles thoughtfully. She unclips her holster and draws her small silver blaster with an impressive flick of her wrist. "You know I'm not just a cute side-kick, buster."

He grins toothily as he leans back in the captain's chair, propping his feet up onto the map's projector. "Hell, you're right. You're practically runnin' this here operation with you bein' the brains and all them fancy cliches."

Mako meets his gaze, holds it for a moment, and then settles down in the chair beside him, following suit by mirroring his relaxed position. She props her head up with her hands behind her head. "I'm glad you're following through with the Great Hunt, even without Jory and Braden. You should've seen 'em after we heard you accept our offer to be your crew. Grinning and happy. I don't think I've thanked you."

"Don't need to do any of that. Really, don't."

"Winning the hunt's going to mean more than revenge in the end. Their legacy will live on through us."

Jirax glances to his right and studies her. Mako's eyes are closed, her smile is wistful and nostalgic, and perhaps he's seeing a side to her that's more open and relaxed than ever before. The bridge is dark save from the blinking lights from the machinery and controls, and the shadows play on her soft facial features. As always, her metallic implant glimmers even in the dim light.

Old habits die hard. He doesn't trust himself to behave like a human being—but he tries, he wants to try, if not for her sake, but for the sake of his Safie, who, if only for a moment, believed he was still a man and not a monster.

"You know, I've asked all about you, and you've never asked much about me."

"I ain't the sort to go picking at someone's business. If you want to spill the guts of your story, well, figured you'd do it when you were ready."

"It's only fair, probably that I tell you about myself."

Jirax grunts and looks away from her, focusing his attention on the paneled windows opening to the empty black. If he remembers to breathe evenly and divide his attention, maybe he'll be able to temper the pain for a short while.

"I've had this implant my whole life but I never really knew how or why I have it. My parents must have installed it in me prior to well…" she trails off, and Jirax doesn't need to wonder about where that sentence was leading.

"Braden encouraged me to look into my past. Said that no matter what we like to think about ourselves, our past does define us in many ways, good or bad… but you need to know it in order to grow."

Jirax just shrugs. He doesn't want to put down her own hopes with his own cynicism and bitterness.

"Street kid from Nar Shaddaa, what's to know?"

"That rhetorical?"

"Ha ha, very funny."

He sits up and chuckles briefly. "Sleazy, dirty, scum of the galaxy. Hell, you're like a diamond in the rough."

It's out before there's a chance to take it back. He blinks and everything flares up—pain in his head, tightness in his chest. Mako props her elbow up against the arm of the chair and raises a brow. Neither of them know where to go with that.

"…Uh, well, I've done some research on the implant over the years due to curiosity, but it isn't much. Government manufacturer. Classified model."

Jirax coughs, looks away, and rubs the bridge of his nose. He cusses to himself, unceremoniously and aloud, while applying pressure in an attempt to mitigate the conditioned physiological response. However, as it starts to taper off, Mako unknowingly makes it worse.

"Is it really that bad? Just having a conversation with someone else can set it off? What did that Sith do to you?"

"She wanted a machine," he grinds out with a clenched jaw, "too bad her machine came with sentience and emotions."

Mako frowns and purses her brows. She wants to understand this strange individual she's decided to follow through blaster-fire and back. "So essentially… she wanted you to be well, mindless. You said it's like a slave with a shock collar. When you're being… violent or mean, you're fine. No pain. But when you're…"

He shakes his head. "It's deeper science than that. You ever heard of Imperial scientists who did research on animals and slaves, usin' pain and the threat of pain in order to instill obedience, teachin' that obedience gives rewards, and that reward is the absence of pain? It's modifyin' somethin' in order to get what you want. It's fuckin' reprogrammin' the way people think and feel and talk and relate."

"How are you able to talk to me then with this degree of restraint and self-control?"

"Fuck it ain't easy." He groans and clutches at his head. His temple throbs loudly in his ear. He bites his tongue in order to prevent himself from yowling.

"What about…I don't know, is it too sentimental to ask about happiness and love? I don't understand—"

"Ain't wired for it," Jirax says apathetically. It took too much of his own self-restraint and willpower to control his temper and his tone. He abruptly stands from the captain's chair and heads out of the bridge. He feels Mako's eyes follow him, and he doesn't want any of that—not her pity, not her sadness, none of it. On his way he bends down and picks up his forgotten helmet. All he wants is a tranquilizer stim and some sleep in his bunk.

"Wait, Jirax—"

He glances over his shoulder and sees her standing behind him, shorter by a head's length. "Look, I'm sorry," he couldn't believe she was apologizing to him, "it isn't fair for me to be doing this to you. I want to help, tell me how I can—"

"Best you stick to helpin' yourself. Find out about your own past." He frowns and shrugs. "I'll call in the kill later. Need me I'll be in my rack."