Lighting the Fuse


120 Days after Ord Mantel
Tatoo System
Thunderclap

Feeling refreshed and in a slightly better mood, Fynta Wolfe toweled her wet hair as she pushed open the door of the refreshers. Nothing quite beat the feeling of clean PTs and the smell of shampoo. Especially after two months quelling prison riots in the Outer System. Thankfully, Garza finally had some intel for them, now they could get back on the hunt for Tavus and the others. It wasn't until after she'd deposited her towel in the laundry bin that Fynta realized just how quiet the ship was. Either her two companions were asleep or in the small kitchen at the back of the ship.

The Thunderclap was a proficiently laid out ship. Her quarters were at the bottom of the stairs that led to the navigation controls and the bridge. The main room was centered in the middle, a big square space where all briefings via holo took place, with benches and chairs equipped with harnesses lining the walls in case they picked up another squad. The medbay, conference room, refreshers, armory, and barracks all attached directly to the main room. Then the storage room branched off the short corridor that led down to the airlock and the hatch to the engine room. The kitchen was the only odd room, almost as if it was an afterthought. It was barely big enough for the three of them to stand in and it was squeezed in behind the conference room. Effectively making it a kitchen/dining room set up.

Fynta ambled through the big meeting room and found Dorne and Jorgan in what looked to be a serious debate over Republic versus Imperial politics. The Last time she'd tried to end a conversation like this, they'd both looked at her as if she'd sprouted a second head, so this time, Fynta would keep her mouth shut.

"We are never going to agree fully on this, Sergeant. So continuing this debate is frivolous," Dorne was saying.

"I don't understand how you can defect to the Republic if you disagree so strongly with its policies," Jorgan countered. His tone wasn't angry, it was challenging. Fynta realized he was trying to get a rise out of Dorne the way he had done her on Ord Mantell, she doubted Dorne would take the bait.

Busying herself searching the cabinets for something edible, Fynta kept a careful ear on the tone of the conversation. "I didn't say that, did I?" Dorne pointed at him with her eating utensil, "I agree that the strict adherence to the regulations makes the Empire more efficient." She held a hand up when Jorgan started to interrupt. "However, there is a certain lack of mercy, a coldness, if you will, that accompanies it. Here in the Republic, everyone's emotions run high, people will fight over small slights and everyone having a voice must surely lead to chaos." Jorgan nodded silently. "However, those raw emotions lead to successful last stands and rallying the people to a common cause. The Empire uses fear and duty."

"I see," he said, tapping the spoon against his chin.

"If I may, Sergeant Jorgan, there are good people in the Empire, just as there are bad in the Republic. We cannot help where we are born." Dorne ventured, sparing a glance at Fynta. They both knew her stance on it already. She didn't hide her heritage from her crew.

Fynta finally decided on what to eat, a hearty aqualish medley, and leaned against the small counter while it self-heated in her hands. "Any word from Garza?" Of course, she knew the answer, but she had to ask.

"Nothing." Jorgan swallowed what he had been chewing before continuing, "We've been hovering around Tatooine for twelve hours. Maybe it's time to head down to the surface."

Fynta shook her head, "Too risky. I don't want to give away our position until it's time to move out." She pulled open the lid and blew off the steam. It smelled wonderful. "Either of you ever been there?"

Dorne shook her head, "I'm afraid my traveling has been restricted to Nar Shaddaa, Taris, and Coruscant. In the Core worlds, at least." She wasn't counting the moon prison riots, then.

"We'll need to change that." Fynta searched one of the drawers by her hip for a spoon and came up empty.

"I have been able to avoid it so far. Wretched hot, from what I've heard," Jorgan added, tipping the rest of the contents of his bowl into his mouth and holding out his spoon towards Fynta. They only had two. Who stocks a ship with only two spoons? She bet C2 did it on purpose just to piss her off. Shabbing droid.

"Thanks." That simple act of kindness was enough to halt the rise of her temper. "It is hot, no denying that, but it's a fascinating planet. I went with my parents once when I was a girl. I remember enjoying the trip."

Jorgan eyed her, "What exactly were your parents doing there?"

"They were probably up to no good. They were mercs." Fynta loved her parents, but she had never been disillusioned about what their career choices. They were good to her and Verin, which was all that mattered.

"Tatooine is a lot like Nar Shaddaa," Jorgan said. "Only not as congested. Everyone on that planet has something to hide."

"I see. Sounds like a lovely place." Dorne made a face and pushed her food away.

Fynta laughed, "Depends on where you visit."


Aric Jorgan finally took his turn in the showers. The stall walls were tall enough that they came to eye level with him and they actually had doors with an enclosed area to dry off. That didn't mean he felt right sharing them with the lieutenant and sergeant if it could be avoided. On occasions where it couldn't, he segregated himself to one side of the room and they the other.

Fynta smiled at Jorgan when he came out. The kind that always made him check his surroundings because she was up to something. "What?" That had become his standard greeting around the lieutenant when they were off the clock.

Fynta was sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs in the main room with a datapad in her lap, still in her PTs. Her grin widened. "I'm sorry, you just look so fluffy when you're fresh from the shower."

Fluffy was for kittens and pets. Jorgan didn't fancy himself as either. "I'm not fluffy."

Fynta nodded, unfurling her legs as she stood, leaving the datapad on the arm of the chair. The lieutenant walked a slow circle around Jorgan, looking him over from top to bottom. Suddenly his own PTs didn't feel like enough clothing. She had that effect on him and he really hated it. Jorgan stood his ground, but followed her movement warily. He'd been testing the waters of flirting back with the Fynta for a couple of months, out of practice as he was, she seemed to find it adequate, or maybe amusing. Only problem was, she was a lot better at it. That, and it was a colossally bad idea.

Eventually Fynta came to a stop in front of him, still smiling. Then she hopped up on her toes to rub the top of Jorgan's head. "Sure you aren't."

"Come in, Lieutenant. This is General Garza."

They both spun towards the holo, expecting to see the general, but it was set on voice only until someone accepted the holo transmission. Fynta gave him another once over, then stalked away. "Dorne! We've got the general on the line!"

Elara emerged from the medbay with a datapad propped on her arm and a stylus in her hand. "Present, sir," the medic responded without looking up. She'd fallen into her own rhythm on-board the ship and seemed more at home now.

The lieutenant accepted the call. "Good to hear from you, General. Have you got something for us?"

"Ah, there you are," Garza said. "I do, you're going to Tatooine. Anchorhead, to be more precise."

"We are near Tatooine now, sir, we decided it best to do our briefing before touching down," Fynta answered. She was now standing at ease in front of the terminal, completely serious.

Garza nodded, "Good. Tatooine is a vast and dangerous desert of a planet, and I'm afraid you can't count on having the Republic's support during your mission there."

Fynta gave a curt nod, "Havoc Squad can handle it."

"All the same, Lieutenant, I hate sending my people into uncharted areas like Tatooine without some kind of support. In the absence of military assets, I've arranged a local contact to assist you in your mission: Oleg Klerren, the mayor of Anchorhead. Mayor Klerren may not be a soldier, but he knows the area extremely well and can put his city's resources, whatever those may be, at your disposal."

"Sounds like a useful friend to have," Fynta responded. She hated politicians as much as any soldier, but Jorgan noticed she'd been putting an effort into learning how they operated.

"That's all I have for you at the moment. Proceed with the operation. Garza out." The image flickered away.

"I guess we'll figure out who our objective is when we get there," Fynta said as she climbed the stairs to the bridge.

Jorgan followed and settled himself in the co-pilot's seat. He'd come to terms with the fact that the lieutenant liked to fly her own ship. Dorne positioned herself quietly behind them, having expressed an interest in learning to pilot the Thunderclap in case they ever became incapacitated. So, she hovered, watching and learning. The woman could absorb knowledge like a sponge, no matter where or how she got it.

"Coordinates for Anchorhead Spaceport have been added, sir."

Fynta pushed the controls forward towards the distant ball outlined by the one of the system's stars. It steadily turned from shadowy orb into an orange mass that filled the view screen, one of its pale moons just coming around the west side. Jorgan fought back a feeling of dread as the cracked surface loomed closer. Fynta lowered them onto the dusty shuttlepad and instructed the ship's computer to enter defensive mode. "Everyone grab your gear. Tatooine is a big place and it's all hands on deck," Fynta said, climbing from her chair. Jorgan grumbled silently, he hated desert ops.

Tatooine
Anchorhead Spaceport

Lieutenant Wolfe, Elara Dorne, and Aric Jorgan made their way confidently through the Spaceport. The sheer variety of sentient beings just outside their hangar was almost overwhelming. Humans were a prominent presence everywhere in the galaxy, except here in Anchorhead. Elara was certain there were no minorities on Tatooine, not if the spaceport was any indication for the rest of the planet, just vast variety. Although, she had read that the indigenous species here were known as the Sand People and the Jawa. The lieutenant had explained to them on the ship that the latter were small beings who wore desert robes, but no one actually knew what their physical appearance resembled. Everyone else here was either hiding from someone, a slave, a smuggler, or just highly unlucky, according to Jorgan.

Elara had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the increase in dust in the air as they neared the exit of the spaceport until it scratched at the back of her throat. Her lungs were not used to this arid, heavy atmosphere. Outside the sliding doors, everything was light brown. Sand swirled around their ankles and whipped between sandblasted stone buildings. Most of which, in her immediate view at least, were built on massive stone foundations with their rooms slightly elevated with spiraled staircases ascending the outsides. The people, though of different species, all wore garments of a rough looking material. Elara assumed the cheaper material aided in keeping the sand off their skin, many also wore face scarves. A custom she planned to adopt at the first opportunity.

"The Mayor's office should be in that cluster of buildings over there," Jorgan said, looking over the maps downloaded to his personal datapad.

They hadn't gone far when Elara began to feel the effects of wearing heavy armor in such intense heat. Thankfully, Havoc Squad was privy to the latest equipment, including fibermesh body suits which were worn under the beskar armor. The fibermesh aided in regulating their internal body temperature and could wick away sweat to help cool them if a breeze happened to blow. It also kept the hot metal of her outer armor from touching her skin. Not to mention, it was small arms and knife resistant. Elara comforted herself with the knowledge that if need be, her new armor was air tight and climate controlled. All she had to do was put on the helmet.

Tatooine
Anchorhead

Havoc Squad was going over the details of a string of bombing while standing in the mayor's office. The man wasn't soft, no matter his political wealth, having been hardened by life on a tough world. His grey hair was swept back from a clean shaven face and nearly touched his shoulders. Fynta always found men with longer hair to be unnatural, then again, she spent most of her time around soldiers. "I'm so thankful that you're here. Please, Lieutenant, I need your help. My city, the people of Anchorhead, need your help."

"We'll assist where we can, sir." The words had no sooner left Fynta's lips than a woman rushed into the office. She slammed into Jorgan, bounced off, and came to a sudden stop at the desk with her dark hair flung over her face.

"Sir! Mayor Klerren, sir! There's been another bombing! An apartment building over in district seven!" The woman doubled over, gasping for breath.

The mayor's face went pale. "How many? Do we know yet?"

The woman stood up again and took one more trembling breath, pushing her hair from her face. "No, sir, but it's going to be bad. A lot of people lived in the building… a lot of families."

Fynta unhooked her helmet from the clasp on the back of her belt, "We'll proceed to the scene at once, Mayor." First to be helpful, second to see what they could dredge up about these bombs. It was the only lead they had.

Anchorhead was no Coruscant. The column of black smoke marked their target about three klicks to the north east. As the squad got closer to the scene, Fynta saw mother's holding soot covered children and rusting, ancient medical droids bent over prone bodies in the street. If these were the ones who'd survived, she didn't fancy facing the ones who hadn't. "Jorgan, isn't one of our objectives a bomb expert?"

"That's a big affirmative, sir. Pulled some pretty flashy stuff back on Ord Mantell if memory serves." It wasn't like either other them would forget it. Fynta had found out that the Zabrak chakaar had been responsible for that convoy ambush that had blown her armor to osik.

The courtyard was a mess, debris and other unidentifiable chunks littered the ground and the mixed smell of charred fiberglass and flesh was enough to overpower her filters and make her gag. Suddenly, Dorne was running. Fynta followed a short distance before she saw what had grabbed the woman's attention. A man reached out towards them and moaned. Fynta decided to stay back and let the medic do her job, but she wanted to hear what the man was trying to say. As Dorne knelt next to the man to begin her triage analysis, Fynta squatted on the opposite side. He was badly burned, the left half of his face was more white bone than skin, and the arm he reach towards Dorne was nothing but blackened and charred flesh. He moaned when Dorne touched him.

The dark haired woman who'd brought news of the bombing ran in behind them and knelt next to Fynta. She gasped, then reached out a hand and left it hovering just above the man. "Just hang in there, Benett." It looked as if she couldn't figure out exactly what she wanted to do, so eventually she settled for leaning closer to the man's face. "It's me, Cana, I'm your neighbor, remember? You… you're going to be ok. Just try not to move, all right?"

Dorne repositioned him carefully for a better look, producing another groan. Then she removed her helmet and set to work on administering first aid. Fynta assumed that meant the field scans were complete and Dorne knew how to treat the man now. "Do you know this man?" The medic asked without looking at the woman. "Are there any preexisting medical conditions that I should know of?"

If Cana noticed the accent, she didn't let on. "No, he's perfectly healthy as far as I know. Don't worry, Benett, you'll be safe now." The woman spoke in soothing tones, staying close to the man's face while she looked over at Fynta. "I-I think I'm the only person who lived here who wasn't' hurt. I was just up the street, heading for the market." Cana pointed through the archway. "One second I was walking, the next I was face down in the street. I didn't even see the explosion, I just felt it. All I could think to do was run to the mayor's office."

The man on the ground began mumbling, "Droid— it was a droid. Walked in the front door and boom—everything went white." Benett's voice was hoarse and rasping, as if his vocal cords had suffered as well.

Jorgan's helmet swiveled, taking in their surroundings. "Hard to believe a single droid could do so much damage." Fynta had to agree. Even completely packed with explosives, it would take more than the one. Unless the guy they were looking for had invented a new toy. The blast radius was massive, Fynta estimated more than one hundred meters. Benett became agitated, his one good eye grew wide with terror and he starting making pitiful attempts to move backwards while moaning incoherently. Dorne had her hands full trying to restrain him without hurting him further and Fynta grabbed his ankles.

"Sir, possible contact," Jorgan stated as he took a single step away from them.

Fynta looked over her shoulder and saw an old model protocol droid enter the courtyard. His metallic voice ringing cheerfully, "May I speak with you for a moment, gentle-being?" Then another, and another.

Fynta felt a cold tingling run the length of his spine. "Jorgan, take them down!" The words were out before she'd finished processing the scene. Jorgan opened fire, each droid he hit was instantly reduced to a pile of smoking scrap. The shabbing things were attempting to self-detonate. Dorne had thrown herself across Bennet to protect him from the shrapnel being thrown around when the droids shattered. Fynta let go of Bennett's feet, snatched up Dorne's helmet, and slammed it down over the medic's head. Last thing they needed was her being injured as well. Then Fynta threw Cana down beside Bennett and motioned with her palm down to tell the woman to stay on the ground. She didn't wait to see the woman's response before unslinging her rifle and charging into the battle. That was when Fynta realized she couldn't see everyone. "Jorgan, where are you, I don't have eyes on you."

"By the gate, trying to stem the flow," he answered. Fynta looked around, all the smoke from the fires and droids made it difficult to reorient with her surroundings. "Blast!" Jorgan swore. Fynta checked his POV and found herself staring into the pleasant expressions of a lot of droids. So, she headed towards the dense knot of the metallic bipeds under the archway, then realized she couldn't hear his rifle fire.

Fynta didn't think, she just ran, shooting at anything that gleamed. No longer worrying about head shots or collateral damage, she cannoned into the mass of droids. Jorgan was surrounded. Fynta could see him bent over trying to clear a jam and thought she might be able to reach him in time. Until the droids emitted a high pitched whine, signaling their ignition process. Fynta did the only thing she could think to do. There was a clear path, so she rammed her shoulder into the Cathar with everything she had, catching him off balance and knocking him to the ground. Fynta then planted a foot firmly on his back as a warning to stay down. Everything after that was a mixture blaster fire, blurred motion, and droid faces in razor sharp focus. Fynta didn't stop firing until the whining stopped.

The ground shifted beneath her, at least Fynta thought it had, until she realized it was Jorgan trying to turn over. Fynta could barely hear him over the headset through the pounding of her own heart in her ears and stumbled backward when she lifted her foot. "I owe you one," the Cathar said, rolling onto his back. Fynta responded with a nod and held out a hand, grunting as she hauled him to his feet. Shab, he's heavy.

Once up, Jorgan glanced around them and even though Fynta couldn't see his face, she liked to imagine he was impressed. Plus, he hadn't called her an idiot yet. The droids fanned out in a circle on the ground, smoking holes peppering their once polished bodies. It was always after Fynta did something stupid that the full weight of the consequences set in, and she nearly always had to stifle a manic fit of laughter. Fynta liked to think that ability to react on instinct kept her alive, but in all probability, it would get her killed one day. At the very least it assured an exciting death.

When they rejoined Dorne, Cana was bent over her neighbor again, filthy, but unharmed. Dorne's forehead was bleeding from the stray shrapnel, her helmet once again discarded beside her. While Elara finished with her patient, Cana returned her attention to Fynta. "Is it over? Are they all dead?"

Fynta nodded, "You're safe for now." It was all that came to mind and when she looked to Jorgan for aid, Fynta discovered that he had stayed back to clear his weapon.

Cana stood suddenly and threw her arms around Fynta's neck, "You did it! You really did it! We're safe, Bennett, we're safe!" Fynta went rigid, this wasn't the kind of reaction she was trained for. Jorgan was watching, still bent over with his rifle propped on his knee and the slide locked open. Fynta felt the felt the urge to slap whatever expression his helmet hid right off his face.

The woman disengaged her grip on Fynta to rush over and repeat the process with Jorgan, who reacted much the same way as his commander. He held his arms out to the side, holding his rifle one handed, barrel to the ground. "We owe you our lives. I wish there was some way we could repay you."

Fynta couldn't resist, she activated his private line. "Yeah, Jorgan. Surely there's some way she can repay you."

Jorgan growled in her ear, then cut the line. Fynta watched with grim satisfaction as he carefully unwrapped the woman's arms. "It's our job, ma'am," the Cathar replied over his external speakers.

Proper medical personnel were moving in now. Dorne gave the new medic a sitrep on Bennett after waving them away from herself, then joined Havoc at the entrance to the courtyard. Fynta leaned a little closer to the woman to inspect her wounds. "You okay, Dorne?"

Elara wiped a clean cloth across her forehead and replaced her helmet. "I'm fine, Lieutenant. Superficial cuts."

"Come on, let's get back to the mayor," Fynta said. "Before anyone else wants to thank us."

The trip back was filled with silent questions until Jorgan finally voiced one. "How could a single droid cause so much damage?"

Fynta nodded. "And where did the rest come from?"

Benett said he'd seen one, then as soon as Havoc arrives, there are dozens. Fynta got the impression that their presence on Tatooine hadn't gone unnoticed. Either that, or her luck had finally run out. From this point forward, Havoc would need to pay things smart until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

The three soldiers, covered in fresh scorch marks and smoke stains, entered the mayor's office as one. Mayor Klerren sat in his chair, his head laid on folded arms as if praying. "We've stopped the bombings," Fynta said, removing her helmet. "There were no casualties beyond the initial blast." As long as Benett made it, that was.

The mayor's head shot up from the desk. "You really did it? Thank you, Lieutenant. Thank you so much. The city of Anchorhead owes you a great debt." He took a shaky breath and steadied himself. But when Klerren opened his mouth to say more, his young aid entered the room.

"Excuse me, Mayor Klerren? I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but we have an urgent holocall, someone who claims to have vital information about the bomber's identity." Fynta raised an eyebrow at the aid. There was no way their job could be that simple.

Mayor Klerren shot to his feet, stumbling in his haste to get to the large holopad on the side of his office. "What? Really? Put him through, Cohn."

Fynta expected some vagrant demanding a reward for services rendered. She hooked her helmet on catch on the back of her belt and crossed her arms, prepared to take control of the situation. The mayor was in no fit emotional state to be left to deal with it alone. What she got, was a tall, brown skinned Zabrak.

"Ah! Uh, hello there, Mayor Klerren, sir. My name is Vanto Bazren, and I have vital information for you regarding th—" he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening. Fynta was pretty sure her expression matched his. "I'm sorry, is that—? Sergeant, is that you? And Lieutenant Jorgan? It's me, Fuse! From Ord Mantell, remember?"

Fynta's shock gave her only a moment's pause. Not so much that it was Fuse, but that he was contacting them and was that excitement she heard in his voice? Fynta leveled him with what she hoped was an intimidating stare. "How could I forget," she responded in her best, I'm pissed off, don't mess with me, tone. She also flashed Jorgan a warning glance to keep his temper in check, he looked about ready to tear into someone.

Fuse gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, "I know, uh, you might not believe this, but—I'm really, really glad you're here. If anyone can shut down the Imps and stop the bombings in Anchorhead, it's you."

So the failed attempt on her life had earned Fynta brownie points with one of the traitors. Fan-shabbing-tastic. "Flattery doesn't work on me, you know." Someone snorted behind Fynta, she didn't have to guess at who.

"Yes. Please, please trust me. With my help, you can stop them!" Fynta remembered first meeting the demolitions expert on Ord Mantell. She'd thought him soft and a little too sweet for the hard stuff. The stuttering and lack of eye contact was a good cover, at least, until that moment in the volcano when it disappeared. Fuse had played her for a fool and Fynta wasn't going to fall for it again.

"Lieutenant," Mayor Klerren broke in tentatively. "Who is this guy? Can he really help us stop the bombings?"

Fynta eyed Fuse for a full minute before answering. "Let's hear what the man has to say."

"Lieutenant? Congratulations." Jorgan snorted again and Fynta wondered if Fuse had any idea why the former ops commander was here and not on Ord Mantell. "Thanks for listening. I have to hurry, they—well, if I'm caught transmitting, it'll be bad. Really bad. The Imperials brought me here to design bombs. Desert planet, middle of nowhere, makes sense, right? Then Colonel Gorik, the Imp leader, wants to test the bombs. But he wouldn't use the empty deserts, he wanted a live testing ground. He chose Anchorhead."

Fynta listened while Fuse tried to convince her that he'd refused to build anymore bombs after finding out about them being used on live targets, hence landing himself in detention. She wasn't sure if she was buying it or not, but Fynta let the man talk while Klerren fumed quietly.

"A group of Geonosians are building the bomb droids. When each batch is finished, they're sent to coordinates that Gorik provides. The Geonosians are holed up somewhere outside Anchorhead, but I don't know the exact location." The Zabrak looked over his shoulder, "Guards are coming now. I have to hide the transmitter before I'm caught. Fuse out." The image vanished as Fuse reached out to unplug it. They were left in complete silence until Mayor Klerren spoke in a calmer voice.

"Look, Lieutenant, I don't know the whole story, granted, but I think he was telling us the truth. The Geonosians Fuse mentioned, a big gang of them moved into an abandoned town nearly two months ago." Klerren snatched up an out-of-date datapad from his desk. "They haven't been a problem, no worse than scavengers. We… we never imagined they were involved in the bombings."

"Sounds like we're making a house call." Fynta heard Jorgan's helmet beep. He was holding it under one arm so it was pretty close to her ear level, indicating that they'd received the information.

"I've sent you the coordinates. Oh and here," Klerren tossed Fynta a key card. "Take my car. Good luck out there, Lieutenant."

Anchorhead
Four Hours Later

The Geonosians had been exactly where Fuse said they would be. Creepy looking creature with insect bodies and sheer wings that never stopped fluttering. Havoc Squad had interrupted a holo meeting with Colonel Gorik and the chief, who had been hit by friendly fire. At least they'd IDed their man and blew the droid factory to hell though. Fynta called that a win, even if Jorgan was still grumbling about it being a wasted trip.

Fynta parked in front of the Mayor's office and could hear familiar voices from inside as soon as the door was open. She didn't wait for the rest of her squad for a change, Fuse couldn't be trusted to speak with the mayor alone. Fynta needed to know what they were discussing. Fuse's holo image greeted her when she entered the office. He was holding his head in his hands and rocking back and forth, "I'm so, so sorry, Mayor Klerren. I… I just, I never imagined it would come to this, you know? Innocent people dead, all because of my decisions. I… I was so stupid." He'd get no argument from her. Fuse looked up as they entered the room. Fynta noted that he had a couple of new bruises, maybe he wasn't lying about being locked up after all, but she stopped just short of pity. If anyone knew what to expect when they got into bed with the Empire, it should have been a Havoc Squad soldier. "I really do want to help. Colonel Gorik is… well, he isn't pleased about you being here, Lieutenant. He has the entire operation on high alert."

"Well, I'm not too pleased with him being here either." Fynta's wrist comm vibrated but she ignored it. "I think it's time for you to tell me where you are, Fuse." Her comm buzzed again and she saw Jorgan step out quietly with a hand covering his wrist. That's why Fynta would inevitably choose him as her XO, he knew when to step up.

"Well, I would, but, uh, but there's a problem," Fuse answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "See, the base's location is a total secret. I have no idea where we are. The only people who have the base's coordinates are Gorik's commando teams. You'll, uh, you'll have to hit one of those teams to get the coordinates."

"Can't you decrypt your frequency so that we can triangulate it?"

"Afraid not, I'm bouncing this signal off Imperial and Republic towers. It was the only way to get through. I do know we are underground," the Zabrak replied with another apologetic shrug.

Fynta sighed, half the shabbing settlements were underground. "Okay. Fine. Just point me towards these commando teams."

When everyone was piling back into the car again, Fynta looked over at Jorgan, "So what was that all about?"

"Spaceport Authorities. Apparently someone tried to break into the Thunderclap," Jorgan answered.

Fynta had just installed a new security system, but it had never been tested before today. "Is the spaceport still standing?"

Jorgan nodded, "For now."

"That's all I need to know." She'd deal with any collateral damage later.

They rode in silence for a while. Fynta took in the scenery while Dorne read anything she could find on Tatooine, occasionally relaying facts she found interesting, and Jorgan silently fumed. Fynta wasn't sure how she knew that's what he was doing, but it was obvious the Cathar was in a foul mood. Maybe it was his breathing pattern, the deliberately deep breaths Fynta could hear him taking from the seat beside her.

"I say he deserves whatever the Imps do to him. The traitor," Jorgan growled finally. He did that a lot whenever they came within visual range of one of the old Havoc members. "Growing a conscience when your head is on the chopping block doesn't exonerate a man."

"If I may, sir." Dorne was a woman of intellect and strong opinions, but she always managed to sound polite. "It sounded to me like his head is on the, chopping block, as you call it, because he grew a conscience."

Fynta thought the medic had a point. Fuse was young, somewhere between her and Jorgan's age, and impressionable. The kid was a genius who had been thrown in with the most ruthless murderers the Republic could muster in good conscience and he'd lost his way. However, Jorgan wasn't exactly wrong; actions have consequences. Dead or alive, Fuse wasn't going to see sunlight for a long time once they caught up to him. Back on Ord Mantell Fynta had felt a maternal desire to protect the Zabrak, even if he was larger and older than she was. Now she would settle for a good kick to the gett'se. Jorgan grumbled something unintelligible, which meant he agreed with Dorne and just needed a reason to stay mad so he could do what needed to be done.

Fynta wanted to lighten the mood a little before they went in facing who knows how many Imperial commandos to find the one access code they needed. So, she glanced over in the passenger seat to see Jorgan staring out over the horizon. The second sun was setting and it made for a beautiful picture. For a moment you could forget that this desert hosted some of the most downtrodden and poor in the galaxy. The failing light made the Cathar's normally orange hair look like a fiery gold and Fynta had an idea.

"Dorne, you have any sun protectant?" Fynta asked over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the dunes in front of her. Not that there was anything to avoid hitting out here in Jundland.

"No, sir. I'm afraid I don't, but I'll make sure to requisition some for future use," Dorne replied in an annoyed tone. The woman hated unpreparedness.

Fynta nodded, "Good. I think Jorgan's head might be getting a tad pink."

Fynta still wouldn't look at the Cathar, but in her peripheral, she could see Dorne openly examining him from her position in the back seat and Jorgan turned full on, daring Fynta to meet his gaze. If she did, she would lose it. Finally, he rubbed the top of his head. "Ha Ha," Jorgan said without the slightest hint of amusement.

"I didn't know a Cathar's skin reacted so similarly to a human's in intense sunlight. I thought for sure the fur would protect it better," Dorne mused, hastily grabbing her datapad. She was probably researching more information on Cathar.

"It's not fur," Jorgan mumbled.

Fynta burst out laughing. Dorne hadn't been the original target but it worked all the same. Her spirits were lifted, at least. These army soldiers need to learn how to lighten up, Fynta thought for the tenth time that week. Both her companions were so serious. She pitied them.


Mando'a Footnotes:

beskar [BESK-gar] Mandalorian iron

chakaar [chah-KAR] corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse

Osik [OH-sik] dung (impolite)

gett'se [GET-say] nuts (generic)