After Kassh had been secured in a hastily made a cell guarded by Guri, the Prince's lethal bodyguard, and after Vhetin had grudgingly accepted to have his arm examined, he, Jay, and Farnmir were standing in the presence of the assembled crime lords once more.
"We are all in your debt," one of the Twi'lek gangsters was saying, nodding to himself. "As… distasteful as it may be to say, we would all be dead if not for your courage and determination."
Farnmir sighed, folding her arms across her chest and tapping her foot impatiently. Vhetin shot a glance in her direction, but said nothing. Sekha nodded to herself at her fellow Twi'lek's words, a playful grin crossing her features.
"Indeed," she said. "It seems we all owe you, bounty hunters. I'm sure without your presence, we all would have perished."
The next to speak was Jabba the Hutt. He shifted his slimy bulk on his repulsor sled and rumbled in Huttese, "Hmm... your work was adequate. Not deserving of full compensation, but…"
"What?" Kalyn narrowed her eyes. "We just saved your fat bulk from-"
"That he was able to attack our meeting place is proof enough of your incompetence," the fat slug replied with a self-satisfied belch. "Fett would never have allowed his target such success."
"Fett wouldn't have organized the entire guard into a fighting force, or single-handedly tackled a psychopathic Gen'dai enforcer, or-"
Prince Xizor raised a thin-fingered hand and said, "That is enough. The hunters' performance was more than adequate. That said, it is his Illustriousness Jabba who is so graciously providing the credits for this bounty. Therefore the ultimate terms of the payment are up to him."
He fixed the Hutt with a narrow-eyed stare. "I would suggest he choose his next course wisely," he said slowly. "Employees are a great asset so long as they are satisfied with the proceeds of their work."
Jabba rumbled in irritation, licked his phlegmy lips, and rumbled, "Sixty thousand. No more."
Kalyn looked furious enough to kill. Vhetin quickly interceded.
"Seventy," he countered.
"Sixty-five."
"Seventy," he pressed.
Jabba narrowed his reptilian eyes for a too-long moment, then grudgingly nodded. "Very well. Seventy thousand credits."
"Each," Farnmir suggested.
"Don't be ridiculous," Jabba boomed indignantly. He belched and settled his grubby hands over the swell of his belly. "Even Fett wouldn't charge that much. At least not for a single target."
Jay shrugged ruefully, casting Farnmir a sympathetic glance. "It was worth a shot."
Xizor nodded to himself, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his purple-black robe. "Then the matter is settled. The credits will be transferred to your public accounts in the usual untraceable deposits."
"Thank you, Prince." Vhetin bowed his head. "Just make sure Kassh doesn't escape again."
Xizor narrowed his eyes, a malicious grin stretching across his leathery face to reveal sharp and yellowed teeth.
"Such matters are not your concern," he said. "Rest assured, he shall be… taken care of."
"Then our business is done," Farnmir said, surprising Vhetin by nodding with a surprising level of decorum. After a moment, Vhetin and Jay did as well. Xizor dismissed them with a wave of a taloned hand. His right hand, Guri, candidly placed herself between the Falleen and the hunters.
Their audience clearly over, the three left the room. The door slammed shut behind them with resounding finality. The trio of mercenaries walked in silence for a time until the front doors of the warehouse came into view. With the exit in sight, Kalyn turned to them folded her arms across her chest.
"Well... I guess this is it."
Vhetin nodded silently, following her example and crossing his arms. Jay merely smiled and nodded.
"It's been…" Kalyn paused, searching for the correct words. "… interesting."
The old huntress hesitated, then held out her hand. "Much as I may hate to say it, you're good; better than any hunters I've seen in a long time."
"High praise, coming from you," Vhetin said, shaking the offered hand.
"Don't hold out hope for higher," she said with a small smirk. She shook the hand, a terse up-and-down, then turned to Jay.
"Rookie." She hooked her thumbs into her belt. You keep out of trouble."
Jay laughed, shaking her hand. "When Mustafar freezes over."
With a last good-bye, Farnmir turned and headed out the doors to her ship waiting outside. After a few moments and a blast of downdraft from her engines, the Tough Luck lifted off into the air. With a rumble of charging ion drives the ship blasted away into the crowded skylanes.
Vhetin and Jay followed onto the landing pad outside. The guards were cleaning up after the battle, dragging away bodies and tending to the wounded. Jao-Dun was conversing with a nearby patrol, no doubt setting up a new perimeter lest bandits take advantage of the confusion. The sun was just rising across the cityscape, painting the sky a pale purple-blue dotted with millions of tiny speeders — the ever-present traffic flow locals called The River that Never Sleeps.
Jay smiled as they emerged into the morning. "And to think the only reason we met her was because she was originally trying to kill us. Weird galaxy, huh?"
"Not as weird as you might think. I don't think we've seen the last of her."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"We part on good terms now," he said. "But we may need to remind her in the future that we're allies, not enemies."
"Cheer up, big guy." She nudged him in the ribs and he flinched away with a good-natured chuckle. "You just got a third cut of a hundred k. I, for one, won't let you rain on that particular parade"
"Fair enough," he said, a smile on his voice. "The brooding can wait."
"So what now?" she asked him. "We just go home?"
He nodded. "To warm food, hot showers, and a city full of people who couldn't give a shab who you are."
"And who definitely don't try to kill you while you're walking down the street," she laughed. "Sounds like a plan to me."
They returned to the shelter of Void, which Vhetin had called in before their audience with their employers — former employers now, she reminded herself. Jay headed straight for her temporary quarters, with the intention of catching up on some well-deserved sleep during the trip back to Mandalore. Vhetin parted with her there and headed for the cockpit, to check up on his credit accounts and ensure Jabba had come through on his payments. One couldn't trust the hefty Hutt as far as he could be thrown. As he slid into the comfortable pilot's seat, he let out a sigh and pulled off his helmet.
He turned the bucket over in his hands as he ran the ship computer through the usual pre-flight systems check. Kassh's blaster bolts had cracked the transparisteel T-visor beyond simple repair and his HUD systems were completely fried. He'd need to stop by MandalMotors once home to see if Ume'o could get him a replacement.
He set the helmet aside and instead pulled up his credit account summary. Jabba had indeed come through on his payments; small amounts of credits had been paid to all his many public accounts before being funneled into his hidden stash in neat, untraceable digitized credits.
He let out a content sigh and put his hands behind his head, leaning back in his seat.
After a few moments of silence, the systems check chirped and signaled that something was out of place. His eyes instantly snapped open and he sat up in his chair.
The diagnostic informed him there was something wrong with his ship's bounty database — the ever-changing database where he kept records of all the potential bounties presented to him recently. Usually, there were too many to sift through at once, so he simply filed them away for perusal at his leisure.
But the system diagnostic stated that there were no files in that folder. None. There was no evidence of battle damage or corruption. That meant they'd either been erased or-
Or downloaded. Stolen.
His mind suddenly flashed back to their hasty attack planning on Tatooine, when they'd thought Kassh was hiding in his Midnight Ultraviolet base outside Anchorhead.
"We'll need an eye in the sky," Jay had said. "Someone who can provide air support and watch for Kassh at the same time."
Void had been the only ship with the stealth capabilities needed to sneak past the perimeter defenses. And since Vhetin had volunteered for the advance prepwork, softening up the enemy forces in the area, he couldn't pilot his own ship.
"I'll take that job," Farnmir had unexpectedly volunteered, carefully avoiding Vhetin's gaze and pretending to study the hologram schematics of the base. "I can also fly Vhetin's ship in and drop him off."
Now he knew exactly what she'd been doing in his ship while flying him into combat. She'd been downloading his entire bounty database, stealing the leads she didn't have the contacts to possess herself.
He sat back again as he warmed the engines, shaking his head as a disbelieved smile stretched across his face. He chuckled as he grasped the control yoke and lifted his ship from the duracrete landing pad.
Well played, Farnmir, he thought. Well played. You're smarter than I thought.
We'll definitely see you again. I'll make sure of that.
Then he made for open sky, heading for orbit and from there, home.
Two days later
Jay made her way toward the small square in front of the Oyu'baat, the formal gathering for the weekend Keldabe Market Day. She was on her own in the city for one of the first times since arriving on Mandalore, and she now had a rather hefty amount of credits to start her life over again. The air swam with the smell of fresh prospects, of a fresh start.
All across the Oyu'baat square, tents and stalls had been erected selling food, trinkets, jewelry, equipment, and weapons. Merchants called out advertisements for their wares, customers scurried back and forth, and yellow-armored Mandalorian Guard stood watch and kept the peace. Jay stopped near a black show tent where a bulky Mandalorian with tattoos on his bald head was selling variations of a lethal-looking Mandalorian sword called a beskad. Interesting, but not exactly her combat specialty. She looked around for a bit, then nodded respectfully to the Mando and continued on her way.
The sun beamed down overhead, warming her skin and soothing away the ache of previous days' exertions. She was still recovering from the bumps and bruises of the hunt, but days of rest (and more than a few warm baths) had done wonders to her recovery. Now she was caught up in wanderlust, eager to see more of the city that, for the time being, was her home.
She finally stopped by a hastily erected gray stall selling equipment and accessories for bounty hunters and mercenaries of all sorts. There was rappelling wire, rocket darts, rolls of whipcord, different forms of clothing and armor, and long-lasting armor paints. It was run by a gaunt-faced woman with gray hair and dark eyes. Jay nodded to a jacket hanging behind the shopkeep's head.
"Can I see that?"
The woman nodded silently and passed her the jacket. It was a fairly heavy piece of clothing, made from some durable black leather. It was complimented by armored shoulder pads of thicker leather, and lots of pockets for storing all manner of hunting gear. There were even slots inside the hem for slipping in armor plating.
She tried it on and found that it not only fit, but that she didn't look too bad in it either. It was lighter than it looked, weighing only a little more than her old uniform jacket. It was comfortable, too, and would offer moderate protection against the elements — more, at least, than her current rag-tag gear would allow.
"What material is this?" she asked, stretching out the sleeves as she extended her arms.
"Triple-weave ironleather," the woman replied in a gruff voice. She tapped the jacket's surface with two fingers. "A new Mando material designed specifically for mercs and beroyas. That osik is tough enough to stop a knife."
Jay nodded, impressed. It wouldn't be a bad investment; her only set of clothing was the remnants of her old Navy uniform, and she felt pretty silly walking around in a wrinkled, stained, blaster-scarred flight suit in a city full of people fed up with Imperial supervision. And besides, she'd been shot twice during her last mission; a little extra protection would go a long way.
She glanced up at the woman and asked, "How much do you want for it?"
"Five hundred creds should do it," the woman replied, holding out a hand for the money.
Jay fished in her pocket, realizing that the price would be outrageous anywhere else, but it barely put a dent in her current credit pool. She handed over the credits, thanked the woman, and continued on her way with the coat slung over one shoulder.
She shopped absently for a while longer, picking up a bottle of tihaar here, a bag of sweetbread rolls there, all the while thinking about the sudden influx of credits to her hidden account. Though it was nice not to live off Rame and Mia Omotao's kindness and credits, she just didn't know what to do with her cut of Kassh's bounty.
It was more money than she'd had in her entire life, and she didn't think it right to just sit on it for Force-knew how long. Vhetin had told her very few bounties were so rewarding (unless you were a hunter of Boba Fett's considerable quality), but the number of digits in her credit account still surprised her.
Her first thought was to send the excess back to her family on Corellia. It was a tempting thought, but apart from occasionally missing her younger sister, she didn't really miss her home. Her childhood had always been a crowded and tense one. She loved her family simply from a place of familiarity, but she didn't think they needed her help. In fact she had never thought so.
Besides, a sudden package of thirty-five thousand credits would look pretty suspicious landing in the lap of an accused traitor and sellout. And it might leave a trail the Empire could follow back to Mandalore, compromising her safety and the safety of all her new friends.
She frowned and changed her line of thought. What to do? Donate it to some charity? The idea sounded rather tempting, but where would she send it? Many Mandalorians worldwide were in dire need of such help, but it was hardly like their people were known for their bleeding hearts and philanthropic endeavors.
Her gaze fell on the scruffy Oyu'baat tapcaf as she approached the front doors. Would Aramis accept the credits? Probably not; he was proud of the work he'd done since taking over management of the cantina and was unlikely to accept charity from anyone never mind an aruetii. Her gaze continued to travel around the run-down, poverty-stricken city, lingering in particular on a squad of shiny white-armored stormtroopers who were standing guard over the Market Day proceedings.
A thought came to her at the sight.
If she followed through on this sudden idea, her actions would probably go largely unnoticed. Those who were affected wouldn't know it was her hand at work, and those who knew wouldn't thank her for it. But that wasn't the point, was it? It was clear she wanted to use this overabundance of credits to help the people who had helped her. Who cared if they still considered her an aruetii outsider afterward?
When Aramis, the Oyu'baat's bartender, saw her enter with the coat still slung over her shoulder, he nodded in greeting with a somber frown.
"Getcha somethin' aruetii?" he said. Over the months of her staying at the tapcaf, the word had grown to sound less like an insult and more like a name. It wasn't meant to insult her, she knew, but it was what Mandalorians thought when they saw her all the same.
She slid into a seat at the bar and nodded. "Yeah. I want to get a meeting with whoever's in charge of Mandalore."
"You mean the Imperial Governor?"
"You know what I mean," she replied.
Aramis grunted. "Then you'll want to talk to Fenn Shysa. Mand'alor Fenn Shysa, though you probably won't get on his good side using his formal title. Never did have the ass for a throne, that one."
"Fenn Shysa," Jay echoed. "And where would I find him?"
She expected him to give her directions to some stronghold or governmental building in the city. Hell, maybe even MandalMotors, since the tower was quite literally the beating heart of all Keldabe. But to her surprise, Aramis nodded to the booths along the eastern side of the cantina.
"He's sittin' right over there." The bartender sniffed nonchalantly. "Second booth down, green-red armor. Can't miss the towheaded fool."
"H-he's here?" For a moment, she didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected to get so far so easily.
"It's lunchtime," Aramis said, as if that explained everything.
In a way, it almost did. So Jay thanked him and tossed a credit chit onto the bar in thanks for his information. With newfound purpose, she turned and headed in the direction she'd been given. Sure enough, sitting in the second booth down the aisle was a man in green-red battle armor, pocked and scarred by many battles. His helmet was sitting on the table next to his plate, revealing a handsome face, long blonde hair and a short beard to the open air. The helmet itself was as dinged and battle-scarred as the rest of his armor, painted a distinctive green-red-white combination. There was a symbol painted in white across the forehead of his helmet, two dagger-like swoops of surprisingly elegant design.
She knew what those swoops were meant to signify. The symbols were known as jaig eyes, and were considered an extraordinary honor; kind of like a Mandalorian version of the Corellian Bloodstripe award for outstanding bravery. In a culture that placed no stock in heroes or heroic deeds, the jaig eyes were awarded to distinguish Mandos of particular bravery, devotion, or skill.
What manner of deed could warrant such an honor was beyond Jay. Mandos were very flexible about what was expected of their comrades and not many acts of courage were rewarded with accolades, praise, or even simple recognition. Rame (who sported the jaig eyes on his own helmet) had told her once that in Mandalorian culture, acts of bravery or valor were simply part of being Mandalorian; they were expected to be the best fighters in all the galaxy, so going above and beyond the call of duty was simply nothing special. They didn't even have a word in their language for hero.
If Fenn Shysa had done something to prove worthy of admiration even in the face of such high standards, she knew immediately that this was a man she could trust completely.
She stopped near his booth and cleared her throat. When the sound was lost amid the bustle of the lunchtime tapcaf, she raised her voice and said, "Excuse me."
He glanced up at her, taking her in with a quick rake of his sea-blue eyes. Once he'd sized her up as no immediate threat, he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He set aside his knife and fork and asked, "Can I help you?" He had a strong accent, and the words came out, Cannae help ye?
She gestured to the booth on the other side of the table. "Can I sit for a minute?"
He nodded. "Sure thing."
She slid into the booth with a smile of gratitude, unsure where to begin. Shysa was still staring at her, as if still suspicious she was going to leap across the table and attack him. His hands were splayed casually over the tabletop, but she couldn't help but notice how close his hand was to the pistol lying next to his discarded helmet.
"Um..." she frowned, gathering her thoughts. "Hi. You don't know me. But I think I have something to give you."
He narrowed his eyes with a wry, cautious smile. "It wouldn't be wee and round and made o' high-heat baradium, would it? 'Coz I've had enough aruetiise lobbin' grenades my way tae last a lifetime."
She quickly shook her head, blushing at the gentle accusation. "No! No. But I've just… I've come across a fairly large amount of money. I was wondering if you could help me find a use for it."
"Want my advice?" he said with a grin. "Buy yerself a MerrSon rotary blaster cannon. I've always wanted one o' those."
She shook her head. "You misunderstand. I want to give this money to you. To help the Mandalorians."
His other eyebrow rose to join the first.
She gestured out the window, to the urban decay that gripped the city. "I know you Mandos don't care much for outward appearance, but I want to help out any way I can. I can see how much your people are suffering from poverty and starvation and unemployment."
"Times are tough, aye," Shysa agreed, sizing her up with newfound interest. "But we Mandos're tough. We'll weather the storm. Always have, always will."
"I have thirty-five thousand credits on offer," she said. "For you to use as you see fit. Urban development, police reform, commercial stimulation, whatever you want. And if I ever get my hands on this much cash in a lump sum again, I'll give that to you as well."
"Why?" he asked. "Why would an aruetii want tae help us simple mercs out?"
"Because I'm like you. A simple merc who wants to contribute. To building a better home here, for me and everyone around me."
"How?"
"Just imagine how much help thirty-five thousand credits would be in keeping the Empire at bay," Jay said quietly. "At giving you Mandos a leg-up and keeping the Imps out of all of our businesses. You know more people around here than I do; can you get this money to someone who'll use it wisely?"
He stared at her for a long time, as if testing her for any signs of dishonesty. After a time he nodded slowly, almost to himself.
"All right, aruetii," he said, his voice almost as quiet as hers. "You've got yerself a deal."
He reached across the table with an open hand. She hesitated, then shook it.
"Who are you, lass?"
"Jay," she said. "Jay Moqena."
"Well then, Jay Moqena," he sighed, settling back in his seat, "after an offer like that, the least I can do is buy you lunch. Aramis' midday stew may taste like shit, but it'll stick tae yer ribs like nothin' else."
He fixed her with another wry smile, but she saw the first true twinkle of good humor in his eye. "An' while we're waitin' you can tell me why a foreigner is so concerned about the well-being of Mandalorians. I like to know who I'm dealin' with."
She smiled at him and settled more comfortably into her own seat. "That sounds great."
MandalMotors Tower
Vhetin moved with purpose through the front lobby doors of MandalMotors, tucking his damaged helmet under his arm as he walked. He was currently wearing one of his backups, with the lower-grade HUD systems and thinner beskar core in the plating. The lighter build threw off his usual balance and made it feel like his whole head was floating away at times. It was a definite annoyance, but Ume'o and his engineers would be able to fix his damaged kit within a few days.
He stepped through the lobby, past exhibits displaying the pride of Mandalorian craftsmanship through the centuries, and paused to wait by the dominating expo of the sleek new X-22 Skyraptor Interceptors the company had unveiled a few months before.
He examined the ship while he waited, impressed by what he saw: sleek, smooth, and daubed in reflective silver-black paints, the ship boasted a trio of high-power blaster cannons, a retractable ion cannon mounted to the bottom hull, and a spring-out rack of proton tracking torpedoes. It also was outfitted with four ion engine drives supported by a powerful hyperdrive system, making it one of the few hyperspace-capable starfighter models in the galaxy. And just to sweeten the deal, there was plenty of room for pilots to make their own adjustments and additions according to their particular tastes.
In all, Vhetin agreed with local ship dealers in the claim that it was one of MandalMotors' most impressive models to date. He knew the entire engineer team was extremely proud of their work, and some of them even referred to the ship as their cyar'ika, their darling. They were right to be pleased with the outcome of their work; any bounty hunter would be lucky to call such a ship their own.
He frowned thoughtfully and turned his thoughts to the aftermath of the Kassh contract. An idea was slowly coming to mind, lurking below the surface like a predatory razorfin shark stalking its prey.
Tarron had greeted them with a weary but very pleased grin when they'd returned home. He'd informed them that Kassh was currently incarcerated in a super-max Black Sun-controlled prison in an undisclosed location, somewhere on the Outer Rim. There was no way the Twi'lek gangster would escape again, even with all his many contacts.
Back on Coruscant, the crime lords had successfully concluded their negotiations and decided that - for the moment - it was best not to join forces with the Empire after all. The debate would continue in the months and years to come, but it was now none of Vhetin's business what they decided. Still, he found it rather ironic that after all Kassh had done to make them pay for opposing him, they had actually agreed with his argument in the end. He was sure Kassh did not find it so humorous.
Kalyn Farnmir had disappeared almost as soon as she entered the congested skylanes of Coruscant, and even Vhetin's many well-placed contacts had no clue as to her current whereabouts. But he still couldn't shake the feeling he'd run across her again. And he knew that he would have to take extra precautions with the system firewalls for his ship's computers. He didn't hold Farnmir's actions against her; it had been a smart move, downloading his bounty database while he wasn't looking. But it would be a cold day in hell before he'd let someone steal from him without consequences or appropriate countermeasures the second time around.
As far as his partner was concerned, Jay was recovering nicely from her first contract. She'd been quiet and withdrawn the first few days back, seemingly more exhausted than anything else. But now that they'd both caught up on some rest, she seemed to be back to her old self, as cheerful and sarcastic as ever. Vhetin was glad she was bouncing back so quickly, seeing as she'd endured much more than the usual hunter would have to put up with on their first outing.
Part of him felt bad for dragging her into such a dangerous contract. Part of him believed he should have started her on something small — a Class One or Two bounty to start. But she'd earned her first battle scars, even if bacta treatment had left them both with little more than a few bruises, and she claimed she was now ready for anything the profession could throw at her.
Vhetin believed her, and reminded himself once again to thank her the next time they spoke. She had saved his life more than once over the course of the contract, from freezing to death on Rhen Var to almost being impaled by Kassh's lightsaber. That wasn't just a testament to her abilities; he owed her.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned.
"So," Ume'o said without a greeting. He was already staring at the helmet under Vhetin's arm, a single skeptical eyebrow raised. "The vode tell me you were shot in the face."
"Faceplate," Vhetin corrected, offering his damaged helmet to the engineer. Ume'o took it, scratching his bald head and frowning. He turned the helmet over in his hands, examining the cracked T-visor and the warped HUD projectors mounted inside. He felt along the inside with his fingertips, then cursed and drew back as he cut himself on the fractured transparisteel.
"Think you can fix it?"
The tech shrugged. "You've outfitted your buy'ce a little past what we're familiar with, but we'll certainly give it a try. What kind of HUD system upgrade are you working with?"
"T-21 Gamma Version. The TacHUD edition."
"Our guys are familiar with it. I think we can do business."
Vhetin nodded absently, his gaze suddenly drawn back to the Skyraptor fighter. The idea that had been lurking in his mind was surfacing now, fleshing itself into a full plan. A plan to reward his partner for such an impressive outing as a fledgling huntress. A way to show his appreciation beyond a simple thank you. She deserved more than that.
He nodded toward the Skyraptor with a grunt to get his companion's attention.
"Hey Ume'o. What's the going price for an X-22 on the market?"
Ume'o glanced up at him for a moment with a confused scowl, then turned his scrutiny back to the helmet in his hands. "Uh... around two hundred thousand. That's without the special weapons upgrades and beskar plating. All that's extra."
"And with the discount for Mando'ad customers?"
Ume'o looked up again, staring at him with interest. "Why?" he asked. "You looking to buy?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
Vhetin turned back to the engineer and grinned beneath his helmet. "On whether you deliver them gift-wrapped."
To be continued in Star Wars: White Snow: Justice...