Rutgar Talon had overplayed the odds. The pit bosses never liked it when you won too much, so when he'd managed to take fifty thousand of the Triple Nova's money playing sabacc, he knew he had to get off Abregado-rae as soon as possible. Nervously, he crammed handfuls of chips into the pockets of his shabby suit, at least three years out of fashion, and half ran from the gaudily lit casino to his room. He was scrawny, out of shape, and even the short dash to the turbolifts left him winded. But he'd made it. He'd gather his belongings, check out of the hotel, and be offworld in a few hours.

The lift doors parted on his floor and he stepped out into the hall and turned right, making his way briskly toward his room, buoyed by his success. It felt good to finally be on top, to be a winner. He'd broken a long slump he been in with tonight's victory. He felt so giddy that he began to whistle.

Talon stopped in front of his door, exactly identical to the ones that stretched down the corridor to either side, save the number plate, and fished around in his pocket for the key card. The lock clicked open after a soft electronic buzz when he slid the card through the reader, and the door hissed open. Automatically, Talon stepped forward into the unlit room—

And collided with something solid in the doorway. Realizing it was a person, he stumbled back a step and found himself face-to-face with a humanoid dressed head to toe in dark green armor. His eyes locked on the figure's helmet, with its impenetrable, black, T-shaped visor. Talon turned to run but something caught his throat and his legs whipped uselessly out from under him. He couldn't breathe and slowly the world went black.

# # #

Kex let the gambler fall limp to the garishly colored carpet and the garrote snapped back into his gauntlet as he knelt down to drag the body into the room. There'd been no sound, no struggle, no witnesses, just as he'd been taught to do. Now it was time for cleanup. The laser saw he'd left in the refresher would make quick work of it; any blood could be rinsed down the shower's drain and the pieces stacked neatly inside the gambler's luggage for disposal. It'd be as if Rutgar Talon had never existed.

Kex was no stranger to this kind of dirty work; any Mando'ad could do it. But the Mandalorians were all gone now. All that remained were a few homesteaders on Concordia, some scattered Death Watch holdouts, and that hut'uun'la bunch from Kalevala. If they represented what a Mandalorian was, then Kex was no longer Mandalorian. He thought he'd made his peace with that.

# # #

Buruk Kelborn thought he'd made his peace with the long road to revenge he'd set himself on when the Mandalorians had all died at Galidraan. He thought he'd finally grown patient, the white-hot rage that seethed through his veins cooled by time and gathering of friends. But when he'd decoded the dadita message that translated to, I can help you find Kex, his first impulse was to rush off and find the messenger.

But there was nowhere to go.

The message had been untraceable and whoever sent it hadn't given a location to meet. It was both unnerving and frustrating at the same time because it implied that the messenger was not only a Mando'ad, but could track Buruk's movements and would reveal himself at his leisure. Buruk despised cloak and dagger; the uncertainty made him feel vulnerable, cast adrift.

With the toe of his boot, he pushed the retractable refresher into the wall of his quarters aboard the Cuun'yaim and washed his hands. After splashing cold water onto his face, Buruk set his hands on the basin and looked into the small, dirty mirror. His breath blew small droplets from the tip of his nose as he regarded the faded scars crisscrossing his features and he frowned at the long, puckered wound over his right eye.

He owed Kex for that scar, and not because he resented the disfigurement.

Buruk turned and climbed up the ladder out of his bunk, making his way toward the cockpit. "Any messages?" he asked, hoping his anxiety didn't come through in his voice.

"Nope," his pilot answered distractedly. His legs stuck out from under the control panel, which looked like it had been torn apart and was in the process of being rebuilt; wires and circuit boards in all colors of the rainbow splayed all over the place. It was a discomforting sight to someone raised to expect the need for a hasty retreat.

Buruk crossed his arms over his chest and leaned in the hatchway. "Would you even know it if we got one?" he asked dryly. "We've been sitting on this ball nearly a week without a word from Mystery Man."

The pilot, Morran Risant, heaved an exasperated sigh and pushed himself out from under the control panel. "I'm modifying the flight controls," he said, brushing his hands on the thighs of his yellow flightsuit, "not fiddling with the comm system. When I finish, this baby'll be able to outrun and tap-dance around customs frigates on the Kessel Run." He paused to light a cigarette, taking a long drag before blowing the smoke toward the atmo scrubber. "Maybe get back our friends the Judicials pinched," he added pointedly and turned back to his work.

Buruk suppressed a wince. He knew he had to spring Qate, Ganhuff, and Maalku from whatever prison the Republic had dumped them in but the promise of finding Kex just kept nagging at him. The man had to pay for betraying his comrades the way he did.

How is that any different from leaving your crew to rot? a voice inside him asked. He dismissed it and headed aft. If anyone could configure a tramp freighter like the Cuun'yaim to make a prison break, it was a former hunt-saboteur like Risant.

"How's everything?" Buruk asked, poking his head into the engine room.

"Discouraging," Lynli scowled, planting her fists on her hips and turning to face him.

"Malfunction?" he asked curiously. The last thing he needed was another broken component on this ship, especially with them parked out on the backside of beyond.

"Yeah, there's something wrong with a crucial component," she answered.

Buruk squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is it?"

She fixed him with a gold glare and tossed her lekku over her shoulders. "It's the captain. He's had us laid up in the middle of nowhere waiting for some Mystery Man to show up when he swore he'd do everything he could to get our people back."

Buruk's eyebrow twitched. "We don't exactly know where they're being held," he protested.

"Have you bothered to find out?" she snapped, poking him in the chest. Anyone else and he'd have broken their arm, but he let her tread with impunity. "Ganhuff went to prison to keep the doctors from asking embarrassing questions about you. You owe them."

Now it was Buruk's turn to snap. "I never asked Qate and Maalku to try robbing that hospital for our glit-biting medic."

"They did it because they cared enough about him! You go on and on about how much you care about your crew, but what do you do when they need you most? You go right back to your Kex shenanigans and leave them to twist in the wind." Her violet face flushed and her lekku writhed furiously. "You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

This time Buruk couldn't suppress the wince. "I care about you," he insisted. "And Aerek."

"Like you cared about Qate?" she demanded. "You let her think you were dead for a whole year until finally you needed something from her. And you haven't had to look at Aerek every time you went off to murder some Jedi, seeing him worry about whether or not you're going to come back alive."

That wasn't entirely true; he'd seen the look on the boy's face every time he'd gone off to settle his vengeance. "He understands why I do that."

Lynli's face screwed up into a look of utter scorn. "No he doesn't. He doesn't understand one bit of it because you haven't bothered to explain it to him. You brought him into your life, then you just selfishly go off to die at the drop of the hat. He's your son!"

In the corner, Wally, the ship's utility droid, warbled mournfully into the silence that hung over them.

# # #

It was time to move on.

Kex busied himself packing the small duffel bag that carried his every possession in the world; Mandalorians traveled light. He'd started to feel comfortable working at the casino and that set off all his alarm bells. Now, dressed in plain civilian attire, he carefully wrapped each armor plate in a piece of cloth and shoved it into the bag, along with his knives, pistols, and heavier ordnance, with the exception of the small holdout blaster snugged up under his armpit in a shoulder holster concealed beneath his brown bantha-hide jacket.

Kex had spent the last two years on the run from… well, everybody. The jetiise, the Death Watch, even his own best friend. That had been a shock, learning that Buruk was after him; not so much because he hadn't expected to be hunted for what he'd done at Galidraan, but that anyone else had actually survived the Jedi attack. He'd heard they'd been thorough.

His bag packed, Kex knelt down beside the bed in his small one-room flat and made the final preparations for departure. The five kilos of baradium stuffed under the mattress would vaporize the bed and—and it would be assumed—anyone lying in it. He set the charge for twenty minutes, plenty of time to get away, and threw the duffel over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

He had one more thing to collect before moving on to the next system.

# # #

Aerek sat at the dinner table in the Cuun'yaim's galley with a stylus in one hand, frowning over an engine repair manual as he scrawled steadily more legible characters onto a piece of scrap flimsi. As far as teaching aides went, it left a lot to be desired, but it was the best they had on board.

"How's the writing coming along, son?" Buruk asked softly as he entered.

The boy made a noncommittal sound and wrinkled up his nose. He preferred learning to fight and shoot, physical activities, to this academic osik. Well, except for history; he loved that. Out loud, he said, "Fine, buir."

Buruk nodded, sitting down next to him and putting an arm across his shoulders. "We set down a little closer to civilization, I promise I'll pick you up a proper study program. Full holographics and everything." He gave Aerek's shoulder a squeeze. "Nothing's too good for my boy."

Aerek set down the stylus and looked at his father. "When are Qate, Ganhuff, and Maalku coming back? I miss them."

"Soon," the man promised, giving his shoulder another squeeze. "I was hoping we could talk about what happened to me last week, though. Do you know why I fight the jetiise?"

"Because you're Mandalorian," Aerek said matter-of-factly. "You said we've been fighting them for generations."

"That's true, but that's not why I've been going after them. It's because a few years ago, they killed all my friends."

"Why did they do that?"

Buruk shook his head slowly. "I don't know, son. They just did. And one of my friends betrayed me and let it happen."

"Then you should try to find him," Aerek stated.

"I have been, but it's… difficult. Mando'ade are hard to track when they don't want to be found, and things keep sidetracking me."

Aerek's brow furrowed with worry. "Like me?" he asked. He didn't want to be a burden to his father. What would he do if he decided the boy was too much of a distraction?

"Never," Buruk insisted, giving his shoulder another squeeze. "I meant other jobs, but I need to take them because we need the money to keep the ship flying so I can find Kex."

"Then why bother with the Jedi at all? Wouldn't it make more sense just to focus on Kex, who betrayed you? What purpose does going after the Jedi serve?"

Buruk hesitated a few moments. Then he said, "I don't really know. There is no point to it, I guess."

"Don't Mandalorians only do things that serve a purpose? What did you call it? Pragmatism?"

"That's it, son," Buruk replied. Then, scooping the boy up and sitting him in his lap, he said with a smile, "Now why don't you read to me how to fix a swoop engine, hm?"

# # #

Lynli rubbed at her temples and leaned her head back under the running showerhead, letting the hot water sluice over her, rinsing away the day's layer of grit and engine grease. And frustration, she thought with a frown as she reached for the loofah and started gently scrubbing her lekku.

Her anger at Buruk had been building for a whole week since the Judicials had pinched their shipmates. It was only a matter of time before it bubbled up to the surface and burst out of her. "It's not like he didn't have it coming," she muttered as she continued to lather herself.

Her shower finished, Lynli stepped out into the refresher to find Buruk waiting in the doorway. The Twi'lek yelped in surprise, grabbing for the nearest towel to cover up her dripping body. "What the hell are you doing in here?" she demanded.

"Whoa, flesh!" The Mandalorian's cheeks flushed and he turned his head to the side, shielding his eyes with a hand. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't think you'd be so… naked."

"I was in the shower, you di'kut!"

He cleared his throat. "Good point."

Lynli wrapped the towel around her body and asked, "What do you want?"

"I talked to Aerek," he answered, still averting his gaze.

Her expression softened slightly. "Well?"

"I've cut it close too many times." He put his free hand to his stomach, over the spot where the Jedi Zabth had impaled him with a lightsaber. "Aerek—you all—need me to be there for you. I shouldn't be putting myself at risk for no reason. I've been acting jare'la. I'll stay away from jetiise from now on."

"Swear."

Buruk noticeably bristled at that. "I swear."

"Thank you."

"Also, I told Morran to raise ship. We're going to find out where our crew has been taken."

"What about Kex?" she asked carefully.

Buruk frowned for a moment; it was obvious he still felt conflicted over that. Then his features slackened and he said earnestly, "He's waited this long."

# # #

Kex heard the high-pitched laughter of children as he approached the gated playground behind the daycare center. Younglings of various species and ages ran about, playing tag and hopscotch, or climbing all over the jungle gym. It was innocence incarnate and a scene completely at odds with Kex's grim expression and posture.

As he drew closer, his features softened into a warm smile and he slowed his stride to a more casual pace. It wouldn't do for him to appear uneasy or apprehensive to her. Stepping up to the gate, he took a code slicer from his pocket and inserted it into the key slot, activating it with the push of a button. In seconds, the lock clicked and the door slid aside. With his warm smile in place, he stepped onto the playground.

A little girl, about three years old, caught sight of him and her face lit up. She ran to him on short, unsteady legs that were just beginning to gain coordination, her arms held out to her sides as she called out, "Buir!"

Kex leaned down and scooped the little girl up in his arms, his heart bursting as she hugged him. "Did you have fun today, cyar'ika?" he asked, tickling her.

"Uh-huh," she said, giggling happily, as he carried her out the gate.

"That's good, because it's time for us to go." He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and added, "Remember, we're playing hide and seek, so we have to try not to be found." His daughter simply giggled and held onto him tightly as he made their way toward the starport.