Capt. Bashale Miller considered herself something of a success. At twenty-one, she had successfully liberated the legendary treasure of Nok Drayen, outsmarted the ridiculous security measure of it being stored on the event horizon of a black hole, and killed the notorious Jackal of the Stars without having dated him first.

But there was more: at twenty-one standard, she'd become a successful privateer for the Republic… although at this point she was much less enthusiastic about that, since it meant taking up causes. The lessened enthusiasm would have pleased Atticus Miller, her foster-father whom she had always called 'the Old Man.' He would have been annoyed that it took actual lumps for her to arrive at the conclusions he'd warned her about all her life.

And finally, having killed the Voidwolf, she'd taken over his plans to consolidate the criminal underworld under his own Imperial-red banner. Now the banner was… huh. She hadn't really bothered with banners (to the disappointment of certain cause-loving people).

Anyway, that was why she'd elected to use 'the Voidhawk' as her professional name: she'd had enough run-ins with people who incorporated dog-things into their working names, and they made up a pretty depressing pattern of being assholes who ended up dead.

She had no desire to join that particular pattern.

Rogun laughed at that, pointing out that she lacked a certain maturity to be running an empire that wasn't created by a simulator and perpetuated by careful management of resources. She still didn't know how he'd managed to load the two empire-building simulators on her datapad, but he had.

Rogun was useful. On a good day, or with a good buzz, she might even go so far as to say their partnership… for want of a better word… was beneficial. Rogun knew how to run a business and an empire. So he ran hers, more or less, with Risha auditing him every so often.

So Bashale let the people interested in running the empire run it, when she would have been happy to let the notion of leadership (as it pertained to her) slide into obscurity.

She was twenty-one. People her age had no business running empires—none. There was too much else to do. It was a big galaxy with lots to experience. Ruling empires was for old people.

Bashale sighed, rolling her head freely on her neck. She had no idea why Rogun didn't just rebuild his empire quietly and leave her alone—but no, he kept shunting things her way that 'only she' could deal with.

In this, he reminded her a little, just a teensy little bit, of the Old Man. She paused outside the door to her apartment on Port Nowhere. She still missed the Old Man; she knew that was why she wanted Rogun as far away from her as possible. He reminded her of Atticus Miller a little too strongly sometimes. One couldn't go back in time; even if part of her would have been relieved to go back to being 'the daughter,' learning to survive and thrive in the galaxy at her foster-father's knee…

The Old Man was dead, and she wasn't dumb enough to let herself latch onto a substitute.

She should have brought that cute fella from Nar Shaddaa back with her—well, maybe not here, but somewhere appropriate—for the weekend, she thought sourly. She only got nostalgic and clingy like this when she started feeling lonely.

She palmed the door of her apartment open, trying to push back the swell of morose thoughts…

…then palmed the door closed again. She frowned at the pitted metal, as ramshackle in appearance as any other set of doors on the skyport.

She palmed the door open again. Nope. Her eyes weren't deceiving her. Sitting in a chair, drawn up so as to be the first thing she saw when she opened the door… was that cute fella from Nar Shaddaa, all smiles and roguish brown eyes. The one she'd just been feeling regretful about not having gotten to know better. She hadn't had such a smooth 'can I buy you a drink?' in months.

That he was here, as if in answer to said wistfulness, was not a point in his favor. She had a deep antipathy to men who turned out to be so obliging; they were usually scumbags, and while she wasn't looking for a variant of the Corso model, she was done with scumbags.

She'd giftwrapped the last one with hope that he'd be fed slowly and in pieces to the SIS.

Suddenly, something in her brain, on the tchin-ward side, tingled unpleasantly.

Rogun's voice after that affair echoed out of the disused corner to which she'd relegated advice she didn't want: 'You did what? Honey, you feed those piranhas once and you'll never get rid of them—they will find a way to follow you home.'

…she had no idea where spies fell in the dichotomy of people she'd learned from the Old Man.

"Aw, man," she groaned.

"You're breaking my heart," the man who had so cheekily introduced himself as Average Joe declared lightly, putting one hand over said organ. "Aren't you happy to see me? Just a little bit?"

Bashale squeezed her eyes closed so she didn't have to look at the devastating teasing-hopeful expression stamped on the fellow's face. "You followed me home!" she almost hissed, wishing she didn't sound so helpless.

A snicker left her cracking one eye open; maybe it was better not to lose sight of this guy. He was dangerous. Unfortunately, that wasn't a turn-off. "Well, yeah. You said you'd miss me. You looked so sad about it. I'm softhearted like that."

He was laughing at her behind those wicked eyes.

"And yet my bullshit-meter says you're actually here for business," Bashale noted dryly.

"Hey, I can multitask. Don't worry about that."

She wished she could slam the door behind her. Unfortunately, it hissed closed with a silence she felt entirely inappropriate to the situation.

-B-

Author's Note: A quick bit of backstory, I hope this is the last time. The Old Man (Atticus Miller) has nothing to do with the Old Man that Nine killed on Tatooine; it's simply how Bashale called the man who raised her. A former pirate, he got out of the life and married Bette (for whom the Bluebonnet Bette, Bashale's ship, is named). After his wife died, he came into possession of this little twi'lek infant, and brought her up to survive in a tough galaxy.

While usually cheerful and happy-go-lucky, when Bashale goes to war, she pulls no punches, pulls out all the stops, and cuts to the heart of whatever the conflict is—just as the Old Man taught her to do. With Bashale's vicious side fully on display while dealing with the events on Corellia, Corso discovered the massive gap between the image of Bashale he believed in and the reality. They're still friends, but not particularly tight.

This vicious side is why Rogun is trying to help her, rather than rebuilding on his own behalf. She could make something of an underworld empire if she were so inclined. He's waiting for her to grow up enough to be inclined.