It felt natural to have her pistols at her sides.
Her coat hung on a nearby rack. Her tricorne sat on the floor. Even in her quarters, her most private lair, the pistols stayed at her sides.
It had been two days since she had dispatched the Mandalorian. The Huntress looked up from the top floor of the Blood Battalion's central nervous system and simply waited for the call that this little problem had been mopped up.
At the hub's center stood an inverted Mon Calamari Cruiser. Its engines were buried deep into the ground and its nose reached up toward the murky clouds. The red crystal that ran through the heart of Centrallis grew up from the earth and wrapped around the old ship, both permeating and protecting it.
Halls, tubes and cables sprung off from the central body, leading to newer buildings, docking bays, shipyards, factories, forges and even smaller ships retrofitted to work as stationary barracks and armories. They stretched out for almost a mile in all directions. It was the beating heart of the Blood Battalion and was the base from which they would conquer the planet, soon after the galaxy and after that… Well, they would have no reason to stop there.
The Huntress strode across the room, holding one pistol in her hand for comfort, and turned on her personal transmitter.
"Huntress. I am receiving you. Respond?"
"Give me a line to Deep Space, channel eight."
There was a nervous pause. "Right away, ma'am."
She waited patiently, never expecting to hear a voice, just the telltale hum that told her it was listening. It never spoke first, unless it had to.
"I need more," she said, calmly. "There is a Jedi here, one who was bold enough to directly attack a Mandalorian base. There were rumors of another Jedi before that. I thought I finished the job at the refugee camp, but now I don't know. And then there is the smuggler and murderer, Teller Vonn…" she took a moment to steady herself.
All the while, it stayed quiet.
"I'm worried about what they could do. We just can't find enough ships and parts to finish and if the Jedi or the Demagogues or the Hutts or the Rabble find it first, then everything will be ruined."
Once again, there was only the heartbreaking quiet.
"I need help. I need the strength to defeat a Jedi."
She waited and waited. Every miniscule shift in frequency in pitch was something she could feel in her bones, until the moment when a voice finally came back to her, hollow and robotic.
"You will have it."
Hyne recoiled as a chill ran up her spine. She felt weak and yet focused, feint and yet somehow stronger, but most of all she felt cold.
"You have been requested," called a voice outside her yurt, after three short taps on her door. "Mandalore the Prosperous will see you, now. Do not keep him waiting."
As quickly as she could, she pulled her armor on, picked up her rifle and took off for his quarters.
She walked in to find Mandalore once again sitting cross-legged on the floor, with his two bodyguards flanking him. However, Boot now sat in front of him with his helmet removed and the tomes had been replaced by a single chest in the center of the room.
"Remove your helmet and sit down."
Hyne did as she was told and the old man quickly followed suit. Somehow, the bags under his eyes seemed even darker than they had a few days ago.
"I know what you two want," he started, looking between them. "I am a lot of things, but I've never been stupid."
Boot and Hyne looked at one another.
"But look what it has gained me." He opened the chest, revealing a stash of credits that could have made a smuggler swoon. "Absolutely nothing."
In a flash, the credits were hurled across the floor and the old man's tone changed drastically.
"Pick them up!" Neither of the warriors knew how to respond at first. "Do it!"
They complied. Hyne and Boot crawled across the floor on their hands and knees, attempting to find every loose credit.
"I don't ever want to see this money again."
"But sir-"
"This is not your time to speak!" he called out, before falling into a fit of coughing and sputtering. "Just let me get this out."
Boot fell silent.
"These credits are what I will be remembered for, how much money we made sitting here, growing complacent," he said, staring down at his hands. "Take them. Take them all and kill the Jedi. The one who brings them to me is the one who will take my place as Mandalore."
Boot and Hyne looked at one another again, but now with fury behind their eyes.
"You will not kill one another. If one of you returns without the other, they will forfeit the title. The loser must swear undying loyalty to their new leader."
More glances were exchanged, now filled with outright bloodlust.
"I know it sounds as if I am trying to pit you against one another, but the clan will need you both to lead it into a new age. Hopefully, a better age. Hopefully, one where the Hunt smiles down on us with more than the worthless credits and shiny trinkets I devoted myself to finding."
Mandalore stared down again, but lifted his head with more resolve than his warriors had ever seen.
"I have resigned to die in shame for allowing us to become weak, but I will not let the clan die with me. Go," he told them, shooing them away. "Go and bring me the Jedi's head and his lightsaber, and the head of Teller Vonn if you truly care about making an old man's last days meaningful. That is my final command to the two of you. May the Hunt guide you toward success."
Both warriors strode out of the building filled with both confusion and excitement.
"I won't lose to someone who doesn't understand the Hunt," said Boot. "I won't lose to someone who doesn't understand what it means to be a Mandalorian."
"No, you won't," said Hyne, staring him right back in his face. "You will lose to me."