Ord Mantell, 28 ABY
"Good luck today, Skylar!"
Skylar Kavos turned her head towards the source of encouragement as a resounding cheer echoed from the vendors and spectators around her. She smiled and raised her arm in acknowledgment, continuing on through the packed vendor village as she headed towards the landing pads.
The race started in twenty minutes, and as usual, she was running late. It had become a common occurrence in the past several months. Being one of the top racers in the galaxy brought a lot of recognition, and she couldn't make it from the pilot's lounge to her ship without being stopped at least several times along the way.
Not that she minded the attention. She certainly hadn't been raised to be arrogant or boastful, but that didn't mean she didn't enjoy being recognized wherever she went. Every racer wanted to be at the top and the competition was fierce, if not downright dirty on occasion. But, so far, she'd managed to hold on to the top spot through the last few races, although how long she'd maintain it was still up in the air.
There was only one other racer who was a real threat. It was anyone's guess who would come out on top at the end of a racing weekend, and Skylar had been trading first and second place with him for the last year and a half.
Jacen Syndulla had been on the racing scene a lot longer than she had (which made sense, given their five-year age difference) but Skylar had quickly established herself as his main rival. They'd loathed each other at first, but eventually grew to have a grudging respect for each other. Neither could deny the other's skill in the air. Skylar wouldn't necessarily call Jacen a friend, but she could at least hold a conversation with him now without wanting to strangle him. Most of the time.
Fortunately, if all went well she wouldn't have to face him until the final race of the day. That race would determine, once again, who sat at the top spot going into the standard two-week break between races. The last thing Skylar wanted to do was relinquish her number one standing to Jacen, but she hadn't been able to beat him in a head-to-head race yet.
It wasn't for lack of trying. Skylar was known among the other racers for having incredibly quick reflexes, but so was Jacen. What no one knew was why Skylar had such quick reflexes, and she had every intention of keeping it that way. Only her family knew precisely why she was so good, and it was a secret she planned on taking to the grave.
After racing alongside Jacen for the last year and a half, however, Skylar couldn't help but wonder if he might have the same ability she did. She'd been close to asking a few times, but had stopped short, knowing it might expose her as well. If anyone found out that she was essentially cheating, she'd be permanently banned from the racing circuit. Or worse. Racing was her life; she couldn't stomach the thought of that being taken away from her.
It wasn't a pleasant thought to dwell on as she approached the landing pads, and she shook her head, trying to clear the negative thoughts away. She picked up her pace, jogging the rest of the way to her ship. As soon as it came into view, her body automatically relaxed, and a smile crawled across her face.
The A-wing was old, a product of a bygone era, and nowhere near as fancy as some of the newer racers that had emerged onto the racing scene. But it was hers, given to her by her mothers when she was sixteen. She'd spent countless hours with her Mom working on it, customizing it, transforming it into one of the fastest and most nimble racers out there.
The ground crew was scurrying around the starfighter as Skylar walked up, and nodded in her direction as she approached. She took a minute to speak with the crew chief, who assured her the ship was fueled and ready to go, then she started her own pre-flight routine. It was one that had been drilled into her for as long as she could remember.
She walked around the ship entirely, checking everything, taking mental notes as she went. Everything seemed to be in order, though she did notice that the paint job would need a touch-up soon. Her Aunt Sabine had been more than happy to do the honors of covering the A-wing in the colors of Skylar's clan, Clan Kryze, and the streaks of black, blue, and white were as highly visible as they were stylish. The crest of her clan adorned each wing, matching the ones she wore on the shoulder pauldrons of her armor.
Once her visual inspection was done, Skylar slipped her helmet over her head, hopped up onto the wing, and dropped into the cockpit. From there, her fingers flew over the control panel, the movements as ingrained in her as breathing, and the ship rumbled to life.
As soon as the systems checks were complete, she closed the canopy and eased the A-wing into the air. The other racers in her heat were also beginning to rise around her, and one by one, they made their way to the starting line. Keeping one hand on the control yoke, Skylar used the other to tug on the worn leather cord that was around her neck. She kept tugging until the crystal that resided on the end of the necklace, finally popped free of her armor.
She'd had the crystal for as long as she could remember, and even now, she couldn't recall exactly how she'd gotten it. It had always been there, like another limb attached to her body, and whenever she was separated from it—which was an extremely rare occurrence—it felt as though a piece of her was missing.
Skylar closed her fist around the crystal and felt it warm to her touch. The energy flowing from it into her, into the ship, then back again was strong, and she let it wash over her, calming and energizing her at the same time. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, clearing her mind, just as she'd been taught. It needed to be completely empty, in order for her to be able to focus enough to use the special ability she had.
Give yourself over to the Force. Let it flow through you and guide you. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, as it did before every race. It was a routine they had established early on, when Skylar had first started racing, when she had asked her Ma to teach her how to control the thing that made her unique, and set her apart from everyone else.
Being able to see a few seconds into the future was a skill every racer would kill to have, which was precisely why Skylar kept it a secret. Only in the safety of her cockpit, immediately before a race, did she pull the crystal out and perform this ritual. At best, the other racers might think she was crazy. At worst, someone would figure it out, and report her. Keeping her connection to the Force a secret had been something her mother had drilled into her from the moment she'd sat Skylar down and explained why she was so different from everyone else.
Her body automatically tensed slightly as the starting lights counted down from five. The final light blinked green and she was forced back against her seat as the thrusters ignited and the A-wing shot forward, along with the four other racers in her heat. Being the top racer going into the weekend, Skylar was given the most disadvantaged starting position, the number five position, all the way in the back, but by the time she was through the first checkpoint ring, she had already moved up to third.
She sent the A-wing into a barrel roll, narrowly missing the stun shots from one of the racers she'd just passed, as they approached the second checkpoint ring. Judging the distance, Skylar decided to go for it and turned the A-wing sideways as she slipped through the ring, just barely avoiding a collision with both the ring and the pilot she'd just passed. Now in the number two spot, she sent the A-wing into a steep climb, chasing after the ship ahead of her.
She was rapidly closing the distance as she shot through the third checkpoint ring, before breaking atmosphere. It took mere seconds for Skylar to reorient herself, but in that amount of time, she'd managed to lose the pilot in front of her. A quick glance at her scanner told her the fourth checkpoint was on the far side of the planet, and she turned her ship and opened the throttle all the way up as she chased after the ship currently sitting in the number one spot.
They were fast, she had to give them that. And agile. And good. She hadn't gotten a good look at who it was in front of her, but she had a good feeling she already knew, and scowled at the thought.
He's not even supposed to be in this heat, she grumbled to herself. What's he trying to prove?
She was rapidly gaining on him again though, as she watched his ship easily glide through the fourth checkpoint. Less than ten seconds later, Skylar was through the checkpoint as well, and driving the A-wing hard towards the surface. The fifth and final checkpoint was still a few minutes out, leaving her plenty of time to close the distance and take the lead. She pulled up behind the other pilot, getting as close as she dared, and confirmed it was exactly who she thought it was.
"I was wondering when you were going to catch up. Nice to see you again, Skylar." Even his smooth, deep voice was irritating, and Skylar rolled her eyes as she matched every juke and move Jacen threw at her as she tried to pass him. She thought about using her own stun bolts but decided this rivalry was best settled with actual flying skill.
"This isn't even supposed to be your heat," she replied, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
"Yeah, well, I figured we might as well get it over with early today," Jacen coolly replied. "There's a mug of Corellian ale with my name on it waiting for me in the lounge, and it'd be rude to let it wait any longer. And, let's be honest: we both know you're never going to beat me, so I figured I'd put you out of your misery sooner rather than later."
Skylar scowled and said nothing. Jacen irritated her to no end, and the more flustered she got, the less she was able to concentrate. And if she wanted to finally beat him today, she'd need all the concentration she could get.
She could see every move he was going to make, three seconds before he made it, but even as she set up to take advantage of that and pass him—as she did with every other pilot she'd ever beaten, as she'd done for the year and a half she'd been racing—he smoothly mirrored her movements, effectively cutting her off.
It was supremely frustrating and only added to her irritation. But unless she could somehow figure out a way to slip by him within the next thirty seconds, he would pass through the final checkpoint ahead of her and win.
Throwing all caution—and her own pride—to the wind, Skylar let loose with a salvo of stun bolts and made her final move, feigning going right, before sharply cutting the A-wing back to the left.
Much to her surprise and utter shock, he seemed to read her mind, dipping his ship's wings out of her line of fire so that the bolts flew harmlessly off into the distance, before moving to block her completely. The A-wing's nose was only a meter or so behind the battered old X-wing's thrusters as they passed through the final checkpoint.
"Blast it all to hell," she muttered as she slowed the A-wing into a lazy turn, heading back towards the landing pads.
She heard laughing over the comm. "You're good, I'll admit, but it's going to take a lot more than that to beat me," Jacen said, obviously pleased with himself.
"Shut up, Jacen," Skylar retorted, not even caring how immature she sounded. By the gods was she angry right now. And it didn't help that she had to pass by the holo-scoreboard on her way back to the landing pads, giving her a clear view of the results. Her name and picture, seated firmly in second place, while his was above her, taunting her with that arrogant smile that women fawned over, but drove Skylar to nausea.
She set the A-wing down in its spot and numbly powered it down, her body on its own autopilot as she went through her post-flight checks. She wanted to rage, to throw her helmet and punch the console, but instead, she just sat there, forcing herself to calm down.
Her temper had always been a problem, for as long as she could remember, constantly getting her in trouble when she was growing up. Her mother had taught her how to control it early on, but she'd also warned Skylar it would likely be a lifelong struggle for her. As she'd explained it to Skylar, her connection to the Force made her emotions far more powerful than her Mom's or her brother's, and it was up to her to keep them in check and make sure they never got out of hand.
Like right now. And as she ran through the breathing exercises her Ma had given her to help her calm down during times like this, she tried to focus on anything that wasn't punching Jacen in his stupid, smug face.
Eventually, the ground crew chief knocked on the canopy and gave her a questioning thumbs up. She half-heartedly returned the gesture, then popped the canopy and climbed out.
The landing pads were a flurry of activity as the pilots from her heat headed off to the pilot's lounge, and the ones in the next heat readied their ships. Skylar cast a cursory glance around, making sure Jacen was long gone; as soon as she realized he was, she set off at a quick pace towards the bar. She wasn't about to step foot into the lounge, where she knew he'd be, lapping up all the attention and praise.
Mercifully, the bar was nearly empty when she walked in. Only a handful of clearly drunk patrons were scattered about, and Skylar ignored them all as she walked up to the bar. Jacen might have a mug of Corellian ale waiting on him, but she needed something stronger than that.
"Whiskey," she told the bartender, "the strongest you got."
The bartender nodded then turned around and studied the wall of colorful bottles behind him for a moment, before grabbing one that was green in color. He turned back around and held it up. "Just got this in from Nal Hutta. Supposed to be some of the strongest stuff in the galaxy."
Skylar nodded and watched as he pulled out a small glass and poured some of the green liquid into it. One sniff of the stuff told her that it was indeed strong, and she took a small, tentative sip. She'd expected it to burn and was pleasantly surprised to find a smooth, almost flowery taste. A few more sips and she finally started to relax a little, feeling the last of her anger from losing fade away.
The peace and quiet were exactly what she needed and she ordered one more glass, fully intending on enjoying it while she could. Now that the races were over (for her at least), she needed to head home, where real life was waiting for her. Her job, her family, and all the mundane things that dominated her life in between races.
Not that her family was mundane—she loved her mothers and brother to death, but she found their day-to-day life of running a massive shipping company extremely boring, compared to the thrill of racing. If she could make a living on racing alone, she would, without even giving it a second thought. But there just wasn't enough money in it, even as one of the top racers.
So she was stuck, helping to run the family business that her mothers had made plainly clear that she and her brother, Jon, were going to take over one day. She didn't have the heart to tell them that's not what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Especially when she considered what they'd gone through to even get to where they were now.
She was so lost in her thoughts and moping that she didn't even notice someone had joined her until he spoke.
"I had a feeling I might find you in here," Jacen said, his voice pleasant and amicable enough. Still, Skylar scowled at him.
"Come to gloat some more? Rub it in my face that you beat me, yet again?"
To his credit, Jacen looked taken aback as he slid onto the stool next to her. Tall and lanky, his dark green hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, and he idly rubbed the stubble on his chin as he looked at her.
"Actually, no," he replied. "I came to say hi and congratulate you. No one pushes me during a race like you do—it's refreshing. I like to trash talk as much as the next pilot, but I have no doubt that one of these days you will beat me. It's only a matter of time."
"Thanks? I guess?" Skylar said, her scowl deepening. "That still sounds like gloating to me."
Jacen sighed and lifted a finger at the bartender, getting his attention. Once he had it, he pointed to a bottle and the bartender busied himself with pouring the drink. "I'm trying to compliment you."
"Well, you suck at it," Skylar retorted. She took a sip of her own drink. "Although, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You don't exactly have to compliment your groupies to get them to like you."
It was Jacen's turn to scowl at her. "Believe it or not, that's not as fun as it looks." He suddenly looked a little sheepish. "That's actually another reason I came over here...contrary to what you might think, I hate all the attention."
Skylar scoffed. "You're right. I don't believe that for a second."
Jacen shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Well, maybe if you spent some time trying to get to know me, rather than just hating me because we're racing rivals, you'd learn that I'm telling the truth."
"We're not friends, Jacen," Skylar said, frowning. She had no idea where his sudden change of attitude towards her was coming from, but she didn't like it. She might be able to tolerate his presence, but becoming friends with him? That was pushing it a little too far. Although, now that she was thinking about it, she had no idea why she was so resistant to the idea.
"We could be though," he insisted. "I mean, my mother is good friends with your mothers...there's no reason why we should be rivals. And..." he paused, and she had a feeling she knew exactly what he was about to say.
"…we used to be friends," he finished. "Or, at least, I thought we were."
"That was a long time ago," Skylar replied, "when we were kids. Before we knew any better. And, if I'm remembering correctly, you and your mom only came to Kalevala twice. I'd hardly say that qualifies us as being friends."
Much to her surprise, Jacen actually looked a little hurt and Skylar turned back to her drink, trying not to feel guilty. What she'd said was the truth: they'd only seen each other twice when they were younger. Maybe he was recalling those times much more fondly than she was. Her memories of those visits were pretty vague, as she'd only been around five at the time. And from what she could remember, they'd been about as friendly to one another as a five-year-old and a ten-year-old who had absolutely nothing in common could be.
Jacen didn't seem to have anything to say, for once, and he turned back to his drink as well, as an awkward silence fell over them. Mercifully, one of the drunks picked that moment to stumble up to the bar next to Skylar, accidentally bumping into her as he did. She turned and scowled at him, but he was too busy trying to get the bartender's attention to notice.
It was becoming abundantly clear that it was time for her to go. She could feel her anger and frustration building again the longer Jacen tried to talk to her, and having a belligerent drunk on her other side wasn't helping things at all. She quickly downed the rest of her drink and started digging into her pockets, looking for credits so she could pay and leave.
"Heyyyy...that, besk...rrrr?" The words were so slurred that it took Skylar a moment to figure out that the drunk was talking to her.
"What?" she asked, turning to him. The drunk tried to motion to her helmet but ended up nearly knocking it off the bar and Skylar quickly pushed it away from his reach.
He frowned and reached for it again, asking a little more clearly this time, "...that...beskar?"
"Maybe," she replied, pushing the helmet behind her, towards Jacen, and angling her body so he couldn't reach for it again.
"Lemme see it," he slurred, reaching for her and the armor attached to her body instead.
"No," she said, pushing his hand away. "Now piss off before you make me do something you'll regret."
He immediately looked angry, like her refusal to allow him to touch her had offended him greatly. He reached again; again Skylar shoved his hand out of the way and warningly stood up, her hand moving to rest on the blaster on her hip.
"You heard her," Jacen put in, also on his feet, "piss off." Skylar couldn't help but feel a flash of annoyance at him. She could more than handle herself, especially with a man who was three sheets to the wind. She didn't need his help.
"Is there a problem here?" The smooth voice came from her right and she turned to see a man, human, considerably more well-dressed than anyone else in the bar. He was eyeing the drunk and Skylar with a hint of amusement on his face.
Skylar glanced at him, noticing that he wasn't alone. There was a group of five men standing behind him, their species ranging from human to Twi'lek to Falleen. All had their arms crossed, all had at least one blaster visible, and all were looking at Skylar and Jacen extremely warily.
"No," Skylar said, "we were just leaving." She glanced at Jacen and he subtly nodded, sensing the sudden seriousness of the situation as quickly as she did.
"I believe my friend asked you a question, though," the newcomer coolly said. "It'd be rude to leave without answering it."
"I did answer it," Skylar said. "And my answer was no."
The stranger took a few steps closer to her, eyeing her from head to toe. "It's not every day you see Mandalorian armor," he mused, ignoring her reply, "let alone a full set of it. And real beskar at that." He reached out, in an attempt to touch her shoulder pauldron, and Skylar immediately slapped his hand away.
In an instant, blasters were drawn and pointed at her, from all five of the men standing behind the stranger. He raised an eyebrow at her, then motioned for his men to lower their weapons. Which they did, very reluctantly.
"Now, there's no need for such hostilities," he said. "I simply wanted to confirm that it is indeed real beskar."
"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Skylar replied. "What does it matter to you?"
"Oh, it matters quite a lot, child," the man said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you have any idea of the fortune you're casually wearing around, flaunting it for everyone to see?"
Skylar shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as she could. The situation was escalating into something she wanted no part of. She had no idea who these men were, but there were far more of them than she and Jacen could handle.
And, now that she was thinking about it, she had no idea if Jacen could even fight. He was a pilot—not exactly a career synonymous with fighting. The only reason Skylar had any proficiency with it is because she was Mandalorian. She'd been raised to fight since she could walk.
"Tell you what," the man went on, "how about you give me your armor, and I'll allow you and your friend to walk out of here alive."
Skylar glanced at Jacen again and saw he was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. He gave her a very small shrug, and she took that to mean that he was up for a fight, if it came to it. And since there was absolutely no way she was going to give up her armor—the same armor that had been handed down to her from her grandmother, that she'd reforged with both her and her mothers—a fight looked inevitable.
"How about, you just let us walk out of here and we all forget this ever happened?" Skylar said. "Because there's no way I'm giving you my armor."
She felt Jacen tense beside her and in that moment, she saw what was about to happen. And just as the word, "Duck!" left her mouth, Jacen did exactly that, as one of the stranger's thugs took a swing at Jacen's head.
All hell instantly broke loose. Skylar dove behind the bar, scooping up her helmet in the process. Jacen was a split-second behind her as blaster shots impacted where'd they'd just been standing. More shots rang out and glass came raining down on top of them, as the wall of bottles above their heads shattered. Skylar slipped her helmet over her head and cursed as she drew her own blaster.
The bartender had had enough sense to duck down as well, and he was currently crouched next to Jacen. "What do we do now?" Jacen yelled over the din.
"I'll draw their fire," Skylar replied, readying herself to stand back up, "you two get the hell out of here."
"I'm not going to leave you here to deal with them on your own," Jacen replied. He had a small blaster in his hand, one he apparently kept concealed because she'd never seen it until now.
"Don't worry about me," Skylar said, "I'll be fine. Just get him" —she nodded at the bartender— "out of here."
She heard him mumble something along the lines of, "you Mandalorians" before he grabbed the bartender's arm and started dragging him towards the end of the bar nearest the door. Once he was set, he turned to Skylar and nodded. She gave him a nod back, then stood up and opened fire.
They hadn't been expecting it and her first two shots found their mark, instantly felling two of the thugs. The drunk who'd started the whole thing was nowhere to be found, and the rest of the men scrambled for cover, overturning tables in the process. As long as she kept their attention on her and off of Jacen and the bartender, that was fine by her.
Skylar could see them out of the corner of her eye, moving towards the door, as she jumped over the bar and started making her way towards the overturned tables. Two of the thugs broke cover to take a few shots at her, but they harmlessly impacted her chest plate, the beskar easily absorbing the energy.
"You want the beskar?" she taunted them, hoping they'd take the bait. "Then come and take it."
To her delight, one of them did, popping his head up behind the table he was hiding behind. She'd been anticipating it, however, and the man never stood a chance as Skylar sent a bolt searing into his skull. By her count, there were only two left, although the well-dressed stranger who seemed to be in charge was currently nowhere to be found.
But neither were Jacen nor the bartender, which was good. At least they'd gotten away safely. Now all she had to do was deal with these last two and then she could be on her way. Although, Skylar was pretty sure word of this would get back to the racing commission. She could only hope that her and Jacen's name wouldn't be tied to it in any way.
She was just getting ready to step behind one of the tables, hoping to catch the thugs off-guard, when movement by the door caught her eye. In walked Jacen, with his hands in the air. He gave Skylar an apologetic look as the well-dressed stranger followed him in, a blaster pressed against Jacen's back.
Skylar leveled her blaster at the man, but he'd angled himself behind Jacen in a way that didn't give her a clear shot. "Let him go," she said, her voice like ice.
"Impressive," he replied, ignoring her as he glanced around the room at her handiwork. The men who'd been cowering behind the tables suddenly found their confidence again and stood up, pointing their weapons in her direction. With Jacen at the man's mercy, Skylar suddenly wasn't so enthused about their odds.
"Unfortunately, for you, those men didn't answer only to me," he went on, his tone still pleasant. He made a motion to the ones still standing and they started moving towards Skylar, weapons at the ready. "Now you'll need to explain to my boss why your life is more important than theirs."
Skylar made no move to lower her blaster as the men approached her, and the stranger moved his blaster from Jacen's back to his head. "Resist and I'll kill him right where he stands." Jacen's eyes pleaded with her to listen to him, and with a small grunt, Skylar finally relented.
The moment her blaster was back in its holster the men grabbed her, forcing her arms behind her back. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve—or her vambraces, to be more precise—but she could tell the stranger had meant it when he'd said he'd kill Jacen if she tried to resist. So she allowed herself to be led from the bar, following behind the stranger and Jacen.
They skirted around the vendor village and arrived at a run-down-looking building that was situated on the outskirts of the small town that was hosting the races for the weekend. A strong incense smell hit her as they walked in and it was immediately clear that they were entering a hookah spice den.
Smoke hung thick in the air as they made their way through the room, stepping over and around bodies in various stages of intoxication. No one paid them any mind as Jacen and Skylar were led up the stairs and down a narrow passageway that doubled as a balcony, overlooking the floor below. They were pulled to a stop in front of a door at the far end, and the well-dressed stranger knocked three times, paused, then entered.
And as Skylar walked into the room after Jacen, she felt a shiver crawl up her back. Seated behind a large desk in the rear of the room was a well-built Falleen, with his own supply of spice littering the desk in front of him. But it wasn't the mountain of a man that made her shiver.
It was the tattoo that adorned his forehead, as well as the banners on the walls. The symbol was easily recognizable enough—she'd seen it enough at the races in the last year and a half that she'd done some digging and discovered what organization it belonged to. As it turned out, most of the major criminal syndicates had their hands in at least some aspect of the racing circuit, mostly running the various betting rackets that followed the races around.
Black Sun was no different. In fact, theirs was the mark she saw the most, especially around this weekend's races, and it slowly dawned on her that the men she'd just killed belonged to them. She swallowed hard and tried to keep the fear off her face as the Falleen coolly regarded her and Jacen, while the well-dressed stranger whispered in his ear. He nodded once, then sat back in his chair.
"Skylar Kavos and Jacen Syndulla," the Falleen said. "Of all the people I would've expected to deal with this weekend, you two are the very last on that list. Apparently, I sorely underestimated you and your...talents."
He turned his gaze on Skylar and smiled, but there was nothing happy about it. "Now...let's discuss your debt to me and how you can repay it."