The Mandalorian warrior slowly relaxed as he took his eye away from the scope on his rifle. The Amban was a reliable sniper rifle, useful for its ability to vaporize targets in addition to killing them, leaving little to no trace behind. The client had wanted Kar Defsten erased, so that was what she got.

"Confirm recording," he said, his tenor voice tinged with a mechanical accent.

"Confirmed," a soft, shy and feminine voice replied. "Transmitting to client now."

"Copy," he said. "Moving out. Warm up the ship."

"Yes, sir," came the reply, though there was a hesitancy this time.

The Mandalorian paused, his black and gold armor glinting in the mix of light and shadows that filled his temporary sniper's nest. He was of average height and built with the lean economy of the vornskr. Across his back, resting on top of his jetpack, was a second blaster, this one a DC-17 ICWS.

"You did finish fixing the ship," he stated coldly.

"Yes, sir," the woman replied, still hesitant. "R5 supervised the work, it's just-"

"Ryn," the Mandalorian growled, breaking down the Amban and stuffing it into a slim carry bag.

"Well, they didn't have all the right parts," Ryn replied. "I had to jury rig things. Most backwaters aren't equipped for warships, even Skiprays."

He let out a curse under his breath as he trotted out of the room and down the stairs to the ground floor. By now, the slave might have reported her Master's death. If he couldn't make it back to the ship in time, they'd have to fight their way off planet, in what was apparently still a broken ship.

"Begin departure," he growled. "I want you out of the space port. Meet me at the second location."

"Yes, Master," Ryn said sadly. "I'm sorry Master."

"We'll deal with it later," he grumbled. "First priority is getting off planet."

"Yes, Master Skira." Ryn replied.

The warrior cut the comm. There was no point chastising the Twi'lek for using his name, the damage was done. Instead, he focused on getting out.

A rear exit let him out into an abandoned alleyway. Silence greeted him, for the moment. Perhaps the slavegirl was taking her sweet time. Still, experience had taught him that every moment after an assassination was precious. He checked the mini-map in his helmet's HUD, oriented himself, and set off at quick march.

With any luck, the client, the daughter of one of Kar's former partners, would send payment through quickly. He always demanded half up front, but agreed to take half when the job was done. He'd gotten her the revenge she wanted for her family's ruination. Now it was time he got paid for it.

It was something he specialized in, grudge work. It paid well enough, made him feel like he was bringing some justice back into the galaxy, but when you specialized in off book assassinations rather than going through the official Bounty Hunter's guild, there were risks. You lost a lot of protection from law enforcement, you had to vet your clients yourself, the guild got mad at you, and you couldn't go to the courts for redress if they failed to pay you.

Then again, most bounty hunters, legit or otherwise, often ignored the courts when it came to those who failed to pony up the pay. Plus, the guild wouldn't always take a bounty. Often those people wanted dead the most could lay a few bribes to keep themselves off the list. Kar had been one of them.

It took only fifteen minutes to make it to the city's edge. There, waiting for him, was his ship, the Bes'bev. Matte black, the Skipray Blastboat was a GAT-12m model he'd modified with some living quarters. The fish shaped body ended in a crescent shaped tail that pointed back towards the prow, which rotated between horizontal and vertical in flight. Heavily armed and armored, it got the job done. Despite being the size of a starfighter, the Skipray was classified by most governments as a capital ship due to its firepower.

The hatch popped open, revealing the slim form of a rutian Twi'lek, dressed in a pair of tight and tiny leather shorts, crop top stretched tight over an ample chest, and work-belt. Lean as a whip, her blue skin was softer than Hapan silk, with breasts twice the size of a Muja fruit, and an ass so firm it could have been made of beskar. Violet, doe like eyes gazed up at him nervously, and he caught the flash of silver teeth as she licked her lips. Grease marred the azure skin of her arms, face, and twin headtails that trailed from the back of her skull. The organs, also known as Lekku, twitched anxiously.

"The call just came over the comm," she said, her voice soft, sweet, and nervous. "Law enforcement is en-route to the target's house."

Three years together, and she still acted the frightened waif.

Skira didn't blame her. Ryn had been taken as a slave shortly after her maturation, when her beauty was already apparent, by one of the nastier slaving organizations out in the galaxy. She'd spent a year being brutally trained by them, then had a bomb implanted in her brain so that if her master died or if she got too far from them, so did she. They considered it the perfect way to keep a slave loyal. Frankly, Skira thought it a stupid. You either lost all your slaves when you died, or you incentive's them to kill you rather than run away.

Then she'd been sold to a master that made the slavers look almost benign. Finding her still too willful, something Skira had trouble grasping, he'd beaten and abused her repeatedly till all will was gone and there was nothing more than a terrified creature hiding in an empty shell. The shabla even punched out all her front teeth, just to have a better experience using her, or so he'd boasted. How something that didn't move or react gave a better experience just because it lacked some teeth, Skira hadn't even bothered to try and understand.

It had taken some doing, but he'd managed to win Ryn in a Sabacc game, before he killed the dikut. Then he'd spent more credits than he wanted to admit getting her healed, replacing her teeth, and dragging her along after him. It had taken half a year before she'd even been able to say a word. Still she followed orders, and be it innate intelligence or just fear, she was a quick learner when it came to being ships mechanic.

He climbed up the side wing and slipped inside the ship. The interior was mostly steel and black, the bright lights of the instruments and controls providing most of the illumination. A black and gold R5 astromech unit spun its head around and gave an annoyed blyat, before returning its attention to the navigational computer.

R5-Y3 was a typical member of what was largely considered the worst of the R-series astromechs. Like of the R-series, it had a cylindrical body, framed by two legs, with a third on its undercarriage. The head, however, consisted of a conical shape that had been chopped flat, unlike the more aesthetic domes of the R2 and military grade R3 models. He'd have rather had either of them, but R5 worked and had come cheap at a time when he'd been desperately short of credits.

Behind him, the hatch hissed as Ryn shut it.

"Okay," he said. "Let's break orbit and be out of system before they put things together."

They took their places, him at the flight controls, Ryn at the comms and sensors station. All systems looked good, and he pulled back on the yoke. With the roar of its powerful engine, the Bes'bev pointed its nose to the sky and blasted upwards.

Rapidly, icy blue sky was replaced by the ebony black void of space.

"I'm picking up two patrol craft in low orbit," Ryn said. "No change in flight patterns."

"Any outgoing comm traffic?" Skira asked, checking his own sensors. A supply ship was lining up for an exit vector. Casually, he slipped into the space behind it. In theory, you could fly anywhere in the void of space, but it was better to stick to known hyperspace lanes.

"Negative, Master," Ryn replied.

R5 let out a blyat and the nav-comp lit up. The nearest planet of note was Gandel Ott, located at the terminus of the Triton Trade Route, which would take him back into the galaxy proper. It was also a forty-six days and sixteen hours away, if he was lucky. There were a few planets along the way, but the nearest that could service his ship was Pembric II, which was thirty-seven days travel.

Maybe he'd be able to upgrade the hyperdrive with this latest payment, he thought sourly. Then again, this job had eaten up more of the payment than he wanted to admit. Much more and he'd be getting desperate.

Still, delaying only risked getting them caught and it didn't make the trip shorter. He reached for the controls and relaxed as the pressure of his ship's accelerated pushed him back in his seat.

Stars went from pinpoints of light, to streams, to a swirling, violent vortex as he left the Sapella system behind.