Chapter 31 - Heart to Heart

Providence-class Dreadnought Scarlet Night

High Orbit of Vardoss

"Have we made contact with the buyers yet? I don't want the damn beasts anywhere near our boys any longer than necessary, Bonnie."

The Devorian shrugged her shoulders, "The daft fool is draggin' his feet. Don't worry, Cap'n, I'll keep workin' on him. We'll get full price."

"I hope so," Sydow sighed, looking over a datapad sprawling with names and medical conditions, "that damn job cost us twenty three lads, and a blow to our reputation. Plus, twenty more who'll be staying in sick bay for the conceivable future."

"And the fact those B-1's are now useless?"

Sydow snorted, "Of course Han left a bloody shut down virus in their programming. How's Mister Tiege's progress in the matter?"

"Slow. He says it'll be more cost effective to just melt them down and rebuild them."

"Smashing."

"If you want some good news, the Imps are paying us a hefty sum for the Terentatek we brought, as well as compensation for our losses."

"Why in the Seven Corellian Hells would the grandkids want that bloody monstrocity?"

"It's rumored it's the man upstairs who wants the bloody monstrocity."

"Oh," that perked his interests, "so the man in black has a fancy for unkillable oversized crustaceans?"

"I'm not sure that thing is a crab, cap'n," Bonnie chuckled, "isn't it technically a repto-mammal?"

"Probably, but I don't care. It has crusty looking carapace and it won't die, so it's a lobster. And I will hear no further argument from ye, or I will deduct your pay."

"It's a genetically modified Rancor meant to hunt Jedi and kill other sith, Captain," Kylo Ren said entering the bridge, "so in all actuality, it is a repto-mammal."

Sydow grinned behind his helm as he pointed to Bonnie, "Lass, get Mister Morgann up here. I want this boys' cred account hacked."

"Don't bother, my finances are in a vault in hard currency."

"Don't care. I'm gonna find it and deduct your pay."

"You're welcomed to try, Captain," Kylo Ren chuckled, the sound rather unnerving from the black clad Sith warrior.

"You're an odd one, ya know that?" Sydow shifted his head over to glare questioningly at him, "The previous red blades I knew would never banter with me like this."

"I have a sense of humor, deduct my pay for all I care."

"Do you even get paid?" Bonnie asked incredulously, "I mean… what would you spend it on?"

"I can imagine a few things, but no, I'm not paid. At least not conventionally. We receive the necessary resources to finance our various operations."

"Then why do you have a vault full of hard currency?" Bonnie asked with a smile.

"It's… from a past life. I suppose you could say it's for a rainy day."

"Funny. I never thought you brown robes got paid," Sydow stated.

"Master Hett hired you, didn't he?" Kylo deflected.

"Master Hett offered me payment, true, but it was mostly through my ability to steal Zhan's… ah, that's how you did it. You stole it from crime lords, didn't you?"

"They didn't need the money anymore," Sydow could feel a smirk in the Kylo's voice, "only a fool leaves a free pile of money around uncollected."

"Funny. I recall saying that back during the Kessel Run," Sydow replied, turning to his second mate, "thank you for the update, Bonnie. You may go."

Getting the obvious change in mood and the fact that in no small way he told her to get out she nodded, "Aye Captain." with that she left the room leaving the two alone.

Sydow stared at the man before him for a moment before sighing, "What the hell happened to you, boy?"

Kylo Ren crossed his arms, "What does it matter to you? You hate my father."

"Believe it or not, lad, I really don't. He just has a nasty habit of pissing me off, and shooting me, and leaving me in the vacuum."

"It's a wonder you don't hate him."

"Boy, Han and me have an interesting relationship," he sighed as he pulled out a bottle of Corellian ale, "at one point we were as close as brothers, he and I."

"And then the Kessel Run happened?"

Sydow didn't reply. He just stared into his reflection in the bottle, the armored helm of the war chief he killed all those years ago staring back at him.

"Tell me something, lad," he said after a length, "how does the Jedi's posterboy turn into a Lord of the Sith?"

"Why did you come work for us considering your past?" Kylo countered.

Sydow just shook his head, poured two glasses and handed one to Kylo, "To us outcasts of the New Republic, huh?"

"Thanks," Kylo nodded but he put the glass down, "but I don't drink. I haven't in a very long time."

"You might want to start, lad, it makes things bearable."

"Not really," Kylo sighed, "all it does is just make things go away for a while, but never permanently."

"For what it's worth," Sydow gestured with his glass, "I'm sorry for what happened to your master."

"Were you involved?"

"No."

"Then you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Not true. I knew her, too. Hellova lass, she was. Probably would've made a good outlaw if she weren't a brown robe."

"Under the Empire, outlaw, rebel and Jedi were the same thing."

"True, I suppose. Why you here, exactly?"

"I need to collect whatever data you have on the operation. Recordings and that sort of thing, and well," he chuckled softly, "I need directions to my quarters."

"Y'know, you could've asked anybody else for that."

"Sure, but I like you. And I can see why my father did at one point, too."

"Yeah well," Sydow sighed as he downed the wine, "better he hates me than be dead. I'll take that as a trade."

"Even after he left you in a vacuum?"

"Son, I threatened your mother. That was perfectly fair, all things considered."

"How did you survive that?"

"You're really asking that after I got mauled by the bloody lobster?"

"Touche."

"Talk to Bonnie. She'll sort you out."

Kylo nodded and turned to head out the door, but he stopped as Sydow asked, "One other thing, is the blonde on board yet?"

"Her and the Commandos will be here shortly."

"Good. When she arrives, send her my way."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Kylo asked as he turned his head to look at him, Sydow's reflection distorted over the obsidian visor.

"No, but it is necessary. Building bridges and all that. Go to it, lad. Oh, and one last thing."

"Yes?"

"My door is always open if you ever feel like heartstringin'."

"I'll keep that in mind."

There was something rather familiar about this ship and the air it produced, Phasma concluded as the shuttle touched down in the hangar and the pressurization were released. Of course, she'd never stepped foot on this ship or any other Providence-Class for that matter.

No, the familiarity was a more painful and abstract thing that brought her back to her childhood, and she strove to beat back the memories with the ironclad discipline that had made her from helpless girl into the woman she was now. It didn't work.

Already, she was back in Parnassos, the beating sun and purple chem skies spewing lightning every other second; the older recycled air of the ship akin to the taste of copper. It was only a little better than the filtered air here people breathed in their underground hab-blocks, or in the pressure suits they wore above ground during the worst of the radiation storms.

The burning aftertaste made her gasp for a moment, the charred ground sinking beneath her like a sponge cake. There was a piercing scream behind her, and she whirled around; the air suddenly tasting like ash and smoke.

"No…" she whispered as the scene before her unfolded, helpless to stop it. Helpless as the fire spread and the screams rose. All around her was the chaos of not battle, but a massacre. Men in red tearing away at men in white, women and children dancing in chained columns, the sanctuary they'd built burning before her with the foul scent of oil and roasting tissue.

"No..." she moaned in despair

"Ma'am, are you alright?" SC-023 asked, bracing her by her shoulder as he eyes suddenly snapped open. She turned to face the black armored trooper, his fluorescent green visor staring at her with an apprehensive posture.

"I'm fine," Phasma sighed, "thank you, FN-0523."

"Ma'am," the trooper chuckled softly, "I'm not in the Stormtrooper Corps anymore."

"You'll always be one of my troopers, Twenty-Three," Phasma replied back as the locking hatches unhooked and the ramp began to descend, "remember that always."

"Also remember not to shoot the bandits again, Twenty-Three," SC-011 quirked with a smirk in her voice, "I know you're into the lone wolf stuff, but no need to get us killed before we get started."

"What you kiddin', L?" Twenty-Three chuckled back, "They damn well deserved it, and you know it."

"Really, now?" SC-080 countered, "Not their fault you're compensating for something with that blaster of yours."

"Bite me, Eighty."

"Sorry, tried to bite your ear off once during training. Didn't taste too good."

"You were tasting the wrong place, Eighty," L smirked.

"Oooh, I smell something fishy there," SC-111 cut in a with a wry laugh, turning her head to the other trooper, "care to elaborate a bit on that, L?"

"Not on your life, Ones, and I told you before, it's never going to happen."

"Can't blame a girl for trying, L."

"Well, depending on whether or not we get our own room…" Twenty-Three began but L cut him off sharply.

"Don't even think about it, hotshot."

"Can't blame me for trying."

"You know," Phasma suddenly echoed from the front, "it is a good thing that we are speaking on private channels, and we're not on a First Order ship. Actually, I find it worse that we are on a vessel of riff raff who don't think very much of us to begin with."

"Are you telling us to be professional, mum?" Eighty asked, and Phasma just stared at the big trooper.

"I just rather not have the honor of the Corps spoiled by unsavory behavior."

"Don't worry, ma'am," Twenty-Three replied with a curt nod, "I'll keep the squad in line."

"You better," Phasma said with a smile, "or otherwise I will split you all up and put you in separate corners."

"Yes, mum," the other three troopers replied, and Phasma couldn't help but chuckle silently to herself.

"Children."

The ramp dropped and the troopers were surprised to find Kylo Ren waiting for them. Immediately, the four troopers bowed their heads and slammed their fists onto their armored breastplates; immediately switching over to an open frequency. Kylo returned the gesture.

"Captain Phasma," Kylo nodded curtly.

"Lord Kylo," Phasma replied with a slight air of suspicion, "I didn't realize you were on-board already."

"I had some matters to attend to with our host, and I wanted to get an understanding of them before complications arrived."

"I see," Phasma nodded, "and I doubt you're just here to greet us."

Kylo avoided the obvious question, "Your quarters have been prepared, and the crew has been informed to keep out of our way. They'll also supply us with anything we require."

"I guess now would be a good time as any to get our combat fatigues," Twenty-Three replied.

"You mean combat rags?" Ones inquired, "Considering the state of their uniforms."

"Careful," L replied, "our hosts, remember? Besides, it'd be kind of obvious if we were to attack Takodana in our armor."

"I don't suppose we'll have a guide, m'lord?" Eighty asked, and a young Zabrak female came into view. She had the look of disdain mixed with forced hospitality.

"Well well, more boys in black, and y'all got yourselves quite the lip," the pirate curled hers, revealing strangely long canines underneath, "now, unless you're out to be a buncha jokers lookin' to not make me laugh, I suggest you fall in step and come and get y'all's measurements for your 'combat rags'. Otherwise, you can get the hell off our ship."

The four troopers looked among each other for a moment before looking at Phasma. The Captain shrugged, "I'd do what the lass says."

"Yes, mum," the troopers grumbled as they grabbed their kit and followed the Zabrak out of the hangar.

"So?" Phasma asked, crossing her arms.

"Our host wants an audience with you."

"Why?"

"Building bridges," Kylo answered, "he also had Corellian wine out at the time."

"I see. Where's the blaggard?"

"His office, up in the observatory spire. I take it you know where that is?"

"I do. I've run combat drills on mock-ups of ships like this before."

"Captain, I suggest you follow the same advice you gave your troopers. Be nice. We need to work with these people."

"I am aware, Lord Kylo. I'll be as courteous as long as he is."

"That's all I ask."

The design of the Providence-Class' observation spire always struck Sydow as an oddity. He'd come to greatly respect the design specifications and wartime legacy of the old Separatist Navy, especially in the general pragmatic nature of their battle-cruisers. The Providence-Class was a well designed ship-line, from its weapon choice and placement to even how the bridge was tucked into the ship with minimal exposure.

In many ways, it reminded him of Chiss design philosophy, especially with the new designs Emperor Thrawn was cooking up every given quota. This spire however, stuck out like a sore thumb. It was taller in height than the main body of the ship, and so thinly structured that good lance strike would sever it in two. It was as though the designers had purposely made it a target for their opponents to shoot at.

Perhaps in a way it was ingenious, but it was certainly not something Sydow would have implemented if he'd a hand in designing the ship. Indeed, the only reason why he hadn't cut the blasted thing down was because of the view it granted him on occasions like this.

"Old man was right," Sydow whispered as he smiled behind his helm, "this world does have a splendid sunrise." It especially made the newly arriving crimson ships coming in on the cusp of the world glow like fire floating on a dark ocean.

The door behind him opened then, and the man's smile grew a slight longer, "I see you got my message."

"I never took Lord Kylo as a common courier," Captain Phasma's reverberated voice answered, "or that he would delivering one from you."

"My dear captain, if I had sent of my lads to fetch you, would you have come?"

"No."

"I thought so. Though our friend in black does not command you, you still heed his word as though he did. Besides, he is a good enough lad to see the value in this."

"I can't believe that an esteemed Lord of Ren would trust a pirate like you."

"Trust? Trust has nothing to do with it, captain. Foresight and common sense? Those are the currencies of this current realm. Besides," he turned around to face the woman, "I am not a pirate. I carry letters of mark from both your Grand Admiral and the High Marshal himself."

"You can argue semantics all you want, pirate," Phasma replied coldly with a shift of her armored helm, "that does not change what you were and still are."

"Really? Does that mean you're still just a tribal orphan of a dead tribe on a dead world no one cared about until a certain admiral bumbled into it?"

"Tell me, Captain Sydow, did anyone care who you were until you put on that ridiculous mask of yours?"

"You're one to talk, Ms. Chromedome. But no, that implies that symbols have meaning inherent to them. They only have meaning when you impart them the deeds that provide the necessary meaning."

"So, the mask did not make you, hmm?"

"Anymore than that armor made you, Captain Phasma."

Phasma nodded, and then caught herself mid-movement. Though he could not see her eyes, he felt them boring into him with an icy intensity. "Why did you call me here, exactly?"

"Parlay," Sydow replied, moving his large frame to the side to reveal a table perched on the best spot of the spire, along with the best wine in hundreds of systems, "I feel it's time you and I had a talk, and I mean a real talk."

"And why should we?" Phasma asked, crossing her arms, "you've been perfectly content with the way our relationship was. Traded barbs and all that."

"Well lass, we've never had to work together. The last thing I need is a blaster in back, specifically yours."

"If you're implying I would endanger our mission in such a… brazen attempt," Sydow detected the hints of a smirk in her voice, "you need not worry. I know my duty."

"Lass, that is precisely the issue. Since eventually your duty could have you put your piece between my vertebrae or a vibro-blade across my neck, and I wouldn't have done anything to warrant it."

"You've done plenty in your illustrious life to warrant such a thing, and not just from me."

"I could say the same for you, Captain. I've walked over many corpses in my illustrious life, but you've probably walked over more."

"The difference is that I did that for a cause greater than my own personal interests."

"I disagree. Revenge isn't much of a greater cause than profit. At least one requires you to be honest."

"And you're certainly honest about your intentions, aren't you? Tell me, if the New Republic hadn't dried up work and you hadn't made such enemies of Tyber Zhan, would you have come working for us?"

"Probably not, but like I said, I'm honest about why I'm here. Your government pays me and allows me a somewhat freehand in what I do."

"You're right, at least you are honest."

"Finally. We're getting somewhere. Now, if you please, sit and drink with me."

"I don't drink."

"Then sit and talk, though I am getting a bit tired of drinking alone. First our friend in black, and now you."

"You have a crew," Phasma deadpanned, "drink with them."

"Perhaps, but you're my guest. What kind of host would I be if I didn't at least offer?"

"How nice of you," Phasma said, sneering slightly as she sat down with a groan, "do good hosts conceal their faces from their guests?"

"How waggish, my dear captain. But as you wish."

His leather bound hands took hold of the helm, the horned form coming free with the hiss of pressurized air. As he set it down on the table, Phasma made the very distinct movements of someone doing a double-take.

"What?" Sydow asked.

"You… were not what I expected."

Sydow laughed at this, a sound more akin to a bark than humor, "I suppose that's warranted. You're not the first to make a point of it."

Phasma nodded slowly, her helm making the small movements related to her looking him up and down. "Why do you look so… young?"

Sydow ran a hand through his thick graying red beard and hair, chuckling as he did, "I take especially good care of meself, captain."

Phasma laughed for a moment. Just a moment, but it made the Crimson Corsair smile softly. "For a man in his seventies," Phasma replied, "that is quite impressive."

"I take it I have a file?"

"Yes," she shrugged, "it's not very thick, I'll tell you. Most of what we have is hearsay and rumor."

"Oh, well that's insulting. I spent forty years building a reputation, and that's all there is, hmm?"

"You're not exactly straight with us, captain. I am curious about something-"

Sydow raised his hand, "I won't be answering any further questions from an impolite guest."

Phasma stared at him at him for a moment, sighing eventually as she pulled off the helmet in one frustrated pull; setting the helmet down opposite from Sydow's great helm.

"Ah," Sydow smiled, "so that's what you've been hiding all this time, eh?"

Phasma narrowed her ice blue eyes at him, her lips forming a rather cross expression, "You're rather enjoying this, aren't you?"

"And why wouldn't I be? Now, your question?"

"Your skin."

"What about it?"

"Why does it have a green tint to it? And I know it's not from the light here."

"Well, aren't you a sharp one," Sydow grumbled as he poured himself a glass, "well lass, it's the same reason as to why I cannot die. Not easily anyway. I take it you've met the Toff?"

"I've dueled one before. Bunch of flamboyant, green skinned giant pirates that-" she stopped herself, looking at him with a sudden clarity, "that have red hair."

Sydow smiled as he took a slow and delicate sip, "Aye, you're on the right track."

"So," the ghost of a smile passed Phasma's lips, "you really were born in the business, hmm?"

Sydow's eyes grew dark in that moment, like as though someone had just walked over his grave, "No, I wasn't."

"What do you mean by that?"

Sydow didn't answer at first, staring sideways out the observation spires massive windows at the rising sun.

"Captain?" Phasma asked again.

"What do you know about the Kessel Run?" Sydow asked.

"That it was a cover for the attempted theft of the Suncrusher superweapon from the Maw Installation located around Kessel. That the Suncrusher was destroyed by-"

"Cale Cathorn."

"Yes. You were part of his crew, if I remember correctly."

"I was," Sydow replied, staring into the red pool of wine in his glass, "which wasn't by accident. Y'see, a job like that requires a crew that knows what they're doing, but do separate bits. Otherwise, whole thing falls apart before it even starts."

Phasma didn't say anything, instead leaning back in her chair; watching the subtle changes of expression in the mans face. There was a levity to him that she'd never felt before, but also gloom.

After a moment, and another sip, Sydow continued, "Cale was a legend in his own right. Best smuggler, thief and mercenary there ever was. Cale never went at you from the front, always the sides. Always subtle. The problem was, man was a gambler. Not for cred, you understand. It was about controlling the odds. That was his problem, always needing to be in control."

"I heard he was indebted to Prince Xizor of Black Sun."

"He was. That's why the job happened."

Phasma raised both eyebrows, "He wanted the Suncrusher?"

"Of course he did. Man had ambitions to make Black Sun legitimate, something to be truly respected and feared. A weapon that can destroy an entire star system? That will certainly raise a few heads."

"And what was your part in all this? If I had to guess, you were muscle."

"Funny, but no," he then removed his gloves and the gaiter around his neck, "I was a guide."

At first, Phasma didn't quite know what she was looking at. Then she looked closer, and saw there tiny red bands burrowed into the flesh. She nodded with understanding, "You were a slave."

Something changed in the man's blue eyes; something dark and twisted, like a coiling snake with its fangs unsheathed. "That's the thing about Toff. They'll do anything for profit, including selling half-breed bastards like me."

Phasma nodded, "How did you get out?"

"My secret," Sydow smirked, "let's just say that I'm a crafty bastard, and Cale found out. Tracked me down, took me in. That man was more a father to me than my own flesh and blood," he spat out the last word, slamming his glass in the table, "and all that thrown away because of guilt and a tramp."

Phasma leaned forward, "What do you mean?"

Sydow looked up at her, a small smirk on his face, "Well look at that, I can tell a good story. What I mean is that Cale threw his life away to destroy the Suncrusher. Said it was too dangerous for anyone to have, Empire or Xizor."

"Would you have preferred if Xizor had gotten the Suncrusher."

"No, lass, what I am trying to say is that the man didn't need to pilot the blasted thing himself into a black hole."

"Some might call that heroic."

"I call it stupid. He only did it because he took a hit to the gut and thought he was gonna die anyway. And that only happened because of that harlot, Qi'ra."

"I'm not familiar with that name."

"I doubt you would be. Some tramp Han fell with back on Corellia. Got scooped up by Xizor and used her as his personal agent on the job. When things went south, she betrayed us," he took another sip of his wine, shrugging, "and Han shot her."

Phasma stared at him for a long moment, "Why do I feel there is more to the story?"

"There is, but I'm not in the mood to tell you."

"Then why did you tell me all this? Was it for sympathy's sake?"

"No," he replied crossly, "I don't give a damn about sympathy; yours or anyone else's."

"Then why did you tell me?"

Sydow's eyes drew the table, sighing as he rapped his ringers against it, "Because you were here, and I haven't been honest with someone for a long time. I think you know the feeling."

"I…" Phasma looked away, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't do that. We were just starting to get friendly."

"Friendly?" Phasma's face grew cold like verglas, "You and I, friendly? I don't think so."

"Why do you hate me so much?" the question caught her off guard, "Ever since we met, you've always been a right gripe to me."

"I told you my reason."

"Yeah yeah, I'm a pirate, I heard you the first time," he waved a dismissive hand at her as a smug smile drew across his craggy face, "you know what I think? I think behind all the armor and attitude, you're just a scared little girl crying for her family."

Something snapped in the woman's eyes, like as though he'd just awakened a sleeping bear. He was already on his feet when the table went flying across the room, hands still holding the wine bottle as the giant of a woman closed the distance.

"You don't know anything about me," she seethed, her icy blue eyes flashing angrily as if they were hit by a plasma thrower and turned into a blue star. Sydow starred up into woman's eyes and allowed himself a small smile.

"I think you'll be surprised about what I know, Phasma. Take for instance another certain red armored captain we both knew of."

Phasma's eyes widened before they narrowed again, "How do you know about that?"

"I never go to work for someone until I check their closets. You're no exception," he then grabbed the table and flip it back over, sitting back down with a groan, "and in many ways, I think this is about him."

"This has nothing to do with Cardinal," she spat, but Sydow shook his head at her.

"This has everything to do with him. I know what he did, and I know what you had to because of it. And judging by your face, I think you know it too."

Phasma's stared at him for a long moment before she drew back into a knowing expression, "You did that on purpose. Goading me like that."

"Well, you are easy," Sydow shrugged, taking another sip of the wine.

"And why did you do that?"

"For the same reason I called you here. We've been dogging each others tracks for a long time, captain, and quite frankly, I'm getting tired of the game."

"So what? You're here to pry me out of my shell? Is that it?"

"Call it a character flaw. I don't like unsolved puzzles, and you're perhaps the biggest one I've seen."

"I could say the same about you," she sighed, slumping into her chair, "and there's one that I still don't understand."

"I'm an open book, captain. Ask, and I will answer."

"Sure," she shook her head, "why would a slave come work for us?"

"I told you."

"Yes, because we pay you. But do you know what your story tells me? You're sentimental about things. That's not exactly the most common trait in a cold blooded mercenary."

"Nor the most common in a raider turned captain," Sydow grinned.

"Funny. Sydow, you were not just enslaved on Kessel, were you? After all, the Kessel Run took place on the Maw Installation, and you said yourself, you were a guide."

"I did."

"Then that means you were property of the Empire. So I ask again, why would you come work for us, a people trying to restore the Old Empire? It doesn't make sense to me."

"Well, tell me something, Phasma," he replied, leaning forward, "does your nation deal in slaves like your forefathers?"

"No," she replied with cold certainty, "an unwilling subject does not make for a loyal one, and we do not have the luxury of disloyalty."

"See, that's the difference right there. Between you and New Republic, that is. They don't know what they want to be, you do. Perhaps there was a time when they did; when they really did stand for what they believed in. But now? Idealism isn't the currency of the realm anymore."

"Currency is the currency of the realm," Phasma replied, the ghost of a smile passing her lips, "I didn't take you for someone with those sort of principles."

"I'm not really that principled, Phasma," Sydow shrugged, "I just see your lot as a solution to a great deal of problems."

"You mean when we win this war?"

That made him laugh, "Don't be stupid, Phasma. I know you're not. Your lot cannot win this war, it's just mathematically impossible. But you don't have to win to fix the galaxy's woes."

"Are you going to relate the galaxy to a pond, by chance?"

"I see you've heard the analogy before."

"I have," she said with a voice that trailed the edges of a soft whisper, "a pond that's still will accumulate muck and scum. Throw a pebble in it though, and watch the ripples tear them away. I'm not sure that's how things work though."

"It will in this case. Nothing stirs nationalism like war, and when they can't clobber you, they'll clobber those they can."

"Zhan and the Hutts, you mean?"

An arctic smile crossed his face in that moment, "Zhan and Zorba are living on borrowed time and they know it. Oh, they'll try to stop what's coming, try to stab them in the back while you hold the New Republic by the throat. They'll bleed, but they won't die, and their vengeance will end them once and for all."

"Hmm," she smiled slightly at that, "a mathematical improbability, some might call it."

"But not an impossibility," he gestured a glass to her, but she shook her head again. "You are quite stubborn, you know that?"

"As many keep reminding me," she shrugged, "I suppose it's what's got me here. Not wanting to give up."

"On things, or people?"

She looked at him for a moment, asking, "Why not both?"

"Well, things are unchanging, so I'll give you that. But people? Well, people change everyday, and sometimes you can't make them change back. Not even if it's one of your own troopers."

Her eyes flashed with an emotion he couldn't quite identify, but they eventually settled on cold regimen, "My orders are to retrieve the data stolen from Jakku, captain. Nothing more."

He leaned in close, grinning as he did, "And we both know that's only a half-truth, captain. I also know that the good admiral sent you here because he doesn't trust Lord Kylo. So is it too much of a stretch to assume you have your own motivations while you're out here?"

"I suppose not."

"You do know the First Order's regulation regarding traitors?"

"FN-2187 is not a traitor," she said bluntly, her eyes flashing dangerously.

"Well," he shrugged, "according to your superiors, he is."

"Well, they didn't happen to have trained him, now have they? Raised him? I know him better than they do, and maybe even better than he does himself."

"He's just one trooper, Phasma."

"Would you say the same for your crew?"

"That's fair, I suppose. The thing is, none of them have ever betrayed me."

"As I said, FN-2187 isn't a traitor. Yes, he was manipulated and used against us, but he has never taken lethal force against his brethren. You've no doubt seen the security footage and cam records from the troopers engaging him."

"I have, Phasma, but that's the problem. While he hasn't betrayed his brethren but he certainly has betrayed his government."

"They are one and the same."

"Are they?" he asked. She didn't answer, and he just shook his head, "I understand that you want to protect your troopers. Believe me, I do. I'd willingly do the same for one of me lads. But this man made his choice, and there's nothing you can do that will change that."

"I don't believe that, Sydow. What I do believe that FN-2187 is lost, confused. Any fault he has rests on me."

"You?"

She shook her head, "I should have recognized what the death of his men would do to him. I should've had him transferred out the moment we got back to the ship. I should've helped him more than I did."

Sydow nodded slowly, a revelation confirmed. "Are you talking about Eighty-Seven or Cardinal, Phasma?"

"Both," she replied.

Sydow sighed, "You can't let what could have been blind you to what is. It will only cause you even more pain, and in my case, it stranded me in the vacuum. I was so obsessed with trying to fix things between me and Han that I damn near killed the woman he loved. A woman who actually gave a damn about him. But I was blind, and I fear that is what you are becoming now."

"I… I appreciate the sentiment, captain, but I will not give up my troopers. I can't. I won't lose more of my tribe to this… madness."

"Madness, captain?" Sydow shook his head, "There are many words I could use to describe Captain Cardinal, but madness isn't one of them. But certainty, is."

"Only a fool is certain, captain."

"And was he a fool, captain?"

"No," she whispered, closing her eyes as she did, "he was anything but. He was… everything to me. Everything I wanted to be. Strong, loyal, courageous. Even damn heroic. He was the Hero of the First Order, a true believer in what we stood for. But I suppose that was problem."

Sydow remained silent, nodding as she continued, "He was too damn loyal. Believed so much in the promise of the Empire Reborn that he was willing to do anything for it. And so cowardly men manipulated him, turning him from the hero to an arch-traitor… and I could have stopped it."

"Phasma," Sydow interrupted, "that man made his choice, based on his own goal and morals. You can't take away his agency, that's the point of being sentient. And when a man is willing to kill his own, then there is no going back. There is nothing you could have done or said that would've changed that."

"Maybe you're right," she nodded, "but I suppose that's the difference between them. FN-2187 hasn't killed, and won't kill his own. He isn't gone yet, and I'm going to bring him home."

"Even against orders?"

"Orders be damned," she said with a certainty that suddenly made him grin.

"What?" she asked, suddenly becoming cross.

"Oh, nothing," he chuckled, "you just put together the puzzle, that's all."

"Oh," she smiled slyly, "you've figured me out, haven't you?"

"Not quite, but that wasn't the puzzle I was referring to."

"Then what is?"

"Oh," he shrugged his shoulders, "y'know, why I'm attracted to you."

Phasma's face blushed like a rose in that moment, and by the look of her face, he knew her heart skipped a moment, "W-what?"

"I know, it's strange.' he grinned toothily, "caught me off guard, too. But I think I know why now."

"I… I," she suddenly became out of breath, shaking her head, "I could use that drink now."

Sydow acquiesced, handing the bottle to her and a glass. She downed it in one go.

"Whoa easy," he chuckled, "that's vintage, lass. You're suppose to take it slow."

"I know," she panted, absolutely flustered. It took her a long moment to regain her composure, and when she did, she sighed like the grave, "It is never going to happen, Sydow."

Surprisingly Sydow just shrugged in acknowledgment, "I figured, what with the rumors and all."

That caught her attention "What rumors?"

"Oh, y'know, that you like to spar a lot with troopers of the fairer sex."

There was indignation in her eyes as they narrowed, "Where and who did these rumors come from?"

"Why do you want to know?" Sydow grinned.

"So I can silence them with a blaster," Phasma replied with a subdued fury.

"You'll have to ask around the ship, I can't quite remember."

"If I do that, I'll be perpetuating the ru-" she stopped upon seeing the smirk cracking his face, "You're just messing with me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Sydow laughed, "you are so easy to prod."

"You cheeky bastard," she laughed, "you almost had me."

"Don't worry, you're not the worst or first. I actually pulled it on Hux's son once. He fell for it completely."

That made her laugh like she never had before. After a moment, she sighed again, "How long have you've been… well, attracted to me?"

"Always," Sydow grinned, "couldn't quite understand why until today."

"I um, I'm flattered. But don't get your hopes up, Sydow."

"I'm a perfectly patient man, Phasma, and I've still got another lifetime to go. So, I can afford to wait."

"You might be waiting a long time, then."

"We'll see. Now, pour yourself another one, and let's enjoy the sunrise, shall we?"

Update from the Authors

Hey folks, this is JSailer and Squasher. Alright something strange happened during this update. According to our schedule, today was the day that Chapter 32 was to be uploaded, but for whatever reason this chapter wasn't uploaded when it was supposed to be (and the file was on the site, so I know I uploaded it.) So because of this, we're going to upload both Chapter 31 and 32 to make up for this conundrum. We hope you enjoy.