Author's Note: According to Wookapedia, The Great Purge of Mandalore it is somewhere between 1 BBY and 9 ABY. From what I read, I think the Night of a Thousand Tears takes place between 2 ABY and 5 ABY. For this story I am going to ignore all of that and we are going to pretend that it takes place alongside order 66. For additional reference; order 66 happened in 19 BBY, Cal Kestis and Shiribe Sossauc were born around 32 BBY, the first game takes place in 14 BBY, and this story takes place in 13 BBY. Both characters are 18, Cal is a young 18 since he is 18 in the first game.
Cal sits in a packed train car on his way home from the shipyard. It's been a long day and Cal is particularly on edge. More Stormtroopers have been hanging around the common areas of Bracca lately. Cal has been trying to avoid them by going straight home everyday. But still he sees them walk along the length of the train and sometimes even at the wreck yard talking with the supervisors. Usually he sees them from the corner of his eyes, but today one snuck up on him. He had to suppress his surprise and work to avert his gaze. Luckily this one hadn't stopped him for questioning before he stepped onto the train. His heart is only now starting to slow back down to its usual pace.
He keeps his eyes on the new girl sitting across from him, trying not to be obvious. He's been avoiding her, much like he does with most new faces. But many things about her set off alarm bells for him. He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as much as possible. Blurry through his eyelashes, he takes her in. Light brown hair tied back in a non elaborate style. Large hazel green eyes full and alert. Tight dark pants and a baggy dark orange shirt half tucked in. She has two tool belts, one along the beltline and another crossing her torso. Her tools are usual for the trade. Her high brown boots are typical as well.
With Stormtroopers come spies. Really, the spies come without the Stormtroopers. When the scraps you work for become less and less valuable everyday, the imperial bounties make everyone a spy. The bounty on his head would make any mouth water.
Cal hardly has any trust for the people he has seen for years, but this girl is particularly suspicious. First off, she's new. Arriving about a month before the extra surveillance. Secondly, she's a woman. Cal doesn't see women everyday, and the ones he does usually look very different from her. The ones that look similar are rarely alone and aren't usually workers. But Cal has watched this woman get her hands dirty on the yard. She seems skilled and dexterous like him, though she gets winded when he does not. Unlikely to be an Inquisitor then, he decides. But still, he needs to keep an eye on her.
She stands from her seat and moves to him. Another worker quickly takes her place. She plasters a smile on her face and bends down to speak to Cal. A chill runs through his spine.
"I'm Shiribe Sossauc," she holds out her hand to him.
He takes it, her grip is strong. "Cal," he says, answering her unasked question. She must have noticed him looking. Cal decides that can't be a good sign.
"How long have you been on Bracca?" she asks, squeezing herself in the seat beside him. She turns her body, taking up more space.
Is she trying to intimidate him? "A few years," he tells her. Polite vagueness is a useful tool here. "What about you?" he asks. "I don't think I've seen you for longer than a couple months." He tries to keep a calm friendly voice. He isn't used to friendly chatter, it's normal for people to keep to themselves on Bracca. Attention is the enemy, not only for him.
"About that long," she confirms, her eyes scanning him in an obvious manner.
She's definitely trying to intimidate him. But what is the right move here? He has to play it cool. She doesn't know he has anything to hide. She can't know about him, she's just trying to psych him out. If he can convince her he's just a regular person then she'll move on just like any other Stormtrooper from before.
His pause is too long, he knows it. He tries to recover. "What brings you to Bracca?" he asks. The frown that draws itself on her face reminds him of something. People here don't talk about why they are here. Even the Stormtroopers avoid that question during their short interrogations on the street.
"Needed work," she tells him curtly. There is a sharpness to her voice that is hard to hide now.
"Same," he says before she can return the question. "My stop is coming up," he stands and moves to another car, trying hard to appear casual. He feels her eyes on him as he disappears through the door. He winces, knowing he wasn't smooth.
The next stop comes fast enough. He gets off and walks forward until he hears the familiar sound of the train whipping past the station. He turns and walks back to the platform. He'll be home late at this point.
The sun finishes its descent, marking the start of twilight. Cal keeps his gaze trained to where a door will eventually stop. He tries to avoid the notice of the few Stormtroopers standing around. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
A train whooshes past, slowing until it finally stops. Cal finds a seat, thankful this car is far less crowded than the previous train. Relief washes over him. Soon he can fall asleep on his small thin cot in his small simple apartment. He's exhausted enough he may just fall into a deep dreamless sleep. It's all he can hope for. His only joy has been the absence of terror lately.
Dusk sets in as he climbs the rickety metal stairs. The cold night air draws a chill from him.
He opens the door. Something in the dark room stirs. He turns on the light.
Shiribe leans against the small counter of the kitchenette, a blaster trained on Cal. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, and raising his hands up. "Who are you really?" Shiribe asks, her voice thick with malice.
"You don't want to do this," Cal tells her, his fingers almost twitching for the fight. His anger and animosity bubble up in him. She won't turn him in without a struggle. He can feel the weight of his lightsaber pressed into his skin, itching for his hands.
She takes a step forward. "I won't ask again," she warns. He can tell she is serious. He takes a deep breath, his eyes trained purposefully on the blaster. He watches her finger twitch near the trigger.
He force pulls her blaster into his hand. She doesn't hesitate. She closes the distance with a fearsome leap and pushes him to the ground. She straddles him and presses a thick hunting knife against his throat.
He can feel the sharpness of the blade, pulling him from his distraction. The moment he touched the blaster, an echo flooded his mind. He saw her throwing all her belongings into a deep pit. Everything but the clothes on her back, the credits in her pocket, and the nondescript blaster tucked in the same place he keeps his lightsaber. She removed her armor, tossing it in piece by piece. Her helmet was last, revealing her much younger face. Her tears refused to spill from her eyes. "Mandalorian," he breathes out.
He feels her cut into his skin. "Inquisitor!" she accuses, spitting the word out like a curse. She leans forward, the anger and disgust so clear on her face.
"I'm not!" he cries out, tossing the blaster away from him. "I'm not an Inquisitor. I can prove it!" the words rush out of him. He feels the pressure on his skin lessen, but the murder in her eyes is unchanged. "My lightsaber is under my clothes. It's on my lower back." He lifts up and she snakes her free hand behind him. Her fingers graze below his shirt until they clasp onto the hard metal of his weapon. "If I was an Inquisitor…" he starts.
"The blade would be red," she finishes, lifting the lightsaber. She activates it. "But it's blue." She removes the blade from his neck, but still holds it strong in her hand. She stands and takes a few steps back, sitting down on his bed. The small cot the only place to sit beside the floor. "You're too young to be a Master," she points out. "So you were a Padawan before?"
Cal nods, sitting up and rubbing his neck. "And you were an apprentice," he states. He looks at the blood on his fingers, his brows knitting together.
"How did you know I'm Mandalorian?" She asks, the malice dropped from her voice.
"It's a force ability," he answers. "Sometimes when I touch an object, I learn something about a person that touched it before. It's like an echo someone left behind. When I touched your blaster I saw you in your armor." Cal chooses to be vague, she doesn't need to know he saw such a moment. He watches her nod slowly, her shoulders relaxing.
She stands, putting her knife in its sheath and leaving the lightsaber on the bed. He watches her walk over to the blaster. He feels nervous watching her pick it up. She hides it in her clothes and moves over to the door.
"Today was a long day," she sighs, her eyes shutting hard for the duration. "I'm tired," she walks out. Cal watches the closed door from the floor for a long time. Sleep comes slow to him tonight.
Shiribe's mind is racing by the time she reaches her own apartment. If he was an Inquisitor or any other spy for that matter, she would have never made it to the train station. Her fingers shake as she types in the keycode to unlock the door.
Her apartment is much like his. A narrow hallway with the door to a minuscule refresher directly on the right side. Lining the far wall is a kitchenette, which is mainly a counter, a sink barely large enough to wash a dish, and a mini fridge underneath another counter. The cabinet beneath the first counter is among the only storage.
Lining the left wall is a small cot, which she plops onto after stripping down to her underwear. She decides that she'll shower in the morning. Her skin feels gross from the day, but her legs aren't willing to stand for another moment. She buries her face into her thin pillow, her arms resting beneath it.
Her thoughts race, she almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. She wanted to confirm what Cal was. Seeing him in the wreck yard, shooting her suspicious looks, she had paid attention to him. He was stronger and more agile than the others. The way he could free climb with such skill and endurance was inhuman. Over the last two months she had convinced herself that he must be a low ranking Inquisitor spy, for what purpose she didn't have a clue. But his suspicious watch was unnerving, and the skill at which he tried to hide his gaze was concerning.
The train ride had been the last straw. He seemed like he was sizing her up, and his focus told her that he knew something. His avoidance was also suspicious. She was able to eliminate the option that he was simply nervous around women during the chat. He was far too avoidant for that simple explanation. Something screamed danger about him.
So she followed him. If he was simply an everyday spy then she was only going to intimidate him with her blaster. If he was more as she suspected, she was going to fight. She was going to give her all, a form of revenge for all these years. Either way, she would have to leave Bracca. For now she can stay. It really isn't a bad place to hide, as long as she can keep her head down.
The familiar feeling of shame sinks into her stomach. He had called her what she was, Mandalorian. A real Mandalorian would have never stopped fighting. They would have never abandoned their beskar to hide in shameless submission as she has. Real Mandalorians are not so weak. Her own weakness has known no bounds.
Eventually, as the morning light paints the sky with vivid colors, Shiribe forces her mind slowed and she falls asleep.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading. I really appreciate all feedback that I receive, I really want to become a better writer and I have been challenging myself a lot lately. Please don't hesitate to give me feedback, even if it's negative.