The Handmaiden's Apartment, Downtown Keldabe
Tamai braced herself and rapped her armored knuckles against the door. Knock, knock, knock.
Nothing but silence greeted her for a pause long enough that she debated the wisdom of announcing herself again. But just as she was raising her hand again she heard muffled voices from the other side of the door. There was a clattering of something heavy and the voices grew more insistent.
Tamai's lips pursed. The Handmaiden was a coarse pill to swallow even on the best of days. If she'd been interrupted with company over — negotiating a mercenary contract or catching up with whoever an Echani considered friends — she'd be in an even worse mood.
But when the door eventually opened, she wasn't confronted by a grizzled merc captain or white-haired Echani. It was a flustered-looking young Mandalorian woman. Her flight suit was wrinkled, her short-cropped blond hair disheveled, and her armor plates bundled up in her looped arms. Her helmet was clipped backwards to her belt and the ties of her cetar boots trailed, unlaced, behind her.
Tamai barely had time to think, You're not the Handmaiden, before the woman threw her a tight, awkward smile and pushed past, her head low and pace brisk. Tamai raised an eyebrow as she watched the woman make a beeline for the exit stairs. Then a familiar voice called her back to the matter at hand.
"Enter, if you must."
She slowly moved into the room. The Handmaiden's living quarters were sparse to the point of neglect - unsurprising given the asceticism of the woman who called the place home. The flooring was rough, bare wood, the walls a uniform off-white, and she saw no furniture to speak of save for a single small table with two rickety-looking chairs. A dark doorway past the table led to a separate room no doubt equally devoid of adornment. There were no decorations on the walls, no rugs on the frigid floor, and really no sign that anyone lived there at all. If she hadn't witnessed it herself and heard Les' voice from within, she'd have thought the place vacant.
"I, uh…" Tamai glanced over her shoulder as if half-expecting the door to swing shut of its own accord and trap her in this strange place. "I sent you a message that I was on my way. Didn't know if you got it, but it was important."
"So you claimed," came the response from the dimly lit doorway. A soft patter of bare feet on hardwood murmured from within. "I had supposed my silence would be answer enough. It appears I was mistaken."
"I'm sorry if I was, uh, interrupting—"
"Do not apologize for that which cannot be undone," the Handmaiden cut in. The words themselves were harsh, but the tone in which they were spoken remained calm. "We must bear cost of even our mundane actions, and doubting their course only encourages future indecision."
"Right…" Tamai shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "So, like I said in my message—"
Tamai choked on her next words when the Handmaiden appeared from the doorway with a bundle of pale clothing tucked beneath one arm. The white-haired woman was stark naked, padding across the floor in her bare feet with no apparent care in the universe. She placed the clothes on the lonely table and began unfolding them with care.
The young woman at the door suddenly made much more sense now; her disarrayed and embarrassed demeanor, the way she awkwardly refused to meet Tamai's gaze as she shuffled down the corridor with the remnants of her armor spilling out from her arms like a load of wet laundry. Tamai had both seen and herself endured the mortifying Trikar'la-Etyc Kemir, the Walk of Shame, enough times to recognize it when she saw it.
"Oh. Uh, sorry if I, um..." Tamai suddenly found herself at a loss for words. Recalling Les' earlier command not to apologize (and how much the Echani despised repeating herself), she instead rubbed at the back of her neck and muttered, "Well, I clearly interrupted you during, uh… stuff. I didn't mean to."
"Your timing was inelegant, I will grant you. But I appreciate your lack of intention to cause disruption," the Handmaiden said, looking far more interested in the gear laid out in front of her. "Ignorance is far easier a flaw to forgive than intentional obduracy."
"Right." Part of Tamai considered asking what obduracy meant but felt it better to let it go. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "The girl at the door seemed… nice…"
"I suppose that is so."
"Are you two together or something?" Tamai felt it important to quickly add, "I-I just heard you weren't into Mandalorians. Like, at all."
"I am not. She was simply fulfilling a need. Had you not intervened, I would have returned the favor."
The Handmaiden looked up then, her beryl-blue eyes studying Tamai's obvious embarrassment. A single dark eyebrow, starkly contrasting her bleached hair, raised in query. "Would you be blushing as deeply had you caught me enjoying a meal? Or perhaps while meditating?"
"I don't think so?"
"Then treat this as no more or less important. We all have our needs that must be seen to. There is no shame in maintaining the health and well-being of the physical and mental self. Cultural differences aside, Rico was willing to assist me in that endeavor. In approximately two weeks' time, she will likely do so again."
"Vhetin mentioned you were, ah… not a shy one," Tamai said with an uneasy half-smile. "Do you at least want me to close the door so your neighbors don't peek while you're getting dressed?"
Irritation finally showed on the Handmaiden's features now and she sighed as she set out her leather-bound gauntlets on the table. "You foreigners and your modesty. Is it such a crime for me to be uncovered in my own home?"
"I-I guess not, but—"
"Your lover, Vhetin, had similar reservations when we first began training together. It seems I must give you the same speech." The Handmaiden rested her hands on her hips, putting quite a bit of that uncovered on proud display.
Tamai, despite her best efforts, couldn't help but admire the Echani woman's sleek form as the sun filtered in and dappled her body with spots of warmth. The Handmaiden was a stunning mixture of woman's beauty and warrior's brawn — in perfect harmony as she was so fond of saying — and Tamai found herself a little envious.
While it was, of course, different for each individual, Mandalorian women were usually not so supple in their build. A lifetime of labor on the battlefield in heavy beskar armor tended to leave huntresses with a predominantly athletic build: wider shoulders, smaller breasts, and thinner hips. Most Mandos didn't place much stock in appearances alone, but Tamai occasionally found herself a little self-conscious when she compared her toned bulk to the thin, voluptuous standards of aruetiise. She was feeling that little self-conscious now.
The Handmaiden, with ever the watchful eye, quickly picked up on her discomfort, though she misjudged the cause as her still far-too-naked form. She folded her arms with an air of bored resignation and said, "The body is nothing more than a tool, Ranger Vasser, to be maintained and utilized as any other. This peculiar concern you foreigners have with hiding it away at all times and from all onlookers is strange to me. It is meat and bone, nothing more, and is no source of shame unless one does not properly care for it. I am no such individual."
"Clearly."
"If you are so squeamish, you have my leave to turn your back. I would not take it as insult." The Handmaiden shot her a rare smirk before returning to her assembled kit.
Tamai had the feeling that this, like so many other interactions with this strange woman, was a test: of her fortitude, her moral compass, or her openness to new ideas, she didn't know which. But she knew the Handmaiden was fiercely observant, always using her sharp intellect and sharper senses to gauge the merit of those around her. Many Mandalorians had failed to meet her high expectations.
Tamai had no intention of joining the list of failures, so she folded her arms and raised an eyebrow in challenge. In any other situation, her refusal to grant the woman her privacy would be considered dishonorable, disrespectful, and downright crass. But she had the feeling such social standards had no place here, so she stood her ground and waited for a response.
If her actions had any effect, the Handmaiden didn't show it outwardly. She instead returned to the perusal of her armor, lifting each piece and inspecting it individually. Pale Echani eyes took in every tiniest detail.
"So what brings you so far from your usual hunting grounds?" she finally inquired. She licked her thumb and swabbed away a dust stain on the heel of one shoe. "To hear your other half tell of it, you have barely left the city barracks for enough time to use the refresher."
"Cin is dramatic." Tamai ran a hand through her hair, relieved to finally be back to business. "But not far off the mark. Training has been taking up a lot of my time."
"Yet here you are," the white-haired woman said with an air of dry amusement, "standing in my doorway and staring at my chest."
Damn her eagle vision. Tamai flushed. And damn me while we're at it.
But, thank te Manda, the Echani was finally pulling on her underclothes, carefree as ever about her lack of modesty and her visitor's off-red, embarrassed hue. She turned her back to Tamai andpu on her form-fitting white body glove, blaster-resistant and as immaculately clean as the rest of her gear.
"I presume," she said as she leisurely dressed, "you are not here for a social visit. And if what you say of your training is true, you are likely here on behalf of your Rangers. Since you are approaching me rather than your cultural brethren, I take it to be a delicate matter indeed."
"Sharp as ever," Tamai noted. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, but—"
"Then I shall spare you from making such an unpleasant request." The Handmaiden pulled her thick jerkin over her head, adjusted the lowered hood, and straightened her shoulder-length shock of bleached-pale hair. "I refuse."
Tamai blinked. "What?"
"You have entered my home absent my permission, disrupted my sexual activities with my companion Rico, and have now requested my assistance in a matter not mine." The Handmaiden turned again and fixed Tamai with a skeptical stare. "I believe my graciousness as hostess has reached its limit."
Tamai moved to protest, then stopped short. Once again the Echani's words were admonishing, yet her tone carried only a gentle, teasing sternness.
This was another test.
So Tamai didn't back down. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and said, "What's your price?"
"Excuse me?" For the first time since this bizzare exchange had begun, the Handmaiden looked surprised.
"I know better than to ask you for help gratis," Tamai said. "So if I can't rely on your generosity, I'll pay for your services."
"A mercenary to the core." The Handmaiden eyed her with newfound curiosity. "How predictable."
"So," Tamai repeated, "name your price."
The Handmaiden paced across her side of the table with the slow grace of a dancer. Her still-bare feet padded almost silently across the cold duracrete floor, and she tapped her chin with a single thin finger.
"I may have something suitable. If you are truly so desperate for assistance."
"And what did you have in mind?" Tamai's tone was wary. The other woman was a little too eager to jump at this new proposition.
"Nothing too tawdry, do not worry yourself." The Echani slipped on her soft-soled shoes and knelt to lace them up. "I have an errand to attend to. One that could use an extra pair of eyes on my side. If you were to accompany me, It could defuse an otherwise… problematic situation."
"All right. I'll help you with this errand, and then you'll help me with mine."
"Outstanding." The Handmaiden scooped up her utility belt and her quarterstaff from the table and slung both across her hips. "If your word is true, then follow close and do not waver."
Tamai sighed. "You're the boss."
Downtown Keldabe
Tamai shouldered her way past a cluster of squabbling Twi'lek traders and a stormtrooper patrol that had stopped them. The Handmaiden seemed to glide ahead of her like a ghost through the press of armored Mandalorians and unarmored travelers. Her fluid, leisurely pace spoke to years of experience managing crowds like this - not surprising given her experience as an underworld assassin.
Tamai was not so blessed, clad as she was in her heavy battle plate and with her jetpack strapped to her shoulders. She was hard-pressed to keep her companion in sight, even with her helmet's HUD monitoring the midday horde and analyzing the most effective path through.
A break came at a street corner, where the crowd came to a halt to let speeder traffic pass. A pair of lanky Trandoshan hunters paced along the curb with muttered snarls, glaring at a pair of bickering Mandalorians - a wide-eyed Rodian and a long-snouted Kubaz hunter - trading high-pitched barbs at each other. A single silent Ubese mercenary leaned against a nearby illuminator post, tapping the blade of his vibro-spear against the battered durasteel of his shoulder plate. A blubbery Hutt wormed its way down the street, tiny arms laden with all manner of sweets and wriggling delights fresh from the markets. Most of those nearest to its slimy bulk backed away with revulsion.
Tamai finally drew even with the Handmaiden, a little winded from the exertion of muscling her way to the front. The Handmaiden was as serene as ever. Even amidst the madness of downtown Keldabe at lunchtime, she raked her eyes over the environment to take in every detail presented to her. Tamai could practically see the other woman's mind at work, dilligently filing away that avalanche of information for whatever later use presented itself.
"So let me get this straight," Tamai began, resting her hands on her hips and happy for the chance to catch her breath. "You, a Mando-loathing Echani assassin, want me, a lifelong Mando loyalist, to play your bodyguard for a routine social call?"
"You say that as if it is strange."
"It kind of is. I mean, you're the first to state that you can take care of yourself. Why do you need me?"
"In situations such as mine," the Handmaiden said evenly, "it never hurts to have a few extra blades at the ready. Between the two of us, I believe we have more than enough for my purposes."
"For a social call."
She nodded, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Indeed."
Tamai let out a long breath. "With friends like these..."
The Handmaiden finally looked at her and smiled - a dangerous, knowing smile that Tamai didn't like in the slightest.
It took some time to pass the busy intersection, especially when the Hutt wormed its way onto the street and elicited a chorus of indignant shouts and honking at his slow progress. Tamai tuned out the now-familiar city noises and concentrated on the task at hand. She had bigger problems facing her down than a blubbery Hutt.
"So who are we visiting and what kind of reception should we expect?"
"A decidedly unfriendly one. Five targets, all armed and armored."
"That's a little hefty."
The Handmaiden shrugged. "To be expected when dealing with Mandalorians."
That definitely sent red flags flying. Tamai narrowed her eyes at her companion as they walked.
"This isn't one of your assassination contracts, right?"
"It is a personal matter," the Echani replied. "Though I would not be surprised if someone were to die before sunfall."
"Lovely." Tamai rolled her eyes.
It took a few more minutes of winding through crooked city streets and dark, decaying alleyways before they reached their destination: a dirty warehouse with a partially caved-in roof. A pair of Mandos in aquamarine armor patrolled the street outside. Both hefted sinister-looking repeating blasters and looked more than willing to use them.
The Handmaiden lowered herself into a cautious crouch, tucking herself behind a waste container and staring out with narrowed eyes. Tamai had a much trickier time keeping to the shadows in her bulky beskar'gam. She pressed her back to an alley wall that was slimy with condensation and her boot landed in a pool of off-color fluid that, theoretically, could have once been water.
"What's the plan?" she hissed. "I take it we're going through these guys, not around them."
"Perceptive," the Handmaiden said. She pointed to a tiny window in the warehouse wall, about three meters up. "I will infiltrate there. I will need you to distract the sentinels."
"Extreme prejudice?" Tamai didn't care what she needed from the foreigner, she wasn't about to violate the Codex by gunning men down on the street.
"Use your judgment."
Tamai was about to say more, but the white-clad woman was gone before another word could be said.
Kriff her, Tamai thought before she jumped into action as well. She removed her helmet and clipped it to her belt, concealing the distinctive (and identifiable) triple-thunderbolt emblazoned across the forehead. She roughed up her hair, sucked a deep breath, then lurched into the street.
"'At bash... bashterd!" She stumbled into and knocked over a nearby waste processor, dumping its foul-smelling contents into the street and earning herself an irate squeal from the floating cleanup droid that had been emptying it.
"Outta my face, ya lil clanker sonofa-" Her fist swung for the bobbing little pipsqueak and missed by quite the margin. She made a show of tripping over her boots and almost sprawled onto the dirty cobblestones.
Her ruse was working; Keldabe was notoriously filled to bursting with booze and boozers. One more drunk in the mix was no more interesting than an extra gutter rodent darting through the alleyways. With this in mind, Tamai managed to creep much closer to the blue-armored guards than if she had just walked right up to their doorstep.
Their stance remained casually bored, but she could tell they were watching her. Their balance subtly shifted to keep her in their line of fire, and their grips tightened on their repeating blasters. She could just make out the motions of their jaws bobbing beneath the lip of their helmets - no doubt logging her disturbance with whoever was inside.
The Handmaiden capitalized on the distraction, slipping into the side yard and darting between durasteel storage crates - a flash of bone white in the shadows. She scaled a storage crate so effortlessly she may as well have flown to the top.
Tamai wandered up to the nearest blue-armored Mando just as Handmaiden scrambled up the sheer warehouse wall, grasped a protruding rain pipe, and swung herself inside. She disappeared into the darkness as silent as a Felucian spore panther on the prowl.
Tamai slumped into the arms of the nearest guard, prompting him to lower his weapon to catch her. The weight of a limp-as-a-fish woman in full battle gear dragged him off his balance, just as intended.
"That... 'at bashterd!" she shouted again, wriggling with every word. "That n'good, lousy, curd stealin' nurf hurder!"
She grabbed the Mando's collar and yelled right into his faceplate. "You 'ave any -hic- any idea the credish 'at bashterd swindled me outta?! The goddamn schlummie!"
The Mando holding her seemed utterly befuddled, as if a particularly uninteresting piece of graffiti had sprung to life and attacked him. He looked helplessly to his patrol buddy, who just shrugged with a chuckle and waved off the interaction.
At least until the inside of the warehouse lit with crimson and erupted with the sharp twang of discharging blasters.
All right, Tamai thought. I guess playtime is over.
With a sharp yank, she ripped her Mando's helmet free. She got a glimpse of a pale face peppered with graying stubble before she reversed her grip and whipped the beskar dome across his forehead. He dropped as quick as a clone-caught Jedi.
His companion shouted and moved to raise his repeater. Too late: Tamai leveled a clenched fist and fired off a spool of whipcord line. Its magnetic smart-dart wound itself tight around the repeater's barrel and Tamai yanked hard, wrenching it from the man's grasp.
She couldn't give him the time to recover. Tucking her head low, she charged and caught him around the middle with a classic meshgeroya tackle that carried them both to the ground. The blue-plated guard quickly regained his senses and, being larger and stronger than his assailant, reversed their positions with ease. He pinned Tamai to the ground with the weight of his body bearing down and his fists wrapped around her throat.
But Tamai had one last trick up her sleeve - literally. She flicked her wrists, triggering the hidden arc capacitors set into her vambraces, then jabbed both fists into the burly Mando's neck. The conductors carried the charge straight into his kit's weakest spot. Energy snapped and a sudden pop of sparks lit the air with a flash of blue-white. The Mando stiffened, twitching for a moment, then collapsed on top of her with a gurgle.
Tamai huffed and squirmed out from under the man, patting his helmet dome in mock-affection and muttering, "Sleep tight, asshole."
It did not escape her notice, however, that the only real asshole here was her. Sure the duo looked dodgy as kriff, but she had started the fight unprovoked.
Not even unprovoked, she thought as she hurried to the warehouse door. Because the Echani asked me to.
The thought was far from comforting as she pushed through the warehouse's main doors.
One step in and she stopped short. After the dissonant report of blaster shots from within, Tamai was expecting a battlefield. The shots had died down, but she still expected to find signs of ongoing struggle: carbon scoring, smoldering clouds of ion burn, and flashing bolts of plasma.
There was a fight to be had, for sure. Even as Tamai emerged into the main warehouse atrium, she easily picked out the Handmaiden's garb as the pale woman whirled in a spinning double-kick that knocked two separate Mandos flat onto their backs. She landed in a crouch.
A third fighter siezed her from behind before she could recover, pinning her arms and immobilizing her. She strained to free herself, but the momentary lull allowed the first two combatants to clamber back to their feet. One thrust his fist hard into the Echani's gut and all the air fled her lungs in a hoarse whuff. The second hit her in the face and her head snapped back so hard her hood flew down.
Tamai balled up her fists and moved to help her companion. But like her own earlier duel, the Handmaiden was not yet helpless. She had barely taken a single step forward when a loud SNAP sliced through the warehouse and the world blazed with light. Tamai staggered back blind and deaf to the world. Something cold and thick and wet peppered her face and overwhelmed her stunted senses with the taste and aroma of stinging mint.
It took a long time for her eyes to clear and even by then her ears still hummed. She squinted through the haze to see one of the Mandos face-down and helmetless in a thick film of off-white foam. Tamai herself was splattered with the stuff. Wherever it touched bare skin it chilled like fresh ice.
Sensory Overload Foam. Tamai spat the minty fluff from her mouth and wiped the gunk from her face as she reclaimed her bearings. It's been a long time since I've been slimed by an S.O.F. bomb.
The Handmaiden was still fending off the final two Mandos, who had also been bogged down by foam. The Echani was being pushed into a fighting retreat but made her opponents work for every step of lost ground. Both Mandos had been largely disarmed, but their armor systems still made them dangerous. One warrior punched a fist forward and launched a hissing whipcord line that ensnared her ankles.
The Handmaiden tumbled with a sharp cry. Her two attackers pressed their advantage even as she writhed and struggled to disentangle herself.
Tamai saw her opening, dashing into the melee and scooping up a repulsor broom from its resting place against a half-empty scaffolding. She swung it like a bolo-ball bat at the nearest Mando's helmet. The blow landed so hard the broom bent over the back of the man's head. A thick layer of beskar shielded him from most of the trauma but it was still enough to distract him. He spun to face his new adversary but by then Tamai had him in a tight hold, ready to spill him onto the floor next to the Handmaiden. She pulled him up and over her shoulder with an almighty heave, then slammed him down into the unyielding duracrete. A jolt from her glove tasers put him out of commission like his friends and he flopped for a few moments before falling still. She turned back, panting hard, to assist the Handmaiden with the final opponent.
No need. The Handmaiden was back on her feet and well in control of the situation. The whipcord cable was double-looped tight around the last man's neck, one end still reeled into his own pinned gauntlet while the Handmaiden yanked the garotte tight. His helmet obscured his features, but from his choked sputtering Tamai was sure he was turning a dark shade of blueish-purple.
The Handmaiden's gloved hands trembled from something more than just adrenaline. Her lips moved as she snarled something into the man's audio receptors.
"-if you persist," she hissed as Tamai drew near, "I will return absent my Mandalorian companion. Unlike her, I am bound to no Codex prohibiting me from killing you all as slowly and brutally as I am capable."
She snapped the whipcord tighter to the choked dismay of her captive.
"And I assure you," she purred, "I am capable of a great deal."
The Mando muttered something along the lines of, "Kriff you, damn aruetii," but the Echani snapped her garotte even tighter and cut him off. He let out a quick, choppy squeak and stiffened, windpipe squeezed to the point of collapse.
"You will not see me," the Handmaiden whispered. "Your sensors will not detect me. Even your precious beskar armor will not protect you from me. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes."
Another tug on the garotte. "Swear it."
"I-I swear!"
The Handmaiden finally let the noose drop. The hostage Mando flopped forward, gasping for breath amid loud, hacking coughs. The Handmaiden scowled down at him.
"If you attempt to approach her again, I will know."
She brushed past him at that and marched through the sporadic sprays of white foam, past the limp forms of the other Mandos. She even stormed by Tamai with barely an acknowledgment besides a muttered, "Follow."
Tamai was about to say something when the Handmaiden cut her off with an abrupt hand gesture. "Spare me your questions. City Justicars will be arriving soon at my anonymous tip. We must be long gone before they arrive."
They hurried back outside, past the still unconscious guards in the courtyard, and ducked back into the city's dark, labyrinthine alleys. Sure enough, mere moments after reaching safety the synthetic wail of city law enforcement speeders echoed through the streets.
"That was fast," Tamai remarked.
"They are responding to my report," the Handmaiden said. "By the time our friends in the warehouse awaken, they will be safely held in the city lockup."
"Who were they? Clearly not friends."
Something crossed the Handmaiden's serenely focused features for the briefest moment. Discomfort? Embarrassment?
"It is not your concern."
"I think it is," Tamai pressed. "I was fighting those guys the same as you. I deserve to know what you've roped me into."
The Handmaiden came to a halt, pale eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, then fixed her stare at a vague point somewhere over Tamai's shoulder. A warm blush colored her pale cheeks. Then the words spilled out in a flurry, as if the Echani wanted to get this entire exchange over with as quickly as possible.
"Those men are criminals," she blurted. "Drug dealers who were threatening Rico."
Tamai stopped short. "Rico? As in-"
"Yes. The woman from this morning."
"I thought you said it wasn't serious?"
"I know what I said. But..." The Handmaiden blushed deeper and sighed explosively. "She mentioned she was being targeted by those men. They were attempting to lay claim to her home. To force her out so they could have a new den for their abhorrent trade."
"And you helped because... what? You were feeling generous?"
The Handmaiden's response was imperceptible. "Rico is... a kind soul. She deserved assistance, but was too meek to request it outright."
"Huh. And here I was starting to believe your invincible ice queen schtick." Tamai smirked. "I'm not surprised that-"
The Handmaiden erupted into a blur. Tamai was pinned against the alley wall before she could hope to react, held fast by the Echani's iron grip against her collar. Sky-blue eyes flared with a cold, seething rage.
"Your flippant tone irritates," she hissed through gritted teeth, "and offends. Rico has earned my affection through honesty of word and deed. Do not presume to mock me when you have yet to so much as pique my interest in your own undertaking."
Tamai raised her hands in surrender. "All right, all right. I was joking with you. Calm down."
The Handmaiden remained frozen in place as her eyes raked Tamai's. She was searching for something, the most minuscule sign of insincerity or manipulation, and Tamai squirmed beneath that piercing glare.
The assassin must not have found what she was looking for. She shoved away from her companion with a scoff and turned her back. Her shorter frame shook with suppressed tremors; Tamai's teasing had clearly hit a nerve.
"Look..." Tamai took a slow step forward. She reached out to touch the Echani's shoulder, then thought better of it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
The white-clad woman took in a deep breath and let it out in a long-lingering sigh. Her entire body suddenly relaxed.
"No," she murmured, "the fault is mine. It is not the Echani way to be so disarmed by simple ridicule. My lack of self-control was..."
She paused, hunting for the right word.
"Inappropriate."
She turned then, every motion once again transformed into that of the perfectly serene, perfectly disinterested warrior.
"You have assisted me in my request," she said with a slight bow of her head. She reached up and pulled her hood back into place, throwing her features into partial shadow. "As promised, I will aid you in yours."
She gestured further down the alley, back to the bustling walkways of downtown Keldabe, and sighed, "After you, Ranger."
The angular X-wing and its uglier cohorts swung low over the clearing and sent the trees into a frantic dance with the downdraft of rumbling engines. The trio of ships sunk to the ground to on their bulk down on thick landing struts that carved the earth beneath them. Steam jets burst from the ships' undercarriages and the onlookers flinched away as the vehicles finally came to rest.
Norac Benz scowled through the storm of repulsor discharge, long hair blown wild in the wind. His lips were pressed into a tight sneer while he and his fellows waited. His irritation was clear for the whole galaxy to see; it wasn't his job to play nursemaid for newcomers, especially when the gates of the city were literally just out of sight. This sneaking about was beneath him and the woman in that fancy X-wing knew it well. Part of him believed that was the point of all the theatrics in the first place.
A pair of red-armored shock troopers emerged first from the consort ships, guns drawn as they secured the area in advance of their master's arrival. They spared Benz and his followers little attention as they fanned out, checking behind trees and any other hiding places for potential threats. When they found nothing, they lowered their blasters and returned to flank either side of the fighter.
"We're secure," one of the troops radioed. A woman's voice by the sound of it. "Repeat, the LZ is secure."
Only then did the guest of honor deign to descend with the rest, swinging up and out of the black-orange X-wing. She didn't bother to use the access ladder on the ship's hull and instead landed hard on the ground with a grunt. When she straightened, she came swaggering through the coolant haze with the haughty air of a wannabe Darth Vader. Engine downdraft dragged at her cape and fanned it out around her with the regal magnificence of an ancient queen. She clutched a beskar spear with a relaxed yet battle-ready stance, the razor edge gliding through the knee-high grass around them.
Norac Benz bowed his head with a grimace. He didn't enjoy showing such deference in the face of another Mandalorian, all of whom were supposed to be equal in the eyes of their fellows. But this woman had earned some small modicum of his respect, grudging as it was, and he was never one to deny credit where it was due.
"Clanmaster Kelborn," he said. "Welcome to Keldabe."
She was just as he remembered her from their first meeting months ago: as cold, professional, and fiercely beautiful as any healthy warrior woman should be. Her eyes smoldered with the burn of inner fire and her arms and armor were expertly maintained. It was evident to all that she was a warrior well worth her weight on the battlefield, and a woman who deserved — no, demanded — to be taken seriously.
Sola'or Kelborn came to a halt before him. The butt-spike of her spear sank into the ground at her feet and she bowed her head as well, showing him the same courtesy he'd shown her. Her mask was clipped to her belt, cowl flung back over her shoulders so he could see the irritated expression etched into her face.
"Clanmaster Benz," she muttered. "It's an honor to meet again. Are you here to accompany my team?"
"They need me elsewhere in Keldabe," he reported. "I have my own mission to pursue, but my men will escort you to the city. From there, you can find all the assistance you need."
Kelborn's eyes narrowed a little, but she nodded once. "Fine. Then let's get this over with."
They set off toward the waiting speeders, flanked by their respective retinues of Berserkers and Kelborn shock troopers. Kelborn's keen eyes raked over the area, taking in every detail she could in the manner of a deployed soldier. Benz was well aware that she was a relative newcomer to the city, preferring to keep to her clan's ancient lands to the south. That didn't, however, mean she was in over her head; he got the feeling she could be dumped ass-first into the deepest garbage pit on Raxus Prime and still maintain that flawless warrior's calm.
"What's the state of the city?" Kelborn asked as they walked.
"Quiet," Benz grunted. "Calm. It's a sleepy weekend for most. Market Day was yesterday, so everyone's still recovering and catching up on their R-and-R while the quiet lasts. Perfect weather for some hunting."
"But also conspicuous. Chaos grants a certain level of obscurity, but a quiet city means our actions will be that much more obvious."
He shot her a sidelong glance. "You've spent much time in Keldabe?"
"Enough to know its dangers," she replied evenly. "Enough to know that this mission can't spill into the public eye. Not this time."
"Who are you bringing with you?" Benz said. "I'd send a detachment of my boys, but it looks like you have backup covered."
"Enough to avoid drawing attention. I have agents infiltrating the city as we speak, as subtly as possible. We Kelborns are a long way from home, and my presence this far north will draw unwanted attention before long. I intend to remain as discreet as possible for as long as possible."
"You talk as if Keldabe is enemy territory," Benz remarked.
"And you talk as if it isn't." She gestured with a flick of her head to the two warriors flanking her: one man and one woman at either of her shoulders. The man sported a jet-black half cloak, while the woman's armor was decorated with the segmented pteruges of an ancient battle kama. Both carried heavy machine rifles capable of punching a fist-sized hole through a man's torso.
Benz squirmed a little at the memory of his own battle wounds won not so long ago: two blaster bolts seared right through his chest, loosed upon him by a woman he'd thought a friend and sister. They still burned like fresh fire when he woke in the mornings, snatching the breath from his half-charred lungs, and the scars itched even now.
Stay focused, he chided himself. Remember, she's why we're doing this. To show her…
"What's our latest intel on the targets?" He was torn back to the present moment by Kelborn's quiet, even voice. He'd only hesitated for a heartbeat but Kelborn's gaze lingered on him, as if he'd neglected completely his role as liaison to this mission. By the Forgotten Gods, she didn't waste a second, did she?
"Torq Vindo and Talazar Cren." He recited the names from memory. "Supercommandos, bounty hunters, and apparently top-notch slicers. They have the data you're looking for."
"That we're looking for," she corrected. "The proceeds of this mission will benefit you as well."
He sniffed but didn't comment. Instead, he continued, "The two went to ground after Shysa declared them dar'manda. Smart; without the protection of citizenship, there's nothing stopping te Mand'alor from just sending the Protectors after their heads. Ba'slan shev'la means he'll have to go about it slower and quieter or risk letting everyone know just what they stole."
"And the forces the Mandalore has deployed? Who are we working against?"
"Dunno. No one from offworld and no one with a big enough name to come to our attention. Dear old Fenn must be playing this one close to the chest."
Sola sneered for real now. "It doesn't matter. I'll track down these dissidents before anyone else can."
"You seem confident."
"I am confident." Sola came to a halt, her spear striking the ground again with dangerous force. "You doubt me, Clanmaster?"
"No, I just meant—"
"Personnel extraction is nothing new to Kelborn troops. We may not be bounty hunters, Norac, but we've seen our fair share of combat zones. We've lived for generations on the edge of a frontier far more dangerous than this city. We've marched with the Protectors on every deployment since its inception. And we didn't retreat to the safety of the mountains to hide from the Clone Wars when the incoming fire grew too hot."
Norac bristled at the insinuation. How dare she think to flaunt her supposed superiority here, where she was just as much a foreigner as the aruetiise? How dare she judge his decisions, his dedication to keeping his people safe and secure while countless other brain-dead fools went off to fight for foreigners in a war not worth winning? How dare she—
But before he could fire off a retort, Sola's ire slackened in favor of quiet, almost sheepish calm. Her grip eased on her spear and she lowered her gaze the slightest bit.
"I'm sorry, Norac," she said. "That was uncalled for."
Benz glared at her for a moment, noting the sincerity in her gaze. Then he grunted. "Whatever. We're all chafing under Isabet's orders. I'll let it go."
They emerged from the copse of trees in time to see a trio of speeder bikes scream down the road toward the city. As the ensuing dust cloud cleared, they all could see the maze-like metropolis of shacks and tents erected around the outermost barrier wall of the city: the slums, where the poorest or the foreign set up camp, crowding close to the towering shelter of the fortress-town's defenses.
"The barrier walls are in shambles," Norac explained. He pointed to a gap in the outer wall, nearly a hundred meters across. "Have been for centuries, and Shysa doesn't have the money or the manpower to repair the sections that have been knocked down or just collapsed. The gaps are patrolled by city law enforcement and Imperial garrison troops, but neither should be much trouble to outmaneuver for your Kelborns. If you're going to infiltrate the city, that's your place."
Sola nodded, a stern set to her jaw. "We'll keep you apprised of our progress. This shouldn't take long."
"Where are you starting?"
"Where anyone starts when someone is breaking the law," Kelborn said. "I'll go to the police."
Benz raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure it's a good idea to blow your cover so soon?"
"You said yourself that Shysa is playing this one close to the chest," Kelborn pointed out. "He's probably got resources already in place to track these two rogues down, but chances are the lower-level grunts don't know what they're doing. I'll go to the city guard and say it's an internal Kelborn matter."
"And you think that'll work?"
Kelborn rolled her eyes. "I may not be from the city, but even I know how things work here. Law enforcement is in Shysa's pocket, but they don't work directly for him and they're certainly not going to be interested in stepping into private clan matters. If I rattle enough cages about it, they'll hand me everything they have just so they don't have to worry about it."
"And if the likes of Shysa or Dala find out?"
"By then the intel will already be mine."
"And they'll know you're after the data."
"Not necessarily. The hub these two attacked was supposedly hidden along the equator; traditional Kelborn territory, or as near as dammit anyway. As far as Shysa and Dala are concerned, I'm here seeking justice for the lives taken in the raid. If they want their precious data so badly, I'll be happy to give it to them."
She glanced at the Berserker leader. "After I've kept a copy of it for myself, of course. Those two idiots in charge will be none the wiser."
"That's a dangerous risk, Sola. If you're found out—"
"If I'm found out," she snapped, resting her hands on her hips, "it'll just move things along that much quicker. You know what Isabet is ready to do, and it's not exactly subtle."
He had to give her that one. It wouldn't be long before they were all in Shysa's crosshairs anyway. His stomach crawled at the thought of the events Reau was about to set into motion and the dire consequences they all would face before this clandestine operation was over. Big things were about to change for everyone, and only time would tell if they would change for better or for worse.
"All right," he relented. "Just… be careful. We can't have any kriff-ups this time."
"There won't be," she reassured him, stepping off with her personal guard toward the towering city walls and the labyrinth beyond. "Because this time, I'm the one in charge."