Further in the sewers, beyond the sight and sound of the sanctuary battle, a shimmer waited. It was a subtle thing, no more than a bending of light and a ripple of air. Yet the water flowed around it as if it were a full and tangible thing. Invisible footsteps waded through the toxic sludge, through shadow and smog, until it found a vantage.
And there it waited. It waited as the Mandalorian broke bread with the exiled hunters, an alien and a droid. It waited as the rotunda exploded and the Kelborns descended into battle on a wave of blaster fire. It waited even as Clanmaster Kelborn herself hoisted her lanky frame from the water, cape and armor singed by the blast but otherwise fine. Her rocket boots still smoldered from the emergency jet burn that had flung her from the worst of the explosion and into the safe haven of the water below. It waited as Kelborn dialed out a comm code and barked orders for reinforcements into her vambrace vox unit.
It waited until a flash of white could be glimpsed through the distant darkness, quick and silent as a shooting star in the night sky. It watched as the distant figure drew closer, grew clearer, and resolved into the silent, prowling form of a woman in sewage-stained robes.
Only then did it move away from its viewpoint and descend again into the subterranean gloom.
The Handmaiden raced through the underground, soft-soled boots splashing through putrid, ankle-deep water. She could feel something in the air - a sense of dread she could not place. The walls seemed to draw closer and closer together with every step she took.
Fear was an unusual sensation for her, and she felt morbidly curious as she traced its path through her system. She came to a halt at a crossroads and paused a moment to gauge her path forward. The icy trail of adrenaline snaked through her veins. She dared not linger long, lest the groundswell overtake her.
She was not afraid of Kelborn. Kelborn was but a woman—a formidable one, but mortal all the same. She was flesh and blood and beskar, and she could be dealt with as such. No, the prickle up the Echani's spine hailed from a source elusive even to her eyes. No matter what the outcome, the phantom call of the unknown could always unhinge one's innermost doubts.
Something was out there. Watching, waiting, stalking. So often the Handmaiden was used to seeing the world from that vantage. To be on the other side of the equation, caught in unseen crosshairs, felt as infuriating as it was invigorating.
Onward she went, deeper into the dark. There was more at play here than a pair of hunters and a vengeful Mandalorian clanmaster. Something lay in wait, no doubt lingering at the borders of some hidden trap. The next logical step: spring the trap. Draw the unseen into the light and it could be dealt with like all the rest.
Like a flailing saltwater wavegil thrashing the surface to draw the attention of a predatory ripjaw shark, she splashed through the dark. Given any other situation, her wild and terrified flight would mortify her. But in this moment, mortification was a luxury she couldn't afford. She had to remain focused, sharp as a razor, if she wanted any chance to emerge once more into the light of the sun. Her fear was a carefully constructed one, let loose from the confines of discipline with purpose. It was bait, and nothing more.
Come... she thought. Come to me and reveal what my eyes cannot.
The sewers stretched on and on in an endless labyrinth, beckoning ever deeper into the underground. Past spray-painted clan sigils and scurrying dens of vermin both humanoid and beastly. Past pounding waterfalls of sludge. Past even shafts of grey light streaming into the dark from the world above. Ever onward she fled, giving no thought to where she was or who may be following. Such ignorance was exactly the point.
Until she rounded a corner and splashed to a jarring halt. The sight before her was a surprise, even to her: Tamai, leaning against the wall as she clutched a hand to her ravaged and bloodied shoulder. The woman looked barely able to keep her feet, and her face and hair were smeared with a mixture of blood and filth.
"Ranger Vasser?"
The Mandalorian looked every bit as surprised to see the Handmaiden standing there.
"You're back!" Tamai's voice rang hoarse and ragged. She took a limping step forward, scraping against the stone wall to keep herself upright. "Why did you run off like that before?"
"I... was searching for something." The Handmaiden glanced over her shoulder, then took a cautious step toward the other woman. Had she run in circles? She couldn't be the first explorer to do so in this buried maze. The contoured stone around her seemed no more or less familiar than any other stretch of tunnel.
"Seriously?" Tamai scoffed. "You took off without me because you were looking for something? What, did you drop your purse or something?"
"Be silent." The Handmaiden threw a cold glare at the Mandalorian before she glanced over her shoulder again. "Our escape from Kelborn was but a prelude of things to come. We are being hunted."
"Hunted?" Tamai echoed. "By what?"
"That is what I sought to discover. Instead, I found only..." The Handmaiden looked back to her rediscovered companion. "...you."
Tamai cursed. Her disheveled hair clung to her face in bedraggled strands and her body seemed to slump even tighter against the wall. "And here I thought Kelborn was the worst we had to deal with down here. Do you know the way back to the surface?"
"We can find the way. Are you well enough to travel?"
"Can I say no?"
"You cannot. Come."
She extended a hand to the Mandalorian. Tamai declined, staggering back to her feet with a pained grunt. The woman winced as she fought to steady herself, but waved the Handmaiden off with a growl.
"I'll manage," she assured the Echani. "Just lead the way."
And so they set off together once more. Tamai shuffled along a few steps behind, muttering pained obscenities as her shoulder flared with every fresh jostle. The Echani kept a brisk pace, never hesitating or turning back. Truth be told, she had no idea where she was leading them. But she had to trust that if they stayed the course, they would eventually reach the light of the surface.
"Do you think we really lost her?" Tamai eventually wondered. "Kelborn, I mean."
The Handmaiden had no answer. Her gaze remained fixed ahead of her. "All that matters right now is placing one foot in front of the other."
"Right... right..."
"We will depart these passages," the Handmaiden said, "and determine our next course from there."
Tamai lapsed into labored silence. The air hung heavy with the weight of uncertainty. The Handmaiden could feel it crawling through her gut like the persistent path of a serpent through mud. But rather than put her on trained and tempered alert, the feeling made her more uneasy than anything else. She dared to cast an eye at the Mandalorian at her back.
Despite her injuries, the Ranger seemed... too at ease in these dark and savage depths. Her eyes remained fixed on her sloshing boots, and blood coated her arm from shoulder to elbow. Her voice, in harmony with an uncomfortable grimace, was shaky and halting as one would expect. Yet her bearing seemed less weary than before. Her gait was straight and sure, not the pained limp of only minutes past.
The way she moved. The rhythm of her breath. The uncharacteristic acquiescence in her eyes. It was as if she were merely playing the part of the wounded warrior without carrying any of the true weight of the situation on her shoulders. Was it the fatigue of battle or...
Oh. Of course.
The pieces fell together. Satisfaction sang through her bones with equal parts alarm trailing in tow. She would have to be quick. Anything less, and she might as well not even try.
The Handmaiden stopped so abruptly that Tamai almost ran headlong into her back. The Mandalorian stumbled to a halt, her fingers tightening against her shoulder.
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"The enemy is near at hand." The Handmaiden rounded on her companion. "Closer than even I imagined."
Tamai's face paled a little. Yes, even that was played with the skill of a master. But not so masterful that it could fool a fellow master.
"Tell me." The Echani cocked her head. "How long did it take you to mirror her form? You have been watching us from the moment we entered these depths, have you not?"
The Mandalorian's grip on her shoulder tightened even more. The Echani saw and took a slow step to the side.
"Was it five minutes?" She insisted. "Ten? You must have been pressed for time. Your front is impressive, I will grant you. It even fooled me for a time."
"What the kriff are you talking about?"
"You." The Handmaiden's eyes narrowed. "Imposter."
Tamai's eyes widened. Such skill, to so closely match the reactions of the real thing. "Y-you're crazy. What are you even saying?"
"My only remaining question is this." The Handmaiden cocked her head. "What manner of being are you? A changeling or a droid?"
For a moment, it seemed as if Tamai was about to argue further. Her brows furrowed, her mouth opened, then-
"Damn, you're good!"
The Handmaiden scoffed. "You sound surprised."
The entirety of Tamai's body sagged, shimmering like a desert heat wave. Then, starting with the churning water at her feet and rippling up her body, details blurred into a hazy cloud of static charge. In a bright flash and a sharp crack, her form vanished.
What remained was a clockwork skeleton, patched and timeworn by countless battles past. It was indeed a droid, with sharp juts of metal protruding from its chassis in places where its factory plating had been worn or torn away. Its feet sat caked in mud and corrosion, and its torso sported a number of dented plates and hazard signs.
Most notably, it lacked a head. A normal droid would sport a cerebral processing unit, yet this one had only a tangle of hastily patched and weather-frayed wires protruding from its neck seal. It didn't seem to slow the machine down at all. Far from it, in fact.
The droid extended a friendly and expectant hand. It no longer played puppeteer with Tamai's voice and form, but its vocal timbre and bearing were still distinctly feminine.
"Zee-Zee-Ten, infiltration and assassination specialist. But you can call me Zee."
The Handmaiden did not shake. "I am not going to do that."
"Suit yourself." With a whir of internal mechanics, the droid shrugged and planted its hands on slanted hips with a sigh. "You know, I thought you had me back at the enforcement office."
"I almost did," the Handmaiden replied. She took another step to the side. "Your façade as the police captain was almost flawless. It was a subtle touch, choosing red armor. In holographic tone, it would not react to the light as harshly."
"You did notice!" The exclamation was heralded by a pop of sparks from its neck seal. "Boy, you Echani sure don't disappoint. What gave me away down here?"
The Handmaiden debated whether to humor the machine. On the one hand, she didn't fancy the idea of giving it tips for how to better infiltrate her inner circle. On the other, the droid would not be leaving this place to put such counsel into practice.
So she pursed her lips and said, "You do not carry yourself like a Mandalorian. Your 'armor' is holographic, and so cannot simulate its true weight upon your posture. That, and my companion made great effort to retrieve her helmet as we fled the site of Kelborn's attack. Yet you appeared without it. A true Mandalorian would never commit to such an unseemly flaw."
"I knew I was missing something!" The droid swore—colorfully, loudly, and long. A fresh spray of sparks matched the shouted profanity. "Serves me right for being in a hurry."
The contraption had clearly seen better days, but it still retained a certain grace about it. The way it moved was so fluid and elegant, as if it were something far more than wires and servomotors. It only took half a heartbeat for the Handmaiden to realize it was adopting her stance now.
The cheek of this machine!
She let ZZ-10 rant to itself for a few moments until it seemed to lose interest in such outbursts. It let out a buzzing sigh and rounded back to the Handmaiden.
"Well, I guess the game is up. My plan was to press you for intel about your next stop—you know, now that the bounty hunters back there are out of commission. But I guess I'll have to write you off as a loss and report back to Kelborn." It interjected with a finger pointed upward and a happy lilt in its synthetic voice. "But don't worry! I'm sure your body will wash out into the river in a few days. They'll be able return your remains to your loved ones once they find them."
"So sure, are you?"
"Of course. You have to weigh only, what, sixty-some kilos? I've seen nerfs more intimidating than you."
The Handmaiden's eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm going to destroy you now, droid."
"Fair."
The initial blow came with blinding speed. The Handmaiden's closed fist, gloved knuckles reinforced with plated durasteel, smashed into the droid's chassis with such power that the whole frame rocked on its feet. ZZ-10 stumbled back a few steps before it managed to right itself.
"Whoa! What a punch!"
But the Handmaiden was already on the move. She threw a leaping kick towards the droid. ZZ-10 managed to deflect the assault but could not avoid the left hook that followed. The machine crashed into the tunnel wall with a clang of metal on stone.
Sewer water churned about the Handmaiden's feet as she pivoted to face her opponent. Another driven strike launched for ZZ-10's chest. The droid dodged her punch and her guarded fist cracked against duracrete with enough impact to splinter its face. ZZ-10 had only seconds to retaliate with a swift uppercut, aiming for the Handmaiden's jaw. The Echani sidestepped and countered with a lightning-fast kick to the droid's torso. The impact sent ZZ-10 whirling onto its back with a splash of fetid, stinking water.
This was invigorating. As tragic as it was to lose her quarterstaff to the likes of Kelborn, it had been some time since she'd had the opportunity to test herself in pure hand-to-hand combat. Even if her adversary was as lowly as a battle-damaged automaton with-
Too distracted. ZZ-10 surprised her with a sweep to the legs and in the next second she was on her back as well. She hit the cold water, and the sudden shock compounded when it washed over her face. It tasted like a rancor's armpit.
It was a fine kick. Her kick. The droid was using her own martial arts against her.
She struggled back to her feet even as the droid did the same. They met again in the middle, grappling in near-perfect unison. The droid was mirroring her posture, her steps, everything it could record. Yet there was no experience in its motions, no years of meticulous preparation behind each punch. The thing could imitate, but not replicate. Good.
She slid close, punching out with repeated uppercut strikes to the already weakening midsection. One, two, three, four, five, six, all within the blink of an eye. The force intensified as she channeled years upon years of brutal training into each blow. She had not slaved her way through the Schools of Xue and the Jei'kai-Fan only to fall to this arrogant rustbucket of a droid.
The droid lurched with each fresh strike, and its already timeworn plating began to bend and give way. But it was far from defeated. Its counterstrike shifted with the swiftness of a striking serpent. Sharpened claws slid from its fingers, glinting in shafts of subterranean gloom. The Handmaiden saw and reacted, bending at the waist so the razor talons passed her torso within a hair's edge. Any closer and she would be lying disemboweled in the gutter. Instead, the claws slashed across the moss-covered wall behind her.
As the droid recovered, its frame began to hum and crackle with energy. The Handmaiden had only a moment to realize its intent before an electro-discharge struck out from an outstretched metallic palm. It was a calculated counterattack, one meant to both disable and kill on the spot.
The Handmaiden tossed aside any notion of decorum and dove headlong into the sewage. The crackling arc of electricity blasted into the tunnel wall behind her position, carving out a crater of molten slag.
"Nice reflexes, Echani!" the droid crowed. "You really are living up to the legends!"
The Handmaiden heaved herself back to her feet, sopping wet, as the droid's arc cannon powered down. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her fists clenched at her sides. This bout was dragging on far too long.
But the droid was gone. The Handmaiden paused for a heartbeat to clear the sewage from her sight. Even then, the droid was nowhere to be seen. She spun, senses on high alert.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she noticed something shift. It was a shimmer in the air, like a heat haze on a dry summer day. Almost as if someone had taken a blade to the very fabric of the real world and cut through it, leaving a crack in the imprint of her sight. It drew close at a slow pace, careful not to disturb the flow of water and betray its position.
Of course a droid with holographic implants would be able to project a cloaking field. She fell back a step, her eyes still sweeping the passageway as if in search. She couldn't let the machine know its ploy had failed.
She thought back to her earlier flight through the sewers. Playing the part of weakened prey had drawn the machine out exactly as planned. And droids were nothing if not monotonous. So as the invisible droid advanced, she gave ground.
She made a show of panting, one hand grasping the wall to support her weight while the other clutched tight around her waist. Despite being a near-mindless automaton, she sensed the droid's surge of satisfaction at a job well done. She could see it in the bend of its translucent knee joints and the set of its battle-damaged shoulder pauldron plates. It raised vaporous arms, ready to fire off another arc round.
All too easy.
The Handmaiden tightened the arm around her waist and grasped at the holstered shards on her belt. Then she threw an arm out and flicked her wrist. Three glittering, finger-length spears of metal shot through the dark and hit the machine square in the chassis.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The droid flailed back a step. Its holographic stealth field sparked and failed, dragging it back into sight. If it had a head, it would no doubt be looking down at the sharpened stakes with a machine's equivalent of shock.
"Throwing stars?" The droid's hands shot up. If the Handmaiden didn't know better, she'd think the thing was applauding her. "I didn't know you had throwing stars! That's awesome—!"
The shards detonated one after the other. A staccato pow, pow, pow rang through the underground. The droid danced with each new burst. Its chassis twisted, then ripped apart. The arc cannon pulsed and lit the tunnel like a strobe light, forcing the Handmaiden to once again dive for cover. A snarling, white-hot beam carved molten lines from the ceiling, the wall, and then died.
All faded to tense silence.
She clambered back to her feet with the slightest whimper. A quick inspection found the droid sundered and torn into at least three pieces. Each fragment lay scattered about the waterlogged tunnel floor. And still it persisted, limbs twitching with a feeble lurch as it attempted to pull itself back together.
"M-m-man..." The droid stuttered. Sparks vomited from its neck, its torso, and its severed arm socket. "Y-you sure got me g-g-good."
The Handmaiden stepped closer with a scowl. "You are frustratingly persistent, droid."
"I get that a lo-lo-lot." Its voice was a digitized growl of damaged vocoder channels. "But you know us assassin droids. We aren't programmed to q-q-quit. K-K-Kelborn once said I make monkey lizards look like g-g-good company. I told her a m-m-monkey lizard wouldn't put up with her pouting like I d-d-do."
"Is that how you lost your head?"
"Ha-a-a-!" The droid let out a glitchy chuckle. "Yeah..."
One of its mangled arms dragged itself closer to its torso. The chest unit bowed towards it as if trying to reattach and somehow mitigate the damage done. When it failed, the entire scorched contraption plopped back into the waterflow with a groan.
"M-m-man... you really d-d-did a number on me, girl-irl-irl. Credit where it's due."
"Funny." The Handmaiden placed a measured step upon the droid's chest, over its central power unit. "I have rarely been complimented for besting someone in battle."
The droid twitched and sparked. "I-I-I guess this is goodbye, then. See-see-see you in the g-g-great wide galaxy, Echani-ni-ni."
The Handmaiden glared down at the machine. "I hate you."
"I know."
Her foot descended. With a satisfying crunch, the droid spun down and did not move again.
She found Tamai—the real Tamai this time—not far from where they had parted. The Mandalorian had forged into the tunnels with dogged persistence, leaving behind a smeared trail of blood on the sewer wall as she went.
The Handmaiden approached from the side and Tamai spun at the sound of her footsteps. Her blaster was already in her hand, aimed at the Echani's chest. Her aim trembled, but she was more than steady enough for a killing shot. Her free hand clutched her shattered helmet close to her chest.
"It is only me," the Handmaiden reassured her, holding her hands up in front of her.
Tamai lowered her gun and let out the long breath she'd been holding. "Thank kriff. Where did you run off to?"
"I was waylaid." The Handmaiden wasted no time recounting recent events. Tamai digested the revelations in silence, nodding a few times once the short tale was told.
"And this assassin droid... you think that was the bad feeling you've been having?"
"I am sure of it. But it will trouble us no longer."
"If it was following us the entire time... why didn't it attack before? It could've jumped us a hundred times."
"It's mission was not to assault but to observe. It was tasked with following us to determine our next course of action. The machine approached me in a vain attempt to press me for information."
"Makes sense." Tamai winced. "With Kelborn left behind and that tracking beacon destroyed..."
"The tracker." At the mention of the hidden bug, the Handmaiden's fingers clenched into a tight fist. It wasn't just that her oversight had cost them their meeting with the hunters masquerading as Null; no, it was the feeling of being duped that rankled the most. Embarrassment was a new sensation to her, and one she did not particularly enjoy. "An insult that will not go unanswered."
"There'll be time. For now... we have to get out of here." Tamai leaned against the wall. "Can I get a hand?"
"Of course."
The Handmaiden looped Tamai's uninjured arm over her shoulders, supporting the weight of the Mandalorian's heavy armor. They limped their way down the tunnel together. Freedom from this subterranean hellhole awaited. They could debate the next steps then.
It didn't take long to limp their way out of the sewers. They emerged in the midst of a downpour. The late summer storm clouds appeared to have finally opened up, chasing away the day's scorching heat with a torrential storm.
The Handmaiden had had quite enough of the damp for one day. But she trudged on despite the indignity. Tamai listed heavily against her shoulder. The Mandalorian had lost a lot of blood from the ragged wound in her shoulder. It would need to be addressed soon.
They didn't have the time or security to shelter any place familiar; the Oyu'baat was too far removed and the Kelborns would doubtless have watchful eyes stationed there. They needed somewhere out of sight and out of danger.
The Handmaiden studied the rain-slick streets for any indication of shelter as they traveled deeper into the city. They were hardly wanting for choice. They passed abandoned buildings and alleyways, shanty shacks, and run-down bungalows. None appeared secure enough to serve as a sanctuary. Tamai's breath grew ever more ragged against her shoulder. They couldn't carry on like this much longer.
The solution presented itself in a novel manner: a small streetside docking hangar, occupied by what looked like a Corellian-style freighter. The freighter lay draped with a ragged sheet of protective weather netting, suggesting it had been idle for some time.
The Handmaiden half-led and half-dragged her companion beneath the shelter of the rounded edge of the vessel. The netting fell behind them like a curtain, cutting them off from the outside world. It was flimsy as asylum went, but it would hold.
She propped Tamai against the ship's landing strut and the Ranger settled into the position with an exhausted groan. Her face twisted with pain when pressure was placed on her shoulder.
"You are wounded."
Tamai let out a strained laugh that morphed halfway into a groan. "So are you."
"My bruises will heal. Your arm takes precedent." The Handmaiden rested a gentle hand near the wound, observing it with keen blue eyes. "It will need tending and stitching. Bacta should handle the rest. Do I have your leave to remove your armor? I daresay you will not manage on your own."
Tamai tensed. The Handmaiden could all but taste her trepidation. But then the Mandalorian nodded and did her best to relax against the landing strut. "I suppose it's only fair. I got the full view this morning, after all."
"I suppose so." The Handmaiden cracked a rare smile.
"Do what you have to. I'll help where I can."
Her armor was surprisingly complex. From a remove, it seemed to be nothing more than hammered plate mounted upon hardy cloth. In practice, each plate was anchored to the flak vest beneath. The plates joined to the fabric by a mesh of wire woven into the flak vest itself through dozens of tiny anchor points. Only by removing certain pieces—a task in its own right—could the vest be removed. It would have been a tedious task at the best of times, but the Handmaiden's position made it far more difficult. She had no tools to speak of and no proper light source. She could only fumble the best she could as Tamai strained not to move.
It was a slow and painstaking process. But after a few minutes, she disassembled the tangle enough to pull the vest down Tamai's arms. The Ranger whimpered quietly as the motion put stress on her shoulder, but she gritted her teeth and did her best to assist.
The flight suit beneath, once a uniform grey, was soaked near-black with blood. It seemed like most of the flow had stopped since their unceremonious exit from the underground, but the fabric was still sticky and clung to the Ranger's skin. Peeling it away was almost as much a chore as removing the plates. The cords of Tamai's neck stretched tight as she clenched against the pain.
The Handmaiden gingerly pulled the flight suit down around the Ranger's waist, tucking the sleeves out of the way to give her the room she needed to work. Tamai's cheeks warmed from the exposure even as the rainy chill forced gooseflesh across her arms. But the Handmaiden was uninterested in a half-dressed Mandalorian and her choice of undergarments—blue, like her armor. Her only concern was for the woman's punctured shoulder.
The wound was a mess. It was a deep gash that still poured a trickle of red-black down her arm. Kelborn's spear had bitten deep, parting flesh and muscle. The rank damp of the sewer had done the woman no favors either; dirt and grime clustered tight around the congealed blood that clogged the wound. Despite her best efforts to hide her revulsion, the Handmaiden found herself grimacing.
"You are lucky you didn't lose the arm in its entirety."
Tamai nodded. Her face was pale and wan. "Yeah, that's me. Lucky, lucky me."
The Echani dug in the utility belt about her waist. She carried a small surgical kit upon her person for such instances. She spread it out on the duracrete at her knee and looked over the tools at hand. Rudimentary, all of them, but they would do.
"We should take you to a medcenter," she noted. Her gaze flicked up to meet Tamai's. "But I get the feeling you would disapprove."
"You know me so well." Tamai flexed the fingers of her injured arm and winced. "We... don't have that kind of time."
"As you say." The Handmaiden slid a scalpel the size of her little finger from the surgery kit, as well as a long, thin needle. She held up both and asked, "Would you mind?"
Tamai nodded and lit a tiny, concentrated burst from her gauntlet-mounted flamethrower. The Handmaiden passed the utensils over and through the flame until they glowed red hot, then set them aside to cool and sterilize.
"Do you have medical supplies of your own?"
Tamai fumbled with her own belt and produced a handful of field kits: painkiller hypos, stims, and a canister of bacta salve. The Handmaiden took them all and set them aside for later. She then removed her gloves and set them, neatly folded, on the ground beside her. Now that the scalpel had cooled enough, she took it between her dexterous fingers.
"I must cut away the congealed blood and pus," she said. Her voice was soft and sympathetic. "This will hurt."
Tamai nodded. Her jaw tightened. The Handmaiden nodded back, then set to work.
Tamai, to her credit, did not make a sound throughout the operation. She was proud of her fortitude, but goddamn was it a challenge. The Handmaiden's work was concentrated and diligent, but the woman didn't stop for anything once she started. The result: Tamai found herself wishing (on more than one occasion) that Kelborn had just taken the arm and called it a day.
The trade-off was that the patch-up process was quick and efficient. Tamai tuned out once the stitching started—she'd never been one for needles. But before she knew it, the Handmaiden was severing the surgical thread and applying a layer of bacta balm to her shoulder with surprisingly gentle hands. One painkiller hypo and an adhesive bandage later and she wasn't feeling too horrible, all things considered. It wouldn't last, but for now she was grateful for the little things.
With the first aid finished, the Handmaiden rooted around the undercarriage of the freighter and discovered an external cargo compartment. It was their lucky day: inside was a portable heater and a pile of timeworn blankets. They were thick and itchy, but warm enough to chase the storm's chill away.
Tamai, who had zipped herself back into her flight suit and flak vest as soon as she was able, accepted a blanket from the Echani. Her shoulder twinged when she twisted to pull it around her shoulders.
"Thanks."
"Thievery is nothing to be thankful for." The Handmaiden pulled her own blanket about her. They were both still soaked from the sewers, and even Tamai couldn't miss how the white-haired woman was beginning to shiver, despite her best efforts to conceal it. "But under the circumstances, you are welcome."
"We're more in need than the owner of this rust bucket." Tamai rapped her knuckles against the landing strut behind her. "All things considered, I bet the gods will forgive us."
The Handmaiden smiled a little and settled cross-legged on the ground. "I hope you are right."
They sat in silence, allowing the warmth of the blankets and the portable heater to soothe some of the ache in their bones. The rain pitter-pattered against the ship's hull with a steady drumbeat that urged Tamai to sleep. Adrenaline crash was an ever-present familiarity in the aftermath of a fight as tense as the one in the sewers, but Tamai wasn't in the mood to close her eyes yet. Her shoulder supported her decision; pain was a better wake-up call than caf any day.
The draped weather net kept out the worst of the downpour and created a sort of partial barrier that kept them hidden from the street but allowed a decent enough view outside. The result was that the freighter's undercarriage became like their own private hideaway from the rest of the world.
Outside, the rain continued to fall in sheets. Lightning illuminated the sky, briefly backlighting massive blue-black storm clouds high above. Only a few brave souls still trudged along the streets, and their gazes were shielded and downcast against the weather.
"I have been thinking."
Tamai laughed a little. "It's scary the first time, huh?"
"We have not seen the last of Kelborn." The Echani ignored the halfhearted quip. "She will no doubt pursue us further as we, in turn, pursue our quarry. We are now her best lead to finding these Mandalorian renegades."
"What's your point?"
The Handmaiden pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "We barely escaped our first bout with our lives. What is our plan for when it happens again?"
"Would you be insulted if I said my only plan went along the lines of, hit her again, but harder this time?"
"I am not insulted or surprised." The Handmaiden sighed with a roll of her eyes. "Yet my question stands."
Tamai's mirth faded, chased away by the rain. "I... don't know."
"Then we must make one."
"That's easier said than done."
"And yet the necessity remains."
Tamai's lips pursed. The Echani wasn't wrong, but nothing sprang to mind. Kelborn was too much of a threat, even for the both of them, and the only simple solution was to stay the hell out of her way. The woman's active attempts to kill them made such an endeavor challenging to say the least.
She wrapped her arms around her knees. "I've... got nothing."
"Hmm." The Handmaiden's own silence spoke of a similar lack of alternatives. "Perhaps if we sleep on the matter, something will present itself."
"Do we have that kind of time?"
"Can we afford to press on in our current state?" The Handmaiden reached out and turned up the portable heater, buffeting them both with a surge of much-needed warmth. "Even if we were to track down our targets, with us both so weakened they may overwhelm us as surely as Kelborn."
That... was a very good point.
"We can stay here for now," Tamai eventually agreed. "I don't think the Kelborns will be looking under every scrap freighter for us. We can get a few hours' rest, at least."
"My thoughts precisely."
They returned to their respective silences. As she listened to the rain beating against the hull of the freighter, Tamai couldn't help but feel grateful for the Handmaiden's company. It was an odd feeling, but there was no denying that the white-haired woman was ironclad as fresh-forged beskar. In more ways than one, it reminded her of Cin.
Strange... even just this morning, she would not have thought about the Echani in such a way. But after everything they had been through—interrogating witnesses, braving the sewers, battling a kriffing clanmaster—there was a hard-fought chemistry between them that she found as wild as it was welcome. Tamai couldn't help but wonder if the Handmaiden felt the same way.
A Mandalorian and an Echani, making a half-decent team? Who would've thought?
The Handmaiden's voice broke her free of such thoughts.
"You are shivering."
Tamai looked down at her shaking hands. The rain had seeped into her clothes along with all the blood, soaking her to the bone. With her helmet damaged beyond easy repair, she could not access her suit's array of internal temperature regulators.
She tried to shrug it off, but the Handmaiden was already rising from her seat. Before Tamai could say anything, the Echani had removed her own cloak and draped it around the Ranger's shoulders. It was still warm from the woman's own body heat.
"Um... Thank you," Tamai said, unable to hide the gratitude in her voice. She tugged the second blanket tight.
The Handmaiden simply nodded and returned to her spot further beneath the freighter. She lay back against one of the ship's other landing struts, legs folded beneath her, and closed her eyes. She could be meditating or sleeping.
"Won't you get cold too?"
The Handmaiden didn't move. But she did say, "I hail from a tundra world. I am used to the cold. It is... a familiar thing to the warriors of my people."
"Oh..."
Silence returned. The longer Tamai sat and watched the rain, the more she felt compelled to break that silence. It was like an itch she could not scratch away, no matter how hard she tried. Perhaps it was the exhausted aftermath of their battle in the sewers or the Echani's own calm demeanor. Whatever the reason, the urge to open up struck Tamai like never before. She opened her mouth, only to shut it again quickly.
She had never been one for expressing her feelings. A Mandalorian was trained in stoic expressions and decisive demands, not sappy emotions and sharing. Only trusted allies like Cin and Hyperion were worthy of hearing her most private thoughts, and they were far from this place. She had only this stranger, this Echani, to rely upon.
But... the Handmaiden wasn't a stranger. Not any more.
Before she knew what was happening, the words were passing from her lips in freefall. Any pretense of stoicism crumbled like desert sand in the wind.
"I never wanted to be a warrior."
The white-haired woman opened one eye. The Mandalorian's stare was far from this place, green eyes watching the rain drum against the cracked and dirty duracrete. Tamai didn't trust herself to meet the pale stare behind her. Shivering fingers laced, unfurled, and interlaced once more.
"I am not sure any of us do." The Handmaiden's lips pursed. "It is an... acquired taste, as lives go."
There was a long pause before Tamai spoke again. When she did, she began with a faint laugh.
"Growing up," she said, "while everyone else was concerned with their armor and their training and what weapon to specialize in, I'd sit on the sidelines and listen to the other girls design their kit." She smiled a little. "Which belt goes with which kama? Is a carbine sexier than a rifle? It was all so... mundane. As if debating weapon manufacturers while other cultures were obsessing over boys and shoes was nothing out of the ordinary."
She sniffed, then rubbed at her eyes. "They all wanted to grow up strong. Feared. Respected. Like Mandalorians should. But I never really fit in with them because I didn't want what they wanted. Never did. Still don't."
She glanced at the Handmaiden and a soft line of unshed tears sparkled in her gaze. She quickly looked away again, back out into the rain. These words had been held in for so long that she wasn't speaking them so much as dredging them up from the depths inside.
"I wanted to make music."
The Handmaiden slowly sat up. She said nothing.
"The other girls thought it was ridiculous. We were all supposed to grow up to be warriors, right?" Tamai shrugged. Her blanket-bound shoulders rose and then fell. "Bounty hunters and mercenaries and beastmasters of the galaxy. They asked me, what good is a song if you aren't singing it after a victorious battle? Only an areutii values a pretty voice over strength and honor."
She sniffed again. "I didn't want to spend my life on the battlefield. Grow old far too young, until I'm hobbling around with a walking stick before my time like Old Rav Bralor. I wanted... I wanted to bring something into this galaxy, not just get better at taking things out of it."
"But..." The Handmaiden debated her words before venturing further. She cocked her head. "But your service with the Rangers, with the Supercommandos... you are a formidable warrior."
"An acquired taste, like you said. I don't mind a fight. But it's always been a distraction, not the end goal." Tamai's voice trailed off, lost in thought as she stared out at the rain. The Handmaiden watched her with quiet patience.
The next laugh came out closer to a sob, and Tamai stubbornly hid her face from the piercing gaze of her compatriot.
"And now, I'm expected to save the entire kriffing planet? Me, of all people?"
The Handmaiden said nothing. A rumbling sheet of thunder overhead answered for her.
"I know I'm good at what I do," Tamai insisted. "I'm fast and smart. Back me into a corner and you'll regret it. But it's never been enough." She looked down and rubbed at her knuckles. Her fingers curled and interlaced again. "No one but me has ever seemed to care. Not even Cin. All they see is the armor, the T-visor, the weapons, the attitude. They see the Mandalorian first, and all the rest just... fades away."
The rain grew heavier, drowning out the sounds of the city beyond. The Handmaiden could see the pain etched in the Ranger's features, could hear her struggle to keep her voice from breaking beneath the weight of her confession. It was... familiar.
She hesitated, then reached out to touch Tamai's arm. The wet fabric and chilled armor bit at her fingertips. The woman beneath was warm despite them.
"I do not believe that," the Echani said.
Tamai glanced at the offending hand, then up to her with something brewing in her expression: fear and trepidation, relief and hope, all swirling into a mixture as volatile as it was fascinating.
"Among my people, we place great emphasis on harmony. We believe that all the galaxy is divided into extremes. Good and evil, light and dark." The Handmaiden's lips pursed. "It is our duty to find the balance between the two, the harmony at the center of things, to find our way in life. And it is a far from impossible ideal."
She squeezed Tamai's arm. "You can be strong and gentle, Tamai. Feared and loved. The presence of one does not overshadow the other. Your fellow Mandalorians may not see such balance as a strength. But they are not the only ones watching."
Tamai's eyes widened. Something sharp charged the air between them. The Handmaiden felt a sudden heat rise to her cheeks, swiftly smothered. She looked away, into her lap, and that seemed to be the end of it. But something, some deep-seated and defiant thing, spurred her to speak further.
"When I was still young and untested," the Handmaiden began, "I formed a bond with a fellow Handmaiden of my tribe. She was... wonderful. Kind, wise, and beautiful beyond her years. But she never took to the warrior's path. I was the star pupil, always eager to please, always in search of the next test of my skills. She had no desire to spend her days as a warrior, much less a blade of the Ein Zou assassins. She wished to be a dancer."
Tamai didn't move. It was almost as if she didn't trust herself to.
"I suppose I was more like your young kin at the time. I thought the notion foolish to the point of hilarity. What Handmaiden would throw away the legacy of our people, our storied history, for something as silly and shortsighted as dance? We were tasked with service to the Six Sisters, and we had no choice but to submit. It was expected of us."
"But...?"
"But as time passed... I began to see the world as she did. She taught me to dance, even as I taught her to battle in the name of her people. In her, I found an appreciation of all we would never have known in isolation. In her, I saw true harmony for the first time. And it is why I do not think it impossible for you."
"Really?" Tamai let out a tired chuckle. "Despite the fact that I'm a filthy Mandalorian?"
"Yes." The Handmaiden smiled a little as well, though there was a twinge of guilt to the gesture. "Despite even that."
The storm intensified, pouring down all around their secret shelter, but neither had any urge to move. When the stormy pause was broken, it was Tamai's turn to be the culprit.
"Your friend. Where is she now?"
A well-familiar lump formed in Lesianne's throat. Her lips parted and closed again.
"She died."
They sat, each of them in their own silence, watching and listening to the rain. It was as if the sound was slowly draining away all of the exhaustion from a long and difficult day. In its absence, there lingered a strange and sublime sense of peace. A gentle swell of thunder rolled above.
"I'll, uh... take the first watch." Tamai moved away. Closer to the weather netting that formed the perimeter. Further from the woman at her side. "You should get some rest before we move out."
"You are certain? Your shoulder-"
"Is feeling better already." Tamai lied and rolled her arm as best she could manage without wincing. "See?"
The Handmaiden saw through the trickery. But after a few moments of deliberation, she slowly nodded. She drew her knees up to her chest and stretched her form back against the landing strut behind her.
"You will wake me if there are problems?"
Tamai nodded. The Handmaiden nodded back. Together, the pair settled into their tasks: icy blue eyes closed while forest green ones scanned the street outside.
Tamai watched Keldabe drenched in the relentless rain. The normally dusty and barren streets were transformed into muddy rivers, the few people who still ventured outside hurrying through the downpour with their heads and helmets down.
Yet despite the chill and the rain, there was a beauty to the world beyond their sanctuary. The rain washed away the grime of civilization. The buildings and holo-adverts were more vibrant in the night, and the plants that had managed to take root in the cracks of the pavement stretched up into the storm, lush and green.
A voice startled her from her sudden reverie.
"Ranger... Would you sing for me?"
Tamai turned, perhaps a little too fast to be strictly casual. Her shoulder flared in protest. "What?"
The Handmaiden had rested her head back against the landing strut behind her. Her eyes were shut and her hands tucked tight beneath her arms. She looked half-asleep already, though her voice was as clear as ever.
"I have learned much of your culture," she said. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. "But I have rarely experienced your art. I... wish to hear one of your songs. If you would indulge me."
Tamai hesitated. Surely there were more important things to focus on right now?
But then, despite all hesitation to the contrary, she slowly began the first song that sprang to mind: "Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode An. Manda'yaim a'den, mhi Vode An. Bal-"
The Handmaiden interrupted her with a raised hand. "I do not wish to hear a battle chant in reverence of ancient glories. I want to hear a song. One of your songs."
"One... of mine?" Tamai's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"I am always sure." The Echani shifted to a more comfortable position but did not open her eyes. She did, however, yawn. "I would not ask otherwise."
"Okay..." Tamai turned back to the rainfall.
She closed her eyes and let the melody form in her mind before she began. Her voice came to her slower than usual, but when it found her it was as clear and strong as it had ever been. She began, the lilt of her song passing out and into the rain.
"In golden fields where blossoms sway,
I see rusty chains and broken dreams at play.
The static hums secrets that I can't hear,
I'm chasing the echoes of my own fear."
"No roots, no home, I journey on,
This heart of mine, in a world far-gone.
A tainted sun sears my battered skin,
I never thought I'd let this darkness in."
"(Whisper to me) Your half-finished questions.
We've come so far but have so far to go.
(Tell them to me) Your half-lived legends.
I'll chase the monsters away with a tale of my own.
(Share them with me) Your scrapyard addictions.
Love and pain intertwined, a dance we all know."
"What good is life without your embrace?
I'm a fragile doll with a handprint face.
Where will I roam? What will I say?
Does it matter in the end, anyway?"
"(Whisper to me) Your fractured convictions.
Leave the scars on display, a map of what's wrong.
(Speak them to me) Your tortured confessions
I'll drown out the noise, till all the demons are gone.
(Teach them to me) Your hard-fought lessons.
Love and trust turned to rust but still we march on."
Tamai let the song trail off and, after a long moment of hesitation, glanced over her shoulder at her companion.
The Handmaiden was fast asleep, her breath slow and steady and relaxed. Tamai paused, smiled a little, then turned her attention back out into the city.
In some ways, it was a better compliment than all the applause in the galaxy.
Kelborn sat on a blast-scorched cargo crate, stripped to the waist. Her stare was dark and brooding, brow furrowed and mouth downturned. Her hands moved of their own accord as she wound bandaging tape around her bleeding torso. The Ranger's blade had sunk deep, missing any vital organs but still doing plenty of damage. She winced as she wound the tape tight; she had no time for anything but a quick battlefield patch, and it would have to hold in the event of another bout with her intrepid quarry.
A handful of Kelborn troops had arrived to reinforce her, jetting down from the reservoir's roof. They had wasted no time securing a perimeter and picking through the wreckage of the hidden sanctuary. None spoke to her; they recognized the look in her eyes and knew better than to approach with anything other than words of respectful greeting. The only one who did not follow such a trend was Norac Benz. Predictable.
He stood at her shoulder, watching the search efforts with his tattoed arms folded across his chest. He had a dark look of his own in his icy eyes. His brooding was almost a match for her own.
"Use a cross-knot."
She glared at him. "What?"
"A cross-knot. It'll hold more securely when you're moving." He sighed and reached for the bandage. "Here. Let me."
"Keep your hands to yourself, Berserker." She shouldered him away with a growl. Her entire body coiled, primed for more violence despite the weeping hole beneath her ribs. "If I want your help, I'll ask for it."
He raised his hands in surrender and took a step away. Once he'd retreated an appropriate distance, his arms folded again.
"What a mess," he muttered.
She said nothing. The bandage wound again around her waist.
A call echoed through the reservoir as a pair of Kelborns struggled to pull back a huge fallen piece of duracrete rubble. They were scouring the refuge for anything of value: technology, weapons, intel. Kelborns were true frontiersmen, more than familiar with raiding secondhand resources no matter who they originally belonged to. The two hunters collectively known as "Null" would certainly have no further need.
A second team combed the reservoir itself to retrieve the bodies of their fallen. Such a mission was of equal importance.
"Did you at least get any useful intel out of... all this?"
She grunted. "If all goes to plan, I'm about to."
She cinched the bandage tight with a wince, utilizing a cross-knot as Benz had recommended. She rolled first one shoulder, then the other, then twisted at the waist. It was far from flawless, but it would hold. She slid her hands into the arms of her flight suit and sealed it up the front, tight on her injuries. Once secure, she began to replace the armor plating resting at her feet.
"Whatever you plan to do," Benz grunted, "we'll need to do it quickly. That explosion wasn't exactly subtle, and city law enforcement will be here soon."
Re-armed and re-armored, Kelborn grasped the hilt of her spear and hefted it back into her grasp. It was a painful gesture, but she would get used to it in due course. She planted the butt of the spear into the flooring at her feet and used it to haul herself back to her feet.
"Briika! Fenbo!" Her voice carried across the reservoir.
"Aye, clanmaster!" Briika called back. She hefted the heavy duracrete slab with a groan and shoved it free of the pile of debris where it lay. "Starting triage now!"
"Make it fast."
Benz fell into step behind Kelborn. "You clearly have a plan."
"Shysa's pawns sought this place out," Kelborn growled, "looking for intel about our quarry from a pair of bounty hunters. These hunters seemed to be information brokers who traced the location of Torq Vindo and Talazar Cren."
"Right. Then you decided to crash the party and shoot the place up."
"Please. Give me a little more credit than that." She came to a standstill by the rubble. Briika was hard at work hooking intravenous bags into the ragged form of the unconscious Gand who had been trapped beneath. Kelborn's staff had battered the hunter, as had the collapse that had pinned him. Mephitic gas leaked in puffs from cracks in his respirator harness. His armor was scorched and broken, with several deep lacerations marring his chest. He had a nasty gash along the side of his head that leaked greenish-black fluids onto the ground.
"Gand are truly as hardy as the tales claimed," Briika noted as she began to tend the alien's wounds.
"He's still alive?" Benz was surprised.
"Of course." Kelborn shifted her attention to the warrior at the alien's side. "Briika. How soon can we move him?"
"Give me three minutes, clanmaster."
"Do it. We need to move." She craned her neck up to the other Kelborn picking through the second level of the sanctuary. "Fenbo! Have you found it?"
"Here, clanmaster!"
Fenbo hauled the mangled half-chassis of the droid up and over the balcony, tossing it to the level below. It landed with a metallic crash at Kelborn's feet, limbs twisted and receptors powered down. It was a pitiful thing, little more than a husk of bolts and wires. But it would suffice for Kelborn's purposes.
She stepped closer and, with a wince concealed behind the faceplate of her battle mask, knelt beside the scrapped droid. A charging conduit detached from her gauntlet, which she hooked into a small port at the base of the machine's neck.
The result was instant: the droid's top half lurched, let out a screech, then immediately threw a punch. Kelborn dodged the blow and grabbed the offending arm, but not before a ten-centimeter spike blade ejected from the machine's wrist. A half-second slower and the concealed bayonet would have sunk into her unprotected neck. It was a wholly automatic motion designed to attack any who roused it from its digital slumber.
"Impressive," she said. Her grip shook as she fought to keep the machine's prodigious strength at bay. Such effort sent a javelin of pain up her pierced side, but she caught the pain, swallowed it back down, and squeezed her grip tighter. "You wired yourself up with a dead man's switch."
"A cautionary measure," the droid replied. Its voice was calm and toneless, even as it fought to drive its weapon into her flesh. "I cannot allow potential threats to compromise vital information. Stand down, clanmaster."
"Do not presume to give me orders, droid."
"I serve on behalf of Fenn Shysa."
She snarled. "Kriff Fenn Shysa."
The droid paused, processing this for a moment. When it spoke again, there was a cautious edge to its flat monotone. "You seek the same information as the Ranger."
"Perceptive of you."
The droid raised its chin. In any other situation, the motion would have seemed defiant. But coming from a disemboweled scrap pile, it seemed more petulant than anything else. "Our services are not for your use."
Kelborn smiled behind her mask. "How fortunate, then, that your services aren't required."
Her free hand flew out before the droid's damaged systems could process a reaction. A bright pop of sparks lit the air between them, but by then it was already too late. A round puck-like restraining bolt now sat fused to the droid's chassis, and as soon as it made contact all further attempts at murder ceased. The droid went limp in her grasp and thumped back to the flooring. Its photoreceptors continued to glare balefully up at her even from its recline.
Kelborn tossed the now limp arm to the side and stood to her full height, brushing her hands free of carbon dust and oily lubricant as she did. She gestured to Fenbo and two others, who jetted down from above to land next to the droid.
"Get them both ready for transport. We'll interrogate them at our leisure."
The Kelborn troops leaped into action, lifting the unconscious Gand onto a stretcher and securing the restrained half-droid onto another. Their clanmaster watched them work, plans already forming for what to do with their hostages once they reached their destination.
As her troops finished their preparations, she turned to Benz, who had watched the proceedings with an uneasy set to his jaw.
"We may not have the information they gave to the Ranger," she said, "but the information brokers themselves are an equal prize."
"This mission is too important to get distracted chasing personal glory, Sola." He glared at her. "They won't tell you anything."
Her eyes narrowed behind her mask. "Leave that to me."
"Clanmaster!" Another Kelborn jogged up to them. It was Toregg, one of the scouts she'd sent to set up a perimeter. "We have a problem."
"Speak."
Toregg saluted and launched into his report. "I was patrolling the northern tunnels as ordered, clanmaster. It looks like Shysa's agents escaped in that direction. There was blood, signs of a struggle, and... well..."
He gestured to the other member of his patrol, who carried a rucksack stuffed full of what looked like droid parts. Her suspicions were confirmed when the trooper dropped the sack and spilled what was left of ZZ-10 across the sanctuary floor. The droid was a mess: one arm and a leg missing, as well as half of its chassis caved in. Kelborn looked down on the tangle distastefully, then back to her troops.
"Did you manage to make on-site emergency repairs?"
"Yes, clanmaster. But we figured you would want to debrief personally."
"Good work, you two. Dismissed."
Again, Kelborn knelt next to a broken droid. But here her motions were slow and gentle, almost mournful. Her fingers drifted across the twisted metal, pulling bits of detritus and shrapnel from its housing. It was a pointless gesture, given the droid's state, but ZZ-10 was a friend. That demanded recognition.
She gently hefted the shattered chassis against her leg and triggered the switch of the spot-welded power coupling her troops had attached. ZZ-10 shivered in her grasp with a very human-sounding gasp.
"Oh wow..." The droid trembled again. Its broken frame rattled violently against its rest on Sola's thigh. "My internal chronometer says barely an hour has passed. You guys found me quick!"
"Zee," Kelborn said. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Sola?" The droid's torso twisted as if to look up at her, but without a head unit the motion was rather superfluous. "Is that you?"
"It's me."
"Man..." the droid relaxed with another sigh. "How bad is it?"
"Toregg and Qall managed to piece the worst of you back together, but you're still a mess. You won't be running any infiltration missions any time soon."
"Pity. I was hoping for a round two against that Echani."
"The Echani?" Kelborn's eyes narrowed. "She did this to you?"
"Oh, yeah! She was amazing, Sola. Faster than anyone I've seen in a long time. And her kicks! I've seen actual gymnasts with less flexibility than her!"
"When you're done fangirling, Zee, I could use a report."
"Oh, right." The droid's body shivered a little with a whirr of internal circuitry. "I tracked the Echani and the Ranger after they entered the sewers, like you ordered. I stayed on standby while you assaulted the sanctuary, also like you ordered."
"Then why did you get into a fight with the Echani?"
"Well, after you got knocked ass over ass-plates into the reservoir and the two made a run for it, I figured you'd want intel on where they were going. I holo-shifted to look like the Ranger and approached the Echani. I'd hoped to trick her into spilling some intel. Turns out she saw through my disguise. In a whopping fifty-three-point-eight seconds, no less!"
The droid's enthusiasm dimmed a bit, as did its outboard status lights. "She attacked. We fought. I lost."
Kelborn's lips thinned as she considered ZZ-10's words. The Echani was becoming quite the problem. She had already gotten the better of Kelborn once. It would not happen again.
"Did she say anything to you?" she pressed. "Anything that might give us a lead on their destination?"
"Nothing useful, I'm afraid. She was... let's say, tight-lipped. Let her fists do the talking. You'd like her, Sola."
"I'm sure. Where did she go after your duel?"
"I don't know. One minute she was beating the circuitry out of me, and the next she was gone. The Ranger, too."
"Fine." Sola patted the droid's chassis, then motioned for the two patrolmen. "You've done more than enough for now. We'll send you back to our safehouse, get you patched up."
Even as the droid was being hefted off the ground, it complained. "Awww, but I wanted to see what happens next!"
"That's an order, Zee."
The skeletal machine went limp with a defeated sigh. "Yes, clanmaster."
Kelborn watched as Qall helped to secure what was left of ZZ-10 to a harness on Toregg's back. The droid was a valuable asset to their clan, and losing it would have been a major setback. But she couldn't dwell on that now.
She had lost Shysa's pawns, and with them her best lead to tracking down Vindo and Cren. But even in defeat, lessons could be learned. Especially when she did have two clandestine information brokers in her custody.
The Gand was a lost cause. She'd had dealings with their kind before. The diminutive aliens were hardy folk but prone to mysticism and riddles.
The droid was another matter. She believed its words when it said it would not give her any assistance. But cold machinery could be bent to suit her needs, whether its owner was willing or not. Somewhere deep in its databanks was the information she sought—the same information the droid had given to the Ranger.
She wasn't out of this hunt yet. Not by a long shot.
"Sola!"
As Kelborn stepped away, ZZ-10's voice called her back. She paused, then turned back. The droid threw her a jittery, sparking thumbs-up as it was secured to Toregg's back.
"Thanks for rescuing me."
Kelborn hesitated, then gave the machine a thumbs-up of her own in return.
If happiness could register in the body language of a droid with no head, ZZ-10 would have all but quivered with it. Before it could say more, Qall flipped the auxiliary power switch and Zee fell limp as a ragdoll once more.
Kelborn hefted her spear again and set off with a grunt to Norac Benz.
"Follow. We're done here."