A collaboration between Parcia and Aserais
The Jade Finch
Some were in the galactic south.He didn't even know the actual name of the system, if it had a name more than a basic numerical ID. The system had a large purple star with an asteroid belt, likely made up of some planet that was shattered some long ago by some cosmic event. The
Finch was running as silently as Ziam could make her, cutting the drives to 0, cutting the shields, her sensors, hell even turning the heater down to get her hull to as close to local temperature as he could.
He watched on passive sensors as the two slaver scouts zipped by without noticing the CR-90 hidden in the asteroid belt. Seeing them return to their mothership, an old Dreadnought carrier refit with a trio of CR-70s escorting it, he only breathed a sigh of relief as the whole flotilla of slaver ships hyperspaced out. Getting up, he turned across the bridge to his bunk where he normally slept and took the slug thrower off the wall. Reaching into the little box he kept on a shelf next to his bunk, he opened it to reveal a set of metallic cartridges. Throwing open the bolt of the rifle he began to load 5 of them into it's internal magazine before chambering a round and closing the bolt.
Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he also drew his blaster pistol and checked it's gas and power packs. His passengers hadn't told him everything and nearly gotten them shot to shit out in some southern backwater. He holstered the pistol and unslung the rifle to let it sit in his arms. For a moment he checked his reflection in a monitor and found himself suitably intimidating for what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, he tapped the door and let it slide open.
Walking down the hall towards the crew section where he had last left his passengers, he found the family unit and leaned against a nearby bulkhead. For a few brief moments he was silent, then chose to speak in the direction of the women in the suit of Mando iron.
"So, I figured when I took an unknown contract I was taking in some risks, hell the 150k upfront payout with 75k on upon delivery was enough to arouse suspicion. So when I saw someone in full
Beskar'gam toting a small arsenal, I chose to hold my breath for when we are out in the void." He paused, letting the fact he knew
some Mando'a set in to give his words some weight. Breaking the silence, he pulled up a spare crate and sat the slug rifle over his lap.
"So tell me, who
really are you?"
The Mando in the room stared at him through the visor of her helmet, the reflective surface giving no indication of her emotional state one way or another. She had taken notice of his slug thrower and the blaster on his hip when he entered the room--how could she not? But she wasn’t worried. The Whistling Bird on her wrist was armed, and the targeting system in her helmet had already marked him.
All it would take is a twitch, and three inches of
beskar would be lodged in his frontal lobe.
Still, she sighed, and removed her helmet. Her shoulder-length black hair fell out of the bucket and around her head, and her piercing gray eyes remained on the spacer that her sister had hired to carry her back into Mandalorian space with vital intel about the various warlords that had taken over Ornitek’s old stomping grounds.
The man and two young children she had traveling with her were cover--not truly her spouse or kids, but they had proven useful in keeping most of the more suspicious citizens of the port city off of her back until her cover had been blown.
And it wasn’t like she was going to leave them to die on some backwater.
“I’m Kalis, of clan Stinn. If you know anything about the Mando’a, you know what that means,” she said simply as she set her helmet next to her on the bench she was resting on.
For a moment, Ziam held a deadpan expression, seemingly staring the warrior women down. Then, rather interestingly, began to quietly chuckle. After a few moments of this he went on, “Of...of fracken course you are, because even when I make 150 thousand credits in literally 5 minutes, it’s because i'm transporting family members of the most ruthless Mando clan out there. If I were a religious man, I’d say my patron sky daddy of choice has a sense of humor.”
After a second chuckle at his own joke, he sat the rifle on the durasteel wall behind him and put his face into his hands, truly wondering just what in all the hells he had gotten himself into. Well, she had introduced herself, so should he. “Ziam Cyrus, Doctor of Archaeology out of Corellia. This ship is, as you know by the contract writ, the
Jade Finch. I specialize in the subject of the Jedi, the Sith, and the Old republic. I’ve got 4 years in CorNav and know my way around a CR-90s inner workings.”
He went on, taking his face out of his hands. “If my memory of the writ serves, and I can’t be fracked to find the holodisplayer, I’m to transport you
fine folks to Mando’a space, though it didn’t tell me where. I was hoping you had a destination in mind.”
“Well, now’s as good a time as any. My sister should be waiting for my call,” she said calmly, before she reached onto her belt and took out the personal communicator that she carried with her at all times. It was encrypted and hard coded to only one channel, and only one person had the frequency.
She pushed the call button, and almost immediately a blue hologram flared to life above the communications pad. The person in the holo was wearing
much heavier Beskar’gam than Kalis was, with plates that covered every conceivable angle of attack, and a heavy cape that draped over only one shoulder.
“Kalis! Where the
kriff have you been? I was expecting your call an hour ago! What happened?” the woman in the holo asked, clearly worried and more than a little frustrated.
“Relax, Imdube. We ran into some trouble with the slaver crew that found out my cover, but we’re safe. We’re currently in the middle of nowhere, though, and being hunted by a small flotilla. You should give Doctor Cyrus here a bonus when we make it through this,” she responded, giving her sister a small smile.
The hologram rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her finger against the beskar plate on her left bicep.
“Well, fine then. Did you at least get the intel out?”
“Of course I did, don’t worry about that. Worry about how you are going to pull our butts out of this fire,” she responded as she leaned back. “You got coordinates for us to meet up with the battle group?”
Imdube huffed and pressed a button on her gauntlet, causing a set of coordinates to flash in the upper right corner of the hologram. “We’ll be here. I knew you were in trouble, so I took the time to round up two more battleships. We even got a Jensaarai with us. Get there within three hours,” the head of clan Stinn ordered, before the hologram abruptly cut out.
Kalis looked up to the frankly scruffy doctor, a smile on her face.
“You catch those coordinates? I’ve got them if you didn’t.”
“Yea, though we have a problem. If I jet on out of here at full blast, those CR-70s are likely to blast right back here out of real space, and while the
Finch can easily gun down one, three is a bit much, combined with the maybe 8 or 9 starfighters that dreadnought had, we wouldn’t make it out of the system. I can push us to...maybe 45% sub light before we are throwing off enough emissions to be picked up on long range scanners. I’d keep it to 35% for safe keeping, so maybe...8 hours on the long end. Once we get to the other side of the star we can jet off at full throttle and by the time they see our hyperspace jump signature we’d be well and truly gone.”
Standing, he did a short stretch and retrieved his rifle. Shouldering it, he nodded to Kalis. “Come join me on the bridge, we can plug in the numbers there.” He’d sling the rifle and walk back to the bridge, leaving the door open.
Kalis motioned for her friends to stay where they were as she picked up her helmet and put it back on before she followed the doctor out of the door and down the hall towards the bridge.
“My sister’s gonna be right miffed if we don’t make it out of this in one piece, Doc, so I’ll follow your lead. But still, I’d take a face-to-face fight over this hiding and sneaking any day of the week,” she said casually as she stepped onto the bridge, looking around the small space. Once she found the nav computer she stepped up the holodisplay, using her fingers to navigate the haptics and input the coordinates.
“Kriffing slavers. The only good news in this whole debacle is that if they did find us, they wouldn’t blow up your ship. I’m much too valuable for them,” she revealed, her voice sounding tinny through the helmet’s speakers.
“Indeed, but this isn’t your ship. I'm a historian, and while I wont go into detail, there is a considerable cache of artifacts and materials onboard that I'd rather not fall into the hands of slaver pirates.” he paused for a moment, hanging the rifle back on its rack and turning to her.
“They aren’t family, are they.”
“Nah. They’re cover. A good one, too, right up until those slavers caught me downloading their shipment manifests and trade routes. I couldn’t just leave them in wild space to rot,” she said as she finished putting in the coordinates, turning to lean against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest.
“So, a historian, huh? You’ll probably like it in Mando space. We’ve got these new Force users, the Jensaarai they call themselves. Their temple is like a huge museum--chock full of artefacts. They might let you see it if you ask nice.”
He took a seat at the helm and reached for a thermos of recaff. “Indeed, a Galaxy that fails to learn from its past mistakes, it’s doomed to repeat them. As for the Jensaarai...I was interested in using their records to further my research.” Taking a sip of the black liquid, he went on. “Oh, the family, the cover, they look well enough like you, but anyone versed in bone structure, say a doctor, bounty droid, or an archeologist would pick them right out.”
He turned and gave a weak smile. “Though what gave it away to me was the dad didn’t perk up at my Mando’a the same way you did...didn’t seem very Mando’a either.” Another sip of warm recaff. “Speaking of which, how does one become a Mando, I know of the old stories, but I figured most of them going the pacifist route a few decades back sorta changed that.”
“Heh. Luckily, the average slaver is about as sharp as a dull rock,” she said with a brief laugh before she went quiet at the question, suddenly finding the floor extremely interesting for a moment.
“My sister changed that, when Death Watch killed our parents. She revived the old ways, took the helm in a way that I never could. Clan Stinn are
all Mando’a now.
Vode an,” she said quietly, still looking at the ground intently.
“Anyways, it might be less pacifistic than you remember on Mandalore. We still have the aristocracy, but a lot more of us are embracing the old ways. Becoming true Mando’a. We have to--the Sith are becoming too much of a threat. Before Ornitek fell, there was also that threat. We’ve been busy these last few years.”
“Almost sounds like some stuff I’d see in an old Republic Propaganda archive...It sounds swell, if I were a younger man I’d might pursue it further.” He shook his head after taking another swig of his recaff. “I’ve done enough fighting in my life, the current state of the galaxy almost makes me want to wish the Old Republic was still around, least shit was peaceful back then.”
For a moment he seemed to stare off into space, a thousand yard stare on his face as the faint sounds of alarm klaxons and turbolaser fire rang in his ears. He snapped himself out of it, both a little startled he’d fallen into another memory trip and in front of the Mando of all people.
A little embarrassed, he changed the subject. “So, tell me more about the clan.”
“Not much to tell, really. My sister is the head of the clan, and we represent most of the military leaders in the Mandalorian Armada. You should be seeing about three Keldabe-Class Battleships in the battle group she’s bringing, so if we can make it to her we shouldn’t have to worry about the slavers anymore,” she revealed.
“My sister’s been pushing the Confederation to get to more of a war footing for some time now, and it looks like her hard work might finally be paying off.”
He stared out into space as the
Finch began to gently accelerate out of their hidden pocket among the asteroid belt. With the increase in engines, the CR-90 experienced one of it’s few potential flaws: when the climate control is switched off the powerful block of engines often causes the temperature of the ship’s internal to rise slowly.
“Wouldn’t call war a pay off. Spent my 4 years in CorNav fighting pirates, Slavers, you name it. Saw a lot of combat, lost a lot of good friends.”
“War, maybe not. But a war footing? Most definitely, especially when your entire northern border is the Sith and Zygerrians, who would love nothing more than to turn your entire population into slaves,” she countered.
She sat down in one of the other chairs on the bridge and began keeping an eye on the sensor readings--just to make sure that the slavers didn’t get wise to their little ruse.
“So, what were you doing in my neighborhood? The ruins of Ornitek isn’t a great place for a doctor to be in.”
“Part of doing what I do means I'm a bit more tapped in to the criminal underworld than most people. I saw some signs of incoming instability and began to pack up shop. I was using a secured storage place on a planet a few systems over as a base of operations, but I figured I'd be safe to load everything into the
Finch that could fit. I’ve got a decent amount of data on board and a few...pricey artifacts.”
Looking at her for a moment, he tilted his head. “You don’t know anything about Holocrons, do you?”
“I know they’re way more trouble than they’re worth,” she responded, leaning back into the synthleather seat that she had plopped herself down in.
“The Jensaarai found one from some old Sith Lord recently, they had to use all kinds of special equipment to move it. You have some on board?” she asked, now genuinely curious. From what she understood, it was impossible for a non-Force sensitive to even open them.
He paused for a moment, then reached into a compartment next to his chair. He revealed a small blue crystal cube. With a bit of concentration it flipped open, revealing a single static image of the galaxy. “From what I can tell it’s an old map of the Old Republic during its heyday. It’s horribly out of date, but it helped to a degree with my thesis paperwork.” He attempted to simply glance past the fact that it had opened, as he already came to the conclusion she likely was and hoped it wouldn’t be that big of a deal to the Mando.
Kalis paused for a moment, regarding the open holocron with mild shock. He hadn’t seemed like a Jedi, Sith, or a Jensaarai--but then, there were many Force-sensitives who went unrecruited in this day and age. One of the consequences of the fall of the republic.
“Interesting. So, what are you hoping to find in Mando space? Other than respite from the slavers, of course,” she added, choosing to not bring up the fact that he was clearly a Force-sensitive. Every man was entitled to their own secrets.
A slight pause, then a sigh as he closed the holocron. “No, I'm not some hiding Jedi or sith...I didn’t even know till halfway through my thesis research and got my hands on this thing. It’s the only one I’ve ever gotten to open up.
A beeping broke his silence and he turned back in his chair, leaning over a sensor readout. “Shit, the CR-70s are back, just jumped in...they might have picked up the communication burst from your call.” He sat upright and properly buckled into the flight seat.
“Right, since you're here you can work the weapons system.” He switched off the auto pilot and took the yoke while putting on a headset and keying the PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen this is your captain speaking, we have unwanted visitors and will be needing to get dirty. Buckle in and don't move around the craft till the fashion seat belt sign has been turned off.”
He spoke out to her as he opened the throttle and the
Finch began to accelerate, “You’ve got 4 rappid fire medium laser cannons that will auto track targets, all you have to do is select targets. The twin Dual turbolasers are going to need some manual controls since I normally slave them to a panel over here. Sensor screen is to the left, joystick control is on the right. I’ll watch shields and power generation.”
He was barking orders at this point, starting to slip into his element as he found himself in combat for the first time in years. Muscle memory and training kicking in and guiding his actions.
Kalis didn’t even blink--as soon as she saw the CR-70’s on the sensor readout, she was already moving to learn the controls. A task which was made much easier by the good doctor laying out instructions for the operations of the ship’s defense systems. She wasn’t as well-versed in ship-to-ship combat as she was in ground combat, but she was no slouch in either department.
The first thing Kalis did was set the lead frigate as the primary target for the autocannons, and leave them to their own devices--no point in directing them when the ship had a perfectly functioning tracking system slaved to the sensors.
The turbolasers, however, looked like they would need more direct control. Good thing was, the basic principle didn’t seem much different than blaster fire--lead your shot, check your target, and shoot to kill. She re-routed the turbolaser control to the joystick and kept her eye on the sensor readout, making sure to lead her targets by several hundred kilometers, before she pulled the trigger and opened fire with all four guns.
She could tell immediately that one of her shots went wide, though the other four would find their marks.
As she did this, she pulled out her holocomm and put it on the dashboard of the ship, pressing the button to call her sister.
“We’re gonna need assistance, Imdube. The Slavers caught onto our little escape plan. How long until you can get out to us?” she asked, without removing her eyes from the targeting screen as she continued the barrage of turbolaser fire to keep the frigates off their backs.
“Kriffing sithspit, Kalis. We’ll be there ASAP, but you guys gotta hold out. It might be a minute,” her sister responded, before the communications cut out entirely. It wasn’t interference, Kalis knew--it was just her sister jumping into action. The battle group would probably arrive within the hour… she just hoped that was going to be in time.
The
Finch began to shutter at its mass dealt with the acceleration, as well as the first few shots from the trailing CR-70 impacting the rear shields. “Ok, our blind spot is to the rear, the main guns can't fire over our ass end cause the engine block, if they know that, they will use it. I’m going to start zig zagging to give you a firing arcs.”
While still staying at speed, he began to bank roughly 40 degrees, trying to angle the ship’s deflector shields and give the mando a shot.
Kalis bit back a curse as the ship lurched with the turn, throwing off her aim momentarily before she managed to correct her firing arc and reacquire her target. Four volleys lanced out from the turbolasers, striking one of the CR-70’s directly on the fore.
“How much power can you shunt to the rear shields? We need to hold out for as long as possible,” she said as she moved to the next target, releasing another few volleys of turbolaser fire that just barely grazed the vessel’s shields as it banked hard to avoid the fire.
“Not a lot! I’m already pushing the drive core.” he tapped his com and started barking orders to his small arsenal of astromechs and repair droids to begin preparing for emergency repairs. “Their shields are going to be shit, land a few good hits on their engines and we might out pace em.”
The Two GR-70s were joined by the third, as well as the lumbering form of the Dreadnought. Said dreadnought began to discharge its paltry fighter compliment, with the sensor suit identifying them as 8 or so Z-95 headhunters. Old, shite, but cheap and likely modified.
The nearest CR-70 took a direct hit, the
Finch’s heavy turbolasers piercing it’s shields and critically damaging its drive core and leaving it dead in the void. The second closest CR-70 finally got in range of the 4 medium laser cannons and their firing computer automatically locked and began to track the smaller corvette. After a few moments of calculating range and lead, the battery opened up with a volley of shots. Most landed, and the CR-70’s shield flickered and fell, the combined energy dumpoff collapsing it’s defenses.
“Nearest one’s dead!” He was cut off as a rumble went through the ship as one of the advancing Z-95s made an enterprising strafing run on the
Finch, and already a warning klaxon began to blare. “Frak!” All was not bad, as the medium lasers immediately tracked the smaller target and opened fire, with the first shot impacting the headhunter on its belly as it flew past. It began sputtering, smoke, then properly detonated as it’s drive core when critical.
The other Z-95s, now down a wingman, began to make multiple attack runs from various angles. The resulting barrage of incoming fire, largely laser fire and a few light torpedoes, rocked the
Jade Finch from side to side, collapsing her shields and battering her hull, in return for taking down another of the two Z-95s. Alarm bells and klaxons blared over head and the fire suppression system kicked in to stop a considerable blaze in the port air lock.
As the furball continued and the Z-95s circled around their stricken CR-90, Ziam reached over and hit the autopilot. “Keep putting out shots, I got an idea.” He bolted from the bridge and down the hall towards the starboard air lock.
Stopping before he went there, he stopped at an armored wall locker and tapped on the keypad, unlocking it. Before him was his mostly empty arms locker and picked out the item in question: A Krupx Void-7 Seismic charge. He hefted it into his arms and once again sprinted towards the airlock.
As he did so, he passed the family as they sat bolted into their crash webbing. “Get to an escape pod pronto!” he yelled as the ship took another hit and rumbled. Getting to the airlock, he opened it and rushed to the other side. Remembering his limited training with munitions from CorNav, he set the charge down and went through the process of arming the thing.
Setting its timer for 30 seconds and arming it, he rushed back out of the airlock and closed it. Running the cycling, he didn’t wait to hear the
wooshing sound as the air in the airlock rushed out into the void, taking the ticking charge with it.
He traced his steps back to the bridge and managed to strap back in and open up the throttle once again in an attempt to get as far away from the blast as possible. “Hang on!”
There was a bright blue flash, then silence, then an ear splitting
Bang] and the
Finch was tossed about like a ship in the ocean, its directional and RCX controls overloaded from the blast and sending the entire corvette spinning.
Having to make use of G-Force breathing he hadn’t used since his time in training, he kept himself awake and began to manually right the craft using it’s back up controls. He glanced at the sensor read out as the
Finch began to settle. The Z-95s were all gone, a large debris field being their collective remains. The both of the nearest CR-70s had taken a good amount of the blast and were themselves breaking up with hulls venting atmo and pirate corpses spinning in the void.
The
Finch was in bad order. Her automatic RCX system was gone, shields recharging, hull was damaged and hyperdrive inoperable temporarily. He took a breath and called out to Kalis. “You alive, mando?”
Kalis let out a pained groan as she brought a hand to her head, hoping that the disorientation brought about by being violently jostled in her seat would soon pass. She had strapped herself into the chair as soon as they had started to take serious fire, but the kriffing seismic charge--as that was the only armament that could have caused that kind of detonation--had rocked her world and slammed her helmeted head back against the chair she sat in.
“Just barely, Doc,” she said as she unbuckled herself from the chair, standing and leaning her hand against the upper console to steady herself. She
hated ship combat, and this whole thing was just reinforcing her deep-seated hatred.
“Now we need to hurry and fortify this thing against a boarding action. Your ship’s dead in the water, Doc,” she informed him as she made her way out of the bridge and towards the airlock, trusting that her escort would have enough sense to follow her lead in this matter. He was CorNav, and she gave naval supremacy to him any day of the week.
But if you wanted to survive a firefight? Call a Mando.
There was a large piece of durasteel plating that had fallen from the ceiling near the port airlock--the only one that wasn’t currently exposed to space and blocked off by a foot-thick durasteel bulkhead.
“Here we go,” she muttered to herself as she reached down and lifted the plating up, the muscles in her arms bulging as she handled the heavy plating before she wedged it into the corridor about ten feet back in a vague approximation of a chest-high wall. She took careful time gathering debris, motioning for the doctor to assist her in setting up a small barricade to prevent the pirates and slavers from advancing any further into the vessel.
“My sister’s gonna be here in a bit, we’ve just got to hold them here,” she informed him as she reached onto her belt, pulling out what looked like two diodes and magnetizing them onto either side of the corridor leading to their barricade before arming them, causing the air to be filled with a high-pitched electrical hum.
He had dashed after her, rifle in hand and a pile of cartridges in the other. Once the barricade was set up, he steadied the rifle barrel on the edge of the rough metal and began to load the cartridges in one after another until he had filled it’s magazine. Checking his DL-18, he smiled at her. “Yea, yea lets hope she gets here in time, i’ve only got around 10 rounds for this rifle.”
His remark was followed by the tell tale sounds of an airlock door being forced open and the ship’s atmosphere being equalized. Throwing the bolt on his rifle, he centered the sights on the airlock door and waited.
Then, a flash from the other side, the faintest of shadows through the windows, and then it opened. Ziam emptied his lung, steadied the sight, and squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked and a rather loud
Crack rang out as the weapon fired, sending a bimetallic slug down the hull. It impacted the first Pirate nearly dead center in the forehead carving a nice hole in his head and immediately killing him. His nearest comrade behind him took the slug to the upper chest, causing him to scream out and fall back. The door way was now choked with two bodies, one still screaming and flailing at the sight of the back of his friend’s skull missing, and the initial wave of slavers stopped dead in their tracks.
Kalis grinned behind her helmet at the sight of the first of the slavers falling almost immediately, though she kept both of her DL-44’s trained on the doorway where the pained screaming of the second slaver was still sounding. The damage that slug throwers did was no joke--it definitely served to be on
this side of one if it was going to be on the battlefield.
The next one to force his way through, stumbling over his two comrades that were clogging up the doorway, was a fat Gamorrean who held a massive, two handed axe in his hands.
Two heavy blaster bolts slammed into each of his beady little eyes, cooking and vaporizing the slaver’s skull and leaving his fat body jerking incoherently as it fell to the floor, still twitching as if it hadn’t quite realized that it was dead yet.
Another pirate, a Zygerrian, got it into his head to rush past the bodies of his comrades and into the hall in an attempt at overwhelming their defensive position. He was rewarded for his efforts by her shock mines activating and arcing powerful lances of electricity between them and through him, sending his entire body into powerful seizures that were accompanied by audible cracks.
That would be his bones breaking under the strain of his uncontrollable muscle spasms.
“This the best you got? We can do this all day,
kriffing hut'uun,” she called out, hoping to at least cause the rest of them to hesitate. They needed to buy as much time as possible.
Ziam suppressed an urge to laugh at the Mando’s...at Kalis’s insult and kept his eyes on the door and the quickly piling up mass of bodies at the door. He threw the bolt and steadied the rifle once again as yet another slaver stepped through the door a few moments later. He emptied his lung, steadied the sight, and squeezed the trigger.
Crack, followed by a wet splatter of blood and tissue, then the momentary wailing of a rodian before he fell to the floor and stopped moving.
Then a few moments of silence before a small object flew through the doorway and landed a few feet inside the hall. Ziam ducked for cover shortly before a resounding
bang echoed through the hall and shook the doctor a good bit. However, beyond a ringing in his ears, ziam shouldered the rifle again and cycled the bolt action once again.
Now he was pissed. “Still alive, frackwhits!” As if to punish his defiance, a second object was thrown in the door and Ziam dove once again. A second
Bang and the distinctive sounds of metal fragments impacting and ricocheting around the hall as lighting fixtures and holopanels were destroyed. Emergency lighting kicked in, but did barely much to keep the hall well lit at any point.
Then, as if a sudden cosmic punch from whatever forces may be slammed into his head and he fell back against the wall. He reached up and felt his head, feeling blood and almost panicked. His training kicked in and he found himself scrambling for his weapon. Finding it, he shakily shouldered it and reached forward to flip through the low light vision options on the sight.
Kalis’s helm filtered out the flashbang’s effects, momentarily rendering her deaf to protect her from the loud explosion and the visor completely filtering out the bright flash. The frag grenade didn’t even make her flinch, even when she felt a few pieces of shrapnel bounce off of her Beskar’gam.
“That all you got,
hut'uun?”
Meanwhile, in the void of space, the pristine starscape was suddenly disrupted by a series of hyperspace arrivals. Two Keldabe-Class battleships, accompanied by a Venator-Class Star Destroyer, leapt into real space and immediately began steaming towards the debris field that surrounded the
Jade Finch. The Venator’s top armor panel split as the battle group made its way towards them, and a cloud of fighter craft, a mixture of A-Wing interceptors and X-Wings, poured from the vessel.
On the bridge of the lead Keldabe, the
Darasuum, Imdube stood with her arms crossed and stared out of the view port at the Cruiser and the small frigate that had dared to come after her sister. She wore full plate Beskar’gam that went unpainted, allowing the armor to shine a bright silver that reflected everything around it. A dark cape was draped over her shoulders, and she wore a helm that completely covered her face.
“Hail them,” she ordered, waiting until she got the all clear from her communications officer before she began. “This is Imdube of clan Stinn, representing the Mandalorian Confederation. I’m going to give you one chance to surrender, because I’m feeling generous. If you do not take it, I will destroy you.”
The hall went quiet, save for the wailing of the still wounded team mate. Ziam solved this with one last round, causing a second splatter of blood to paint the walls of his ship. Then, funnily enough, more forms stepped through the door way and Ziam readied his rifle once again.
“W-we surrender! the mando made us!” He shot a puzzled glance at Kalis before emerging from cover, a slug rifle aimed at the voice coming from the air lock. “A-alright, come out, hands up, I see a frakin weapon and I'm putting a round through all of you!”
They did so in short order, the remaining crew of the CR-70, around a dozen or so mix of pirates and slavers, piled out with their various limbs in the air. With the Mando’s help, he slipped binder cuffs on them and locked them into an empty storage space. However, before he did so he had them strip of weapons and more importantly armor.
He then made his way to the still docked CR-70 and accessed their navicomputer. He wasn’t a slicer by any means but they hadn’t password protected the damn thing, though they had reset it to its factory condition. He locked it with a password as well as doing so with the smaller corvettes controls, firmly placing the ship under his command.
Sitting down on the still smoking bridge of the
Finch and keyed open his communications suit. After a moment, the armored form of Imdube Stinn flickered to life opposite the bloodied and battered face of Ziam Cyrus.
“Ah, good to finally meet you, Lady Stinn. Your sister and the Data she carries is safe and sound, just as our contract specified. I’d be happy to transfer them both over upon arrival to a port of your choosing.”
“Good man, Doctor Cyrus. Tell you what--keep the ship. You deserve it after all the trouble you went through to fulfill the contract,” Imdube responded, before turning her attention to her sister. “You alright, Kalis?”
“I’m fine. Ready to get off this bloody ship and back to
Manda'yaim,” she responded, finally removing her helm. “Gonna take a lot more than some slaver scum to bring down a
Mando’a, you know that
vode.”
The sisters both smiled, knowing that the other was safe, and as the CR-70 towed the
Jade Finch towards the Mandalorian battle group, they began to joke with each other as if they had never left each other’s side.
Ziam listened in idly as he went about attempting to fix several busted and fried systems in the bridge and couldn’t help but finally relax for the first time since they had started on their journey.
Just what had he gotten himself into?