At certain angles, light reflecting off ice or water is polarized. The effect on the metal looked something like this or this.

“S-sorry for the intrusion, Agent,” one of the spacedock staff, a light-haired Human male barely old enough to shave, came running up as soon as she exited To Sail the Wine-Dark Sea’s airlock, “This has been sitting in general delivery. The name is…well, you can see the name for yourself. It’s, uh, it’s similar. To yours, I mean. P-perhaps you know this person?”

He handed her a small square box. It sat easily in her hand. “Thank you…” Sha’ra’zaed appraised his uniform. Nothing but a name badge. Poor rate, drawing the short straw to bother the scary Imperial Intelligence agent, “Recruit Dorson. I’ll see it is delivered.”

“Thank you, sir, much appreciated, sir,” he sputtered. He snapped a salute and evacuated the landing platform.

Sha’ra’zaed frowned at the box. It was a plain ordinary cube, wrapped in a basic grey flimsiplast shipping membrane. Her name, her proper name, on the label, as well as the legend “General Delivery, Vaiken Spacedock, to be held until called for.” Standard Aurebesh alphabet, standard hardcopy typeface. Kaliyo glanced over her shoulder on her way off the ship, “Secret admirer, huh? I thought you and bug-boy were an item.”

“With my luck recently, someone sent me a bomb,” Sha’ra’zaed mused.

“Look at the time,” Kaliyo backed off and checked an imaginary chrono, “I’m missing happy hour at the exciting Vaiken Spacedock Cantina. See ya.” She traipsed off toward the central ring. Sha’ra’zaed watched her go. She meant the remark as a joke. Just as well.

She turned her attention back to the box. She wasn’t expecting any packages. Using her full name ruled out most everyone but close associates. Vector would have given it to her in person. Lokin…would be Lokin. He wasn’t the gift-giving type. She’d only just shoved Temple out the door for shore leave; judging by fading of the printing the package had been here for some time. She could imagine Kaliyo getting her some tacky off-color gag gift from an erotic holosite, but Kaliyo wouldn’t have bothered to use her whole name. And she wouldn’t have left before seeing her open it.

A booby trap was starting to sound possible. Likely, even. Except the puzzling bit of addressing it to Schehe’ra’zaede. It didn’t guarantee delivery, it was much more likely to get shoved to the back of the package storage area and forgotten.

Oh, this was going nowhere. Sha’ra’zaed turned the box over in her hand then righted it again.

Five minutes later she had it in the transverse scanner in To Sail the Wine-Dark Sky’s overengineered medbay. Lokin was attending an obscure conference in the Deneb system. He’d be unable to complain about the distinctly off-brand use of the equipment. A three-dimensional image formed in the holomonitor. Sha’ra’zaed peeled away the image’s layers. First the wrapper, then the rigid container, finally the packing material. What remained had a hard metallic signature, reflective qualities distorting the holo’s quality and clarity. It might be a statuette, a plaque, a collection of someone’s insignia or medals. The component readout showed no known explosives. No known poisons, no known diseases, no electronics, no data storage devices.

Feeling more than a bit foolish, Sha’ra’zaed removed the harmless item from the scanner and opened it. Inside the standard plastiboard box, shrouded in layers of aerogel packing material, was a decorative comb. For hair.

The stark light in the medbay reflected off the highly polished surface. The teeth marched along in a perfect column, following the slight curve of the piece. The upper, decorative part, was sharply irregular in shape, suggestive of natural forms such as rocks or ice.

Ice.

Sha’ra’zaed found the polarizing filter from her slit lamp and viewed the comb through it. It blazed forth in brilliant rainbow colors. Subtle etching detailed what had previously been a featureless blank. The sculpted part—for the comb was undoubtedly a piece of art—was a glacial face, fragments of which seemed to cascade and crumble as the light shifted with her movement. It was beautiful.

A slip of flimsiplast hid at the bottom. Sha’ra’zaed gently unfolded it. It contained a single Cheunh ideogram, written in a strong, confident hand, striking personalized calligraphy in a world of uniform typefaces.

Remember who you are.

Sha’ra’zaed repacked Hepoul’s gift and placed it in a lower drawer in her quarters.

Broad Side of a Barn

Grey is my name, hi my name is Grey, my name is Grey, Grey, Grey, Grey. Remi repeated mentally. She sighted down the length of her blaster rifle, carefully aiming at the target fifty meters away. She fired, then frowned, picking up the range finder to check the target, no hit. She looked at her datapad, step by step instructions for calculating power distribution and range for Upari based lasers. She grumbled at the step she missed and made an adjustment.

She sighted again. Fire. She checked the range finder. Head shot. Allowing herself a small smile she moved on to the next exercise. Four figures milled back and forth before and behind her true target. Aim, fire, check.

She practiced until the little alarm on her wrist console beeped. The holotargeting system was her most expensive piece of gear but necessary if she was going to learn how to fire a blaster. She picked up the unit, noting it displayed several statistics about her practice session.

15% accuracy, 12 minutes per target, 36 civilian casualties, 2 targets killed, 6 escaped.

She sighed, grateful there were no witnesses, especially not him.

“What’s your name?” her ear piece prompted at its randomly set interval.

Remi, she thought. Damn.

Sleep

Grey’s ship was docked with the orbital station, she could take the shuttle to it, but shuttles cost credits. She had enough fuel to make a dozen hyperspace jumps before refueling and enough credits to refuel three times, but she did not want to take a job before she felt ready so she lived rough mostly and saved her credits for training and gear.

The swamps on this planet were toxic and inhospitable without camping equipment, Grey returned from her training session to find lodgings for the night. The city, Bootana Kung or Scum Garden, was aptly named, the businesses were brought up around the smuggler trade and nearly every building boasted flashing signs advertising the vices peddled within. She carried her rifle in a case, a blaster at each side, a vibroknife in each boot, and a vibrosword across her back. She was armed to the teeth and looked no different from anyone else traveling the streets as dusk fell except one thing. She was a woman.

Most of the lodgings in the city were hostels, shared spaces where a traveler could purchase a spot on the floor in a large communal room. She had stayed in places like that before, but never alone. Even as a Jedi she was not intimidating, and there was always someone who wanted to test his skill against a fabled Jedi, until a shadow would fall over him and he would stammer an apology and walk away. She pushed thoughts of different places and different times. She surveyed her options instead, the other places with rooms to let were Casino suites and establishments where the rooms were secondary to the girl you would share it with. The former was too expensive the latter had potential.

With an impish grin behind her helmet she found a place that was run down but not filthy, it smelled like incense and a glance in the doorway showed slightly older girls lazily making bead necklaces. She put down a credit chip that would pay for several uninterrupted hours with a girl, and pointed randomly at one with kind eyes. The proprietor, a large middle aged Nautolan who had probably seen everything, waved the girl over and handed her a timer.

The girl led her back to a room, sat on the bed and waited for instructions. After determining that the girl’s costume could not have concealed a conventional weapon, Grey surveyed the room. It held a large bed in the center and a pair of chairs in the corner next to a small table. The pieces were mismatched, probably purchased or salvaged from one of the casinos. The dents and stains on the furniture indicated that all pieces had been used repeatedly for the same purpose, including the table.

Grey walked to the corner with the two filthy chairs. She sat on one, put her feet in the other, placed her sword across her lap.

“What’s your name?” the earpiece asked.

She was already asleep, but she dreamed of a time when she was someone else.

Improvement

Grey, Grey, Grey. She had not given her name to anyone so far, but as with all things she wanted to be ready.

75% accuracy, 6 minutes per target, 12 civilian casualties, 4 targets killed, 4 escaped.

She logged her progress into her datapad and checked the bounty boards. She was not ready to take a job, and she would not try until she could fire her blasters without endangering innocents, but she wanted to know what to expect. Most of the jobs were either low paying recovery work or high paying suicide missions, apparently a bounty hunter needed a reputation to obtain access to the good jobs. One particular bounty stood out, a Sith whose last known location was near her current planet. She wondered what a Sith would be doing in Hutt space, and tried not to think of a different Sith, where he was, and what he might be doing.

“What’s your name?” Her earpiece asked.

Remi. Damn.

Morencai

“He slept, that’s all.” The bewildered Twilek handed over the credit stick the hunter had left as a tip. Nidala was the new girl here but like the others she was too old to be prized by a Hutt, she told him her former master lost her in a game of sabacc. Eventually she ended up at Morencai’s little brothel without a credit to her name. Her story was not unique, though she was prettier than most of his girls. He took her in, the others taught her how to make bead jewelry and if she wanted, she could sell her time with the men and women who visited, keeping half of her fee and splitting the rest with the other girls, but hardly anyone visited.

Morencai nodded accepting the chip. The girl, returned to the room with the others.

It was the third time the armored patron slept in one of the rooms. She, for despite what Nidala said the patron was definitely female, never removed her helmet nor did she speak. Each time, she would choose a different girl and they would take a room. The girl would sit on the bed and she would sleep on a chair in the corner.

He enjoyed puzzling out the possible backgrounds and stories of his few patrons. The woman’s credits were good and no one ever followed her back to the brothel, she was not running. Her equipment pegged her as a bounty hunter but they were too new. He wondered if she was some debutant from Alderaan playing at mercenary work, someone who had never seen death or real combat. He wondered if she would run at the first sign of trouble or was she full of youthful eagerness that would get her killed quickly. He pondered the possibilities and went back to the crystal he had been carving before Nidala interrupted him.

Two days later the woman returned. Morencai looked more closely at her equipment, she carried a pair of blasters and a vibrosword. The last bit of gear was unusual, even the hulking mercenaries that passed through this city rarely closed with their prey, she was small and thin judging from the size of her armor, he wondered if she knew how to use it.

He blinked his large Nautolan eyes and smiled showing his razor sharp teeth. He was tall and muscular, relics of his former life, but he worked hard not to look intimidating, he did not want to scare the girls or challenge the young fools, neither was good for business. He bowed to the hunter who pointed at a different girl.

Curiosity overcame him, “A vibrosword is an unusual weapon for a bounty hunter.” He did not make it a question, only invited an answer, but the woman froze then turned on her heel and walked away. Morencai would not stop her, too many years of experience taught that those who did not want to be found protected their privacy with deadly force. He would simply regret the loss of an interesting person and her credits.

The hunter had reached the exit when a pair of men entered, they ignored her in favor of the girls within. Morencai flipped the switch under the counter arming the room defenses then returned to his carving.

“Isla,” the lead man sneered but he was looking at Nidala. “You shouldn’t have run. The master was very upset to lose his favorite slave.” He drew his blaster and the girls scattered to either side leaving Nidala standing alone in the middle of the room.

She trembled but raised her chin defiantly and pointed at the lead, “It’s Nidala now, and I’m not a slave.” Morencai felt the air heat and a blast of energy erupted from the Twilek encasing both men, their heads tilted back mouths gaping open in silent scream until Nidala collapsed to her knees. They dropped to the floor the air around them smelling of ozone and burned flesh.

A cruel laugh and slow mocking applause announced a new arrival. A slim Twilek, Sith by his garb, surveyed the ruins of his men. “Very good, Isla.” He strode toward the girl carelessly. “I had no idea how your power had grown.” He made a fist, she clutched at her neck as an invisible hand forced her off her feet. “You should never have left,” the anger in his voice was palpable, lightning crackled around him, “I would have made you first wife, but now I think I’ll just use you as practice for my apprentices.”

Still defiant Nidala spat, “Wakamancha Echuta.”

He clenched his fist and her eyes bulged, the blue skin of her face turned a reddish purple. Morencai hesitated to use the laser turret he used to defend his establishment, he was not certain it would work and if it failed the Sith would certainly kill everyone. His hand slid slowly toward the kill switch when a blur of motion caught his attention.

The bounty hunter had returned or perhaps she never left. She charged the Sith silently while his attention was taken with Nidala. He turned, sensing her charge, but he was too late to stop her attack. Her blade swung down severing the arm he held in front of him, if he had cast some kind of protective ward but it failed to protect him. She pivoted expertly dodging the blast of force energy he projected with his good hand and went in for a low sweep, her blade slashed his leg, ripping through his armor.

It was not enough. The loss of his arm and his other injuries only enraged him. He threw his power wildly and sent her flying backward. She collided with the wall rolling to her feet immediately, but she did not draw her blasters. The Sith stood between the her and Nidala. The armored woman would not risk injuring one of his girls.

Such consideration from a strange mercenary proved too much of a goad, Morencai triggered his defense system and a hidden laser turret sighted the Sith and fired. The weapon struck true, buring a a hole straight through the Sith’s chest, he fell lightning still collecting in his hand, they watched silently until the last of his sparking life faded.

The hunter paced forward checking the Sith’s vitals despite the obvious lethality of his wounds.

“Thank you,” Morencai said keeping his voice low and soft so as not to startle her. He did not risk moving, he knew what the heat of battle could do and had seen many hunters that would kill anything that moved when bloodlust captured them. This hunter was different.

She pointed at the dead Twilek. “There’s a bounty on him. You should turn it in.”

Morencai shook his head, “I do not collect bounties, it is bad for my other business.”

She looked around at the empty brothel and tilted her head at him. He flashed his teeth but did not elaborate, she shrugged and began the process of taking her trophy using a vibroknife and a little canister of carbonite. “You’re Force sensitive.” She said to Nidala as she worked.

“I won’t be a Sith,” the girl managed to choke out from the floor.

“Then what will you be?” she said preserving the Sith’s head and bagging it.

The Twilek looked surprised, force-sensitives were automatic bounties for the Empire. “What can I be?” She asked forlornly. “Besides dead when more come to find me and force me to Korriban.”

“A Jedi.” The hunter replied softly.

The girl laughed pitifully staring at the headless corpse of her former master. “Would they even take someone like me?”

“Theoretically, it’s their job.” The hunter pulled out a datapad and swiftly sent off a message. “The choice is yours. I have friends on Nar Shaddaa, tell the bar tender at the Slippery Slope cantina your name. He’ll get you to the right people and they’ll take you to the Jedi.” She turned to Morencai, “I can pay for her release.”

He shook his head betraying his horror. “I do not own them,” he nodded at all of the girls, “She is free to go as she wishes. I will even arrange her transport," the sooner she was gone the safer all his girls would be, "I only ask your name, I am Morencai.” He bowed.

She hesitated before finally saying, "Grey."

“You will be safe here, Grey, and you may use a room to sleep whenever you wish.”

She nodded once and left without another word.

Bounty

Turning in a bounty for a Sith established Grey quickly. She created a number of holonet dead drops and the jobs poured in, but she would not be rushed, she had not taken down the Sith without help, and she never wanted to fight a Sith again unless she was forced to.

80% accuracy, 3 minutes per target, 0 civilian casualties, 6 targets killed, 2 escaped.

Not good enough, but she could not spend the next ten years shooting holographic targets. Every failure tempted her to use the force, but she knew that would be a mistake. It was hard enough to follow the code as a Jedi, a mercenary could easily fall into darkness. He would be pleased, she pushed away the thought. She was reminding herself to be patient when she entered Morencai’s brothel. They had done away with pretending she was there for a girl, she paid the same either way, it was an equitable arrangement on all sides.

“A moment of your time, Grey.” He said softly, always softly. She paused and faced him saying nothing as usual. “Have you seen these projectiles before?” He held up a small slug ringed with multicolored lights.

She shook her head.

“Projectile explosives that can withstand being shot from a blaster rifle.” He showed more teeth than usual. “And this one, another explosive charge but it stuns a blast radius, non-lethal.” She tilted her head.

“Is this your other business?”

“Supplying tools to various craftsman, yes.” He said modestly, “I think you would do well with my tools, they are for those who,” he paused trying not to offend, “Are not snipers?”

A snort emerged from her helmet then she paused considering him again, “What’s the catch?”

“Not everyone has the mind or nerves to set them, I will need to teach you.”

“And then?”

“One half of your bounties for three years and the cost of materials of course.”

“One quarter for a year and materials.” She replied but she was mesmerized by the projectile he held in his hands.

“One quarter for two years, materials,” he paused, “and half of your bonuses.”

She nodded both in agreement and at the projectile, “Show me.”

He shook his head, “Basics first, let us try to kill someone other than ourselves.”

After several weeks of careful learning, Grey returned from practice with her new tools.

98% accuracy, 1 minute per target, 0 civilian casualties, 8 targets killed, 0 escaped.

She was as ready as she would ever be.

Freedom

Grey collected her first real bounty and sent Morencai his share, she held out for her bonus only because she would be cheating Morencai if she did not do her best to get the credits she had earned. She sat on the bridge of her ship going over the job looking for where she could improve and making note of her mistakes. She was reaching for the holocomm to report when she realized there was no one to report to. She looked at her accounts, her ship, and her job offers. Bounties were there but she did not have to take them, time between jobs was common for mercenaries. The last one had covered her expenses with a little profit. She could take another job, or she could take some time off, she could upgrade her ship or go back to Morencai for more lessons. No one was there to tell her what to do. No Council, no crew, no stupid Sith with visions.

She was alone, but she was free.

She hugged herself, giddy with elation and terror. It was several minutes before she composed herself enough to check her messages. A special drop she had set up with the SIS contained an encrypted stream from an unknown location.

I could use you on one of our special projects. Come and see me at the usual place. –AK

She grinned, some of the giddiness fading, duty and responsibility still guided her only with far more leeway than before, that suited her perfectly. She plotted a course to Nar Shaddaa.

“What’s your name?” her earpiece asked.

Grey.

I used the name "Xania" as that is the real name of my character and I feel that server merges should not have an impact on the characters themselves.

“Ever thought about settling down?”

Andronikos looked across the room to the sith standing on the far side, staring out through the large window. Her deep red hair, usually tied, were now falling on her shoulders and, even if she was not facing him, he recognised her demeanour, an almost constantly present air of superiority. He often wondered how different she would have been if she had not been a sith.

“Why?” she replied

“Well, are you going to continue plotting all your life?”

She straightened her head. Slowly turning around, he could not help but notice a strange glint in her eyes “I am a Sith or have you forgotten?”

“No, I haven't. I get reminded of that every time I look at you”

“Then you should also remind yourself of what I do” she said, turning back to face the window.

“Sometimes...” he paused, considering whether to continue. Then, considering that he had nothing to lose, he continued “Sometimes I ask myself if there is a person within that body of yours”. He was a bit of a gambler and, right now, he was gambling with his life, knowing that annoying a sith would be painful.

“Do you spend much of your time looking at my body?”

“That's not what I meant, damn it! And stop answering a question with another question.” Sometimes, she could really get on his nerves and yet, despite of that, he had not yet found the strength, or the will, to separate himself from her presence.

She sighed “What is it that you want to know, Andronikos?”

“What I meant was if...if you ever feel anything at all.” He could see her shoulders stiffening, 'Don't push it Andronikos. Let it go' he heard the logical part of his mind say but he was in no logical mood.

“Are you asking me if I love you?”

Her answer, although technically another question, felt like a punch in the gut. 'Damn it woman, you'd make a very poor diplomat' he thought. She turned around and, feeling her gaze upon him, it made Andronikos squirm.

“Tell me, Andronikos” she continued “How can I be sure that you won't be asking for favours?”

“What? That's...What do you mean?”

“As a sith lord, I can have as many suitors as I want.” she replied, walking slowly towards him “Some of them, if not all, would believe that just because they have been in my bed, they would have a right to special treatment.” She stopped and was now standing in front of him “I don't like that.”

He did not like it either.

“How can I know if you are different?”

“You're a Force user. Can't you use the Force to see the future?” he answered, trying to get her attention away from him

“I do not see the future. I'd rather make my own” she replied bluntly

'I know exactly what you mean' he thought and he remembered why he had not left yet: every conversation, every exchange with her was like getting in a fight and, having been someone who never backed down from a fight, he like it.

“I do not see the future, Xania. I can only tell you that what you see is what you get”

For a moment, she stared at him, considering his words. Then, turning away “That will do...for the time being”

******

Lilith was sitting in front of the tool table, pouring over her rifle and she did not see Vector enter. He moved quietly next to her and, for a moment, stood there without a word. As she turned her head, she jumped from the stool she was sitting on.

“Oh, sorry” he said

“Vector! Don't sneak up on me like that”

“Apologies. We did not wish to interrupt”

She sighed “It's fine, just don't always appear out of nowhere. I could have shot you” she said while sitting down again

“You could have shot us but, considering that your rifle is, at the moment, in pieces, we felt safe” he replied with a smile

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Vector” she resumed cleaning the different parts laying on the table “You never know, I could have hidden another weapon”

“Would you really shoot us?”

“Yes...” she answered, with a hint of a smile “...and I'm going to shoot you if you keep asking silly questions”

“Having settled this matter, may we enquire as to why you have been slaving over your rifle for almost two hours?” he asked, almost innocently.

“Are you checking up on me?”

“No, we are just asking out of curiosity”

She turned her head to look at him “Every weapon needs maintenance.” she continued, a mischievous look crossing her face “Why, would you rather have me maintain a different type of rifle?”

“No, it just that...” and then it hit him and, suddenly, he was lost for words “Uh, it's...eeh”

Lilith laughed “For a diplomat to be unable to continue, it must be awkward.”

“Yes, well, we were not expecting the conversation to take such a turn”

“Don't mind me” Lilith replied, resuming her activity “I just can't pass up an opportunity to make you feel uncomfortable”

“Yes. Thank you. We will remember such statement” he said, scratching his head. “You are a bad person”

“Hmmm, I love it when you talk dirty, Vector” she continued

“Have you been drinking?” he asked

“No, and that's the best part” she chuckled. After a moment she put down the cloth she had been using and faced him “Is it always 'we' with you?”

“What do you mean? There is you and us....that is 'we'. Is it not?

“No, I meant, in private....” He raised an eyebrow, blinking a couple of times

She sighed “You are a bit slow to catch up at times, Vector. When we are in private, is it just us?”

“Oh, the Hive, you mean?”

“Yes”

“Well, you know that we can sever the connection to the hive if there is a need for it”

“Good. It would be somewhat strange to share my room with you and a whole hive of Killiks...”

For a moment they stared at each other, in silence. Then, they both burst out laughing and they did for a while.

“That would be awkward” he said. “Would that make you feel uncomfortable?”

“I guess. A bit, at least”

“I will keep that in mind next time you pull one of your pranks...” he stated

“And do what? Relate to them in a descriptive way how humans interact on a personal level?”

“They would not fully understand. For Killiks, it is very different”

She widened her eyes, trying to look shocked “You didn't! You really did watch them?”

“No!” he replied hastily “We...” then noticing her grin “Oh. Again...You know that we hate you, right?”

“Keep telling yourself that” she replied.

“A season change is upon us all, sister, be prepared.” Season change, Miriah snorted, as she read the message her sister had sent her. What kind of Jedi nonsense is this? Corso had picked Magdalane up on Tython, but before they could get to the Stardancer, the diplomatic service recalled her leave time, and Corso had delivered her to Republic Fleet instead. She was on the way there now, hopefully to at least have dinner with her Jedi sister before she had to be leaving. Season change, now why does that ring a bell? Oh yeah, she thought, remembering the time she’d heard that phrase before.

“I’ll never, ever get involved again,” she’d sobbed on her oldest sister’s shoulder. “I’m done with relationships. Everybody leaves, everybody!” They’d just seen their other sister, Maura, off to military academy, and since she’d been Miriah’s constant companion practically since birth, it was painful to let her go. Not only was her sister gone, but the guy she’d been involved with was in her class, and had gone too. Now, Miriah felt more alone than she’d ever been, and was telling Mags that she was done getting close to people.

“You cannot live your live avoiding people, Miriah Julianne! You are a very passionate person, you’ll explode if you try to keep all that inside you.” She patted her baby sister’s back, knowing it wasn’t helping but helpless to do anything more. At fifteen years old, Miriah was so mercurial in her moods as to be totally unpredictable, but Mags heard the steel in her young voice. “Mir, sometimes you just have to experience a season change. Not like the weather, but in life. You’ve gone along one way, then something changes, then something else changes, and it’s like you’ve undergone a different phase or season in your life. A season change. That’s what this is, sweetie. “

She walked to the bridge, ignoring Risha’s stare. What does she mean? She sat, staring at the stars, remembering the last force vision Mags had told her about, and it was so off. That’s probably what it is, she thought, something Mags dreamed up and thinks is true. I’ll have to ask her, when we dock.

A few hours later, Miriah was sauntering in her loose hipped walk down the cantina steps. Suddenly her attention was drawn to a booth to her right. She turned and saw Corso there, but she had to look again. Something was different, she thought, he’s looking directly at me, not blushing. There’s a confidence I haven’t seen from him lately. She met his gaze and started to walk toward him, and felt the shiver pass over her. A season change is coming.

What had Magdalane done?

"I'm just saying it's idiotic, Wyn."

"You can stop calling me that, Kaliyo."

"I could do Wynce instead. Both fit. Winning, wincing, I honestly haven't figured out which one you do more of. The point is, that thing you have against packing real heat is stupid."

"It's bad form to haul a blaster rifle around everywhere. You can do it, you're a mercenary and you don't care who knows it. I have to have a little more social mobility."

"A rifle earns you social mobility." Her smile was full-lipped and lazy. "Believe me."

"The holdout blaster's enough." Wynston palmed the snub-nosed blaster he kept hidden on his person for most assignments. "Or the standard-issue pistol when I get to open carry Imperial gear."

"You keep a perfectly good rifle on the ship. Ever stop to think you could use it for more than your once-a-month long-range hit if you would just carry it with you?"

"It's bulky. It's conspicuous. It's slow to bring to bear when a situation goes sour. It's more trouble than it's worth."

"I might adopt the poor thing. It's too good for you, the way you treat it." Kaliyo's silver eyes gleamed.

Wynston took a few steps toward her. "Maybe you should do that. My attention's occupied elsewhere."

"I don't remember inviting you to this party. I like the rifle more."

"Like hell." He slid his arms around her waist. She leaned easily into him, running her palms down his chest and around his sides. With a look half scornful, half teasing, she turned aside from his kiss, but tolerated him nuzzling along her jaw.

He touched the point of his vibroknife to an indent in her spine before flicking it on. "What I do carry is good enough."

Her hand under his arm suddenly sprouted a knife of its own. He hadn't marked its approach under her fingers, but here it was, already pressing into his side at a point his medical training told him would get very bad, very fast.

"Ouch," he admitted, and hoped that would be enough to soothe her ego before a whim closed the distance between her knife and his artery. Kaliyo still wasn't a fully known quantity. He doubted she ever would be.

She pulled her head back enough to let him see her grinning. "Carrying the rifle doesn't mean you leave the other toys behind, Wynce. You bring every weapon you can."

A secondary thought process was increasingly demanding his attention. He kept his face close to hers as he frowned. "Kaliyo. I should tell you that literally everything about you is in some way arousing."

Her smile widened further. "Every weapon you can."

"Everything about you. Even the horrifying parts."

She laughed and shifted her free hand against his stomach. "You know, sometimes I get the feeling you're not a hundred percent fake when you say that stuff."

"I've been known to tell the truth when it suits me."

"Good to know." She withdrew the vibroknife and pushed away. "Now scram. I'm getting bored."

He did scram, and willingly, because keeping Kaliyo happy seemed like the correct course of action for the moment. She was every imaginable kind of bad idea and Wynston had no clue why Keeper had insisted on keeping her on as a contractor. Her significance and intended use were thoroughly unknown. Wynston did know that so long as she was here, he wanted to keep her favorably inclined towards him. Since he wasn't likely to be doing that on the job – something about being categorically denied every destructive opportunity for "fun" seemed to annoy her, go figure – he knew he had to find other ways of staying in her good graces.

And he knew that, alarmingly enough, he was going to enjoy it.

WHY DO I LOVE THAT WOMAN. Ah, well.

"The Emperor's cleansing fury will obliterate the unbelievers," declared Lieutenant Hareth.

"Yes, you've mentioned that," said Nalenne. "But I'm not sure it qualifies as a single enemy-crushing tool. 'Cleansing fury' is a bit vague, isn't it?" She considered. "Unless you mean me. Are you talking about me?"

"I…don't think so, my lord," said Hareth. "You do scythe down our foes, but that's not all that the Emperor's immortal will does. I don't think that sacrificing ourselves to you would lead to our glorious immortality in the Emperor's service. I think you would just make it hurt a lot and then we'd be dead."

"That is an accurate summary, yes," said Quinn.

Nalenne crossed her arms and glared at the Pureblood officer. "So basically, lieutenant, you have no idea what cleansing fury is or how it works. Therefore it doesn't qualify as a single weapon for purposes of the discussion." Nalenne turned to Lieutenant Ritter. "All right, you. What would you use to subdue a resistant planet?"

"Orbital bombardment," said the lanky scarred Ritter. "Obviously."

Lieutenant Pierce made a face and a dismissive gesture. "Lacks the personal touch. Set charges on the ground, or at least do an old-fashioned bombing run."

"When you've seen the kind of forsaken hole planets I have, you get tired of the personal touch," grumbled Ritter.

Pierce snorted. "Wimp."

"I always got the job done before leaving the forsaken holes. Just saying, orbital bombardments would've saved a lot of pain."

"There's no originality in just blasting things from space," said round-faced Captain Pandarr. "Creativity's the name of the game, boys. Concoct some really doomeadly self-replicating killer and the rest takes care of itself. First morale goes, then the targets, then the entire civilian population! Nothing like a good plague to show your enemies what's what."

Jaesa stopped in the doorway. "Master?" she said in a small voice. "Should I ask what's going on?"

"No," said Nalenne.

"I'm…not sure that Insanity Company's presence has been good for us, master."

"Run along and make sure Vette isn't vandalizing the command deck again, would you?" Nalenne shooed Jaesa off. "Anyway. Captain Rutau, your turn. Destroying the enemy presence. What do you use?"

"Give me an honest blaster," Rutau said earnestly. "Ten of our boys with rifles could take any challenge the galaxy has to offer."

"Ha." Ensign Rylon pushed his red hair away from his homely face. "Don't need ten. Don't need blasters." He smiled darkly and laid a hand on the vibroknife at his side. "All it takes is one."

Quinn eyed the youth. "You've come a very long way, ensign," he noted.

"I'll have to take your word for it, sir," Rylon said cheerfully. "I don't remember a thing."

"Annihilating your old personality did turn out much more fun than I expected," said Nalenne. "It's nice you appreciate the solo career, kid. My own preferred weapon is me."

"My vote lies with her as well," said Quinn.

"An orbital bombardment'd be just as good," grumbled Ritter.

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "You never heard about that moon in the Manaan system, did you, lieutenant."

"What's that?" said Ritter.

Quinn shrugged ever so slightly. "My vote remains with the Wrath."

This continues the No Death, Only Wrath Helicarrier Chronicles from elsewhere on the forum.

Rutau was promoted after his stint in the Okara Droid Factory on Balmorra. Pandarr was transferred from his poisoning Republic kolto tanks on Taris. Hareth was demoted out of the Jedi Knight line. Rylon was unexpectedly transferred after his Sith Warrior Balmorra encounter. Ritter was promoted after a long period of standing on the speeder pad on the surface of Hoth.

Nalenne wiped young Durmat Rylon's mind on Balmorra because she was all fuzzy-wuzzy LS at the time. Her corruption didn't begin until Tatooine. Then it never ended.

Pierce is not in IC, because Quinn commands IC. But Nalenne's crew and IC are traveling together at the moment, so Pierce gets to hang around.

"That moon in the Manaan system" was referenced way way back in chapter 65 of the original NDOW run and never elaborated upon. I imagine it was excessively violent in every way.

Miriah strode over to the table, her gaze never leaving those warm, brown eyes. He kept the contact, and when she sat, he moved a fraction closer to her. Hmm, she thought, either he’s had a few already or Mags did something to him, some woo woo Jedi stuff. “Mags already gone?” she asked him, and he hesitated a second before answering.

“She’s in a briefing, said she’d catch you in the morning before we left,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. She smiled, her trademark brilliant smile, attempting to distract him from his intent study of her face, but he still held the eye contact. She looked away, suddenly nervous, and ordered drinks.

She’s afraid no one ever sees the real Miriah, Magdalane had told him. She had this whole hardened persona, this front, that she shows the world. That’s not who she really is, and if you stay contstant, show her that she can’t fool you, you’ll win her. Corso recalled those words now, as he saw Miriah shift into her persona after the brief moment of real. They settled in, sipping their drinks, Corso telling her about seeing Tython and all the Jedi for the first time.

She studied his face, his movements. Confident, relaxed, sure of what he’s doing and going after, she mused. We’ll see, she thought, as their food arrived. They ate in companionable silence, aware of each other but not at a point where either of them were uncomfortable. After they’d eaten and refilled their drinks, Miriah sat back in the booth and looked around, thinking she’d catch someone’s eye to flirt with. Corso reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice pitched low, his desire evident in his tone. “Don’t hide, Cap’n. Stay here, with me.” She turned her eyes to his slowly, trying to reason with the sudden desire to touch his face. Wanting him was never the problem, she thought, it’s the “more” he wants that’s the issue. Remember that, she told herself, but his touch was searing her skin, muddling her thoughts. She realized he’d moved closer to her, and when she finally lifted her eyes to his, the contact briefly stunned her.

“I don’t know how, Corso, don’t you get that? I know what you want, but I don’t know how!” She tried to pull away, to run back to the ship, but she couldn’t move, held by his eyes.

“I know,” he told her, lifting the wrist he still held and kissing her hand. “We’re going to learn, together.”

Magdalane saw them from the upper deck, and smiled.

"Aw, come off it, boss, I don't need this crap!"

"Shut it, Vik," Sana said, scowling at the Weequay.

"Yuun will walk this path."

"Thanks, Yuun," she said, grateful at least one of them was sensible about this.

"Yuun does not find the need for this, but Yuun will try."

Sana sighed. "Ok, first target. No charging this time!"

Vik grumbled while Yuun chittered quietly to himself as the two of them tried to hit the bullseye with their blasters. Smoking holes were scattered across the target, but the middle was remarkably clear.

Sana rubbed the back of her neck in frustration. "You are Republic soliders. You should be able to use a fricking blaster!"

She glared over at Aric who was chuckling to himself. "Quiet, you! I'm coming for your autocannon next!"

"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."

Edit: And don't worry about Aric's autocannon, I love that thing way too dang much

In the companion line Jorgan pulls a blaster pistol on the SIS guy like every other non-blaster pistol proficiency (PC) character (operatives/snipers) in the game "blaster pistol" is given.