“Vode, we're moving out!” Vhonte barked into the barracks, the unit scrambling to stand at somewhat ready positions as our lieutenant made her presence known while I was behind her, the both of us already in our full kit. “Orders from the high ups, we're evacuating Concordia.”

  That got a massive rise from everyone present, the air practically charged with fear and worry as we all knew what such an order meant. It meant we were going to war, that conflict was soon. They immediately began to gather up their gear, clipping on armour bits, putting in helmets, bagging up their stuff, and anything in general as Vhonte and I watched.

  It had only been a couple of days since the failed negotiations with the New Mandalorians and multiple parts were in motion on carrying out combat operations including what was likely to be a surgical strike either thrown at Concordia by Adonai's forces or an attack from Concordia at his forces. And as such, us rookies were getting our asses evacuated and given further training and eventual deployment in lesser theatres to prevent avoidable wastage.

  I gazed silently at those I was charged with helping lead, comrades I had developed a good rapport with, and a very clear and sharp understanding settled over my thoughts.

  They weren't ready.

  They were talented and dangerous, but they were still not what they needed to be yet. Had another year been provided, then perhaps. But not now, and unless they hit the ground running, we were screwed and I knew I was too valuable to be limited to minor skirmishes. I was the most dangerous person in the room by a massive degree, and I was the only person capable of delaying or hurting even Kenobi, let alone Jinn.

  I shifted my weight some and glanced over at Vhonte in my peripheral, feeling at her surface thoughts. What I felt was her concern, sensations of caginess, resignation, and cold determination. She might have complained if she knew I was doing this, but it was no more intrusive than if I placed my hand on her skin to see if she was cold.

  Speaking of touching…

  I flicked my comms to our private channel, a slight crackle alerting her to it and her head twitched towards me.

  “Private discussion when we're on the ship out?” The ship was a sizable freighter that had a passenger cap of something like a hundred, and there'd probably be room for a discussion between the two of us away from prying eyes. We hadn't exactly discussed what we were, as she had simply elected to delay things when it came to sorting it out.

  Personally, I didn't see the fuss. If she said it was a mistake and simply wanted to remain friends, then fine by me. If she wanted more? Fine too, but let me know damnit!

  She was quiet for a moment, but then gave an answer several seconds later. “Sure.”

  Rather short, but I got enough out of her emotions that I knew more than necessary. The static and slight chill of uncertainty flickered out from her and I again felt assured that she definitely was not the most experienced on handling this or was bordering on upset at making out with an underling of hers in both height and age.

  Bah, thinking is for officers and I was a caveman.

  The platoon took very little time to get prepared All things considered, and they were all armored up and lined up, ready to leave and I gave an appreciative glance down the walkway at them all at ease.

  “Landing pad 7,” Vhonte said, switching to the squad channel and then turning on her heel with her right hand shifting in a circling gesture, “Don't get lost and follow me.” She then exited the barracks, the door hissing open on command as her boots clacked against the durasteel flooring.

  “You heard the lieutenant.” I added, making my way out as well.

  We made our way to Landing Pad 7 without much fanfare, the platoon moving in formation through Concordia's corridors. The base bustled with activity, warriors rushing to and fro, loading equipment onto transports, barking orders into comms, and a mess of other actions. The evacuation was in full swing, organized chaos that spoke to the urgency of the situation. I kept pace beside Vhonte at the front of the column, my weapons either mag-locked to my back or on my utility belt.

  The landing pad was open to Concordia's sky, the place packed with Mandalorians and hovercraft full of supplies and equipment. The freighter itself sat at the center of the pad, a boxy, utilitarian vessel painted in dull gray, its hull scarred from years of use. The boarding ramp was already lowered, crew members directing the flow of personnel and cargo with practiced efficiency. Other squads were loading up, their armor bearing different clan sigils, and I caught glimpses of a few familiar ‘faces’ among them.

  We boarded without issue, filing up the ramp and into the ship's interior. The cargo hold was cramped, filled with stacked crates and netting, the overhead lights casting everything in a harsh white. The passenger compartment beyond was better, with rows of bunks bolted to the walls, some storage lockers, and a few communal areas. It wasn't comfortable by any stretch, but it was functional enough.

  Vhonte and I moved through the platoon, checking gear, making sure everyone had stowed their equipment properly and secured their weapons. Averill was fussing with one of his satchels, muttering about det-pack placement, and Zeke and Trygg were already claiming bunks near the rear, their voices carrying over the general din. Harja sat quietly, helmet promptly coming off, checking her weapons with a bored, mechanical precision. I gave each of them a nod as I passed, feeling the tension in the air and the unspoken worry that was always the case with uncharted waters like what we were in.

  The ship's engines rumbled to life, the deck vibrating beneath my boots, and within minutes we felt the lurch as the freighter lifted off. The transition to atmosphere was smooth, the pressure shift barely noticeable, and I steadied myself against a support beam as we climbed. Through the small viewport near the bulkhead, I caught a glimpse of Concordia's surface falling away, the rocky moon shrinking beneath us.

  Once we'd cleared atmo and settled into our flight path, Vhonte turned to me, her voice coming through the private comm channel. "I need to speak with the Captain. Then we can talk."

  "Understood," I replied, watching as she made her way toward the forward section of the ship where the command crew operated.

  I found an empty bunk near the middle of the compartment and claimed it, setting down my gear. My secure box, reinforced durasteel with mag-locks and a biometric seal, went into the storage locker beneath the bunk. Inside it rested the Holocron, wrapped in insulated cloth, its presence a faint and dark weight in the Force. The hide and teeth from the Sith Wyrm were already secured elsewhere, moved to a safe location by Pre's people pending whatever use I decided for them. My lightsaber remained clipped to my belt, within arm's reach.

  I sat on the edge of the bunk, leaning back against the bulkhead, and watched the platoon settle in. Some were already stripping off their helmets, talking in low voices, others stretched out on their bunks, exhaustion finally catching up. The tension from earlier had eased, replaced by a kind of weary acceptance. We were heading into the unknown, but at least we were doing it together.

  After a few minutes, my helmet pinged with an incoming comm. I tapped the side to accept, and Vhonte's voice came through, clipped and efficient. "Meet at the starboard break room."

  The comm on her end went silent, but the channel stayed active, a faint hiss of static indicating she was still listening. I stood and after a moment of glancing around, made my way out of the passenger compartment.

  The corridors of the freighter were narrow, barely wide enough for two people to pass, and the walls were lined with piping and conduits. A few crew members moved about, their coveralls stained with grease, paying me little attention. Something that looked like a mouse droid whistled past, its cylindrical body skittering along the deck on tiny repulsors, cleaning up debris as it went.

  I found the starboard break room after a couple minutes of walking, the door hissing open at my approach. Vhonte stood inside, her armored back to me and her posture tense. The room was small, just a few chairs bolted to the floor, a table, and a holoscreen mounted in the corner playing some kind of sports game I didn't recognize. The lighting was dim, casting her in shadow.

  She turned at the sound of the door opening, and I felt the emotions radiating from her like heat from a forge. Want. Annoyance. Concern. And beneath it all, an artificial coldness, the kind that came from actively trying to suppress what you were feeling. It was thick, almost oppressive, and I didn't enjoy sensing it from her.

  I walked up to her, giving her a once-over, my helmet covering my face and making my expression unreadable. Then I sat down at the table, my fingers on my right hand lightly clacking against the durasteel surface.

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  "Not going to ask what you want to discuss," I said, watching as she finally sat down across from me. "Because we both know what this is about. I'm not even trying to sense your thoughts, and yet I can still feel everything radiating from you. So, go ahead and talk."

  "I..." Vhonte hesitated, her voice uncertain, then seemed to steel herself. "Oh, kriff it. Still don't regret that night?"

  "Not a bit," I said without hesitation. "Hell, I wouldn't mind a repeat right now if we could lock the doors."

  That sparked a shimmer of emotion from her, something I couldn't quite peg. Surprise? Hope? I wasn't sure.

  "So, still don't care that I'm your commanding officer?" she asked, her tone guarded.

  "You could be Mand'alor and I wouldn't care," I said with absolute seriousness, leaning forward. I could almost see the shadow of her face behind her helmet, the faint outline of her features. "The real question is, do you regret it?"

  Vhonte was quiet for a moment, and it was rather amusing that she still seemed to think these pauses left me in suspense. They didn't. I could feel her surface emotions right before she vocalized them, the subtle shift as she made her decision.

  "No, I don't."

  "So there are two options from how I see it," I said, and God, it felt good to have all her focus, her emotions, everything about her zeroed in on my every word. "We act as if nothing happened until this stupid conflict is over and then revisit it, or we say kriff it all and make it basically public knowledge."

  I wasn't going to tiptoe around this. Either we put a pin in it for now, or it became public knowledge. Not like the higher-ups would care. Such behavior was, although not encouraged, not something that would get you discharged like it would in other armed forces. Mando'ade for the win in that regard.

  "And what do you want?" Vhonte asked, and I could tell she was uncertain, waiting for me to tip the scales.

  To be honest, it was probably safer to wait until after the fighting to develop whatever it was we had into something more. I needed to be at my best when facing Kenobi and, heaven forbid, Jinn. And this could cause complications, distractions I couldn't afford.

  But I wasn't going to cut things off into a strictly professional relationship either. She was still a friend I'd grown rather fond of.

  "What I want doesn't matter," I settled on saying, my fingers clacking once again on the table. "It'd be better for safety that we wait on anything until the fighting is over, because I actually do like you. But no to making things simply professional. Just pump the brakes for now."

  Vhonte radiated a sense of relief, the emotional whirlwind she'd been caught in dissipating almost completely. The tension in her shoulders eased, and I felt the subtle shift as she relaxed.

  "Then let's end this war quickly, huh?" she said, the words more statement than question.

  I snorted. "Just need to kill the Jedi and crush the Dar'manda. No problem."

  She let out a quiet laugh, and I could feel her amusement bubble up, warm and genuine. We sat there for a couple of minutes in the quiet, and it was relaxing. The hum of the ship's engines was a steady backdrop, the faint vibration through the deck almost soothing. No expectations, no performance. Just two people sitting together.

  But then Vhonte spoke up, her voice softer now, curious.

  "Kane, could you share some more about yourself?" she asked, and I could tell it was as a friend, not a commanding officer or as a way to gauge my strengths or weaknesses. It was Vhonte asking.

  I debated for but a second, then decided I didn't actually have an issue. The slight chill sensation at the idea of sharing, of offering something that could hurt me, wasn't there with her sitting in front of me. The walls I kept up around most people felt thinner here, easier to lower.

  "I hate dry environments and love rain," I said, leaning back in my chair, "because I grew up on a desert planet. Tatooine to be precise.”

  She tilted her helmet slightly, a gesture of interest. "Tatooine?"

  "Yeah." The word came out flat, and I felt the memories stir, unwelcome but unavoidable. "Twin suns. Sand everywhere, and heat that baked you alive if you stayed out too long. No rain at all, just dry winds and dust storms that could strip the skin off your bones if you were stupid enough to get caught out in it."

  "Sounds miserable," she said, and there was no judgment in her tone, just genuine sympathy.

  "It was," I admitted. "But it was home. For a while, anyway. I had my mother. My brother." I paused, the weight of those words settling over me like a shroud. "Until I didn't."

  Vhonte didn't press and didn't ask for details. She just waited, giving me the space to continue or not. I appreciated that more than I could say.

  "I was a slave," I said after a moment, the words easier now than they'd been months ago. "Born as one. Fought in pits for the entertainment of people who didn't give a damn if I lived or died. Then I earned my freedom, and Pre gave me a new life. A purpose."

  I couldn't say any more. Not now. I could feel as the Force grew colder, stained with every emotion tied to the memories of my failure, of my unforgivable crime. My weakness. Maybe I would be able to one day, but not now. I wouldn't shed tears or feed it into the Force, it was mine to control and bear, not indulge in it.

  She was quiet for a long moment, and I could feel the empathy radiating from her, warm and genuine. "I'm glad you're here, Kane. With us. With me."

  …

  "Me too," I said, and I meant it.

  We sat there a while longer, the silence comfortable now, and the slight air of discordance that had been coming from her had completely melted away, leaving me with the Vhonte I knew and cared about.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  "Attention, vode!" I barked, feeling a shot of amusement ripple through me as the platoon of teens and young adults jerked upright from their bunks and stood at attention. Some had been dozing, others cleaning weapons or playing cards, but now every eye was on me. "As we're going to be spending the next day or two more in hyperspace, you're all getting a lesson on facing the most dangerous adversary that us and our comrades will be facing in this conflict."

  Vhonte stood silent in the corner, arms crossed, her posture radiating quiet authority. She was watching, letting me take point on this. It made sense. I had the experience, or at least the closest thing to it that any of us possessed. I let the statement hang for a second, the weight of it settling over the room like a heavy shroud of unease.

  "The Republic has sent two Jetii to serve as a 'policing' force for the benefit of our enemies," I said, pulling up the recording I'd captured during the failed negotiation in Keldabe. I activated the transfer protocol on my bracer, and a holographic image flickered to life above my wrist, rendering a three-dimensional projection of two figures. "Meet Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn."

  The hologram rotated slowly, showing both Jedi in detail. Jinn stood taller and composed even in this screenshot, his long hair and beard giving him the appearance of a weathered sage. Kenobi was younger, leaner, his posture tense even in the still image. I felt the collective chill that swept through the room, a wave of unease radiating from every member of the platoon. Good, they needed to be.

  "Kenobi is the student of Jinn," I continued, my voice steady, "and Jinn was the student of the Butcher of Galidraan."

  I let that hang for a moment. More than a few recognized the name, and I felt spikes of irritation and anger flare up from several of them. Averill's presence sharpened, his focus narrowing. Zeke and Trygg exchanged a glance, their emotions bleeding into the Force. Harja, of course, radiated a cold fury at the mention of Galidraan.

  "Jinn is a Jedi Master," I said, my tone hardening, "and from how he felt to my senses in comparison to his little brat of a student, he's a particularly dangerous one, even by their standards."

  That wasn't an exaggeration. Jinn's presence in the Force had been calm, controlled, vast in a way that spoke to decades of discipline and training. Kenobi had been raw in comparison and absolutely spastic in fear, bordering on terror at the sight of me. I had no fucking clue why, but he was scared of me. But still, Jinn was the real threat, the kind of opponent who could dismantle an entire squad without breaking stride and kill this entire ship no doubt.

  "As I'm the closest to a subject matter expert on this," I continued, my eyes flicking briefly to Vhonte's helmeted face before sweeping back across the platoon, "I'll be educating you all on how to best survive and combat trained Jetii in the field."

  I paused, letting the weight of my next words settle.

  "The first and foremost order I am making, and Lieutenant Tervho concurs, is that you are to flee on sight when encountering them."

  The room went completely silent. Not the kind of silence that came from anticipation, but the stunned, disbelieving kind at hearing something unexpected. You could've heard a pin drop. I felt the shock ripple through them, followed quickly by confusion and, in a few cases, indignation.

  "None of you are equipped to take on a trained Jetii," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "There is a reason it is an accomplishment of a lifetime to kill one, and even Kenobi could probably kill every single one of us here and possibly the whole damn ship. They can deflect blaster shots mid-flight, punch through your armor with their bare fists, and move faster than you can track. But they still view themselves as peacekeepers more than warriors. Fleeing will make them hesitate, and perhaps you will live to fight another day."

  "That's cowardice, though." Trygg's voice cut through the silence, not sounding pleased with the order. His emotions radiated frustration, pride stung by the implication that he should run from anyone.

  "Is it cowardice on your end if you think it stupid to try and see if you can crush my fingers before I crush yours in a contest?" I asked, my tone sharp. Without waiting for a response, I reached out with the Force and summoned an empty canteen from a nearby bunk. It flew through the air and slapped into my outstretched right hand. I didn't break eye contact with Trygg as I clamped down with my fingers, assisted by the Force, and with a grinding, metallic crack, the durasteel cup caved in beneath my grip like it was cheap plastic.

  I chucked it at his feet, the crumpled metal bouncing once before settling on the deck. I felt a chill of fear creep through his thoughts, sharp and sudden.

  "Now imagine how much force I can generate in a punch," I said, my voice lowering dangerously. "And I have trained less than a tenth the time Kenobi has. Jetii train from nearly the beginning, just like us, and even I wouldn't win against him in full Beskar."

  That last part was an overstatement. I didn't know Kenobi's exact danger threshold at this moment in his life. Odds were I'd lose in a straight fight, but I wasn't sure by how much, given my armor, my lightsaber, my beskad, and the additional weapons I'd been stockpiling; the sonic emitter, the flamethrower, the explosives. I had options, but the platoon didn't need to know that I thought I had a chance. They needed to understand the stakes.

  "If you are backed into a corner, though," I said, my gaze tracking across every single one of them, "with no way out, or your vode are and death is preferable to forsaking one another..."

  I paused, letting the weight of that settle. This was my squad, and I would ensure that they lived.

  "Then I'll show you how to disorient Jetii and fight them."

  I spent the next hour breaking it down for them, piece by piece. I explained the use of explosives, how a well-placed thermal detonator could disrupt a Jedi's focus, force them to redirect their attention from offense to defense. Incendiaries were next. Fire was chaotic, unpredictable, and while a Jedi could deflect blaster bolts with ease, they couldn't deflect flames as readily. A sustained burst from a flamethrower would make them retreat, buy you seconds to reposition or escape.

  Sonic weapons were another excellent one, and had range that flames didn't. Sonic pulses couldn't be blocked and made them vulnerable in ways a blaster bolt never could. It wasn't a guaranteed win, but it was an edge, and edges were what kept you alive.

  I covered tactics next. Never engage alone. Always have a fallback position, and use your jetpack liberally. And if you had the chance, go for the kill. Don't hesitate, don't give them time to recover. A wounded Jedi was still a Jedi, and they'd tear you apart if you let them.

  By the time I finished, over an hour had passed. The platoon looked drained, their earlier bravado tempered by the reality of what I'd laid out. Some looked grim, others determined. A few, like Averill, were already taking notes on their datapads, processing the information with the same intensity he brought to all things related to explosives.

  "Dismissed," I said, my voice cutting through the silence. "Hit the mess hall. Get some food. Rest while you can."

  They filed out of the room, their movements subdued, and I watched them go. Vhonte lingered, waiting until the last of them had left before stepping closer. I could feel her thoughts churning, questions forming behind the calm surface she projected.

  I opened a private comm channel, the faint crackle signaling the connection. "We'll talk more about contingency plans in the event we encounter Kenobi," I said, my tone matter-of-fact.

  "Not the master, Jinn?" Vhonte asked, her voice carrying a note of curiosity.

  I shook my head, even though she couldn't see it through my helmet. "All the preparation in the world wouldn't be enough for him."

  Give me 5 more years and maybe I'd be confident enough in my ability to kill Jinn. But not now, not even close.

  She was quiet for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Understood."

  We made our way to the mess hall together, the corridor filled with the muted hum of the ship's systems and the distant chatter of the crew. The smell of recycled air and heated rations grew stronger as we approached, and I felt a faint pang of hunger stir in my gut. The mess hall doors hissed open, revealing rows of tables and benches, the platoon already settling in with trays of food.

  I stepped inside, Vhonte at my side, and the noise of the room washed over me like a wave.

  More thought can wait for now. Food sounded lovely at the moment.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx