On such occasions I was always surprised and touched by the trusting reliance of the men on the ability of the officer to cope with the situation. 'where shall we go, sir?' 'Help, sir, I'm wounded!' 'Where's the officer?'

  To be in command at such moments and have a clear head is its own supreme reward, just as cowardice is its own punishment. I have always pitied the coward, in whom battle arouses a series of hellish tortures, while the spirit of the brave man nearly rises the higher to meet a chain of exciting experiences. - Ernest Junger, The Storm of Steel.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  The sun beat down from above, dry and constant. Heat shimmered faintly off the duracrete parade square where we stood in formation, armored and silent. No one fidgeted. Helmets stayed on. Visors forward.

  We weren’t cadets anymore. Not officially, not after what we’d been through. But we still stood as if we were waiting to be judged.

  Thirty of us, including Zeke and Trygg, Averill, Harja, and several others I could see. Dust clung to our boots. My hands were still, hanging at my sides. A few others shifted their weight slightly, subtle movement, not nervous, but worn down some.

  Still standing after the final weeks of basic designed to break us down or succeed.

  Three instructors stepped forward from the line of observers to the side that included some of the higher ups in the coalition Pre had formed. Veteran warriors. Hardened in real wars, not simulations. Sergeant Jarn stood front and center, red armor faded and scraped from a what was probably without too much exaggeration a hundred fights. His voice crackled out through the vocoder.

  “You passed.”

  Simple.

  “You’ve been tested. Broken down. Bled. Rebuilt. Some of you scraped through by your teeth. Some of you didn’t make it. But those of you standing here? You earned it.”

  He let that settle.

  “This isn’t the end. It’s the start. From now, you’re organized under a training platoon with 3 others to form a company. No more personal tests. It’s more team drills, simulations, and active assignments upon passing. You succeed together, or not at all.”

  He turned his head slightly, gaze scanning us behind the visor.

  “A lieutenant and sergeant will be selected from among you to lead and will answer to the captain of the company. Tervho.”

  My shoulders stiffened slightly.

  Then he said it.

  “Command goes to Vhonte Tervho. Congratulations, lieutenant.” He said to her, and I could feel the pride radiate from her three people down to my left.

  Of course.

  Didn’t matter that I’d led half the simulations, or that I’d been the one hauling some of them out of the pit after night drills. She was the name. The prodigy. The safe choice.

  I didn’t move. Didn’t look over.

  “And Kane Vizsla will serve as sergeant.”

  That got a few looks and a shift in the atmosphere of the collective mood, mainly because I was the youngest of everyone here by a couple years or more.

  A pause. Then the dismissal.

  “Report for reorganization. First drills begin tomorrow at 0500. Dismissed.”

  We broke formation like a unit, no mess and no chatter. Everyone peeled off to their bunks or mess or wherever they could cool down. I walked slower. Not deliberately. Just processing.

  Footsteps matched mine a few meters back. Then I heard her voice in the private channel.

  “Kane.”

  I didn’t answer right away.

  “What?” I eventually asked as I broke away to go to my quarters once again.

  “Talk later? Your quarters or mine.”

  I paused half a step.

  “Yours.” I didn't need her stumbling across the holocron in my quarters or anything private.

  “2000. Don’t be late.”

  The line cut.

  I didn’t respond again. Just kept walking.

  So that was that.

  Vhonte had command. I had the second seat.

  Fine.

  No matter, I'd become Mand'alor.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I stood outside her quarters and knocked twice, only two short, solid hits with the base of my fist that echoed faintly in the corridor.

  "It’s me," I said flatly, keeping my tone level.

  There was a pause, just long enough to make me consider repeating it, then the door gave a mechanical hiss and slid open. Vhonte stood on the other side. Her posture was relaxed, casual in a way most wouldn’t catch. Her hair was loose and fell past her shoulders, slightly tousled like she hadn’t bothered brushing it out after having stripped off her armour. Speaking of which, she wasn’t in armor for once, which was rare. Just a black long-sleeve shirt rolled to her elbows and a pair of nondescript breeches tucked into her boots.

  Her hands were stained with grease, likely from the two modified CR-2 pistols of hers and helmet resting in pieces on her workbench behind her. A maintenance rag was wadded up beside them and the smell of oil and metal hung faintly in the air.

  The room itself was larger than mine by maybe a half meter in either direction, but it still followed the same spartan template, with gray walls, one bed, one table, and one storage locker. The only personal touch was how orderly everything was. Her armor stood on a mannequin in the corner, spotless and arranged precisely, red plates gleaming under the soft overhead light. The way the breastplate reflected the light said she’d cleaned it recently.

  "Come in," she said, already turning back toward her bed.

  I stepped inside. The door sealed behind me with a quiet hiss, muffling the background hum of the corridor outside.

  She sat on the edge of her bunk and nodded toward the only other chair.

  "Sit. We’ve got things to cover."

  I dragged the chair from where it was pushed up against the wall and angled it to face her. Sat down and rested my forearms on my thighs.

  Vhonte leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands. Her expression was calm, but there was something watchful in her eyes. Always was.

  "I’ll keep it simple because I can tell you don't care for small talk," she started. "You’re my second now, and that reflects on me and everybody under my command. It means responsibility. Discipline. Knowing the people under us."

  I gave a small nod. "I get that. Need to scope out whether I can be relied on for more than leading a squad in a set training op.”

  She looked at me for a second longer than would be considered usual, then tilted her head slightly.

  "At the moment I’m glad you’re the one they picked. Honestly. Most of the others don’t have the head for it."

  I rolled my eyes, more out of reflex than anything. "Stop. You’re going to make me blush."

  A faint smile touched her lips as she shook her head and reached for a rag to wipe some residual grease off her hands. “Still though, you’ve got catching up to do. Has Pre taught you anything yet about actual command structure? Unit composition? Long-term deployment chains?”

  I suppressed the urge to scoff in spite of myself.

  "Somewhat. I figure we’re shaping into a battalion, couple other companies included. From there, maybe a regiment or a legion. Depends what Pre wants to call it. The framework’s not too far off from what I’ve seen before."

  Her brow lifted slightly. "You’ve seen it before, huh?"

  Well, shit. Didn't mean to say that.

  “Eh,” I made an iffy gesture with my hand, “Knew about from before I was adopted and got a more comprehensive breakdown after that.”

  The last part was total BS.

  Vhonte studied me for a moment, then shrugged. "Close enough."

  I leaned back a little in the chair, letting my shoulders settle. I glanced again at her armor on the stand, then down at the pistols on the table. Everything here had a place. No wasted motion. No excess.

  She stood up, walked over to the table, and picked up a small datapad, scrolling through it with a quick flick of her thumb. “I’ve already got the next week’s drills mapped out from what I received from Captain Mez'ter. Squad evaluations are coming fast and I want us topping them. That means no missteps.”

  “Noted.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me. “I assume you can handle it. Just help me to keep the rawdy ones from getting stupid.”

  I exhaled through my nose. “They follow orders. Mostly.”

  “Mostly isn’t enough. We are going to have to ride them harder now. I don't know how much you're aware of things, but this is going to be a full scale civil war, and they’re going to be looking to you thanks to your rank.”

  I gave her a look. “I probably know more of what's on the horizon than you, lieutenant,” I stressed her rank for emphasis which made her eyes narrow slightly, “I wouldn't be surprised if the Republic sent Jedi to intervene on behalf of Clan Kryze and to 'keep the peace’.”

  I obviously wouldn't be surprised that the two were already on Mandalore, because I did my research and Satine is around 19 at this point, just a bit younger than Kenobi if my basic remembrance of him being about 16 years older than Anakin held up.

  That last part had a cold spike of concern streak across her thoughts and I could see the brief flash of shock on her face.

  “Is there something that he hasn't shared with the other clan heads?”

  I shook my head. “It's speculation at this point, nothing confirmed. Though if there's any confirmation, we'll almost certainly be informed.”

  Vhonte chewed on that mentally for about a minute, her surface level thoughts being somewhat coherent to me. It was probably rude to pry, but she was wearing them on her sleeve at this point. It was mostly worry, a faint hint of fear and I could see a faint outline of a man's face, same hair and eye colour as Vhonte and I could guess it was her brother Hezek, then younger kids that resembled the man.

  Ah, she was worried about her family.

  “Alright,” she said finally. “Go get some rest. We’re up at 0400 tomorrow.”

  I stood, nodded once, and made for the door. Just before it opened, she spoke again.

  “And Kane, don’t forget, you have duties. Whatever you were before this? Doesn’t matter, you fight as Mando'ade and I require someone I can trust. Understood?”

  I paused, but didn’t turn around.

  “With an unforgiving clarity.”

  The door hissed open. I stepped through.

  Back to work tomorrow.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  “Try the flight sims, Kane, it'll be fun.” I muttered to myself, cursing the fact that I was having to do this. It was too much to ask that I be able to stick to my own lane where I was actually good at, being a ground pounder and lead from the front. No, I just had to hold myself to a higher standard and be sufficiently competent in multiple fields including operating vehicles, flying ships, and a host of other things because that's what mandalorians were supposed to be, a Swiss army knife of a combatant.

  As one could tell if they could read my mind, I was not in a good mood as I trudged my way to where the flight sims were, and all but a few of them were available, and hopped into the Starfighter one.

  Flicking a command on my vambrace, I hooked up my helmet's display to the simulation program, getting a ding and a pop-up at the bottom left of my vision that my helmet had synced up to the setup. Muttering a confirmation that my helmet's programming understood, I slipped into the durasteel cage and began to hook myself up.

  The harness clicked across my chest, the locking plates snug but not crushing down on my chest. I adjusted my grip on the training yoke and tried to slow my breathing. The spherical sim cage buzzed quietly around me, hydraulic arms flexing as the interior began its calibration cycle. Pre had gone over the basics with me months back, manual throttle control, pitch, what not to touch unless I wanted to spiral and crash into something. But this was the first time I was flying anything that would actually move.

  The rig synced the rest of the way with my helmet HUD. Data flickered to life across my visor. A basic starfighter cockpit overlay filled the edges of my view; shields, hull, speed, orientation, and artificial gravity. I barely recognized half of it, but I could figure out the basics.

  “Initializing simulation,” a mechanical voice said through the feed. “Scenario one: takeoff, basic atmospheric navigation.”

  The rig tilted.

  My stomach shifted with it.

  The world inside my HUD changed, and suddenly I was in a cockpit on the edge of a canyon. Sky above. Dust and wind howling across flat stone terrain. A target beacon blinked in the distance.

  “Proceed to navpoint A,” the voice prompted.

  Right.

  I grabbed the yoke and eased the throttle. The sim translated that into a low whine of the thrusters. My hands tensed, knuckles whitening under my gloves as the fighter lifted off the pad. I felt weight drop out from under me as the cage rotated, simulating the lift. The nose dipped slightly.

  "Too low," I muttered. Pulled back gently.

  The fighter responded, just barely. Wobbly.

  I got a feel for the controls, overcorrecting at first, then easing into a rhythm. The navpoint blinked steadily. It wasn’t fast flying. Just smooth lines, working with gravity and keeping a light grip.

  When I made it to the beacon, the voice returned. "Proceed to navpoint B and engage basic evasive turns."

  I shifted my shoulders, turning my feet slightly. Sweat had already started to bead at my collar.

  I leaned the fighter into a shallow bank, watching the navpoint slide into place. The HUD flashed again. A new icon.

  "Simulated enemy lock-on. Perform dodge maneuver."

  No explanation.

  I gritted my teeth and pushed left. The rig jolted. A flash of red across my HUD. I’d flown right into a virtual lock.

  "Incorrect evasion. Attempt again."

  I took a breath and tried again, this time slowing down and adjusting, before banking up and away. The lock symbol drifted and vanished.

  Better.

  "Maintain approach. Target beacon incoming."

  A new one lit up, this one closer to the ground and between two narrow rock spires. I adjusted course, hands loosening on the yoke just slightly. The fighter dipped low. The wind roared in my ears.

  The spires came fast.

  I squeezed the yoke tighter and edged around them with a roll. The belly of the sim shuddered slightly, the interface registering my near miss. But I made it.

  “Target reached. Begin final phase.”

  The canyon opened wide into a fake plateau, flat and open. Then came a sharp beeping.

  “Simulated opponent detected. Non-combat pursuit mode activated.”

  A dot appeared on the HUD. Another simulated fighter, moving fast.

  “Shadow target until disengage.”

  I keyed in pursuit, pushing the throttle up to keep pace. My fighter rocked slightly under the acceleration, and I forced my focus to tighten.

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  The other ship banked sharply left, and I followed, overshooting at first, then adjusting. It dove low, kicked back into a climb. I lagged, then realigned.

  The chase went on for minutes. Each turn helped me get the feel of it. My reactions sharpened and were for fluid. The muscle memory wasn’t there yet, but I was getting closer.

  Finally, the dot blinked off.

  “Simulation complete.”

  The rig slowed its movements. My feet eased off the pedals and I slumped slightly into the harness, breathing heavier than I realized.

  87% tracking. 62% control efficiency. The numbers didn’t matter much. Not yet. I was here to learn.

  I stepped down from the rig once it opened, the sweat on my back clinging to the underarmor. I popped my helmet off for a moment and wiped my forehead, then looked back at the sim cage.

  It’d been a mess. And I definitely was not going to enjoy training some basics in flying a starfighter.

  I started toward the exit, footsteps echoing in the empty training bay. My stomach grumbled. I’d skipped lunch, and the idea of something hot was tempting. But I only made it halfway across the room before I stopped.

  I sighed, loud enough to echo faintly.

  Then turned around and walked right back to the simulator.

  If I was going to be worth a damn in the sky, I needed to put in the hours. I needed to be more than just capable. I needed to survive up there.

  Setting the program up again, I dove back in.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  The second I got strapped into the jetpack rig, I knew something was going to go wrong.

  The trainer’s voice droned in the background about stabilization thrusters, lift control, and “only a few short controlled bursts.” Standard safety protocols. And we were barely off the ground. Just five meters in the air for hover practice.

  Didn’t matter.

  Something about putting propulsion on my back never sat right with me. Throttle too light and you hovered like a crippled bird. Too heavy and you became a human missile.

  Helmet locked, HUD synced, and the pack buzzed to life.

  "On my mark," the instructor barked over comms. Vhonte was posted a few meters back, arms crossed, watching silently with the few others who had already been trained to use jetpacks.

  Great.

  The group lined up in the clearing just outside the landing yard, dirt already churned from prior test runs. About twenty of us. All in full armor.

  "Three… two… one, lift!"

  I triggered the throttle.

  And I went sideways.

  The jolt came fast, my right stabilizer firing harder than the left. My body tilted, and suddenly I was veering toward the perimeter wall like a slug round out of a misaligned barrel.

  “Shit!”

  I twisted midair, tried to counter with the left thruster. It overcompensated.

  My trajectory changed from horizontal to diagonal, right into the duracrete wall and I smashed into it with a loud crunch.

  The impact rattled every joint. My visor was overwhelmed by static for a moment, alarms buzzed through the HUD, and my shoulder screamed in protest.

  I dropped like a brick and rolled across the packed dirt, finally ending face-first with a grunt.

  Zeke, three meters to my left, followed suit. He didn’t scream, but the skid mark he left was impressive.

  A few muffled laughs crackled over comms.

  “I’m good,” I muttered, still on the ground.

  After taking stock of my condition, where nothing seemed broken, I rolled onto my back and saw Vhonte standing where she had before. Even with her helmet on, I could feel the irritation radiating off her like a second sun.

  “I said short bursts,” she said over the squad channel. “Not crash into the wall.”

  “I got excited,” Zeke mumbled. I gave him a thumbs-up.

  Vhonte sighed and shook her head.

  Meanwhile, Averill soared above the others with perfect control. Steady hover. Gentle altitude adjustment. Minor thruster tweaks to remain in position.

  Of course he did.

  My pet autist, the explosive savant, had managed to become a natural flier.

  “I will pay someone to shoot him down with a stun bolt,” I muttered.

  Cynigh, standing nearby, didn’t even flinch. “He’s probably recording it. You’ll never live it down.”

  I shoved myself up to my feet and limped over to the reset point, shoulder aching like I’d been hit by a car.

  The training rig reset, another row stepping up. I winced as I flexed my shoulder, already preparing to join round two. Vhonte said nothing this time. Just stood with her arms crossed, probably plotting out what to say if I crashed into the wall again.

  I shook the dirt off my chestplate and stared at the wall.

  Round two.

  This time I inhaled slow, forcing the tension out of my shoulders.

  The rig’s diagnostics blinked green across my HUD. Stabilizers recalibrated. Vhonte’s voice came again, calm and authoritative.

  “Again, lift on my mark. Controlled ascent. Stabilize at five meters. “Don't crash.”

  Helmet sealed, HUD locked, fingers flexed over the controls.

  "Three… two… one, lift."

  This time, I feathered the throttle.

  Smooth ignition. No veer. No screaming thrusters. I felt the pack engage like it was synced to my nervous system. A soft push from below, and suddenly I was rising, not flailing, not crashing, just… rising.

  A steady hover. Wobble, sure, but manageable.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  Below me, Zeke screamed.

  I glanced down just in time to see him spiraling sideways like a kicked can. He flailed, tried to correct, then made the smart call and yanked his kill switch mid-air. His pack sputtered dead, and he dropped in a loose crouch, boots skidding along the dirt as he landed with a stumble and popped upright like he meant to do it.

  “Stuck the landing!” he shouted.

  Around me, the rest of the group managed to hover with varying degrees of success. Some drifted like balloons in a breeze. Others, like Averill, moved with surgical control.

  I wobbled again, altitude dipping a little, but caught it with a pulse of the left stabilizer. It hissed and corrected, and I grinned under the visor.

  Hovering wasn’t flying. But it was a start.

  “You’re stable,” Vhonte said, her voice clipped but faintly approving. “Don’t get cocky.”

  I held position, adjusting in tiny pulses. It was like balancing on the edge of a blade, except the blade was on fire and strapped to your back.

  Cynigh rose off the ground next to me after having to stop, now more stable.

  We all stayed up the full thirty seconds. Miraculously, no one crashed again.

  As we powered down and landed one by one, I exhaled, boots hitting dirt with a heavy thump.

  Vhonte said nothing. But she gave a short nod.

  I’ll take that as a win.

  Zeke flopped down on the ground dramatically, arms spread. “I think I broke something.”

  “Good,” Trygg muttered, coming up to his brother and lightly kicking him. “Maybe now you’ll be useful.”

  I laughed and wiped the dirt off my knee plate. My shoulder still throbbed, and I was sure I’d be bruised from the first crash, but right now?

  Right now, I was upright and not on fire.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I gripped the grappling cable, my gloved hands steady as I guided myself up the cliff face as the the cable slowly pulled back in and carried me higher. The weight of my full armor pressed against my shoulders, but the suit’s air conditioning hummed softly, a lifeline against the oppressive humidity that clung to the mountainside. Drizzle pattered against my helmet, streaking the visor, though the wipers kept my view clear. My squad climbed alongside me, the bunch of us from a distance being tiny armored figures scaling the sheer rock under a gray and rainy sky. The cliff top that we were scaling loomed above us, its jagged surface slick from the persistent rain and testing every step of ours

  My boots found purchase on a narrow ledge, the tread gripping just enough to keep me steady. I glanced to my left, where Averill moved stiffly but otherwise alright. To my right, Harja grunted softly, adjusting her grip. Trygg and Zeke were a few meters below, their banter a low hum in my comms despite the strain of the climb. Vhonte led the way above, her movements sharp and deliberate, as always. The rest of the squad were spread out in a loose line, each focusing on their cable and footing.

  Zeke’s voice crackled through my comms, laced with his usual cheek. “Sarge, when’re we calling it? This drizzle’s turning my armor into a sauna.”

  I kept my eyes on the rock ahead, checking my cable’s anchor point. “I told you to fix your armour's AC, Zeke. You either didn't or it broke again.”

  “Broke again.” He replied quickly.

  I sighed audibly into the comms. “Bring it by my quarters tonight and I'll fix it myself.” I then grunted as I adjusted how I climbed, feeling my legs tense more. “Unless you're wanting to look after the di'kut, Trygg.”

  “I've watched him since he came out of the womb, sir.” Trygg grunted, ignoring the protest from Zeke. “Obviously didn't do a good job training him.”

  “Shame upon your stellar record, soldier.” I muttered, still climbing up despite the sudden muting of a few comms to hide snickers.

  My eyes flicked over to Averill, then up to Vhonte, who was a far better thing to sightsee from this angle. I couldn't stop myself from staring at her and I didn't care to stop, because damn. That armour left nothing to the imagination and she was fine with a capital F.

  Would not be the first woman CO of mine.

  Tearing my gaze away, I kept my ascent upwards as stable as I could. Focusing, I pulled on the Force more to hone my joints, the faint burn starting to build in my knees being chased away in an instant.

  I knew Zeke’s footing was going to shift before it even happened.

  “Eyes on your cable, Zeke,” I said as I heard him curse and shift awkwardly, voice clipped. “Mind your footing. Don’t slip.”

  He chuckled, undeterred, but I felt the squad’s rhythm hold steady. We’d trained for this kind of weather; wet, heavy, miserable conditions. The mountain didn’t care about our comfort, and neither did the enemy we were preparing to face, other Mandalorians who were loyal to clan and kin, unfortunate wastage. My muscles burned under the armor’s weight from the previous hours of work, but I pushed upward, one hand over the other, boots scraping for traction. The air was thick, the kind of heat that made your lungs feel heavy, but the armour’s cooling system kept me functional. I was grateful for that, because without it, we’d be cooking inside our armour.

  Zeke of course was getting what he deserved for being an idiot mechanic.

  The cliff stretched higher, maybe another fifty meters to the plateau. I could see Vhonte nearing the top, her silhouette sharp against the gray sky.

  Zeke’s voice came through again, quieter this time, like he was testing me. “Sarge, you ever think about—”

  A scream cut him off. My head snapped toward the sound. Zeke’s cable jerked violently, his harness and rifle sling tearing free with a sickening snap. He was falling, arms flailing, his cry echoing through the comms. Trygg shouted, raw terror in his voice, his brother plummeting toward the rocks below.

  Time slowed. My heart slammed against my ribs, but my mind sharpened, the world narrowing to Zeke’s tumbling form. I saw his trajectory, clear as a holo-map: he’d hit the ground neck-first, his helmet useless against that kind of impact. The rocks below were jagged, unforgiving. He’d be dead before we could reach him.

  Instinct took over. I didn’t think at all, I acted. Reaching out with the Force, I felt its familiar pull, like a current running through my core. My hand extended, fingers splayed, and I caught Zeke’s body midair, halting his fall just feet from the ground. The effort sent a jolt through my skull, sharp and electric, like a spike driven into my temple. My vision blurred for a split second, but I held focus, shifting Zeke’s body slightly to clear the rocks before lowering him gently to the ground.

  I exhaled, my breath shaky inside my helmet. The pain in my head throbbed, but I pushed it down. I looked up, and every helmeted face in the squad was turned toward me. Averill, Harja, Trygg, everyone. Their visors hid their expressions, but I didn’t need to see their faces. The Force carried their shock, a bubbling cauldron of disbelief and confusion washing over me. Even Vhonte, still near the top, radiated a stunned silence that felt heavier than the rest.

  “No one ordered a stop,” I barked, my voice cutting through the comms. “Trygg, grab your brother’s rifle from the cable and help him up. Move.”

  I turned back to the cliff, gripping my cable and pulling myself upward. My boots scraped against the rock, finding traction again. The squad hesitated for a heartbeat, then resumed climbing, nothing but the faint whirring hum of cables filling the air. Trygg rappelled down to where Zeke’s rifle dangled, its sling caught on a protruding anchor. I didn’t look back again. I couldn’t afford to. The pain in my head lingered, a dull ache now, but I focused on the next handhold, the next step.

  The climb felt longer after that. The drizzle hadn’t let up, and the rock grew slicker as we neared the top. My arms burned, but I kept my pace steady, matching Vhonte’s lead. She reached the plateau first, pulling herself over the edge with a fluid motion. I followed, my boots hitting solid ground, and the rest of the squad crested soon after. Trygg and Zeke were last, Zeke moving slower, his posture stiff even through the armor. Trygg stayed close, his brother’s rifle slung across his back.

  I opened comms. “Zeke, you alive?”

  “Yeah,” came his reply, quieter than usual. No cheek this time. Just a guy who’d stared death in the face and barely avoided the reaper's scythe.

  The squad stood in a loose semicircle, their helmets still locked on me. I could feel their questions, their unease, like a weight pressing against my chest. I'd kept to only using the Force to enhance my movements and grant me a second wind when outside of training. None knew save for Pre and now the cat was out of the bag.

  “Questions wait until today's training’s done,” I said, meeting their unseen gazes. I turned to Vhonte, her armored form rigid at the edge of the group. “If that’s alright with you, Lieutenant.”

  Her shock hadn’t faded, but there was something else now, a stewing anger, simmering beneath the surface. I felt it through the Force, sharp and controlled, like a blade she hadn’t yet drawn. She nodded once, her voice flat. “Yes.”

  That was a relief, because I needed time to formulate a good reasoning that didn't involve mention of a holocron. A Holo journal perhaps would be good enough as a reasoning.

  As I concluded that thought, Vhonte addressed the rest of the platoon and her helmeted head wheeled around to look at all of them. “Now back to training. March to the zone e'tad.” She then started to head east, taking point as we began our march to where our next coordinated assignment would be.

  As we started, I got a chime for my comms that Vhonte had shifted to a private channel to speak, and then I heard her voice.

  “My quarters, tonight.” She said sharply, then the line ended.

  The rest of the day's training passed with a bit of tension that hadn't been there prior thanks to my stunt, but it continued on nonetheless and they still followed my instructions when he got up to the firing lane, or when we scaled across another environmental hazard for training that was the craggy dried out canyon the snaked across this area of the moon.

  By the time the sun fell and we had finished training, we were all rather tired and the bunch of them were highstrung and practically hovering around me as Vhonte called it a day and we began our trek on foot back to base.

  That was when I opened up comms, shifting my DT57 to have it hang at my side instead of in hand.

  “So, you all were very patient in not asking until after we finished,” I started, everyone's attention snapping to me as we walked, including Vhonte, “So I'll be taking questions and I'll answer what I'm comfortable with. Lieutenant?”

  Vhonte's first question was to the point. “Are you a jetii, or a former one?”

  I did not overlook the fact that her posture was tense and judging by the subtle shift in her heel, she was prepping if need be to spin and aim at me.

  “No, not a jetii.” I replied, feeling a wave of relief come from everyone while Vhonte I could still sense a cold feeling of guardedness. “Happened across a Holo journal and a manual before I was adopted and self-taught myself some of the stuff they do. Next question, and keep it casual guys. I'm not the sergeant at the moment.”

  “Is that why you're so good at everything?” Harja asked suspiciously, making my eye twitch in annoyance. “Stupid jetii tricks.”

  “Using these abilities won't stop me from putting you on the ground or outshooting you, Harja.” I said coldly. That was just straight up insulting. “I can punch harder and faster and get a bead on a target quicker, but even hitting a target takes training and everything else. There's a reason it took the Revanchists fighting dirty to beat us in the Mandalorian Wars, abilities or not.”

  That had her quieting down.

  “How hard was it to catch me?” Zeke asked, surprising me a little bit that he actually was speaking after his near brush with death.

  “Difficult and my head still hurts from doing it.” I said flatly, “Try not to slip next time. You don't have permission to die until I tell you.”

  Zeke let out a huff. “Yes, sir.”

  “And for any of the unanswered questions I know a few of you are wondering,” I continued, “No, I can't read your minds. It's not because I'm reading your mind Cassik that I know you have a thing for a purple Twi'lek named Chella, it's because you left your holo magazine open a few days ago.”

  I abruptly heard a comm disconnect and a few stifled snickers as I felt a wave of embarrassment come from my left.

  “Anything else?” I asked, glancing around at any of them willing to ask another question.

  There were no takers.

  “Any questions after this will be answered but not appreciated.” I said, checking for any more.

  Averill spoke up. “How much of your fighting ability is because of the jetii things you know?”

  Ah, so straight to the unsubtle nature and bluntness, you little dipshit.

  “Basically what I told Harja. Shooting? Basically nothing. I can move faster, get tired less easily, and punch things harder. That's basically it, plus being able to kind of tell where you guys are, but it's like a HUD or scanner.”

  “How's it feel to tell where we are?”

  That… was a good question, and not one exactly had an answer for. Everybody for lack of a better term had a different texture to them, like a fingerprint was unique. Zeke and Trygg were extremely distinct despite them having basically the same face, and yet were still the most similar between all the people in my platoon.

  “That's like explaining to someone colorblind what the difference between red and blue are.” I said, trying to think how best to put it. “It's not going to make sense because,” I paused and sighed, “You glow. That's the best way I can put it. You all glow and I can feel when certain emotions are felt, some as uncomfortable as running your palm along shards of glass and others look like a rainbow.”

  I actually felt an uptick of curiosity coming from them, and then Karra asked her question.

  “So can you feel when someone dies?”

  …

  I didn't dare speak, that question reminding that I indeed know what it feels like when someone dies, how there's a brief vacuum of pitch blackness where the background environment blended in with the formerly living, or how you can almost hear a ripping echo like a thread was shorn from a tapestry. The ringing in my ears was like a phantom echo, the space behind my eyes throbbing and the left side of my face twitched from the phantom pain of the shrapnel tearing into my face. Just thinking about it had the psychic scar flaring angrily, and I worked my canine along the inside of my mouth, digging into the pain to take off the icy cold chill of the Dark Side attempting to pull me under.

  “Kan-”

  “No more questions.” The voice that escaped past my teeth wasn't my own. It was cold, harsh, and more like a dagger scraping across stone than that of a young kid.

  Nobody questioned it, though I felt Vhonte in particular come across as more… I couldn't even tell what I was getting from her.

  The squad fell into line, boots crunching against the rocky plateau as we continued the descent. The path down was less treacherous than the cliff, but the uneven terrain demanded focus. My legs ached from the climb, the weight of my armor dragging with every step, but I kept pace at the front, just behind Vhonte. The drizzle had stopped, but the air remained thick, the cooling system in my suit working overtime to keep me from overheating. Zeke and Trygg were at the back, Zeke moving slower than usual, his brother close by his side. The rest marched in tight formation, their silence louder than any chatter.

  The march was a good five kilometers, winding through scrubby trees and rocky outcrops. My boots sank slightly into the damp soil, but the traction held. I focused on the rhythm of my step. The squad’s emotions swirled around me through the Force, the curiosity and no small amount of unease. I ignored it, keeping my senses locked on the path ahead.

  As we neared the base, the security gate loomed into view, the durasteel barrier flanked by auto-turrets and floodlights. The scanners hummed as we approached, red beams sweeping over our armor. I raised my wrist, letting the ident-chip in my vambrace ping the system, and Vhonte did the same. The gate’s control panel flashed green, and the heavy doors slid open with a low groan. Vhonte led us through and I followed, the squad filing in behind me.

  “Clear,” the gate guard’s voice crackled through the comms. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

  Vhonte gave a curt nod, and we marched into the base’s courtyard. The floodlights cast stark shadows, making our armor gleam. I felt a private comm channel open, Vhonte’s voice cutting through, low and sharp.

  “Kane, we need to speak. My quarters. After you’re cleaned up.”

  I kept my face forward, my emotions locked down tight. The Force still whispered darkly to me, but I wouldn’t let it show. “Understood,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

  The channel clicked off. I didn’t look at her. The squad dispersed toward the barracks, their boots echoing on the duracrete. I headed for the repulsor-lift, my steps heavier than they should’ve been. The lift hummed as it carried me to my floor, the dim lights flickering slightly. When the doors opened, I stepped into the narrow corridor leading to my quarters. The base was quiet, most of the other units already settled for the night.

  I keyed open my door and stepped inside. I stripped off my armor piece by piece, the weight lifting from my shoulders as I set each segment on the cleaning rack. The chestplate came off first, then the vambraces, greaves, and finally the helmet. Even with the temperature control of my armour, my skin was still slick with sweat, my undershirt clinging to my chest. I grabbed a clean pair of pants and a long-sleeve shirt from the locker, the fabric cool against my skin as I slipped them on.

  The floor’s communal shower was a short walk down the hall. I grabbed a towel and headed in, the faint sound of running water telling me others were already there. The shower room was all durasteel and tile, with six stalls lined against the wall. I took an empty one, the door clicking shut behind me. The water came on hot, steam rising as it hit my skin. I stood under the spray, letting it wash away the grime of the day, the ache in my muscles, the weight of the squad’s stares.

  I lingered longer than usual, maybe fifteen minutes more than I needed. The water drowned out the noise in my head, the memories Karra’s question had stirred. It made my head hurt in ways physical pain could not and the voices urged me to lean into the rage, to chase away the icy chill that was starting to make my shiver with the burning rage and fury that was outright addicting.

  Taking a deep breath, I sank my will into the Force as I had learned to do more effectively under Malgus' tutelage, and bent it to my will, the cold now no longer piercing in my very being, but hovering around me. I focused on the sensation, grounding myself in the present.

  When I finally shut off the water, I dried off and dressed again, the clean clothes a small comfort. My hair, damp and tangled, hung past my shoulders. I tied it into a tight braid, then checked my reflection in the small mirror above the sink; my eyes were shadowed, the scar on my left cheek still horribly visible and not in the roguishly handsome way. I turned away, grabbing my towel and heading back to the corridor.

  Vhonte’s quarters were on the fifth floor. I took the repulsor-lift again, the hum of the machinery filling the silence. My annoyance at needing to have this conversation was not at all close to genuine anger, but it was still an unwanted chore. I knew what this was probably about, that being my Force related abilities that I hadn't shared.

  Her door was at the end of the hall, marked with her rank and nameplate. I knocked once, sharp and precise. The door slid open, and I stepped inside.

  I stepped into Vhonte’s quarters, the door sliding shut behind me with a quiet hiss. The room was as it was before, small and utilitarian. She stood near the bunk, out of her armor, her hair pulled back into a tight braid that hung past her shoulders. Her blue eyes locked onto me, darkened, flat and edging toward cold, like she was measuring me for a fight. I’d seen her out of armor before, but the way she held herself now, shoulders squared, arms crossed, made the space feel tighter and the air heavier.

  “Sit,” she said, pointing to the single chair by her desk. She didn’t move, staying on her feet, her posture rigid.

  I saw the play for what it was, a power move, keeping me low while she stood tall. I sat anyway, settling into the chair with a deliberate ease, my face schooled into a bored expression. I crossed one leg over the other, hands resting lightly on my thighs.

  “Ask away,” I said, voice even, giving her nothing.

  Vhonte’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching faintly. “I expect honesty, Kane,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut. “I won’t lead a squad into battle with my second-in-command being a complete unknown. Not in ability, not in history. Especially not with jetii training.”

  I raised an eyebrow, letting a hint of amusement flicker across my face. “And?” I prompted, leaning back slightly, daring her to push.

  “How much do you hold back?” she asked, stepping closer, her voice low but intense. “My brother, my mentors, they told me stories about jetii. Even the young ones are ridiculous in a fight. I’m assuming you’re at least close to that.”

  I felt her anger through the Force, a hot pulse that matched the fire in her eyes. It wasn’t just about trust; this was personal for her.

  “Why do you seem pissed?” I asked, tilting my head, keeping my tone light but pointed.

  “Pissed? Damn right I am, di’kut,” she snapped, her voice rising as she took another step. “How am I supposed to get better at hand-to-hand if the only person who can match me is holding back? How much are you holding back, Kane?”

  I weighed my response, my mind brushing against the memory of Bartra, the Zabrak I’d killed years ago. Blood on my hands, the crowd’s roar in my ears. I didn’t want to go there, not with her, not now. But dodging her questions would only make her dig deeper, and Vhonte wasn’t the type to let go. Plus, she was my commanding officer and the idea of going against the structure annoyed me even as a hypothetical. I let out a slow breath, keeping my eyes on hers.

  “I killed an adult Zabrak male in close quarters,” I said, my voice flat, stripped of emotion. “Hand-to-hand. With a sword, my sword actually.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and I almost smirked. She looked like she was on the verge of a tantrum, her composure fraying like a worn cable. Her lips parted, then closed, her gaze boring into me.

  “How?” she asked, her voice slow, deliberate, like she was piecing together a puzzle. “How could you possibly have been in a situation like that before Pre Vizsla adopted you? Unless it was after.”

  “It was the day of,” I said, leaning forward slightly, elbows on my knees. I sighed, resigning myself to giving her enough to keep her from hounding me forever. “Pre adopted me from a gladiator arena. After I earned my freedom.”

  Vhonte froze, her mouth parting slightly. “What?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but the shock in it was loud. “You’re like twelve! Why were you there?”

  “Eleven when I went in,” I corrected, my tone matter-of-fact. “Sheared someone’s face off with my fists in the first fight. I was a slave, born and raised.”

  Silence hit the room like a stun grenade. I felt her emotions shift through the Force, the shock, disgust, and a flicker of unadulterated pity she tried to bury. It rolled over me like a wave, heavy and raw, but I kept my face blank, letting her process. She stood there, staring, her arms dropping to her sides, her braid swaying slightly as she shifted her weight.

  “Is that why you’re so private about your past?” she asked after a long moment, her voice quieter now, almost cautious.

  “Partly,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Also, I like messing with people. But I don't like bringing it up.”

  She gave me a look, her expression softening more than enough to notice. The cold edge was gone, replaced by something closer to understanding. She sat on the edge of her bunk, bringing us eye level, the power play abandoned.

  “I won’t pry further,” she said, her voice steady but softer. “And… thank you. For saving Zeke.”

  “Just doing my duty,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “I’d do it again.”

  I was appointed to be above the others, and that brought obligations. Me being able to conceal my abilities for a few months longer before the true fighting kicked off was not worth the sacrifice of someone under my command.

  We sat in silence for a beat, the tension in the room easing like a knot slowly untying. The air felt lighter, like we’d crossed some invisible line. Then she spoke again, leaning forward slightly. “When the other platoons hear about your abilities, they’ll cause trouble. I assume you know how they are. I’ll have your six.”

  “Appreciate it,” I said, and I meant it. Vhonte wasn’t one for empty promises.

  “But,” she added, her eyes narrowing again, “no more holding back. I mean it, Kane. And… would you spar with me more often? In our downtime? I need to know what I’m working with.”

  I nodded, a small grin tugging at my lips. “Deal.”

  The rest of our conversation passed by a lot more casually and I was probably there for the better part of a half hour, discussing matters with her some more about my abilities, the utility of them, and her sharing a bit about herself in response to me sharing mine; I learned that her parents had been killed when she was barely 8 and her brother, who was about twice her age, had taken her in, adopted her as a surrogate daughter, and trained her himself.

  After we had discussed things and cleared the air quite a bit, I stood, sensing the conversations for tonight were done. The door slid open as I stepped out, the corridor’s dim lights casting long shadows. I took the repulsor-lift back to my floor, my mind turning over the conversation. Vhonte knew enough now to trust me, but not so much that I’d bared my soul.

  Back in my quarters, I sat on the edge of my bunk, the room’s stark simplicity a comfort after the day’s chaos. The cleaning rack held my armor, its surface still streaked with mud from the climb. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the ache in my head from using the Force still lingering faintly.

  Tomorrow would bring more drills, more stares, maybe more questions. But for now, I’d earned a moment of quiet.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  That moment ended the second I entered my quarters.

  I made a beeline to my table, picking up the Droid brain I had taken weeks to get ahold of. It was even more sophisticated than the one I had hooked up combing through the Holonet for information about different matters including Lundi. The Droid brain I was currently rotating in my hands and inspected for any errors in the ports meant for wire connections was a full-blown combat model meant for top tier assassins and war droids. To be honest, this thing may scale to a prototype Magnaguard's brain.

  Sitting down, I flicked my hand and called the fusion cutter a couple feet away to my waiting hand, setting it down for a moment and grabbing the durasteel skull that was currently popped open as I slipped the droid brain in, then began the time consuming process of hooking up the optics, the audio receptors, and vocals I had gotten earlier. The fusion cutter I'd set on low power made simple work of splicing together the wires and sealing things in place, followed by me grabbing a canister of sealant to spray over the exposed sections of wire.

  Setting the tools aside, I flicked on the power cell and saw the optics light up and flicker a moment, before settling in and I stared at the crimson light.

  “Testing sensors. Is audio active, confirm.”

  “Confirmed.” A metallic voice replied from the head, and I grinned.

  “Optics, confirm.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “What is the latest update program you have installed?"

  “Latest program is the… Mark 1 combat suite titled ‘Talos’.” The droid replied, and my grin grew even wider.

  “Accept ownership confirmation code of 8675309.” I instructed, having set the program to accept whoever had the code as sole owner. It was locked in now as mine and mine alone.

  “Confirmation code received.” It droned. “How may I assist you, master?”

  “Nothing for now.” I said happily, feeling pumped as I set the head down. “Just your name. Your name will now be Talos.”

  “I will now answer to Talos. My thanks, master.”

  I made a tsk sound of annoyance. I'll definitely need an improved personality matrix to work into it.

  “Shut down systems and enter rest state.” I instructed.

  “Shutting systems down.” Talos said, then the optics blinked out, leaving the inactive droid head completely silent on the table. I then flipped the safety on power cell off and removed it, setting it aside.

  Checking the time on the small clock I had set, I scowled. That took the better part of a two hours to do. And I still had other matters to attend to, like the training I needed to have done, something I had been hesitant about for a time. But with me being outed as a Force adept, it moved the schedule up massively.

  Glancing around, I took a fortifying breath and sat cross-legged on the ground, my hand twitching and calling forth the holocron with the Force. It floated in front of me, and my eyes narrowed.

  My progress needed to be greater. I needed a greater way to hurt my opponents, something that would have Kenobi on the ground.

  But I was tired, a lack of sleep and constant training. But unlike everyone else on this rock, I had the Force, and a potent weapon it is. Gripping ahold of the icy currents, I willed it into and through me, every ounce of fatigue and the fog over my thoughts vanished from the gale force chill that swept it all aside, leaving me clear-sighted and my limbs brimmed with power itching to be unleashed.

  With my will made manifest, I opened the holocron.

  Malgus’ presence immediately flooded the room, pressing down like a frigid weight, the air itself bending and groaning under the pressure.

  “Apprentice.” Was the cold reply, neither overtly harsh or positive. His head then tilted. “I sense… want. What do you ask for now, more scraps to content yourself with?”

  “Can you manifest lightning in your current form?” I asked flatly, no nonsense in my tone.

  There was silence for a moment before Malgus spoke.

  “A pale imitation and shadow of my true might, but yes.”

  “I require the training necessary to cast lightning.” I said, my eyes not leaving his scorched gold ones. “And I know that internalizing it makes the process faster.”

  Malgus let out a harsh scoff, sounding more metallic than his already modulated voice.

  “Faster is not easier. You ask for expediency but not the price.”

  “Pain and agony are the price I will pay.” I replied, bringing my will fully to the forefront. I would not be dissuaded from my course. “I know of what I ask. I ask for torture, for every inch of flesh to scream for mercy, to feel the will and desire to maim, to wound, to kill into me so I can cast it myself. No pain is too great for the power to lay low my enemies. Now, will you teach your apprentice or must I attempt so myself?”

  Malgus’ presence continued to simmer, the crackling sheet of ice hiding the leviathan lurking in the depths. And then, I felt the ice crack and groan, a brief flash of what lay beneath sending the temperature plummeting.

  “I will accept no cries for mercy or to stop. You learn and thrive, or you will die. Prepare yourself.”

  I fortified my mind, focusing and calling upon the Force as far as I could manage and I prepared for the strike.

  It was only about 2 seconds before the blue and white arcs of Dark Side energies leaped from him and crashed into me. My entire body seized up as the single worst pain I had ever experienced in my life ripped through me like a storm through plaster.

  I couldn't even breathe, let alone scream, as I collapsed to the ground, thrashing as every inch of my being was being flayed by the malicious power of the Dark Side.

  End chapter: