Sins of the Father/Part 11

Once it became clear that Runganna had no intention of breaking off festivities for Circumtore's high-speed day and night rotations, Tirien located a droid that showed them to a room. Narasi had left Gizmo enough food for a few days—and slipped him a couple wires so he would be happy in her absence—so she didn't complain, but she would much rather have slept aboard the Second Chance. Tirien hadn't asked her opinion, so she didn't offer it, but Runganna's palace was a miasma of awful in the Force; Narasi had observed forms of depravity she had never even heard about before. It reminded her of trudging through the mucky, slimy bog on Toprawa, only here, the cloying humidity and stomach-churning stink were all in her mind, and no simple trip to the refresher would wash it off.

"Master," she started when he closed the door on the small room they'd been provided, "can we talk—"

Tirien stopped her with a raised hand; when she sighed herself into silence, he said, "In a minute. Tell me what you think of the Sith."

He rolled his finger in front of his mouth in a way Narasi took to mean keep talking. She frowned, but said, "Uh…well, they're both Twi'leks. They came from Lady Hadan, right?"

She found her master distracting; he moved along the walls and the few pieces of furniture, brushing them with his fingertips, levitating things soundlessly. Without looking at her, he said, "That's right."

"Er…yeah. So…yeah.  They came from Lady Hadan.  That's Ryloth, so…she probably won't have as much to bid with?"

"A good point," Tirien observed as he stood on the single bed. Peering up into the overhead light, he nodded, then looked at Narasi, tapped one ear indicatively, and mouthed, Listen.

Totally lost but willing to take him on faith, Narasi closed her eyes. She was sure he didn't just want her to use her ears, so she reached into the Force, amplifying her natural senses until every tiny swish of Tirien's clothing sounded like a roar of wind. She heard a staticky snap…and, a few seconds later, a faint click. When she opened her eyes, Tirien gestured around the room and mouthed, Where?

Following the finger she pointed over her shoulder, he stepped down from the bed—slowly and gently, Narasi saw, and she felt a surge of affection when she realized she had not drawn her hearing back down to normal levels, and how much it would have hurt had he simply hopped down. Tirien, meanwhile, brushed his fingers along the sandstone wall, stopping every now and then to wipe off dirt with his fingertips. When he brushed at a spot and it chipped away, revealing millimeter-wide slats behind, Tirien placed his palm over it. Narasi closed her eyes and listened again, but this time after the electric crackle, there was only silence. When she opened her eyes to his inquiring gaze and shook her head, Tirien allowed himself a smile.

"Well done," he whispered, though Narasi heard it at the level of a raised voice.

Letting the Force seep back out of her as her hypersensitive eardrums relaxed, she asked, "Listening devices? And you did the droid stun thing to them?"

"Very good."

"What tipped you off?"

"Here? Nothing, they were well-concealed.  But I've had experience with Hutts before, and I could tell Runganna is the type to use anything she can to her benefit.  Eavesdropping on the private conversations of Jedi might yield useful information, and we didn't have time to buy a scrambler."

Impressed, Narasi sat down on the edge of the bed. Once she took her weight off her feet, though, she realized how very comfortable it was, and the wave of exhaustion she'd been holding back swept over her. She tried to cover a yawn with her hand, but her mouth stretched so wide, baring her fangs, that she had to bury it in her elbow.

"You been awake a while," Tirien pointed out. "Get a few hours, I'm going to meditate."

It was tempting, but Narasi shook her head to keep herself sharp for another minute. "Can we talk first?"

She could hear the way her voice cracked; it bothered her, but it caught Tirien's attention, and he sat on the bed beside her. "One bad moment of incaution doesn't define who you are, Narasi."

She was grateful that he understood at once, that she did not have to put the whole thing into words. "But don't a lot of evils start small?"

"They do, but the point to take here isn't that you're at the onset of evil, but that you need to be aware of the larger picture. There is no passion, there is serenity.  It seems like a restatement of the first principle, but it isn't.  There is no emotion is about self-possession and control; there is no passion is about taking the long view.  Passion arises when you get too caught up in the moment and fail to think beyond it."

"But when there are threats around us, shouldn't I be focused on the moment?"

"Not at the expense of the next moment. Remember the Unifying Force.  Jedi can't afford to be merely reactive—ever, but especially during war.  We need to be proactive in carrying out the Force's will, but we risk straying into emotional reactions if we don't keep the long view."

Narasi nodded, daunted but reassured. Tirien squeezed her shoulder for a second, then took a seat on the floor. "Get some sleep."

Narasi kicked off her boots and Tirien lowered the lights, but even with the comforting feeling of his magnified presence in the Force, she tossed and turned for a long time. Once she felt Tirien's mind sunk deep in the Force, she dug out her beacon, plugged it into her datapad, and called up the message she hadn't read.


 * Hey beautiful. I shouldn't say much, even on a beacon line, but things are going pretty well up here.  We've swept a lot of Aresh's forces out of the outlying systems, and Admiral Trifon is planning a push in.  Hopefully we can meet Master Cazars and Mali at Ciutric!


 * How was Columus? A couple of the guys aboard have been there; they said it's a planet of clones.  What was that like?


 * Any chance you and Tirien will be heading up this way? It'd be great to have you here, and I don't just mean for war.  Better hurry, though, or we'll be toasting victory in Aresh's palace by the time you get here.


 * —Aldayr

Narasi smiled reading it. By now she was used to the way he sandwiched any sign of emotion between other sentiments—"I miss you and want to spend time with you" followed immediately by "do you even realize how much ass I kick?" My emotionally open Corellian, she thought, then amended in her head, Well, sorta mine.

She typed up a response rather than dive back into that quandary, but her beacon worked on it for a long moment before rejecting it. Frowning, Narasi tried two more times before giving up and saving it for later. When she finally drifted off, her sleep was fitful and troubled by old dreams. The buzz-crack of a shock whip jarred her awake in a panic until she realized it was not the present, but an echo of the past.

Eventually she woke to find the lights on again, and gathered it was time to get up. She saw she had cut lines into her pillow with her claws. Turning it over in hopes that her master wouldn't notice, she asked, "What time is it?"

"I don't know the local time—not that it seems to matter out there—but it's been about five hours."

"Do you need to sleep? I can keep watch."

He shook his head. "Meditation is a remarkable restorative; I'll be fine for a while. Besides, I don't want to be out of this mess for too long, we might miss something."

Narasi pulled her boots on. "What's the plan?"

"We'll split up, listen, and observe. Answer direct questions, but don't be too open, and don't start any fights."

Narasi was pleased he wouldn't be babysitting her for a second day, but Tirien paused, frowning. When he looked at Narasi with that same frown, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, she asked, "What?"

He exhaled through his nose, and Narasi sensed him making up his mind only a second before he spoke. "If you can find a way to do it without drawing much attention, I want you to speak to the Mandalorians."

Narasi's eyes widened. "Me? About what?"

"Find out what their interest is."

"It's gotta be the weapon, right?"

"Yes, but why?" He crossed his arms. "The Mandalorians allied with the Jedi against the Dark Underlord a few centuries ago, but by and large they've been non-entities in the wars since. They had sufficient forces then to take down a Sith army, including the Black Knights—the Underlord's personal guard of Sith Lords.  What have they been doing since?"

"Waiting to see how it's gonna turn out?" Narasi ventured.

"Maybe, but since we're losing, that's no more reassuring. If we have intelligence assets in Mandalorian Space, I'm not privy to them.  I'm concerned that acquiring this weapon might be part of a larger Mandalorian buildup.  If they're re-arming in force, I want to know why, and on whose bidding."

"I can ask, I guess…"

"Do it subtly."

"Why me? I mean, since it's such a delicate thing…"

"Why aren't I doing it?" He made a face. "They're more likely to be open to you than me, I think. The Dark Underlord aside, Mandalorians and Jedi have a…difficult history.  It was Mandalorians who bombed Serroco, remember."

"Well, I'm a Jedi too!"

"But not a Knight. They may dismiss you as a threat equal to them, and as a result underestimate your capabilities." When Narasi gave him a look, less than thrilled with that analysis, he returned it with gravity. "I will not make the same mistake. This requires delicacy and calculation, but as you say, you're a Jedi too.  I trust you to handle this."

It took a second for the import of his words to really register, but when they did, the hair on the back of Narasi's neck stood on end. Here at last was his confidence that she could carry out part of their mission unsupervised—that she was, in fact, equally a Jedi, and deserved to be trusted as one. Daunted though she still was, she nodded. "I've got it, Master."

She held his gaze until he nodded back, offered her robe, slung his own back on, and raised the hood. "Good. Let's get to it."

As he reached for the door, she said, "Oh, Master. I tried to send a beacon message before, but it didn't go through.  I've never had that happen before."

He nodded with a grimace. "I tried to send the Council one earlier too. Without the Republic to maintain them—"

"—the s-threads are degraded," Narasi realized.

Tirien raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. "That was my conclusion as well. Hutt Space is too far behind enemy lines for us, the Sith wouldn't care, and I don't know that the Hutts themselves have the resources or the need to communicate toward the Core.  Well-reasoned, Narasi."

Narasi felt a little guilty; for a moment she remembered the cool breeze of Isalius on her skin. But she mustered a smile and they set out.

They hadn't missed much—or at least none of the revelry had slowed in their absence. Slaves were scrubbing a fresh bloodstain, but Narasi gathered from comments around her that another fight had broken out between a couple guests rather than being provided as entertainment. On guard against becoming too focused on any one thing, trying to look at the big, Unifying Force picture, Narasi saw the shock collars and chains more than she saw the beings wearing them—saw the institution of slavery itself and how it fueled the lust and greed around her rather than sating it. She wondered if this was how Tirien saw the world—principles more than individuals.

Whether he did or not, Narasi couldn't sustain it forever. She found herself wondering how this slave or that one had come to be here, what lives they had led before the Sith, the Zygerrians, or whoever else had rounded them up. She didn't ask, though; whenever she met the eyes of a slave who bore the bruises of rough treatment or had the disheveled garments of recent bad use, right before the slave lowered her eyes or plastered an ingratiating smile on his face, she saw the mingled fear and contempt in each face.

Fear of the lash, she knew, and contempt of the Zygerrian they thought would hold it. And much though they wounded her, Narasi knew from firsthand experience how her species as a whole had earned those looks.

When she forced herself to look past the individuals and their suffering, Narasi noticed the absence of the Hutts almost at once, but a few questions and accompanying mind tricks coaxed out that they had squirmed off in pairs or trios to back rooms and private parlors. She strolled in those directions to find bodyguards stationed outside the doors, all of whom noticed her and most of whom radiated a mix of tension and readiness when they did. Narasi didn't see Runganna's cyborg bodyguards mixed into the crowd or guarding any particular door, but their silhouettes prowled the roofs above the exposed courtyard.

Droids refreshed the overflowing platters of food and kegs of drink every time they threatened to run out, and Narasi picked up one of the sandwiches that didn't make her nose wrinkle and the least alcoholic beverage she could find. Nestled against a pillar to defend her back, she tried to run the Force through her food and drink to purify them of anything dangerous. She would have teased Tirien about trying to cram in another essential skill at the eleventh hour if he hadn't been so plainly worried about it.

Throwing down a mouthful of ale rather than endure its taste, Narasi observed her section of the meandering room until a Devaronian wandered over.

"Still can't believe Jedi are here," he said with a shake of his horned head. "Slummin' with this lot and all."

"Well, we go where duty takes us," Narasi replied, matching his casual tone. He was armed, but though the part of her that wanted to be a Jedi Guardian wondered whether it would be better to break her glass in his face or just throw it at him and go for her lightsaber if he attacked her, she struggled to focus on the Tirien-influenced part of her. "I'm more surprised by the Sith."

The Devaronian snorted. "Picking up something that can kill a whole bunch of people at once? Surprises you, that?"

"Okay, fair enough." Narasi camouflaged her pleasure behind a worried frown and pressed her opening. "They seem to think being Lady Hadan's people gives them an edge."

"Eh, maybe," the Devaronian said. "The Dark Lord and Runganna go back a ways, but Runganna's smart enough to keep business, business. If you're gonna worry, Jedi, worry that Runganna wants more than credits."

Narasi had worried about it, but she focused on the moment. The idea reminded her of Tirien's advice to view the big picture, but also the task he had given her, and, suddenly inspired, she suggested, "Like mercenaries?"

"The Dark Lord might loan out a Sith now and then, but to be worth a weapon like this, it'd have to be long-term, and that's a steep asking price."

"I meant the Mandalorians."

The Devaronian looked, and Narasi followed his eyes across the sea of sentient debauchery to a wall some fifty meters away. She caught a glimpse of one of the Mandalorians behind a pillar before an Askajian dancer sprang into the way, her numerous curves jiggling.

"Not sure what they're offering," the Devaronian said, "but they'll be here to bargain, mark my words."

Narasi marked them as she nodded and walked away. She thought people who were well into their cups might have looser lips, but the trick was finding stragglers. Eventually she gave up for the moment, backed herself into a corner, and focused on the Force to amplify her hearing, listening for anything useful. Most of the guests talked about their planned indulgences, which Narasi tried to tune out, or their various criminal enterprises, which provided a wealth of fascinating tidbits, none of which were useful in the moment. Every now and then the band swung into a crescendo and Narasi tried not to wince as her ears rang and she missed the next minute or so of conversation. Once in a long while someone would mention the Jedi, the Sith, or the Mandalorians, but mostly in speculation about how the auction would go; Narasi heard a single Huttese word so often she surreptitiously looked it up on her datapad and discovered with some dismay that it meant bloodbath.

When over an hour had passed and the band had changed out and been replaced by droids playing synthetic rock, Narasi finally rocked off the wall and decided to seek out some information instead. She saw a group of Hutts had returned, though she was mystified to see Tirien in their midst along with members of various other species. All of them had mugs in their hands, and a particularly hefty Hutt cried, "YATOONI BOSKA!"

"BOSKA!" all the others roared, raising their tankards, and Narasi watched her master drain his without breaking for breath.

Firming in her mind the resolve that, if she had to personally battle her way through all the Hutt lackeys on Circumtore to do it, she would make Tirien tell her when Suwo had taught him that particular skill, Narasi turned away and almost walked right into the red-skinned Twi'lek Sith. Her amused smirk died and she bared her teeth; the Sith glowered back and her hand hovered over the lightsaber on her belt.

Narasi tugged the side of her robe back to clear her own weapon, but she said, "Don't do it. Don't make me."

The Twi'lek's eyes narrowed. Narasi had thought she had the trademark dark side eyes, but up close she could see they were hazel, almost amber.

"Don't tempt me," the other woman hissed.

She was a little taller than Narasi, but couldn't have been much older, and Narasi knew from the Twi'lek's lithe build that her own Zygerrian strength would bludgeon right through any defenses the woman threw at her. But she remembered Tirien's instructions, and the shocking speed and precision of Runganna's bodyguards, so she took a step sideways, out of the Twi'lek's way, and gestured her on.

The woman advanced, but when they were side-by-side, she stopped and said, without looking at Narasi, "You're going to fail. We're leaving with that weapon."

There is no emotion, Narasi thought, and she walked away, proud of her restraint but a little peeved that Tirien hadn't been there to see it. ''I reject a perfectly good chance to get into it with a Sith, but is he around to be impressed? Nooo, he's throwin' 'em back with his Hutt drinking buddies''…

Narasi looked around for the Sith's master once she had gotten far enough way, but the only other Twi'leks she saw were dancing, cleaning, or providing other services to Runganna's guests. She passed through pavilions and niches screened off with silk or strands of beads for the illusion of privacy, averting her eyes once she was sure nobody was going to point a weapon at her, but she saw no openings for more information. A Sith, she imagined, would have bribed a slave to seduce someone useful and get information from him, but the mere thought made Narasi even more nauseous than the smoke that hung in the air around a pavilion stocked with pipes and hookahs.

About three hours into the party, Narasi had followed one of the Mandalorians until he stopped moving and talked through twenty variations of the conversation in her mind. Just as she confirmed her approach to herself, the other Mandalorian appeared and began conversing with his partner. Narasi watched them, grumbling to herself and wondering whether she could mind trick one of them away from the other. When the second Mandalorian leaned on a wall beside the first, though, she decided to throw caution to the wind and walked right up to them.

They watched her approach, and Narasi sensed vigilance without fear. The taller man, without horns on his helmet, slid one foot back as if to brace himself for her attack, but she continued until only a meter separated them; it was more important not to be overheard than to put them at ease. Adopting a look of friendly calm and folding her hands in front of her stomach as she had seen her master do so many times, she said, "Hello."

The taller Mandalorian glanced at the horned one, but when the latter said nothing, the taller man turned back and nodded once. "Jedi."

"I'm Narasi Rican."

"We know who you are."

What did that mean? Narasi could imagine a number of possibilities, and none of them were reassuring. Trying not to let it bother her, she asked, "And you are…?"

The taller one looked to his colleague again, and this time the horned man spoke, laying a hand on his chest. "Damis Myragon. This is Arkyr Rentol."

"You're here for the auction?"

The Mandalorians nodded.

"Why do you want it?"

It was blunter than she had intended to be; she had meant to smooth her way into the subject, but the conversation wasn't going the way she had scripted it in her head, and when she went off-script, she defaulted to the direct approach. Damis said nothing, and Arkyr retorted, "Why do you?"

Narasi had this one ready. "To prevent anyone from using it. You?"

Neither replied, and Narasi resisted the urge to try a mind trick on them. "Who hired you?"

"No one hired us," Arykr snapped. Narasi sensed Damis's disapproval, but Arykr continued, "We remember what it means to be Mandalorian."

"Luubid, vod," Damis said.

Narasi didn't speak Mando'a, but she perceived the cautioning intent behind the words and was unsurprised when Arykr did not continue. In the silence that followed, she tried to remember what Tirien had told her about the Mandalorians. "Are you planning to use it?"

After a heartbeat, Damis asked, "Would it change your plans for the auction if we are or aren't?"

Narasi hesitated, knowing it wouldn't but confident that wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. She didn't have Tirien's way of massaging words, and before she could come up with the right response, Damis nodded. "I didn't think so."

"A weapon like this should never be used," Narasi said; her frustration bled into her tone, but she couldn't believe it was up for debate after what she had read in the datafiles. "You're warriors, right? Why use something that kills indiscriminately instead of getting in the thick of it and fighting the right people?"

Neither Mandalorian so much as winced, but for the first time Narasi could feel unease in their minds, just a hint of disquiet marring their warrior calm. Arykr said, "We obey."

"Obey who?" Narasi pressed.

"That's our business," Damis said.

"Look, I'm sure Runganna's going to bring it …" Narasi started, but she trailed off when she realized they weren't paying attention. Their vigilance morphed to alertness, and though neither said a word, Arykr tipped her off as his helmet turned and he looked past her shoulder. The Force nudged her into alert mode herself, and, straining her ears, she just caught quiet footsteps through the din of music and conversation.

"Yeah…Runganna will tell us anyway," she pointed out as danger started to rise. She unfolded her hands, keeping them close to her body, and raised a single finger as she arched her eyebrows. The Mandalorians looked at her again. "Don't you think?"

She judged the footsteps were only two meters away when Damis nodded slowly. Every part of her tensed, and she fought to loosen up her muscles. She was sure it wasn't the Sith, she could feel their presence. Had the Mandalorians set this up? They didn't seem prepared to capitalize on—

The moment came, and Narasi spun, letting the Force guide her hands. One caught the Rodian's wrist and forced his vibroblade wide; the other seized the pebbly skin of his throat. He was a scrawny enough thing that Narasi was able to get a solid grip on his neck, and the Force of her fury coupled with her native brute strength to lift the assassin a few centimeters until the toes of his boots scrabbled for purchase and he wheezed through his snout.

Narasi snarled past her bared fangs while the Rodian tugged at her wrist without effect. She squeezed his wrist, backing her strength with the Force until she felt the bones of his forearm start to give. "Drop the blade."

He choked, and the vibroblade clattered to the floor.

Narasi's heart was pounding, adrenaline flooding her system, but after the first seconds of shock and anger, she had some measure of control back, and she remembered how her master had confronted a life-and-death challenge the day before. Carbon freeze, not flamethrower, she thought, and, trying to replicate Tirien's icy tone, she asked, "Who hired you?"

The Rodian gasped, and Narasi lowered him enough that he could stand without struggling. He sucked a breath in, but didn't answer, and when Narasi shook him, she felt a spasm of fear in the Force. "Oh, get it together," she said, rolling her eyes. "If I was gonna kill you, I'd have done it when I turned around."

"I don't think he's afraid of you, Jedi," Damis commented.

Narasi glanced over her shoulder, and the Rodian tried to make a break for it; he rolled his wrist over her thumb and broke free, but she rounded on him and lifted him right off his feet one-handed. As he tugged on her robe sleeve, his antennas waggling frantically, Narasi growled at him. "Maybe he should be. Never tried to kill a Jedi before?"

"Of course he hasn't," Damis said. "Use your eyes, Rican. He's an adolescent attacking a Jedi with a knife; you think he's an experienced assassin?"

Narasi studied the Rodian, and realized she had been able to close her hand all the way around his wrist. She wasn't yet an adult either—not by Zygerrian standards, anyway—but the Rodian was probably younger than her. Sighing, she set him on his feet and let go of his neck; his legs were shaking so badly that his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Narasi resisted the absurd impulse to help him up; he just looked so pitiful, especially compared to the Sith she had faced.

"Tell me who hired you, and we'll call it even," she offered. On a sudden inspiration, she gestured with one hand and stretched out from her mind to his, trying to nudge fearfulness toward hopefulness. "You know it's the right thing to do."

"I…I know it's the right thing to do," he repeated, though he sounded doubtful.

"You can trust me," she pressed. "It'll all be okay."

"I can trust you," the Rodian agreed. "It'll all be okay. Chakka hired me.  Chakka Grissen."

The name meant nothing to Narasi, but she sensed no deceit. Opening her hand, she pulled the fallen vibroblade into her hand and pointed it at the Rodian. "I'm keeping this," she told him sternly. "You can go, but the next time you attack a Jedi, you might not be so lucky. Got it?"

The boy's head bobbed as he got to his feet and dusted himself off. "Got it. Thank you."

He didn't feel like an enemy in the Force now that the threat was over; Narasi had faced too many beings trying to kill her to mistake the real thing for this kid. Gesturing with the hand holding the knife, she added innocently, "You should consider another career."

Given how poorly the whole transaction had gone for him, it didn't surprise Narasi that he was amenable to that last nudge, and he walked away muttering, "I should consider another career…"

Narasi looked around, but the Mandalorians had found themselves an isolated enough niche that only a few beings nearby seemed to have noticed the scuffle, and most of those were fast losing interest now that the show was over. She turned back to Damis and Arkyr, who had not moved, save that Arkyr's arms were now crossed. Trying a smile on Damis, she said, "I felt him coming, but I appreciate the nod. So, where were we?"

"It's funny," Arykr said. "For someone with such crappy pronunciation, you seem to understand Huttese just fine."

"I…" Narasi squeezed her eyes shut, and only the knife in her hand prevented her from facepalming. Of course the Rodian boy had been speaking Huttese, and though Narasi had spoken Basic to him, in the heat of the moment she hadn't bothered pretending she couldn't understand. Opening one eye, she asked, "Would you believe me if I told you I could read his thoughts and understand them?"

"No," the two men replied in unison.

Narasi sighed. "Yeah. Didn't think so.  Anyway—"

"Leave it be, Rican," Damis suggested, "and we'll call it even for the nod."

Confident though she was that she would have caught the rookie Rodian without the nod—or with her eyes closed, for that matter—she had endured enough of Tirien's diplomatic missions to appreciate the value of developing goodwill in potential enemies. Nodding, she spun the knife into a reverse grip, slid it through her belt, and said, "Even it is."

"Then we have no more business."

It felt wrong to leave it there. Narasi felt wholly unqualified to speak for the Republic or the Order—she knew even Tirien wasn't a fan of it, and it was his job—but she ventured, "The Jedi aren't looking for a conflict with Mandalore."

Damis arched his chin, and Narasi sensed him appraising her, but Arykr said, "Well, if she wants one with you, she hasn't told us."

Damis's emotional wall cracked, and Narasi sensed annoyance, disapproval, and a feeling of sudden vulnerability so alien to the Mandalorians that it was all she could do not to stare. She didn't understand the import of Arkyr's words, but obviously there had been something there, something Damis considered valuable enough to regret Arykr's slip. Smoothing her face over at once, resisting the urge to look at Damis even though it felt like someone was tugging her chin that way, she nodded. "Good to know. I can't really wish you good luck in the auction, but may the Force be with you."

She gave a half bow, never taking her eyes off them, backed up two meters, and turned to go.

"Rican."

She pivoted back on her heels, eyeing Damis. Had she given away her perceptions after all? Did he know she knew? The horned Mandalorian felt conflicted in the Force, and he looked out at the sentient sea spread throughout Runganna's courtyards and patios. She almost asked before he turned his helmeted head back and said, "San Pavac is here."

Narasi felt Arkyr's surprise, and the approval that supplanted it, but confusion was the only thing in her own mind. "Who?"

"San Pavac."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time, but is that supposed to mean something to me?"

The Mandalorians looked at each other, and now it was their turn for confusion. Arkyr asked, "You are Narasi Rican, right?"

"Yeah…"

Damis asked, "Shaelo Rican's daughter?"

Narasi's pretext of Jedi restraint shattered like glass; she felt her eyes widen and her ears flatten against her head as her belly filled with ice, and her voice came out a harsh whisper. "How did you know that?"

Again the men exchanged looks. "Forget it."

"What do you have to do with my father?!"

"Nothing, I assure you," Damis said. Between Slejux and the Republic Army soldiers with whom she'd served, Narasi had had plenty of practice catching slight inflections in digitized voices, and so, even through his helmet's vocoder, Damis's contempt came through loud and clear.

A mix of shame, anger, and longing dragged at Narasi's focus; she took a step back. "I'm not my father. I'm a Jedi who happens to be a Zygerrian, not a Zygerrian who happens to be a Jedi."

"Good for you," Arkyr said, and they both walked away as Arkyr tossed over his shoulder, "Ret'urcye mhi, Rican."

Narasi watched them go, part of her thinking that if only the Rodian had waited another minute or two, he might have taken her in the back after all.