I stood in a wide clearing far out of the base, the ground patchy with grass and dirt and the air was heavy with the scent of fuel and metal. Averill crouched beside a crate, his hands moving over a spread of infantry grade explosives, each one gleaming under the midday sun. A sizable portion of the rest of the platoon, including Vhonte, Harja, Zeke, Trygg, Karra, and a dozen others, lounged at a safe distance, sprawled on crates or leaning against trees, their armor glinting. They were bored, itching for something to break the monotony, and watching things blow up was as good as it got.

  Averill held up a thermal detonator, its silver casing catching the light. “This one’s got a blast yield of 200 megajoules,” he said, his voice clipped, precise, like he was reading a manual. “B Lethal concussive radius is 50 meters, lethal up to 200 from shrapnel. Use the launcher for precision. Too much for a hand-throw unless you’re suicidal.”

  I shrugged, a grin spreading under my helmet. I’d trained with smaller explosives, golf-ball-sized charges I planned to use against Kenobi when the war kicked off. These were a step up, and I was game.

  “Launcher’s overrated,” I said, taking the detonator from him. Its weight felt good, solid.

  Averill’s eyes narrowed through his visor. “You’re not listening. The yield’s too high for—”

  I laughed, cutting him off, and stepped back, feeling the Force hum through me. I channeled it into my arm, muscles coiling, and chucked the detonator. It sailed far, a silver speck arcing toward an old piece of mining equipment, which was a rusted, skeletal rig abandoned in the field. The platoon perked up, heads turning to follow the throw.

  The detonator hit, and the rig vanished in a fireball, the blast roaring across the clearing. Dirt, grass, and jagged metal shards flew, pelting our armor with faint dings. A chunk of debris bounced off my chest plate, another off Averill’s shoulder. The platoon whooped, Zeke and Trygg shouting something crude about the explosion’s size.

  I patted Averill’s shoulder, my grin wide. “Good job, ner vod. That’s immaculate.”

  He shook his head, muttering about blast radii, but I was already eyeing the crate. “Let’s try another.”

  Averill sighed, pulling out another grenade, same size but painted with a silver colour. “This one’s 150 megajoules, tighter lethal radius. Shockwave’ll knock you flat if you’re too close. Use the launcher…”

  I took it and ignored the launcher again. The Force surged, sharpening my senses, and I hurled the grenade toward a stack of scrapped panels. It struck, erupting in a sharp blast, the shockwave rippling through the air. Bits of one of the panels flew, one spinning past Karra, who was closest and ducked with a curse. The platoon laughed.

  I heard Vhonte order into the comms for Karra to back up, which she did.

  “Nice,” I said, nodding to Averill. “What’s next?”

  He hesitated, then handed me a plasma charge, its casing matte black. “300 megajoules. 70 meter radius, but the heat’ll melt things. Seriously, Kane, use the—”

  I tossed it before he finished, the Force guiding my arm. It landed near a pile of old crates, and the explosion was a white-hot flare, vaporizing wood and scorching the ground. Ash and embers rained down, pinging off our armor. Vhonte shouted something about reckless idiots, but her tone had a laugh in it.

  I turned to Averill, clapping his back. “Keep ‘em coming, ner vod. These are perfect.”

  He groaned, digging into the crate, but I caught the faintest hint of amusement through his usually peculiar emotion radiance. The platoon cheered, ready for more.

  I decided to put on a show now, looking at the lower yield explosives that were the same as the one's I'd trained with to use as my main explosive armament. Grabbing them and slotting them into my harness, I toggled my comms on for the whole squad.

  “Watch closely.”

  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a split second. The Force surged through me, a rush that invigorated every muscle and sharpened every thought. My senses expanded, the rustle of leaves, the faint hum of Averill’s presence next to me, and the distant pulse of the platoon’s excitement. My body felt alive, electric, every nerve honed to a razor’s edge. I opened my eyes, the world crystal-clear, and darted forward in a blur, the Force propelling me.

  My boots barely touched the ground as I zipped across the clearing, a streak of motion too fast for the squad to track. I pulled a grenade from my harness, channeling the Force into my arm, and flung it toward a pile of rusted scrap metal. It arced high, landing with a sharp crack, the explosion sending shards flying. I leaped onto a jagged piece of debris, a twisted durasteel beam, landing lightly, my balance perfect. The Force guided my movements, and I sprang off, flipping mid-air, pulling another grenade and hurling it at an old crate stack. The blast erupted, plastoid splintering, flames licking the air.

  The platoon whooped, Zeke’s voice crackling through the comms with a shout of approval. I didn’t stop, zipping across the clearing, my body a blur as I wove between smoking remnants of the mining equipment. I vaulted over a rusted panel, my boots grazing its edge, and flung another grenade at a cluster of barrels. The explosion roared, barrels bursting into shrapnel that pinged off the ground. I landed in a crouch, already moving, and the Force kept my reflexes sharp as I pulled another grenade and lobbed it toward a half-collapsed shed. The blast tore through it, wood and metal scattering, dust billowing.

  I leaped again, flipping onto a toppled rig, its frame groaning under my weight. My hand snapped to my harness, grabbing two grenades this time, and I hurled them in quick succession, one at a pile of crates and the other at a rusted chassis. Twin explosions rocked the clearing, flames and debris spraying, the shockwaves rippling through the air. The platoon’s cheers grew louder, Trygg shouting something about showing off. I grinned under my helmet, sprinting forward, my body a streak of motion as I vaulted over a smoking crate, landing in a roll and coming up with another grenade in hand.

  I flung it, the Force guiding its path to a stack of old fuel canisters. The blast was sharper, a fireball blooming as the degraded fuel in the canisters ignited, the heat washing over me even through my armor. I zipped to the side, weaving through the debris field, my boots kicking up dirt as I leaped onto another beam, balancing effortlessly. I pulled one last grenade, hurling it at a final target, a rusted speeder frame. The explosion tore it apart, metal screeching as it collapsed into a heap.

  I landed in the center of the clearing, chest heaving, the Force still humming in my veins. The platoon erupted, clapping and shouting, Vhonte’s voice cutting through with a dry voice.

  “Nice show, di’kut.”

  I turned to Averill, who stood by the crate, arms crossed, visor hiding his expression.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I stood in the impromptu training arena, a wide duracrete landing pad that had been abandoned for a while and ringed by sparse trees, the air thick with dust churned by our movements. My armour felt just a bit heavy on me at the moment, beskad gripped tightly in my hand, its edge catching the floodlights. The Force hummed through me, sharpening every sense. Across from me, Vhonte hovered a meter off the ground, her repulsor jetpack buzzing. Her own beskad was drawn, held in a low guard, her pistols set to stun, a belt of stun grenades at her waist. This was a high-intensity drill, her jetpack mobility and firepower against my Force-driven reflexes and blade.

  She jetted forward, a blur of motion, her beskad slashing in a diagonal arc at my chest. The Force mapped its path, and I sidestepped, a streak too fast to track, my beskad snapping up to parry. Steel clashed, the impact ringing through my arm, her blade sparking against mine. She banked left, jetpack roaring, and flung a stun grenade. I felt its arc in the Force and I darted right in a blur, the grenade bursting behind me, its blue pulse sizzling the air. I grinned under my helmet, the thrill of the fight sparking through me.

  I darted forward, the Force fueling my speed, closing the gap. Vhonte met me, her beskad thrusting at my shoulder. I parried, the blades scraping, and countered with a quick slash at her chest plate. She twisted, her jetpack flaring to shoot out of range just as my blade gained momentum, the Force pushing my strikes harder. She landed briefly, pulling her pistol, and fired a stun bolt at my head. I leaned back, my beskad flashing to deflect the bolt, sending it crackling into the dirt.

  Vhonte jetted upward, out of reach, and tossed two grenades in quick succession. The Force whispered their trajectories, and I ran left, then right, my body a blur as the grenades detonated, their pulses washing over the ground. She dove and charged with her beskad, slashing at my side. I parried, the Force guiding my blade, and pressed forward, my follow-up slashes forcing her to block. She jetted back right as I started to overpower her, my beskad’s strikes too fast for her.

  She landed again, pistol snapping up, and fired a burst of stun bolts, targeting my chest and head. I wove through them, my beskad a streak, deflecting each bolt with sharp rings, sending them sparking into the ground. Vhonte jetted forward, her beskad slashing at my shoulder. I blocked, our blades locking, and shoved hard, the Force amplifying my strength. She stumbled, jetpack flaring to pull her out of range just as I swung for her chest, the blade whistling through empty air.

  She was giving it everything, her jetpack keeping her mobile, her beskad and stun shots precise despite my speed. I could feel her strain in the Force, her focus stretched thin, every move a desperate bid to keep me at bay. I loved it, the rush of pushing her limits. I zipped forward, closing in, and she met me with her beskad, slashing at my head. I parried, countering with a thrust at her midsection, the Force making my blade a blur. She blocked, but my next slash at her shoulder landed, rattling her armor, and she jetted back again, narrowly escaping my follow-up.

  Vhonte tossed a grenade, its arc sharp. I sensed it, leaping onto a low crate, then flipping off it, the Force amplifying my jump. The grenade burst below, its pulse rippling harmlessly. I landed, sprinting toward her as she touched down, blaster firing a tight spread of stun bolts at my torso. My beskad slashed, deflecting one bolt after another, the blade ringing with each hit. She charged, jetpack flaring, and swung her beskad at my side. I blocked, our blades scraping, and countered with a diagonal slash at her chest. She parried, but my strikes were faster, heavier, the Force driving my blade, forcing her to jet back again as I started to overpower her.

  She tossed two grenades, one high, one low, trying to box me in. I felt their paths, diving left in a blur, then vaulting over the low one as it burst, its pulse grazing my armor. I landed, charging as Vhonte landed, her beskad slashing at my head. I parried, the Force guiding my blade, and pressed forward, my slashes pushing her back. Her blocks were solid, but slower. She jetted upward, firing a stun bolt at my head. I deflected it with my beskad, the Force steadying my wrist, and leaped, the Force propelling me high to close the gap.

  Vhonte flung a final grenade, its arc fast. I twisted mid-air, my beskad slashing, deflecting the grenade with a Force-enhanced swing, sending it bursting to the side. She fired another stun bolt, but I landed in a crouch, my blade flicking up to deflect it.

  She dove again, beskad raised, and I met her, our blades clashing, the fight a storm of steel and speed, her jetpack keeping her just out of reach each time I started to overpower her.

  Enough. No more evasion!

  I dug deep into the Force, deeper than before, pulling its raw power into my core. My vision sharpened, the world slowing as every muscle thrummed with energy. Vhonte jetted upward, trying to skirt away, her jetpack roaring. I reached out, the Force coiling like a whip, and locked onto her presence. With a surge of will, I yanked her down, violently flinging her to the ground. Her armor crashed against the duracrete, the impact echoing and her jetpack sputtered as she hit.

  I rushed forward, a snarl ripping from my throat, the hungry desire to dominate, to win, the mad thrill of blood in the water driving me. My beskad rose, the Force fueling my speed, and I brought it down in a brutal arc aimed at her chest. Vhonte stumbled to her feet, her movements sluggish, and barely raised her beskad to deflect. Our blades clashed, the impact jarring her arm as I broke through her guard and her armor shrieked as my blade scraped across the chest plate and she staggered back. I pressed the attack, my beskad slashing in tight arcs, each strike Force-driven, too fast for her to match. She blocked, her blade trembling, but I could feel her weakening, her presence in the Force flickering under the onslaught.

  She tried to jet back, her pack flaring, but I reached out again, the Force locking her in place, pinning her boots to the ground. My beskad swung for her head, and she parried, the clash ringing out, but her stance buckled. I snarled again, the thrill of victory pulsing through me, and aimed a thrust at her midsection. She twisted, deflecting it with a desperate swing, her blade scraping mine, but I was relentless, my slashes hammering at her guard and forcing her back step by step.

  A final strike of mine yanked her Beskad from her grip and I surged forward, blasting her back with a gesture of my off hand clawing forward. She barely reacted before she was sent careening back, skipped like a rock across the duracrete, before crashing into a tree, a flash of pain radiating from her presence.

  I paused for a moment, not having meant to push that hard. I then walked forward, aiming to finish the exchange. She stumbled to her feet, trying to to use her jetpack which failed to start. She then let out a curse and pulled her pistols, firing off at a rapid pace. I deflected every single round with my beskad, barely struggling at all.

  I closed the distance further, boots clacking against stone, and her power packs were expended. Instead of taking the loss and giving up, she closed the remaining couple meters of distance and flung her pistols at me, which I slapped aside, and then lunged forward, aiming a kick to my face. I ducked it and stepped into her guard, and elbow checked her in the jaw, making her stumble and she lost her footing, falling to the ground. I backed up, keeping my blade in a low guard and pointed to the side, taking several lungfulls of air as I tried to rein in the euphoric thrill of victory. Everything sang loudly, the blood in my veins, the environment, everything.

  That… was a fun fight.

  Vhonte slowly pushed herself up, groaning audibly.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “That… hurt.” She grumbled, shaking her head and bending over some as she cupped her hands over the face of her helmet. I could just about see her expression in my mind's eye, eyes closed shut and her face tensed in pain.

  “Didn't mean to push that hard.” I offered, sheathing my beskad and walking up to her. “You good?”

  “I got hit by a speeder that hurt less, di'kut.” She hissed out, but I didn't sense any anger, it was probably from her head hurting. “Bounced then too.” She then rubbed her shoulder.

  “Nothing broke?”

  “I'd be pissed if I thought you broke something. But no, just hurt. And pulling me from the sky wasn't fair.” The last part was laced with actual annoyance.

  I scoffed. “Then stop running with that stupid jetpack. Either fight it out with beskad or get ragdolled. Or I don't know, get better?” I added the last part with a wolfish grin plastered across my face.

  Vhonte leveled an expressionless glare at me. “You're lucky I'm not here as your commanding officer.”

  “Oh I know, lieutenant.” I snickered, patting her good shoulder that she wasn't favoring. “Shouldn't have asked me to use my abilities constantly.”

  Vhonte practically recoiled away from me, disgust radiating from her. “I'd rather be thrown around like a child than you hold back as if I were one.”

  Now that I had a proper gauge of who she was as a person, it was so much easier and fun to get under her skin intentionally.

  “Heh,” I cracked another grin, popping off my helmet and feeling the air on my face. I locked my gaze on her. “That's why you're so much fun to spar with. Oh, your jetpack working still?” I diverted the topic as I saw it spark faintly.

  Vhonte shook her head, deciding to remove her helmet too and clipping it to her belt, her hair in a tight bun.

  “I know what you broke in it.” She said flatly, her eyes looking like they could've been carved from ice. “You owe me a replacement gauge regulator.”

  I sighed, shifting in my heel to look elsewhere and nodding. “I'll get the parts but I'm not installing them.”

  “I'd sooner give you access to my pistols than have you touch the bomb on my back.” She said, stooping down and picking up her beskad and sheathing it.

  “A jetpack isn't a bomb though, at least not that kind.” I pointed out.

  “Nah,” Vhonte smiled, making a dismissing gesture, “Everything is a bomb if you mess it up enough.”

  …

  “You know what, fair.”

  I checked the time then on my vambrace where a small holoprojector showed my general location, time, etc.

  Hmmm, we were gone 4 hours. Longer than I expected but not an issue. I had more than enough time to kill for now.

  “So, back to base?” I asked, tapping my hand against the hilt of my beskad as I went to scratch my ear. “Can take the scenic route.”

  “Scenic?” Vhonte straight up laughed at that. The completely unguarded expression she had lightened all her features, eyes brimming with amusement and her teeth flashing for a moment. “Sure, Kane, let's go this scenic route.”

  I returned the grin and we walked off the pad and walked the sort of path that lead to the pad from where we came and were side by side. We were silent for less than a minute before Vhonte spoke.

  “Any idea when your Verd'goten will be?” She asked, head turned down to look at me. Fucks sake, I could not wait to grow taller so I didn't have a woman looking down at me like I tend to prefer looking down at my women. It was downright insulting to me.

  After that brief lapse in internal decorum, I shrugged. “Given that I'm close enough to 13 at this point, I'm more than skilled enough to, and I sort of need to if I'm going to be giving orders in a unit when a war is ahead? I assume quite soon, and I'll kill something sufficient.”

  “Just sufficient?” Vhonte asked, and I shook my head in annoyance at her being intentionally obtuse.

  “You know what I mean, Vhonte. Something befitting my status, like a Krayt Dragon or Sarlaac.” I said, throwing out my arms for emphasis. “A terrible and mighty beast.”

  Vhonte laughed at that. We kept on walking, the remnants of the road now giving way fully to untouched wilderness and we walked through the outcropping of trees and thickets. “Sounds like what my friend Zela claimed she'd manage. Ended up killing, damn, what was it, some sort of lizard? Kind of looked like a gundark.”

  “Hmmm, not bad.” I mused, adjusting my stride to avoid a chunk of ground missing. “What was yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Your Verd'goten kill.”

  “Oh, a Sriluurian dark wolf.” She answered, noting my complete lack of recognition. “Pack minded wolf with poisoned claws and a stinger tail. Isolating one from the pack was harder than killing it, and that was saying something. She then reached to her neck and fiddled with something, before revealing a necklace with an ebony black claw on it that was impressively large. “Had to lay a trap making it think I was wounded, isolate from its pack, and I didn't have my full kit…” She then muttered under her breath about Hezek and a certain part of the human anatomy.

  “Just a knife and canteen?” I joked.

  Vhonte looked outright offended at that. “I'm not suicidal! And my brother doesn't make a habit of trying to kill family. No, I had a knife, canteen, and an emergency beacon.”

  …

  “I'm not going to know what you actually had on you, am I?”

  Vhonte just gave me a grin.

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, getting back to base and after a quick cleaning of my armour and a shower, I was back in my quarters training with Malgus in the intricacies of manipulating material objects with the Force.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  “Say that to me again and I'll stuff you head first into a trash compactor!” Vhonte heard a feminine snarl from inside the barracks, and she recognized who it was immediately.

  Bo-Katan Kryze, the latest addition to her squad, had been a handful to deal with, particularly with a few of the more traditional minded members of her platoon, Zeke and Trygg as an example, causing a fuss. And she could tell before she even entered that it was probably Zeke that had fired her up.

  She reached for the door, but Kane’s voice barked out. “Stop.”

  The barracks went quiet. Zeke protested, his voice rising. “Sarge, she started—”

  “I don’t give a chit,” Kane snapped. “I was appointed over you. You will follow my orders.”

  Vhonte slipped in, the door hissing shut behind her. Attention stayed on Kane as he turned to Bo-Katan. “Don’t be a hothead either, Kryze.”

  Bo-Katan started to speak, but Kane cut her off. “Kryze, use that head of yours. I am your sergeant. I own your name, I own your sheb. You two need to fight it out? Then feel free.”

  He gestured to the center of the room for emphasis.

  Zeke looked ready to agree, then spotted Vhonte and froze. “Lieutenant.”

  Everyone except Kane turned sharply toward her. Kane turned casually, his posture relaxed. “Lieutenant.”

  'Probably sensed me the moment I came in.’ She thought.

  “Oh, continue,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “I was enjoying this.”

  Kane nodded and shifted his attention back to the two troublemakers, his stance authoritative and his tone firm. “If you want to fight, it’s here and now. No time after. Any quarreling jeopardizes everyone else, and I will not suffer it.”

  Bo-Katan nodded. “I’ll fight now.”

  Zeke agreed.

  The platoon formed a circle around the two with greater space, a few of them placing quick bets. Vhonte watched from the edge. She knew Zeke would probably win. He was taller, stronger, even if his brother was better at hand-to-hand. Bo-Katan had some excellent technique, but Zeke had reach and practically every other advantage.

  They squared up. Kane gave the signal. Fists flew.

  Bo-Katan moved first, her stance low, fists tight. She jabbed at Zeke’s jaw, quick and precise, her feet shifting like she'd drilled it a thousand times. Vhonte noted the form, clean, efficient, the kind of technique that came from good training. Zeke blocked with his forearm, his longer arms giving him an edge, and countered with a swing at her head. She ducked, being quite fast for her size, and hooked a punch at his ribs. He twisted, the blow glancing off his side, and shoved her back with a palm strike to her shoulder.

  She staggered but recovered, circling him. Zeke pressed, his punches straightforward, using his height to his advantage. Bo-Katan weaved, her speed keeping her out of full reach, and snapped a kick at his thigh. It landed with a thud, his leg buckling slightly, but he grabbed her ankle, yanking her off balance. She twisted free, rolling to the side as he tried to grab her. Vhonte saw that the two were fairly skilled yet again, and she really did find to be a bit of a waste that they had been arguing.

  They closed again. Zeke threw a haymaker too wide. Bo-Katan slipped under it, slamming two quick punches into his gut. He grunted, doubling slightly, and she followed with an uppercut to his chin. His head snapped back, but he recovered fast, swinging a backhand that clipped her shoulder. She shifted from the impact, but kicked low at his knee. He stepped back, avoiding the worst, and charged, tackling her to the ground.

  She hit the duracrete hard, but rolled away before he could pounce, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Blood trickled from a split lip, but her eyes stayed focused. Zeke lunged, fists hammering down. She blocked one, took another to the arm, and flung a kick at his thigh from the ground. It connected, his leg buckling, and she scrambled up. Vhonte admired her grit, the girl fought like she had something to prove, technique holding up even as fatigue set in.

  Another clash. Zeke feinted left, then punched her face. His fist crashed in, the crack audible. She cried out, blood streaming from her nose, eyes watering. Vhonte could tell it was broken, the bridge swelling already. Bo-Katan dived forward anyway, slamming her head into his stomach. He gasped, air rushing out, but managed to shove her away.

  “Giving up?” he mocked, circling.

  She snarled, charged again, fists flying. He caught one strike, twisted her arm, and took her to the ground. She thrashed, elbowing his side, but he locked a chokehold, his arm around her neck. She fought, nails digging into his vambrace, legs kicking, refusing to tap. Her face reddened, movements slowing, until she passed out, body going limp.

  Groans rose from losers of bets. Vhonte rolled her eyes.

  Kane ordered Zeke to let go. Bo-Katan was out for several seconds, then came to, gasping. Kane helped her up, and inspected her nose, holding her head in place despite her angry fidgeting. “Not broken. Put a pack on it.”

  He then looked between them. “Issues end here. You’re vode. A child isn’t guilty of their parent’s choices.”

  The last part hit Zeke, who wilted under what was certainly aimed at him. Vhonte continued to watch Kane take care of the matter, and looked to be concluded soon.

  “Now shake hands as comrades should.”

  They shook hands, and it wasn't a feigned kind.

  Kane clapped their shoulders and smiled. “Good, now piss off and do something productive. That goes to all you miscreants!” He barked out the last part to the entire platoon, who scrambled to go do something, anything really.

  Kane then looked to Vhonte as everyone got out of the way. “Since you’re back, we need to talk. Your quarters?”

  It wasn't exactly her quarters, since they were in a barracks, but it was the officer one and was perhaps half the size of her actual room. But she understood what he was saying.

  “Aye.” She nodded, faintly making a quick whistle and pointing towards the door, walking straight to it and Kane followed behind. With a hiss, the door opened and she entered, then so did Kane before the door closed shut with another hiss.

  She turned around, gave him a quick up and down inspection, and shrugged. He looked rather tired, with dark circles under his eyes that made his face look even paler than it was, and his eyes looked nearly black like his hair at the moment. But he didn't stand like it. On the contrary, he looked to be brimming with energy from his posture and voice, but only now behind closed doors did she notice him being overworked.

  “You look awful.” She pointed out, earning a scoff from him.

  “I'm fantastic, thank you very much.” Kane replied, his brow raising and she saw the two scars across his face flex. “Can go a couple more days without sleep.”

  The way he said it was still no less unsettling than when she first heard it, and she went to sit down on her cot, gesturing for Kane to sit in the single chair by the small desk to the right of where her helmet was on display, still needing to be cleaned.

  “I would sooner you not randomly drop for 24 hours like you did before, so I'm ordering you to sleep tonight.” She said, and he bristled at the order. “Oh come off it, it's not natural for someone to go without sleep for a week and then be practically dead for 24 hours.”

  “No offense mea-,” Kane started to say, then his face twisted into something feral, “nevermind, all offense meant, you know literally nothing about the Force. And I do this for something important. Do you not trust my judgement on this matter?”

  “No.” Vhonte replied immediately, standing up from her cot and staring down at him. “I don't actually.”

  The room suddenly felt colder, and Kane's eyes looked like they were carved from stone, icy cold and dangerous.

  “Would it ease your distrust if I said I'm training constantly in preparation for the two Jedi the Republic is going to send to assist the New Mandalorian faction?”

  …

  Two?!

  “Yes, two.” Kane said, and Vhonte shot him a glare.

  “Do not read my mind.”

  “You practically shouted it.” Kane pointed out, crossing his arms and continuing to stare up at her coldly. “The two of them could turn the tide of the war and that's why I've been training for months on the side.”

  That had her thinking of the day Kane had been made sergeant under her, of Kane saying that he wouldn't be surprised if Jedi were sent.

  “Did you know about this months in advance?!” She demanded, her fists clenching at the thought.

  “Suspected.” He replied immediately, not looking fazed in the slightest. “Funny thing about the Force, you can sometimes see glimpses of the future, only for a random pebble getting kicked to cause it to change completely.”

  'Oh of course the di'kut can see the future.’ She internally threw her hands up in exasperation. “And now are you convinced that they're coming?”

  “If not already here.” He said seriously. “I planned to talk with Pre about it next time I can, because I straight up saw their faces while meditating last week.”

  The fact that Vhonte couldn't tell whether he was telling the honest truth or was covering his sheb, was something that had her weighing two options. Thinking for a second, she just gave up on the stupidity.

  “Fine, don't complain if your heart gives out and you need replaced as my second.” She scowled, sitting back down onto her cot. “Now get out, dismissed.”

  “I needed to speak about something els-”

  “I don't care right now.” Vhonte snapped. “Talk about it later, piss off.”

  Kane stopped speaking and said nothing else, then turned on his heel and exited her quarters. She just sighed as the door hissed shut and she scowled again. Of course she had to have a stupid jetii in her squad, of course there were going to be two jetii mucking up things.

  She knew she wasn't going to get anything done just laying there, so she got up, walked to her desk, and started angrily cleaning her helmet.

  xRSxxRSxxRSx

  I activated my repulsor jetpack, the hum vibrating through my armor as I leaped from the rocky outcrop. The landscape stretched below, a mix of jagged hills with a few sparse trees, and open fields scarred by old mining pits. Pre jetted ahead, his figure a dark silhouette against the gray sky, staying within 30 to 50 yards of where I was landing. My boots hit the ground briefly, then I launched again, the pack’s thrust carrying me in a controlled arc. The wind rushed past my helmet, the comms crackling with Pre’s voice.

  “Keep your form tight, Kan’ika,” he said.

  I laughed, my voice steady through the comms. “Says the man who taught me. I’m just following your lead.”

  We moved in rhythm, leapfrogging across the terrain. My jetpack’s controls responded to every shift of my weight, the Force guiding my landings, keeping me balanced on uneven ground. Pre landed on a ridge, then jetted forward again, his path efficient and with no wasted motion.

  “You’ve improved,” Pre said, his tone even as he cleared a ravine. “Your control’s better. No more rookie mistakes.”

  I leaped over the same gap, boots scraping stone as I touched down. “Practice pays off.”

  He chuckled, a rare sound through the comms. “Good. Because you’re ready for your Verd’goten.”

  I landed hard on a flat stretch, the words hitting home. A thrill surged through me, my heart pounding under my armor. I’d waited for this, trained for it since Pre pulled me from the arena. “You mean it?”

  “Yes,” he said, jetting to a higher ledge. “You’ve earned it. We’ll set it up soon.”

  I launched after him, the jetpack’s thrust lifting me higher than needed, but I didn’t care. I let out a laugh, my emotions flying free. “Finally. I’ve been ready to prove it.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” Pre warned, but his voice had a hint of pride. “The trial’s no game, and it will be dangerous.”

  We kept moving, the landscape blurring beneath us. We leaped across a dry riverbed, with Pre landing first and I was close behind. The sun was ahead of us and low, the day having come to a close rather quickly.

  After a few more jumps, Pre signaled a pause. We touched down on a flat ridge, jetpacks powering down with a whine. I rolled my shoulders, the thrill still buzzing in my veins. Pre stood a few yards away, his posture relaxed but alert, his helmet turning toward me.

  I looked at him, the moment right. “Buir, there’s something important I need to discuss.”

  His attention locked on me, his stance shifting slightly. “Speak.”

  I took a breath, choosing my words. “What do you know about jetii seeing future events?”

  Pre tilted his helmet, thinking. “Bare awareness. They predict storms, catastrophes sometimes. Why?”

  I nodded, the vision clear in my mind. “When I was meditating, I saw two jetii. Human men. One older than you, the other around 20. They were on Mandalore, speaking with others.”

  Pre’s posture changed immediately. Shock rippled through him in the Force, then ice-cold resolve settled like a blade. He stood still, processing, his presence sharp and focused. “Describe them.”

  “The older one was tall and had a beard. The younger had a braid on the side of his head.” The second part where I described Kenobi got further attention from Pre. “They stood in a hall, talking with Mandalorians, but the vision was shadowy enough that I couldn't see the armour clearly.”

  Pre was silent for a moment, then the words that followed the silence was that of a soldier, and officer directing a subordinate.

  “We depart for your Verd’goten shortly. I’ll inform the other clan heads of this, that credible intel of a jetii presence on Mandalore has been presented. Pack as if you are going to war, I will inform your captain that you will be absent for a time, you inform Tervho.”

  “Yes, sir.” I replied.

  “Back to base.” With that, he triggered his jetpack and went soaring back east. I followed right after, shooting forward, the wind roaring in the audio receptors of my helmet as I went airborne, before impacting the ground, running a few steps, my boots crunching against the brush and earth, before shooting to the skies once again.

  We made it back in record time, and Pre marched straight towards the southwest gate, with me right behind him. He briskly walked up to the security checkpoint, flashed his credentials, and then we were past the guards. He veered left while I went right to the repulsor lift that would take me to the level where my quarters were at.

  I ignored everybody walking around as I reached the repulsor lift, went to the terminal, and triggered it with a simple press of my finger. The repulsor lift groaned slightly as it descended and I tapped my fingers against the grip of my pistol on my right hip, my leg also twitching impatiently. It finally reached my floor and I bee-lined straight to my hall, keyed in the code for my door, and was greeted by the interior of my quarters.

  I stepped into my quarters, the door hissing shut behind me. My boots echoed on the cold floor as I moved to the lockbox tucked under the cot. I knelt, fingers brushing the worn metal, and keyed in the code. The lock clicked open, revealing the parts I’d collected for a lightsaber. Disassembled components lay in neat rows: emitter matrix, power cell, focusing lens, grip frame. I checked each piece, running my fingers over them, ensuring nothing was missing. Only the focusing crystals were absent. Once I had those, I could forge the saber. I closed the lockbox, locked it, and slid it back under the cot.

  The parts had been things that I had gathered over the last several weeks, most of them being relatively easy to get, though the focusing lens was a bit difficult to get the correct specs on. With Malgus guiding me, I could shape everything together and forge the crystals upon achieving whatever task he deemed worthy enough to let me warrant such guidance.

  Next, I moved to the safe bolted to the floor in the corner. I crouched, input the combination, and the heavy door swung open with a low groan. Inside sat the Holocron, its angular shape glinting faintly under the room’s dim light. I lifted it, the weight familiar, its surface cool against my gloves. I turned it over, checking for any damage, then set it back and sealed the safe. Standing, I cataloged my gear; beskad sheathed on my back, blaster carbine on the other side, jetpack still strapped to my back. I opened a crate, pulled out ammo clips, a vibroknife, and a medkit, and laid them on the cot.

  Each item was checked, then returned to its place. Everything was ready for the Verd’goten.

  I then crossed the room to the desk, the metal chair scraping as I sat down. I pulled open my holopad, its screen flickering to life at just a touch, and opened the personal chat with Vhonte. My fingers tapped out a message: “Verd’goten’s happening soon. I’ll be absent for a bit. Pre’s handling it with the captain.” I then sent it, the holopad chiming softly, and leaned back, exhaling audibly.

  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. The Force stirred, a current flowing through me, and I focused, letting my thoughts narrow. My will pressed into the Force, sharpening my mind like a blade honed on stone. The world faded, the hum of the base, the faint buzz of the holopad, the weight of my armor. All that remained was the Force, steady and alive, guiding my focus. I held it there, my control absolute, the edge of my mind clear and ready for what lay ahead.

  I opened my eyes, and I felt more grounded and my thoughts steady. The Verd’goten was ahead, and I was ready to face it.

  End chapter