Y’thal - garbage planet, Mid Rim
Latitude: 47.69300, Longitude: -7.20183
Vault location — *under assault*
Morgan sighed in annoyance as another blaster shot from her Bryar pistol vaporized the head circuitry of the IG-RM droid grasping for her foot. She had bisected him as her entourage rushed into the fray not even a minute earlier. First to fall, last to die. A strange curiosity.
While I.S.D. — her Imperial Sentry Droid — was mopping up the rest of the squad of IG-RM’s protecting the well-hidden Vault, Morgan turned her attention to the rest. “You know, somehow "weak security” was apt, but I’m pretty sure Bir sold us a wild porg chase. Nothing worth keeping is being kept here. This is gang-level protection at best.“
She turned to face the door to the vault, hidden under a junk heap five stories deep — thick durasteel, hidden console on the right side, maybe even a facial scanner and genetic encryption. All standard fare for a cheap vault, don’t go home without them, except that any half-decent slicer can, and will, bust through that thing within minutes. And she had one of the best slicers in the Outer Rim on her payroll.
"Well, we got this far, didn’t we?” She exhaled an exasperated breath as she turned to Orse, Celevon, Aryn and the Twins. “Let’s get this over with.”
Orse immediately scurried across the decimated clankers, deftly squeezed in-between I.S.D. and a towering pillar of garbage, and set up near the vault door. She wore a long poncho which covered most of her body. Her head, covered in a reflective helmet made from a 2-1B surgical droid’s cranium, tilted slightly as she exposed a slicer’s code pad and inserted the cylinder. It took her less than thirty seconds to break in. Slowly, surely, the heavy doors began to rumble open.
The door’s rollers screeched in protest, its gears grinding against the rust and grime accumulated over years of neglect. Kasula and Ysera took up positions on either side of the slowly widening entrance, their EL-16HFE rifles at the ready. The cobalt sheen of their racing suits reflected dully in the dim light filtering through the settling dust.
“I’ve got left. Tchin?” Kasula swept her rifle’s green laser sight through the billowing fog, tracking potential threats in the murk.
“Roger that, Tchun. Right’s all mine,” Ysera replied, her own laser sight crossing her sister’s as she scanned her sector. The twin beams of light cut through the haze, probing the shadows beyond the vault’s entrance, covering each other’s blind spots.
Between them, Errant lumbered forward, crushing the twisted remains of IG-RMs beneath his heavy metal feet. Mist swirled around his legs, obscuring the debris-littered floor and reducing visibility to mere meters. His rotary blaster cannon whirred and clicked, adjusting to point at assorted threat angles.
“I detect no additional mechanical knaves,” Errant intoned in his resonant, glitch-prone voice. “The path ahead appears clear… for now, my liege.”
Morgan pushed past him impatiently, her patience for Errant’s delusions wearing thin. She activated her lightsaber with a snap-hiss, its black core blade seeming to drink in the surrounding light. It cast no reflection off the dull durasteel walls; an absorptive darkness in the heart of a lesser one.
Despite the amusement Celevon Werd'a felt at the personality quirks of the Daegella’s Bounty Hunter Droid, the Shaevalian-Umbaran’s face was an icy mask beneath the Beskar helm as he took up the rear. He kept the grip on his Sith Sword tight, the Mandalorian Vambrace on his left forearm more than enough for a secondary weapon. And, of course, there was the Force itself. He was the last to enter, his long-time companion and sister-in-law, Aryn “Jade” Erinos-Magnuri entering with with her favorite pair of Westar-35s in either hand.
“Errant is correct,” Jade spoke up next, still sweeping her blasters around regardless. “There are no clankers nearby, but there’s still a lot of interference.”
“Traps,” the Seeker suggested in an uncharacteristic succinct manner. In response to this suggestion, the Micro-Droid Swarm began to spread ahead of them, appearing only as a fine mist to their eyes.
The swarm dispersed into the air, causing a dust cloud to form in front of the crew just as the dim ambient lights of the vault came to life. They revealed a secondary security door, massive and blast-proof. No additional obstacles blocked the way, though the traps they already suspected were there, had yet to reveal themselves. As the droids, designed for just such occasions, spread across the room, a clearer picture began to appear. For once, droids did not disappoint. A multitude of lasers faded into existence as the swarm passed over them, an irregular, chaotic grid with barely enough space for a human torso to pass through.
“Thoughts?” Morgan asked.
“Seems to be the reason for lower droid security,” Orse replied swiftly. “It looks robust, but I have no idea what that vault is.”
Sorenn stared at her, miffed at the delay. “Can you disable it from here?”
“I have to see the security panel to be able to access it.”
“The lasers are pretty tightly grouped, and I don’t see any sort of panel on the other side.” There wasn’t a contortionist among them, at least not with that sort of agility. Morgan glanced at Orse again with a knowing look. “Send her in,” she said matter-of-factly. “Lets she what those upgrades can do.”
“She might not be ready yet,” Orse replied through the voice modulator, shrugged at the determined look Morgan gave her, and tapped several commands on her datapad. “With a loud crack, a cloud of dust wafted into the open vault as a capsule dropped from Orse’s ship, the Vesper, which she left in a loose orbit around the site, several thousand feet up. From the capsule, which was an egg-shaped pod no larger than three feet in height, emerged a bundled-up E-XD. It stretched its limbs as if waking from a good night’s sleep and walked into the vault behind the crew.
"Tanako.” Orse’s tone betrayed familiarity, even fraternity.
In response, the E-XD walked up to her and touched its forehead to her helmet. “I am glad you are well, princess.”
“Princess?” Jade muttered into her chin but dropped the question when Celevon shrugged.
“Enough with the family reunions, let’s get to work,” Morgan’s tone left no room for argument. Orse nodded, but Tanako stared at the pirate captain for slightly too long, the expressionless face seeming to burn with unutterable annoyance. There was an intelligence behind those receptors, an intelligence far beyond any common droid.
“Tanako, we need your help. You need to find a panel on the other side of the grid.” Orse pointed at the dust cloud revealing a labyrinthine weave of red lines. “When you find it, I can disable it. Get your scanners ready.” Orse took a moment to pop the maintenance panel on Tanako’s head, adjusted something, and closed the panel. Tanako began transforming into her infiltration mode — a much sleeker, taller frame with improved agility, for a droid. Still the slighter frame would let her slide in between the lasers with less difficulty than any of them. She began her slow, deliberate dance, avoiding each line of red light, unnaturally bending her multi-jointed extremities in awkward positions simply to pass by them.
“The rest of you check for other traps if you can, scan everything.”
The micro-droid swarm continued to disperse, creating a shimmering mist that clung to the laser grid like a metallic fog. Each tiny droid, no larger than a grain of sand, gathered data and transmitted it back to Orse, their collective analysis painting a detailed picture of the vault’s defenses on her datapad’s screen.
“Oh, this is magnificent!” Orse exclaimed, her voice modulator barely able to contain her excitement. “Look at this! Electrodischarge plates embedded in the floor, dart launchers in the walls, and —stars above — is that a mag-pulse field? It’s a masterpiece of paranoid engineering!”
“Magnificent? Stars.” Jade scoffed, the acrid stench of blaster smoke still clinging to her armor when she turned to face Orse. “It’s a glorified trash compactor with a laser grid and maybe an energy field to top it off. But no, you’re right. Very magnificent defensive system for whatever grand treasure Bir told us this was.”
Orse’s voice modulator issued an exasperated sound—something between a sigh and a hiss through the droid-helmet’s vocoder.
“That ‘glorified trash compactor,’ as you put it,” she said, her normally rapid-fire speech slowing slightly as she scrolled through the data streams rolling in, “also includes a mag-pulse field generator that will render any tech within it useless—droids included.”
“And that,” Celevon interjected, “includes your fancy vambrace, those pretty blasters of yours, and even your cybernetic eye, Mrs. Erinos-Magnuri.”
Orse tapped a few commands on her datapad, a flicker of something unreadable crossing the screen before it resolved into a schematic of the vault’s interior.
“Not to mention,” she continued, her tone regaining its usual nervous energy, “the electrodischarge plates will knock Tanako’s systems offline. Then zap.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Mag-pulse fries whatever’s left. So, excuse me if I want to show a little appreciation to the mad genius who designed it—before we get down to the business of cracking it like a glowrod over a tooka’s head, and without frying our own tech in the process.”
“And honestly,” Orse added, glancing pointedly at Morgan, “I’d rather not have to explain to our liege why that fancy black-bladed Forcesaber of hers is suddenly a paperweight, or why the Damsels’ Distress is now more of a Damsels’ Disaster after its navicomputer gets scrambled into binary mush.”
“Besides,” she finished with a shrug, “a little respect for good engineering never hurt anyone.”
“If you knew about the mag-pulse, why did you send Tanako in?”
“Tanako will be fine,” Orse insisted, her fingers flying over her datapad’s touchscreen. “She’s an E-XD infiltrator droid, for stars’ sake. It’s what she was built for.” A nervous tic—a rapid tapping of her metallic thumbnail against the datapad’s casing—betrayed her anxiety.
Trust me, I know my droids.
Suddenly, ERR-!NT appeared behind them, his metal feet clanking against the durasteel floor. The hulking droid had apparently concluded the IG-RMs’ residual threat was neutralized, leaving I.S.D. to scan the mangled remains for any signs of lingering activity.
“What is this ‘Princess’ designation your mechanical companion has assigned you, Lady Olo?”
Orse flinched visibly, startled by Errant’s sudden appearance and the implications of his question. Her hands flew to reconfigure some settings on her datapad, restoring its default display and hiding the schematic of the vault’s security systems—a schematic she definitely hadn’t shared with the group.
“Princess? Oh that’s just… a term of endearment,” she stammered, trying to sound casual as ever. “A nickname.”
“A term of endearment?” Errant repeated in his synthetic, flat voice, processing the unfamiliar concept. “I see… Then perhaps I should start referring to Kasula and Ysera as ‘my princesses’ as well—”
“Like hell you won’t,” Morgan interjected sternly before Errant could launch into whatever chivalrous crusade his malfunctioning logic core concocted next. “They’re barely manageable as associates. Calling them ‘princesses’ will just inflate their egos to Chandrila and back.”
Celevon crossed his arms, the beskar plates of his armor clicking softly. “You’re one to talk about inflated egos, your majesty.” He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Or should I say, former majesty? Worried they’ll be gunning for your old throne if we start calling them ‘Princesses’ now?” He let his gaze linger on Ysera Daegella’s profile as she conferred with her sister, her lithe form almost lost in the mist of micro-droids swirling around them, were it not for the way the vault’s lighting bounced off her sleek racing suit, highlighting every curve and line. “I mean, just look at her.” he murmured, blissfully unaware of Kasula’s suspicious glare from over her sister’s shoulder. “That right there is royalty in the making.”
Jade rolled her eyes. That tone. Stars preserve us. He’s smitten.
Morgan’s hand tightened on her saber hilt, knuckles whitening. That tone—the audacity, the familiarity. The gall of this man to so casually dismiss what had taken years of blood and sweat to achieve. Years of clawing her way to the top, of sacrificing everything—friends, potential lovers, family—for that throne, that title. The Shroud Syndicate wasn’t just a gang; it was an empire. Her empire.
And he dared to mock it.
“Got a death wish, Werd'a?” she snarled, her scarred fingers tightening around the hilt of her lightsaber. She was prepared to ignite it, to end this insufferable, self-righteous—
Before all-out violence could erupt, Jade interjected. “Morgan,” Please. “Let it go.”
She didn’t turn to look at the Mandalorian woman. She didn’t need to. Jade was the only one in this motley crew who could get away with that—the only one who could pull her back from the brink without ending up as another smoldering crater in the ground. Later. She’d deal with Werd’a later. Right now, they had a vault to crack.
Morgan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through gritted teeth. It burned, the rage still simmering in her gut—but now wasn’t the time. They had a job to finish.
“This isn’t over,” she muttered darkly as she shouldered past him roughly. “Just remember—I’m not a queen anymore. No throne to lose.”
Jade watched Morgan walk away, the tension radiating off her like heat from a furnace. She needs a drink. And probably a good brawl—something to blow off some steam. But that could wait. Right now, she had a different problem to deal with.
From the corner of her eye, Jade saw Celevon watching the twins with undisguised interest—and who could blame him? Those two were like twin comets streaking across the sky. Alluring. Thrilling. And utterly dangerous.
Oh, no you don’t.
“Celevon"—she jerked her head towards a darkened alcove formed by a towering stack of discarded droid parts—"A word.” Her voice was low, but the steel in it was unmistakable. “Now.”
She stalked over to him, grabbing his arm and dragging him away from the main group and out of earshot. She shoved him against a stack of dented durasteel plating, the metal groaning under the impact.
“Don’t even think about it, you lovesick gundark.” Jade hissed, pressing her body against his to keep him in place. “Those two are trouble. Double trouble. They’re attached at the hip — literally. You get involved with one, you get both. And let’s not even start on the whole ‘living for the thrill’ thing. They burn through credits — and relationships — like it’s going out of style. Half the galaxy thinks they’re suicidal.”
“If you throw yourself into that mess,” she warned flatly, “I’m not coming to clean up after you.”
Nearer to the vault corridor, Kasula rolled her eyes, stifling a yawn. “Ugh, this is so boring. Can we just blow the door off and be done with it?” She stretched languidly, arching her back until it popped. “I can feel a race coming on. Maybe the Obroa-skai Interdiction Run? What do you say, Tchin?”
“The Obroa-skai Interdiction?” Ysera’s lekku twitched in excitement. “Double or nothing on the Damsels’ Distress beating the Golden Sun again?”
“You’re on!” Kasula grinned, her boredom momentarily forgotten. “That stuck-up Corellian’s gonna choke when we lap him a third time.”
In any other situation, the twins’ attitude might have been amusing—there was something almost comical about two of the galaxy’s most renowned star racers looking like they’d rather be anywhere else than here. But Jade knew better. Boredom was a dangerous thing for the Daegellas—it led to reckless decisions, impulsive actions, and the kind of chaos that usually ended with someone getting shot, arrested, or both. Of the group, the Daegellas were by far the most unpredictable. Their skills were unparalleled—Kasula could hotwire a starship faster than most slicers could even boot up their rigs, and Ysera’s marksmanship with those custom BlasTech rifles was on par with anything the Galactic Empire had ever produced—but their attention spans left something to be desired.
“Decryption access point located, princess.” Tanako’s voice, usually formal and polite, held a hint of smug satisfaction. The droid’s optical sensors flickered as she extended her data probe, its slender metallic appendage snaking out and inserting itself into the panel’s access port with a soft click and whir of interfacing circuitry. “Awaiting further instructions.”
“Excellent work, Tanako!” Orse exclaimed, relief washing over her. She quickly brought up the schematic again, her fingers dancing across the screen as she located the corresponding access point. “Alright, stand clear. This might get a little… sparky.” With a final tap, she deactivated the laser grid, the red lines vanishing with a soft hiss.
The micro-swarm parted like a metallic curtain as Tanako emerged from the center, now fully transformed back into her default protocol droid configuration—polished chrome plating, servos whirring softly with each step. She walked over to Orse and bowed slightly at the waist.
“Decryption complete. Security systems offline.” Tanako announced, her voice returning to its usual formal tone. She gestured towards the now-open vault entrance with a precise, almost mechanical sweep of her arm. “You may proceed at your leisure, my princess.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Celevon reluctantly agreed with his sister-in-law, having caught the interaction between the twins. It was bad enough that he’d gotten himself into trouble with Morgan — again — with teasing comments.
At the very least, it would require a sparring match or two, drinks and several meals to make up for his latest faux pas. Whilst it was not a conscious decision, the Force Disciple had taken to excessive hedonism as a coping mechanism as he dealt with the grief of losing two children and his adoptive father in so short a time.
In the case of the former Pirate Queen, her grief had taken the form of an intense magma chamber of rage.
“We’re back on the clock, it seems,” the Mandalorian spoke up, interrupting the Seeker’s musings as his own micro-swarm of nano droids returned to wherever they concealed themselves on his body. “Try to think with the brain in your skull and not get yourself further into deep water with your actual girlfriend, di'kut.”
With the last parting shot, Celevon sputtering behind her as Jade grinned beneath her helmet, she drew both of her favorite blasters and rejoined the rest of the group.
The Corellian native himself sighed loudly as he remembered that the micro-swarm tended to record everything around them. His daughter would never let him hear the end of this.
As it was, the Shaevalian-Umbaran’s return to the group’s side was greeted by silence. Rather tense silence, for that matter. A sweeping glance revealed that every one of them — even with her features concealed beneath the helmet, Celevon could tell that Jade was glaring — had glared at Errant. “What happened?”
The moment the words left his mouth, the Seeker instantly regretted them, as the glares shifted to him.
Then, the aforementioned Bounty Hunter Droid spoke up. “This one merely suggested that the ladies take up the rear whilst we venture forth!”
Celevon had to resist the urge to facepalm, merely releasing another sigh instead.
The Mandalorian released an amused snort at her brother-in-law’s sigh, despite the sheer annoyance at the Errant’s chivalrous programming. It wasn’t quite as bad as her own C1 unit’s sarcastic, foul-mouthed tendencies, but it rankled in a different way.
“Let’s move on and get the hell out of here before any reinforcements show up,” Jade decided after a glance at the others. “Who is taking point?”
Morgan’s tongue clicked in diapproval at Errant’s tiresome personality. “You really should mind wipe that hunk of garbage,” she turned to the twins with barely disguised contempt Finally she turned toward Errant with a pointed finger. “Stay there, drukbot. You’ll get in the way.” Errant was about to say something before Orse stepped into his vision and slowly shook her head to stop him. She too understood that the former boss of the Shroud Syndicate was way too agitated. She doubted Morgan would harm any of them, but she might not leave mush in the vault if her anger got the better of her, making their trip to just another expensive picnic.
“I.S.D.,” Morgan’s voice boomed at the her Imperial companion. “Get in there. Scout.”
The unit obeyed without a missed a beat, trudging through the small gathering with brainless determination. As it entered the vault and the internal, sensors picked up the movement, multiple blue-hued wall lights came to life illuminating the sparse, sterile interior. The vault was nested lower than the door with several steps leading down into it. The walls were pale white, or gray, Morgan was unsure due to the lighting. No storage units, no data stacks, not even shelves with credit canisters — only a single plain table and a pristine camtono canister placed upon it.
“Stop!” Morgan said abruptly as the droid halted mid-step before reaching the first step of the staircase leading into the vault. “What is this?” She turned to Orse with a quizzical look, slightly annoyed, on edge even more. Orse shrugged in reply, clearly having no answers to give.
Morgan’s senses raged under her skin, pricly and gnawing but there was nothing for it. “Continue,” she aid finally as ISD moved on, stepping down the staircase and into the room to a seemingly lackluster welcome. No traps triggered, no alarms blared. Nothing.
“Might be heat triggered.” Celevon pondered, clearly clicking with Morgan’s thoughts on the matter.
“True, meaning you’re in first. Beskar is a hell of a lot more durable than skin.” She said as she approached and knocked her knuckles on his tin-head. She was still annoyed, maybe even angry at him, but their relationship ran deeper than minor spats. She put it aside, for the time being. Jade stifled a chuckle under her own helmet.
Celevon stared at her unwavering gaze for a few heartbeats before remembering his actions earlier, sighing and raising his hands. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
—
The vault was too clean. Too empty. Motionless at the threshold Mandalorian visor scanning the sterile metal walls, the smooth, featureless floor, Celevon heard the hum from the overhead lights buzzed in his ears, the only sound, it seemed, remaining in the lifeless chamber. It felt wrong.
He steadied his breath, controlled it, fingers twitching on his Enforcer pistol as he took a cautious step forward. The second his boot touched the interior floor, he hesitated.
Heat.
A whisper of warmth brushed up against his leg. His armor’s insulation should have kept it out, but he swore he felt it. The air was too still, the temperature too precise. “Oh there are absolutely heat-triggered traps in here.” His mind brushed Jade’s instinctively.
He clenched his jaw, his mind rushing through possibilities — hidden explosives, automated turrets, pressure-sensitive plates that could turn the room into a firestorm. He reached out with the Force, sheepishly brushing his senses against the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Nothing. No vibrations. No mechanisms lying in wait. But that only made it worse. What if they were shielded? Hidden from detection? Can you even hid something from the Force like that?
With every passing heartbeat his breath felt hotter against the inside of his helmet. His muscles tensed, every step slow, deliberate and calculated. He adjusted the climate controls on his armor in an attempt to minimize his heat signature. Sweat beads tickled his eyebrows, but he kept himself under control.
The silence echoed. The room did nothing.
Still, he waited. He listened. He felt.
Seconds dragged.
Nothing happened.
The tension in his shoulders refused to ease. He swallowed hard—
Kasula jumped into the room with a loud bang as her boots slammed on the metal floor. Celevon jumped in place, a stifled, barely audible yell behind his helmet. He stared at her, and even through the damn helmet she could see his expression of disbelief.
“What? We were waiting too long. It got boring.” Ysera followed closely behind her as the rest of the crew filed in, clearly safe.
Morgan smirked as she passed him and knocked on his helmet again. “I’m proud of you, tin-man. Very brave.” She planted a kiss on the metal cheek, clearly in a much better mood after the whole stunt.
“This your idea of a prank?” he asked, finally calming down somewhat.
“Maybe…” She winked as she mouthed the word “flawless”. She was pretty sure the room was clear before she mentally pushed Kasula to jump in. Mostly sure. Not that the girl needed much of a push either way. “Errant, ISD, Tanako, stay outside and keep a perimeter while we have a look at what this is.” She ordered, rubbing her hands as she approached the canister on the table. She circled it, as did the rest of the crew. “I don’t see any traps under it.” She added.
“I can’t detect any,” Orse replied, her scanner beeping.
“Dawoor job,” Jade added with an annoyed sigh, the smooth Mando'a needing no translation. Yes, it stank to high heaven. Morgan couldn’t blame Jade either, she was having more and more doubts with every passing minute. She took a moment to refocus, eyes squinting at the canister as her fingers moved to open it.
With a hiss the camtono popped open engulfing the crew and the room in a warm yellow light. All six of them relaxed suddenly, staring in astonishment.
“That’s…” Orse exhaled sheepishly.
A barely audible growl escaped Morgan’s lips “…valuable.”
The golden light spilled from the camtono, washing over the twins’ faces, tinting their otherwise pigmentless features in a warm, otherworldly luminescence. They stepped closer to the glowing camtono canister, their lekku intertwining in a silent conversation, a wordless exchange of subtle twitches and caresses only they could understand.
“Beautiful,” Ysera breathed, her voice hushed with awe. “Isn’t it, Tchun?”
“It is beautiful” Kasula conceded, her usual boisterous energy subdued by the sight. “But is it fast? Can it fly? Does it explode in a shower of glittery sparks?“ She tapped a long, manicured nail against the camtono’s durasteel casing, the metallic ping echoing in the sudden silence. “Because if it doesn’t do any of those things, it’s kinda boring, Tchin.”
Morgan watched the interplay between the twins, a flicker of unease twisting her gut. Something had shifted. She knew these two—knew them like a spice runner knows their addicts. Back when she was the undisputed Queen of the Shroud, they’d been hers. Her tookas. Loyal. Obedient. Eager to please. All she had to do was dangle the brightest glowrod—a daring heist, a high-stakes race, a close call with the law—and they’d purr like contented kittens. They still craved the thrill, the adrenaline, the glow—but it wasn’t her glow anymore. Someone—or something—had replaced her as their dealer. And it was right there, inside that camtono.
They weren’t her tookas anymore.
Tch, Jade mentally scoffed. Morgan was too focused on her grief—too busy plotting revenge against ghosts—to see what was happening right under her nose. Celevon was too busy fawning at the twins—still—as if they were a pair of particularly shiny swoop bikes. And Orse — well, she was just too damn polite to act unless someone else went first.
That left her. And the twins. Perfect.
“So,” Jade drawled, breaking the silence, “anyone know what the kriff this is?” She gestured towards the glowing canister with a flick of her chin, her cybernetic eye gleaming in the reflected light. “Because Bir wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details. Just said it was ‘valuable.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Real helpful, that.”
“Beats me,” Celevon admitted, his gaze fixed on the mesmerizing glow emanating from the camtono. “It’s… shiny. That’s about all I’ve got.” He shrugged, the beskar plates of his armor clicking softly. “Though, I have to admit, it is rather captivating.”
Orse mused about the unfamiliarity of whatever lay within the camtono, the polished electrum of her accessories catching the golden light. “I, uh… haven’t been able to access any information about it. My usual sources are coming up empty. Whoever this Belkrin is—or was—they kept a pretty tight lid on their collection.” She tapped a few commands on her datapad, the screen flickering with lines of code and encrypted data streams. “Not even a whisper on the Holonet. It’s like it never existed.” She frowned, her artificial eyes narrowing slightly. “Which, in my line of work, is usually a very bad sign.”
“Seems like nobody else is exactly jumping to claim it.” Ysera observed with a note of feigned indifference as she casually adjusted the miniature comlink nestled against her ear cone. Her lekku twitched, brushing against Kasula’s in a silent signal.
Think they bought it, Tchin?
Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. Kasula’s fingerless gloves shimmered in the golden light as she reached out and—with a swift, almost careless motion—scooped up the canister. “Guess we’ll just have to figure out its value ourselves then,” she grinned, her ice-blue eyes sparkling with mischief, as she slammed the camtono shut, sealing the golden glow within its durasteel shell.
Morgan lunged, a snarl twisting her lips. “Oh no, you drukking won’t!” She lashed out, her hand snapping towards Kasula’s wrist, aiming to intercept the camtono before it left the Twi’lek’s grasp. But she was too slow. Years of hard living, of drowning her grief in Corellian whiskey, had taken their toll. Her reflexes weren’t what they used to be. Back when she was the undisputed Queen of the Shroud, she could have snatched that canister out of the air before either of the twins even blinked. She knew their every move, every twitch, every tell. She’d kept their need for adrenaline sated, dangling thrills in front of them like a dealer with a fresh supply of glitterstim. She’d thought—foolishly—that the dynamic was still the same. She’d been wrong.
Kasula danced back, a mocking smile playing on her lips. “Catch, Tchin!” She tossed the camtono—a blur of durasteel and golden light—across the vault. Ysera caught it with effortless grace, tucking the canister under her arm as if it were nothing more than an inflated rodent in a game of nuna-ball.
“Kriffing karkspitters!” Morgan roared, her face contorted in a mask of fury. She’d been played. Again. And by tookas she’d practically raised herself. She lunged again, this time aiming a kick at Ysera’s midsection—a move designed to dislodge the camtono and send the Twi’lek sprawling.
But before her boot could connect, a cold, metallic snick echoed through the vault as Kasula leveled a blaster pistol at Morgan’s chest. “Uh-uh,” the Twi’lek sing-songed, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “No roughhousing, your majesty. We’re leaving.” She looked to Ysera, who patted the camtono, the metallic thump oddly loud in the otherwise silent vault. “With this.”
Jade’s hands hovered over her holstered WESTAR-35s, fingers itching to draw. Twin magnetic tethers, a Mandalorian modification, hummed faintly beneath her gauntlets, ready to snatch the blasters back to her grip should she need to disarm—or be disarmed. A couple of well-placed holes in those designer racing suits and they’d be drooling on the floor before they could say “Obroa-skai.”
“Hold on,” Orse interjected, her voice laced with a nervous tremor. Her nervous tic—the rapid tapping of her metallic thumbnail against her datapad—returned with a vengeance. “That hall we just came through—the one with the mag-pulse grid? I, uh… might not have fully deactivated it.” She avoided eye contact with Morgan, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over the twins’ shoulders. “It’s… still armed. Just on a different trigger. A, um… heat trigger.”
“You can’t be serious,” Jade breathed, her voice tight with disbelief. This wasn’t a thrill anymore; it was a full-blown karking clusterfrag. Orse—demure, unassuming Orse—had been playing them all along. The schematics, the convenient omissions, the sudden “heat trigger” conveniently left out from the rest of the group—it all clicked into place. The Umbaran hadn’t just been helping them; she’d been orchestrating the entire heist from the shadows. And they’d all been too busy focusing on the vault—on the glow—to notice.
Kasula giggled, a high-pitched, almost manic sound. “Oh, we’re dead serious, sweetheart. We figured, since someone neglected to mention the actual prize, we’d just take it off your hands.”
“Neglected?” Morgan seethed, her fists clenching. “I didn’t know what it was! None of us did!”
“Oh, really?” Kasula’s lekku twitched, a subtle sign of disbelief. “That’s not what Bir told us.”
“Bir’s dead,” Morgan snapped. “He can’t tell you anything.”
“You’re right—dead men tell no tales.” Ysera sighed dramatically, her lekku drooping with feigned melancholy. She tapped a control on her wrist-mounted comlink, and a holographic image shimmered into existence above her outstretched palm—a datapad, its screen filled with scrolling text and intricate diagrams. “But his datapad can.”
That datapad—Morgan recognized it instantly. Bir’s personal log. She hadn’t killed him for the information—she’d already had that. She’d killed him to keep it contained. To make sure no one else got their grubby hands on it. She’d incinerated the datapad with her lightsaber, reducing it to a molten slag of circuits and plasteel. Clearly, it hadn’t been enough. Someone had copied it. Shared it.
Kriff.
“A datapad? Bir had a datapad?” Jade’s voice crackled over the comms, a mixture of disbelief and—something else. Annoyance? Suspicion? Morgan hadn’t mentioned a datapad. She’d said Bir had told her everything—in person. Which, now that Jade thought about it, seemed odd. Bir wasn’t exactly the trusting type. He’d sooner swallow a thermal detonator than spill his secrets off *the holonet without ironclad guarantees—*especially to someone like Morgan. He would have kept meticulous records. Logs. Evidence. Something to use as leverage. A datapad made sense.
Morgan always handled trust like a sabacc shark handled a rigged deck—tight grip, perfect composure, always ready to flip the table the second the odds turned. But this? This stank worse than the underbelly of a spice freighter fresh off a month-long Kessel run.
Jade’s lips pressed into a thin, grim line beneath her helmet. Morgan had known. Lied about it. And if she’d lied about that, what else had she been keeping to herself?
Jade’s fingers closed, and her WESTAR-35s snapped into her hands, the magnetic tethers yanking them from her holsters with a satisfying thunk. The weight was familiar, grounding. One barrel settled on Morgan’s chest, steady as a durasteel barricade. The other roved between the twins, tracking their movements with minute adjustments.
“If you knew about the datapad,” she bit out through clenched teeth, “why the druk didn’t you say anything?”
Kasula barely flicked an eye at the blaster aimed at her, seeing it for the challenge it was. Ysera, ever the mirror, tilted her head in feigned innocence, her ice-blue eyes widening just enough to sell the act. They both knew Jade wasn’t the type to hesitate if they pushed her too far. That was half the fun.
“Ooooh, spicy,” Kasula purred, nudging her lekku playfully against her sister’s. “Might want to watch where you’re pointing those, Jade. Wouldn’t want one to accidentally go off.”
“Wouldn’t be an accident,” Jade shot back, her grip steady on the twin blasters. The soft click of her trigger finger hovering on the edge of motion sent a clear message—she wasn’t bluffing.
Ysera leaned in, her lips brushing the curve of her sister’s ear. “She’s mean today,” she murmured, casting Jade a sidelong glance. “Is this our fault? I feel like this is our fault, Tchin.”
As if on cue, Jade cracked her neck to the side with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the tension-choked silence of the vault. She didn’t take the bait—she was too focused on the real stakes here. Instead, the Mandalorian turned her attention back to Morgan, where it rightfully belonged.
Morgan didn’t flinch at the three barrels trained on her—two from Jade’s WESTAR-35s and one from Kasula’s holdout blaster. The Mandalorian’s voice crackled over the helmet’s built-in comms, spitting static with each word. “Alright, queenpin,” she bit out acidly, “Time to spill. What the druk was on that datapad?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.” Morgan replied coolly, not a hint of concern in her voice or body language. “Or rather, nothing that isn’t already sorted out.”
Up to this point, the lone male in the group had remained silent. In the background — though, realistically, he was standing just off to the side, placed between Jade and the twins — of this rather tense standoff, Celevon was unsure of how to act or react. He knew just how close Morgan was to the twins, having practically been a mother-figure to the pair.
It was for that very reason that the Seeker had not drawn a weapon. That would not keep him from using his skill at martial arts, nor the Force herself to the fullest extend of the Shaevalian-Umbaran’s capabilities.
However, equally, he couldn’t ask or command Jade to stand down, as it wasn’t his place. In truth, the fiery redhead that was his sister-in-law acted more in the role of an older sister that kept him in check.
That said, Celevon was wary about the twins. He knew just how dangerous they were, due to a combination of observation over the years, as well as information from Morgan herself.
Orse Olo was the unknown factor here. Whilst Celevon knew next to nothing about her, he could tell that she was — at least somewhat — a fellow Umbaran, which told him enough. Her sheer presence in the Force, combined with the knowledge that she was a Techweaver, told him just how dangerous the Sephi-Umbaran could be.
He also had no idea if she was lying about the heat sensors, which would trigger if anyone fired a blaster bolt. Or Force Lightning. Or ignited a lightsaber.
“Love, perhaps you could explain? You know how Jade can be,” the Seeker spoke up in a soothing manner to Morgan, giving his sister-in-law a sideways glance as he did so. The Mandalorian remained unwavering, one Westar leveled at Morgan, whilst its twin was unerringly pointed right between the Daegallas. Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. It wasn’t as though the information were really hard to find. “She doesn’t trust you like I do.”
“Trust is earned, di'kut, not given freely,” Jade retorted, her modulated voice crackling with static. “And right now, someone’s credit rating is in the red.”
Morgan chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. She rolled her shoulders, working at the sore muscles there until she worked out a particularly stubborn knot. “Bir stuck his snout into everything. Liked to know things, even if he didn’t plan on acting on them. I learned he was digging into my business—our business—so I took care of it.”
“Took care of him, you mean.” Jade’s voice was flat, devoid of any humor. Jade’s blasters didn’t waver, but the faint twitch of her left index finger signaled her growing impatience. “And the datapad?”
“What about it?” Morgan asked, her voice as smooth as oiled durasteel. The words slipped from her lips, cool and unflinching, but her eyes—those sharp, predatory eyes—flicked to the camtono, to the twins, to Jade’s unwavering blasters. Calculating. Measuring.
“You had it,” Jade’s voice was razor-thin, her visor reflecting the fogged, amber glow of the camtono’s grease-stained viewport. “Didn’t you?” Somewhere in the bowels of the vault, a broken fan sputtered to life, whirring and clanking before falling silent again—a sputtering exhale that died in the throat of Y’thal’s endless scrapyard.
“Of course I did,“ she admitted without hesitation. "Burned it to slag myself.”
Orse sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers clenching the edges of her datapad until they nearly broke through the plasteel casing. “You—what?” Her voice, usually so calm and collected, wavered with a mixture of disbelief and barely contained panic. “You—Morgan—you burnt the datapad?”
“Yeah.” Morgan’s tone remained unbothered, casual even. As if she hadn’t just admitted to incinerating evidence that could have been worth billions of credits.
“Just—just incinerated it?” Orse’s voice rose a pitch higher, bordering on shrill. “Every last bit of data?”
“That’s usually what incinerated means,” Morgan replied dryly.
Orse visibly restrained herself from snapping her datapad in half, her knuckles white against the polished electrum casing. “And you didn’t think—oh, I don’t know—to copy any of it first?”
“Someone did,” Jade muttered darkly, glaring at Ysera’s palm where the holographic projection still hovered. “Care to explain where you got that, Tchun?”
Ysera arched a delicate brow, the red targeting dot of Jade’s WESTAR-35s dancing along her collarbone. She made a show of brushing nonexistent dust off her suit, sighing like this was all just another tedious delay in their schedule. With deliberate flair, she smoothed the cobalt fabric over her hips like a holostar prepping for a close-up before a grand premiere.
“Explain?” she echoed, feigning confusion. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing in faux concentration. “Now, let’s see… was it the nice gentleman from Ord Mantell? Or was it the arms dealer on Nar Shaddaa with the golden teeth—no, no, he was a sleemo, wasn’t he?”
“Definitely not Golden Teeth,” Kasula chimed in, wrinkling her nose in exaggerated disgust. “He was a skeezy old druk who tried to impress us with some ridiculous holo-drama credits. ‘Starcrossed Love on Corellia’ or something? That might have been tolerable if he hadn’t also invited us for a ‘private screening’ on his luxury pleasure yacht.”
Ysera gagged. “Oh, that guy. He also said it was ‘artistically daring.’ Which I guess is just another way of saying ‘banned in half the Core Worlds.’” She shook her head. “He tried to give me a signed holo-poster of the lead actor too. Said it was ‘an investment.’ Like we’d ever karking collect holo-drama memorabilia.”
Kasula tilted her head, lekku twitching with mock lament. “It’s just so difficult to remember who gives us what. One week it’s a senator’s cred-stick, the next it’s a case of spice that we may or may not have re-gifted to a Hutt, then an actual crate of live gizkas—stars, that was a mistake—it all starts to blend together. We really should start keeping records. Maybe write a memoir?”
“Speaking of admirers…” Ysera’s ice-blue gaze flicked to Celevon, assessing him with an amused smirk. She folded her arms and leaned in slightly, scrutinizing him as if sizing up a starship at auction. “You called Morgan ‘love’ just now. That was… interesting. Didn’t take you for the sentimental type.”
“Oh, this is so much better than ‘Starcrossed Lovers on Corellia,’” Kasula purred, twirling a lekku around one finger. “All that tension. The longing glances. The simmering resentment. Kriff. I hope you two have dramatic pasts filled with betrayal and heartbreak—it really adds to the performance.”
“That moment when Sorenn ran him through with that pretty little black-bladed saber of hers? Oh, it must’ve been a sight—what was it, a clean thrust through the gut, or something a little more poetic? Maybe a flourish? A flick of the wrist, and his corpse slides off like rancid meat from a vibroblade?“ She sighed wistfully, as if recounting a favorite bedtime story. "Tragic. Truly.”
As if drawn by some magnetic pull, Ysera drifted closer to Celevon, still cradling the camtono in her arms. Her voice was honeyed, teasing, as she traced a finger against the beskar plating of his chest. “You sure she calls you ‘love’ the same way we would? Or is it more like how she calls a droid a ‘useful tool’ right before sending it into a grinder?”
She patted his armor with an almost affectionate gesture before pulling away. “We just don’t want to see you getting scrapped, that’s all.”
Celevon exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly done with the teasing. “If I let you two throw me into a garbage compactor, will you stop?”
“Hm,” Kasula and Ysera traded glances before answering in perfect unison. “No.”
Jade, still exuding the barely-contained irritation of a woman who had absolutely no time for this, finally cut in. “Enough with the flirting and dramatics. Where did you get the datapad?”
Kasula shrugged, tossing the holo-display up and down like it was nothing more than a sabacc chip. “Could’ve been anyone, really. Some anonymous drop, a side deal we forgot about—stars, it could’ve been delivered by a courier droid in the middle of a race. We get a lot of ‘appreciation’ gifts from our sponsors.”
“And the funny thing? It wasn’t even encrypted when it showed up. Just sitting there, nice and open, waiting for us to browse through,” Ysera added, spinning the camtono in her hands like it was a prize won at a casino, “Bet that stings a little, Sorenn. Considering all that effort you put into slicing.“
Morgan’s fingers twitched, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak. If she had known that datapad had been out there, unsecured, she would’ve burned the whole damn sector down to find it first. She had spent hours tracking leads, leaning on contacts, silencing loose ends—only to hear now that the twins had waltzed in and gotten everything handed to them like a complimentary drink on Canto Bight.
Ysera ran a finger along the camtono’s edge, the soft hum of its containment field vibrating against her touch. “Poor Bir,” she mused, her voice slipping into a sing-song melody. “He really thought he was going to be swimming in credits. He even picked out a new yacht—a Nebulon-B Escort Frigate, can you believe it?“
"He even named it—The Glittering Mynock.” Kasula wrinkled her nose, a delicate expression that clashed oddly with the blaster still pointed at Morgan’s chest.
Ysera snorted, tossing her lekku over her shoulder—the movement quick, dismissive. “A Mynock, of all things. Not exactly a creature I’d want my fortune associated with. Parasitic, clings to ships, drains them dry—kind of like Bir himself, really.”
“He never did say what ‘it’ actually was, though,” her sister added after a pause, lowering the weapon slightly—though not enough for Morgan to kick the weapon out of her grasp. “Just that it was worth more than all the spice in Kessel. And nobody—nobody—knows about it except us. Well, us and Bir—but he’s not talking anymore, is he?”
“You’re telling me,” Jade interrupted incredulously as her gaze flickered between Kasula and her twin cradling the camtono like an egg from a mudhorn’s clutch, “that you don’t even know what’s inside that thing?”
Kasula blinked, her ice-blue eyes widening slightly. “Inside?” she echoed with a hint of genuine confusion. “Credits, we assume. Jewelry. Spice. The usual loot. Why?”
Jade exchanged a look with Orse, a silent acknowledgement of the sheer stupidity of the situation. The twins—renowned star racers, occasional pirates, Holonet darlings—were holding them at blaster-point for a prize they didn’t even understand. They weren’t playing some grand game of interstellar espionage; they were acting on a whim, a childish impulse fueled by boredom and the allure of something “shiny.”
Morgan either hadn’t reached the same conclusion, or, more likely, didn’t care—because she took a deliberate step forward into the blaster at her chest.
“You think I’d go through all this trouble—all this risk—for ‘the usual loot’?” She seethed, her presence pressing into the room like a stormfront, dark energy thick enough that Orse swore she could taste it. Ozone. The scent made her synthetic eyes glitch for half a second, her HUD scrambling to recalibrate against the distortion.
“I gutted that Rodian. I turned his insides out.” Another step. The overhead lights flickered, dimming at the edges as if drawn into the gravity of her rage. “I incinerated his datapad. Or so I thought.”
She didn’t stop moving until her chest pressed flush against the barrel of Kasula’s blaster, armor scraping against durasteel. “Now tell me, sweethearts,” she murmured, so softly it made the hairs on Orse’s arms stand up, “what the kark is so important about that glowing tin can that’s got you risking your pretty little lekku for it?”
Kasula merely tsked, an amused lilt to her voice. “Risking our lekku? Please. We’re the Daegellas. We live for this kark.” The blaster twitched—just a fraction—her fingers drumming against its grip with a rhythmic little click, click, click—more nervous than threatening. “But seriously, Sorenn, if you’ve got a better offer, we’re all ears.”
Morgan’s eye twitched. She wanted to slam them both into the bulkhead. To Force-choke the smugness right out of their lungs. To rip that camtono out of their hands and smash it open right kriffing now.
Something about this wasn’t sitting right with Orse.
Her fingers twitched over her datapad, filtering and cross-referencing logs she already knew wouldn’t give her answers. She wasn’t searching for anything new—just reaffirming that what she had didn’t make sense. Information had rules. Information had patterns. It flowed through channels like game pieces across a dejarik board—predictable, exchangeable, subject to leverage.
But this? This was someone kicking over a sabacc table just to watch the cards scatter.
Bir. That datapad was his lifeline, his insurance policy, and his gravestone all rolled into one. Morgan had made sure he never got the chance to cash in, slashing through the problem the way she always did—brute force, blade to the core, leaving nothing but smoldering circuits and an absence of answers. But someone had already beaten her to it. Someone had copied that datapad before it turned to slag. And more unsettling than that, someone had tossed that information to the wind without caring where it landed.
Orse thrived on organized chaos. She could trace disorder, untangle it, follow the spiraling threads back to their source. It was what made her good at what she did. She knew who held what cards, who was bluffing, and who was just plain stupid. But this? This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t even sabotage. It was someone casually setting fire to the rulebook and walking away without so much as a backward glance.
That scared her.
Morgan, on the other hand, wasn’t scared. She was pissed off.
The Daegellas had been pushing her since they laid eyes on that camtono, teasing her, testing her, seeing how far they could stretch the leash before she snapped. Orse had the sinking feeling that it had been inevitable from the start. She had seen this kind of push-and-pull before, from a pair of playful akk dogs circling an old war beast—one that had long since tired of the game. The twins didn’t just chase the thrill; they thrived on it, built their whole damn lives around it. And Morgan? Morgan was a badass. A queenpin in exile, a woman who had once ruled the criminal underworld with a durasteel fist.
Those two? They were poking a nexu just to see how deep the fangs went.
Well, congratulations.
She snapped.
Morgan struck out with the kind of speed that didn’t require the Force—just raw, well-earned instinct. The heel of her palm slammed into the side of Kasula’s blaster, knocking it from her grip and sending it skidding across the floor with a shrill metallic screech. It discharged mid-spin, the blue-white bolt hissing through the air before slamming into Celevon’s pauldron, leaving a faint scorch mark on the beskar.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The silence that followed was a vacuum.
Celevon turned his head slowly, his gaze tracking from the fresh scorch mark on his beskar'gam back to the blaster, then to Morgan, then back again. His posture was stiff, his shoulders squared, caught in the moment of deciding whether this was just another one of those things—or whether someone needed to start dodging blaster bolts.
“Not set to stun?” Morgan’s voice dripped with both amusement and offense as she flexed her fingers, rolling the stiffness from her knuckles before cracking them with deliberate, audible pops. “You actually planned on shooting me?”
Kasula blinked at the smoking divot on the wall, the acrid scent filling the room like the aftermath of a cantina brawl gone south. Then, slowly, she turned back toward Morgan with an almost sheepish grin. “Whoops.”
Ysera tilted her head, eyes flicking from the still-smoking scorch mark on Celevon’s pauldron to his unimpressed expression. She tsked. “That could’ve been messy, Tchin.”
Morgan scoffed. “A bolt like that wouldn’t be enough on me, and you kriffing know it.” She flicked her wrist, shaking off the lingering sting from the impact of the blaster slap. “I shrug off stun bolts like a bad hangover.”
“That so?” Ysera hummed, spinning the camtono in her hands like a sabacc dealer killing time between rounds. “Well, in that case—Tchin, catch.”
Morgan lunged, but Kasula intercepted with exaggerated ease, cradling the camtono like it was the last bottle of top-shelf Corellian brandy in the Outer Rim. “You know,” she mused, tossing the camtono from one hand to the other with an easy, deliberate carelessness, “I was actually considering handing this over.”
“But then I remembered—nah.”
Then, with a flick of her wrist—whip-fast, no warning—she tossed the camtono back to Ysera.
Morgan snarled, her patience burnt down to the wick. She didn’t hesitate—she bolted forward, faster than either of them expected. This time, she didn’t go for the camtono. She went for Kasula.
Morgan’s shoulder hit Kasula like a charging reek, knocking the Twi’lek off balance and slamming her against the nearest durasteel bulkhead hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. The former queenpin didn’t give her time to recover—she grabbed a fistful of Kasula’s racing suit at the collar and yanked her forward, slamming a knee into her gut with enough force to make her gag.
“Oh stars—” Kasula coughed, scrambling back. “Is this happening? This is happening!” She wheezed, half laughing through the pain. “Tchin, back me up!”
Ysera didn’t hesitate. She dropped the camtono, the durasteel canister clattering against the floor as she latched onto Morgan’s back like a nexu cub tackling its bigger sibling. Her arms wrapped around Morgan’s throat in a sloppy chokehold, legs cinching around Morgan’s waist, trying to leverage her weight to drag the older woman down.
“You’re a lot lighter than I remember,” she grunted, adjusting her stance as Ysera tried to tighten the choke. “Did you cut weight for a swoop race or just stop eating?”
Kasula coughed, pressing a hand to her ribs where Morgan’s knee had left a lasting impression. “Fast metabolism, sweetheart. Some of us don’t drown our problems in Corellian whiskey.”
Morgan barked a laugh. “Oh yeah? Guess you finally grew up and stopped licking synth-spice off a credit chit.”
She bent her knees slightly, adjusted her grip, and then—without warning—launched herself backward, slamming Ysera into the bulkhead behind her with enough force to rattle the whole wall. The Twi’lek let out a muffled oof, her grip loosening just enough for Morgan to grab her by the wrist and wrench her off like an ill-fitting harness.
Ysera hit the floor with a graceless thud, momentarily dazed, before rolling onto her side with a groan. “Okay. That hurt.”
Kasula, back on her feet, took the opportunity to rush forward, fist cocked back for a swing. But Morgan had been expecting it—she ducked under the punch, caught Kasula’s arm mid-motion, and twisted it behind her back in one fluid motion.
“Tchin, Tchin, Tchin,” Morgan tsked, tightening her hold until Kasula let out a hiss. “You know better than to throw the first punch if you don’t have the second ready.”
Kasula wrenched herself free, shaking out her arm. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to hit like a speeder truck.”
“That’s on you, sweetheart.”
Jade, watching the fight unfold like a barroom brawl gone off the rails, finally let out a long, slow breath. She holstered her blasters with a distinct click. “I’m not getting involved in this drukstorm,” she muttered, shaking her head.
Celevon, on the other hand, stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a toppled cargo crate like he was watching a Huttball match. He arched a brow beneath his helmet and shot Jade a sidelong glance. “Should we start placing bets, or are we just letting her get this out of her system?”
Jade snorted. “You really think there’s a chance Morgan doesn’t win this?”
“No, but it’d be nice to act like we don’t already know how this ends.” He sighed, watching Morgan duck another strike from Ysera before sweeping her legs out from under her. “She needs this. You and I both know it.”
Jade hummed in agreement, shifting her weight. “Yeah. Just wish those two knew when to quit.”
The brawl had devolved into a full-on wrestling match, boots scuffing against the vault’s pristine floor as Morgan and the twins tangled in a chaotic knot of flailing limbs, sharp elbows, and biting insults. Kasula ducked a jab, twisting with feline grace to drive a knee into Morgan’s side, but the former queenpin caught it mid-motion, twisting the Twi’lek’s leg and sending her sprawling with a grunt.
Morgan smirked as she wrenched Kasula’s arm further. “You’re getting slow, sweetheart. Maybe spend less time preening for the holocams and more time learning how to throw a real punch.”
Kasula wheezed out a laugh, even as she strained against Morgan’s hold. “And you—” she sucked in a breath, “—fight like someone who needs to lay off the Corellian whiskey.”
“I am laying off,” Morgan said smoothly, tightening her grip and forcing Kasula to yelp. “Cut back to two bottles a week.”
Ysera, panting as she tried to pry Morgan’s arm off her sister, snickered despite herself. “Oh, well, in that case, congratulations on your self-restraint.”
“Really making an effort,” Morgan quipped, adjusting her grip to twist Kasula’s arm just enough to make her yelp again. “You should be proud of me.”
Kasula grit her teeth, struggling against the hold. “Oh, I’m real kriffing proud.”
Morgan smirked. “Knew you’d say that.”
Before Kasula could let out another taunting remark, Morgan wrenched her arm just enough to elicit a sharp curse before abruptly letting go. The Twi’lek tumbled backward with all the grace of a dropped hydrospanner, landing flat on her ass.
Jade, still leaning against the vault’s entrance with her arms crossed, let out an exasperated sigh. “Are we done throwing punches, or do you two need another round to get it out of your system? If you three keep rolling around like drunken Gungans, we’re gonna have every scavver on this rock running right into that heat trigger.”
Celevon let out an amused hum. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing. This is probably the most fun she’s had in weeks.”
Morgan glanced his way, still breathing heavy, sweat glistening at her temple. “You wanna trade places? Because I’d love to deck you instead.”
Celevon chuckled. “Tempting, love, but I think I’ll pass.”
Kasula stretched lazily, cracking her neck. “Pity. I’d have paid to see that one.”
Orse ignored the ‘cantina brawl’ banter, her mind already elsewhere. She extended a hand, palm up. “Let me see that holoprojector.” Her voice, sharper than intended, rang out through the vocoder, making it sound metallic, artificial.
Pausing with her fist raised mid-swing, Morgan hesitated just long enough for Ysera to slip out of her grip. She let go, rolling her shoulders, exhaling through her nose like a very annoyed rancor. “We’re not done,” she muttered, shaking out her arms as she turned toward Orse.
Ysera hesitated for half a second before flipping the holoprojection toward Orse with a careless flick of her fingers. Orse caught it midair, fingers tightening around the cold, metallic casing of the projector. The screen flickered slightly, the datapad’s log scrolling before her eyes—uncoded, raw data, untouched by the usual slicing signatures that came with information this sensitive. It wasn’t masked, encrypted, or buried under false trails. It was clean.
Too clean.
Her stomach tightened. That was impossible.
Everything in this business had fingerprints. Every transaction, every piece of data, every snippet of intelligence carried the invisible marks of its handler—tweaks in formatting, signature coding, even just the way information was structured. There were always tells. This had none.
No one had hidden it.
No one had stolen it.
It had simply been left there.
Like a discarded credit chit in the middle of a Hutt’s palace.
Morgan sensed Orse’s distress more than saw it, but the body language would have been enough. The twitching finders, the nervous tapping, even her posture was guarded, not from physical attack but from a realization.
“What’s wrong?” the former pirate asked, her attention devoted fully to the slice, her body relaxing slightly.
Orse didn’t reply, instead focusing the bits of data rushing across her datapad, now endowed with new information.
“Olo!”
The harsh tone snapped Orse out of her focus as her eyes, hidden behind the helmet, snapped to level Morgan’s. The elder woman’s glare left no room for questions.
“Whoever gave them this data…they’re a ghost. Bits of data in the ether. No traces left behind.”
“So?” Celevon interjected, curious.
She snapped to him, but sensed the others were just as confounded by her reaction. A pang of anger at the collective ignorance in the room emanated through the Force but she swiftly suppressed it. The first real emotions she gave away—fear, anger.
“That. Doesn’t happen.” She enunciated each word. “We’re being played by someone who is…better. Better than any slicer I know.”
“So you finally found someone better than you?” Kasula smirked. “Bound to happen.” Ysera finished the thought.
“No! That’s not it. Whoever it is, whatever it is, there’s a plan behind it. This is an invitation.” Orse’s denial felt genuine, though a streak of pride deviously underlined the words, Celevon felt, as did Morgan. “An invitation to poke around.” She added and pointed at the discarded camtono laying on its side between Morgan and the twins. “To find out what that is and find whoever gave Bir and the girls this data.”
Morgan scoffed. “Drukk.” Despite her reluctance to accept Orse’s words at face value, the gears in her head aligned into a broader picture. Bir’s job, his access to data a lowlife like him should not have had, the twins being the only ones who got the backups. All too convenient. She looked around at the others and noticed Jade picking up on the same realization.
“In that case,” she reached out her hand and, with a moment’s concentration, the camtono flew into her open palm. “I’ll be taking this.”
“Hold on a second,” Jade stepped forward, taught and ready to jump. “What about our payday?” Morgan looked at her but sensed the twins and Orse snapping to just as much. Only Celevon, relaxed as he was, looked at her with intent and interest. He was waiting to see if she’d do something stupid.
“You’ll get your payday, if not from the client then from me.” The reply was sharp, determined. It was honest, yes, but weaved with no small amount of threat. She would not back down.
Celevon stood up, put a hand on Jade’s shoulder and said, “good enough for me.” His helmeted glare was focused on Morgan. Even without seeing his eyes Morgan knew if she broke faith with him over this…
Jade relaxed, the complexities of all their relationships weighing down on her. She trusted Morgan enough but not completely. She knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t backstab Celevon, and Jade trusted Celevon more.
Seeing Jade relax, Morgan turned to the twins. “You two,” she inhaled, clutched her fist, then exhaled. “We’ll discuss this later.” It was a pass, but only that. The twins had stepped on a nerve, and there would be a time for confrontation later. She wouldn’t pull her punches next time, though she’d rather not ruin their careers by smashing their faces in. After all, they were still useful. Finally she turned to the slicer. “Orse, shut down the security systems, we’re moving out.”