A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars

  24

  Serenno, 41 BBY/959 GSC.

  The temporary camp was a din of controlled chaos as men and women scrambled about, moving ammunition canisters and setting up an impromptu AA emplacement on the edge of the forest. Fighters and blastboats screamed overhead, trading fire back and forth—a result of only a near miss instead of a direct hit on one of the enemy’s airfields. The air was filled with the scents of ozone, burning metal, chemicals, plastic, rubber, and the unmistakable stench of burning meat drifting up from the flaming ruin of the base we had made camp beside. It seemed that it didn’t matter whether they were human, Abyssan, or something else—the stink of fire reducing protein to carbon was universal.

  The dim red lamps the Mandos worked by and the flickering of distant fire light lit the camp just enough to make out the ground and surroundings trees, outside of the little circle of people gathered around a table, crammed into an open-sided camouflage net tent that had been quickly erected under the tree canopy. We were here on the assumption that if the enemy overhead did happen to see us down here, they might mistake us for their own people—survivors from one of my direct hits.

  The holocom’s flickering blue light lit my face, its hum barely audible over the sounds of men and women preparing for imminent engagement. That is, until all went silent as the final ready check rolled in.

  “…And that’s where the situation stands as of last night,” I reported, my voice firm but precise. Clinical. “All but three of the enemy’s ships in orbit destroyed. Their largest base reduced to slag. Their ground forces shattered. The last of their fighters have rallied for a last ditch sortie,” overhead, the whine of engines blew past, more approaching quickly. “Right into our anti-air emplacements—”

  Four AA batteries opened up, filling the night sky with the red flash of laser cannon fire, the thump of them firing in several long bursts too loud to talk over without yelling. An explosion briefly lit up the sky, the sound reverberating in my chest and rattling the holocom on the table. The high-pitched wails of punctured starship thrusters spiraling out of control echoed from the distance, like the dying screams of banshees. A heartbeat later, more explosions rumbled through the valley, strong enough to knock the holocom from the table. Jango reached out and caught it before it could fall to the ground.

  The pitch of the engines flying overhead changed, shifting lower and turning for the north—towards our designated rendezvous. Once more, the camp became a flurry of movement and noise as people began disassembling the AA emplacements to stow and move camp. I smiled.

  “Correction: I’ve just received reports that their fighters have just been wiped out.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down my neck, tickling for a moment before it hit my under layer. The air was a muggy, almost swamp-like soup and I was eager to finish this up and get the Rusted Silver moved to our new camp, so I could enjoy the benefits of a climate controlled cabin and sonic shower to wash off the lingering stickiness from the humidity. And the smell. One of the few things I hated more than desert fighting was the stink of smoke and other funk in my hair.

  Masters Dooku and Jinn hovered on the other side of the holocom, their surroundings suggesting they were enjoying the comforts of a cool hotel room somewhere far from the battlefield. Beside them, Jaster did a subtle two-fingered tap to his gauntlet—what I had come to learn was a Mandalorian gesture for a moment of silent battlefield calculation. Meanwhile, Obi stood straight, arms folded under her chest, radiating that particular brand of calm disapproval that all Jedi seemed to master.

  Dooku turned a look on Master Dyas. “She volunteered,” he held up both hands before the inevitable questioning began. “I tried to talk her out of it. You know how she gets!”

  I frowned. “As I stated at the start of this debrief, I volunteered because I was the only one who stood a reasonable chance of success without detection by the enemy until it would be too late for them to respond. I believe that my results speak for themselves and justify the risks taken.”

  Obi… exploded. I was pretty sure that if I had been there, she would have throttled me. “What part of ‘stay safe’ means you should jump out of a perfectly working ship into the void of space, to take on the enemy flagship solo?!”

  Wincing, I muttered, “It worked.” Somehow, that only seemed to further incense the girl, who opened her mouth to retort, only to be cut off by Satine stepping into the frame and laying a hand on her shoulder.

  Dooku’s eyes found mine through the hologram and for a moment, a look came over him that I couldn’t quite place. Part of it was regret, but I was unsure at the rest. Finally, he nodded. “Very well.”

  Jaster raised his mug of what was probably space coffee. “Good work. That’s a hell of an opener. We’ll do our best to put it to use on our end. In the meantime, Jango,” the man beside me perked up, “orders still stand. Take the ground defense stations and knock out those last few ships, then start mopping up.”

  “Got it,” Jango nodded.

  “We’ll meet with the countess. The information you’ve provided should allow us to find the rebels more easily and start working together,” Qui-Gon sent me a smile.The meeting ended soon after, leaving myself, Jango, and Master Dyas sitting around the camp table. I sipped at my caff and looked between the two men, who shared a thoughtful look.

  “Reconnaissance to see how much damage she did and how we should proceed?” Master Dyas asked, and Jango nodded.

  “I’ll get a team on it. In the meantime, we should start hitting those defenses. Not sure how many we’ll need to take out the ships in orbit.”

  “At least three per ship,” I supplied, holding up a hand and putting an illusion over the table as I recalled the data I’d gathered. “I have their power output… here,” I brought up the data in question. “Two should be enough to take out anything up to and including a navy capital ship, but I like making sure we get the job done the first time. Three per should punch through their shields and destroy the ships themselves easily enough. However, we should try to coordinate things so they all fire at the same time. That way, none of them can leave and call for reinforcements. We should also, obviously, take the facilities at the same time so that they don’t realize something is wrong and try to sabotage them.”

  “A simultaneous strike across nine facilities,” Jango murmured. “We’ve got the people for it, we’ll just need to coordinate. Teams of three per should do it.”

  “I can handle one facility by myself,” Master Dyas supplied, and I nodded.

  “Same.” My only worry was transport. Reaching into the incomplete computation orb, I checked its storage and compared it against the requirements for a flight formula under the effects of atmosphere and gravity—since space didn’t really count, given that it was much cheaper. I had enough juice for a short flight, perhaps a very short engagement, but not more than three or so minutes at full combat output. “I’ll need transport.”

  “Thought you would say that,” the mercenary chuckled. “So we had a little surprise ready.”

  “Hm?” I asked as he stood up and motioned for me to follow. I did, Master Dyas following along with a smile, radiating amusement. Jango led us to his ship and inside, to the equipment storage locker. Opening it up, he began digging around inside.

  “When you took out that Death Watch camp, you got a lot of gear. Mandalorian armor isn’t just the bare metal.” Pausing, he pulled back and tapped his arm, and the wrist mounted weapon there. “A lot of pieces have integrated weapons and other systems. Rockets, missiles, flamethrowers, blasters, sensors in the helmets, and so on. But there are also,” he pulled out a black piece of equipment the size of a backpack—one I recognized instantly as a JT-12 model jetpack. “Jetpacks. This one belonged to Tor.”

  My mouth went a bit dry and I reached out and touched it. Jango continued, “Range on them isn’t great. A fully loaded trooper can fly about twelve miles continuously. Altitude ceiling is pretty much as long as it has fuel and oxygen, but you’ve got to make allowances for deceleration and landing. But for you, given your size, even fully kitted out…”

  “Three times that easily,” I nodded. “Yes, I’ve done some research to see how feasible they were for me.”I also knew that I could connect it to my vac suit’s helmet to use the HUD there and it came with a few different ways of controlling it, including a handheld controller that would pitch the nozzles as needed or an eye tracking system that integrated into most smart helmets. One of the biggest issues I’d seen with them was that manufacturers tried to do too much with them. A single missile launcher, grappling hooks, and other useless bloat. If they removed all of that and converted the wasted space into a fuel tank, they could get four to five times the range. The point of a jetpack was mobility, after all—not a convenient place to mount an extra missile. And if you wanted to do that, you could add a hard point!

  “If I had a day, I’d make the modifications I want and increase the range. Since I don’t…”

  “We’ll be dropping everyone off close to their targets and you’ll move in on foot, using the jetpack to scale anything in your way, then evac once they fire and get to a safe distance, just in case one of those ships doesn’t go down and shoots back,” Jango explained.

  I nodded. Picking up the jetpack, I shouldered it and strapped it into place. It was just a bit over sixty-five pounds. I’d carried heavier rucks, but at the moment, it was basically ninety percent of my body weight, given that I weighed about seventy pounds—all of it muscle, of course. I was still growing, but my weight was a little above average for my height and sex—mostly thanks to training and packing on muscle. Still, it would slow me down come time to fight, so I’d need to hit the quick release on the straps to get out of it for melee combat.

  “When do we sortie?”

  Jango checked the time then hummed. “We’ll set out in half an hour.”

  “I’ll be ready,” I agreed and turned away, heading to my ship. Dropping off the jetpack, I pulled off my robe and pulled on the vac suit, since the power source for the helmet was integrated into it and I couldn’t just use the helmet by itself. Then, I pulled my robes and other gear back on. Grabbing the jetpack, I strapped it on and pulled my helmet on, linking up the systems and making sure everything was working.

  Once I was sure it was good, I made some final preparations—grabbing a trio of small grenades to put on my belt and a breaching charge since that would generally be faster than trying to cut my way in. Then, I made my way outside and took the jetpack off, then had a seat and waited. Someone came by and handed me an ear bead. I synced it with my holocom and linked that up to the network so I’d have access to comms.

  “Radio check,” someone on the line said, and a stream of verifications came in. I waited for an opening before confirming, then verified it was transmitting.

  Finally, Jango approached and waved everyone going over. “Alright, people, listen up. Master Dyas,” he nodded to the Jedi in question, “will by going in by speeder bike. For the rest of us, it’s a standard high altitude insertion. We’ll go up, set our targets, and you’ll jump as we come to them. Land close, then make your way there on foot. Check in when you’re in position, then wait for my signal. The ground stations we’re taking have a maximum crew of five on site. Once you’ve eliminated them, report in and we’ll move on to phase two. We’ll bring the guns online, sync them up, and take out the ships in orbit. As soon as they fire, bug out and radio for retrieval when you’re at least five miles from the site. Any questions? Comments?”

  I thought about reminding them that we were probably up against Abyssins and so they’d need to finish the job after the initial shots put them down, but dismissed the idea. They were all consummate professionals. It would be like the brand new private reminding his CO to make sure he had a round chambered. Unneeded and a bit insulting. So I kept my mouth shut and waited.

  When no one spoke up, Jango nodded. “Load up.”

  I followed the others into a transport and took a seat between Jango and a female Mando I didn’t know the name of. Unfolding my helmet, I put it on and brought up the HUD, then settled in for the flight as the transport lifted off and began to climb. A few minutes into the flight, my HUD flashed and a map of the region popped up, designating nine defense stations as our targets. One in particular changed to red and my name popped up over it. It was on the top of a mountain that had been leveled off, in a heavily wooded area. A countdown timer started and several of the Mandos, including Jango, stood. He thumped my shoulder and I followed as the group made their way back to the hatch at the back of the transport.

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  The timer hit ten seconds and the bay door opened. When it hit zero, the group ran forward and jumped. I followed and blinked as my HUD updated and outlined a flight path to my target. With smooth, well practiced motions, I angled myself towards my target and let myself fall—just enjoying freefall for a few moments.

  “Everything okay up there?” Jango asked in my ear over our squad channel.

  “I’m fine,” I confirmed, then engaged the jetpack. It wasn’t quite like flying under my own power, but it was fun. I quickly worked out the finer details of jetpack flight and settled in to powered flight down. When I was only a mile out from the target, I picked a nice spot a little further down the mountain from the emplacement and shifted course down towards it. The trail up was forested and the trees should provide good cover for me coming in from ground level.

  Less than a hundred feet from the ground, I flipped over and burned hard, slowing my descent. I touched down with a thump and stumbled a few paces, but I had to admit that it was pretty good for a first flight and landing. Much better than I’d done on my first landing with a flight formula. But then, there was a reason we had done water landings initially with that—to keep new aerial mages from splattering themselves on the ground.

  Taking up my blaster carbine, I moved behind cover and crouched, sweeping the area as I reached out with the Force while opening myself up to listen for emotions nearby to make sure both that no one was around and I hadn’t been observed coming down. Not sensing anything, I shifted the rifle into a low ready and began a quick march through the forest and up the mountain.

  “At my target,” Master Dyas announced over the comms about fifteen minutes later.

  “Don’t rush. Take your time and stay out of sight,” Jango reminded everyone else, and I tuned out the acknowledgments and focused on moving quickly and quietly.

  Eventually, the terrain started to slope steeply upwards and I started having to climb or use the Force to jump, occasionally having to engage the jetpack in short bursts to clear sheer sections of rocky mountain face. Finally, I saw the treeline stop and the top of the mountain came in sight. Dropping down to a belly crawl, I slipped up to the edge and peeked over.

  No exterior cameras. No fence. Landing pad for AVs and a small parking lot. One ground transport. Patch of ground around the perimeter is worn down—looks like they come out to patrol occasionally, or just to stretch their legs.

  I unhooked the jetpack and set it to my side, then hunkered down. Pulling off my helmet, I folded it down and attached it to my belt for now. Reaching up, I touched the ear bead. “In position. Forty meters from target. Waiting for confirmation to move in.”

  “Roger that. Continue holding position,” Jango replied a moment later and I settled in to wait.

  Over the course of the next hour or so, more confirmations came in over the comm net. Until finally, that seemed to be everyone, and Jango gave the order. “All teams, close in and ready up. Confirm ready and wait for breach order.”

  I made one last check over the ridge to be sure no one was watching, then grabbed the jetpack by the strap and carried it as I ran quietly over to the building, finding the one door in or out. I set the jetpack down in the path away from the door and moved over to stand beside it. A quick check showed it was secured and I was going to need to cut or blast my way in. Taking out my breaching charge, I set it up on the door to blow the lock out and moved away a few feet, readying the detonator in one hand and the under barrel of my blaster carbine in the other.

  “Ready to breach,” I reported, then waited. I breathed, reaching out with my senses and finding the presences of those inside. Five individuals. All bored and spread across the inside of the small building.

  Blow the door. Drop the detonator. Go in low and fast. Sweep left to right with blaster, five shots. Secure the room, then finish any survivors off.

  My muscles tightened, nervous energy filling me. The pre-combat jitters that I could never seem to get rid of. They left my core tight, my breath coming shallower unless I forced myself to breathe deeply. My heart started hammering in my chest, blood pounding in my ears. I felt both cold and hot at the same time and knew I was sweating, and it was only my under layer keeping my sweat from rolling down my body.

  My senses felt so much sharper. I could hear every leaf rustling. Hear them inside, faintly, complaining about how bored they were. Feel the cold wind blowing over my clothes and face and the warmth of the sun at the same time. Smell the scent of a forest, myself and my own sweat, the stink of Abyssins, gun oil, metal, concrete—

  “Breach!”

  I hit the switch and the charge on the door exploded, blowing through the handle, lock, and the steel door around it as the force of the blast threw the door open outwards. I was in motion before the explosion cleared, dropping the detonator as I lifted the carbine and brought my hand up to the pistol grip, shouldering the weapon. I dove in, a flight formula sending me zooming three inches over the floor as I came into the room, a detection and targeting formula spun up and ready.

  Five green skinned cyclops men either stood or were in the process of standing, looking towards the door—only two of them had gotten their blasters up and had started spraying a stream of fire at the door, red bolts streaking by overhead. I sighted in the first and fired, sweeping quickly through the first two as I cut the flight formula and tucked in to my left, left shoulder hitting the ground and rolling over onto my back as I realigned and continued firing, white-silver bolts bingoing heads and making dirty fireworks.

  I slid to a stop up against the bottom of the control console as five headless bodies fell to the floor. I lay there for a moment, panting as I took in the scene, listening and sensing for any sign of others as a matter of habit. Five full seconds passed before I moved.

  Standing, I safed the carbine and checked the console—finding that they hadn’t gotten a call out in the short time between the explosion and being killed. Breathing a sigh of relief, I keyed up and reported in. I was the second to do so by my count, after Master Dyas.

  “Clear. Target secure.”

  I moved over to the targeting computer and checked the readout from the ground. There were still three ships in orbit and after a moment, a voice in my ear directed me on which one to select and lock in. Then, it was just a matter of waiting for the others to finish. In that time, I wondered why we didn’t just set a reasonable time for them to fire, since it wasn’t like they had to be fired manually—the control systems allowed for automatic or pre-set fire control.

  A minor oversight. We can correct it next time. If there is a next time, I shook my head, focusing on the here and now.

  Suddenly, there was a broadcast on the squad channel that caught my attention—what should have, by my count, been the last team. “This is team six! Target secure, but the enemy managed to get a squawk out and one of them blasted the console here! We’re fucked. No way to acquire the target or fire.”

  My heart thumped in my chest as my mind raced. Distantly, I heard Jango ask, “What about the manual backup? We can call in the coordinates and you can manually turn it and fire.”

  No. No, it’ll be too late! Far too late! If they got a warning out, any kind of transmission outside of the ordinary, whoever was listening likely already has control over the central control system these things are networked into, so they can all be fired or shut down remotely if need be. They know we’re here and they will be, even now, scrambling to prepare a shut down of the entire network just to make sure we didn’t take any other facilities.

  First, they’ll call for all stations to verify they’re under authorized control—either a visual holocall, or some sort of prompt on the computer. Then, when we of course fail those verifications, we’ll be shut down. We have… maybe two minutes, tops. And then we’re blown. The enemy figures out we’ve got an invasion force down here. Someone requests backup. They bring more ships. The overall mission fails and there is a high chance that we all die.

  Jango wasn’t stupid, or incompetent. The problem, I felt, was that in my professional opinion he wasn’t quite seasoned enough. He didn’t have enough experience as a squad leader. He hadn’t waffled, which would have been the penultimate mistake here, but he had requested more information and suggested an alternative instead of taking immediate, decisive action. Requesting more information would never be bad, except under a time crunch—which we were on. Any of my squadron leaders in the 203rd would have made the call by now.

  I made it for him.

  “Fire!” I called into the comms, yelling over whoever was talking at the time. “Fire now, then switch targets to whichever one is left! But if we don’t fire right now we lose the opportunity and the mission fails!”

  There was a moment, just a beat, then Jango came back, “All stations fire!”

  I hit the button to fire and the station I was in shuddered as it fired. Watching the screen, I saw two of the ships on screen disappear and began punching in the coordinates for the third. Before I could finish, the system went dark—powered off completely.

  “All teams, evac!” Jango ordered and I hit the door running. Snagging my jetpack, I pulled it on and strapped it into place, before jumping and taking off, flying away to find a good place for pickup.

  Sifo-Dyas watched on from one of the camp’s fires as Tanya and Jango spoke quietly about something, one of Tanya’s holograms floating above the small table between them giving him a pretty good idea just what they were talking about and the likely next move for this band of Mandalorians. Around them, the members of Jango’s strike force sat around, eating, talking, and maintaining their gear.

  One young woman, perhaps a few years Jango’s junior, watched the pair talk as she cleaned her rifle, a contemplative look on her face. She was human, with a skin tone perhaps a shade or two darker than Jango’s tan, straight brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, and dark eyes. Fairly attractive, in the more physically fit way women who followed the path of the warrior tended to be, with few exceptions.

  He was still evaluating the Mandalorians for a candidate for the project he’d commissioned the Kaminoans for, but he felt Jaster and Jango were both in his top ten picks. The other Mandalorians had all shown themselves capable to date, but none had really stood out in the way those two had. His gaze slid back to Tanya and a rueful chuckle left his lips.

  If it weren’t for the Kaminoans warning him that cloning Force users tended to have unpredictable results, he would already be on Kamino with a sample of her DNA along with that of other Jedi who had shown themselves to be have that something special that so many of the rest of them seemed to lack. Yoda, Dooku, Qui-Gon, Windu—Tanya’s potential and results to date would have put her on the short list with them, and he felt certain that in just a few short years she would become a Knight and Master herself, and eventually people would speak of her the same way they did the others on that list.

  Unfortunately, the fact was, the Kaminoans couldn’t clone Force users reliably. Which meant he had to look outside the Jedi for a template for the clone trooper project. If they, or their clones, could have borne the burden of the coming war then he was sure that his fellow Jedi would have agreed to do so. That wasn’t the case, however.

  Of course, he felt guilty about the plan to consign potentially billions of lives to be created for the express purpose of fighting and, if necessary, dying to preserve what they could of the Republic. To keep the Banking Clans from taking over the Republic. But if doing so kept the actual citizens of the Republic from dying, if sacrificing a hundred cloned lives to save one natural life was what it took, then so be it. It was callous, he knew, but the reality was that clones were just that—clones. They had a numerical value in terms of cost of production, they were a copy of someone, and they were intrinsically less valuable than the original. Still valuable, yes. Still human, if he were using a human for the template. But made specifically to be spent if needed.

  And they needed a living army to fight what was shaping up to be a droid army in the billions of units, perhaps trillions—even Tanya wasn’t certain on the numbers. The reality was, due to the various restrictions on droids to prevent another droid rebellion, also due to cost saving measures, most droids were kept fairly dumb—intelligent in their particular field, but otherwise missing skills and knowledge that a living person would have. And even the ones specially made for the task of being a battle droid were limited in the field of killing—they couldn’t be made so effective that if, for some reason, say a malfunction or an enemy taking over a control center, that a small number of droids could eliminate a large number of people with machine-like precision. Everyone was afraid of droids with pinpoint accuracy out to the limit of whatever weapon they were using, for good reason. You simply wouldn’t be able to engage an enemy like that at anything but orbital range.

  A living army, on the other hand, could be trained in a variety of fields and skills. They could use tactics that the droids weren’t programmed to deal with. They could think and plan on their feet and adapt to new situations on the fly. They could be more accurate naturally. The expense per unit was higher, but so too was the value—expense being something like one hundred times a single droid, but combat effectiveness coming out about the same number.

  I can’t use Jedi to make clones for this army, but maybe I should pick Tanya’s brain for training strategies. See what she has compared to the Mandos and the Republic Army. Maybe wherever she came from had something different enough to surprise the enemy.

  A familiar presence in the Force drew his attention and, at the same time, he saw Tanya look up in the direction of it. The Mandos went alert a moment later at the sound of engines, but Sifo called out, “It’s a friend. Another Jedi Master.”

  That caused them to look at Jango, who nodded and called, “As you were.”

  The troops went back to what they had been doing as the ship came in over wooded area where they were camping. After a few moments, it found a spot to land and settled down. Not long after that, he felt that Force presence moving closer, through the forest. Soon enough, she walked into the light of one of the fires and the square gem on her forehead caught the light. Sifo-Dyas smiled, waving towards the short, purple skinned, white haired woman.

  He stood as she approached and the older woman smiled, pulling him into a hug. “Master Lene, it’s good to see you.”

  “You as well, Sifo,” she nodded, giving him a squeeze and letting go, before pinching him in the side, earning a hiss from the man. “And it’s just Lene to you, boy. I stopped being your Master long ago, and you’re a Master yourself now.”

  “You’ll always be Master to me,” Sifo chuckled, before gesturing at the camp chairs. “Please, sit. There’s food, if you’re hungry.”

  “I could do with some tea if you have it,” she murmured, and Sifo nodded, grabbing a kettle, filling it with water, and putting it on the fire to heat.

  “So Master, what brings you to Serenno?” Quieter, he said, “We both know the story about Sith artifacts is bunk.”

  “Mm, true,” Lene murmured. Looking away, her brown eyes turned towards where Tanya had left Jango to go practice for the night, one of her white-silver sabers swinging through a Makashi kata. “Perhaps I wanted to see this student you’ve taken on.”

  Sifo shook his head, chuckling. “She’s not my student, Master. If anything, she’s Dooku’s padawan in all but name.”

  The older woman nodded. “Yes, I see that in her.” Not looking away from Tanya’s form, she said, “No, I came because I feel we are at a moment of great importance. One of Mace’s shatterpoints. I had a vision. Of a great and shining future—of hope and new beginnings. But also, dark and terrible—so much death and bloodshed. I believe we are due for troubling times and this is where the decision will ultimately be made that will set us down that path.”

  “I see,” Sifo sighed. “Yes, I’ve had similar visions. We’ve come to believe strongly, based upon the evidence and clues we’ve seen, that the Sith have returned. But why Serenno?”

  “I’m not certain,” Lene admitted. “But it is the Sith’s nature to corrupt everything they touch. And look who is here. Four Jedi Masters and two padawans. She is already not completely of the light. That would make a tempting target for a Sith. But I believe young Tanya is not the focus, merely someone with the potential to be swept up in something greater than all of us. It is difficult to tell with her. Her future is shrouded.”

  “So I’ve seen,” Sifo murmured. “The visions I’ve seen are mixed. I’ve seen visions of her as a Jedi and fighting against droids, but I’ve also seen…”

  “Dressed all in black, with a red lightsaber?” Lene asked, and Sifo nodded. “So have I. But I didn’t get the feeling of malice I’ve gotten from past visions of Sith.”

  Sighing, Sifo pulled the kettle from the fire and poured two cups of tea, handing one to Lene. “So this shatterpoint. It’s Dooku, isn’t it. This is his home, after all. He has family here.”

  “I cannot say for certain, but that is my suspicion, for those reasons. Likewise, I cannot tell what the correct course of action is, to avert that future.”

  Sifo considered for a few moments, sipping his tea. Finally, he asked, “Are we sure it’s a future that should be averted? Most would say a wildfire is bad, but it clears away the old and the dead and makes way for new growth. Some species only reproduce in the presence or aftermath of one.”

  Lene sighed, before chuckling quietly. “That is the case, yes. However… it’s hard to approve of the fire when you’re the one being consumed by it.”

  “True.”

  Finishing her tea, Lene stood and left the cup in her chair. “Now, I believe I’ll go test that padawan. After that, I’ll track down Dooku and help where I can.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Sifo asked. He was willing to review footage and reports of the Mandos’ performance instead of viewing things in person, if it would help his old master.

  The woman smiled, shaking her head. “No. You’re needed here, I think. Just,” she paused, considering. Sifo knew it as the look she sometimes got when deciding whether or not to share something from one of her own visions. Finally, she said, “Don’t limit yourself too much. Mandalorians are not Jedi. They don’t have our code. A team is more than just its leader.”

  Sifo frowned, before nodding. “I will meditate upon your words, Master.”

  “Good,” she smiled, before pulling out her lightsaber and shuffling off over to where Tanya was practicing.