Jedi Fugitive (The Bad Batch)

66:

Astera:

No one had wanted to return to Cid after the disastrous Zillo Beast incident, and she'd told us herself not to come back unless we could salvage the cargo, which we hadn't. It was time for us to part ways. But without her, we were out of a job. No job meant no credits, and we were fresh out of contacts.

Until Phee.

Twenty days after cutting ties with Cid, she had been the one to contact us, wanting assistance on some negotiation job that was 'very important'. She'd promised a good cut and that it wouldn't interfere with our business with Cid, of which no one had the heart to inform her we were no longer working together. With no other options, Hunter had grudgingly accepted.

And so it was how we found ourselves in a cantina on some Mid Rim planet I couldn't name - Hunter, Wrecker and I each at different tables and playing the roles of disinterested gamblers, one eye on our games and the other on Phee and Omega's negotiations with her contact, Crowder.

Phee had wanted me to act as Hunter's girlfriend before we'd entered the cantina; I was almost disappointed when she'd caught sight of the two Mandalorians at the table next to her contact and sent me off to occupy them instead, playing some sort of dice game I vaguely remembered from my time with Bo-Katan. My eyes darted over to him now, playing sabacc with the Bith on the opposite side of the cantina. To think I could have been over there instead, leaning into him with his arm slung around my shoulders...

The two Mandalorian men laughed loudly to each other when I fumbled my next throw, the dice clattering off the table and rendering my turn void. I flushed crimson, embarrassed I'd let myself get distracted so easily. I was supposed to be better than this.

"Kaysh liser't cuyir solus be mhi," one snickered to his companion. "Nayc Mando ru'kel cuyir ibic dush."

She can't be one of us. No Mandalorian would be this bad. I folded my arms and leaned back, forcing myself to offer them a dumb, apologetic smile. Not this again. I'd gotten enough of the 'you don't belong' chatter from some of the Mandalorian resistance when I had first joined them.

Dar'manda. I still remembered the insult Ursa had thrown at me when I'd first arrived, meant to separate me from them, to tell me that even though I'd been born Mandalorian, I'd lost the rights to my heritage when the Jedi had taken me to Coruscant. We'd eventually become friends, but only after I'd put down any further use of that word. I'd put this down too.

After hearing no response from me, the men's chatter in Mando'a grew more and more bold as their belief I was just a copycat grew more secure. Talking about how I must have stolen my armour off one of their dead comrades, that I'd never earned the right, making plans to ambush me outside the cantina to 'take my armour back'. Only one of those statements was true, but I'd made damned sure I earned my armour after Bo-Katan let me keep it.

"Ah-ah-ah." My attention shifted to the table Phee and Omega sat at when Crowder rose out of his seat abruptly, clamping a gloved hand on the artefact they were currently negotiating for. "Payment first."

"Not until I know it's not one of your two-bit knockoffs." I had to hand it to Phee - she had guts talking back to him, especially when this whole cantina looked to be his territory. Half the patrons, including the two Mandalorian men, had also tensed, watching the exchange with hands lingering on the guns at their hips. Even they were on his payroll.

Crowder, however, exchanged a glance with one of his bodyguards and shoved the tree shaped sculpture to her, settling back into his seat with his arms folded. "I thought you worked alone?" he inquired once Phee had completed her examination of the artefact with a pointed nod at Omega.