“Think he’s capable of it?”
“I don’t know him anymore. I don’t even know where to start.”
Mirta leaned her head back against the bulkhead, arms folded. There were a dozen troops in the Tra’kad assault vessel: Jaina and eleven Mandalorians in full armor, all waiting for the order from Admiral Daala that might not actually come. The other ten were members of Fett’s elite special forces, the Ori’ramikade-supercommandos, the troops who’d saved Caluula Station and her parents from the Yuuzhan Vong. It was a very tangled social web; it was also sobering to tally the net score of incidents and realize that the Solos had done more lasting harm to Fett than Fett had to them.
“Aliit ori’shya tal’din, “Mirta muttered.
“What’s that mean?”
“Family is more than bloodline. Meaning that families are about who raises and cares for you, not who your birth parents are. Or, put another way-your real relatives can treat you worse than chakaaryc strangers.”
Jaina could work out the meaning. She wasn’t picking up much of the language, though; every Mandalorian seemed to be at least trilingual-Basic, Mando’a, and Huttese-and they spent a lot of time with their helmets on, talking among themselves. Whatever language the ten commandos were using on their helmet comlinks, Jaina was only aware of the body language, hand gestures, and head movements; it was an animated discussion conducted in apparent silence. The effect was unnerving, as if they had senses that she didn’t, and she was missing the bigger picture. She wondered if they were gossiping about her. They radiated amusement.
Aha.
It was always edifying to see your own characteristics reflected in others. The next time that some ordinary being treated her with suspicion, she’d think how her Force abilities looked from the outside.
Mirta turned her head and said something to the commandos. A stream of unintelligible words emerged from the helmets, followed by laughter.
“It’s all they can think about, “Mirta muttered. “I’m glad it’s only once every five years.”
“What is?”
“Galactic bolo-ball tournament. It’s taken over the HoloNet.”
Wrong again, then. Jaina’s misfortunes weren’t as riveting as a sporting event. Life didn’t center on her small circle, another reminder that there was a wider world she seldom saw. “Where’s Fett?” “Slave I. Where else?”
The small Mandalorian flotilla included Fett’s ship, the tank-like Tra’kad, and a squadron of Gladiators and Aggressors. The holochart set in the bulkhead showed other vessels idling at the RV point: a carrier, judging by the hatches, and a Sentinel landing craft that looked heavily modified. The carrier was tiny: no more than a hundred meters long.
“Beviin?” Jaina felt almost protective toward him. He seemed to pick up Fett’s pieces far too often. “Didn’t see him embark.”
“Ba’buir told him to stay behind. Either to placate Medrit, or to keep an eye on Ba’buir.” Mirta did a quick little shake of her head. “I mean Grandmama. It’s the same word in Mando’a. I mean Sintas.”
At least Beviin wasn’t going to get himself killed following Fett’s whim. Jaina always had a stake in her missions, so it was hard to imagine how soldiers would take risks like this for credits or out of some loyalty to a man who simply hired them out. She stopped short of judging them, though. She’d seen the state of Mandalore, and she’d never had to worry about where the next meal was coming from. “How did you manage to hate a man you’d never met, Mirta?” Jaina could sense the emotions between Mirta and her grandfather pretty clearly; Mirta longed to love him, but seemed battered by constant disappointments, and Fett was trying hard to get it right, bemused by failure. “Did your mother even remember him? You didn’t even know Sintas.”
“I grew up hearing how Fett had abandoned Grandmama, and Mama, and that she wouldn’t have been struggling to pay the bills or having to take dangerous bounties if he’d taken some responsibility.”
“Yes, but to hunt him down to kill him? For years? Most folks get a lawyer.”
“Mama had a bad time as a kid. Moving from place to place. Always getting in fights because she was different.” Mirta shrugged but didn’t elaborate. “She even married a Mandalorian to improve her chances of finding Ba’buir. My father.”
“Wow, “said Jaina. That was dedicated hatred. She didn’t ask why Mirta had followed her father’s culture, or why she hadn’t worked out earlier that Ailyn was a little obsessive. “I’m sorry.”