Morning came over the desert, a warm breeze rustling across the hot sand. The twin suns beat down on the backs of Venar, Bastila, and Mission. Even HK warned that his circuits were beginning to overheat. The two speeder bikes zoomed across the dunes, blowing up clouds of sand as they went.

Bastila was beginning to get worried. During the night, after the raid on the sand crawler, Carth had reached out to them over the com to relate to them the developments on their end. A bounty hunter was not a good sign by any count. That meant the three Sith they fought the day before must have gotten a message out to the Empire. The good thing about it was that given they had chosen to send a bounty hunter instead of more Sith assassins or a battalion of troops, the Empire likely did not yet realize the importance or significance of the mission.

Yet, Bastila still felt something was off about it. The Sith they had fought had recognized her. Why had Malak sent only a bounty hunter after them when only a month ago he had destroyed a planet to ensure her destruction? She felt the Force churning within her as she meditated on the matter.

They reached the top of a large sloping dune that swept downwards and off in the distance, atop another large dune, sat the sand people village. The walls were made of scavenged metals and hide, with large hide canopies covering most of the stronghold which let the searing light from the suns in while providing ample shade as well. Even from first glance, it appeared the sand people were much more organized than one might have anticipated.

"We should go on foot from here," Venar said, "Look, see the turrets?" He was right. There were scavenged turrets aligned along the outside walls of the village. It really looked more like some primitive military base than a village.

"Good idea," Bastila said, "They're less likely to blast us on the spot if we come walking in slowly."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Of course, they'll probably try blasting us ether way," she retorted, before adding, "I hope you know what you're doing, Padawan."

"HK? Mission? You ready?"

"Excited Affirmation: Oh I am most ready should these savage meatbags try to kill us, Master. Oh I do hope they're not friendly."

"He's in there," Mission said, her eyes misty. "My brother is in there."

"I know," Venar said placing his hand on her shoulder, "We'll find him... but Mission, just in case, you might want to prepare yourself." Mission nodded, steeling herself.

"Perhaps," Bastila added, "the Force has lead us here for more than one purpose."

With that, they left their speeder bikes there on top of the dune and ventured down the slopes of the hot sand banks towards the sand people enclave. As soon as they reached the bottom of the dune, they heard the distinct cries and hollers of the sand people coming from within their stronghold. Within moments, about two dozen of their warriors came running out the main entrance of the enclave, running towards them with gaffi sticks and slug-thrower rifles.

"Well," Venar said, "They know we're here now."

"Stand your ground," Bastila advised as they continued walking forward, undaunted.

"HK, wait until they're within range and then begin broadcasting that we come in peace."

"Begrudging Compliance: While I am not fond of this tactic, Master, I shall acquiesce."

The minutes seemed to drag by as the approaching band of hostile warriors made their way to them across the sand. As they got closer, they stopped and raised their hands in the air as a sign of surrender. They were only several yards away when Venar signaled for HK to begin broadcasting the message.

An odd and boisterous series of noises and hollers began emitting from the assassin droid's vocabulator, the message projecting clearly and carrying well through the open air. As soon as the sand people heard it, they all stopped in their tracks. They looked back and forth at one another through their grotesque wraps and masks. One of them stepped forward and addressed the droid with a series of grunts and growls.

"Translation: He demands to know why we are here and why we are trying to speak with them."

"Tell him," Venar said, "That we mean them no harm, that we simply seek an audience with their leader to barter. Tell them we seek their knowledge and wisdom of the desert."

The droid relayed the message through another series of harsh barks and growls. The tusken raider seemed puzzled by this, but it was clear he still held a great amount of animosity towards the newcomers.

"Translation: He says he will take you to their chief, only because an outsider has never attempted to communicate before. He wishes to make it clear that he still does not like you and does not wish you well and that we must surrender our weapons. Shall I space him now, Master?"

"No, just tell him that we are grateful and that we will surrender our weapons as he has said."

"Expostulation: Master, I would like to remind you that I just received this blaster and have not yet had a chance to fire it. Now would be as good a time as any..."

"Just do it HK," Venar said, handing his lightsaber over to the warrior.

"Despondent Statement: Goodbye, old friend," HK said as he handed over the blaster rifle.

The Mandalorian Wars. Planet: Onderon. Carth sat in the mess hall on board the Hammerhead-class cruiser Vanguard. They were positioned in orbit around one of Onderon's four moons, Dxun. Reports were that a Mandalorian stronghold had been found on the surface that required expert precision to infiltrate. For that, the Jedi Commander Meetra Surrik had been brought aboard with her special strike force codenamed Phantom Squad. They were made up highly trained black ops commandos headed up by none other than the Jedi Master herself.

Until the mission launched, the Vanguard had remained hidden in a nebula to avoid detection. Carth and his squadron had been asked to remain on standby during the infiltration in case they needed air support. Carth didn't know the details of the mission other than that. Everything was highly classified when it came to Phantom Squad.

As such, Carth was surprised when a man he hadn't seen before sat down across from him wearing the insignia of Phantom Squad on his armband. He was a young man, probably not much younger than Carth, but he had striking features and dark hair. He also wore a medical wrap around his hand.

"You're from Phantom Squad aren't you?" Carth asked the man.

"Yes, I am," the man said, extending his uninjured hand.

"Carth Onasi," he said, shaking the man's hand.

"I'm known as Phantom Two," the man said, "I'm the pilot and technician of my team."

"Always nice to meet another pilot," Carth said, "I'm the leader of Red Wing Squadron, used to be part of Striker Squadron."

"Oh sorry to hear what happened to Striker Squadron," Phantom Two said, "That was a rough battle over Jedha. The Mandos were foolish to try to attack a Jedi world though."

"Yeah we lost a lot of good men that during that battle."

"Red Wing Squadron though," Phantom Two said, changing the subject, "Those new Aurek-class fighters are pretty nifty, huh?"

"Yeah they're pretty smooth, nothing like flying a-"

"Hey!" came a voice from behind. Two more Phantom Squad members were joining the table. "Looks like the Lord of Pain made a new friend." The one who had said it was introduced as Phantom Three, a slim man with combed back red hair.

"The Lord of Pain?" Carth asked.

"Yeah that's his nickname," Phantom Three explained.

"It's because I always bring the pain to the Mandalorians," Phantom Two said slyly.

"Actually," his friend corrected, "It's because he's always hurting himself." He gestured to the bandage around the pilot's hand.

"He was practically swooning when Master Surrik bandaged that up for him," Phantom Four chimed in.

"I was not!" The pilot said, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson.

"He has the biggest crush on her and she has no idea," they continued.

"From my experience, Jedi aren't big on attachments," Carth said.

"She's different!" the black ops pilot said before he could stop himself, then cursed himself for saying it. "That's not what I meant, I just... never mind."

Just then, Carth got a ping on his wrist comm. There was a holocall waiting for him back at his bunk. After excusing himself from the table and disposing of his tray and utensils, he made his way back to his bunk.

The ship was abuzz with activity, with officers and technicians and other personnel roaming the halls of the ship. The pale gray walls of the ship were beginning to feel like home. Over the past several years, he had mostly either been on board a battle cruiser such as this one, or behind the cockpit of his starfighter. Everything from the bland food they ate to the uniforms they wore now seemed normal. When he had left his homeworld, all of these things had felt strange and new. Now, it was simply his way of life.

When he reached the crew quarters his squadron had been assigned to, he walked over to the holocommunicator they shared and keyed in his passcode and accepted the call. His eyes lit up as the form of his wife was projected into the air. She was smiling, but she looked tired.

"Hey," he said, unaware he was smiling back at her.

"Carth," she said, "I miss you."

"I know," he said with a sigh, "I miss you too. The war wasn't supposed to go on this long."

"Is it really necessary for you to stay? You could maybe ask to-"

"Morgana, we've talked about this. I can't leave. Even if I could, I'm needed here."

"Dustil started school today," she said her voice shaky, blinking as she looked away for a moment, as if glancing at some unknown point in space.

"That's... already? He's growing up fast."

"Too fast. The boy needs a father, Carth."

"I know. You're right, of course." He knew he needed to be at home, but he also needed to be here. There was no way to do both. "Look, listen to me. It's going to be ok. I can't leave. Not yet, but as soon as I can I will. I will come right back to you and we will be a family again."

"Do you promise that, Carth?" There seemed to be a few more lines in her face than what he remembered. Then again, the same could be said of him.

"I do. I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he said. "Look, I gotta go. Just hold on for me. I just need some more time. The end of the war is close. I don't want my son to grow up in a galaxy run by war lords. The Republic has to be protected... for his future. For everyone's. The things I've seen... towns... cities... whole planets ravaged. For what? For the Mandalorians' sense of 'honor.'"

"Then you make them pay," Morgana said, "Make them pay. Then you come back to me." Her lip quivered. Even through the static of the holo-image, he could tell she was fighting back tears.

"It's going to be-"

Just then a tremor rocked the ship. Klaxons began to wail and heavy footsteps of running soldiers and technicians sounded outside in the hallway.

"Carth are you ok?" Morgana looked suddenly worried through the holo.

"I'm fine but I have to go. I'll call you later." He switched off the holo just as the rest of his squadron ran into the bunk. "Suit up," he ordered, "we're under attack.

He fell into pace with the chaos around him as he went about getting into his flight suit. He couldn't help but think about his wife's words though as he readied himself. The idea of being home, with his family, it seemed surreal, outlandish. He couldn't place exactly why, though.

From the time he zipped up his flight suit to the time he settled himself into the cockpit of his fighter, he mulled over the conversation with Morgana. It then occurred to him that he was afraid. He knew all about combat, flying, strategizing. He didn't know the first thing about raising a child. It was a different kind of battle altogether. A battle that could not be won with blasters and swords and startfighters, and Carth wasn't sure he was up to the task.

Venar's face hit the ground and a cloud of dust and sand stirred up at the impact. He coughed and spit out the bits of sand that had forced its way into his mouth, the coarse texture drying his tongue. His eyes flitted up and looked around the room they were in. Bastila and Mission lay on the floor beside him, beginning to sit up themselves.

HK stood behind them with the sand people that had brought them in here. They were in a large tent-like structure made of some sort of hide and scrap. They were facing a large flap-like doorway of sorts with symbols and designs embroidered into the fabric. They were all forced to kneel as they waited, each with a sharp gaffi stick or blaster behind their heads to ensure cooperation.

Suddenly, the flap opened and a large man covered in sand people wrappings and armor entered the room. The mask he wore was especially terrifying and grotesque. Everything about the sand people culture was intriguing to Venar.

"This is their leader," HK explained, "Chieftain Bloodfist."

"Tell him we wish him and his tribe peace," Venar said, "Tell him we wish to understand their ways and their culture. Tell him we seek a trade for information."

The droid responded with a series of utilating calls and grunts, after which the Chieftain responded with his own.

"Translation: He says he is impressed with your effort to communicate with his people, but he does not trust you. He demands a show of good faith."

"Ask him what he requires," Venar said as he exchanged glances with Bastila.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Padawan," she said, her face like stone.

"Translation: He demands that in order for there to be a trade between you, you must prove your worth by bringing them two industrial-sized vaporators. He also demands that while the rest of us may leave to perform the task, you shall stay behind."

"What does he want me for?" Venar asked.

"He wishes to face you in hand-to-hand combat. His people believe it is the most base form of communication and that by dueling, he may better understand your true intentions. An outsider has apparently never attempted to communicate with them before. He wants to understand why."

"Tell him we agree to his terms," Venar said.

"You can't be serious," Bastila whispered, "They might just kill you while we are gone."

"It's sweet of you to worry," he said with a sly smile, "but I don't think they will. Otherwise, they would have tried to kill all of us already."

"Translation: He says your agreement to his terms are irrelevant as you have no choice in the matter."

"Well, there you have it," Venar said looking at Bastila, "Contact the Ebon Hawk, have them purchase the vaporators from Czerka and fly them out here."

"Fine," Bastila said, seemingly annoyed by the situation, "Don't get yourself killed."

Bastila and Mission were hoisted up on their feet by the warriors who stood behind them. As they were dragged out of the room Mission called out Venar, "Find my brother! Please!"

After they were escorted out, Venar and HK were brought to a holding cell and thrown in with several other prisoners. The room was fortified by walls of scrap metal and jagged steel spikes that lined the top of the walls, over which, a tent-like canopy was draped to provide adequate shade. It was more likely, Venar thought, that it was to make it more difficult to signal for help.

He looked around at the other captives. There were three jawas huddled into the corner, tinkering with a piece of scrap metal; a few humans in tattered Czerka uniforms, and a blue-skinned Twi'lek man wearing a torn and bloodied uniform himself. Most of the captives were in bad shape, cuts and bruises on their skin, their clothes torn and dirty. Some of them seemed malnourished as well.

Venar sat down next to the twi'lek man. He seemed to be only a little younger than himself, though the bruises and swelling on his face gave him a weathered look.

"Are you Griff?" he asked the twi'lek.

"What?" he replied, his eyes going wide, "How did you know- ah- did Czerka send you?"

"No, your sister did."

"My sister?" Griff blinked in disbelief, "No, you must be mistaken. She's dead. She was on Taris when... I left her there... I shouldn't have left her there."

"She's alive," Venar said, "My name is Venar. I'm a Jedi. I helped Mission escape Taris during the assault."

"That's- is she here?"

"She's on the planet. Don't worry we will get you out of this soon enough."

Griff nodded. He stared up at the canopy for a moment, but at no point in particular. A thoughtful expression was cast over his face.

"So this," he said gesturing to the prison around them, "This is all part of the plan then? Getting caught in here?"

"More or less," Venar said.

Over the next several hours, Venar answered Griff's questions and filled him in on what his sister had been up to the past several months she had been part of his crew. Griff also told him about why he had left Taris.

Griff had done what he needed to survive the mean streets of the Lower City back on Taris. As a young boy, their parents had brought them to Taris to have a new start. He had later learned they had chosen to flee Ryloth when slavers had come to the planet and all but taken over. Things hadn't been much better on Taris though, with the planet being run by racist bigots and priviledged nobles.

His mother had grown sick shortly after they had arrived, and his father did all he could to provide. His father had opened a small droid repair shop in the Lower City. He was killed when he refused to pay a "protection fee" to Davik Kang. Griff was pleased to learn that Davik had finally gotten what he deserved.

With no one to provide, their mother died shortly after, leaving him to care for his little sister. He resorted to stealing from the markets or pickpocketing off-worlders. He had become quite good at it too. He was noticed one day by a member of the Hidden Beks, and was inducted into their gang. With them, he had learned to hone his skills as a thief and a con artist and soon was able to score large amounts of credits at a time.