Ma’ had shut down when I told her. She had simply nodded as tears flowed down her face and resignedly put in a request to leave early and have a weeke off to prepare the funeral. She even continued working as I stayed by her until her request was approved. She then ushered me to work on the manhunt I demanded to participate in and went home.

  I was still dumbfounded from her reaction as I entered the military police department in the ministerial building. Various officers snap salutes as I move through like a sand wraith of myth and make towards the station I was informed to be looking into my pa’s murder.

  “What have you found?” I ask into the station.

  One of the Military Police officers, a Major, hands over a datapad which I quickly start scanning as he speaks: “The bloodpups have caught a trail. The assassin attempted to escape into the sewers, but with them locked down they’ve begun racing about the district. They attempted two crossings past our barricades, but were halted at both. However the men failed to nab him.”

  “A male then?”

  “Yes, with a suitcase we believe contains the murder weapon. Sandy brown hair, black eyes.”

  “A ten thousander?” I ask.

  “Likely based off of the eye color and the access to a slugthrower weapon.” The Major answers.

  “Do we have a location?”

  “We’ve narrowed it down significantly. A couple more hours and we’ll have forced them into a corner.”

  “Good, when that happens I want him taken alive and brought to us. Check their teeth for suicide devices when you nab them.” I instruct.

  “That seems extreme.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” I reply.

  I break in the door with a steel toed boot and fire a slug into the man’s shoulder as he grabs for a blasterpistol beside him on the table. Looks like the intel was right about this man. And lucky me, the Major in charge hadn’t believed it so I was free to deal with this in the ways of my ancestors.

  I fire another slug into the man’s gut, throwing him onto the ground as I finish my approach and sock him in the face with my metal arm, knocking him out for a moment. I quickly start tying him up with some steel string. Finally after being satisfied I begin rifling through the apartment. Slugthrower matched, a description of pa’, orders to kill him from a datapad with the Imperial cog on its back.

  I take a closer look at the slugthrower, oh damn. I quickly move to feel around in the knocked out man’s mouth, only so much time left, finding what I was looking for I yank the fake tooth out of his jaw, waking the man up with a yelp of pain.

  I start my interrogation right there as I break the fake tooth under my insulated boots: “You had a description of my old man on your person. Your weapon belongs to the ten thousander Ashtrock family. So either you stole it and I’ll have to exchange gifts with them for killing you after you killed my father with their weapon, or you’re an Ashtrock and I have the authority to request a blood feud.”

  “You wouldn’t” The man spits, “It would doom your entire family.”

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  “I have enough influence, even after Coruscant, to have you all declared traitors for the assassination attempt on my person, which my father thwarted by sacrificing his life for mine. That should be enough to kill all the adults, then the children … especially since accidents happen and the Ashtrocks ain’t that influential since the Seppies left.”

  “You’re bluffing!”

  I was, but he didn’t need to know that: “So either you confess and I promise on my father’s blood that soaked the sands that I’ll spare the innocent, or I start killing.”

  “Fine!” The man spits, “It was the ISB. They put me up to it, said they’d forgive the family’s transgressions if we offed the Dericote! Said that he was becoming too powerful, too influential. They promised us our seized properties back.”

  “A pity.” I mutter as I pull the messer from my above my lumbar. I leave the room with a bloodied blade and a suitcase with an ancestral weapon.

  The weapon is handed over to the Military Police to hand over to the Ashtrocks on my behalf. A recording of my interrogation added to their files. As for the gift I had the … pleasure of exchanging, I ended up deciding on a simple gator hide bag with a secure lock. The message should be clear, something to use to keep their ancestor’s weapon safe.

  It was all so stupid, so pointless. More needless bloodshed in this unforgiving galaxy. I let out a sigh as I ruffle through attic to find some things to send pa’ off with. During this I stumble on my old notes on old Earth. I decide I might as well take them with me when I leave.

  The ceremony is quiet, ma’ standing silently beside me as pa’s cloth-wrapped body is lowered into the wooden coffin on the bottom of the small sandglider, its cheap repulser should last long enough to bring him into the desert and let the sands take him. Beside the body lie a childhood stuffed animal, a bowl of water, a bowl of Corellian Whiskey and a bowl of pepper seeds placed at his feet within the casket, maybe they would sprout a pepper plant somewhere on this inhospitable world.

  Most of the older family had shown up, keeping respectful distance yet present. Waiting with comforting words just behind their lips if asked. Waiting with arms ready to embrace those most deep in mourning if approached. Waiting with spare steel, be it blades, blasters or knockoff slugthrowers, if I called for the death of those who had organized this.

  I remove the ancestral knife and cut my palm with it, holding it out above pa’s midnight blue shroud and let the blood drop onto the white stars and the trailing starship upon it. I offer the blade to Elix who does the same. As one Patriarch dies and his Heir takes on the mantle, the next Heir takes his place. I hold back tears as Alice places a credchit onto the sandglider.

  Ma finally places a kiss on pa’s shrouded forehead. Maker knows where the customs came from, but they were deeply ingrained with us now. A comfort. I and Elix quickly move over to the top of the casket, placing the wooden top over it and begin punching in the nails one by one. Finally, as the sandglider begins moving into the sands beyond Fondor City’s bounds I let my tears fall, though I still try and fail to hold back a chocked sob.

  R4 plays the Fondorain Taps as the sandglider disappears into the horizon beyond and the oldest uncle sighs, relieved. There would be no further blood spilled this day.

  I wake up with a mean hangover a few days later a couple hours before my shuttle takes off towards the ships that would bring me back to my command. I felt bad leaving home like this, but … I had a duty. A duty to avenge my father, a duty to the people I protected, a duty to the Republic.

  I hug ma’, Elix and Alice tightly before boarding the shuttle.

  I’m on my fourth glass of Alderaanian Ale when a bearded man in a cloak joins my booth. I glance up at him and raise my glass in toast to the Senator. He looked only mildly uncomfortable, though that could be due to the atmosphere or the open location.

  “Relax man,” I start disrespectfully, “I already had R4 here sweep for bugs, squashed the few that were too close for comfort and started looping the others.”

  “Your astromech is rather … resourceful.” He praises, R4 waving off the compliment bashfully.

  “She sure is.” I agree, “So, my old mentor contacted you about Pizza Diavola.”

  “I must admit my curiosity. Fulcrum was rather … pessimistic about it, but I am simply glad that not everyone was lost within the last campaign.” Organa says.

  Man he really liked dancing around the subject. I lost my tail so we could speak freely, though I guess I’ll play along for now.

  “Less were burned than you may think. A few friends I ordered to start digging found some of our mutual acquaintances made it to the tunnels and holed up with our former rivals.” I explain, relief washing over Organa’s face.

  “That is good then.”

  “I gotta say, I’m curious what you can even offer me.” I probe, “I got local friends, food, plates and enough glue to huff for a decade.”

  Organa’s eye twitches at the last codeword, oh so he didn’t like Solomahal’s little euphemism for grog rations: “That may be, yet I can still offer support for the Volunteers from my people to head in your direction, decently armed diplomatic ships to be snatched by those pirate friends of yours as long as their crews are ransomed back, maybe even push a few radical engineers, doctors and analysts in your direction.”

  “I don’t need analysts, I need bean counters and admin workers.” I counter, “Though I can certainly see the appeal of what you’re proposing.”

  “Then we are in agreement?”

  “Not quite. Whatever happens your world, actually any world, does not act without my approval. I cannot protect everyone from a pirate reprisal.”

  “Even with the speed you showed recently?” Organa asks.

  “Especially because of that.” I stress, “A battlegroup can maybe secure a sector decently enough, though even then they’re a reaction force. A full fleet may be able to secure four or five with good hyperspace lanes and local merchant support, but I cannot secure both my favorite spot and the yours from pirates or raiders, not with the current rate of production and especially not with the poli-sci dropouts breathing down my neck and the boss nicking most of my supply chain for more endangered franchises. It’s absolute lizardshit, but I can’t do anything about it right now.”

  “I understand. I hope we can meet again sometime before your action becomes necessary.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” I say as I raise my glass in toast.