“See them flying there, Kasari? They fly low to hunt for prey.”
The wind howled as she peered over the side of the cliff, nearly blocking out the sound of his voice. The zur, a small flock of them, passed below them, twisting and turning through the canyon until they disappeared through an acid cloud and out of sight.
Kasari turned from the cliff, patting down her wind-tangled hair, and rejoined the older Zabrak waiting beside a worn old speeder.
“I wouldn’t have even seen them if you hadn’t pointed them out,” She said, climbing up on the back of the vehicle. “But they’d catch more prey if they flew higher.”
“That keeps them safe,” He replied, a smile crinkling the corners of his aged face. “But it also keeps them closer to their prey. They fly too high they might see more, but…”
He points upwards, near the western horizon. There over the mountains, unobscured by green acid clouds, was a roving black shape. She could just barely make out it’s wide, soaring wings before it suddenly dove down behind the jagged mountain face, out of sight for only a moment before it ascended again, a zur clutched in its taloned grasp.
“Oh.”
A chuckle, and the older man swung his leg over the bike’s front, kicking it into gear. “Fly too high and the predator becomes the prey, kiddo. Learn to fly low, stay under the radar, and you’ll do fine.”
Kasari stared at her mentor’s back, face pinched in thought. “Is that why the Mandalorians stayed in Wortan?”
The grunt that came from the body in front of her was drowned out by the engaging engine. They traveled back to the city in silence.
Wortan’s streets were blasted black rubble and empty storefronts. Small crowds of street toughs lingered in shadowed alleys as sparse crowds of locals in ragged cloth and tattered leather hurried to their homes. Each and every one - whether vibroknife or grocery in hand - a victim of the Mandalorian occupation of the planet.
The city would not fair much better in the coming years, for while the Mandalorians would be pushed from the planet thanks to a strategic offensive conducted by the Republic military, a new enemy would eventually come to Iridonia’s skies.
Kasari watched as sleek silver and repainted Republic ships descended, splitting off into groups to sweep the landscape. A small squadron landed at the spaceport near to where they were standing, and she watched her mentor’s bright yellow eyes narrow.
“I sense darkness here, Kasari,” He placed a large hand on her shoulder, his other resting on his belt. “Darkness I haven’t felt since the war.”
She watched a group of dark cloaked figures exit the lead ship and make way to a Zabrak in official-looking clothes, and her gut clenched with fear.
“They were Jedi,” He says, drawing her away from the edge of the rooftop. “Then they flew too high.”
Kasari let herself be led away, hurrying down to their shared speeder and securing what little belongings they had.
The next spaceport over was swarming with silver-armored troops and more black-cloaked figures. The abandoned the speeder nearby and slipped into a nearby hangar, thus far unoccupied by the new army.
“The next hangar down is used by the old Mandos to smuggle weapons in and yarrock out. Buy a seat on the ship while the occupation is still getting a handle on the planet, find somewhere outside the major trading routes to hide out,” He pushes her along, hurriedly.
“Wait, we have enough for two, you could come along,” She turns swiftly, stopping the leathery-faced Zabrak.
“I’m not going to disappear like your parents, Kasari, but these new Jedi… They want power. I can feel it. They’re going to want me. And they’re going to want you, too.” He takes her arm and drags her forward. She digs her heels in.
“No! I can’t leave-” He stops her with a curt shake of his head.
“There is no fighting them, Kasari.” She opens her mouth to deny. “Yes, I know that’s what you were going to say we do. I can’t take them all on, and they’ll follow me wherever I go. But you, you’re still so new to the Force. They’ll never even notice you leaving.”
He guides her to the next hanger over, where a small group of smugglers in piecemeal neo-crusader armor were quickly loading crates into a small freighter. One in blue armor approached them, hand resting on a vicious vibroblade at his hip.
“Twenty thousand for two to Ord Mantell, no less.”
“Ten thousand for one.”
“Deal.”
Kasari gaped at the older Zabrak as he turned and headed back for the hangar door. A deep crimson glow filtered through the seams of the old blast door, and she felt sick.
“Zurren!”
“Now or never, kid. Those Jedi will tear us apart if we don’t go now.” The mandalorian with the vibroblade yanked her towards the ship.
She watched Zurrenwalk through the bay doors as black-robed figures appeared on the threshold. Any words said between them were lost in the roaring of the freighter’s engines. Kasari leapt up onto the ramp as it began to close catching one last glimpse of the Zabrak in gray as he was surrounded by the other Jedi. Crimson faded, and the group disappeared from sight.
Now approaching Viscaran space. Docking request granted. Welcome to CZ-220.
Kasari clutched her bag close to her chest, jostled as the ship slipped into the station’s hangar bay. She stood on unsteady legs, staring out of the porthole as droids and Czerka-uniformed workers bustled about around the new arrival. Passengers shuffled off the shuttle one after another, stopping only briefly in front of heavily armed troopers before moving further into the station.
With a sigh, the Zabrak descended the ramp and handed over her documentation.
