Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sirin Kardes, often called the Seventh Sister by her colleagues, sang little Mirialan nursery rhymes to herself while she turned over hunks of garbage in the anonymous alley. This was her favorite persona for undercover operations, the crazy droid lady. All it took was donning a dirty threadbare poncho and acting a little strange. Most people were made too uncomfortable by the unhoused and mentally ill that she could shuffle all about most cities without being harassed. Plus, she sometimes found little gems.

One of her droids offered up a scuffed-up component that could be added to a transponder she was working on at home.

“Thank you, Payt. Keep your eye open for more of these.” She tucked the component into a pouch on her belt.

Her droid warbled happily tapping its legs on the ground. The two of them were her favorite droid creations so far. They had BD unit chassis but with modified, elongated heads. Payt got back to scanning the opposite side of the alley as his brother, Staabi.

Seventh Sister adjusted the old lady sunhat part of her disguise and had just gotten back to poking piles of garbage when Trilla Sundri silently dropped down onto the entrance of the alley, landing gracefully with a slight bend of her knees. Sirin grinned and shook her head. Dropping down from three stories up like that was practically the Second Sister’s signature move. She just loved doing that. To be fair, it looked pretty cool.

Trilla took one last look down both sides of the street then patted her hip twice before casually walking away. That was their signal that the area was free of Imperial patrols and that it was time to move. Sirin gave her own hip a double pat in response, whistled to her droids, and followed behind her.

Second Sister was one of her siblings she respected the most. She never disrespected her or called her Jetii as a slur. Now that Jedi were being trained in small, widely dispersed temples again certain masters were beginning to differentiate themselves via behavior and teaching styles. A fellow Jedi could differentiate a New Concord Dawn trained Jedi from a New Mandalor one, for instance. Jedi like Seventh Sister, from the Offee school, had developed a bad reputation. They were supposedly cleaved too closely to their Mandalorian neighbors and were too reckless with their emotions and passions. Sirin hated the stereotype. If they just personally knew Master Offee as closely as she they wouldn’t say such things. Barriss and Sirin had taken the creed and wore beskar proudly, so what? Why was her private life anyone’s business?

Besides, you just had to meet Zonder to know the label had no merit. The man was as pious as a Jedda church mouse and as celibate as a hyperspace beacon keeper.

Trilla did not indulge in that nonsense. Since she had been trained by Master Unduli after the passing of her original master. She understood Mirialan language and customs and sometimes joined her on religious holidays. She understood Sirin. There was only one grudge she held against the woman. Each of the siblings had their specialty. Sirin’s was interrogation while Trilla’s was tracking down individual sentients. Sirin was very good at being menacing or pestering. But she couldn’t replicate Trilla’s talent at being effortlessly spooky. That steady gaze from her big pale jade eyes, the way she could look down her long regal nose at Imperials and unsettle them, it was the only thing that provoked Sirin’s jealousy.

Oh well. She was glad Trilla was leading this mission.

As they passed the patio of a café Second Sister once more stopped just long enough to pat her hip twice. Reva Sevander waited for the one of the locals she was engaging in conversation to finish making his point before making an excuse that she had to get going, tossing down a few credits to handle her new friend’s bar tab, grabbing one last fritter off the plate they were sharing, and draining her last shot of Spotchka.

Sirin could sense Reva falling in behind her. Third Sister’s talent was collecting sentient intelligence. She understood people’s behavior quite well and could get along with most folk. Understandable. She was from the Kenobi school. Sociability was kind of his thing, or at least he told himself so. Reva told herself that as well (as well as everyone else).

Ralltiir used to be a very swanky locale. Back in Republic days she was a Core World banking center, one of the few not monopolized by the old Banking Clan before it was federalized near the end of the Clone War. Many of her cities such as the one Spirit Group now surveilled now had rundown areas. Whole neighborhoods and districts left to decay. The three women made their way over to a partially completed, now abandoned, apartment complex. Eighth Brother lounged on top of the dingy plastoid awning over the main entrance. Trilla once more patted her hip twice which their Brother repeated before casually leaping to the ground, giving them a split-cheeked grin, and following the other three into the building and up a stairwell.

Sirin led the group as to allow Payt and Staabi to illuminate the stairwell. Their destination was one of the penthouse suites which had its windows knocked out by vandals or squatters ages ago. There was a plethora of casual lazy graffiti dashed across the wall. Sirin’s frequent partner, Fifth Brother, had set up a little surveillance station here with a telescope pointed at a skyscraper across town. He was sitting cross-legged enjoying some tea. He gestured to the junky chairs the brothers had lugged up to the penthouse. Eighth Brother leapt up on one of them with one foot on the seat and the other on the backrest, perched like a bird in an effortless manner common to Terrelian Jango Jumpers. Trilla took up the nearby teapot and poured herself a mug. Sirin took a seat and gave Fifth Brother a smile and a wink.

“So,” Trilla paused to take a sip. “What have you observed?”

Fifth Brother took a deep breath from the vapor rising off his mug and spoke. “As you know the Third Fleet is in orbit for refueling, blockading the hyperlane. They’re almost finished. I estimate another three deliveries. In just over two hours a transport ship will descend with a light fighter escort. The transport shall dock at that tower. They’ll open the vault and load her up. A palate of hyperfuel large as a fright container. In that tight window of opportunity, we shall strike.”

Trilla took a sip before replying. “Guard detail?”

“They’re comfortable here. Ten Naval troops, a single squad of stormtroopers.”

Reva butted in. “What forces do they have on standby?”

Fifth Brother set his jaw. “That I do not know.”

Reva frowned. “You didn’t find an off-duty Imp for intel?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t asked to as part of my assignment.”

Third Sister folded her arms. “That’s implied! I wouldn’t move without getting all the angles. We could find ourselves pinned on that platform with more heat than we can handle.”

Her partner grumbled. “I estimate another three deliveries, as I said. There isn’t time for more assessment. We move on this, or we lose the opportunity.”

“A reckless plan derived from sloppy work, typical Fifth.” Reva said.

Sirin felt a hot and fast wave of anger and spoke before thinking. “If he went by your rulebook, it would take ages and the fuel would be gone by the time you were ready. I say we go for it!”

“Oh, you would say that, Jetii.”

Sirin rose from her chair. “Excuse me? Care to elaborate on that?”

Reva stood and leaned towards her. “Sure thing. Anytime. You and he are reckless. You’re going to get us killed.”

Sirin got in her face. In the back of her mind she realized she was just affirming all Reva’s prejudices against her but her blood was up. “Is that so? You want to explain to Duchess Kryze why your ship is dead in the water because we came home empty handed? Do you want another New Pindar on your conscience? I don’t want any more sanctuary ships to burn, personally.”

“I want to live and not give the Imps an easy win, Seventh Sister.”

“LADIES!” Trilla looked from one to the other of them with that gaze of hers. “You are both right. Fifth Brother’s plan is precarious in its details, AND it is an opportunity we cannot pass by. Sprit Five, have you consulted with the Old Lady about your plans?”

He answered only after draining his teacup. “Yes.”

Trilla pulled her commlink from her belt to confirm. “Spirit One, has Spirit Five given you his full briefing?”

The Frist Sister cleared her throat, her response still coming as a bit of a croak typical to the soft spoken Dowutin. “He has.”

Trilla looked over at Sirin and Reva as she responded. “What do you think? Is it doable?”

“It’ll be tight, but I could manage. We need that hyperfuel badly enough I think it’s worth it. Plus, we get to punch the Empire in the eye. That’s always fun. Let them sweat the fuel gage for once.” First Sister responded.

Masana Tide was the Jedi Knight leading a group of younglings on their Gathering when Order 66 sundered the Jedi Order. Sirin, Reva, Fifth, and Eighth Brother were a part of that youngling clan. So as their eldest Sister her judgement held a lot of weight.

“Do you have a micro-jump programmed for our escape?” Trilla looked like she was running contingency plans in her mind’s eye.

“Afrimative.” Masana replied.

“Alright, get ready to fly. We’re on our way.” Trilla returned the commlink to her belt and gave The Look to Reva, who returned it with a sour face, but she did not press the issue.

Fifth Brother clapped his hands once. “Let’s get our gear packed!”

Sirin gave him a warm smile that she hoped would not be picked up by the others and lent her labor to the cause.

Sirin carefully reached out with the Force to judge the mental state of her companions as they made their way to the spaceport.

Eighth Brother jubilant. He was a man of action. There was nothing Spirit Eight loved more than getting right in the middle of a horrible violent muddle. Sirin could respect that. She liked being in the center of the action as well, though she tried not to crave it. That would mean leaning into Jetii stereotypes. Eight, though, he was all action. He was kinetic. And he loved leaving the Empire in disarray.

Her partner, Fifth Brother, was just the slightest bit smug that he got his way. He would never say so out loud. But he wasn’t exactly hiding it either. Sirin was proud of him by proxy. Good for him. The bond they shared made such sympathy easy.  Perhaps a little too easy. Precariously so.

She and Reva often butted heads but if there was one thing she respected about the woman it was that she didn’t hold a grudge. Now that Sprit Group had commit to the plan she was getting into the proper headspace. If this was her operation there would be much more of a pregame. There would be an elaborate plan often involving third parties so the Spirits could keep their hands clean and get away with no trace. But if a smash and grab was the order of the day Third Sister would suck it up and bust some heads.

And then there was Trilla. She was their rock. Their diamond. She would do what was necessary and shed whatever trauma incurred long afterwards when they were safe. She would meditate and lay her troubles down with Cere her long-dead first Master. But today, today she was down for whatever their destiny held.

The young Jedi Knights boarded The Apparition. It was an ironic name for the freighter, seeing that it was a bulky light freighter. Highly visible. But since the EML 850 was able to spoof its transponder, providing easy entry and escape from Imperial systems, it was a good a name as any. It was, indeed, able to blend in with common space traffic.

“Gear up in twenty!” Sprit One called out from the bridge, followed by a warble form their R5 unit.

Sirin made a quick stop to the cabin she shared with Fifth. She stowed her tattered sunhat and shed her poncho. She was already wearing most of her gear underneath. Her beskar chest plate, pauldrons, and vambraces over her wrap skirt and leggings. Seventh Sister preferred the black-on-black aesthetic along with some white and red highlights. She just needed to strap on her gun belt, check the charge on her saber, and grab her helmet. She checked her helm for scratches or dirt. Her sort-of-stepmother, Barriss’ partner, had forged it in the design of her own helmet. She loved it like she loved her other mother. Damn Jedi orthodoxy on attachment be damned. Call it sisterhood, call it what you may. She would go to the mat for Rook, anytime.

She slipped on her helmet and joined the rest of the team in the cargo bay. Reva gave her a quirky smile when she spotted her but then nodded. She smiled behind her helm and nodded back. They may butt heads sometimes, but she was her sister. And siblings might bicker, but they stick together. Especially when facing opposition such as the Empire. Sirin loved all her siblings, even a strange one like Sixth Brother. She was a little glad he wasn’t here at the moment.

Their biggest sister chimed in through the intercom. “Alright, I’ll  set you up to drop then I’ll be busy with the TIEs. We’re lucky there’s no antiaircraft batteries down there, too. You’re on your own until the sky is clear. May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Trilla said into her commlink. Then she looked about the cargo hold at her team. “Spirit Seven, you are to get out in front and secure the package. Stay on it. One stray blaster bolt and half the city is gone. Spirt Eight, Sprit Five, you’re on crowd control. Make sure the combatants are off-balance. Spirit Three, you are to hang back with me. We’ll toss some explosives in that transport and support as needed. Are we clear?”

There was agreement all around. They all trusted Trilla’s judgment in command decisions.

There was a pitching sensation before the old freighter’s acceleration dampeners compensated. They were off the ground. Masana would feint like they were lining up with the queue for an exit vector, like they were any other cargo transport. In reality she was watching the optical sensors closely, trained on the rooftop landing pad, waiting for the hyperfuel to appear.

The waiting was hard. Sirin busied herself with some stretches. She repeated mantras in her head to keep focused. She was one with the Force and the Force was with her.

Then there was a sharp yaw. They were making their run. Sirin bounced from one leg to the other, preparing herself for action. The great cargo door yawned open, sending dust and bits of detritus spinning around in air vortexes throughout the bay. Sirin waited until she could see the landing pad, then she fell into a steady run.

She whistled and her two droids leapt onto her back. Their feet magnetically clamped down onto her beskar backplate on the left and the right. Hatches opened on the back of their elongated heads and their jet engines engaged, launching her forward. She preferred her droid creations to a standard jetpack; they could pivot their nozzles allowing much more maneuverability. She sped down towards the palate of hyperfuel. Enough to power several of their sanctuary ships for weeks.

The Imperials were already firing at her. But she was a small, slim, highly maneuverable black target Force-blessed with foresight. She could feel the singe of a few bolts, but none struck home. She swept her hips downwards to decelerate and she reached for her lightsaber. Sirin loved her armor, a gift hand forged by Rook Kast out of love and concern for her safety. She loved her droids which she designed and built herself. She also adored her lightsaber. When she was still a child and lost her first weapon, she had cried so hard that she had hiccups for hours. But her Master, Barriss Offee, did not only present her with a backup. She gifted her an absolute trophy. The weapon she took from the vile Count Dooku with its kyber crystals purified to a brilliant white. It took her a while to get used to the beast, but she adored it. Most of all she loved that it provoked so much fear in her enemies.

She thumbed the saber’s controls, splitting the handguard into a circle. By the time she landed on the hovering palate of fuel the dual blades were spinning wildly, a brilliant circle of light. She drew her WESTAR-55 with her left hand and squeezed off a few shots to disperse the troopers.

Soon after Eighth Brother laned right in a cluster of their foes. He swung his turquoise blade wildly before leaping up in a somersault and targeting another group. He tried to stay in the middle of things, so the Stormtroopers and Naval guards were more likely to shoot at each other than him. Sirin had mixed feelings watching him work like this. It was impressive but a little bit feral as well.

Then her partner landed with a thud. Fifth Brother wasted no time, thundering down the landing pad towards a group of stormtroopers. Sirin grimaced when she saw him take a blaster bolt to the chest. The maniac didn’t even have his lightsaber in his hand. He instead grabbed one of his quarry by the ankle and threw them into his companions. Sirin frowned and got back to her duties. She’d deal with the aftereffects of her partner’s actions later.

Everything was going as planned so far. Most of the TIE Fighters were chasing their ship, only managing a few strafing runs at the Jedi strike team. The Imperial ground forces were in disarray. Second and Third Sisters were mopping up the ones that were not fleeing for their lives. Sirin was confident that Fifth Brother had made the right call.

Then there was a rumbling as a wide hatch opened up before them. An elevator slowly, laboriously, lifted one of those damned two-legged AT-DP walkers. How did they manage to get on of those in the building? A few of the Jedi had to scramble for cover, and cover that was available.

Trilla’s voice cut though the din of battle. She pointed to the walker with her saber. “Spirit Seven, Spirit Eight, take it’s legs out!”

Sirin nodded and with a signal to her droid she rocketed up and over to the walker, too quick to be targeted. Eighth Brother had no problem handling the distance on his own. They sliced through its legs and jumped clear. Trilla and Reva reached out with the Force controlling the walker’s fall, causing its battle pod to roll off the side of the building.

More Imperial personnel began pouring out of rooftop elevators. The Jedi clustered around the hyperfuel, protecting themselves and their booty.

Trilla got back on the comms. “Spirit One! We need a pickup, now!”

“I’m on my way!”

Just then a strafing of blaster bolts scattered their Imperial foes. An old Z-95 Headhunter zoomed by. For the first time since the operation started Sirin scanned the horizon. Even though the Destroyers above had let loose more fighters, Spirit One was not alone. There were a number of starfighters joining the fray.

“Spirit One, do we have additional forces in the area?” Trilla seemed as confused as she was.

“Negative. These are locals, I think! We must have inspired them to scramble. Hold on, nearly there.”

That lifted everyone’s spirits. They had inspired a local resistance group into action. That was always nice to see.

The Apparition soared down, coming to a stop level with the rooftop. Fifth Brother pushed the huge palate along while the others provided cover and a little assistance pushing it along with the Force. Soon they were safe in the hold, the big bay doors closing behind them.

They all assisted in magnetically sealing their prize to the floor, even putting straps across its top. It was too precious and unstable a cargo to risk being damaged during flight. They could feel the ship pitch and yaw in their escape from the last of the TIEs. Then with a shudder they were off on their hyperspace vector. They had done it. The sanctuary fleet would remain mobile and safe.

“Whoo!” Reva had a brilliant smile of victory. She’d had her reservations about this plan. But she was as happy as any of them that it worked.

“Good work, team.” Trilla said. She sighed and let her shoulders fall. “You can get comfortable and cleaned up now.”

Sirin did not allow herself to fully relax until she was in the cabin she shared with her partner. She lay her helmet on its stand. Fifth Brother lumbered in after her.

Sirin pointed to his bunk. “Get your kit off and lay down.”

“What,” he grumbled. “No warm-up? Right to business tonight?”

She gave him a stern look and pointed again. She wasn’t in the mood to flirt.

He told the same old jokes; she gave the same responses.

Sirin stripped off her vambraces, then the rest of her armor. Then her gloves.

Fifth Brother carefully removed his equipment and peeled out of his clothes form the waist up. He gingerly lowered himself down on his bunk.

Seventh Sister then removed a medical smock from its sterile packaging followed by a pair of gloves. She set a medpack down on her partner’s groin and opened it up.

“What’s the damage this time. Only one? Not even close to your record.”

Fifth Brother slowly moved his arms up to cradle his head behind his interlaced fingers. He looked smaller without his hat. Still huge, mind you. But smaller.

“That was probably the Pantora job, right? What was it, four?” He grumbled.

“Yes, it was four.” She sprayed down his wound with bacta spray. “You know, you use up the majority of Spirit Group’s supply of bacta. We should bill you.”

“You’d have to star paying me first.” He smiled, showing his blocky grey teeth.

With practiced ease she cleaned and dressed his wound.

“You need to be more careful.” she said.

“Mmm. I’ve got thick skin.” he replied.

“You’re pushing you luck. You won’t be young forever. Your chest is like a starfighter canopy. It can take a lot of punishment. But you’ll shatter one day…” she sighed. “Why don’t you wear some armor?”

“No.” he shook his head. “We aren’t having this conversation again. You know where it will lead.”

“Oh?” she jabbed him with a hypospray. Hopefully he’ll feel sleepy and will rest this one off. “Indulge me. What conversation?”

Fifth Brother inclined his head and closed his eyes. “You’ll suggest I be fitted for armor. You’ll bring it up again when we land on New Krownest. Because Mother Rook will probably be waiting for you at the port. Probably still holding her brass helmet, hammer, and tongs. The two of you will tag team with good points on how it would protect me. I’ll reply that I’m not comfortable taking the Mandalorian creed that would be required. The two of you will keep it up until we get to the temple. Barriss and Zonder will be there at the infirmary. Probably Zonder will take me to a hospital bed and Barriss will remind the two of you that it’s my choice, my health, and my business. We’ve done this too many times before, Sister.”

“And you never learn to duck, Brother.”

She snapped the gloves off her hands and reached down with one fingertip to trace across his chest, from one cluster of scar tissue to another. He wasn’t a pretty man. But what quite a specimen. A powerhouse of muscle and sturdy bone. She must have lost herself for a moment. When she looked up from his torso to his face Fifth Brother was watching her with half-lidded eyes. His face neutral, perhaps a bit longing. They looked at each other for a long time, her fingers still tracing across his chest.

Neither of them spoke. It wouldn’t do them any good. Sirin was tempted to say his real name, softly. But using his native language always made her throat sore. They had a certain familiarity with each other but always reached an impasse. Fifth Brother was not a handsome man, but Sirin had become fond of his grim masculinity and despite rolling her eyes she appreciated his humor. Sirin was no great beauty. But Fifth Brother appreciated her stark and savage femininity, one warrior to another.

But they would never act on their feelings. There was no point, they wanted differing things and were too suborn to budge. They each offered a relationship the other would find unacceptable.

Fifth Brother had trained with Master Voss who was not one to prohibit romantic entanglements. But Sirin knew that while he would love her hard, they would couple with ferocity on the floor of their cabin, once she was out of his eyeline he would seek to bank and diminish his feelings for her. Odds are he would get another assignment and there would be someone new on his arm in some random cantina out along the Outer Rim.

Sirin wanted to be possessed to a small extent, and to be a possessor in kind. She wanted genuine and lasting fidelity. She wanted a healthy relationship. Her partner could provide some of that, but it would kill her to know he would be trying to whittle that attachment down as much as he could.

Which was stupid and old-fashioned. Surely, they could see her Master had managed to juggle polyamorous long-term relationships with no temptation to the dark side for years. But no. In their minds she was a loose canon Jetii, as much a passionate Mandalorian as a member of their Order.

So, no. They were attracted to each other but remained partners and spiritual siblings. Sirin sighed and packed up the medical supplies. She discarded the smock, removed her boots, and unwrapped her dress. She was now just in her leggings and an athletic bra, and she could feel her partner’s eyes on her back.

She looked over her shoulder. “I’m going to the refresher for a shower. You stay there and rest up.”

He grinned. “Think of me.”

“You wish.”

But even as she made her way to the privacy of the refresher, she had to face facts. She had to be truthful to herself.

She probably would.