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If you asked any of her business partners they would all attest that Captain Sphirza ran a completely legitimate and trustworthy ship. If you asked them again, they would tell you that she was one of the best and most honest deals they ever made. And if you asked them a third time, you’d find yourself at the business end of a blaster. No one asks too many questions about the captain if they like living.
Who says a pirate ship—or outlaws as she prefers—can’t be honest? She gives good rates, she never screws over a client, and she’s never been tagged by the Republic. She is the best deal any of these lowlives ever made. So a few cargo ships get plundered and imploded along the way, so what? They didn’t pay her, and she never double crosses. If anything, Sphirza offers what most cutthroats of the Outer Rim are dying for—stability, and if the government won’t give it to them then you can take a guess as to whose pretty pink shoulders it falls onto next. Her intrepid crew was usually right there with her, except for when they were busy being yellow-bellied sissies.
“This is nutso! You’re nutso!” a very dear, but very annoying Trandoshan fumed. “Captain, I’m not convinced this job wasn’t cooked up by one of your enemies as a way to off us all.”
“Nobody’s taking me out, not in my prime! A Feeorin only gets stronger with age y’know,” Sphirza replies. “And what enemies, Richik? We play it as straight as it gets for outlaws.” She made her way through intentionally winding hallways, pushing past crew dutifully carting away boxes full of stolen arms.
“Okay, but what if someone squealed? Got caught up with the Republic and cut a nice deal. What other reason would someone have for us to go after a Jedi of all things! It’s a suicide mission, captain, and we’re here dancing with our noose,” Richik reasoned.
“Haha, dancing with a noose! This is why I made you first mate, Richik, no one else on this ship has the perfect combo of smarts and skullduggery to come up with fierfek like that.” Richik just sighs deeply as they both enter the bridge.
Flyby and the new probie Lisandra took on navigation while Captain Sphirza scanned the projected holomap and the tiny red blip slowly approaching. Staking out hyperspace routes was so overdone and any checkpoint that pirates try to set up are dismantled within half a rotation. Those has-beens are idiots to keep trying the same old trick.
No, the best way to plan an ambush is to shift your target toward already natural stops in a hyperspace jump—asteroids for example. The Qintallan Asteroid Fields were Sphirza’s favorite with nice hunks of rock to hide behind and predictable patterns. Flyby knew these fields like the back of their two, er, four hands by now. There was no way an average Jedi could outmaneuver them.
“Richik, let me ask you this, what's the best way to kill a space wizard?—“ Richik opens his mouth with a dour expression but she cuts him off—“You don’t. You let the void of space do it for you without ever having to come in contact with those freaks.”
“I’m just thinking this is beyond are job description. We’re pirates—outlaws,” Richik rolled his eyes at her glare, “not mercs. If you want a bounty hunter, you hire a bounty hunter and pay bounty hunter prices.”
She raises a hairless eyebrow, “What, 1.3 million credits doesn’t do it for you?”
It wasn’t a secret that Captain Sphirza had an axe to grind with the Jedi who had ruined more than a few of her hauls on the Llanic Spice trade route back when she was green, but it was a different matter to give voice to the bitter rivalry she still lugged around like a ball and chain. Kriff, the karking Jedi probably didn’t even remember the double bust they pulled on her just on the edge of Nabooian space. Well, that’ll change. Some people liked to settle up, but Sphirza liked her scores put to rest.
“Look Richik, this Jedi—I know them. They help rebuild houses for refugees or something and can wave around their light sword pretty good, but flying? Jedi Knight Tsira Yully can hardly tell the throttle from the propulsion lever. The navicomp is doing all the work, and we know what pre-charted paths through this field look like. Don’t we, Flyby?”
“Yep,” the Dug curtly replied. They sat in a modified chair which allowed them to use all four limbs when piloting the medium spacecraft. As a result, the Dug had quicker reactions and better steering than most any pilot.
“…They really can’t fly?”
Sphirza smirks as the red dot approaches, “Like a baby bird on the forest floor. Now, stop arguing with your captain and man your station!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Richik snaps to attention before sliding into his seat.
“Richik still crying about the job?” Lisandra laughs. “You’d think the first mate would have more grit to them. How’d you get here anyway? You submit your resumé?”
“Just watch the blind spot, Lisandra,” Richik commands unphased.
Lisandra bristles at the brush off, “Oh, go have a shed! This job is gonna make us rich, and your scaly hide has been whining all day and night just to act holier than thou at the last second. Figures all you Corellians would be cowards just as soon as things heat up.”
“Only an Aqualish would think it’s better to be hotheaded than think straight,” Richik scoffs. “All tusks and no head.”
“You wanna see how hotheaded I can get!” Lisandra yells, just as a piercing alarm begins to wail.
“What’s that noise?” Sphirza demands.
“Drone surveillance,” Flyby flatly replies before wrenching the ship out of its safe little perch. Everything not strapped down including Lisandra goes careening to the side. No longer did Captain Sphirza have a blinking red dot but a real life Jedi cabin freighter complete with sanctimonious insignia in front of her dash, and it was fleeing fast.
“After them!”
Flyby was several steps ahead and already twisting the pirate ship in different directions to weave through the field. If Yully got out of the Qintallan fields, they’d hyperjump and be lost for good. Sphirza marches over and yanks free Lisandra who’s awkwardly stuck between crate and control panel.
“You had one job, probie, watch the blind spot!”
All four of Lisandra’s eyes go wide at seeing the full force of their captain’s ire, “I’m sorry! But—“
“I don’t care! Captain Sphirza and crew gets made by a kriffing droid. That’s the most pitiful thing I’ve ever heard! Now, get on guns before I dump you on the nearest breathable rock.”
The bridge slips into a deadly seriousness as the flight crew settle in for a deciding chase. Yully would still be relying on a pre-planned flight path to get out of here, spooked or no. They could use this to their advantage. “See that, Flyby? Semi-arc around the fist looking asteroid instead of below, this flight path was made by a ST-3 model navicomp.”
“Heading for cutoff point.” The moments where they lose sight of the freighter are the most nerve-racking. Sphirza’s crew is trusting that her keen eye is right, but she doesn’t take a breath until she sees that obnoxious insignia again.
“In range!” Richik calls.
It’s over likely before the Jedi even knows what hit them. A disappearing tail is one of the oldest tricks in the book, but Yully was barely even on alert when Sphirza’s ship reappeared right in front of them. So much for mind reading. Lisandra takes 5 shots to rip apart a wing and send the small cargo freighter into a waiting asteroid. Gotta love the Qintallan Fields.
Cold. Cold enough to see breath. But there’s none.
It’s silent on the bridge for a moment before Flyby of all people lets out an almighty sigh, Lisandra follows with a woop and the rest join in with laughter. 1.3 million credits, clean credits she’s been assured, are theirs. It’s just too bad for the goody two shoes knight who got in between the Reliance Trust and their monopoly on bacta in the war-torn Dreidl System. Piss off one too many despots and suddenly you’re no longer a hero, huh. That’s exactly why Sphirza has her rules.
Shock sets in before death. Death is immovable. Blood is not.
Captain Sphirza spins idly in her chair, “What about the droid that scanned us? I don’t want any information about our ship in circulation.”
“Shot it before we hit max speed,” Richik replies. That’s Richik for you, tidy as usual.
“I guess all that paranoia does have a use,” Lisandra gripes.
“And don’t you forget it.”
The body is a machine. Automation dulls the senses.
Sphirza stands with a grin, commanding the attention of the room, “Well, if loose ends are tied up than I think it’s time we inform our generous client about a job well done.”
The happy cheers are interrupted by yet another techno beep, and Sphirza pulls her blaster before realizing it’s the bridge comm. The captain accepts the holocall with only a scowl, generous in her opinion. An armored humanoid materializes in the middle of the room. The crew seems surprised, but Sphirza had been in contact with the red and orange Mandalorian for a while. It seems they might have finally made up their mind about the job they’ve been teasing.
“Mandalorian.”
“Pirate,” the modulated voice greets gruffly, “You are not dead.”
Direct sodium ion channels. Restrict vasodilation. Command the heart to beat. Tell the lungs they don’t burn.
Sphirza bristles but lets go of the tension those words cause. Always a game figuring out where you stand with a Mando. “You know it pains me that we’re not on a name basis yet, but it pains me more that you waste my time with no jobs.”
“You were small time, and I needed something a little more sophisticated than hit and run cargo thieves, but apparently you’ve branched out into the political sphere.”
Captain Sphirza picked her sharp nails, “You could say there’s a corner of the galaxy that knows my name.”
“If you’re affiliated with the Reliance Trust now, I have a proposition that could benefit all three of us. My people need med supplies, and the Reliance Trust needs to crush their competitors.”
“Two mynocks, one stone,” Sphirza agrees but can’t help but smirk, “But my dear armored friend, wouldn’t stealing med kits be lowly hit and run thieving?”
“Do you want the job or not?”
Sphirza shares a look with Richik who fakes a yawn. “I don’t know, we’ll have to see. I think my crew is deserving of a vacation first.”
The body is a machine. It’s manual engraved in the cells.
“I’ll wait a tenday at the latest.”
“Deal.” After all, alliances are good but debtors are better.
There’s a moment of pause where the Mandalorian tilts their head and appraises the captain. She makes sure to stand tall. “What is this taxing job that has warranted taking a vacation?”
Sphirza is prepared to give them the run around but Lisandra calls out in excitement, “We killed a Jedi!” Stars and planets! That girl needs to learn to keep her mouth shut before she’s back on grunt duty.
“Oh?”
With the cat out of the bag, explaining it didn’t matter much now. Captain Sphirza doubts there’s any lost love between a Mandalorian and a Jedi. “Yeah, it was actually quite easy. I wondered why you Mandalorians have been dragging your feet.”
That forces a reaction out of them. The Mando shifts into a subtly more aggressive stance, “The Jetii are not so easily disposed of. To say otherwise is to dishonor the fallen.”
“Really?” Sphirza dragged out, absolutely enjoying getting the leg up on the honor obsessed warrior, “because it didn’t take more than 5 shots from our T-cannons here to send them on to their Force heaven, now did it?”
Lisandra beams at the praise and Captain Sphirza can feel her crew rally around her, even Flyby though it’s in spirit as they steadily steer them clear of the asteroid fields.
The Cosmic Force pins the universe in place. You are never alone. For some, this is a comfort.
The Mando seems struck at first, but then slowly their shoulders fall and Sphirza hears them laugh for the first time. Chuckles build into loud and raucous laughter that seems to come straight from their iron belly. She could even imagine them wiping a tear if it weren’t for the helmet. “This was your grand plan—hutuun'la. As a parting gift, I will give you my name: Aiden Sher of House Ha’rangir. I doubt you will be able to do anything with it if your huntcraft is truly so infantile.”
Nobody gets to make a mockery of Captain Sphirza, not when she had put serious thought into the plan they wanna turn around and call half-cocked. “The Jedi are most vulnerable when they're in a ship. You don't have to fight them with their laser swords or omnipotent Force powers, you just have to outfly them.”
"You are foolish to think a Jetii would die when spaced.”
Remove yourself from the web of the universe and carefully weave a line of silk between its points. Tug and Release.
Despite the ridiculousness, the words send a chill down Sphirza’s spine, "They're not immortal! Nothing living can survive in a cold, empty void!"
This time Sphirza can almost hear their smirk, "It is not empty."
Warm.
Mandos must have no brain in their helmets. She’s been talking with just a malfunctioning droid this entire time. It's just basic physics, not even that, to understand space has parsecs of nothingness between objects.
"You shot down their ship,” they sigh as if talking to an infant, “From where did you do this?"
Sphirza is poised to end this fruitless call, “From my bridge, smart guy.”
Breath.
"Then that's where they'll be."
The air in the bridge seems to freeze, and Sphirza goes so tense she can hear a heartbeat. She hopes it’s hers.
“Excuse me?"
"Jetii do not die when spaced. They move.”
Blood.
The holocall ends abruptly as if glitched. A shrill techno alarm starts up, raising in feverish pitch until klaxons are screaming in her ears.
Little gods, she hopes it’s klaxons.
.
.
.
.
.
Every hundred years or so people tend to think they've figured out the best way to assuredly kill a Jedi, but their age old enemies the Sith and the Mandalorians know that there is only one way. Face to face in combat. For the Sith: press on their anger, their fears, their love, get inside their head and destroy destroy DESTROY from the inside out. As for the Mandalorians: get in close and get in fast, it may be the only chance you ever have.