Ep V: Chapter 15

Enthea is taken aback by Myra’s invitation. Myra’s half-human, but her Umbaran half makes her all but impossible to read. She relaxes quickly enough after a few glasses of fortified wine from Pamarthe.

“Do you have a laser sword?” It’s the seventh or eighth fairly standard question that she’s had for Enthea.

“Yes,” Enthea replies patiently. It’s hard not to be envious of the wine, but she shouldn’t drink on the job.

“A cute one,” Scora murmurs.

“What was that, Dearest?”

“Nothing, Darling.”

Enthea looks up as a new figure enters the dining room. She’s clad from head to toe in armor that’s instantly recognizable as Mandalorian Beskar. The markings are yellow and she carries a DC-15 rifle. Complete with a helmet, every inch of her is covered. She’s a little taller than Enthea, but the individual in there can’t be much bigger.

A heavily armed Mandalorian stands out a little in Chandar’s Resort’s finest restaurant.

“Oh,” Myra says disinterestedly. “There she is. She said something about securing the perforator.”

“Perimeter?” Enthea asks.

“That’s what I said.”

“Good. She’s doing her job,” Scora replies. “She was expensive.”

“I’d rather be protected by a nice Jedi than that stuffy Mandalorian,” Myra says, reaching out and placing her hand on Enthea’s.

Scora’s still eying the bodyguard. “Don’t Mandalorians and Jedi have bad blood?”

“If by bad blood you mean there have been countless wars between us and the Jedi destroyed their homeworld,” Enthea says mildly.

“Oh, really? All that?” Myra looks surprised. “Did you ever fight them?”

“No.”

“Why do they fight each other? Aren’t they all very religious?” Scora’s words come out a little slurred. She’s hit the wine hard since Myra showed up.

“The Mandalorian religion is the worship of ****. The way of the Jedi is peace. We are not the same,” Enthea says firmly.

Myra hiccups. “Didn’t you just say that the Jedi destroyed their homeworld?”

Enthea hesitates. “Well, not completely destroyed. It's still there.”

“You should tell us all about it,” Myra says, pausing to turn and watch a Twi’lek in a beautiful dress pass the table. “Is that a Coruscant designer? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Those ruffles went out a style two cycles ago.”

“I think not,” Enthea says.

“No, you should,” Scora cuts in. “We’re going to go upstairs and celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“My arrival ahead of schedule. Obviously,” Myra says without a hint of irony.

“Away from all this. My penthouse has a big balcony. Beautiful view of the Stormlands.” Scora gestures grandly. “You should join us.”

“You’re a possible target of one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy,” Enthea reminds her. “I think that exposing yourself on a balcony would not be a prudent thing to do.”

“I didn’t say anything about exposing myself,” Scora retorts, a hint of defensiveness there. She frowns at Enthea. “I mean, unless you want me to.”

“Dearest!”

Enthea hears the thump of Myra kicking Scora under the table. The Zeltron winces.