Private Blood and Fire

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina followed Aramis into the camp proper. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, dirty water squishing out of the mud with every step. They passed by rows of tattered, filthy tents, and a little piece of canvas where children with sunken eyes played together.

"All of the people living in this camp share one thing in common," Aramis explained. "We are all refugees from the Hapes Cluster, associated at one point or another with the Crimson Veil. Are you familiar with them?"

Without skipping a beat, Jaina answered, "You want to overthrow your queen, establish a democracy, and have equal rights."

Aramis' grim smirk broadened into a genuine smile. "Correct," he said with a nod. "The Ereneda labeled us terrorists and traitors for daring to demand freedom and equality. After the crisis on Hapes became a civil war, those of us unable to fight were forced to flee. The Mandalorian Commander agreed to take us in. But then she started segregating and isolating us from the other refugees. We were placed in this sorry excuse for a camp, with poor sanitation and little to no food, medicine, or clean water. What's more, they separated our children from us as soon as we arrived on Dxun."

Jaina's mind flashed back to the little girl she had met that morning, the one who was missing her father. "That's seriously fucked up," she said. "And the Commander is responsible? As in, Commander Rita Wren?" The same Mando who just had a news story about how she was personally dishing out ice cream to little Hapan refugee children?

"She claims that we are under the Alliance's jurisdiction, and therefore not her responsibility. I think she's hiding our existence from them, or else surely they would do something about it." Aramis paused, hands on his hips. "Or perhaps I am overestimating the compassion of the great Galactic Alliance."

"You've got the Foundation on your side. I'll report back what I've seen here, and we'll do something about it."

"How much power does the Foundation really have here? This isn't Sith-occupied space. We're in GA territory..."

"Doesn't matter. You've got me." Jaina took a half step toward him, looking down at the Hapan male. Her sensors picked up on the fragrance he was wearing, deciphering the chemical composition of the notes. She wondered what the scent of leather, oakmoss, and vetiver smelled like...

"Indeed, I do..." Aramis peered up at her, eyes scanning over her blood-spattered body. "I've been meaning to ask—you look like you've been in a fight."

Jaina's internal circuitry suddenly felt rather warm under his gaze. "Oh, yeah. I uh... tangled with some Mandos on the road." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help. If that means killing the Commander, I'll rip out her heart."

"That may not be enough. We still need a steady stream of supplies, at least. Or better yet, a way off this cursed moon." He looked off to the side, his brow furrowed, then back at her. "Can you get us out of here?"

"That's a tall order. But I can manage." She grinned. "Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere that isn't hostile to us." He took a step closer and reached out to touch her arm. "Any ideas?"

Her wide eyes darted from his hand on her arm to his face, which bore a look of fragile hope. There was something else, too. Lust? Uncertainty? Acceptance? Force, she wished her psychology databases were active. Maybe then she could read him better. "You could come to my world," she suggested. "Necropolis. Can be a bit gloomy, but up in the mountains it isn't so bad."

"They're not open to refugees, aren't they?"

"Who says I have to tell 'em you're refugees?" Her smirk faded into a lip bite as he took another step closer, his hand sliding further up her arm as their proximity to each other increased. "Man, it sure is hot out here. Are there any shady spots?..."

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina may not have had access to her psychology databases in her current Form, but she wasn’t stupid. The leader of a group of refugees in such a desperate situation—starving, sick, and lacking even basic shelter from the elements in the middle of the Dxun jungle—shouldn't have been in the mood for some casual, uh, recreation. His romantic advances toward her, while certainly welcome, definitely had an ulterior motive.

But Jaina refused to take advantage of his desperation. As Aramis led her to the shade of a nearby willow tree, she decided to make sure he didn't get the wrong idea about her. “I’m not so sure about this," she said. "Don’t get me wrong, you're hot as hell, but I’m not a ‘charge up the landing ramp on the first date’ kind of gal.”

He blinked in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t bring you here for that,” he sputtered, then added under his breath, “Although now that you mention it, you're a total smoke show, darling…"

"Uh huh." Jaina gave him a shy smile and shook her head. "Don't get cocky."

"... I just wanted to talk to you somewhere a little more private," Aramis finished, looking up at her with a sober expression.

Satisfied that he would put business before pleasure, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s on your mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Aramis finally blurted out: “I have the Force. I’m not a Jedi, and our Force Order on Hapes doesn’t admit males. But despite my lack of formal training, I couldn't help but notice that you have no presence whatsoever.” He pointed a finger at her. “Everyone else I’ve ever met has an aura. A spirit or a soul, maybe. I can feel that they are alive, and when they die I feel their absence. Even with droids, the energies pass through them like they would a chair or a rock. But with you, there’s nothing. You're like a hole into which nothing penetrates.” He spread his hands. “Since I am putting the fate of this entire camp into your hands, I have to ask—what are you? Why can't I sense you in the Force?”

Jaina hesitated. “I’m a… a biot,” she finally answered. “I guess you would call me an organic shapeshifting vampiric android.”

For a moment there was dead silence. Then Aramis threw back his head and barked a laugh, only to grimace. “Tell me you weren’t sent here by the Queen Mother.”

“Fuck no.” She snorted. “I was made in a lab by a mad scientist. But my creator is long dead, and I've been running loose for decades now. I may be a very expensive and very illegal piece of technology, but I just want to live. To carve out an enjoyable, meaningful existence in the galaxy.”

"Yet you're operating under the Foundation's flag," he pointed out.

"True. But I'm self-employed. I could show you my contract, if you've got a computer with Holonet access around here."

"I wish." Aramis scoffed. “But I suppose I can trust you. For now.” His expression grew grave. “The Commander won’t let us go without a fight. We need a foolproof escape plan.”

“Leave that up to me,” Jaina said. "I'll go to Camp Resh and grab my ship. Act like I'm just leaving, activate my stealth measures, then sneak back here to pick you guys up."

“Let me come with you," Aramis said, laying a hand on her arm. "I’m not just some defenseless nobleman. The Force is with me.” To illustrate his point, Aramis clenched his fist and in an impressive show of telekinesis, felled a nearby tree. “I can shoot a blaster and wield a blade.”

She gawped at him a moment, thinking Ugh, he's so perfect. Then she grinned. “Alright, you can come along. But first, I'm afraid I have to alter my looks. The Mandos will recognize me in this form, and we don't want that. Can you stand watch while I change?”

"Certainly."

Dropping to one knee, she looked up at him bashfully. "I should warn ya, it'll look pretty disgusting when I transform. Just don't freak out or anything, please?"

"I won't," Aramis said.

"Promise?"

His eyebrows rose, perhaps wondering if she was exaggerating. But the look on her face was serious enough to convince him otherwise. "I promise."

Her eyes glazed over as she began to change. The durable yet malleable flesh of her body writhed and warped, skin crawling back from her metallic skull as her features were rearranged. Aramis' expression was noticeably disturbed, but he kept his word and didn't run away screaming.

The whole process took about three minutes. When it was finished, Jaina's face and body were completely different. Her Civilian Form was a slender, petite half-Atrisian woman with long dark hair and stunning green eyes. It came clad in a flowing white dress and silver high heels. "Outfit's not exactly appropriate for the occasion," she murmured, rising to her feet. "But beggars can't be choosers. C'mon, let's go get my ship."

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina drove the speeder just far enough to avoid detection, abandoning the vehicle in the jungle before finishing the rest of the journey on foot. As she approached Camp Resh, she spotted a squad of GADF soldiers guarding the entrance.

“Not Mandos?” Aramis asked from beside her, crouched down in the dense foliage.

“Apparently not.” Jaina scanned the area. “I take it the Commander doesn’t want it to be too obvious. It makes things easier for us.” Emerging from the tree line, she strode across the clearing, not missing a step despite walking in heels over uneven ground. Aramis trailed behind her with lowered eyes.

“Soldiers,” Jaina greeted the guards with an imperious nod and a flawless imitation of a Hapan noble’s accent. “I found my consort wandering out in the woods like a poor little lost puppy. You ought to keep better watch on us.”

The squad leader looked Aramis up and down, frowning. “He looks like he’s been lost for a while. Are you injured, sir?”

Aramis shook his head, keeping his head down, saying nothing. Your standard submissive Hapan male.

Meanwhile, Jaina discreetly adjusted the bracelet on her wrist, directing her pheromones at the soldiers. To their credit, they kept things professional, though her psychology programming detected subtle shifts in their demeanor. Pupil dilation, quickened pulse, a little more sweat suddenly needed to cool them in the sweltering tropical heat…

“Well, are you going to let us in?” she asked haughtily. “Or will I need to report you to the Commander?”

The squad leader’s discipline faltered, then finally broke under the influence of the pheromones. “Apologies, ma’am. Go right on in.”

Giving him an imperious nod, she passed through the gate. Aramis followed her, sticking close. “Phew, that stuff is potent,” he whispered. “Even I can feel it…”

“It certainly did its job.” Jaina quickly dialed down her pheromone production. “Now, to my ship…”

Obviously its departure would not go unnoticed. That was where Aramis came in. Upon spotting the Foundation workers preparing to leave the camp, the Hapan headed straight for them. “Psst. You there,” he hissed, getting their attention. “My name is Aramis Galney. I’ve just come from Camp Thesh.”

The workers stopped what they were doing and looked at him in bewilderment. “But the Mandos said there was no Camp Thesh. That it was a clerical error—”

“There is no error,” Aramis continued. “It’s real, and the people there are dying!”

As he explained the situation, the workers’ exchanged shocked and horrified looks. What he described was nothing short of a war crime, committed by the Commander herself.

“Are you involved in all this, ma’am?” one of the workers asked Jaina. She knew him, but he didn’t recognize her in her Civilian Form. Right now he was looking her up and down with a mix of confusion over the way she was dressed, and pheromone-induced awe at how gorgeous she was.

"My name is Allana Djo. Aramis is a friend of mine,” she replied. “I’m the one who brought him here. I saw the state of Camp Thesh with my own eyes. Everything he says is true.”

She watched their expressions change, searching their faces for signs of treachery. Quite a few still seemed incredulous, unwilling to accept that the Mandalorian Commander would commit such a heinous act.

“Where is the pilot of this vessel?” Jaina asked, playing into the fact that they didn’t recognize her in her Civilian Form. “I wish to speak to them.”

“She’s not here,” a worker replied. “In fact, no one has seen her since this morning.”

“Is that so? Didn’t she tell any of you where she was going? Or is she in the habit of disappearing without a word to anyone?”

The worker shook his head. “Look, it hasn’t been that long since she… Since we saw her. I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”

“Who is next in command?” Jaina asked.

“Well, it would be the Jedi…” Another worker chipped in. “But he disappeared at around the same time our pilot did.”

“So the two highest ranks in your chain of command have been missing all day long?”

“We’re handling it,” the first worker said with a scowl. “It’s our business, not yours. So just stay out of it.”

“I’ll tell you what happened to your pilot and Jedi,” Aramis said. “They dared to investigate this ‘clerical error’ themselves, rather than taking the claims of a notoriously violent jihadist religious group at face value. And now they’re paying the price for their bravery, while you sit around doing nothing! Cowards! You’re supposed to be helping people!”

An uncomfortable silence descended over the crew. Jaina placed a hand on Aramis’ shoulder, pulling him away. “New plan,” she whispered to him once they were out of earshot. “I’m going to change my looks again. They know my Pilot Form, so they should listen to what I have to say when it comes from her mouth. But the Mandalorians know her too—not just as a thief, but as someone who slaughtered their comrades. Once I switch to her, they’ll come for me.

“That helps our case, especially if they arrest me in front of my crew. Don’t try to interfere or play hero. Focus on convincing the crew to rescue the refugees. Use a mind trick if you have to. Okay?”

Aramis hesitated for a few moments, then nodded. “I will do as you ask. Please take care of yourself.” His voice dropped to a seductive purr. "When I find you again after this is all over, I'd rather you were still in one piece."

Even after she'd told him she was an android, and he'd seen her disgusting transformation process, he was still flirting with her? He was either crazy, or so used to selling himself to survive that he was even willing to get with her if it might improve his chances. Or maybe his attraction to her was genuine, strange as it might seem. Even with her psychology programming active, she wasn't quite sure how much of it was real and how much was her own wishful thinking. “Aw, don't worry about me," she assured him. "I can survive anything they throw at me.”

Aramis smiled. "I suppose that's true. But be careful nonetheless."

"I will." Jaina paused, then added, "By the way, Aramis... Do you have a daughter named Lalu, by any chance?"

For a moment his expression went completely flat. He must've schooled himself in lying to people about her, for on Hapes it was frowned upon for a man to be a single father. If he told the wrong person, he would risk losing custody of his child. But as the gravity of this revelation dawned on him, a wave of profound emotion swept away the blankness, cracking the facade so that he was almost on the verge of tears. "Yes," he answered softly. "I told you that all of our children were... taken from us."

"I happened to meet her earlier today," Jaina continued, smiling kindly. "She was eating ice cream. You should be able to find her around here."

"Yes, I... I'll do that while you're..." For a moment he looked guilty at the thought, but she just shooed him away. His part in their plans was done for the time being, and Lalu was still looking for her daddy. Jaina would miss the reunion, but she could picture it as she watched Aramis walk away from her, searching the camp for his little girl...

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Jaina found a secluded spot hidden from view, dropped to one knee, and began to change. It was somewhat difficult, since she had undergone two previous transformations in a short period of time, and her energy reserves were running low. She would need to feed soon.

A few minutes later, she emerged in her Pilot Form and headed straight for her ship. Her crewmates greeted her with shouts of excitement, abandoning their posts to surround her and ask questions. Where had she been? Where was the Jedi? What was going on?

"I've been to Camp Thesh," she announced. "Commander Rita Wren has committed war crimes against the people of Hapes, and I suspect she was involved in the disappearance of our Jedi escort as well. We need to report her to the—"

"You there!" A modulated voice with a distinct Mando accent interrupted her speech. A platoon of soldiers marched onto the landing pad, armed to the teeth, their beskar armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. "By the authority of the Commander of Dxun, you're under arrest!"

Her crewmates roared with defiance. "We're not under your command!" one loyal worker proclaimed. But they were just relief workers, not warriors. They couldn't stand against the might of the Mandalorians.

"Wait," Jaina said, stepping forward before things got out of hand. "I will submit, provided you let my crew depart Dxun in peace."

"You're in no position to make any demands, murderer," the Mando said, seizing her by the arm. In his other hand he held a pair of stun cuffs, which he snapped on her wrists. She didn't struggle. This plan was a gamble, and now she could do nothing but hope that it paid off...

The Mandalorians had her board a transport, which then lifted into the air. Tied up in the brig, she couldn't see where they were going, though it was clear they hadn't left Dxun. She would've felt it if they had jumped into hyperspace. Eventually the transport came to a stop. A soldier arrived to escort her, and she stumbled out onto a long metal bridge leading into a tall spire towering over the treetops. The sun was swiftly setting.

They marched her across the bridge and into an elevator, which began to rise, finally stopping at the top floor of the tower. The doors opened, revealing a round office with a window overlooking the jungle moon. Standing with her back to the door was the Commander.

The Commander turned around, her featureless helmet giving away nothing as she stared at Jaina. "So you're the one who killed my soldiers so savagely. You don't look that capable, outsider."

Her speech was peppered with Mando words, as if she loathed having to speak Basic and wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Jaina shrugged. "They tried to stop me from exposing you."

The Commander looked at her guards. "Leave us," she ordered. Once they had departed, leaving Jaina alone with her, the Commander laughed. "Exposing me? And just what have I done?"

"You're trying to starve the refugees of Camp Thesh to death. You deliberately segregated and isolated them from the others, because you didn't approve of their political affiliation. You're a monster, and I'm not going to let you get away with it."

The Commander listened to her speak, and though her face was covered, it sounded like she was smiling when she replied, "Soon there will be no Camp Thesh. I won't kill them, but I will have them shipped off to Sith space as slaves. All evidence of its existence will be destroyed. You won't be able to prove anything." The Commander took a few steps forward until she was standing right in front of Jaina, then reached out and fondled one of her lekku with a gloved hand. "I can be merciful. If you give up trying to 'expose' me, I will let you go. But if you're going to insist on being difficult, I will be forced to silence you."

Jaina tugged her head to one side, trying to free her headtail, but the Commander only tightened her grip. "It would be a shame," the Mando mused aloud. "You are quite the beautiful specimen. But I can't have anyone ruining my reputation over some filthy misogynistic men." She spat the word men as if it were a slur. As if maleness itself were something that ought to be blotted out of existence.

"You call them misogynistic, when you're harassing a woman right now?" Jaina spat.

There was a sharp crack as the Commander backhanded her across the face. Jaina fell to the floor, knocked off her feet by the force of the blow, though she felt no pain. She was just surprised. She hadn't expected such a strong reaction to her comment.

The Commander hesitated, breathing hard as she stood over Jaina's fallen form. "I did not mean to..." she began, then trailed off, her tone remorseful. "I am sorry." She leaned down, holding out a hand to help Jaina to her feet.

Jaina reached for her helmet instead, yanking it off. The Commander froze as her face was exposed, then reached for her weapon. But it was too late. With unnatural speed and dexterity brought on by hunger, Jaina grabbed the Commander by her hair, using it as leverage as she sank her metallic purple fangs into her neck!

 

[Jaina Grayson]

The Commander hardly had a chance to cry out before Jaina's numbing, paralyzing saliva entered her bloodstream, leaving her unable to move. But the cameras were working, and the guards saw what was happening to their leader. A squad of Mandos burst into the room, weapons drawn. They were horrified by what they saw. Jaina was transforming rapidly, burning into her freshly replenished energy reserves in order to speed up the process.

The Mandalorians opened fire. Blaster bolts deflected harmlessly off her metallic skeleton. Her flesh fled over her bones, reconfiguring to her Combat Form in record time. She rose to her feet and leaped into action, knocking one of the soldiers aside with a superpowered punch and seizing his weapon—a vibroaxe.

From there she made short work of the guards, chopping off limbs like a deranged lumberjack. When the last of the soldiers lay dead, she turned to the Commander, who was still paralyzed on the floor. Faced with a freakish killing machine who had devoured her memories to sustain itself, she looked up at Jaina with nothing but blistering hatred in her gaze.

Jaina didn't utter any quips or one liners. She just swung the axe, lopping off the Commander's head in one clean hit. When the grim business was done, her attention turned to the office's comms system. She rushed over, pressing buttons and flicking switches, desperate to reach Aramis and her crewmates...

At last, her co-pilot answered: "This is the Shuura. We have received your hail. Who is this?"

Changing her appearance took time, but imitating other voices was something Jaina could do in any Form. "It's me, Jaina," she blurted, using the recognizable voice of her Pilot Form. "They're going to liquidate Camp Thesh. We've got to stop them! Transmitting coordinates now—"

The door opened to reveal Mando reinforcements. They immediately started shooting, filling the office with red flashes of gunfire. Jaina was unharmed, but the comms system was blasted to bits. Enraged, she lunged at them, wiping out the squad in less than a minute. Yet more soldiers were arriving at the scene, armed with increasingly powerful weaponry. It was only a matter of time before they called in an orbital strike on her—and for all her durability, she wasn't keen to test whether or not she could survive being nuked from orbit.

Emerging out onto the balcony, she looked down. Several stories below, the flimsy-looking metal bridge she had crossed earlier stretched from the tower to the landing pad, where the transport was still parked. Rather than waste time trying to take the lift, she swung down until she was hanging from the balcony's edge, then let go.

She plummeted through the air, landing hard on the bridge, which rattled and groaned from the impact but didn't give way. Leaping to her feet, she dashed toward the landing pad at full speed. Up ahead, she could hear the whir of the transport's engines as it prepared to leave, taking away her means of escape. No! I won't let it happen! No more innocent people will suffer and die on my watch!

With a final leap, she slammed into the hull of the transport even as it rose in the air. Through the viewports she could see the pilot in his chair. Although his face was obscured like every other fucking Mando, his body reared back as if recoiling from her in terror.

She pulled back her fist and shattered the transparisteel, diving into the newly exposed cockpit. A moment later, the pilot screamed as he was launched out the window, the sound of his voice dwindling as he fell to his death. Jaina assumed control of the transport and steered it toward Camp Thesh at full speed...

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived in Hell.

Or at least, that's what it looked like from the air. Night had fallen on Dxun, painting everything in shadow. On the ground she could see ragged, skeletal figures running for their lives through mud and undergrowth, chased by dark armored knights. The flash of stun bolts lit the night as the Mandalorians incapacitated and dragged the refugees toward transports waiting to carry them off into slavery.

Jaina controlled the urge to crash her vessel into one of them, forcing herself to make a safe landing. They would need intact transports to bring these people to safety. But as soon as she touched down, she leaped out, axe in hand, plunging straight into the fray.

<"Shuura, do you read me?"> she called out to her allies via her comlink. <"I've reached Thesh. They're tearing the camp apart!">

<"Copy that,"> her co-pilot's voice sounded strained. <"Arrival in T-minus two minutes...">

Two minutes might be too long. Jaina's vision tunneled on the sight of an emaciated man being beaten by a female Mandalorian with a stun baton. With a roar of rage, Jaina charged at the Mando, the blade of her axe biting deep into her shoulder. A spray of blood shot out as she pried the weapon free and struck again, this time burying the blade in the woman's neck. "Run!" she shouted at the man. While he hobbled away as best he could, she moved on to her next target: a pair of Mandos tearing at the threadbare gown of a screaming woman.

She ripped a path through the soldiers, killing dozens before the Shuura appeared overhead. Being a supply ship full of relief workers, the freighter technically wasn't supposed to have weapons, but Jaina wouldn't allow herself to be caught empty handed. Hidden gun ports emerged from the Shuura's hull, raining blue fire down on the bucketheads, while rockets shot forth from secret compartments, explosions bursting from the ground like giant orange flowers.

By this point some of the Mandalorians were deciding that perhaps the money they would make from selling these people as slaves wasn't worth the trouble. They hadn't expected they would be dealing with this kind of bullshit. Jaina continued to cut down every buckethead she could find in spectacularly gory fashion, even as her co-pilot came on comms to announce: <"They're retreating! The Mandos are retreating!">

Jaina howled with joy. <"Call the GADF! Call the SIA! Call the fucking Chancellor! Tell them everything!"> she shouted into her comlink. <"I want them all to know what we've seen and done here!">

Although, as her energy reserves were depleted and her bloodlust gradually drained away, she realized that might actually be a bad idea. <"If we tell them what happened, they'll probably start calling me a war criminal too! FUCK!">

<"What? Could you repeat that? I didn't quite catch it.">

She sighed. <"Never mind. Report to our superiors that we have a situation on Dxun. Hundreds of thousands of refugees are in need of immediate evacuation…">

Her skin, hair, and armor were covered in blood splatter, to say nothing of her trusty axe. The jungle around her was scorched and charred by high-powered blaster fire, and the ground was littered with the mangled corpses of her enemies. A few refugees were dead as well, or too badly injured to move. Jaina called her mates to come and tend to their wounds, while she quietly sank into the shadows of the jungle...

 

[Jaina Grayson]

The mood was an odd mix of somber and jubilant as the crew of the Shuura loaded as many refugees as possible aboard the freighter, prioritizing the sick and injured. Thousands more were still on the ground, awaiting transport. Shuura assured them that they were contacting their superiors in the Foundation, informing them of the situation on Dxun. Soon more starships would arrive with the capacity to handle the survivors of Camp Thesh.

As the freighter rose into the air, co-pilot Tym Farlander found himself thinking about Jaina. He hadn't seen her since the battle ended, and her comms had gone mysteriously silent. She saved these people's lives by refusing to swallow the Commander's lies, he mused. I don't think we could've pulled this off without her. I hope she survived...

Somewhere in the jungle below, Jaina skulked through the shadows in a greatly weakened state. It was no longer possible for her to change form, not until she could feed again. As wonderfully weird as her physiology was, and even with the energy provided by the Commander's memories, the battle had burned through her reserves, greatly sapping her strength. Had she been made to fight any longer or harder, she may have been forced to shut down. Such a fate had befallen her only once before, but it had been unpleasant enough that she never wanted to experience it again.

She felt a pang of guilt at leaving her crewmates hanging, but there were too many factors at play. Better to disappear than risk discovery. But there was one person she did try to reach.

<"Aramis? Can you hear me? It's Jaina. Where are you?">

There was no response. Fearing the worst, she cut a path through the woods surrounding the battlefield, getting just close enough to steal a Mando speeder bike. Mounting the bike, she headed back toward Camp Resh at full speed...

 

[Jaina Grayson]

Even from a distance, it was clear that Camp Resh was in lockdown. News about the battle had traveled fast, and the Mandos hadn't hesitated to step up their security, likely fearing the violence would spread from one camp to the other. It was a good assessment; after all, Resh and Thesh were already politically opposed. Add in the knowledge that the residents of Resh had enjoyed privileges that were denied to the suffering denizens of Thesh, and you had a recipe for disaster. All it would take was a single spark to ignite the powder keg.

Jaina abandoned her speeder in the jungle, then crept closer on foot. If they had already received word of the battle at Resh, chances were high that descriptions of a Devaronian woman slaughtering their brethren with a vibroaxe had also spread this far. But in order for her to change her appearance to something more low-key, she would need to feed.

She had long wrestled with the vampiric aspect of her nature. It apparently wasn't bad enough that she had been created with violence in mind. She also had to parasitically consume the memories of others in order to continue functioning. Why couldn't her creator have given her some fucking solar-powered batteries instead? Or hell, just have her feed on blood, something that sentients naturally produced, rather than irreplaceable memories?

Hell, she could already guess at what the ugly bastard's answer would be: "Because it's so much fun, Jaina! Get it?!"

Ah, well. At least she wasn't part Anzati. Her DNA came from the Psy-Pire, an obscure species of vampire originating on Atrisia. Jaina had yet to meet the Progenitor, though she certainly knew of Nine Lives ' existence (and she was willing to bet Nine and her entire House knew about her; they just seemed like the type to keep track of anyone even tangentially related to them), but she wasn't exactly eager for an introduction. At least, not yet.

She crept along the outskirts of the camp until she managed to sneak up on a Mando guard, grabbing him from behind and sinking her teeth into his neck. He would live, but he wouldn't remember the encounter. While he was still paralyzed by her saliva, she crouched down and began to change. Her Civilian Form—the one which the Mandos had come to know as Allana Djo—would still have to walk through the front gate, and only after somehow explaining how and why she had left to the already on-edge guards. Her Pilot Form would likely be arrested on sight for the murder of the Commander. Luckily, she did have one form which was both unrecognizable and designed for stealth.

Her body lost its muscularity, becoming visually more slender and compact. Black hair turned blonde and grew longer, like a golden waterfall cascading down her back. The devilish look of the Devaronian faded into the soft features of her Serpent Form, a lithe human woman wearing a silver catsuit. She crept toward the walls of the camp, her movements fluid and graceful, and then... Her body melted into a near-liquid state.

Yeah, no, really. That was the schtick of the Serpent Form, which was supposed to be able to infiltrate anywhere. Her flesh became like silly putty, easy to manipulate and squeeze through the tightest of spaces—in this case, the very narrow space between the wall and the ground. It both looked and felt bizarre, but it worked. Slowly but surely, her body reformed itself into the shape of a woman on the other side of the barrier. She had made it inside undetected.

Now to find Aramis.