“I think I’m going to call it my bug-out ship.”
“No.”
“My little buggy?”
“NO.”
“Aww, how about ‘The Beatle’?”
“Kellaro, I swear to Mand’alor…”
The Shaadlar was now docked, a bit beaten up but still whole, with the Imperial Fleet for repairs. Kellaro had reported in to Gerik, and was now celebrating with the Clan Lok members who had come with them off of Jabiim. The Elder and some of the others had stayed on the planet to form a colony, but the bulk had come back with Captain Anslor. It would be their last time together before Clan Lok filtered out again, chasing bounties across the galaxy.
“Well, well, well, look who we have here!” cried one of the other Mandalorians suddenly. “Lok’kar, is that you?”
“I’m right over here,” said Kellaro, swinging around, then stopped, when he saw a black-robed figure standing in the entrance of the Vaiken cantina. Brant stuck his hands in his pockets awkwardly. After a moment, a weak grin crossed his face, changing to an expression of chagrin as the Clan Lok members crowded around him, one or two even giving him friendly punches in the shoulder.
“The spitting image!”
“Of which one, the mom or the dad?”
“I dunno. I meant the brother.”
“They’re twins, you idiot! Of course they look the same.”
“Who are you calling an idiot? Anyway, this one’s got a bit of a scar, see? That’s how you tell ‘em apart.”
As the Mandalorians good-naturedly ribbed each other, Brant pushed past them to seek out Kellaro. As they came within speaking distance, the twins looked at each other, then at the floor between them.
“Glad you’re okay,” said Brant.
“Yeah,” said Kellaro. “Found the clan.”
“Glad they’re okay.”
There was another silence. Eventually, Brant crossed over to the cantina’s bar to order a drink. Kellaro followed him and bumped shoulders.
“Brant? What are you thinking?”
Brant looked around at him, then past at the clan. There was longing in his eyes, but not the wild sort. “That I want this,” said Brant. “Aliit.”
“You’re Sith,” said Kellaro.
“Yes. I will never have a clan. …but I will have a family.”
“Is that it?” said Kellaro, prying, remembering his earlier distrust for Brant’s motivations. He remembered, too, the Elder’s story about their mother, and despite the anxiety in his stomach, he found himself softening.
“The Sith can never know what Aesdila really means to me,” said Brant. “What they really mean to me. They would hunt them, as they hunted our parents. Make me kill them.” He looked at Kellaro. “That’s why I did not want you to know at first. Because you would tell the Mando’ade, and through them… eventually the Empire would know.”
“Yeah. But Brant… you realize if they go after you, they’ll also have to deal with us. Just because you’re not Mando, doesn’t mean we can’t be allies.”
“Or brothers?” said Brant, with another glance over. Kellaro grinned.
The bartender came back with Brant’s drink, and he gave it a slow sip, looking away. There was depth in his eyes now, a fullness. Found, instead of lost. They reminded Kellaro of their father’s, seen last in paint on a Shaadlar wall on Jabiim.
Kellaro didn’t say anything else. He found he didn’t have to.