The old hangar of the abandoned mining facility was accustomed to emptiness. For decades it floated in the Dajorra asteroid field, desolate and virtually forgotten by all but a handful of people who made sure nothing in the system went unnoticed. The day finally came when Arcona found a use for it, when a group of elite hunters partnered with droids strode across its catwalks, the sound of their various comings and goings bouncing quietly against the walls. When the hunters of the Apex Brigade departed, the facility knew mournful silence again for several months. The roar of spacecraft engines and the raucous sound of military regulars turned pirates briefly filled the hangar with life once again, but the odd couple Hi’ijas decided to move on from their adventures and focus on their marriage. Adem Bol’era had said goodbye to them a week earlier, and set to work on clearing out the base. The young Umbaran who had spent the most time here out of anyone knew isolation well, and felt a bizarre kind of kinship with the hangar. He lay awake in a canvas hammock stretched between two catwalks, stricken with the familiar melancholy of introversion turning into loneliness once again.
The airlocks separating the hanger suddenly began whirring, and the bay doors opened to let the familiar grey shape of the *Broken Blade* slice into its drydock for the first time in weeks. Adem skittered down the decrepit rafters and descended several dozen meters in seconds to meet the floor. The landing ramp of the ship did likewise.

Hadn’t the ship been decommissioned and scrapped only days ago? Just what was it doing here? Odder still was the sudden influx of people walking out of the ship, with several of their faces matching those of the disbanded pirate crew. Had Mirus and Rhiann changed their minds?
Three cloaked figures disembarked, keeping the thought of the Hi’ijas alive for Adem until he looked more closely at their faces. On the left stood a mountain of black scales with a grim look in his reptilian green eyes. On the right was a tall and thin figure, with stone eyes and hair stretching down his back at a length that rivaled his cloak. In the center was a woman draped in white and blue, and despite the cloth over her eyes, Adem could not shake the strange tension one feels when making eye contact with someone, even if he cast his gaze to the floor. The Barabel hissed lowly at him, demanding the respect of being looked at, even if his blind fellows did not do the same.

“I’m impressed that you manage to stay sane in such a big empty place, Adem.” the lady in white said cheerfully. Frak! In the presence of the Shadow Lady, and Adem had completely forgotten his sense of decorum. He waved limply, then realized that the only person who could see it was a grumpy lizard.
“Uh. . . Hi?”
“Oh, no, maybe I spoke too soon. I do know about you, though. You have a nasty habit of insisting on staying in places by yourself.” Atyiru’s smile was warm and concerned.
“What can I say? I’m always alone, I’m used to it.” Adem shrugged.
“Ever since you had to leave the troupe behind, right?” Atyiru’s hands motioned for calm when she felt Adem tense up. What was a woman so gentle, so aware of how others around her felt doing leading an army of assassins, soldiers and criminals? “I’m aware of your story, doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your feelings about it. But first things first; would you come inside? Mks and Zakath have a proposal for you to consider.”

Atyiru clapped her hands together and bid the men to sit after she finished tidying the bridge of the *Broken Blade* into a makeshift tea room, the low table bathed in soft yellow light. The familiarly sharp scent of Hapan mint wafted from Adem’s cup. It smelled like Bhan.
“My favorite. How’d you guess?” he asked Atyiru incredulously.
“Just a feeling. On to business. Introduce yourselves, gentlemen.” Atyiru kneeled down to the table and gingerly blew on her cup. The Barabel left his cup steaming away on the table and he turned to Adem.
“Zakath. I will be serving as an executive officer aboard this ship.” Zakath’s voice had the harsh feel of sandpaper, but his tone wasn’t inherently hostile. Adem imagined what an irate Zakath would sound like, and stowed the thought away to use in a nightmare sometime.
“Mks Ehn, at your service, though you might call me captain if formality’s your thing. I suppose we’ll both be getting used to the title, hm?” The man with eyes of stone wore a grin, but Adem was uncertain of its legitimacy, unlike Atyiru.
“Ooooh, maybe a hat? Hard to imagine a ship captain without a hat. I think it would radiate authority, especially with some feathers in it!” Atyiru mused, and the group laughed. Even Zakath snorted a little.
“Arcia doesn’t wear a hat.” Zakath pointed out.
“Maybe, but I don’t think this ship is going to be anything like Arcy’s rank and file. Arcona only has room for one of her and the Nighthawk.” Atyiru countered. Zakath agreed, lips curving with uncomfortable thoughts of his former captain’s wrath. “It’s a shame that the pirate’s life wasn’t for Mirus and Rhi after all, but it’s not a bad starting point for more. . . diverse criminal activities.” Atyiru gently sipped her tea and set a datapad on the table, bringing up a data map of Arcona’s connections to the criminal underworld.
“Concerned about our control? The Clan isn’t what it used to be with Antei gone.” Adem asked. Though he had steered clear of the war, he was well aware of how it had torn Arcona asunder.
“And how. We’re looking at the largest number of upstart syndicates and police forces disrupting our operations in the history of our time in the system. To simply wipe them out is overkill, and we’re done for if we make ourselves out as enemies of the public across the system.” said Mks.
“Hardly overkill. We’d make our point.” Zakath suggested.
“Rein in the stabbity mood, Zakath. That’s not apropos for tea time.” Atyiru smiled, and finished her cup. “I’m thinking that we’ll use this ship and its crew as a way of finally letting House Qel-Droma do what it says on the tin; make cute little underworld soldiers out of you.”
“Crime certainly isn’t disappearing anytime soon.” said Adem.
“Right, and it touches people’s lives every day. I’d much rather take that into our hands than leave it to people out just to help themselves. There are lots of criminal figures through whom we can do some good, but the odds aren’t really in their favor.”
“Lost causes, you think?” Mks asked.
“Hardly, I love an underdog. Actually, just dogs in general.” Atyiru replied. “Anyway, that’s where you come in. Your job is to flow through the underworld unnoticed, without incriminating Arcona. Think of it as becoming a river that no one realizes they’re swimming in. When it suits our interest, you change how that river flows here and there. Somebody drowns, somebody keeps floating.”
“Cute metaphor.” said Adem.
“Right? This clan needs more poetry. You’d be doing more or less anything and everything, because whoever’s the best, we are automatically better because we’re also Jedi. You’ll go from brokering information to dismantling a spice monopoly. Splinter a gang and help them take themselves down. Start good insurgencies, put down bad ones. All that and still plenty of piracy on the outer edges of the system to play with! Your talents will be very appreciated if we keep going in this direction, Adem.”
“I can be who you need me to be, right? A tool of many uses?” said Adem glumly.
“When you put it like that it sounds lousy, but I suppose that works. I want to assure you that if we can avoid doing anything unsavory, we will. I just want my family and its friends to be happy and safe. Please understand that.” Atyiru motioned for the meeting to adjourn. With that, Mks and Zakath rose to their feet and left the bridge. Adem and Atyiru remained at the table, the Miraluka sitting around the corner from him.
“Sorry,” Adem said mournfully, “that was out of line.”
Atyiru smiled and shrugged. “You said what you felt. Believe me, I know what you’re feeling better than you think. As hard as you try, every relationship you have seems so. . .”
“Ephemeral?” Adem finished her sentence between two slow sips from his cup.
“Ooooh, that’s a pretty one. Sad too. Tell me; in the troupe, did you do more comedies, or tragedies? What was your favorite?” The Shadow Lady was genuinely curious as always, even if she was already somewhat aware of the answer.
Adem leaned back and thought for a moment. “I guess Bo liked writing or adapting the comedies, so we tended to do those often, but the tragedies were better written. He’d usually write those when he was out of wine. Siobhan liked whatever play she had the lead in. My brother. . . well, Solis took every role he was given seriously, always passionate.”
“They sound fun, but what about you? If your life was a play, what would you describe it as?” What kind of question was that? She was almost as melodramatic as Bo!
“Tragedy, so far. If it plays out well, there’ll be a kind of beauty in it.” Adem stated flatly as he finally drained his tea to its last drops, ever the slowest person at a table. At that, Atyiru sighed and rose to her feet.
“I’m afraid I have to get going,” she said, passing behind the glum Umbaran but stopping to place a hand on his shoulder, “but I’d hope to talk more when you’re ready. I hope you find your home here, that you’ll be able to make this place a home for your friends when you’re ready one day. I’m going to change your mind about your play, you know. Just watch.” The Shadow Lady gently glided out of the room as easily as she had entered. Adem gently shifted the teacup in his hand and let the last remaining drop of Hapan mint swirl around the basin, the smell taking him back to better days. Still, he was alone, but perhaps a little less than before. . .