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The ship does land in one piece. As she'd suspected from the moment she saw it, the stolen ship is a rare Imperial shuttle made for stealth. She leans easily into these controls, quietly whipping through space, even after it became apparent that the patrolling TIEs had been ordered to find the ship's escaped prisoners. Hera had dodged among them, evading their scopes and radars, as she flew the shuttle far out enough to make the jump to hyperspace. In the end, it was only one unfortunate fighter that managed to catch sight of her.

The shuttle's weapons systems are nothing special, she learned. But they did the job.

The jump to Batuu was only about three hours, even with the slightly roundabout route Hera decided to take. The girls, fortunately, seem to be accustomed to space travel. Occasionally they whisper to each other, but otherwise, they tend to stay quiet unless Hera speaks to them. About an hour in, Hera recommends that they get some sleep, and the girls don't object.

It's midafternoon at Black Spire when they reach the planet. Hera is careful on her approach, avoiding likely lanes of traffic – she doesn't want to run into questions about the stolen shuttle she's flying. But then, most who visit Batuu aren't the type to ask questions. But she still chooses to land the shuttle in a clearing, surrounded by dense forest, about five kliks downriver of the outpost.

As the shuttle touches down, she turns to the girls. "Are you all right?"

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It's the phrase 'precious resource' that concerns Hera more.

She takes a deep breath, and leans forward, coming closer to but not touching Wrema.

"I didn't do this for a reward."

"No?" Vamua says, arching one eyebrow and leaning back a little in her seat. "How novel."

There's no hint of dryness in her voice, but perhaps there ought to be.

Wrema, meanwhile, is fidgeting very slightly. (She hopes Sucasa comes back out soon.)

"I imagine you did it out of affection in some respect?"

She does seem fond of the girls, after all. Not to mention the toys they are now carrying, which are most definitely non-standard equipment for Force sensitives in the Ascendancy.

It's already so similar to speaking with Thrawn. And it grates her.

"I did it because I heard a cry," she answers, her voice low.

"And I answered it."

"We appreciate it," Vamua says. "There are not many in the galaxy that would."

Chiss do not trust outsiders. There are reasons for that. Only some of those reasons make things easier for the Aristocra.

"As we have learned, many times."

This is the moment that Sucasa emerges, and Wrema, ignoring protocol and manners, gets immediately to her feet and moves for the 'fresher. It is absolutely necessary at this moment.

Sucasa tries not to giggle, as the room's atmosphere doesn't allow for it, and mostly succeeds. She also takes Wrema's spot at Hera's feet, because it's already warm.

Hera stays silent as the girls switch places, and like Vamua, she waits until the door is closed.

And then, though there's no way Sucasa won't understand her,

"Are you going to let me walk away?"

Vamua's smile this time is thin, but she inclines her head after a long, silent moment.

"Of course," she say simply. "We would hardly be demonstrating our gratitude if we chose any other path. We are not ones who reward honor with dishonor."

Sucasa takes this moment to wrap her arm around Hera's calf. Just in case.

"I guess I should find that comforting."

She doesn't entirely.

"'Should' rarely has anything to offer in matters such as these," Vamua says. "There is only what we feel, and what we do. I can understand your lack of comfort. I regret that I am not very skilled in putting others at ease."

That's . . . really not in her job description at all.

At. All.

"I don't expect you to."

Hera lets out another breath, glancing down at Sucasa. She hadn't acted for a reward. Yet she'd also never have another opportunity like this.

"But if you're offering, maybe there is something you can do for me."

"Is there," Vamua says, raising one eyebrow and leaning forward just the slightest bit. "I would certainly like to hear your request."

There is a great deal that she cannot promise, but some things are up to her discretion -- she was not sent here merely to ferry the children home, after all.

Wrema, at this moment, makes her way out of the 'fresher and settles down on Sucasa's other side, taking the smaller girl's hand in her own.

It helps.

Hera waits again, watching Wrema as she crosses the room, and joins Sucasa sitting at her skirts. But she feels Vamua's gaze, as harshly as she felt Thrawn's.

"Your compatriot serves the Empire that controls most of this Galaxy."

She looks back up, to those red eyes. "Send him home."

Vamua's eyebrow remains arched as she studies Hera for a long, silent moment.

Then --

"As Mitth'raw'nuruodo serves this Empire and its Emperor, there is very little I and mine may do. We Chiss may command only our own, and as his duty is elsewhere -- "

She spreads her hands, indicating a supposed lack of power.

"As is his fealty -- we may send a message, but there is no reason to think it will be obeyed."

"Then send a message."

Hera can settle for that. After all, today he showed a loyalty for something other than the Empire.

Vamua's smile is thin, but not entirely faked.

"Consider it done. Though it is unlikely to come directly from my hand. Wiser heads, as they say."

She turns her attention from Hera to the children, leaning forward once more.

"Are you ready to come back with me, young ones?"

Wrema looks up at Hera, with Sucasa mimicking the gesture a moment later.

Are they, Hera? Themselves, maybe they're not so sure. (Mostly because they didn't worry about Hera being safe until she asked the question, and now . . . )

Hera leans forward, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Coth'eraw'rema," she says again, her voice very soft. "Suc'asaw'earmemm."

"Hera?" They say, not quite in unison.

"Do we -- "

Wrema looks over at Vamua, then back to Hera.

"Do we get to keep our things?"

"Of course," Hera says.

Before Vamua can contradict it. She thinks that's fair enough to ask, as part of her 'reward.'

Sucasa beams, holding her stuffed porg close to her chest.

Wrema, too, has a tight grip on her Jedi doll.

Vamua merely smiles crookedly, saying "I believe that can be arranged. One must always have mementoes of one's travels, particularly if they are comforting."

It is entirely possible to believe that this sentiment is genuine.

Hera also smiles.

It takes some effort, but none of that shows through it. She moves her hands from the girls' shoulders, and slightly down to their backs. So that she's still supporting them, but not keeping them with her.

Wrema flings her arms around Hera -- and also Sucasa -- holding on very tightly for a moment before standing up. She doesn't sniffle at all.

"I'm ready," she says.

Sucasa takes a much longer time to decide to let go of Hera. "I want to come back," she whispers into Hera's ear. "When I'm older."

Only then does she let go, and step away, and say, "We can go."

Hera holds them in return.

"Then you will," she whispers back to Sucasa, before they break apart.

"Stay safe," she says, quietly, as they step away. "See your home."

"They'll keep us safe," Wrema says, looking back at Vamua for a moment.

Vamua merely nods. "We have already altered our security protocols in light of the previous breach. Rest assured this will not happen again."

Sucasa looks like she's going to reach for Vamua's hand, much as she has gotten used to doing with Hera, and then stops, because Vamua is not Hera, and the Chiss are not much for casual affection while on the job.

Hera blinks down to the floor, giving herself another moment to take a slow, deep breath.

And with that, she rises from the chair. "Then I guess I'm leaving."

"You stay safe, too!" Sucasa says, more loudly than maybe she meant to. Wrema doesn't have the heart to hush her.

Vamua stands, too, reaching out to take the hand of each of the children. She looks at Hera for a long moment, then inclines her head toward the door.

"After you," she says. Provided Hera will go, of course.

She first pulls the scavenged backpack straight over her shoulders, and then she turns, and walks to the door. Hera nearly doesn't look back - it won't make anything easier, or better. But after opening the door, and stepping through the threshold, she does turn her head. Just for a moment.

Again, she makes herself smile.

And then, the door is closed behind her. She hurries down the stairs, and back out into the streets of Black Spire, nearly running, as though she feels someone might chase her after all. But it seems that no one does. It takes a few turns for her to reach the main road again, and despite that she's still armed, despite that if anything, she's less encumbered now that she's lost the girls - she somehow also feels more alone, and more vulnerable. She glances at any flicker of light in a doorway, in an alley, and slips back into the crowd milling along the main road as quickly as she can.

Then she has to decide where to go. The sun is definitely sinking toward dusk now. Back to the ship? She's not sure she wants to fly that Imperial shuttle any longer than she has to, but depending on what kind of passage she can afford back toward the Outer Rim, she might not have a choice. Still, she sees no point in heading back out of town before she can do so under cover of dark.

Instead, she moves faster, and turns down a street that leads toward one of the large, petrified trees that surround the outpost. Just ahead of the tree is another round, steel-domed building, this one somewhat low and squat, a short tower next to it, and several cloth awnings dyed green and red and purple flapping gently over its wide entrance. Her had passed it by during their first walk through, but now, she knows what she really needs is a drink. So she breaks from the crowd to step under those awnings, and enter the dark cantina within.

There's a host of mostly occupied tables and chairs, which Hera only gives a passing glance. Near the back, what looks like a modified pilot droid was playing a flashing, multicolored nalargon, but Hera can hardly hear the music above the talk in the cantina. The long, oval bar glows white, and Hera walks right up to it, taking a seat before the Bith standing behind it.

"Bloody Rancor."

The Bith nods, and whisks off without a word.

Edited 2019-05-20 01:00 (UTC)