Chances

I always hated Walon Vau. He thrashed the will to survive into his men, and showed no love, no care, to us after he beat us. I think he thought if we could survive him, we could live through anything the galaxy hit us with.

I thought that was nonsense. Skirata and Bralor lavished paternal affection over their trainees, and they turned out fine. Vau told us - after a long, grueling training session - that being soft would make us soft. Being hard would make us into hard men with an animal rage and the primal instinct to live. I hated the man for making us ice-cold. But I could only -

   "Hey, At'ika." Fi's voice shook me out of my mental ranting. "Wake up, ner'vod. We're approaching Kel Dor."
I rolled my eyes under my matte black helmet and nudged him away with my elbow, trying to get to my feet. We had been crammed into a three-man fireship to approach our target, a Separatist space station orbiting the Dorin. Fi and I had to be stuck in the small compartment in the back of the ship, built for one man so they could make a jump into the target area. It was a tight squeeze, so I had admitted myself to resting for a few moments to take away the discomfort of being lodged in with my brother.
   "The system is Dorin, di'kut. The people are Kel Dor," I reminded, finally standing up very unsteadily. I grasped the handrail. Shab, we need a nice TIV. Or a shuttle. Fireships aren't for Shiny Boys in katarn kit.
   "Oh, really? I'm very sorry, O Great Master of Correct Speech." I could hear Fi grinning under his helmet; it was the slight click of teeth and breaths that alerted me to it. Yep, Fi was one of Skirata's happy candy-loving bunch. Only they joked like this under pressure. Had I been with my first unit, Vau's unit, we'd be praying to whatever forgotten deity there was so that we could make it out alive.
   "It isn't correct speech, F'ika. It's..." I trailed off. What was that kind of correctness called?
   "I'm listening. C'mon, what is it?" Fi asked with mock innocence.
   "If you two are done with your grammar etiquette lessons," Niner broke into the conversation. "We're ready to drop into the station. Cut the chatter and hold onto your hats."
   "It's not grammar etiquette! What the stang is grammer etiquette anyway?" I snapped. Darman, our very Skirata-like demolitions expert, chuckled. I scowled.
   "Who gives a pool of strill drool, At'ika?" Niner replied.
   "Rhyming couplets. Always good for the start of a dangerous mission. Pool of strill drool..." Fi began humming tunelessly as he stood up, hanging onto the silver handrail on the ceiling, brandishing his DC-17 at the same time. I prepared my anti-armor attachments. Those were always useful in rapid entry.
   Niner and Darman rose from their swiveling captain's seats, black katarn armor gleaming in the low light of the fireship's interior. I was glad we had it for this particular mission. The first time that we had gotten this Night Ops kit was on a mission to Fest. A frigid snow world. This time it would actually be dark while we carried out the operation: destroy the station and then get the shab out. We had had harder things to do than that during the past year or so.
   For a moment, Darman exited our secure comlink circuit. I knew what he was doing, and I had forgotten to do that myself. He was calling Etain, General Tur-Mukan. Dating your Jedi General was very dangerous, but Darman figured a way to do it.
   Laseema's probably worried out of her mind about this and you haven't even stopped to call in yet. Di'kut.
   I glanced at the comlink icon on the corner of my HUD, my much-loved Heads Up Display, and blinked rapidly three times. A list of comm circuits were opened to me, and I chose my Twi'lek girlfriend, Laseema's. She wasn't stuck in Quibbu the Hutt's sleazy cantina any longer. Kal'buir, Papa Kal Skirata, had gotten her an apartment in a respectable CSF and GAR canteen called the Kragget, where she earned her keep as a waitress.
   It beeped for a few moments before a cautious voice responded.
   "Atin?"
   "Yeah, cyar'ika. It's me. Sorry for not calling earlier..."
   It's okay. I know you have things to do."
   There was a pause. The comlink crackled with static until I broke the silence.
   "I'll call in again, Laseema. We're coming back in three weeks. I'll see you then."
   Another pause. I realized - feeling guilty - that her voice was shaking. My long deployments must have taken their toll on her, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Neither could I. But I really did need to see her. I hadn't since the black ops on Coruscant. That had been two months ago. All it had been since then were scattered comm calls and holos.
   "Okay, cyar'ika," she said, taking a breath. "Call me once this is done. And promise me that you'll come home."
   "I promise. At'ika out."
   I closed the circuit and switched back to the secure link shared by the squad. I looked up to see Niner shaking his head.
   "Only Skirata's bunch would ever have girlfriends to fret over us. You know what Fixer said? Skirata made us outgoing."
   Yes, he did. Vau may have beaten the will to live into us, but Skirata gave to me something he never did.    
   He gave me a chance to have a normal life.
   And I took that chance.