Sixteen Years Ago

The silence in the private room was palpable, and he could swear he was looking into the past as the young girl stared at him, her chest heaving with panted gasps. The whores had stopped screeching finally. They and the other men were all pressed against the walls of their tea room. Not all of the other men, but enough of them to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Who are you?" Faderen asked. The underworld boss (he wasn't quite sure which cartel he'd sold his soul to, but then it didn't really matter, did it?) was one of the few who hadn't cowered at the girl's entrance. He glanced down: the guards were still alive, but unconscious. The girl said nothing in return, which made Faderen angry. She tossed her head, throwing a dirty mane of black hair behind her shoulder and out of her face. "You'd do well to stop ignoring me, and speak when I ask you a question."

She fixed her eyes on the crime lord, still quiet. Her loose clothing shifted on her thin frame, but was well tightened at the key spots to keep it from hindering her movement. It was nondescript, even for this area. She wore breast bindings underneath, which more than anything made her look like an effeminate adolescent boy. Her breathing had evened out some. Faderen looked somewhat intimidated. He snorted, drawing those inky black eyes to him. He remained in his reclined position, his tumbler of wine gripped lightly in his hand. He took a drink, and smacked his lips in appreciation. Despite his pretensions to class and power, Faderen did have a good eye for alcohol.

She stared at him, her eyes glinting like a starry night sky. His eyebrow raised. It had been a while since he'd seen anyone from his backwater of a homeworld.

The room had fallen silent, and a few had even seemed to stop breathing.

"You are Onashi Serasai?" she asked in heavily accented Basic.

"I am," he answered. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and gripped the blaster and blade in her hands tightly. She then drew herself into a tight stance, her feet evenly spaced beneath her.

She stalked forward, and stopped only a few paces from where he sat.

"My name is Onashi Hanza," she said, and dropped into a supplicating position on the floor. "You are my honored father. I bring news of my mother's death, and the seizure of our lands and my brother by Honored Grandfather. I beg you, Honored Father, to come with me and restore to us our lands, our home."

He took another deep drink of his wine, finishing off the glass and set it on the table nearby. He leaned forward and said nothing for a time, causing the girl, Hanza, to look up at him.

"Please, Honored Father," she said again.

"She's dead, eh?" he asked, his voice clear and without tremor. "Shame."

Hanza looked down at the floor, her fists clenching over her weapons.

"No," he said. She shot up from kissing the floor and looked at him in consternation. He smirked. "Nah. Pop's an old geezer by now. He might have been a tough fight a while back, but he's probably a breath away from dying himself."

"But, Honored Father!" Hanza said. Serasai Onashi shook his head.

"I may have helped make you, girl," he said, "but I am not your 'Honored Father'. So go home, and deal with Pops yourself."

Her face twisted. He felt a twinge, a memory of a fiery young girl beneath a plum tree challenging him to a race through the orchard.

"I challenge you," she whispered, her breath deepening. He smiled.

"I accept."