The Mando'ade were pleased with their fleet of ships. They numbered seven now, including the large Hammerhead-class ship they had built from pieces with their own hands. It was theirs. And with the addition of other, stolen vehicles, they had room for their families. They could take what they wanted from the galaxy.

It was good.

Mand'alor stood on the bridge of the Haran, hands clasped behind her back. It was all pointless. She was mining the arse-end of the galaxy for corusca gems and coming up with bits of glass. Pretty enough, but ultimately just a distraction. This - all of this - was a distraction from her purpose.

How long had it been? A month since Woostri? And how long since Callidus had contacted her? Many months. He was content to leave her to rot with the Mandalorians, finally having rid Onderon of their presence.

Of her presence.

Malleus turned and walked off the bridge, heading toward the hangar bay in the belly of the ship.