<div class="floatright"><div align="center">(https://i.imgur.com/X4HTKdF.jpg)<br/>Kanasa<br/></div></div>Home sweet home.<br/><br/>It was a<em>Lancer</em>-class starship--a hybrid between a<em>very</em>light freighter and a starfighter.  Fast enough to dogfight, had enough cargo for the odd capture here and there.  It was a great little ship, kept nice and clean by...<br/><br/>Well, honestly, lack of use.  It was chiefly just herself and little B3-R6, a plucky little astromech who nonetheless was capable of taking over the helm when she needed to take a break for a while, or if she needed to start shooting<em>back</em>because this was a dangerous job and she didn't<em>dare</em>risk any serious hull damage on her current budget.  Patch-jobs at least were easy.<br/><br/>Not for the first time, she wondered why she had to do things<em>this</em>way.  There had to be better options in life than to drop in unwelcomed into hostile scenarios, hope she could gun them down before they got lucky, and make use of the proceeds to slowly start paying back the rather terrifying loans that got her in this line of work in the first place.<br/><br/>And then she stepped aboard, the hatch sealing shut behind her and the lights snapping on, the centerpiece of her work.<br/><br/>Yeah, that was why.<br/><br/>It towered over her own relatively slender frame, clad in durasteel alloys over a synthetic muscle exosuit.  The project that her father was working on before their company was nationalized--and the incident that drove her into the fringes in the first place.  The next generation of powered infantry armor--an attempt in the later years of the Clone Wars to compete with the mysticism of the Jedi Order and the ever growing might of the separatist battle droid armies, to forge heroes where there had only been mortals before-hand.<br/><br/>She wasn't what you'd call a warrior.  She thought too much, she lacked the early training and bloody-minded determination that the best was...  But this prototype, refined in her own years of study of the plans--the updates she squeezed in with every spare credit.  It let her turn her mind into<em>power</em>.  And all the good thoughts in the world couldn't hold the day if you didn't have the power to<em>make</em>everyone come to you to bargain.<br/><br/>Plus, the adrenaline and the thrill of the fight was<em>wonderful</em>.  Who needed spice or deathsticks or any other piece of trash when you had the oldest drug in the galaxy ready to go at a moment's notice.<br/><br/>She licked her lips, and couldn't help but grin.  There was<em>proper work</em>ahead.<br/><br/>It was time to see if her work on the<em>Vanguard</em>wasn't a waste of time.<br/><br/>"Right, best be getting to it then Beethree."  She clapped her hands, and stepped past the rack the armor was on.  "If we're going to do this whole 'Ally of Justice' thing, no sense wasting any more time.  You've got the coordinates, let's see if we can take this<em>Gavel</em>of ours and bring it down on a real hive of scum and villainy."<br/><br/>As long as it didn't come down to a dogfight against a swarm of fighters of course, she hadn't<em>quite</em>figured out how to convert her mind into<em>piloting</em>skill yet.