Off Course

Chapter Nine

"'Live in the moment', he said. 'Trust the Force,' he said. 'Your focus determines your reality,' yeah, right. Most of the time, your reality determines your focus, living in the moment leads to dire consequences, and trusting in the Force is a sure-fire way to end up a cosmic joke or in a ridiculously embarrassing situation. As we all know, the Force – like Master Yoda – has one wicked sense of humour. I only wish I knew who had it first, so that I know who to avoid."
—Obi-Wan Kenobi, disgruntled mutter on the banks of the Kelita, Sojourn on Mandalore, circa 3 BrS.

"Left flank, pull back!" Obi-Wan bellowed into his comlink, trying to be heard over the din of battle and the roar of his blaster rifle. This particular engagement was best fought at range, even if he personally would have preferred to charge in lightsaber blazing.

The march went well, the host had arrived at the walls of Sundari as projected, just before sunset. Sentries blinded by the setting desert sun, the T-34s formed up, calibrated for anti-armour fire, and let loose volley upon volley of concentrated destruction, systematically ploughing through the grounded freighters. Under cover of the barrage, the host had made the final kilometre's push to the docks, and the hole newly blown into the dome.

The battle through the streets was vicious; Black Sun had numbers on their side, but with the Force, the Jedi cut them down with automatic fire and swinging blades. The Death Watch defenders were another story; they operated as teams, not individual combatants, providing cover fire, concentrating on one Jedi at a time, using explosives and other nasties to hamper the advance. Obi-Wan had been forced to call in support from Master Yoda's three companies to hold their exit, and to protect the tanks that were finally getting some attention.

The strength of the Death Watch defence had forced Obi-Wan to allocate much larger units to the other objectives than originally anticipated, which now left him with only two score of Jedi and a dozen Mandalorians to storm the Government Palace, which was actually proving quite the pain.

A pain, but not impossible. "General, the left flank has retreated to minimum safe distance!" his radioman reported from cover.

Good. It was time for an Anakin-class plan. Attaching an underslung grenade launcher to his rifle, Obi-Wan shouted, "Cover fire! On three: one, two, three!"

Four portable mortars, three rocket launchers and a good nine rifles let fly their explosive ordnance, hitting one of the towering buildings about ten meters off the ground and chewing a very large hole into the side. With a creak and a groan, the structure buckled and snapped, and ponderously fell towards the street. Thirty floors of duracreet and transparisteel thundered to the ground, smashing town onto the security checkpoint and flattening its defenders.

A cheer went up from the crowd, and the Jedi got out of cover as their ride came into view. A MandalMotors ZX-50, the speedertruck was a beast of a machine, weighing a fair shade more than the AT-TEs of the GAR, it carried about the same payload with twice as much armour. For a civilian vehicle, it was overkill, but hey, this was Mandalore, right?

Clambering aboard last, Obi-Wan shouted, "Ahsoka, we're good to go!"

No verbal response came, but the engine hum suddenly increased, and with a jerk the construct gathered speed and ploughed on and over the mess of rubble and into the palace grounds.

Three, two, one. The ornate doors exploded, and a stream of armoured and robed individuals poured into the throne room. Outside the glass windows the darkness of night was rent asunder by explosions and fires, casting the room's occupants in a very eerie light. Death Watch commandos, Black Sun guards, and one royally miffed Zabrak drew their weapons, ready to rip off heads.

Obi-Wan was not averse to that either, brandishing a machine pistol in one hand and his saber in the other. "Can we skip to the aggressive stage of negotiations?" he asked.

The Zabrak looked affronted, "What, you don't even want to know who I am or what I want?"

Obi-Wan would have stroked his beard had his hands not been full, but they were, so he settled for just looking thoughtful. "Does it matter? I mean, you're one of Dooku's – or Sidious' – flunkies, which means you are an acolyte with a really cheesy name, and you have some evil scheme to make my life miserable and take over the universe."

From behind the Zabrak, a few of the Death Watch sniggered in their helmets. Studiously ignoring them, he drew himself up, and declared, "I am Darth Mall, formally Savage Oppressor of Iridonia. And you killed my brother!"

Obi-Wan was perplexed, "If you mean Maul, I fail to see how that works, I mean you look nothing alike; for Force's sake, you're three heads taller than him!"

Darth Mall just sighed, then released his grip on his lightsaber and smacked his forehead a few times with an open palm. "Okay, who have you been talking to, Mother Talzin?" he groaned. "That witch smokes too much mushrooms, if you ask me." Obi-Wan nodded uncomfortably, which drove Mall to groan again. "Okay, here is the story: Iridonia is home of the Zabrak people. For millennia, we have fought proudly alongside the Republic and the Jedi, then some idiot went ahead with the Ruusan Reformation and disbanded all the armies. Iridonia was left in squalor; our people knew how to fight, how to build machines of war, how to farm and how to sustain ourselves, we did not know how to live in times of peace. It is, actually, why you see so many Zabrak criminals. The Senate pretty much forgot about us, and left us to fend for ourselves. A few centuries in, the planet devolved into a mire of gang warfare."

Seeing that their foe was holding his ground and not going to arbitrarily attack, both Obi-Wan and Mall – by mutual but unspoken consent – disengaged their lightsabers and told their forces to stand down. With equal reluctance, both the Jedi and Death Watch lowered their weapons also; if anything, this would be an interesting conversation.

"There are three major factions on Iridonia," Mall continued, "There are the Centurions, the Savage Oppressors, and the Umbrage Council. The Centurions are inclined to keep well enough alone, they don't attack usually, but doggedly hold their territory; the Savage Oppressors had started as a militia unit, so called by the then-Umbrage government as they negatively impacted their profit margins. Ironically, the Savage Oppressors have lived up to their name, turning to raiding those they had initially protected. Then there is the Umbrage Council themselves; they are the holdouts of the Sith Academy from the Ruusan campaigns, having lost a lot of their teachings, they created new traditions of their own, and go about terrorizing anything that stands in their path. Currently, that's the Oppressors."

"So, where do you fit in?" Obi-Wan asked, not really understanding all the exposition, "And, what interest do you have in Mandalore?"

Mall sighed, now came the hard part. Hopefully, he wouldn't get shot for his troubles. "Honestly, none. Darth Sidious needed a figurehead for the invasion, someone who could keep the riffraff inline and attract the attention of the Jedi. He does not care who this planet belongs to, he just wants the Jedi publicly humiliated. Now that this plan has so obviously failed, I'd like to depart in less than two pieces."

Obi-Wan was dumbfounded. Could this punk really be serious? "You mean to tell me," he began, slowly, "That you're a part of a criminal organization on your home planet that admits to oppressing people, you have invaded a sovereign planet, killed numerous civilians, and now you want to be set loose?

Mall nodded. "Indeed. My quarrel is not with the Jedi or the Republic. All I wanted is the Umbrage Council out of the way. Becoming one of Darth Sidious' acolytes gave me command of separatist forces that have, as of three minutes ago, subjected the Umbrage Council's territories to an orbital bombardment. With the Sith washouts dead, the people of Iridonia will rise up against the remaining gangs and the separatist fleet. The Zabrak race shall be free again, and we can once again contribute to the Galactic community. Who knows, after this war, they might treat us differently."

A noble villain... Obi-Wan snorted, a naïve, noble villain. Even the Sith were not immune to stupidity, it seemed. "Mall," he said, fighting hard to keep a tone of condescension from his voice, "What the hell makes you think the Separatists will localize their attack to the Umbrage territory?"

As horror dawned in Darth Mall's eyes, Obi-Wan could not feel anything but pity for the poor fool. He had stepped into a world far too big for him, intent on making it a better place, but doing it for all the wrong reasons and by all the wrong means. True, the Iridonian people would be free once more, but not as Mall had envisioned. Instead, they would suffer greatly at the hands of the Separatist fleet, before the Republic could send aid and reinforcement. The people would be free once more, but not as heroes and victors, but as the victims of a savage attack.

"I must go!" Mall cried, collecting the Force to him and blasting the Jedi and Mandalorians away with a desperate repulse. Dropping his saber in his haste, he pelted towards the nearest exit and ship. He made it ten meters before a pistol barked twice and he fell to the ground, wounds in his head and back smoking.

"Or'dinii…" Pre Vizsla muttered, holstering his WESTAR-42. "Guess you can't fix some stupid."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrow, "Does that mean you're going to surrender?"

Vizsla shrugged. "You outnumber us two to one. The Mandalorian people are warriors, not idiots. We have faced greater odds in our past, but that was against conventional enemies. Some of us still remember tales from the Golden Days, how Jedi shock units on Dxun would storm our firebases and emerge victorious over ten times their number of defenders. It is considered dishonourable for a Mandalorian to surrender his forces without battle, and the Death Watch will fight to the last to defend our ideals, but my goal has ever been to forge a stronger Mandalore, not leave it in ruins under the cannons of the Republic fleet and the swords of the Jedi."

Obi-Wan nodded, he had thought as much. "Then, Mand'alor, I challenge you to a duel." he drew his saber and gave his foe the Makashi salute, blade dipping right, then left, then coming vertical to cast a blue glow upon his face, "May the stronger warrior prevail."

The salute was returned; Pre Vizsla motioned his followers back, clearing an area for the duel. As he drew his beskad, his mind flitted back to the days of his youth, when he had challenged the rule of Tor Vizsla, the clan leader and Mand'alor, with this very blade. Tor was a hu'tuunla little shabuir, using the national pride and inborn patriotism of the Mando'ade to further his personal ambitious and as a front for rampant criminality. It had taken Pre many decades to turn the Kyr'tsad from organized criminals to what Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians actually stood for. A shame, really, that they were wiped out on Galidraan, for they could have made Mandalore a decent place once again. Now, as he squared off against his opponent, Pre Vizsla could not but think, whatever the outcome, Mandalore would be a better place.

The Clone Wars had driven the Galaxy into chaos; rare was the day when no battles were fought. From the Outer Rim to the borders of the Colonies battles were waged, skirmishes were fought, and conflicts raged. Master Ki Adi Mundi received support from the Jedi 889th and had stormed the enemy positions on Mygeeto, General Grievous' 3rd Battlegroup was overtaken by the 1181st Fighter Wing and utterly obliterated, but none were as pivotal to history as the duel on Mandalore.

In the Halls of Ruling, Jedi and Mandalorian crossed blades; lightsaber against beskad, per the warrior code; no Force and no technology; merely experience against experience; skill against skill. Hither they struck, and thither they dodged, blows raining down upon each other such as had not been seen in the galaxy for over three millennia. Strikes were dealt and parried, ripostes exchanged, stabs turned aside and blunt blows avoided.

In the end, it was a matter of a simple misstep. Trying for a lunge that would have skered Obi-Wan to the wall, Pre Vizsla missed his footing, his beskad dropping just out of position. Forged from Mandalorian Iron, the blade was impervious to a lightsaber, but not to physics. With a clatter it flew out of Pre's hand, skidding across the floor far away. Following on the motion that had knocked the sword loose, Obi-Wan spun around and delivered a crippling blow to the seam where the breastplate met the shoulder guard. The scene was not gory; the saber having cauterized the wound. In his last breaths, Pre Vizsla could not feel anything but pride for his vanquisher and hope for his people. "Gar akaanir pirusti, Jetii. Gar Mand'alor jii." You fight well, Jedi. You are Mandalore now.

"He most definitely is not!" a voice thundered from the side of the room. There, in the shadows, stood Spar, the lost Alpha trooper, dressed in beskar'gam and looking furious. "This Jedi holds no authority here; he is not even Mando. I am the true Mandalore, and I call all loyal warriors to finish this arutii off!"

Obi-Wan straightened. He had not originally intended for events transpire as they did, but the Force seldom took his wishes into account. He had dearly hoped that Pre Vizsla would either surrender or die in the crossfire, for any duel they engaged in would lead to dire ramifications in light of his past. But circumstances had forced his hand, and the consequences were upon him. Not like them he might, but he would not forsake his duty. Before he could speak though, one of the Death Watch doffed her helmet and stepped forth.

"He has that authority, Spar." Bo-Katan said, "And you don't."

The room stilled. Jedi who were raising weapons for the attack halted mid-motion, Death Watch commandos keyed their jetpacks off standby and stood to listen. The air grew heavy with anticipating of what came next.

"He was the only offworlder to care about us during the Civil War," she began, pacing about, "His mandate was to protect the Duchess and get her to safety. He went above and beyond. He abided by our traditions, cared about our civilians, and helped a people who, to him, were complete and utter strangers. He is more mando than you, coward. While he and his brethren come to liberate this world in the name of the people under his command, you slink about with the Separatists, the people who bankrolled this invasion. You, Spar, are Dar'manda!"

Spar was livid. He was the true legacy of Jango Fett, the true Mandalore. He had more free will, more skill, guile and guts then his other brothers. He was destined to bring the Mandalorians to glory by defeating the Jedi, not kriffing siding with them. "I challenge you to a duel, worm." He bit out, barely managing to restrain himself.

Obi-Wan thought for a minute. Technically, Bo was right; he had no obligation to contend with Spar, the other having forsaken his ways, and being rather delusional. Nevertheless, it could be politically advantageous to take Spar up on his demand, the better to silence any holdouts. "I accept." He said.

Spar grinned behind his mask. Jedi were so predictable. Always doing what was fair and right. When you were a Mandalorian, you did what you had not, not what was right. If traditions stood in your way, you ignored them. Especially with offworlders. "So long, Jedi" he cackled, bending down and sending his anti-vehicle missile flying down range. Soon both the Jedi and the traitorous dar'manda before him would be dead, and he could ascend to Jango Fett's legacy.

Bo-Katan knew that she'd go out serving the Jedi. The clans may have forgotten those ages, but there were times when both the Mando'ade and the Jedi Order coexisted peacefully, providing mutual aid and defence. Some of her people were gutsy, Myria the Great who stood against Cassus Fett on Cathar, and some where snivelling little brats like Mandalore the Lesser. As the missile flew along the hall, she activated her jetpack and barrelled forth to intercept it.

The explosion would be large, but Obi-Wan would survive, and he and her sister could make a better place of Mandalore. But, just before impact, her forward momentum died. The missile stopped ten centimetres before her breastplate, then, against its will it reversed direction, and hurtled back to the person who launched it.

For his part, the only thought that rang through Spar's mind was, "Oh, osik!" as four hundred gams of high explosive incinerated him and the area about in a five meter radius.

"Bo!" Ahsoka growled from her place in the back ranks of the Jedi strike Force, face strained with effort, "Let a roomful of Jedi handle explosive ordnance next time. Okay?"

"Well, there goes our secret plan: riding a podracer and yelling 'yippee!' at the top of its lungs." Obi-Wan groused. He stood with Opushkina, Yoda, Ahsoka and Bo-Katan upon the Keldabe battements, gazing over the spread of the Kelita and observing the sunrise. The majority of the Black Sun forces across the planet were routed by concentrated military strikes, with only desperate holdouts remaining, which were better defeated with a siege or a lot of explosives rather than manpower.

Sundari was relatively liberated, but the battles had caused severe damage, and it would be quite some time before that city came back to prominence again. Obi-Wan had moved his command post to the planetary capital, and it was dawning upon him what a momentous task it would be to lead the Mandalorian people on a long-term basis, not in a battle or two. Mandalores did not resign.

"Be not so morose," Yoda harrumphed, "A success, Project Exile has been. Half the Order, retreated from the frontlines has. In no danger from the Clone Army, are they. Defended well, our homes in the Unknown Regions and Deep Core are. Fret less, you should. A reason, the Force has for everything."

Obi-Wan was a bit indigent, "What do you mean, 'fret not'? The entire plan hinged on the Jedi Order disappearing from the Galactic scene. First the non-essentials and vulnerable, than Master Windu's Browbeat Brigade. How can the Jedi disappear from the Galactic Scene if one is leading the Mandalorians?"

"Present a solution, the Force will." Yoda stated definitely. "A good plan, the project was, but even the Seers, foresee everything cannot. Adapt we must, adapt we will. Now, up shut, you will, youngling. Enjoying the view, I am, and disturbing me, your worrying is."

Ahsoka sniggered, "Ouch. Maybe you should go, and, discuss matters of policy with Satine, Master Obi-Wan?"

"I dearly hope," Obi-Wan began, "…that you were not implying what I think you're implying. Because, Force help me, I'll dismember Anakin and drop him into a river of lava if you meant what I think you meant."

The group burst into hearty laughter, and the tension flitted away with the darkness of the night. Morning fell upon Mandalore, and morning fell upon a new age of history.

And there we have it. This chapter is not as detailed as was my first draft, but then again, this chapter is also 3k+ words, which is twice as much as the projected chapter target for this story. (Even though tha average is hovering around 1800 words thanks to the first, second and ninth chapters.)

I tried to cover all I could, but even so, I could not include all, so, I'm gonna add a BTS section to this note as well.

Before we get on that: translations*:

Or'dinii - idiot, fool, moron. (Mando'a has a lot of insults!)
Beskad - Mandalorian short-sword (as in 45cm [~1' 6''] short).
Hu'tuunla - cowardly.
Shabuir - bad guy, moron, idiot, English equivelent rhymes with brickhead.
Kyr'tsad - Death Watch.
Gar akaanir pirusti, Jetii - You fight well, Jedi
Gar Mand'alor jii - You (are) Mandalore now.
Beskar'gam - Mandalorian armor, made of Mando iron.
Aruetii - traitor, outsider, "non-Mandalorian"
Dar'manda - no longer a Mandalorian. Someone who was once, but has forsaken the way.
Osik - analogous to 'crap'.

*Note: This list only includes new translations of the Mandalorian language. For words that appeared in the last chapter, check there.

Pertenant Notes:

I don't even know where to start. This chapter is one I have been building up to for a long time. It carries a lot of changes, both to canon, and to the situation in the Galaxy.

On the canon front, Pre Vizsla is no longer a cartoonish (pardon the pun) villain. In TCW he just seemed like...what I siad, a cartoonish villain. Given that it was a cartoon, it is somewhat excusible, but this is a story, and I decided to give him a bit of humanity. Dooku was right; the Death Watch of the comics were nothing more than petty criminals hiding behind ideals. IN this story, I tried to give them a reason to be bad guys.

Speaking of humanity, I gave the Zabrak people a bit of that, too. Traditionally, Zabrak came from Iridonia, not Dathomir (just like sith come from Korriban, not Moriband). They feature promimently in conflicts the galaxy across, being in a strategically-impaortant place in the Mid Rim. Little is written about Zabraks as a whole after the Ruusan reformation, just the footnote that there was a Sith Academy there for a time. So, I took that idea and ran with it.

Here, Savage Opress is plain Mall, and the Savage Oppressors (What was the Clone Wars crew smoking when they came up with that name?) are just a gang I spoofed out of the situation. Now, my BTS Blitz: I couldn't find a place to put it into this chapter, but Darth Mall's brother is not Darth Maul, it is Darth Moll. It started as a bit of a laugh, but I worked in an entire generation of Zabraks with those phonetics into my draft: Maul, Mall, Moll, Moughl, Mowghl, Moel, Mole, and Mawl. It was supposed to be a nightmare Obi-Wan had, but, it got cut.

Spar. I am almost ashamed to say I had forgotten about him about half way into writing this chapter, and by the time I remembered, it was too late to pull the plug. His canon story is this: He is from the second batch of clones, called the Alphas (First were the Nulls) he has some sort of aging gimmick, and he gets separated from the GAR. By some FUBARed logic, he has all the memories of Jango Fett, and goes about rebuilding the Mandalorians as some kind of super-bad### unit on the side of the Separatists.

For all the good Karen Traviss did with the Mando Culture, she also did a bunch of bad. It is my opinion that she has a lot of anger and belonging issues, as every story she writes about the Mandos, they are invariably oppressed little fairies trying to make a better place for themselves and these HORRID good guys; Jedi, Republic, whatever, are stumping their grwth whatever. Very annoying, very sick of it. So, Spar here is just a very jealous little clone that came out of his tank and never made it to the loony bin. As he should have been in a logical universe.

Bo-Katan's declaration about Mandalorians working with Jedi holds canonical ground, for (and I don't care what TOR:Revan has to say about it, as it was only written to fascilitate SWTOR) Canderous Ordo rebuilt the Mandalorians (post KOTOR1) as a force for the Jedi. Also, the Mando culture works with great conflict, and the Jedi ahve been in some pretty great conflicts, no?

As for Mandalore-ness...that's a tough topic to brouch. At varying points in history, Mandalores are - were - chosen by the clan leaders, appointed as an heir, or, in later days, simply killed. To kill a Mandalore and take his place, however, you needed to earn the respect of the Mandalorian people. Either do it ala Revan at the battle of Malachor (defeat in single combat, and tell em to disband) or become a Mandaloriaon.

Becoming a Mandalorian is easy, adoption - just like marriage - was a matter of three words in Mando'a, and voila! Apart from the Mandalorian honor code, there was the resol'nar, the six actions. Off the top of my head, I can remember: Wear the armor, speak the Language, teach your children to be Mandalorians, defend your family and home, and Follow the lead of Mandalore. (that's five). Not very hard; they wre an open culture.

Obi-Wan becoming Mandalore was a little concept that started off in a crackfic that was never fully written, and that I did manage to integrate into this story. Unlike most of my decisions story-wise, it was not made for logic's sake, but because "it was cool". I mean, Mandalore the Aggressive Negotiator, bane of Palpatine's Sanity, has a nice ring to it, yes?

Even though the original idea was based on the cool-factor, the ramifications of it have been thought out, and I have Mandalore playing a large role in the future.

This will be (obviously) my last update for the year, but here's a little preview of what you can expect in 2015 - excerpts from my various drafts:

"Permission to speak frankly, Emperor?" Commander #### asked.

"Granted..." Palpatine acceeded, cackling.

"You sir, are an idiot!"

. . .

"Today, we fight not just for glory, not just for our planet, but for the Galaxy. Arise, Mandalore!"

. . .

"The shroud of the Dark Side has fallen, Lord Sidious, and ugly, you look without it, yes."

. . .

"You have done well, Ahsoka; no need do doubt yourself." the shimmering figure said.

"Thank you, Sekot. It means so much to me."

. . .

"Red Wing, this is Red Actual. Weapons free! Weapons free! All fighters break by squadron, ready torpedoes and launch at will!"

. . .

"This, is for my father. This is for Ben. And this is for the Galaxy. Good bye, Palpatine, protons are actually dangerous."

As always, thanks for reading, your reviews, favourites and follows, which make me feel extremely happy and proud. Enjoy your holidays, and May the Fiction Be With You!

Clean word count: 3,299 (not kidding!) | Published: 0658 GMT