"What else is there?" the words echo in my mind as I look back across the table at Manx. This isn't the boast of a proud warrior, this is the existential dread of a man who not only knows he's drowning, but also knows that what he is reaching for cannot save him.
Mandalorians are a doomed culture. They are the perennial barbarians at the gates. They are not stupid. They can read history books with the best of them. They know the fate of barbarian versus civilisation. What will happen to them eventually. Maybe not now, this century or this millenia. The writing is on the wall however. The Mandalorians will be defeated, absorbed and assimilated into Galactic Culture. Oh, they'll hang on, but only as a shadow of what they were. There is no returning to the glory days of old. They have dashed themselves against the supposedly weak, divided and internally squabbling Republic and have lost.
Every, single, time.
Each of the Republic's flaws turns out to be a strength. It is weak, any individual world or sector is easily conquered by a determined warlord or Sith looney. There are tens of thousands of sectors, each one capable of churning out and training a fleet on relatively short notice. Any would be conqueror is casually overwhelmed by an organisation several orders of magnitude larger than they can ever aspire to be. Even if you could conquer most of it then you start running into the same problems holding it. It is also divided, No one really likes those too other to them and they sure as hell don't want to be under their boot. So, Galactic realpolitik is a matter of 'no one gets the face stompy boot', especially not some upstart invaders. And all that squabbling? A freeish and very robust exchange of ideas and ideals which keeps weapon systems and tactics continuously state of the art. The Republic may not have a fleet of honking big ships, but they know how to build them. It is a sleeping giant that you poke at your peril.
To make matters worse, the Republic is backed by the Jedi. A religious order of contemplative mystics who will kick your sorry ass should you disturb their meditations. They literally make the whole thing work through thoughts and prayers because here, that really works. Which means the Republic's main line of defence is an army of psionic peaceniks who can ask the universe itself to lend a hand.
So join the Republic. It will save on the kicking and screaming and it's going to happen. You will be assimilated, resistance is futile. Except then, you proud warrior loonies are not exactly needed anymore. You could become the equivalent of Texas Rangers or such, but you will always be playing second fiddle to the Jedi. Which means you fade away into obscurity as your kids are seduced by blue jeans and rock n roll.
The Mandalorians don't want that, but they know it is what lies before them. So there's all this kicking and screaming which, by all accounts is going to last another four thousand years because someone's toy was the coolest thing to have in 1980. Manx, and by extension all the little space vikings won't lie down, because once they do, it's over. The Proud Warrior tradition is a lie and they can't face that.
All in all, quite a lot to unpack from a single sentence. What do I say in reply? Especially since I am one of those oh so superior psionic peaceniks.
"There are a thousand things to struggle against without ever picking up these," I say gesturing at the weapons on the table. "Diseases, untamed worlds, piracy, policing the Rim, wrestling truth from myths of the past."
"Pah, do you see me as a doctor, or as a Patrolman? What honour is there to be gained corralling bullies and thugs?" say Manx.
"A little more than what is gained fighting alongside them." I reply.
Manx glares at me, I might as well have leaned across and slugged him, except that would make it friendly bonding, not a clash of ideals teetering on going hot. He pauses and grunts, "Point taken."
I wave towards the barkeep, "Something stronger I feel is needed. What sort of invertebrate is soaking in that bottle?"
After indicating it is some sort of non sapient anneliad the barkeep brings it over along with two smaller glasses. I pour the drinks and push one over to Manx.
"What are you proposing, Revan? An alliance?" he says after downing the glass, I do likewise and pour another.
"Nothing so serious. After all both our superiors would have fits were anything formal decided here. Merely a taste of things to come. Help me run these sorry fools away and some gain insight into Jedi fighting techniques to boot." I say.
Manx looks at me and pours another drink, submerges it into the full mug of beer then drinks it down. I follow suit. Damn, ascetic living has really taken apart my drinking skills. I channel the Force to banish the various alcohols diffusing into my system. Urggh, think I prefered becoming buzzed, wow, what a price to pay for clarity. Manx is still watching me. No telepathy needed to see he is thinking it over.
"Okay Jedi..." he begins, but is interrupted by Alana and Alek running in.
"Revan! Revan! I've worked it out!" Alana says, breathing heavily. However no one is paying attention to her, heaving chest notwithstanding.
Alek has his lightsabre out, on and pointing directly at Pal Manx.
"So, Manx, ready to answer for the massacre of Quelli?" he says advancing.
Oh, balls.
Okay, who is responsible for this scene? Kurosawa? Bernstien? Hope it wasn't Corman. If a big green amphibianoid turns up, I'm out. Boobship or not. Anyways everyone has stood up, pulled a weapon or ducked for cover. So, tactical assessment time oh great military commander. One one side is Pal Manx, leaving aside he's a Space Viking and hereditary enemy, he's not all bad. He's also quick. Were it not for Jedi senses and reactions he would have been a blur. One moment sharing a drink, the next standing ready, a shattered chair behind him. On the other is Jedi Alek, future Darth Boring whose cliche background has bitten us all in the bum. He wants revenge, now, and it's going to take more than some platitudes to get him to stand down. In the middle is me, Revan, everyone's favourite edgelord and flirt. I'm also in charge. Besides me is Alana, who is not helping by being brave, resolute and for some reason extremely hot right now. Great, a mexican standoff with energy weapons and hormones.
"What are you doing Revan? Why protect that, that beast?" says Alek.
"Come try it pup." says Manx motioning 'come on' with his free hand.
"Revan?" comes Alana's voice full of concern. No, focus on the really bad situation. Deescalate, then see to other matters.
"Do you know he's responsible?" I say to Alek. Mentally, I project to Alana, bracing for the shock. It is not enough, linking together by telepathy is incredibly intimate. She looks up, I smile. Yes, you're thinking it so I am thinking it, but right now we need to cover Alek with the blaster on stun. It's going to require my reflexes so just let me take control. We agree and now we really are holding her life in our hands. It' shouldn't be this easy, no, problem for later.
"Of course he's responsible, he's Clan Manx." accuses Alek.
"Let's check first. Innocent till proven guilty and all that." we say to Alek. "Well, Pal. Were you at Quelli?" we ask the Mandalorian.
"No. I saw nothing in that minor skirmish. No glory, nor sport." replies Manx.
"Minor skirmish? No sport? That was my world you bastard!" yells Alek launching himself. Quickly, we block his opening lunge and attempted strike. In the brief moment our blades are locked we shoot him. Then we spin and cover Alek from Manx.
Manx, for his part grins and holsters his blaster.
"Very cool, Jedi. I shall consider your offer." he says before leaving.
Which leaves me with the other minor matter.
'We must separate, now.'
'No, I don't want to, neither do you.'
'All the same, it must be done.'
'Okay, but please, before, one kiss?'
Sure, one kiss, where's the harm really. My body leans down, hers reaches up, our lips meet.
"Revan! I sensed a disturbance." says Tamman from the door.
"Huh, typical." comments Surik, just behind her.
I'm really starting to grok the celibacy rules right now.
Mentally and physically I withdraw. Alana sways a little, but keeps her footing. That's right, telepathy isn't some boring entry in a textbook, that's the real thing. Now, diffuse situation two.
"Right, let's get Alek comfortable. Heavy stun can be rough. Surik, got a stim?" I say.
"Yeah, I got one." she says as she kneels by Alek and administers it, "Sure you don't need a sedative?" she adds.
"No, thank you." I say and look towards Tamman. Uh oh.
"Well?" says Tamman.
"Well what? I kissed him, I liked it and furthermore, I saw that I'm a lot better than you." says Alana advancing on Tamman.
"This doesn't concern you slut." says Tamman.
Alana laughs "Is that the best you can do? I know what I am, Jedi girl. I'm not ashamed of it, not anymore. So yes I kissed him and I plan to do a whole lot more. If you can't handle that I suggest sleeping off the ship tonight. Quite far away too so you don't hear the screams."
Tamman pauses, gulps, "I," she begins.
"Can go meditate, in a corner. Alone." continues Alana.
Tamman blinks, and eyes watering leaves.
"Amatuers." says Alana as she watches Tamman leave, she then turns and smiles at me, "You know, I'll debrief you later." she says before leaving.
Surik stands up and folds her arms. "Well, this is another fine mess you've gotten ourselves into. Are you really going to bang little miss tsundere?"
"It has been a really intense day Surik, so kindly lay off the quotes and bloody TV Tropes references." I say.
Surik stares, "How do you know about TV Tropes?" she says suspiciously.
Then it hits. Of course.
"You're a bloody SI!" we both say to each other.
Godsdammnit.