Chapter Nine: Pit Stop Battle & Death Rattle:

Sorry about the Force-forsaken wait. My computer was conking out and I had to go through a herculean quest to get it back up. Almost an eternity later and it is fixed up enough to get this thing back up and running. Ugh… Unfortunately, I lost about a library's worth of work – the twenty COMPLETED chapters for this story included! That's just one of the things that Life hit me with. Ugh, starting two new jobs, a few home repairs, a severe case of food poisoning, election, a COVID-19 scare AND getting shot at; on top of this malarkey… I hope Karma pays off with a winning big-time lottery ticket any day now. …ANYWAY, ENOUGH ABOUT THE CRUDE I HAVE GONE THROUGH, ON WITH THE STORY!

And with that she turned and marched out of the crew's living quarters. It would take a while to get down to the hangar where her ship was and she wanted a real sleep cycle. And one of her own meals afterwards.

Din slept for a long time when she got back to the Razor Crest. When she awoke, she saw that the sleep cycle had lasted about ten hours. She didn't feel like cooking right now, instead she re-animated a salad from carbonite freezing and a couple of pieces of dried fruit. It tasted just fine to her and just as filling.

She thought for a moment and Felt that the crew was for the most part awake. About a fourth were deep asleep. Contemplating the sonic shower, she decided that a workout and shower could wait. She was going to check on some things – including the route and see if there were some shortcuts that they could take. Places like this – on the Outer Rim and far away from the main hyperspace lanes – were difficult to navigate.

The two weeks that were the original time calculated would take the Star Destroyer out of the way, on an old Imperial route, not on smuggler or bounty hunter routes. She had halved the time when talking to the crew, because the routes she was going to input into the Destroyer's databases were going to be along the lines of what she would typically use. When she entered the command center, the droids were still maneuvering the consoles. Going over to the navigation systems, she started plugging in coordinates that would allow the droids to find the "underground" routes. This was where things got interesting.

These coordinates had been given to her by the Jawas when the contract had lasted for over three years. It had cost her some, but occasionally those coordinates were worth their weight in beskar. Those coordinates actually cut the journey down to four days. This would be a good thing, even if it severely cut down on the time the crew had to recover. It would also make things easier in the long run. Not many people would think it, but the Jawas were the best scavengers in the galaxy. They didn't waste anything, not even useless data. That made her think for a moment and near slap herself in the head. 'I should have the contract expanded upon so that I could ask the Jawas to pass on news – even rumors of Mandalorians. They would be perfect spies. No one really looks at them as anything other than little thieves. I just got to figure out how to make that happen…maybe when the tribes meet on their version of Swap-And-Greet on Tatooine. But how to make it so that it won't cost me too much…The Jawas might even be persuaded to make contact with other Mandalorians, pass on news on how to reach out to me…'

Din shook herself and went to find the weapons arsenal. She could think about that later. Right now, with the journey now to last only four days, instead of a week, she needed to move and plan for the battle ahead. She found the arsenal not ten minutes later. Needless to say, there was some crappy weapons that made her want to just throw them into the incinerator along with those bedamned collars, but her near-instinctive need to reuse and modify let her see the possibilities she could put those near useless weapons to some actual use.

She started to sort the armor pieces next. Then an idea struck her. Looking around, Din found the transporting crates and began to load some of the more sturdier chest pieces into the crates. She had about a dozen when she gathered up some of the near-useless weapons and then added the last piece of her collection. Sticking the remotes for the crates into her pocket, she started for the living quarters. She would have to see if any of the crew would like to help with this wild idea of hers.

~ POV Change ~ {Crew Member}

When he had woken up, at first, he hadn't remembered what had happened. It had taken a few moments for his memory to catch up to him. When it did, however, the tears streamed down his face. He was free. He might have mistaken it for a dream, but the marks on his back still stung a bit. The bacta wrap that was around his bruised and semi-cracked ribs made it difficult to move his torso. Also, the fact that the horrible, choking collar that would burn him was gone.

He was free. He had been freed by a Mandalorian. The Mandalorian was plotting a course to get his family. He had missed his wife and kids. He knew that he wasn't fit for battle, but that didn't matter.

It also didn't matter if there four-thousand or forty-thousand between him and his family. They didn't have a Star Destroyer that could land on a planet. They didn't have a Mandalorian on their side. That fact was enough to make him hope and believe. Mandos were the best fighters in the galaxy. He had heard whispers that Mandalorians were so good, they could fight on an equal footing as Jedi. That that was the real reason why the Empire had sought them out to either win over or destroy.

He knew that he needed to get up, but the flood of emotions going through his heart were making him gasp with sobs. He was so loud that he didn't hear the door open with a hiss. He didn't hear the approach, so he started when he felt a touch on his shoulder. He looked over to see PC-530SD – an elderly female Ugnaught – looking down at him with an understanding look mixed with concern. She was worried about him and understood what he was going through. But he needed to stop hyperventilating. He tried to take deep breaths, trying to slow his breathing. It took a while, but eventually he managed to get it under control.

PC-530SD helped him off the bunk and on his feet. They both left the bunk-barracks and entered the mess, to find that others were congregating there. There was a mixing between species now; not truly separated for eating now because of the officers not wanting there to be real communication and understanding between races no longer being on the Star Destroyer, the Punisher. It had been renamed that, he recalled, when the Imperials had made prisoners and slaves the crew with the threat of what would happen to them and their families to keep them in line.

He near collapsed onto the bench next to another human, PC-466SD – if he remembered right. PC-466SD looked up at him from his plate of rations. They didn't look appetizing, but then he could barely remember his own name and that of his children and wife; let alone what real food looked like. PC-466SD made a kind of quirking movement with his lips and went back to his food. It would take time for it to really get through to them that they were free and their families would be joining them.

The door leading to the rest of the ship opened. Those who saw who was at the door, scrambled to their feet. He looked over and did the same. The Mandalorian was striding through the door. There were multiple crates – four – following him. He had just passed the first table, when he paused and looked down at table. The crew member actually held up a plate of rations to the Mando. The Mando looked at it, then at the crew member and shook his head. He looked out to where everyone was now standing, even those who probably shouldn't have been.

"At Ease," the voice was just as it was the last time, they all had heard it. Strong, sure and implacable, but somehow not terrifying. They all sat, almost in unison. The Mando – who had introduced himself as the Ghost Mandalorian, he remembered – went to the crew members who had tried to cook for everyone. He could barely see from where he was, but it looked to him like they were trembling. "Have you eaten?" the question carried throughout the room. Most shook their heads. "Serve yourselves."

The Mando actually got up on a ledge that was built into the wall. How he did it, the crew didn't know. One moment he was on the floor with the rest of them, the next moment he was standing on a ledge about ten feet above them. He sat up there on that ledge, his legs hanging down and slightly swinging; starting to fiddle with something in the crates. "I will give you some updated information on the situation as you eat."

The crew – that had been cooking – dished up the remains of the rations they had made and brought it all over to the tables. They placed all the dishes on the closest one to the kitchens and began to pass the plates down. Most of everyone had already gotten a plate. He got one now, as did PC-530SD and they both obeyed the Mando's order to start eating. The cook/servers were also starting to eat.

That was when the Mando looked out at them all. "I told you the last time you were all here, that it would take a week to get there. That is no longer the case." His heart sunk, how far back had there been a delay? How much time did they lose? How – The Mando was continuing, "According to the Imperial calculations, if we stayed with those coordinates, we wouldn't be getting there for another week. However, we are not using the Imperial route. We are actually flying on a route known only to certain people. It has shaved off a substantial amount of time. Our arrival time should be within the next four days, instead." The breath that had become trapped in his lungs, suddenly found the way out again. By the exhales and inhales coming from around him, he thought that he wasn't the only one who forgot to breathe. The Mando wasn't done though.

"According to the former Commander of this Star Destroyer, you have been on this mission since a time about two months before the Emperor was killed at Endor. That's been about three years now. I know that some of this crew has already died, overworked and underfed; tortured, and one or two out and out murdered." The crew flinched at the memories. There had been a reason why the "keys" had stayed with the Imperial Captain and they had never tried to remove the collars themselves. They had seen the fail-safes. "That time is over. In the next four days, you will need to recover fast. You won't be back at full strength, not by any standard. However, you are all capable of thinking. Some of you are engineers or mechanics no doubt. Please raise your hand if you are."

Hands – a full four dozen or so – rose with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The Mandalorian looked at them and said, "I have some weapon and armor parts that I would like you to go over with me. I don't know what kind of shots you all are, but the blasters on this ship are mostly junk. I would like to see if there can't be some kind of shield generator that can cover a small number of people in a small area so that anyone who tries to shoot them, won't be able to. A kind of defense against blasters that would be portable and able to be carried. Sort of like the old Separatist Destroyers, only on people. Think you all can manage that?" The Mando looked at them all, scanning their faces. He didn't know about anyone else, but this Mando was going ever higher in his mind.

The Mandalorian had sped up the time to when they could see their families again; made it so that they could be reunited all the faster and while he had asked them to fight with him against the Imperials, it was no more nor less than what several of them wanted to do anyway. Now, he was asking if there was a way for shield generators to be made portable for people to carry around so that they could be protected when they went to get their families from inside the Academy.

When they had for the most part finished eating, the Mandalorian spoke up again, "I would have just dumped the collars into the incinerator without ceremony last waking cycle, but it occurred to me that you were the ones who wore them. Perhaps, you would feel better if you chucked the things in instead." The crew member didn't know about anyone else, but this Mandalorian had better stop this soon; or he would be finding himself being worshiped like a god. It was almost too much for him to handle.

The Ghost Mandalorian jumped down from his perch and straightened from the crouch he had landed in. "Well?" he seemed to demand, "Are you going to sit there looking at me like a bunch of nerf-herders; or are you going to do something useful?" The question was the spark that lit a fire under them. All scrambled to their feet and got to work.

[Four Days Later] {AN: I am skipping the journey, because it adds nothing to the story just some extra words. Summed up: they ate, slept, healed and worked on the projects. The droids kept the ship going. The organic crew celebrated the destruction of the collars. Din worked out in private, not letting anyone really see her except at meals, and while working on projects. BTW: still in Crew Member's POV.}

When the Star Destroyer, exited hyperspace, the crew was ready. They had been fed and had healed as well as they could. They had managed to cobble together ten shield generators that would hopefully help them get inside the compound without being shot down. The Mandalorian had made it so that there would be ten groups, each with twenty people, all armed and armored to the teeth. The armor was all painted so that it was easy to tell on sight who was the real Trooper. While the armor had been modified to the point of not being recognizable as Imperial Stormtrooper's people's eyes generally saw the color white first, not details. So, painted the armor was. They weren't all the same color though. Most would say that they looked rather like mismatched tie-dye, but hey old trooper armor. They didn't feel very respectful about the stuff.

The Mandalorian had given one last speech and had even played a song over the intercom before it. It was a martial song. No one had truly understood what it was saying, only that it sounded like hundreds of men singing, chanting as they marched to fight. It got their blood pumping and made them want to bare their teeth in feral snarls. "The song you just heard is called the Vode An," the Mandalorian's voice followed that song, "It used to be sung every time a group of Mandalorians would go forth to battle. During the Clone Wars, some of the original troops were known to sing this. It translates to Brothers All and is a salute to each other. A rallying cry to show each other and our enemies that we will come out victorious and they will burn in the flames as they deserve. That they will fall to us and will not see another sunrise. Their Twilight is here! Now, my comrades, it is time we toss them into the Night!"

The Razor Crest left the hangar and blasted away to make a surprise attack from another angle on the Academy. Everyone was eager. The strongest two-hundred of the crew were the ones that would be actually entering the Academy, the others would be manning the Star Destroyer's guns and getting everything ready for the families to come on board with them. Some of the crew couldn't participate, the Mandalorian had ordered them to stay out of the fight. Mando had stated something along the lines of anyone that had broken ribs or was too bad off would be a liability and would probably become a fatality. And those were something that the Mando wanted to have for the Imps, not for them.

The alarm blared throughout the ship, letting everyone know that they were now beginning to land. It was during the night cycle planet-side. The first target that was shot and destroyed was the communications and landing dock. While some were worried that their family members might be in those locations, the Mandalorian had reassured them. The Imps wouldn't have prisoners there, too easy for such to escape with a ship or send out a call for help. No, the prisoners would be locked in the compound itself, and that was not to be fired upon; to avoid friendly fire.

When the Star Destroyer had landed, the two-hundred dropped out of the ship on modified land speeders, heading for the compound itself. They blew a hole straight through the door and began to split up when they out inside.

While his ribs were still a little tender, they weren't broken or cracked anymore and he was on point. He was working on the farthest group, the group making their way to the command center. His group was supposed to meet the Ghost there.

As he approached the rendezvous, he could hear screaming, he just didn't quite understand at first. Then when he turned the corner, he saw; it was the Mandalorian. It was poetry in motion. It was breathtakingly terrifying. It called to mind the song that still echoed in his mind, like some kind of prayer to some nameless Gods from the far reaches of the past.

Kote!

Mandalorian was at the far end of the hall, the group he was with was on the side farthest away from the storm troopers. The overhead lights were flickering, almost like the buildings heart rate, giving the hallway the lighting straight out of a nightmare.

Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an.

The smell was blood with an undertone of ozone, no doubt from the multiple blaster shots. The sounds were like an orchestra of the battlefield, the wind section provided by the screams of doomed men; the drums section was provided by the blasters being shot, the pounding of running feet and the distant boom of shells and explosions.

Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an.

It was frightening to see, but the Mandalorian - the one that introduced themselves as the Ghost - was proving his name. It didn't seem to matter how many blaster bolts there were, they seem to either miss him entirely or go through him without seeming to harm him.

Bal kote, darasuum kote,

The song of the battlefield was overlaid by the song that the Ghost had played. 'Is this what he feels?' He thought dazedly, as his group stumbled after the Mando, 'is this how his people felt, when they went to battle together? I wonder how it would feel,' he continued to think slower than normal, as the Mando seemed to cut down the last troopers in sight; turned and gestured at them to follow him down another hall, 'if he actually had a group of his own with him now rather than a bunch of untrained reinforcements. What would this be like if there were just one more?'

Jorso'ran kando a tome.

The group followed after the Mandalorian, keeping a look out for anymore troopers. The hallway wasn't as long as the Star Destroyer that they had arrived on, but it felt like five times the length of the vessel as the group tried to catch up with the Mando.

Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad, Vode an.

It was kind of difficult, they kept having to step gingerly over the bodies of storm troopers. Some rather nastily dispatched. He wondered how the Mando had done it. The floor was probably not that bloody-red before the Mando had decided to redecorate with a rather iron-based paint that did nothing for the décor.

Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an.

He blinked and from the look on some of the others' faces, they were rather sick with nerves. He wondered if their senses of humor were as strange as his was these days. But that was neither here nor there at the moment. He needed to follow the blood trail the Ghost was leaving.

Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an.

The group caught up to the Mando about two intersections later, where there was a T-junction and five doors. Five doors that the Ghost looked at and went to the one farthest on the left. Opening it, but at the side – not actually standing in the doorway; he managed to avoid death that way as many blaster bolts came pouring out of the room.

Bal…

A tossed object later and the blaster bolts stop and a fireball explodes out into the hall. Making the air and the structure itself shake. He shook his head in wonder as the Ghost glanced in and then went in. Their group followed after. Three of them whimpered. He wasn't sure that he wasn't one of the ones who had made a sound.

Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.

The tossed object must have been some kind of bomb that targeted organic material only, because while the installations were intact and functioning, the less said about the former operators of the machinery the better. The Ghost was already at the main console, typing away at some kind of locking system. A moment later, the Mando turned to them.

Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a

"To the right, go straight for three intersecting corridors and at the fourth there will be a ramp curving to the right and down. Take that ramp down to the base's sublevel. Take this," the Ghost barked, tossing a series of cylinder codes. "These will unlock all the holding cells on every block. There is no one here that is truly deserving of prison.

Aruetyc runi solus cet o'r

He caught the code cylinders as the Mandalorian keyed in a string of numbers "5664-5483-843-367473" and then added a secondary string "69-74327". Turning away from the console, the Mando said, "Well, get going!" Before rushing out of the room, dripping red blade held close to their body. He turned to the others. As one, they hurried after the bloody sword wielder.

Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.

A squad in paint splattered armor came barreling around the corner that the Mandalorian was about to pass by only to stumble after the barked order of "Get your shebs in gear and move with purpose!" that trailed after the now near-flying specter as the Mandalorian vanished round a corner just up ahead. The group that had just come into sight looked torn, between following the Mandalorian or going with the group that he was a part of. He jogged after the Mandalorian and peered after that terrifying being.

Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.

He quickly continued to bypass that hallway and gestured to his fellows to hurry along. Both groups had to take a look at what he had when they jogged to meet him. They, too, saw the Mandalorian finishing up with cutting through a squad of stormtroopers and already hurrying down the hallway again. Turning to follow him, both the groups went in the direction that the Ghost had said to go.

Aruetyc runi trattok'o.

With code cylinders in hand, he ran down the corridor and tripped over his own feet at the turn for the ramp. And no matter how much he wanted to deny it, he did a very good impression of an old-fashion Driodika; rolling all the way down the ramp until he was forcefully stopped by the energy shield at the bottom of the ramp. He could hear someone – several someone's – making noises of amusement at his expense. He didn't care though; he was already scrambling to feet. His blaster – a piece of junk according to the Ghost – came up and it was almost muscle memory – despite it being only four days of training and full rations – shot the idiot trooper that stood between him and where he wanted to go. He rushed forward as the trooper fell and the others finished coming down the ramp.

Sa kyr'am nau tracyn kad,

Going over to the dead trooper, he saw that there was a control panel. Taking the code cylinders, he pressed them all to the control panel and prayed. A few heartbeats that seemed to echo in his ears and last triple the time they should, the energy shields deactivated, all of them. Somewhere, on this sub-level, was his wife and kids. He trembled as he dropped the code cylinders and called out for them. His voice cracking, but loud. His and dozens of other voices calling out names and hearing the gasps and choked answering calls from people they had not seen for so many years. On trembling legs, he tripped forward, still calling.

Vode an!

~ POV Change ~ {Din Djarrin}

'There are some things,' Din thought to herself, 'There are some things in this galaxy that I can do without.' Slicing through the troopers that stood between her charges and the best exit, she twisted around and jumped over the last pile of troopers that were stupid enough to get in her near vicinity. Tossing the small grenade almost negligibly behind her as she turned around the corner to go back for her charges; Din started typing away at her com.

Looking at the display in her HUD, she noticed that all the teams that were made up of her charges were alone in the compound except for a mass of bodies in the sub-level that served as the cells for the "students". Smirking, she scrolled through the database she now was hooked up to. Looking at the information, Din knew she would be helping her soon to be ex-charges with loading their surviving family onto the old Star Destroyer. Pausing as the grenade blew out the exit and made it significantly easier to get back to the ship, Din thought what would the ship be renamed to.

'Something that would be appropriate, but short,' she thought as she continued to make her way towards her destination, 'something to serve as a signal to other Mandalorians and as a warning to our enemies.' Din continued to ponder about the name of the Star Destroyer when she arrived at the ramp, to find that her charges were already helping their loved ones come out of the sublevel and clinging to one another; sobbing and embracing and kissing and – she tilted her head as she watched one of her chargers letting a woman – she hoped that was his wife – near strip him.

'She looks torn between checking up on his physical health or starting something no child should see,' mentally chuckling at the pair, she didn't wait for them to notice her presence. She cleared her throat pointedly. To her hidden amusement, near everyone jumped. "Now that I have your attention," she drawled.

Some looked shamefaced as they stopped their previous activities, but she noticed with approval that no one distanced themselves from their loved ones. 'Good.' Pointing to the now-permanent exit that led to the outer world, she finished, "I would recommend that the reunions occur over ample medical supplies and rations on the ship. If you would?"

Without waiting for a response, Din walked to the far end of the corridor and following the map now displayed in her HUD, walked to the Storage Area. There would be supplies there to help her charges on their way back to the Core. As she did so, she heard the conversations starting up behind her. No doubt asking who she was, but at the moment she could care less.

A couple minutes later, she found the Storage Area and walking inside Din saw that there were several droids that were now beeping at her. Her distaste warred with practicality: shoot the damn things or use them to put the supplies on the ship? Decisions, decisions. In the end, she decided not to tax the poor victims of this Academy and her charges – who no doubt will have a collective adrenaline crash soon enough – and ordered the droids to take all supplies to the Star Destroyer. Grabbing a hover-train remote, Din ordered the droids to put any pressurized poison containers on the cart and at least four data-blocks on it as she perused the inventory list.

Keeping one eye trained on the droids as they worked, she continued to peruse the inventory list. There was plenty there for her charges to use: food, medical supplies, clothing and such; but there was something that was raising an alert in her mind. Looking closely, Din wondered what was making her think that something was wrong with what she had found. But try as she might, she couldn't figure it out. Mentally filing the thought that she would need to see this with the rest of her notes, Din noticed that the hover train now had several crates full of what she assumed were pressurized poison and eight data-blocks on her hover train. Walking over, she made a quick estimate of how much poison she had here. 'Enough,' Din thought with satisfaction, 'Definitely enough.'

Din took the hover train and herself out of the Storage Area and made her way back to the landing zone of the ship with her Razor Crest stored inside. Walking, her thoughts went back to what she could name the Star Destroyer. Punisher sounded too Imperial for her tastes, though in the end the crew and she did deliver punishment upon the Imps that had continued their deplorable treatment of their prisoners, even after the fall of the Empire. Thinking upon it still, she exited the facility to see that the sun of this system was just breaking over the horizon.

It highlighted the ship that most of the galaxy would see as a symbol for the evil of the Empire and all it's former might. Din stiffened as a sense of other came over her vision and she Saw. Saw what this particular Star Destroyer – heavily modified – as it defended against pirate scum and slaving bastards. Din blinked and the other dissipated. She smirked to herself and continued on her way up the ship. She had the perfect name.

~ POV Change ~ {Crew Member}

He saw the Mandalorian exit out of the remains of the facility with a hover-train full of supplies of some kind. He had only just helped put away a crate that had been full of rations, his baby girl clutching at his calf and his three not-so little boys staying within reach of him and their mother, who had their two youngest – two more little girls, children he had never met thanks to the Imps – wrapped up in a carrier sling. Most of the families were doing as his was, staying within arm's reach – if not closer. He wasn't the only one who stopped and straightened at the Mandalorian's appearance.

The light from the newly risen sun gilded the armor and made the Mandalorian look like some legendary warrior who had just left a battlefield, still straight and tall. He felt as his little girls' hands tightened on his pants as she no doubt watched the Mandalorian.

…to be continued…

5664-5483-843-367473 ~ "Cell Keypad" for "Long Live the Empire"

69-74327 ~ "Cell Keypad" for "My Shebs"

Author's Notes: I apologize for the semi-cliffhanger, but the chapter got a little too big for me to put it in one chapter. This seemed like an okay stopping point for now. But fear not! The next chapter should be ready by November 22nd. Hopefully…