Shadow of the Phoenix

by SLotH4

Centuries have passed since the Empire fell, and decades of war and strife have forged a ruthless galaxy. An expansionist Galactic Alliance looms over an upstart Mandalorian Union. A hardened Jedi Order teeters on the brink of light and dark. The Fellan Imperium awaits their chance to ascend once more. As rising tensions threaten war, it only takes a spark to set the galaxy aflame.

17. Rolling the Iron Dice

Shadow of the Phoenix

---

Rolling the Iron Dice

---

The din of blasterfire filled the air. A distant shriek echoing down the street. An endless river of silver armor surging through the city.

The girl clenched her eyes shut and wept as her ears rang with the sounds of Mandalorian curses and blasterfire.

She awoke hours later in a small unfurnished closet. The nearby door opened, revealing two men and a yuuzhan vong woman with jet-black hair tied in a braided ponytail.

An angry burst of vongish erupted from the woman as she kicked the girl in the ribs and made wild gestures with her hands.

Mischa closed her eyes and begged for it to end.

She begged mama.

She begged papa.

She begged the Force itself.

None answered.

---

Mischa bolted from her bed – the sheets flung to the floor. Her breathing was labored and her heart raced. Her jet-black hair clung to her brow with sticky sweat. She clutched her knees to her chest and caught her breath. It had been so long since she'd had that particular nightmare. Was it because she wasn't collared? Were they of the Force? They felt so real.

A glance at the chrono display showed it was extremely late, but she didn't want to be alone. She grabbed her stuffed bantha and sauntered into the hallway toward papa's room.

She paused.

The door was locked.

She'd never knocked on an adult's door so late at night. Would papa be angry? If it were anyone else, she wouldn't dare.

She tapped on the door gingerly.

The seconds felt like hours and she worried she knocked too softly. She raised her hand to knock again—

The door slid open, and from the darkness emerged Taral. His chest was bare and so were his feet. He wore loose-fitting pants and had a glowing cigarette hanging from his lips that he quickly stubbed out in the doorframe. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He smiled ruefully. "Me neither."

She hesitated. "I had a bad dream."

Taral frowned, then turned his head. "Olin'ya? Ya mind stepping out?"

Mischa glanced at the bed as the feline woman stood up wrapped in a bedsheet to protect her dignity. She grabbed her clothes and left with barely a word.

Mischa felt awkward, hoping she hadn't offended the woman – respect for her elders was viciously encouraged back home. She entered the room, watching as papa sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at the disheveled bedding and wrinkled her nose at the smell of it – it reminded her of mama's bedchambers.

Taral patted the spot next to him and she took a hesitant seat – she didn't say anything and kept her eyes downward to the carpet.

"Tell me about your dream," he said, breaking the silence.

She fidgeted. "Smoke. And fire. And screaming."

"A memory?"

She shook her head. "A world I've never seen before."

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, "A premonition? Can you see the future?"

She shook her head again. "I don't think so. I've never done that before, but… I've had this dream before… whenever I forget to wear a collar to bed."

"We do have suppression collars you can use, but I'm not sure that's best. If you suppress the dreams, you'll never come to terms with them." He smiled. "Why don't you stay here with me tonight? I'll help keep the dreams away."

Mischa felt a thrum of excitement. Was this what it was like to have a papa? She'd always wanted mama to be there for her like this. She felt… happy.

She smiled… then frowned. "The bed is dirty."

Taral looked over the sheets, noting several wet spots. "Gimme a minute."

With fresh linens in place, they sat next to each other against the headboard. The fabric was soft and smelled like detergent. Mischa was glad for it, but now she didn't feel sleepy. So instead, she peppered papa with questions. Nothing in particular, just whatever came to mind.

He spoke of the family he'd lost and the blood debt owed by Tlon Fett.

He spoke of his misadventures on Coruscant after he'd fled Dosuun.

He spoke of the pride he felt in seeing how much she'd grown.

Mischa listened with rapt attention as papa regaled her – especially the stories of his own training. She was intrigued by the tale of Master Kishhodt taking him to the hidden world of Kursid to battle the natives – as Banite tradition dictated. She hoped he would bring her there one day.

As the stories continued into the wee hours, the man tired and drifted off to sleep without her. She found it kinda funny, and kinda sad – he was so vulnerable right now, what kind of Sith just falls asleep around someone else?

Papa's style of teaching, she decided, was her favorite. He was gentle yet firm. Everything was a test – no changes there – but it was always meant to teach her to think things through. The physical training was rigorous and exhausting, but fulfilling – and she was pleased that failure on her part did not engender violent reprisals. Instead, he would correct her form or thought and move on. It surprised her how deeply she wished for his approval – nearly on par with her pining over mama. More surprising was his warm approval and doting manner. Sometimes she feared it was only a dream – that she'd awaken in the jungles of Cholganna at any minute.

And then there were the Jedi. They were a confusing lot. So open and warm and attentive… so very unlike the stories from her teachers. Papa was much more circumspect about things, explaining the situation as one of convenience and need – mama was dangerous and they required protection. He'd made clear to her that it was a temporary arrangement and under no circumstances should she attack the Jedi aboard this ship. However, he also made clear that the Jedi were still the enemy, even though he made allowances for those he called 'friend' – which really only covered the twi'lek lady.

Mischa enjoyed Numa's presence. She was kind and willing to listen, and one of the better teachers she'd had in her life – or maybe her lessons on self-reflection were just easy to digest.

She found Kerrn tiresome and boorish and she couldn't wait to cast a spell on him. Papa was right, that Jedi was scum.

Txon… was scary.

The Shadows were interesting. They reminded her of Master Chikchik at times. She rather enjoyed the games of hide-and-seek they played with her. Ah, apologies, the training they provided. No games here, this is serious business.

She smiled. She'd spent just a couple days aboard this ship, but they were some of the best she'd ever had. It made her heart ache to think about all the time she spent without papa in her life. She was glad to have him now, and wished mama wouldn't have driven him away. Maybe she'll change her mind one day… on second thought, probably not.

She started thumbing through her datapad to the sound of papa's light snoring. Now that she was beyond Cholganna, she had access to most of the HoloNet. Her searches for Sith sorcery returned very little beyond a few historical references, but it did bring her attention to something interesting: the Witches of Dathomir. She'd never heard of them before but what she read fascinated her endlessly. Their magicks were an expression of the Force similar to the spell incantations from her own studies.

Intrigued, she devoured articles and ebooks in the public domain. She even managed to find a primary source, a Nightsister's chronicles that described some of the simpler spells she'd used. An editor's notation remarked on the incomprehensible esoteric nature of the spell when attempted by Jedi. Mischa found that confusing, as the spell structure made perfect sense to her in the abstract. Was it actually difficult or did the Jedi just lack aptitude?

She smiled. This required greater investigation.

---

Captain Olin'ya discarded the linens she'd borrowed and was now dressed in her usual flight suit. The blacks and white contrasting nicely with her orange and burgundy fur. She walked the corridors with a peppy energy in her step as the evening she'd spent with Lord Taral continued to reverberate across her flesh.

The sex was well and good but it was the nova dust they'd shared that really sent her body into a tizzy. She'd never had it before, but she'd heard stories amongst dockworkers. It was a designer drug that was beginning to disrupt deathstick market share. How it affected the user varied. According to the authorities, users became ravenously addicted and brain-dead. Her conversations with actual users chalked that up to adulterants dealers cut the nova dust with. It left her with questions that Lord Taral was more than happy to answer.

He explained that nova dust was refined from the venom glands of a hssiss beast – some Force-sensitive animal she'd never heard of before. In addition to the typical euphoria and energy boost of an upper, the narcotic heightened latent Force abilities to a noticeable level. She herself wasn't Force-sensitive. She'd never been tested, but she'd heard stories she couldn't relate to.

She'd never had a 'bad feeling' beyond normal intuition. And yet, on the nova dust she felt something. Elation at first but then a sense of unease, even as she used her hand to float a flimsiplast starfighter through her bedroom. She was a casual user for now and hoped to keep it that way – Lord Taral had assured her his supply was no more addictive than spice, owing to the purity of his stash.

She made her way to the cockpit and found the pilot, J'roe. He was staring into the void of hyperspace, as he was wont to do. She found it strange he hadn't developed hyper-rapture yet. She herself could only stand to look at it for a few seconds unshielded before becoming dizzy.

"Cap'n," he greeted.

"Anything to report, J'roe?"

"Depends. The flight path is engaged. We'll remain on the Perlemenian Way for another eighteen hours." He turned to look at her. "I'm not concerned about the flight though. I'm concerned about the Ravenstone."

Olin'ya canted her head. "What's wrong?"

He gestured aft. "I've checked the specs three times. I have no idea how we're supposed to power that cannon they installed on Nar Shaddaa. Even with all those fusion reactors they crammed into the upper deck, I guarantee we'll blow out the core if we fire it."

Olin'ya's tail twitched, the fur puffed out. "How certain are you of this?"

"I'd stake my life on it," he said solemnly.

Olin'ya frowned, unsure of what to think. The retrofits had been a boon in her opinion. They'd been running supplies to the Jedi clinics specifically to earn enough money to bring the ship up to spec. With Taral and company contracting them, the refits were done and then some – most notably the omni-directional cannon attached to the starboard aft. She'd taken it in stride, understanding that the bump in their commission – and oh how substantial that had been – came with greater risks. These weren't static supply runs, this was active troop transport, or whatever you wanted to call it.

She hadn't trusted the neimoidians or their droids, but they conducted themselves professionally the entire time. Could they have ripped them off? Undoubtedly they'd padded the bills, but did they actually install something that wouldn't work?

She sighed. "I'll speak with Lord Taral and Master Numa. Perhaps they know something we don't."

J'roe shrugged and turned back to his console. "Maybe. In the meantime, I suggest disabling it. The last thing we need is for someone to trigger it and blow out the core while we're in hyperspace."

Olin'ya nodded and left him to his work, returning to her quarters as she pondered her next step.

---

It was a sunny day on Ossus. Daniel Skywalker stood at the base of the Ravenstone's loading ramp with Lara'ritten by his side. The day was warm and calm and he hoped it would stay that way, but as Taral crested the entrance and descended the ramp, he felt his stomach tighten.

Taral nodded his head in greeting – surreptitiously eying Lara. It was amusing that the boy thought it went unnoticed.

"Jedi," Taral greeted, "it's good to see you both in-person."

"Likewise," Lara said warmly, "You've caused quite the uproar in the Council."

Taral laughed. "I bet. Hopefully Cholganna engendered some good will."

"For some," Daniel said, "Others are concerned that you failed to share Dosuun with us until afterwards."

Taral grimaced.

"The Battlemaster is furious," he continued, "When our forces arrived, there was nothing but a crater."

Taral looked away. "Yeah… that sounds about right."

Lara smiled sadly. "You hid it because you wanted to save your daughter."

He nodded. "You would've attacked Dosuun. In response, they would have evacuated the Academy." His expression hardened. "I couldn't let that happen."

"Understandable, but that's not common knowledge – nor necessarily worth jeopardizing the opportunity presented," Daniel said, "To Shartan and others, you cost us our chance to end the war."

"Yeah, okay," Taral snorted, "I guess hubris isn't just a Sith thing. You people have no idea what you're up against. Not a clue."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "It would help if you explained it to us."

"I have, you refuse to listen." Taral shook his head. "Doesn't matter, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it. For now, I have a favor to ask. A big one."

Daniel tilted his head. "I'm listening."

"I need you to watch Mischa for me. This thing we're doing, our destinations… it's no place for a kid."

Daniel and Lara shared a glance, with the twi'lek smiling and saying, "We'd be delighted to watch her."

Taral exhaled and smiled. "That's a relief. I wasn't sure what to do with her." He pulled out his comlink. "Olin'ya, can you tell Mischa to come outside, please?"

"Of course, Lord Taral."

"Thanks." He put away the comlink and frowned. "What?"

" 'Lord' Taral?"

"She's respectful to her betters," he said with a shrug, "Back to Mischa for a moment, I suggest moving her off Ossus. I'm worried she might be recognized."

Lara shook her head. "Doubtful. Most of the other children were sent to Tython for rehabilitation."

"I wasn't referring to them."

Daniel tensed. "You think there are Sith amongst the Jedi here?"

"I think you're smart enough to have seen the bounties for what they were, Eternal Watcher."

Daniel sighed; he was right. "It's a troubling possibility, more so for how little it narrows things down. The dossiers we keep are not publicly available, but there are numerous Masters and Knights with clearance. That said, I have a few ideas for hiding her—"

"DIE, JEDI SCUM!"

The scream pierced the din of the port and the trio glanced back at the ship. A little girl with red skin and black robes ran down the loading ramp with her blood-red shotosaber held high – her eyes frenzied and her teeth bared. She lunged at the Jedi with a battlecry on her lips, only to be arrested mid-jump as Taral grabbed the back of her robes and held her aloft. Her short legs and arms flailed in defiance. She swung her red blade at the two Jedi but was too far away to even frighten them. Lara lifted her hand and ripped the shotosaber away with the Force – worried the girl might hurt herself.

"Hey! Give that back!" she whined.

"Mischa!" Taral growled, getting the girl's attention, "No killing Jedi."

"Aw, but, papa," the young massassi whined, "they're not on the ship."

"What?"

"You said don't kill Jedi on the ship."

"Elder One preserve me," Taral grumbled, exasperated, "What are you, a lawyer? Just don't attack any Jedi, okay?"

"But you said Jedi were the enemy," she pouted.

"They are the enemy, but you need to use your head, girl. They're both Jedi Masters," he explained, gesturing with his hand, "There's no way you'd be able to kill them on your own."

Said Jedi Masters silently watched the exchange – both amused and befuddled. A shared glance conveyed as much, and Daniel wondered if Lara now regretted agreeing to host the girl.

"Skywalker is your Master now and you will respect and obey him. Do I make myself clear?"

"…Yes, papa," Mischa grumbled, just before she was dropped onto her rear-end, "Oof!"

"You want me to train her? As a Jedi?" Daniel asked, not quite believing what he'd heard.

"The Force doesn't care who wields it. You and I both know only our morals really separate our sects." Taral glanced at the girl before saying soberly, "Besides, she'll be less trouble if you're declared her Master. That title carries significant weight amongst the Sith."

Mischa brushed herself off. "Wait… why is he my Master? You were going to train me." Her face twisted from confusion to fear. "Are you gonna leave me?!"

Taral kneeled and grabbed her shoulders. "Absolutely not, I will never abandon you!" His grip loosened and his tone became soft and consoling, "I will be leaving you under the care of Masters Skywalker and Ritten for a time, Mischa. Just a bit. I don't want you to get hurt. The crew and I are going to a place with a lot of bad and dangerous people, okay? If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself."

The girl became teary-eyed. "I don't want you to go."

He pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, I know. But I have to. It's okay, we won't be leaving for a couple days, so it isn't 'goodbye' just yet."

She sniffled and hugged him back.

"Listen, pumpkin, I have some business with Master Skywalker. It isn't safe for you to be out in the open right now, so go back to your room and continue your studies, okay?"

She wiped her eyes and nodded, sauntering up the ramp without looking back.

Taral watched her until she disappeared inside the ship. "Can I trust you with her, Skywalker? Ritten?"

Daniel grew somber. "You have my word that she will be safe in my care."

"And mine as well," Lara confirmed.

"You have my thanks, Masters."

The trio was silent for a time before Daniel spoke, "Is there a specific danger that necessitates leaving her with us? Or just your general life choices?"

"Funny." Taral smiled. "To answer that… I'll need to speak with the Battlemaster."

Well, that could certainly be arranged, but… "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Taral rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's why I said it. It's fine, he'll like what I have to say."

Warning received; warning ignored. "A holo-call can be arranged. Shartan is off-world at the moment."

Taral nodded. "C'mon, we can use the ship's comms."

Daniel and Lara followed him onto the Ravenstone, though she broke off to find Numa once aboard.

After a quick stop in the ship's med-bay to check on Knight O-Vhu Tar's condition – stable – the two men made their way to the communications room. It was fairly standard. A holoprojector surrounded by tangles of wires and loose panels. Daniel felt a twinge of nostalgia – the room wouldn't be out-of-place on the Millennium Falcon.

Taral took a deep breath, nervously glancing over at Daniel who sat against the far wall. His anxiety seemed to rise with each passing second as the holoprojector spun up to reveal Zevro Shartan in holographic relief.

"Battlemaster," Taral greeted cordially.

Shartan's eyes narrowed. "…Sith."

Daniel frowned. That tone wasn't very welcoming.

"Master Skywalker has informed me that Dosuun has been abandoned," Taral said.

"That's correct," Battlemaster Shartan said, his voice simmering; anger undisguised, "Do you have any idea what you have done by withholding such information?"

Taral smiled with a shrug. "Prevented countless Jedi deaths?"

Shartan's tone was fraught with menace – were he present, Daniel knew the air would be frozen solid, "Arrogant boy. You're quite bold to speak to me thusly."

"And you're quite bold to believe you can kill that woman. She's a walking, talking extinction event," Taral said, all mirth evaporating, "Can you kill a planet with a mere thought, Battlemaster? Because she can."

"Do you think so poorly of me?" Shartan's lip curled up. "It is curious that Sith education is based on lies. No, boy, I had no intention of stepping onto that planet when I could simply order the Alliance fleet to raze it to embers. It would not be the first planet I have destroyed."

Taral opened his mouth – a question clearly on his face – then closed it. A surreptitious glance was thrown toward Daniel, almost a question of if he was exaggerating or not. Daniel shook his head. Taral was unfamiliar with a bit of recent history it seemed.

Shartan shook his head. "Sith and their insistence that true power only comes through the Force. Every single one of you believes that power is a substitute for contingency and intelligence. Palpatine, Krayt, Snoke. I have no doubt your patron has power – but she is clearly more intelligent than you. She wisely fled, because she knows what I am capable of."

His voice turned colder, "Now, she is gone. She will be prepared. All because of your selfish actions. When she shows herself next, the cost will be high."

Taral scoffed. "The price was always going to be high, Battlemaster. Whether you attack now or later."

"Perhaps." Shartan's eyes were hard, cold, and showed a growing irritation. "Nonetheless, you ignore my point, or are incapable of grasping it."

"Maybe, but what's done is done. Truthfully, I'm not here to discuss the Collective." Taral crossed his arms. "I'm here to discuss Tlon Fett."

Shartan's expression changed slightly. "I wasn't aware you knew anything about him."

"I know enough to want him dead," Taral said, his tone frothing with hate, "Him and the man who spared him. Everything about that day was a dereliction of duty."

" 'Duty' says the Sith." Shartan nonetheless crossed his arms. "But do elaborate. How so?"

"How so? How so?!" Taral roared, "You know the history! Panlie had his blade at Fett's throat and just let him go! And for what?! If he'd've fallen in that moment, Tokare could've redeemed him in ten fucking minutes! But instead, they're gonna celebrate his impotence as if it were a triumph. As if everyone Fett's killed since was just collateral!"

Daniel felt the pressure in the room shift and heard rattling in the walls as the boy's hate radiated outward. "Calm yourself, Taral. Anger serves your enemies."

"No, Skywalker, focused anger is useful, it is undirected anger that is problematic." Shartan lifted a hand. "Though your point towards the boy remains the same – untempered rage is exploitable." Then he frowned. "Skywalker, are you in the room with him?"

Daniel levered himself up and approached, saying, "I am."

The corners of his lips curled up. "This does little to alter my opinion of him."

"He requested these talks, Shartan, not I," Daniel refuted, turning a critical eye on Taral, "Though this is the first I'm hearing of it."

The Sith frowned and sighed, his anger cooling. "When I was on Dxun, I encountered one of Fett's sons. He'd been captured in Iziz. I did a mind-rip and left him for dead."

Ah, I forgot about that, Daniel thought, Seems informing him paid off.

"You offer me Fett." Shartan nodded, face inscrutable. "What could you possibly have to offer that I don't already know? The Alliance and Imperium are hardly ignorant of the man, the AIS has been tracking his movements for years. What they know, I know."

Taral pursed his lips. "I know what Vegao Fett knew – as a man on the inside, he was privy to a great deal…" He then licked his lips and quickly smothered a flash of nervousness. "That said… there's every possibility that his father changed things since."

"Some things can be changed easily – others less so." Shartan nodded slowly. "How long ago was the mind-rip performed?"

Daniel spoke, "It was the same day we were expelled from Dxun."

"Making the usefulness of this information dependent on what it is. This once again brings my concerns to the fore about him," Shartan said with a contemptuous glance at Taral, "I'll assume Yaden hasn't briefed him yet?"

"Not yet," Daniel said, ignoring Taral's questioning glance, "It was planned for this afternoon, after a debrief from Knight Lestin. Though that was delayed somewhat as we are moving Knight Tar to a medical facility."

"What's his condition?"

"One amputated arm, easily replaced. He was part of a strike team with Knights B'lor and Ando, both killed in action when they fought the Headmaster of the Cholganna Academy."

Shartan nodded. "Unfortunate, but necessary." A weary sigh escaped his lips. "Very well, Sith. Tell me what you know of Fett's operations."

Daniel and Shartan listened intently as Taral described what he had learned. Cloning facilities. Child soldiers. Half-a-dozen sites with coordinates. It was a treasure trove, but both Masters were cautious in their optimism – and Shartan observed Taral more seriously the longer he talked; the open contempt fading into a cautious appraisal. Taral made it clear that Vegao was not favored by his father and knew only a fraction of what was going on. Still, this alone could cripple Fett's warband – and once they attacked such sites, they could learn more.

When the presentation concluded, Battlemaster Shartan spoke, "This is sufficient information to finalize groundwork for an operation against Fett. Presuming accuracy… it confirms several suspicions and discredits others. Good. This is opportune, but it may accelerate other operations as a result."

Daniel frowned at the implications but remained silent.

The Battlemaster appraised the Sith for a moment before turning to Daniel. "He has proven informative, and – presuming he is being honest – that is what I asked for. There is no reason to conduct a mind-rip on a cooperative subject."

Taral's eyes bulged. "That's what Yaden was gonna do?!"

"Considering everything you've hidden from us until you found it convenient, this shouldn't come as a surprise. There are consequences to your reticence. And the option remains if you are dishonest still," Shartan explained, "But I do not punish those who cooperate – with the understanding my tolerance for lies is low. So tell us, boy, is there anything else you've been hiding from us?"

Taral visibly gulped and glanced around, no doubt looking for an escape – drooping his shoulders when none presented themselves. "I might have a few more names for you but…" – a weary sigh – "that's everything. I've told you everything I know about the Sith… and now about Fett. I have nothing left to give but my blood and hate."

Daniel sensed honesty in those words – he glanced at Shartan and nodded. "Then we will accept that and move forward against our enemies. No more bargains or gamesmanship, but as allies."

Taral furrowed his brow before nodding in acceptance. "If that's what it takes to see him dead… so be it."

"That is all that is required from you, Sith." Shartan inclined his head toward Daniel. "Watch him closely, but if we succeed in breaking Fett's band, he will be protected accordingly – regardless of the stance of the Council." He looked at Taral. "Consider that a promise, Sith – one I do not make lightly. Assist us, and you will be protected. Fulfill your nature, and you will join your kin. Shartan, out."

The Battlemaster disappeared from sight, leaving Daniel and Taral alone in the dark – the mood both dour and hopeful in equal measure.

---

Numa'lestin stretched her shoulders as she walked alongside Master Ritten – passing archways and random Jedi and droids. After greeting one another on the ship and trading small talk, Numa mentioned her encounter with Kreia's spirit and Master Ritten – more healer than historian – suggested a visit to Master Lowbacca on the other side of the Praxeum.

Numa intertwined her gloved fingers and pulled, feeling the strain of the gauntlets. Even weeks after Durgado Hanaku fabricated her new uniform, she was still getting used to it. Gone was the billowing black cloak over a white and blue tunic. Replaced by a smart outfit more akin to smuggler fashion. Knee-high brown leather boots and scarlet trousers. A light gray jacket with a tan leather vest that was festooned with belts and buckles galore. Over one breast, three belts converged at a circular shield generator. Her right shoulder was encased in a studded pauldron of hardened black leather. It was unlike a Jedi, and yet it felt distinctly her.

"Speak to me, Numa," Master Ritten said, "We have not had a chance to talk privately since your time on Nar Shaddaa, how do you fare?"

Numa's shoulders dipped slightly. "Peaks and valleys. It felt good stopping the slaver operation, though the thought of being their prisoner fills me with dread even now. It was getting better before we reached Sorgan…"

"There's far too much tragedy in this galaxy of ours, but in a way, you brought hope to it, did you not? Freeing the slaves and aiding the victims of Sorgan. You are a credit to the Jedi Order."

Numa blushed slightly. "Th-Thank you, Master Ritten."

The older twi'lek's expression turned wry. "You need not be so formal with me, my dear. Call me 'Lara.' "

"Ah!" Numa's lekku coiled. "M-My apologies, Master Ri— Lara!"

Lara chuckled behind her hand as they continued their trek. The sounds of the forest caressed their ear-cones and drowned out any sound of modernity. It was peaceful here, though uncomfortably humid. Numa was grateful that her news robes were so airy and light. She might give the Hanaku Brothers some free advertising if this keeps up.

Numa frowned. "I did something foolish on Nar Shaddaa. Well, two things really." She stopped and turned to Lara. "I used empathic absorption on one of the slaves. He was so… broken. And I felt so helpless. So, I took away his pain and let him die peacefully."

Lara was quiet. "…And his pain is now yours."

Numa nodded. "It was horrible what they did to him. What they did to the others. What they would have done to me. It filled me with such rage. Such hate." She sighed. "I don't know what happened after that. I just remember coming to and… and…"

She paused, eyes glossy with the memories.

"That hallway was filled with bodies – smoldering and broken." Numa looked up into the canopy forlornly. "And the slaves… recoiled. They were terrified of me."

Lara smiled gently and placed a calming hand on Numa's shoulder. "It's okay. They didn't understand."

Numa glanced away shamefully. "Knight Kerrn said the same thing, but that doesn't make it right. I'm a Jedi, I should have better control."

"Perhaps, though I imagine it's difficult to do so when another's memories are overlain yours."

"Master Oro showed me how to untangle the foreign trauma. It's ongoing, but fruitful," she said, her tone turning glum, "However, there are other memories. They do not feel foreign, and yet… I don't know where they came from."

"What kind of memories?"

"A laughing hutt. A feeling of violation. It's still a bit fuzzy."

Lara was quiet, then she pursed her lips. "And how does it make you feel?"

"Confused… and worried. What if the memories are real…?" she trailed off despondently.

"What if they are?" Lara asked, "What of it? They do not define you. You are Numa'lestin, Jedi Knight of the Sphere of Outreach and Aid. You are a good Jedi, and a good person. Never doubt that."

Numa considered those words. She thought back on her time with Taral and the others. The things they'd done. The things they'd seen. Olin'ya's words echoed in her mind: 'Jedi are heroes.'

Without her, those slaves would still be slaves.

Without her, relief may never have come to Sorgan.

The nightmares were horrifying, but Lara was right, they didn't define her. Whether real or imagined, they didn't matter. She was a Jedi, a credit to the Order.

Lorekeeper Lowbacca's office was best described as organized chaos. The desk was strewn with datapads and scrolls and small artifacts – seemingly at random, but the desk's owner knew exactly where everything was. It was almost anachronistic considering the naturist vibe of the décor – wooden panels and embellishments carved from wroshyr branches, with live plants growing from inlaid cavities. The desk and massive chair had been hewn from the same piece it seemed, the chair attached to it by a curved protrusion that had Lowbacca's family history carved into its surface. Numa had never been here before but decided she rather liked it.

＜＜Lara, Knight Lestin, welcome,＞＞ Lowbacca loudly growled in a friendly tone, ＜＜What brings you to my office?＞＞

"Thank you for receiving us, Lowie," Lara said, offering a deep bow alongside her companion, "Numa has questions about a historical figure."

＜＜I'm more than happy to offer any answers I can. Who is it?＞＞

Numa licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. "An ancient Jedi-turned-Sith named Kreia. Her spirit is bound to my associate, Taral. I spoke with her on our way here."

Lowbacca leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking slightly as a whistle of surprise escaped his lips. ＜＜Now that is a name I have not heard in a long time.＞＞

"But you do know her."

＜＜I do, though not as well as I'd like. Regrettably, only scraps of myth remain.＞＞

He rose from his chair and approached the shelf near the window, searching a moment before claiming a violet data crystal. He placed it on the desk and activated it. A small projection showed the face and shoulders of a woman with braided hair. Numa inhaled; it was her. Younger, certainly, but there was no doubt.

＜＜This is Jedi Master Arren Kae.＞＞ Lowbacca gestured with a paw. ＜＜She was a Jedi historian and one of Revan's Masters in his youth, and she followed him into exile to combat the Mandalorians. It is said she fell to the dark side during the war and joined Revan's Sith Empire as 'Darth Traya.' Later, after Revan returned to the light, she left the Sith and became a guide to the Jedi Exile, Dacen Vorsut, under a new moniker, Kreia.＞＞

"Hmm," Numa hummed in thought, "Did Kae have any children? Kreia claims Taral is a descendant."

＜＜The information we have of the time is incredibly sparse. The Pure Sith War devastated the galaxy and the Jedi to the point that this data crystal contains all the information we have on Kae… five short paragraphs.＞＞ The wookiee exhaled deeply. ＜＜There is mention of her closeness to an echani general named Yusanis, but it is fleeting and incomplete. Perhaps she bore a child with him, perhaps not.＞＞

Numa nodded. It wasn't much, but it gave her a bit of context. She would broach the topic with the specter at another time. She leaned back on one leg and crossed her arms. "What about the Exile? I know some of his deeds, but most of it is muddled."

＜＜It's the same issue for him as for Kae. The information is lost for the most part.＞＞ He held up his paw. ＜＜However, we know he and Revan were adopted into Clan Ordo of the Mandalorians. Given Javen'Panlie's… purpose… there's every reason to believe the Mandos have the answers you seek. Regrettably, they are not interested in cooperating with us at the moment.＞＞

Numa's first instinct was to label them xenophobic brutes. But then, she realized the truth. "Taral."

Lowbacca nodded. ＜＜His escape and our partnership with him have soured relations with Panlie and his kin. Perhaps one day that will change, but until then, you must rely on the histories we have access to.＞＞ He typed something on his console – Numa's datapad dinged shortly after. ＜＜I've sent you a list of records involving Dacen Vorsut – mostly from his time on the High Council following the end of the Pure Sith War.＞＞

"Are those the only records?" Lara asked.

＜＜The only ones available in Alliance Space,＞＞ he said, before pondering a moment, ＜＜It's a longshot, but Imperial records may have more information on the era – they love hoarding information. I'll reach out to Gatekeeper Solo, see what she knows on the subject.＞＞

"Knowing Arnica, even if she doesn't, she'll find something," Lara said with a smile, "I think you're in good hands, Numa."

"Thank you, Masters," Numa said, with a deep bow, giddy at her prospects. A quick glance at the list provided made it clear she'd be spending most of her time in the archives. Hopefully Taral wouldn't make a fuss about leaving anytime soon.

---

Battlemaster Shartan walked the long, narrow corridor to his destination. He could just make out the hidden turret emplacements along the walls, ready to lay down pain on anyone foolish enough to attack the front door. He appreciated the thoroughness of the architects.

At the end of the corridor, the path veered to the left. It was a dead-end with some electrical panels and pipes. The wall had been spray-painted with a stylized mudhorn, marking the entrance he sought. A message sent on his datapad caused the thick slab of durasteel to creak open after a moment. Without hesitation, Shartan entered the pitch-black void, practically feeling the targeting reticles that followed him inside.

His visor activated night vision, lighting the room in an uncanny green. Again, a narrow path with perfect overlapping lines of fire. He continued until he came to the true entrance, which slid open as he approached.

The light blinded his visor before the night vision automatically shut down. Standing in the lit doorway was an armored Mandalorian holding a rifle, though not pointing it at him. A nod of the helmet and he was ushered in as a guest. Shartan followed as the Mando brought him deeper into the complex. The sound of pounding metal and a roaring furnace grew louder with each step.

When they reached their target – at the top of a defensible staircase – Shartan beheld a small Mandalorian smashing beskar into shape with nothing more than the Force. So much power in the Armorer's small frame. It was almost a shame he was here and not with the Jedi.

Shartan glanced around as he waited, looking upon the wall at the dozens of beskar helmets that adorned it. A remembrance of those who had fallen. He saw one he remembered from Nar Shaddaa. He was glad it was back with its people.

The pounding ceased and the furnace quieted to a gentle burn. The Armorer stepped away from the crucible and turned to his guest. His helmet was small but distinctly Mandalorian – the iconic T-visor reflecting the burners. Its most unique aspect were the triangular wings that spread out from the sides to protect his long pointed ears.

"Battlemaster," the small Mando greeted.

"Armorer."

"How does the armor hold?"

Shartan flexed his fingers and arm – the artificial light gleaming off the obsidian beskar. "As well as the day you forged it."

The Armorer's voice was amused, "And yet you wear it in such an abysmal state, as if you've never once polished it with woodoo hide as instructed."

Shartan grunted at the jibe. He polished the armor constantly, but the Armorer's keen eyes picked up every scratch and blemish regardless.

"Still, you wear it well," the Armorer continued, "What brings you to our enclave?"

"War."

"Mm. You come for mercenaries?"

"No, though I'm sure there will be work available for the Tribe," he said, "The Alliance is preparing to bring the Sovereign Systems under our protection, and, if necessary, the Mandalorian Union to heel."

He couched it in terms of maybes, but they both knew they would cross weapons with the Union in all likelihood. All the same, perhaps Javen'Panlie would be reasonable. Shartan wasn't optimistic.

After all, he wouldn't concede. Any decent Mandalore wouldn't either.

"Interesting. What brought this on, if I may ask?"

"A convergence of varying interests. For myself, I seek to liberate the Sovereign Systems. The Union was meant to protect them, yet they do nothing as Tlon Fett terrorizes their client-state. It is an abysmal dereliction of duty and I will not suffer it any longer."

"Mm-hmm." The little alien could tell there was more to it. "The politicians may underestimate you, but you intend more than mere protection. You know many in the Systems will not view your intervention as 'liberation.' "

"Enough will, but you are right." Shartan paced the room. "I have plans for the Mandalorians. Historically, both recently and in the past, they have been isolated; galactic pariahs or nativist isolationists. A fall from what they once were, condemned to stereotypes as mercenaries and killers. I know better, as do you. As a consequence of this war, the Mandalorians will be integrated into the galaxy; they will fulfill their codes in service of the galactic good."

"As the Jedi are?"

"In a sense, I suppose."

"Mm, many Mandalorians in the Union will resist such transitions. Too chained to their recent history and leaders. They have become reluctant warriors; far from the legacy of Mandalore the Ultimate."

"I do not need them to follow the Ultimate," Shartan said, "They are best served following the path of Mandalore the Righteous."

"Your education sets you apart," the Armorer chuckled, "Most Mandalorians only know of the Splintered Age through childhood games. Many would struggle to define any of the participating Mandalores or their deeds; too overshadowed by Mandalore the Prophesized and his Quabular."

Shartan smiled under his helmet. "I am aware. And I am aware that there are Mandalorians in the Union dissatisfied with the path Javen'Panlie has taken."

"They have spoken to you?"

"To certain degrees. The sentiment exists. Fett is a stain on their honor. The massacres and attacks chafe them. How do warriors react to being viewed as ineffective soldiers or cowards in the face of danger? When their leader is responsible for a butcher roaming the galaxy?"

"They look for a leader."

"Correct. Few good options for them exist. They will require organization, guidance, and reconciliation. A strong voice is required for forging a new Mandalorian society. Perhaps yours?"

A quiet snort escaped the small helmet. "I am the leader of this Tribe; a difficult enough task as-is. To integrate those who have forgotten the Way… I'm not sure my skillset would be conducive. However, there are some in the Tribe who would be amenable to your proposal. Of those, I would suggest Calcaren. He has the will of a leader." The Armorer raised a cautioning hand. "But that doesn't change the main impediment. The clans will never accept one of the Tribe as an advisor, let alone anything resembling a leader. They'd be more likely to welcome the Quabular than 'heretics' like us."

Shartan could sense the scorn laced through that word. "It is pointless for the Tribe and the clans to remain separate forever. It is a schism that only serves to divide the Mandalorian people. The clans have diverged from the Way, but they are not like the Quabular. If nothing else, reconciliation will serve all parties. They may balk if you approach on your own – but you will have the backing of the Alliance. Of me. They will, at the very least, be willing to listen."

The Armorer did not answer. He returned to his task – using the Force to fold and crush the burning beskar in a way no mere hammer could manage. "To be your instrument is one thing… to be your slave is another. Your words are honeyed, and I do not doubt your intent, Battlemaster. You are an honorable warrior. But it will not be you who dictates to us. It will be your own corrupt patrons."

Shartan bristled. "I am my own man."

"You are, but you admitted your intentions. A vision of Mandalorians, integrated into the galactic fabric, embedded and beholden to the Alliance – as the Jedi are."

"We are all part of this galaxy, Armorer," Shartan said, "Selfish desires of isolation become more and more untenable. Dark clouds are on the horizon, and there is no room for neutrality. War will come for all. I do not believe in neutrality anymore, Armorer. Mandalorians believe themselves separate from the galaxy. It is time that the issue is forced. Otherwise, there will be others, ones that care not for your ways, culture, and all you hold dear."

"Is this a threat?"

"No. It is an explanation for why I am doing this. I want you to be part of it. If you will not, then I will manage."

"So you claim. And yet you insist we abandon our splendid isolation to play advisor amongst those who have forgotten the Way of the Mandalore. We have not persisted as long as we have by involving ourselves in foreign controversy."

"That is exactly what I am asking you to do, and I do not ask lightly." Shartan smiled grimly. "Besides, is it not your custom to hire yourselves out in service of foreign controversy?"

"A blade has no will of its own, it is simply a tool. What you propose would change that. I will not oppose your efforts, Battlemaster, but I will never commit my Tribe to such a thing. If Calcaren wishes to entertain such folly, that is his decision alone." The Armorer reached out with the Force – fold, smash, repeat. "This is the Way."

Shartan frowned behind his helmet, then nodded. It was unfortunate that the Armorer refused to entertain the idea, but he was old, and creatures of such age were difficult to remove from their entrenched views. That he sanctioned another of the Tribe who might have interest was a good sign though.

Regardless, there was little more to say. "This is the Way."

The pair fell to silence as the pounding continued – the sharp thud echoing off the walls as each hammer fall resounded with doom, and Shartan turned, and made to exit the room, and find this Calcaren.

---

Javen'Panlie bit into the ripe varos as he looked into the distance from his balcony. From this spot, he could oversee everything in the northeast all the way to the horizon. The wind was dry but pleasantly warm. Sometimes the deserts were harsh, but occasionally they chose to be forgiving.

He reflected on the changes in his life over the past few months. The brother he never knew he had. The family the man brought with him when they fled Coruscant. From just him and his sister and their two uncles, now they had a half-brother, a sister-in-law, and a rambunctious niece.

His sister Shadee had gone positively gaga over her new niece – monopolizing the girl's time and spoiling her to no end. Needless to say, Morrigan embraced her new aunt with vigor – much to the exasperation of formerly-favorite-aunt Lunae. Shadee, Morrigan, her Auntie Nae, and her mother Seena were touring the training grounds of Jetiib'tsad at the moment. The girl was strong in the Force, and if she and her parents wished it, she would join the esteemed order. High Arbiter Thel'Mora had already commented on the girl's potential and was eager to initiate her.

Perhaps when things settled down. After all, the Onasis had only just arrived on Planet Ordo a few weeks ago.

Her father, Telan Onasi, was sharing the balcony with him. Neither man talking, both feeling somewhat awkward about the whole arrangement – something both were endlessly teased for by their spouses, who seemed to connect so naturally with one another. It was difficult to bridge the gaps between them. Javen was Mandalorian – born, bred, and raised. Telan had the blood of a Mandalorian, but was raised on Coruscant by the Vao'Onasi clan – and while the twi'lek family would forever be members of Clan Ordo, they didn't live like Mandalorians.

How to connect? It was a flummoxing enigma that neither man could solve. Telan had tried to share his love for music, but it didn't appeal to Javen who thought it too divergent from the gloriously bombastic acapellas he was used to. Javen tried to share a love of surviving the sandy wastes of the desert, a concept understandably foreign to Telan who was raised on an ecumenopolis. Ultimately, it came down to food and drink and politics.

Telan had spent some of his youth as a line order chef and prepared several novel meals – local ingredients cooked in a Coreward style. Delectable!

Javen shared bottle after bottle of hardy brew from his cellar, appreciating his new brother's ability to stay upright after so much beer. Another round!

And both had a vision for the galaxy that ultimately boiled down to peace, stability, and justice no matter the cost. Javen's view was more martial than Telan's, and he could never square the concept of personal autonomy when it came to recreational drug use, but he respected his brother's firm convictions and will to advocate for them.

After some time, they found they liked each other's company, despite the lingering awkwardness.

"I rather like the desert," Telan said, breaking the silence with a wry smile, "As a concept, I've always found it fascinating. A harsh and unforgiving place where only the strong survive."

Javen nodded. "You never feel more alive than when death sets its sights on you. It's freeing to be out there with nothing but your wit. It reveals the true self, stripped of all pretense and falsehood."

"A crucible for honesty." Telan snorted. "I think it might do the galaxy good if Coruscant were stripped of its cities. That the corrupt and wicked might find themselves in such a state."

"Heh, I suspect most die within the hour without their plush comforts and million-credit meals." Javen finished his varos and threw the core in a composter. "But I think many would survive and even thrive. They were always parasites and predators. The desert would simply strip away the mask. To bloody one's hands, you need only remove the need for decorum."

"Considering the stories that used to come through the newsroom when I was there, I shudder to think what base urges they suppress in public. Not that it matters, Coruscant is eternal."

"It doesn't have to be."

"What, you wanna blow it up?"

"Hardly." Javen smiled. "But it need not be the center of power in the galaxy."

"Well, if you want to replace it with Mandalore, I think you have your work cut out for you."

Javen laughed. "I'll leave that to someone else. I'm content to be here amongst my people. Left well enough alone—"

A chime from his comlink interrupted his thought. He clicked the button. "What is it?"

"Mand'alor, my apologies for disturbing you, but we received a communication request."

"From who?"

"Battlemaster Shartan… sir."

Javen tensed before schooling his features and marching inside. "Put him through to the comms room."

"Yes, sir."

As Javen approached the holoprojector – Telan watching from the door – it spun up as the call connected. The imposing, armored form of the Battlemaster coalesced – shifting from the common blue hue of most projectors, to a more accurate patina of colors afforded by the latest in MandalMotors holo technology. To most others, the armor he wore would seem little different than those worn by the Alliance Special Forces, or the Militant Order Jedi. It had clearly been designed to evoke those designs – but Javen could tell Mandalorian quality when he saw it.

There were only two places someone could find beskar forged of such quality: Mandalorian Space, or amongst the Tribe. He suppressed a grimace at the implications.

Shartan inclined his head. ＜＜Greetings, Mandalore.＞＞

Javen narrowed his eyes. Being addressed by his title alone was suspiciously polite – and addressed in Mando'a no less. It was accented, but Shartan clearly spoke it with some degree of regularity and knowledge. He was less interested that Shartan knew Mando'a – which their intelligence had indicated – than the fact he was employing it now. ＜＜Battlemaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?＞＞

＜＜I come with a proposal. You would not waste my time, so I will not waste yours.＞＞ He clasped his hands behind his back. ＜＜It concerns the administration of the Sovereigns Systems. I propose a joint defensive administration; a formal agreement between the Galactic Alliance and the Mandalorian Union.＞＞

＜＜The Sovereign Systems chose to ally with us of their own volition. They are not pawns to be traded amongst nations.＞＞

＜＜Then do not treat them as pawns, sacrificed at the altar of your pride,＞＞ Shartan responded neutrally, ＜＜If I merely considered them pawns, we would not be speaking. I would hope we both agree that it is in their interest that they can be reliably protected, no?＞＞

Javen narrowed his eyes, President Oslam's warnings of war echoing in his mind. ＜＜They are protected, Battlemaster. A fact you are acutely aware of.＞＞

＜＜Your protection is inadequate.＞＞ Shartan didn't mince words. ＜＜How many have felt the sting of the Gra'tua over the years? How many have suffered because Tlon Fett remains free while you hide behind your borders? That's hardly befitting a suzerain – or a Mandalorian.＞＞

＜＜You're going to annex them and use the False Mandalore as your justification.＞＞ Javen shook his head. ＜＜Blatant imperialism, nothing more.＞＞

＜＜Call it what you want, my duty extends beyond my borders – a fact that the Mandalorians appear to have forgotten,＞＞ Shartan stated, ＜＜I am a Jedi, my duty is to exterminate evil, and protect the innocent. And while many of my contemporaries would prefer to shirk responsibility to the people of the Sovereign Systems – and the wider Outer Rim – I will not. Monsters like Fett have roamed the galaxy for too long.＞＞

＜＜It is a pretext all the same.＞＞

＜＜Pretexts need not be lies, Mandalore.＞＞ Shartan smiled grimly. ＜＜Tlon Fett has attacked twelve different planets this year alone. Would you like to recount the stories? The lives lost, the families taken, the victims enslaved, the thousands butchered. No, you know. Perhaps you even feel guilt at your mistake – and I want to make something clear, Mandalore.＞＞

His voice lowered. ＜＜I do not view you as incapable because you spared a life. I view you as incapable because you have not corrected your mistake. You were young when you defeated him – naïvely believing men like Fett could be redeemed. Mistakes are natural and inevitable. Where mistakes become unforgivable is when they are ignored. When others pay the price for them.

＜＜I do not know if this is because you have tried and failed, or not tried at all – out of respect for your people, I will assume the former.＞＞ Shartan's voice softened slightly, ＜＜However, no matter the reason, the truth is you cannot protect them. Not in the way they deserve. I know it. You know it. They know it. And Fett knows it.＞＞

＜＜And so you seek to strong-arm us into an agreement that clearly favors you.＞＞

＜＜You lost your right to do this when you failed to protect them,＞＞ Shartan answered, ＜＜I am speaking to you because I would prefer no war with your people. I am not an unreasonable man, Mandalore – but I am uncompromising when it comes to these matters. A joint administration. A partnership if you prefer. I am giving you a choice, before this choice is taken from you.＞＞

＜＜Is the Alliance so brazen that it would attack a neutral party?＞＞

＜＜There will be no attack, unless there are those who would interfere in our peacekeeping operations,＞＞ Shartan answered, ＜＜As we speak, the Senate has legislation prepared to authorize operations, economically support and integrate the Sovereign Systems, and provide whatever aid is needed. President Oslam has prepared a suite of executive actions to support these efforts – and to quickly formalize any joint administration.＞＞

He paused briefly. ＜＜I believe she hopes you will listen to me.＞＞

Javen froze. "Oslam was trying to prevent war. What changed?"

Shartan smiled – a cold but satisfied smile. ＜＜She remembered who she was, Mandalore. Something you and the rest of the galaxy appear to have forgotten. She is trying to prevent war – she is allowing me to negotiate. I am the singular man who can belay the bloodlust the military, Senate, and even Jedi hold towards your people. I will work with you; I am willing to accept peace instead of war.＞＞

He spread a hand. ＜＜Many people expect war. I will not lie, Mandalore, I am amongst them. However, I promise that war between our people and yours would be far worse for you than us. I am not asking for your core territories to submit, Mandalore – I am asking for you to swallow your pride, and allow us to act where you cannot. The Sovereign Systems will be taken care of regardless – of that, my promise is ironclad.＞＞

＜＜The more I see of your people and your ways the clearer it becomes that reaching out in the name of peace was a mistake. The barbarity you represent, the corruption and degradation of your masters in the Senate… isolation is the greater virtue when weighed against such depravity. The Sovereign Systems chose to ally with us, we did not force them. They chose us over the Alliance and over the Imperium. They are not naïve waifs clinging to the nearest power, they saw what Coruscant and Bastion had to offer and they rejected it,＞＞ Javen said, his voice firm and controlled, ＜＜Rather than respecting the will of the people, you seek to conquer them outright. To force your corrupt system upon them. You may offer flowery words, Battlemaster – you may even believe them yourself – but do not think we will stand idly by as you condemn to death and privation those we are sworn to protect.＞＞

＜＜Considering the number of dead and traumatized left by Tlon Fett, I have to question how committed the Union is to this 'protection' as you call it. The window is closing for you to reconsider, Mandalore.＞＞ Shartan gave one final nod, as he placed the helmet over his face, covering it in the eyeless helmet, synthesizing his voice further. ＜＜If you do not, then may our war be one which matches the sagas of the Mandalores of old. This is the Way.＞＞

The hologram dissipated without waiting for Javen to respond – which he did by smashing the projector to ruin with the Force.

Telan arched a brow and frowned, "I take it it's bad news?"

"That's one way to put it," Javen said solemnly as he pulled out his comlink, "Jagi, place the fleets on high alert and call an emergency meeting of the Joint Chiefs. Have them meet me here."

"At once, Mand'alor," the Admiral said, "May I ask the purpose of the meeting?"

"War is on the horizon, uncle, and we must act quickly to respond."

"By your will."

The line went dead and Javen entered the main suite, changing his clothes into something more befitting the Mandalore.

The common room was abuzz with conversation and speculation. It had been over a century since the Mandalorians last marched to war as one people. The military had been itching to test their new equipment on something other than pirates, while the politicians worried over procedure and public relations. Both groups would be important in the coming days – the people were still ignorant of the approaching war.

Javen had actually been outlining a draft speech to the Union and Sovereign Systems while waiting for everyone to arrive. He had a general idea of the points he wanted to recite, but this was an auspicious day, one that would be remembered in the annals of Mandalorian history for generations. They were just words, but the honor of his people would either be affirmed or denuded by them.

He set aside his datapad and tested the fingers of his gloves. He rarely wore his armor – it was an instrument of war and he had pursued peace during his reign. He'd not worn it in at least fourteen years, not since invading Nar Shaddaa to rescue Runi and crush the Tai'Danni. He remembered vividly how ill-fitting it was at the time – it was his father's, taken after Tlon Fett murdered Mandalore Kal'Panlie Ordo in cold blood alongside his wife. It was fitting that he would wear it in a war that revolved around Fett's existence.

You'll be avenged.

He glanced around the room, judging that everyone of import was there.

Admiral Jagi'Panlie of Clan Ordo. Javen's eldest uncle, a man he trusted implicitly. Leader of Clan Ordo, he had ruled the Union as a regent until Javen came of age and claimed the mantle.

Fleet Admiral Joarl of Clan Mentar. The highest-ranking naval officer in the Union – second only to Mandalore himself – he had decades of experience in space, crushing pirates and any Gra'tua foolish enough to reveal themselves.

Clan Leader Gustav of Clan Fett. Runi's father, a man so dedicated to the honor of his family and clan that he willing surrendered himself to Jagi following his brother's murder of Kal'Panlie. He and his clan were spared, both becoming steadfast political allies to Javen's cause.

Field Marshal Riman'Traox of Clan Sornell. A cunning warrior and a brutal tactician, the devaronian man led the armies of the Union and had a flair for succeeding against insurmountable odds with his honor intact. Though he had decades of experience leading men, most of the engagements were suppressive in nature, crushing insurrectionist forces as they cropped up.

Chief Minister Fenn of Clan Vau was the most powerful politician in the Mandalorian Union outside of Javen himself. He'd held his position since the parliamentary reshuffle following Tlon Fett's exile. A formidable man who wouldn't be out-of-place residing in the 500 Republica – his lack of corruption notwithstanding.

Chancellor Lhala of the Sovereign Systems joined them by holo. A cathar woman who occupied the executive branch of the protectorate. She and Chief Minister Vau had a good working relationship, but her relationship with Javen was fraught at times. The Chancellor had been a fixture in the Sovereign Systems Assembly prior to Javen's ascension, and had always been an advocate for their pact. However, she was vociferous in advocating for her people and never missed an opportunity to remind him of Union failures – decorum be damned.

Director Chuso'Kuug of Clan Varad also joined by holo. The leader of Mandalorian Intelligence, Kuug was a peculiar figure. Gaunt and in constant poor health due to a genetic disease that could not be cured – only managed – he did not strike the typical pose of a Mandalorian warrior. In fact, the surgical rebreather grafted to his throat made it impossible for him to wear a traditional helmet. But where his body wasted, his mind thrived and the Union benefited. Older, more barbaric iterations of the Mandalorian people might have cast him aside as a youngling. Instead, he had been forged into a formidable weapon against internal security concerns.

And finally, there was everyone else. Runi and Alana were whispering something – probably feeding off the anger and anxiety they felt through the dyad from him. Master Tokare sat on his hoverchair and meditated, with Commissar Bulla standing nearby at attention. And lastly was Telan – awkwardly sitting in a plush chair – whose knowledge of Coruscanti politics might prove invaluable. There was also a buzzing swarm of aides and functionaries running to-and-fro.

It was early in the day, so each of them nursed a vessel of caffa. Some took it straight, others diluted it, but each of them drank deeply, hoping the energy boost might prepare them for the meeting. Javen hadn't given them any details, aside from telling Jagi to move several battlegroups into the Sovereign Systems.

He tapped the wall near the fireplace – the paint and decorations fading away as the pixels rearranged into a HoloNet broadcast – Channel 94, the network Telan worked for. Currently, the only thing on-screen was a bombastic 'Breaking News' banner with a small caption reading: 'Battlemaster Shartan to address the Galactic Alliance.' Everyone stopped what they were doing and watched – even Tokare ceased his meditations.

Javen turned to those assembled, deciding against sitting down at that moment. He cleared his throat and let the anxiety leave his mind, his words would be iron. "Before I called you all here, I received a holocall from Battlemaster Shartan. He offered a proposal, and stated his intentions." His eyes met each of theirs. "The Alliance intends to annex the Sovereign Systems. The proposal was joint administration and defense of the polity – a proposal that remains open, though I'm sure that won't be the case once he makes the announcement public."

Chancellor Lhala was curious. "What justification did he offer for such an action?"

"He cited the attacks by Tlon Fett and the Gra'tua. He claimed the Union was incapable of protecting the Sovereign Systems."

"Is he wrong?" she asked, tone neither gloating nor bitter, "You and I have had many, many conversations, Mandalore. I consider our relationship with the Union to be a net-positive, but it is incumbent upon you to uphold your end of the agreement. The outer systems are naked. There is no one there to protect them."

Javen frowned, this was a common point of contention. "We have kept the peace for decades, Chancellor," he said carefully, "The issue remains the same. The worlds of the Sovereign Systems are scattered across a large area. Our fleet lacks the capacity to patrol every single one."

"I understand the issue well. Buildup has been slow since your ascension. You have focused on internal issues and social programs to the detriment of your allies. Our status as a protectorate has become a fixture of debate amongst the people. The recent attacks have only intensified the discussion – and the forecast for the upcoming elections looks bleak. Populists are riding an anti-Union platform and it's working."

"Our resources are not infinite. Social infrastructure had been neglected and I sought to rectify that. Regrettably, that meant military growth would plateau."

"I am aware, Mandalore. But those choices have consequences, and you may come to regret neglecting your responsibilities. By ignoring this, you've allowed the discontent to take root and fester." She frowned, and Javen could almost hear her saying 'I told you so.' "The people see an absentee protector – stealing the wealth of their worlds while receiving nothing in return. The Assembly is becoming increasingly divided. You have Reactionaries who want to dissolve our protectorate-status and simply be an ally of the Union, and then you have the Secessionists who want to disband the Systems altogether – either striking out on their own or allying with a regional power like the Alliance or Imperium. And then there's the rest – a strained coalition of disparate parties only united in maintaining the status quo."

She shook her head, a small growl in her throat. "I am grateful for the opportunities the Mandalorian Union has provided, but you could've done more. If you had crushed Fett earlier, this wouldn't even be an issue."

Director Kuug shook his head. "A risky proposal."

"Why?"

He glanced at Javen, who nodded after a moment. "Because the power politics within the Union is the polar opposite of the Systems. Your politicians and businessfolk support the Union because of perceived opportunities. Within the Union, most of the Parliament and those in military leadership are allied with Mand'alor, but on a clan-by-clan basis there is far greater fracturing – they view this long peace with disdain."

Lhala frowned. "You haven't pushed back against Fett because you don't know if the clans will support that or not."

Javen sighed. "That's one of a dozen concerns I have, likely moot at this point. This action by the Alliance will force a response, which will lead to war, which Fett will see as an opportunity." He took a deep breath. "This may very well fracture the Union into an all-out civil war. If it comes to that, the founding clans will remain loyal. As for the lesser clans…"

Javen trailed off, uncomfortable with that line of thought. The lesser clans outnumbered the Founders two-to-one. Were there clans that would remain loyal? Yes, he could name several. Were there others to be concerned about? Again, yes, he could name several. Most would be unknown until the moment of rebellion. Tenau, Itera, Jennis, Braton… Braton… His mind wandered back to Daniel Skywalker's warning about Braton's Clan Leader, Lega'Las. Could this be what he was referencing?

He shook his head clear. "Aliit'alor Joarl, what's the latest intel on Alliance fleet movements? How long will we have until they can enter the Sovereign Systems?"

Joarl glanced at his datapad. "We noted an uptick in fleet activity along the border, but nothing outside expected parameters. It appears the Alliance has begun moving assets under the guise of standard fleet patrols. Given current positioning, and assuming they moved within the hour, I would say no more than twenty-four hours are needed to occupy the systems on the border."

"And our own forces?"

"It would take twice as long to move our own ships into position to counter the initial push. I don't see any possibility of preventing them from entering the Sovereign Systems."

Javen drummed his fingers on the table as he considered the diminishing options still available.

Chief Minister Fenn spoke, "Perhaps it was premature to initiate diplomatic talks, Mand'alor."

Javen's brow creased and he frowned, thinking back on everything that had transpired since his visit to Ossus. His 'marriage' to Alana. The acquisition of Rakata Prime. The Sith attacks on the data caches he was sworn to protect. Capturing Taral only to lose him to Daniel's machinations. Now they were witnessing a possible war without any allies to speak of.

Perhaps Fenn was right. Reaching out as he had done had been a severe miscalculation, with the only positive development being Alana's presence – which could have been done quietly.

The others went back to nursing their caffa in the silence. The air was thick with tension and no one even tried to alleviate it. The minutes stretched out like hours until finally, mercifully, the screen shifted from the 'Breaking News' banner to an empty podium. The sound of boots clomping offscreen until the Battlemaster appeared in full regalia minus his iconic helmet – the obsidian beskar polished to a shimmer and the billowing cape without a wrinkle or stain.

He wasn't alone.

Numerous major figures in the Alliance and Jedi Order were standing beside or behind him. Javen noticed an absence of Imperial representation, though that was a small comfort considering those who were present. For the Jedi there was Undien, now the Grand Master, and the twi'lek High Arbiter Vol'mateil, the highest legal authority in the Order.

The Alliance representation was larger in number, mostly senators and officials Javen didn't recognize. At the forefront stood Supreme Commander Kenirr and President Oslam. Each surrounded by a small retinue – several generals and admirals of various species near Kenirr, and the umbaran 'Shadow Advisor,' Siva, near Oslam. Javen's unease had mellowed into a resigned acceptance. Destiny, it seemed, would broker no peace.

"Citizens of the Alliance," Shartan began, addressing the camera directly. "This is Battlemaster Shartan, speaking today on behalf of the Jedi Order, and those who have demanded action. Many of you have heard the news of Sorgan, and attacks on other worlds near the edges of the Alliance. Many others have not."

His hands rested on the podium. "Six thousand four hundred sixteen. That is the final tally of dead or abducted. Nearly double that number wounded, mutilated, or raped. Sorgan was a small, agricultural world. One with few defensive capabilities, not sufficient to stand against the instigator of these attacks: Tlon Fett."

The voice was calm; as if just reciting facts, but even Javen could feel the intensity of his prose, and his eyes betrayed his genuine disgust – and fury, "This is not the first such attack. It has merely attracted the most attention. There have been others, stretching over years. Fett has not been the only attacker, just the most brutal. All of these targets reside within what has been called the 'Sovereign Systems.' For years, they have endured this. For years, we have been apathetic. We have known, and we have done nothing. Today, together, we are rectifying this mistake. I would like to introduce a guest to speak on behalf of those who have decided to take action, and stop these attacks forever."

A small holoprojector floated near Shartan, and a few seconds later, it projected the image of a man that Javen did unfortunately recognize. He was a fairly young human, with short, misshapen hair, uneven beard, and with the body of a farmer, with muscled arms bared. "Citizens of the Galactic Alliance, my name is Gavin Zir, Prefect of Sorgan."

Javen heard a muttered curse from the Chancellor. Apparently, she hadn't been notified beforehand.

"This is not a decision I have made lightly," Gavin continued, "but I must pursue the interests of my people. That was why I was elected to this position, to make the changes and decisions my predecessors repeatedly failed to do. The Sovereign Systems, in exchange for independence, surrendered our security into the hands of the Mandalorian Union with the expectation they would protect our worlds."

His lips twitched. "They have failed to uphold their end of the agreement. This latest attack hurt us directly, but I have witnessed and walked the ruins of other raids and attacks. My world was not the first, nor will it be the last, not if we place our safety in the hands of those who are more interested in their internal matters and traditions, than acting to protect us as we asked them to. I do not know their reason, and I no longer care."

He indicated the party behind him. "Independence means nothing if a thug and pirate like Fett can come and brutalize our people and escape without retribution. When the distress signal was activated, it was not the Mandalorians who rushed to our aid… it was the Jedi. I cannot in good conscience chain my people to an alliance which has failed us so conspicuously. Battlemaster Shartan has provided assurances from both the Jedi Order and Galactic Alliance, and I believe he will accomplish what the Mandalorians could not."

His chin jutted out high. "I am saying this publicly, because there will be those who claim this is an invasion, or the Alliance taking advantage. Know that it is the result of years of failure – and a party that is willing to act, and not simply promise. I welcome the intervention of the Galactic Alliance – and many across the Sovereign Systems will welcome them as well.

"Battlemaster Shartan, President Oslam, Sorgan and the Sovereign Systems await your arrival," he finished, turning to the respective individuals, "We look forward to developing a strong and enduring relationship."

"Thank you, Prefect." Shartan nodded once, as he took the podium position again. "The events of Sorgan are not unique. Many such events happen across the galaxy every single day – we in the Alliance take for granted the privilege we enjoy. We do not have to worry about raids, even on our border systems. We do not have to worry about abductions or mass murders. We do not have to fear a Sorgan of our own."

He let that hang. "Does that permit us to ignore those who are less safe or fortunate? As a Jedi, it is my duty to fight and stamp out evil wherever it takes root. I have borne witness to similar horrors many times before. Yet we, within the Jedi, within the Alliance, decided it was not our responsibility. We surrendered our values, our mission, for comfort that is all too easily disturbed when we see the reality of what lies outside our bubble. We see this attack, and we react, we feel, and we demand action.

"Let me make this clear." Shartan lifted one finger. "The days of apathy, of standing aside, and willfully shutting our eyes to the evils of the galaxy are over. No more, will the Alliance, will the Jedi, stand by as the innocent and vulnerable are butchered and slaughtered by monsters like Fett. No more will we allow fear to guide our decisions, and apathy to slow our response. No more will this malaise grip the heart of the Alliance. There will be accountability. There will be action. There will be justice. And if the Mandalorians are incapable of delivering it by their hands, we shall do so by our own.

Javen couldn't help but notice a few of those present – mostly politicians – growing uneasy the longer Shartan spoke. A few were whispering things to each other, and all of their attention was focused on him. The animosity between the Senate and Battlemaster was not a secret. He wondered at the strength of political will behind this, knowing Shartan would not hesitate to twist arms if needed.

"There are three more things I will say," Shartan continued, "First, to the people of the Sovereign Systems – you are now under the protection of the Jedi and the Galactic Alliance. We are here to protect you – nothing more, nothing less. Your relationship to the Mandalorian Union may be preserved, should your people decide thusly – but now such decisions can be made under the security umbrella of the Alliance."

His voice turned harsher. "To Tlon Fett, and the criminals that roam and strike the weak and innocent, know that your days of doing so are over. Flee. Flee deep to the Outer Rim, and the Unknown Regions where such degeneration can thrive. If you dare strike those under our protection, there will be nothing that prevents justice from coming. And to the Mandalorian Union…"

His voice changed, switching to Mando'a, ＜＜We are not your enemy, and do not seek to become one – but we will not let norms and fear prevent us from taking the actions necessary for the security of the people, and the Alliance. Respond as you see fit, but know that any interference is not just against us, but against the people you once swore to protect. Consider your choices carefully – there are some decisions that cannot be taken back.＞＞

Shartan stepped to the side, and turned. "Madam President, the stage is yours."

Javen felt his stomach drop. By standing nearby, the President gave her tacit support. By speaking herself… any previous agreements or understandings were null and void.

"Thank you, Battlemaster Shartan." Penaria Oslam stepped forward, clearing her throat. "The words of the Battlemaster are potent, and I will do my best not to repeat them, save to speak of one thing, and one thing only. Action."

She paused, looking around. "I was elected to be a voice for the people, to be their advocate against the many interests and powers arrayed against them. Powerful, invasive ones, the ones guided and gripped by the apathy and malaise we've all grown to despise. Even in my position, it seems that even I am not immune. But that is not why I am in this position, it was not why I was elected, and it is time I begin making this apparent."

She leaned forward. "I swore an oath to uphold our Charter. To uphold the values we in government claim to fulfill, but in practice always treat as little more than words. Duty. Integrity. Honor. Easy to say, but more difficult to put into action. If we look at something like Sorgan, and our response is to simply shrug, offer platitudes, and ultimately do nothing – then what use is our authority? What point is our power when we see the corpses, hear the stories of families broken, children murdered… and do nothing? What are we as a society, or as a people, if we allow ourselves to remain apathetic merely because they are outside our borders?"

She let that hang, the emotion in her voice tinged with disgust, disappointment, and anger. Emotion that demanded those observing pay attention. "A failed society is what we are, led by the immoral and apathetic. Those too concerned with doing what is safe, what is politically convenient, than doing what is right. The people of the Sovereign Systems have asked for our help. The Alliance will answer their pleas, and any who would dare attempt such heinous crimes again will find themselves facing the full might of the Galactic Alliance. There will be no more hesitation. The time for action is now. The die is cast, and we are prepared for any eventuality."

Someone motioned, and an aide brought forward a document to the podium. Penaria took a pen, and signed the document. "Senate Act 6736A, concerning the security status of Region 988B, also known as the 'Sovereign Systems,' is now ratified. The Sovereign Systems are now formally under the protection of the Galactic Alliance."

Those present applauded, as the President turned to the military officials. "Supreme Commander," Penaria said, "please inform your men that they may commence operations."

The bothan saluted – a rare display. "With pleasure, Madam President."

Undien stepped forward. "On behalf of the Jedi Order, I formally pledge our support for this effort, be it in aid, personnel, or in matters of defense. We stand firmly with the Alliance, as a member of our Triumvirate."

"It is welcome, Grand Master," Penaria accepted, as she turned back to the camera, "Together, with the people of the Sovereign Systems, we will forge a better, safer, and brighter future for all. To any who would threaten this – I urge you to carefully reconsider. We do not seek war – but we will not hesitate to defend the people, or ourselves, from any aggression."

The crowd ate it up, judging from the applause, and with that, it seemed the decision had been made. It was written in stone.

No turning back now.

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A/N: Special thanks to Xabiar for writing Shartan and Penaria's speech, plus expanding the section with Shartan and the Armorer.