NOTE: There was a middle section centering around Mical that I deleted due to the fact that it has nothing to do with the main plot of the story.
Mandalore scanned the pages of the book through his helmet. He read through the page five times before replying on the comlink: "Alright." Kex was on the receptor end. He told Mandalore of the condition of the camp and how the recruits were training.
Kex had recommended a series of plans over a number of years that would get the Mandalorian base running again. It was complex and was written in a large leather-bound book that had sent. Mandalore admired the plans, and thought them to be sheer genius. He tweaked them a bit so he could call parts of them his own and sent the information back to Kex in the control room.
"Just be sure that the trainees don't get too good before I get back," Mandalore said. "When are you coming back, Mandalore?" Kex asked. It seemed that he liked following orders, not giving them. "Just give me a few more days," Mandalore told him, "and I'll be on a transport to Onderon. Make sure there's a ship in one of the docking bays for me." "There already is, Mandalore," Kex said. "It's in Bay C2. That doctor friend of yours says he'll be outside so you know which one." "Alright," Mandalore said. This kid's got everything under control, he thought. "See you in a few days." "Anything else before we cut communications?" Kex asked. "That's all," Mandalore said as he snapped off the comlink.
He stared at the Ordo blaster on the table in the empty apartment. He'd been polishing it up and making sure it fired like it used to. He could faintly hear the bustle of traffic outside.
Then a twinge of pain in his left hand told him he needed to take some meds, which were more like stims but lasted longer. He threw open a bag full of stimulants and implants and rummaged to find the right one. He'd color coded them because he was old and stupid. He chuckled at this thought but stopped when he saw the Cross of Glory at the bottom of the bag.
It was a bit dirty and had some unexplained dirt and crumbs on top of it. "I remember this…" he breathed, strangely talking aloud to himself. He picked it up and turned it over. He remembered the ceremony and some very strange looking Jedi Master pinning one on Revan and giving her his blessing. How could this little alien possibly be a Jedi master? he remembered thinking and smiling to himself.
He remembered seeing, or what was left of, the army of the Republic applauding and cheering because Revan had killed Malak and restored a temporary peace. She'd skip off to Telos with that strange Carth Onasi, who he never trusted at all, and live the rest of her life in peace or fighting off something and always winning.
But things never turn out the way you want, and he remembered his old instructor telling him this again. He thought of the memories of being a young warrior: killing anyone who tried to stop them, sucking life out of planets. He thought of his past and this lead to the tortured part where Revan left him.
He remembered the day when he was one of the celebrators and she pulled him aside. "You can find Mandalore's helmet here," she said, handing him a small slip of paper. There was a planet name in a Selkath dialect and some coordinates. "Go to Manaan to have this translated," she instructed, "and then you shall become Mandalore like you are destined to become, Canderous Ordo." At that she left him and returned to Carth Onasi, the young Twi'lek Mission Vao, her friend Zaalbar, Juhani, Jolee, and Bastila. They were all sitting round a table and drinking Juma. He returned to the group and they reminisced for hours on end.
Then Mission's brother, Griff, came to get her. He said he'd finally struck it rich by playing Pazaak in cantinas. He now owned a swoop garage and droid shop on Nar Shadda and wanted her to come with. She went with her brother and Zaalbar a few days later.
Jolee Bindo told Revan that he had "one hell of a ride" and would go off to Coruscant to train as a Jedi. This absolutely shook her since he was always a neutral kind of guy.
The Cathar, Juhani, would return to Dantooine. She said she'd help rebuild the planet, but Mandalore guessed she built a house of stone and meditated for hours, trying to do light side actions although she was a shut in. She seemed to resemble Visas Marr, the Miraluka. They were both the last of their race and were both tortured individuals with basic personality conflicts and had been "servants of the dark side".
Bastila Shan… Mandalore chuckled at his recollection of her. She was always the holier-than-thou Jedi figure who went to the dark side herself. Shows her weakness… he remembered thinking. In many ways, Bastila reminded him of Mical—too Jedi, a bit annoying, and obsessed with meditation. She followed Revan, for Bastila felt she was indebted for her. How weak can you be—a light-side-obsession kind of girl being saved by Darth Revan: he remembered forming this opinion shortly after receiving the Cross of Glory he was now holding.
Mandalore took off his helmet and stared at it. He picked up a stimulant and injected himself in the neck; he felt his grey beard and hair and remembered he hadn't aged that much. He thought of the current entourage a bit more. He thought of Mical as a Carth Onasi figure also—sort of a weak person and obsessed with the fine line between a warrior and a soldier. He knew that Mical was Jedi to the very bone, and the Mandalorians knew no one like him.
He stared at the Ordo blaster again, and this time picked it up as if to dispatch a large group of enemies. Those days are over, he thought. We're going to be on the offence now, not the defense, like we were during the Wars. He stared out the window of the apartment: airspeeders, swoops, and ships of all sorts whizzed by, making a racket if one listened close enough.
He looked at the Cross of Glory, and remembered the Republic cheering for an enemy—a Mandalorian. He remembered his grim features and appearance softening just a bit for that ceremony. It was like something in the inside of Canderous Ordo had been slightly cracked open so whatever was in there could seep out a tiny bit. But he patched the leaks with training and pessimism.
He threw the medal back into the bottom of the stimulant sack and closed it up, injecting himself with another syringe in the large vein in his neck. He liked rekindling these memories; they brought a sense of gladness that Mandalorians were denied. The Mandalorians were taught to rape, kill, and maim every world they stepped upon; they were taught to cut down anyone who stood in their way, and to watch for themselves only. They were, like the Jedi, told that emotional attachments were deadly and mostly every single Mandalorian evaded such feelings. Mandalore had done this his entire life. The only emotion of love he ever felt was when he was just a boy of no more than five when he told a girl named Camilla he thought she was pretty. She later tried to beat him up, but Canderous won. He'd met her at a star port while he was with the leaders of his clan Ordo on a supply.
He chuckled at this, for he hadn't remembered these kinds of memories for a long time. He'd seen everything: triumph, friends leaving, defeat, honor in war, death, both the dark and the light side… This trip seemed like just another chapter in the Chronicles of a Member of Ordo.
His thoughts were erupted by his parched throat. He packed up the syringe up and picked up the Ordo blaster. He put it on his holster and threw the stimulant bag upon his utility belt. He didn't bother to lock the apartment; there was nothing noteworthy in there anyways. He reached for his helmet, but didn't want to put it on; his head needed to breathe a bit. He carried it under his arm as he stepped out into the sunlight.
His eyes felt blinded, and he squinted as he let them adjust to the sudden burst of sunlight. He saw the maddening crowd as he swerved in between people and aliens alike as he made his way to the cantina for some nice stiff shots of Juma to quench his dry throat.
Mandalore downed his sixth shot of Juma. He mainly sat and listened to the Bith band in the background as he stared into the Juma. He wanted to drown himself in his past in his current mood.
The Juma had put him in a lull state of mind where the voices in his head felt like the words were being spoken in reality. He kept thinking of the clans and battle plans. And then somewhere in the back of his head, his meditations were interrupted. It was like someone was contacting him on a comlink; "Let it go," the feminine and easily recognizable voice said, "for I shall come."
He then realized that his eyes were shut; he opened them like he'd just awoken from a strange and terrible dream. It was Revan's voice. He took another shot of Juma to drown himself in.
He downed the Juma quickly and realized that he'd heard Revan's voice and that he was going crazy. He threw the bag of stimulants and meds onto the bar and rummaged for a specific syringe filled three quarters of the way. It was an "emergency only" kind of syringe, and this was definatly an emergency. He thrust the needle into his neck vain and slowly pushed just a bit of the fluid inside his neck. A Duros stared at the old Mandalorian shooting chemicals into his neck with a painless effort.
Mandalore glared at the Duros; he immediately looked away. Mandalore stared at the empty Juma glass and called out for another one. "You've had enough," the bar tender said. "Otherwise the authoritie'll be knockin' on my door asking why you're all drunk 'n all." Mandalore frowned. "Another Juma," he said, slapping double the price on the bar. The bartender looked at the credits and said, "You gonna buy an infinte amount on me, Mandalorian?" Mandalore gave a yes. "Alright," the bar tender said, "but don't be flying any air speeder or anything. Don't want trouble for this cantina—we've already had enough."
Mira stared at the quarterstaff. This'll help my combat skills? she thought. Her face was in a quizzical expression as Visas picked up the other quarterstaff that was on the table. "Are you sure that this is 'legal'?" Mira asked. They were in an empty office in the Republic embassy. "Legal? You need to improve," Visas said simply.
"You think you can improve my skills, don't ya?" Mira asked. She didn't really like the idea of a blind girl teaching her how to fight with a sword. I'll easily beat her, Mira thought. She hadn't seen Visas in very much action—or the only action that counted was using Force powers and meditating with Aneela for a few short hours.
Visas picked up her quarterstaff. "Alright," she said. "Get into the ready position." "Is this necessary? I just need to learn parrying and basic movements. Then I can figure out the rest on my own," Mira said, trying to avoid a sisterly heart-to-heart with Visas. Visas looked at her through her headpiece. "You want to learn Echani tiers from Atton?" she asked. "No thank you," Mira replied, mirroring Visas's stance. "Hey," she asked, "how does he know Echani tiers?" "No idea," Visas said. "I"ve just seen him get in the Echani stances." She paused. "Mirror my movements."
"How would he know Echani tiers? Wait, how do you know what Echani tier movements look like?" Mira asked, as if suddenly coming upon a startling revelation. "Probably some training," Visas said. "And I know them because I've seen many battles." Mira rolled her eyes. So have I, sister, she thought. "And if there is one thing I can guess," Visas said, doing a parrying move as Mira followed her lead, "is that he probably learned them from another 'Echani'—or one who claimed to be." "What?" Mira asked, copying another movement.
"He must have been lied to before," she said, "otherwise why wouldn't he be at least half honest? The past always has a part in shaping our future." Mira laughed. "True Jedi words," she said, mirroring another movement. "Hey, why don't you teach me how to be cryptic?"
"I don't understand," Visas said. She did another move. "Well," Mira started, "a famous Jedi trademark is the whole cryptic speech. Besides, if I can piss off Atton in the training process then it's fine with me." Visas grinned—it was the first time Mira had seen her grin. "What do you think of Mical?" she asked. "He seems a bit dry," Mira replied. "And he's got me doing his proofreading which, let me tell you, is no easy task. There are some concepts in there that even I've never heard of!" "But do you trust him? Do you trust anybody here?" Visas asked. "Not really," Mira said. "But that's just me. I trust Aneela the most probably because, well, she's my teacher, trainer, master—whatever the Jedi call them." She looked at Visas. "You?" "I try not to forge my feelings into unappericative ones," she said. "But I do also trust her as you do." Visas now looked at Mira.
"If you want to become a Jedi—inside and out—you must understand words and their meanings. When someone asks you what something means, you tell him more than he wants to know. Then he will grow in knowledge and spread the bits out as he progresses through his life. Then he will tell others those bits of knowledge you passed to him and those learners will pass it on. The root of that bit of knowledge could be you, for the galaxy needs to be shaped again. And, I fear, that it is our job, our long road. We must remake the galaxy so men and women can live in peace everywhere. A few years ago, Revan triumphed. But the Sith are still to come. And this, I fear, may be all our doom. You and I are not ready to fight as Jedi yet, neither are any of the other crew. The Iridonian left, and he was not ready to yet part company with his master. He has been a slave of machines for a long time, and with the Force awakened in him, he may become even more skilled. But he is not ready to defend with the Force yet, as are you or I." Mira looked shocked at this speech. "Now that was true Jedi speak," she admired. "And now I've learned." Visas did another movement and Mira copied. "Good," she said, "for the dark road is even easier walk than the light, but it is too obvious as we progress on the lonely pathways. Be wary," she said. She got in a standing position. "Good," she said, "now let us duel with these movements you have just practiced."
Mira raised her quarterstaff. "Must we fight with these?" she asked. "Vibroblades and swords will hurt and lightsabers can kill," she said. "And you do not want to die sparring with me do you?" Mira shook her head. "Prepare to be put right," Mira said. Visas stared at her, her amusement unscathed. "Damn it, I'll never get the Jedi routine down," Mira said as she got in a ready stance. "Good," Visas said. "Predict my movements as if you were just watching from a afar; predict them as if you have already done this..."