Chapter XXI
Dorjander Kace, Hyperspace
Jorhaa'tara, an ancient art form pioneered by a long-dead Toprawan artisan, was based around continuous movement of the brush, with no pauses until one was finished. No one could take back a stroke, nor could one truly cease its movement, as ink would continue to drip onto the flimsi. When a stroke was made, it was made. It was a useful exercise in patience, meditation, and introspection.
Each stroke of Míranda's brush contributed to a recreation of the nightmare so much of her homeworld had become. Painting the image on flimsi brought everything back to the forefront of her mind.
The Mandalorians remembered the event as "Maladi's Scouring." A twisted scientist and loyal subordinate of Darth Krayt's reign, Darth Maladi had loved her bioweapons, mutilating the ecosystems and populaces of a hundred worlds. After her master had been killed by the Jedi, she decided to make Mandalore the canvas for her next dark masterpiece, creating a weapon that would warp the planet into a nightmarish realm hostile to all life. Though an army of Mandalorians under Mand'alor Tes Vevec had managed to stop Maladi from completing her weapon, they and a staggering 45% of Mandalore's biosphere had been victim to the weapon's early detonation.
What emerged in the weapon's wake had been a literal shadow cast on Míranda's childhood. Every day, she beheld a massive wall of dark clouds and shadows that spanned the length of the horizon, a mere 100 kilometers from her home in Kyrimorut – Clan Tracinya's home since the end of the Clone Wars and Mandalore's post-apocalyptic capital. What lay behind it was the stuff of myths and legends, stories told during dinner after an exhausting day of training with Aunt Rol'yc.
It was said that Mandalore's greatest treasures still lay within Maladi's artificial hellscape: the ruins of Keldabe, their former capital. The lost codes to the dormant bank accounts of MandalMotors, their now-defunct shipbuilding company. The bodies of nine hundred thousand Mandalorians who had been caught in the weapon's effects. And – most coveted – the last remaining mines of beskar, the unique armor that defined their culture.
Stripped of their greatest resources, the Mandalorian people had suffered. They had become scavengers and treasure hunters, seeking out any samples of beskar they could from the black market, from warlords and museums, and most often from graves. Food was scarcer, necessitating that many warriors take mercenary work offworld to feed their loved ones. Numerous clans had outright abandoned Mandalore, choosing to find a living elsewhere.
Clan Tracinya and their supporters stubbornly refused to abandon their homeworld, whether they could salvage anything from Maladi's Scourge or not. Míranda's fathers had always told her to embrace their rugged lifestyle, telling her that Mandalore was harsh, but that it kept them strong and resilient, forged them into warriors.
Our greatest strength is that we always adapt, Father had told her while Papa prepared another bitter stew of grain, We're ready for anything the areutiise can throw at us.
In spite of Father's comforting words, however, Míranda couldn't look away from Maladi's Scourge, which always loomed over her during the day and haunted her dreams at night. No matter what, she could never escape its shadow.
Occasionally, the remaining clans on Mandalore dared to face the work of Maladi's weapon. They hired scientists, acquired ships capable of surviving great atmospheric pressures. Throughout Míranda's life, they studied the clouded region, attempting to understand it. Occasionally, small parties had entered, almost never returning. Among one of them had been a seventeen-year old Míranda Nai-Jal, who wished to understand the blight that had haunted her life for so long.
The expedition had commissioned a heavy transport with resilient deflector shields, its crew comprised of seven volunteers led by the renowned Chieftain Jatñe. Their ship began to shake the moment they entered the clouded region, bombarded by tornadoes of ash and atmospheric pressures that seemed bent on crushing the gunship like a giant fist. Within moments, they crashed, killing Jatñe and three others.
A battered Míranda and the two remaining companions of her party, Kalor and Vren, left the wreckage of the transport, forced to navigate through a darkened wasteland overcast by eclipsing storms and tornadoes of ash. The ground was coarse and treacherous, every step at risk of collapsing the sediment into dust. The sun felt almost absent, causing Míranda to shiver. Time seemed almost slowed, for the dried, mangled skeletons of trees, strills, and sapients remained intact through the decades, frozen in poses of fear.
After spending an hour in the hellscape, Vren suddenly doubled over and began to cough violently, placing her hand on her chest as she collapsed. Míranda removed her companion's helmet to see that her skin had turned a sickly shade of white and as translucent as a ghost's, her veins a dark blue. Even the air was poison to those who stayed for too long.
Míranda's attempts to help her friend would only accelerate her death. With her helmet removed, Vren's breathing ceased within a minute, her eyes fading to a misty white.
In that moment, Míranda knew only fear as she and Kalor immediately began to sprint back towards friendly territory. They ran as fast as they could, knowing that the air would begin to kill them sooner or later.
As they reached the edge of what looked like the wall, Kalor suddenly tripped and fell, his body spasming as he coughed violently, weakly crawling towards the chaotic barrier.
In a split second, Míranda changed her course and ran back towards her companion, grabbing him and dragging him into a dust-filled flurry that bordered the edge of the hellscape.
Around Míranda, the dust and ash clouded her visor, making it impossible to see. She felt as if a firm hand was closing in upon her, trying to trap her and Kalor, keeping them from leaving. She stubbornly refused to give in, marching forward, finding her way towards the light…
Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her chest, like a knife was repeatedly hacking into her lungs. Without warning, a painfully cold sensation began to flood her body, as if ice-water were burning her veins. She struggled to keep her grip on Kalor as she collapsed to her knees, her head swimming as she gasped for breath.
No, she told herself, Not when we're so close.
Attempting to ignore the excruciating pain she felt throughout her body, Míranda held on to Kalor's wrist as she dragged him through the last few meters. She didn't know if he still had a pulse, and she didn't care.
She finally escaped, tearing through the walls encircling the nightmarish domain, pulling Kalor's body with all her might, wincing as her eyes readjusted to the brightness of the sunlight, the warm temperature numbed by the cold of the toxin's effects.
Míranda collapsed to the floor as the pain in her chest finally overcame her resolve. With her last bit of strength, she triggered her rescue beacon before surrendering to unconsciousness.
Despite Míranda's efforts, Kalor had succumbed to the toxin, dying before a rescue party had found them. Míranda herself had spent a full day at death's door, as the effects of Maladi's poisonous air were only delayed by the antidotes and remedies the Mandalorians had available. No matter what they used, the toxin continually adapted, slowly but surely claiming Míranda's life. Her death would have been certain if, by the will of the Force, a wise old sage hadn't visited Kyrimorut that day, using a strange combination of medicines, herbs, and the Force to save her life…
"Mand'alor, do you have a moment?" the voice of her lieutenant asked through the comm system, causing Míranda to drop her brush and completely break the image she was working on.
Míranda sighed as she beheld her squiggly, uneven attempt at painting Maladi's legacy.
"Hang on, Vorer," she responded, grabbing her brush and placing it back on the table. She moved to her feet, the muscles in her legs cramped from inactivity.
Ignoring the pain, she grabbed her helmet and made her way to the entrance to her tiny cabin. The doors parted to reveal her lieutenant, his grey armor as scarred and cobbled-together as those worn by the rest of her clan. They all looked like vagabonds, scavengers who picked from the remains of a once-proud warrior culture…
She snapped herself back to the present.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Just got instructions from Master Illa," Vorer explained. He asked, "What was the holdup?"
Míranda glared back at him.
"Lack of inspiration," she said as she put on her helmet, "Let's go."
The two Mandalorians proceeded to walk towards the strategy room, where Master Illa awaited them.
In truth, Míranda was weary of her mission, as were many of those under her command, even if their professional nature kept them from admitting it. Clan Tracinya always honored deals, and Míranda had every intent of honoring that which she had struck with Tau Skywalker.
She again looked at Vorer's patchwork beskar armor, many of the pieces scavenged from the black market and from graves, a solemn reminder of the fractured state of her people and what needed to be done so that the rest of the galaxy might be spared their fate.
With her art-based meditation helping to cleanse her doubts, she quickly slipped into a more professional and diplomatic demeanor, adjusting her body language and turning her thoughts towards the upcoming mission.
The door opened to reveal Master Illa meditating in the center of the room. A vast, three-dimensional map of the galaxy floated around the middle-aged woman's still form, planets upon which their targets had been sighted highlighted in red.
Illa's hood was thrown back to reveal her round, weathered face, her dark hair tied back so it wouldn't obstruct her attentive eyes. Her face, as usual, was marked by a strange combination of serenity and determination.
"We've received new orders from Grand Master Skywalker," Illa declared.
Promenade, Malor Kel (Starport THX1140)
"What did he mean by listening?" Val asked as the quartet walked through a hallway of dilapidated shops, "Either of you going to explain this lesson to me? I'm lost."
"My audio sensors is at maximum," Niner said before halting. He pointed towards the bulkhead, "There are something in that wall."
Moments later, a rodent poked its head out of a hole in the duraplast. Niner peered down at the critter with curiosity, until it yelped and scurried back inside.
"There's something familiar about Kali'sto's words," Bao explained, "It's clearly linked to what he taught Tau…"
As Bao mulled over Kali'sto's assignment, Riko couldn't help but silently ruminate on other matters. Even though a day had passed, the details of Nyr'itz were still sinking in, adding to the doubt and confusion he was experiencing…
"Something on your mind, kid?" Val asked.
"Yeah," Riko replied, "I've been wrestling with a lot lately, and...I…"
"What troubles you?" Bao asked.
"The padawan I fought on Ambria," Riko began, "I knew him. His name was Tarrin, we were classmates at the Temple."
"Fierfek," Val cursed softly. "I'm sorry."
"Oh no, I think he's still alive," Riko explained, still appreciating Val's sentiment, "But...the same thing happened again on Nyr'itz, with that Jedi Shadow we fought in the tunnels. And this time, I had no choice. I had to kill him."
Niner was once again paralyzed with indecision, unsure of what to say.
"I understand," Bao placed his scaled manus on Riko's shoulder, "We're all experiencing what you are. You're not alone, padawan."
Riko nodded. He didn't know whether he felt better or worse.
"Look!" A child's voice snapped Riko back to attention. He turned to see a three-eyed Zparki girl pointing towards Niner. Clad in worn clothing, she was probably ten or eleven.
"Hi there!" Niner greeted, rolling towards her. Riko hurried after him. Both adults joined the quartet as the child introduced herself.
"I'm Oze," she explained, "My sister and I run that shop over there." She gestured to a nearby counter a few spaces down the promenade.
"I is Niner, and he my big brother, Riko!"
"Big Brother?" Oze asked.
"I built him," Riko explained.
"Aren't you his dad, then?"
Riko wasn't sure how to respond.
"No, our dad is somewhere else," Niner explained.
"You really built him?" An adolescent woman called from the counter.
Riko walked towards the small shop. The vendor was a skinny Mirialan with a bandage covering her left cheek, her dark hair teased into a crude bun with many stray hairs poking out. Looking behind her, Riko saw the disassembled remains of devices such as blasters, datapads, and old motivators. Circuit boards, energy filters, and charging ports adorned the shop's walls. This girl was a mechanic.
"I did," Riko explained, "Roughly three years ago. It took me months to gather the parts I needed!"
"Can you fix my droid?" The girl reached into her bag and retrieved a damaged droid: a tiny TW-series utility and repair unit, with a sloped body, a single photoreceptor, a prehensile wire-thin tail, and a quartet of short limbs that functioned both as magnets and as pawed legs and feet. Modeled on small mammals, the droid was designed to conduct and assess microfracture damage on buildings, its miniscule size allowing it to crawl between walls and through pipes.
"Her name is Magical," She explained, handing the little droid to Riko, who lowered his goggles and assessed the damage.
The droid had suffered a deep gash on her underside, indicating damage to the motivator. It was serious, disabling her ability to use her four limbs, but it was reparable.
"I can fix her," Riko replied, laying Magical on the floor and opening his backpack.
"Where are your parents?" Bao asked.
The older girl's expression soured.
"They worked for Asharr," she explained, "We've been on our own for years."
For a moment, Riko stopped on his work, unsure of what to say.
"I'm so sorry," he eventually said, "I can't imagine…"
"It's hard," she interrupted, "But we get by. There's a lot of junk around here to salvage." Her expression changed to a smile as she added "And we have Magical."
Surprised at how casually she dismissed the subject, Riko started by slowly prying out Magical's damaged motivator. When he finished, he held the damaged component in his hand and examined it.
"This looks like an ANH model," he noted, "Most likely an ANH-One-Nine-Seven-Seven or an ANH-One-Nine-Nine-Seven."
"That's right," the teenager replied, "It's a Nine-Seven."
"The Seven-Seven's better," Riko commented.
"No argument here."
Riko paused and looked up at her.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"I'm Alin."
"I'm Riko."
Riko removed one of his hydrospanners from his toolbelt.
"The motivators I use in my tools are a lot like this," he said as he unscrewed the hydrospanner's cap to access its internal components, "It's a TFA model—the design was based on the ANH. I think it ought to work pretty well."
"They are really similar," Alin commented as Riko installed the newer model into the little droid.
"Here we go," Riko flicked the activation switch.
The tiny droid powered to life, her limbs flailing as she squirmed with happiness.
"Magical!" Alin helped the droid to her feet. The little droid scampered about eagerly, running towards Niner.
"Awww…" Niner gazed at the tiny droid before she jumped on him.
A startled Niner initially flailed his arms around, but quickly calmed down as Magical used her magnetic feet to scurry up and down his body.
"Hey!" Niner protested playfully, his eyes lighting up with joy, "Hehehe! That tickles! Magical, wait!"
Riko and Oze laughed. Alin smiled at the little droids' antics.
Niner, Oze, and Magical ran around the shop, gathering the attention of more than a few of its denizens as he played with his new friends.
"Thank you," Alin replied, "Anything we can do for you?"
"Well," Riko asked, "Can I buy an SW-series energy regulator here?"
"Normally, that would be twenty credits," Alin answered as she quickly moved behind the counter and retrieved the desired part, "But you can have it for free."
"Um…" Riko looked around, noting Alin and Oze's dilapidated clothing, the shoddy condition of their shop. Taking the regulator for free didn't sit well with him.
"You fixed Magical," Alin assured him, "You can have the part."
Riko felt a gloved finger tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Val, who gestured him away.
"You sure that thing's reliable, kid?" he whispered, "These kids are desperate."
"If she were lying, she'd be breathing faster and her heartbeat would increase," Bao observed, "She's telling the truth."
Riko quickly picked up the regulator and closely examined it. It was an SW-08 model like the one he had lost, still in good condition, if a bit used. Aside from a slight misalignment of the feedback coil – an easily fixable problem – everything was in order.
"Thanks," Riko replied nervously, "I really appreciate it."
"Come back anytime," Alin responded cheerfully.
As he turned away from the shop, Riko still couldn't help but fiddle in his pocket, noting the meager amount of spare credits he had.
"Kid, you sure you want to spend that?" Val replied.
"We need those credits, Riko," Bao added, "We're already low on resources."
"We can still give a little bit," Riko replied as he retrieved ten credits from his pocket, "Can't we?"
Bao turned to face his padawan. Val lowered himself to Riko's height and faced him in the eye.
"You can't solve every problem you come across, kid," he replied, "Even if you want to."
"Your compassion is admirable, Riko," Bao added, "But remember our mission. We can help many others with those credits."
Riko glanced back towards Oze and Alin's shop, then back to Bao and Val as he contemplated his answer.
With great reluctance, he pocketed the credits and the regulator.
As Bao ruminated over the meaning of Kali'sto's words, he brushed his fingers against the wall. Made of durasteel-laced duracrete, the surface was caked with emergency patches, rust, and flaking paint. On the other side of the cavernous walkway, he saw graffiti of Asharr's mask crossed out by a giant red X.
He couldn't help but think back to his own training under Tau. Like all members of his family, Tau had been a prodigy with the Force, surpassing the expectations of not just all other apprentices, but also those of his masters. He had taken on a great challenge selecting Bao as his padawan. As a child, the young Trandoshan had struggled with his connection to the Force. He had only started to pierce the veil of his abilities.
In the early days of their apprenticeship, Tau had struggled to impart his skills to his new padawan.
A tear welled up in Bao's eye as memories of his early training under Tau flooded his mind. Whether atop the cliffs over the sound of the waterfalls on Atarashi'ie or in the cockpit of their ship in hyperspace, Tau and Bao had spent endless hours meditating in an attempt to help Bao let go of his fear and doubt to fully connect with the Force.
It had been a laborious process. Tau had analogized the Force to mundane things such as the flow of the water on the cliffs in an attempt to make Bao understand. Months had gone by with no progress, to the dismay of Tau and despair of Bao. The young padawan had feared that he would never unlock his connection to the Force.
Then, after leaving alone to handle a weeks-long mission to take down a pirate gang that had gotten their hands on stolen Jedi artifacts, Tau had returned with a new strategy.
"Feel," Bao whispered, repeating Tau's words.
"Bao?" Riko asked. Bao turned back to his padawan,
"Do you remember when I told you that I struggled with the Force in my youth, Riko?"
"Yeah," Riko replied. Bao could tell that he was silently mulling over his words, slowly putting the pieces together as well...
"Tau unlocked my abilities the same way you did with yours," Bao explained, "Through our strongest skills. For you, it was machines. For me, it was the lightsaber. Whenever we sparred, he told me to focus on my senses, to feel the Force within me and around me. This allowed me to develop my abilities."
"Trial by combat," Val recalled.
"So, Dad's testing us in the same way," Riko replied, smiling slightly as he quoted one of Bao's favorite maxims, "Placing us in a situation that would test our abilities..."
"Indeed," Bao replied, smirking, "Now, what does listening mean in that context?"
"Well," Riko mused, "Dad's always been a traveler. He's visited many places in his life, trying to learn as much about the galaxy as possible. He made a point to tell me stories and history from as many cultures as he could – well, before I kept asking for more and more Jedi stories, specifically…"
"That's it," Val realized, "Cultures, history. He wants us to learn about the station. Any Force abilities that involve that kind of thing?"
"There is one," Bao replied, "But it's a rare gift. Innate, unteachable. It's just like Jade's emotional bonds or healing abilities, it can't be learned."
"I does not know," Niner commented, "Dad brought roots to life to trap bad people. He has many skills. Maybe he can teach you."
"Tiny Junkyard's got a point," Val added as Riko threw him a disapproving look. "I wouldn't put anything past Kali'sto's abilities at this point."
"Perhaps," Bao replied. If Val was right, the Jedi had been misinformed about this aspect of the Force for thousands of years.
"Let's return to Kali'sto," Bao declared, "I think we're ready."