Chapter 16: Ditmas Shar

Thellus Asteroid, Dressel System

Ditmas found the fact these smelly Askar Bothans had made a dead space like an asteroid liveable to be slightly magical. In contrast to the way the Mandalorians had wrecked their home-world, the Bothans had created life in such an inhospitable place.

Yesterday, he had visited the Oshra Farm District. Mushrooms, tallgrain, grape vines, and all sorts of tropical fruit lined the sphere wall in every direction. Bothans and humans lined the walls, tilling the fields—weak humans and weak Bothans, Ditmas had thought with a smirk of superiority, but there isn't room in the universe for everyone to be a warrior. Someone has to grow our food, tend to our wounds, and tend to our various other needs.

Thellus was not food independent. It still relied on imports, but its situation was far better than Mandalore's. Even with the peace-loving New Mandalorians running the planet, many of the Bio-Cubes and Bio-Domes were on the brink of starvation. Literally relying on stolen food to survive; stolen food brought in by smugglers who had previously been selling spice. Mandalore was not just 30% food dependent like Thellus.

Even with an entire moon full of arable land, it was not enough to feed everyone. We need to farm in the domes like these Bothans are doing here. Or maybe not 'we,' but weaker beings like Shidar, Ditmas thought to himself.

To the Mandalorian, life from lifelessness was the only magical thing about Thellus. All of the denizens here succumbed to the sins of Arasuum—the Sloth god. These hedonistic Bothans sat around, enjoying their lives, most not even working four hours a day. Lots of them abused spice. These Bothans, including Shidar, had committed a lesser sin which Ditmas could overlook. Occasionally, he himself had succumbed to Arasuum.

As Ditmas held his thumbs together, pointer fingers pointed up, encapsulating the Mandalorian Consulate in the distance building between his fingers, he thought bitterly of the even worse Bothans. A smaller number of the denizens had not only succumbed to the sin of Arasuum, but also Hod Ha'ran—the trickster god.

This was a major source of Bothan dishonour—central to the Bothan Way. So enamoured with Hod Ha'ran was this powerful minority, that they had even managed to bankrupt Eriadu and dishonour the Tarkins! The Bothans involved in the sins of Hod Ha'ran will have to be punished severely, Ditmas thought to himself. Maybe not exterminated if they are willing to repent, but definitely beaten mercilessly. Of course, all of this would only be possible after they had completed their mission.

The Mandalorian bombs that Ditmas liked to work with all had a blast cone that emitted from a rectangular opening. This way, Ditmas could envision the blast cones of his bombs without actually needing anything but his own two hands. Two thumbs together, pointer fingers up—the shape the blast cone would emanate from.

As he stood across the street from the consulate in New Aroo, the gate guard seemed to be watching him.

Ditmas gave a friendly wave, then continued calculating his blast cones, getting the guard in the centre of his rectangle. He smirked to himself, imagining the guard getting blown away into the Consulate building behind him.

Unlike most Mandalorian terrorists, who focused primarily on eliminating as many opponents as possible, Ditmas always liked damaging as many secondary targets as possible symbolically. For instance, if he had a choice between blowing up thirty people in one police station, or blowing up twelve people in the corner of the police station, and blasting the corner of the police station outwards to damage a shrine built by some heretics, he would go with the second option.

Looking directly up, Ditmas saw the Bothan Marshalcy Field Office. He smirked as he thought to himself, aha! A planet dweller like me would have never thought to make things blow up, as in upwards. He laid on his back on the dirty sidewalk, capturing the Marshalcy Field Office and nearby buildings in his imaginary blast cone.

I can destroy this artistic monstrosity built by the heretics, he thought. And, I'll send a message to those Bothans that the sins of Hod Ha'ran will no longer be tolerated. That they will accept punishment for those sins or be destroyed like the heretics. Heretic or not, what type of Mandalorian wastes his time making buildings look so artistic anyways? What use is art to a warrior? It is heresy! All art is heresy!

Lying on the ground Ditmas adjusted his cargo pant pocket when the ornamental Beskar steel statuette of his god, Kad Ha'rangir, along with the four statuettes of his demigod partners, poked his thigh uncomfortably. He had used those statuettes a few days ago in an important ceremony—inducting the first Bothan into his clan.

While Ditmas would never admit it, Shidar joining them had been the highlight of this whole experience for him. The fact Shidar was willing to convert and join his clan even before he had committed a single act of violence validated his beliefs in a way nothing else could. From what he had seen, the one time he visited the ship in the last few days, that Bothan was making herself quite useful; mostly by cleaning the ship. Even better, she was quickly picking up Mandalorian with her pointy little ears. A much faster learner than most human converts.

o-o-o

Klayer To'lya

"Thaylalaga ko korn kikit par pam targit." [Maintaining visual on the target], Sergeant Grafisk Rey'tiv's voice echoed out into the comm system of the situation room. [I say again, Plum-four is maintaining visual on the target.]

Klayer and a dozen Bothan Marshals sat at a long conference table. On most of them, their fur twitched with eagerness.

On the giant screen above the table, a visual of Ditmas Shar lying on the sidewalk was displayed.

[What the kriff is he doing, Plum-four?!] snarled Tav.

[No idea sir,] Rey'tiv muttered into the comm.

Uh oh, Klayer thought, remembering what she saw when she looked directly up from the Mandalorian Consulate a few days earlier. [Sir, I think he is looking at us,] she growled worriedly. [He is lying on the ground, looking at our field office.]

[Plum-four, pan your camera up!] Tav ordered.

The camera shifted up along the interior of the sphere, finally pointing directly at the Marshalcy Field Office. [Confirmed. Target is looking at the Field Office.]

Captain Mithir Fey'lab yelped in terror, her white and black fur falling flat.

[Calm down Captain!] Tav snarled, his fur swirling more nervously than Klayer had ever seen it. [The target… he is unarmed right?]

[Plum-four can confirm that sir,] Grafisk said professionally. [Do you want me to pan the camera back to target?]

[Yes, plum-four,] Tav snarled impatiently. [Pan back to target!]

[You are doing great Sergeant,] Klayer growled consolingly. She gave the Colonel a disapproving look, fur on end. You may be in charge of this place, but you don't talk to my operatives that way.

[Thank you, Plum Leader. Very well, panning back to target.]

The camera view went down, all the way across the cityscape on the sphere wall, all the way down to the sidewalk. Ditmas Shar was still sitting there.

[I wonder what he is doing with his hands,] Klayer muttered aloud. She held her hands in the shape of a half-rectangle, pressing her furry thumbs together, pointer fingers up. Huh.

[Target is getting up. I say again, target is getting up,] Grafisk said.

[At least he's no longer looking at us!] Mithir sighed in relief, her fur now dancing.

[Is it possible he knows we are watching him?] Tav growled to the room.

Mithir's fur fell flat again.

[Cannot confirm or deny,] Grafisk's voice echoed. [He has no devices on him at all, although, target was fiddling with his pocket.]

[Rewind!] Tav yelped, his blonde fur flat.

A technician rewound the clip to the part where Ditmas was adjusting his pocket.

[Sir,] Klayer growled, her fur swirling nervously, [I can calculate a visual extrapolation of the objects shape…] she muttered, transferring the image to her datapad. Moving her fingers quickly, she pulled up a digital ruler against the shape, typed a two-line equation she had memorised for the volume of unknown symmetrical shapes, set the missing variable to the dimensions of the missing side, and pressed "enter."

A colourless outline of a small human shape. Klayer sent it to the terminal. [It's only a little human!] she exclaimed with relieved excitement, her fur relaxing. Good. He doesn't know we are watching him!

[Why would the target have a little human in his pocket?] Tav growled incredulously.

[Sometimes sir, to make my day go by easier, I keep a little Bothan. Actually, it's a likeness of myself I carry in my pocket,] Lieutenant Dzeshka Po'trek growled proudly. She pulled a shaggy red-furred statuette of herself from her pocket, and then laid it on the table for all of the other Marshals to see. Like her, the statuette was also wearing a blue uniform.

Good thing the statuette's rank is Lieutenant because you're going to be a Lieutenant for a long time, Klayer thought to herself, scowling at the show-off.

o-o-o

At the end of her workday, Klayer stood on the shooting range, blasting humanoid silhouettes with a Rhiss Mark-20 pistol. She scowled in frustration as nearly half of her shots missed their marks.

What a kriffing waste of time, she thought. When will a Marshalcy Intelligence Analyst ever need to fire a weapon? If I'm sent off into combat, it means all of our field operatives already died. It means we're already screwed.

Still, she had a marksmanship qualification to complete tomorrow morning and had become quite rusty.