Y'ALL IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING! WE'RE GETTING A REMAKE!

also, welcome to dxun! We all know what that means!


Dxun, compared to some of the other worlds he'd been on, was tame.

After his stint running around the galaxy, he'd thought he'd seen everything — the (wrong) side of a planetary bombardment. A nineteen-year-old Jedi princess that could affect an entire battlefield just by thinking hard. A massive firaxan shark that made local Selkath go insane. How long it took two Republic types to get into each other's pants. The type of Jedi ik'shusik that could make General Revan forget she ever was General Revan.

But there was something about Dxun. About how, when the wind blew from the west, it bore with it the smell of ozone and smoke and oil as if the fires from the battle had never truly gone out; as if they were still simmering under the surface, waiting to reignite.

Like them.

It was why he'd chosen Dxun, of all the worlds, to gather the clans. Eventually, he intended to return them to Mandalore, but there were too few to reclaim the planet. Someday it would be theirs again. Someday.

Sensors chimed on a panel nearby, jerking him out of his idle daydreaming, and he sighed as he leaned down over the comm tech's shoulder.

"Mandalore, looks like Vaklu started a skirmish," the tech said. "We've got a few ships inbound."

He nodded. "Trace the trajectories and get us an image from the sensors by the crash sites. I want to know what we're dealing with."

"Right away." The tech tapped around until the screen in front of them exploded with video feeds, about four of them, each with a different ship in different stages of repair settled or crashed on screen. He skimmed through them and, as his eyes fell on the bottom right pane, his heart stopped.

"Enlarge that one." The tech did, and his hands clenched on the chair.

"... Mandalore?"

He shushed the tech, waiting with bated breath as the ship's ramp clunked down. A lanky man in a white and brown jacket sprinted out, followed by what looked like an Iridonian, each wielding a fire extinguisher. No, no one he recognized. Maybe it wasn't the Hawk, and he was doing what she'd told him not to — looking for her to return.

Then a tall woman, much taller than Revan (and also blonde), ran out with another extinguisher in hand. A Jedi. If the robes hadn't been a dead giveaway, he'd fought against and alongside them enough to tell from their gait. And then, the nail in the coffin — a small, familiar T3 droid that skidded down the ramp with its own fire suppression arm extended.

"Me'kaagota," he growled, opening up the intercom. The click sounded in their clearing, quiet enough to not carry through the trees, but loud enough to cover the grunts of training Mandos outside. "Khelborn, Taylire. K'olar."

Within a minute, the fires on the Ebon Hawk's exterior were extinguished and the two summoned Mandalorians had arrived. One, a man slightly shorter than him wearing the crimson armor of a Rally Marshal, saluted as he drew to a stop. The other, a lithe, slimmer figure in a recruit's blue, did the same. Mandalore slapped the tech's shoulder with a loud, metallic cling.

"Ba'slanar, verd'ika."

He nodded, stood, and saluted before leaving.

"Khelborn."

"Yes, Mandalore."

"Vaklu caused an incident in the airspace today. We've got some ships coming in."

"Great," Khelborn said, voice dry. "Where's our sign? It's been a record three days."

Mandalore chuckled. "Xarga's got it today. That's not the point — I can guarantee he was after this one." He tapped the screen. Taylire drew a sharp breath, but Khelborn leaned in for a better look.

"That a Jedi?"

"Looks like, and he's probably going to send some people to crawl up her ass. Scatter a few of your people to take 'em out before he can, and post a group about a kilometer away on the path up. If they get that close, I want her and her people brought here. Nicely," he added. "No need to come to blows over it. They do, they answer to me."

"Understood." He saluted and left, leaving the two alone. They were quiet for a moment, watching what looked like an argument unfold as the taller human and the Jedi headed back up the ramp.

"It isn't her." Taylire broke the silence. Mandalore shook his head.

"It's the ship, and I saw T3. She could be on board."

Taylire paused for a moment, then shook her head. "She is not."

Mandalore sighed. "Well, bic'yir meg bic'yir. That's why I called you."

"To tell me 'it is what it is?'"

He chuckled. "Yes. I want you to monitor them. Don't engage, just watch until we know their motives. Unless you don't think you're up to it, verd'ika."

Taylire punched his shoulder and turned on her heel. "Nar'sheb, shabuir."

"Send my tech back in!" he called after her, turning back to the screen.


"We're coming up on Onderon." Atton's voice rang over the intercom as the ship jerked, its signature announcement for leaving hyperspace. "We'll be arriving in... ah... hey, Tris? Can you come up here?"

Trista closed the panel on HK-47 with an apologetic look and headed toward the cockpit.

"I was just about to do some work on HK, what—" Her steps faltered just over the threshold.

Onderon, much as she remembered, sat below them, the green swaths of peridot-toned jungle marred by long, black marks. Dxun hovered just beyond it, the black swaths more prominent... more memorable. She tore her eyes away before they lingered too long, before the smoke filled her nose and mouth again and the long-healed burns on her feet could ache.

Arrayed ahead of them, no doubt what Atton had called her about, were what must have been fifty ships of varying sizes. A few were painted in Republic colors, but the majority looked like independent transports. Atton motioned out the window, and she groaned.

"Is this a queue?"

"Looks like."

She sank down into the copilot's seat. "Have you heard from control?"

"Not a word."

"Something feels... wrong." Trista glanced back at Kreia as she hovered in the doorway. Atton tensed in the pilot's chair and she frowned, but he shook his head. "There is a great disturbance here in orbit, and again on the planets below."

They sat in silence before Trista shook her head. "It's probably..." The Wars. She didn't voice it, but Kreia hmm'ed behind her.

"I do not believe it is." Kreia settled into a jumpseat.

"Well, this blockade's probably a symptom of bigger problems on Onderon." Atton sighed and leaned back. "We never go anywhere nice."

"They decide to do a cargo search, and we'll be in trouble," Mira said from the doorway. "Want me to start stickin' things in panels?"

"Not a bad idea," Trista said. "The lightsabers should go, at the least. Make sure to grab everyone's."

Mira held out her hand, and Trista handed hers over. As the hunter headed back down the hallway, something on the console chirped.

"I guess we're about to find out," Atton said, leaning forward and flipping the switch. "Getting a message from someone... ah... Colonel Tobin. Sound familiar?"

"Nope."

"Well, I'll patch him in. Iziiiiiz, good..." he glanced at the clock, "afternoon! We're looking to—"

"Hm." Trista raised an eyebrow at Atton, who narrowed his eyes in return. That wasn't a typical greeting. "The Ebon Hawk. I was told to expect your arrival."

"Uh, great?" Trista said. "Do you have an estimate for—"

Tobin interrupted her. "I don't know what business you have here, but it ends now."

"Shit," Atton hissed, waving his hand at her as his own went for his harness. She strapped in and motioned for Kreia to do the same. The ship jerked, and Atton swore again as he grabbed the control stick.

"Strap in!" Trista shouted into the intercom. "Mira, guns." She turned back to the radio and unmuted it as Atton whipped the ship around a larger freighter. "Colonel, I'm not sure what you were told, but I hope we can negotiate. I have urgent business that should not be a threat to—"

The radio clicked off.

"What the frak is going on?" Trista hissed, slamming the hail closed on their end.

"It appears our enemies have beaten us here," Kreia said, voice soft.

"Any other useful observations?" Atton grumbled as he whipped around another ship, bringing them face-to-face with their pursuers just as one exploded. The shields clanged overhead.

"Atton, there's — they're shooting at us." Trista pointed at a cruiser, and he swore. The shields flared again, this time with the unmistakable alarm showing they were down, coupled with an explosion near the turret.

"Tris," Atton said, as he wrestled the ship behind a cruiser to place a barrier between them and the firing ship, "you want to fight this out or get out?"

"Try to head for a moon," she said. "Not Dxun, if we can help it."

"I'll do my best, sweets." He swung the ship back out and pushed the engines to full, and was almost past Dxun when another large jolt shot through the ship. The Hawk listed as the sound of the soft-spoken Bao-Dur swearing echoed out of the engine room, and Atton shook his head.

"Yeah, 'bout that—"

Trista clenched the arms of the copilot's chair, grinding her teeth as her jaw set in a familiar grimace.

"Just land."

"Got it."

Atton gunned the remaining engine to the sound of Mira unloading the turret, and the ship side-slipped into Dxun's atmosphere.

"Help me even her out." Trista grabbed the column, her knuckles whitening on the sticks as she forced the ship nose-first toward the trees. "Gonna make for that clearing." Atton flipped a switch to drop the struts. "Looks like a few other ships are going down with us, so we might be harder to find."

"Let's hope," she said through grit teeth.

They limped to the clearing and Atton set the ship down, gently and carefully. He motioned, grandiosely.

"See, I can land without crashing."

A strut collapsed beneath them and sent the entire thing lurching. Trista gripped her harness in shock.

"Damn it." Atton threw off his harness and was out of his seat before she could move, yelling for Bao-Dur to grab the fire suppression gear. Trista stood, shutting the ship down.

"You are tense," Kreia said.

"Yes, yes, I am," she growled before rushing to help, grabbing another extinguisher on the way.

Outside, she joined Bao-Dur, Atton, and T3 putting out the smoking systems, until there was no more smoke to give away their position to any passing ships. She ignored the jungle — the hissing, the screaming of animals in the distance, the fire of ships above, the roar of a nearby waterfall, all things she pushed aside until was almost as numb as she had been since Malachor.

"You know, just once," Atton started as they headed up the ship, Trista fighting to think past the tension in her shoulders, "I wish someone was glad to see us. But no. If it's not weapons pointed at our heads—" He motioned to Handmaiden as she returned her own firefighting gear to the garage. "—it's people tryin' to blast us out of the sky."

Everyone had already gathered around the holotable, and they joined them.

"'Welcoming committee' used to mean something, y'know? Not being followed by blaster bolts."

"Where did we land?" Visas asked, in her usual soft-spoken voice. Atton shrugged, glancing at Trista for a long moment before answering.

"One of the jungle moons, I—"

"Dxun." Trista almost winced at her own flat tone.

"Well, now what?" Mira motioned. "We wait for them to find us?"

"We have to fix the ship if we're gonna leave," Atton said. "At least one strut's busted—"

"An engine blew in flight," Bao-Dur interjected.

"And that. Plus, whatever else was on fire... Bao and I might fix it in a couple days, but no faster than that." He paused. "Maybe sooner if we find any materials. I spotted an old outpost as we were coming in, about 3 klicks away. Could be why there's all these clearings around — could have been settlements."

"They weren't."

"Are you well?" the Handmaiden asked, and Trista looked up to find her crew staring at her — save Kreia, who seemed to study them, and Bao-Dur, who looked as uncomfortable as she was.

"I don't want to be here."

In the silence, Kreia cleared her throat. "Settlements, no. There were no settlements here. Those clearings were most likely craters... or crash sites."

"Crash sites?" the Handmaiden asked. A light seemed to go on in Mical's head, and he looked at her with an intense look of concern. She managed a tense smile and shook her head.

"This is Dxun, where the Mandalorians began their crusade against the Republic... the remains of whatever outposts you detected here are military ones, and they may not be as abandoned as they seem. We should be careful."

"This does not seem like a battlefield."

Kreia didn't even look toward the Handmaiden. "No, but much is buried here... and much that should remain buried."

Trista drew her fingers across her eyes. Already she was feeling it — the trembling at the tip of her fingers was only the first sign. She needed to get off this moon, and fast.

"Atton, Bao-Dur, we've got the parts to fix the ship?"

The two glanced at each other before Bao-Dur spoke. "Whatever we don't have, I can fabricate. It will take longer, though."

"I'll shut down unnecessary systems until we're done — it should keep us from being a target."

"All right. How safe are we?"

"Weeeeell..." Atton checked something on the holotable. "Space battle's still going on. Since they were so eager to use us as target practice, I doubt they'll forget about us. Even if we make repairs, there's no guarantee they won't try for another round." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't like this. Onderon is about as far from the Core as you can get without leaving the Republic. But even out here the locals've got our number."

Trista sighed, leaning on the table. She dug her fingers into the metal in the hope it'd still them. "So there's no way we're getting the Hawk to Onderon?"

"I doubt it. And I mean, until the ship's repaired, we're not going anywhere."

"Perhaps they will forget after a few days?" Visas asked. Atton shrugged.

"Maybe."

G0-T0, as they'd taken to calling him, made a few clicks. Trista narrowed her eyes at the droid. "You have anything you want to share?"

The droid clicked again, as if clearing a throat. "Onderon is rich in ecological resources. Indeed, its aggressive ecology can bring worlds back to life. However, it is experiencing a political schism split between two forces. One must triumph for the planet to be stabilized."

Clenching her hands on the table was not helping them at all. "And why's that?"

"Onderon is essential to the success of the Telos Project, and the Telos Project is essential to the stability of the Republic. Its success or failure will dictate the economic forecasts of many other worlds. Therefore... it is imperative the situation be resolved."

She drew a deep breath. "I presume you mean personally."

"However you see fit."

Trista unclenched her fingers from the table. "The jungle it is," she said. "Hopefully there's something there."

"Apart from predators, you mean," Atton grumbled.

She frowned. "Don't remind me."

"Nevertheless," Kreia said, "we should explore our surroundings... and that outpost would be as good a place to begin as any. There may be a means to reach Onderon by another route. The Force has guided us here for a reason."

Trista hemmed and straightened. "Where did you leave our weapons, Mira?"

"Just on the sofa. Had to get to the guns before I could stash them."

Trista picked hers up and clipped it back to her belt, feeling her frown becoming permanent.

"Bao-Dur, Atton, and the droids, stay with the ship. Bao-Dur and T3, you're our primaries on repairs. HK, you're on defense. Mical, Handmaiden, Visas, Mira, you're with me." She looked at Kreia. "You up for the jungle?"

"I will remain here and shield the ship from watching eyes."

"Just us then. Get your kits together — make sure you've got a week's supplies to be safe. Dxun isn't a place to underestimate. You have ten minutes."

Without waiting for an answer, she left the hold, heading back to the garage and began packing as the shaking settled into her arms. The door slid open then closed behind her, and she didn't even need to turn or to question who it was.

"You okay?"

Trista sighed and straightened. "I'm fine."

Atton rested his hand on her arm. "You don't sound fine."

"Just... have the ship ready to go as soon as possible. I don't want to spend more time here than I need to."

He sat down on the hyperdrive with a frown. "This isn't my first choice of vacation worlds, but—"

"I... it's not my first time here."

"Wh—oh." Atton stood. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Trista turned to him and raised a brow. "I'm surprised you care."

"What? Of course I do. Tris, just 'cause no one's given a damn about what you want before doesn't mean I don't. So, are you going to be okay?"

She sighed. "I'll... be fine. It isn't on fire today, and I doubt the Mandalorians came back."

He stood again and pulled her to him and, for the first time, she let him pull her in and buried her head against his neck with a sigh. "You sure you want me to stay on the Hawk?"

"Yeah." Trista stepped back. "I mean, I always... no, it'll be fine. I'll have everyone else with me."

Atton narrowed his eyes, but not hostilely — almost more of a challenge. "You always what?"

"I—" Trista considered for a moment not encouraging him, not telling him the realization she'd had since that first training session a few days earlier. "... I feel safer when you're around."

"Good thing I'll always be around, then. You know," he motioned, "except when I'm fixing the ship."

She almost laughed, but only managed a weak smile. "That's being there, just differently." Atton kissed her forehead.

"Keep an eye out for any spare parts, and we'll have the Hawk up in no time."

"I'll see what I can do." Trista, almost unconsciously, leaned the last few inches to his lips and kissed him, almost more of a reassurance than his arms around her.

"I'll keep the comms system up, so I'm just a call away." He pressed one of the Hawk's commlinks into her hand. "I might have to shut it off, but I'll keep it on as long as I can."

"Thanks, Atton."

"And hopefully we'll be gone before you know it."

"Hopefully." Trista picked up her bag. "I need to go supply up."

"Don't let me stop you."


About eleven minutes later Trista, followed by Mical, Visas, the Handmaiden, and Mira, left the Ebon Hawk shut down in the clearing and set out into the jungle.

"Atton marked the outpost on our maps," she said, starting up one of the few visible paths deeper into the trees. "Any of you been here before?"

"I have not," Handmaiden said, and Mical and Visas echoed it.

"Not recently enough to matter," Mira said.

"All right. Well." Trista motioned around herself with the datapad. "The jungle is thick and everything wants to kill and eat you. Not always in that order. Welcome to hell. Keep your eyes open for any parts we might need."

As they disappeared, Atton sighed and closed the ramp.

"What's our priority?" Bao-Dur asked.

"The strut. Hard to fix anything if the ship's not stable."

"True. I believe we have those parts on hand. I'll get to work."

"Take T3 and Roboboss with you. I'm gonna get the Murderbot on top of the ship with that sniper rifle. Should keep the cannoks from eating everything."

Bao-Dur nodded and headed into the garage, and Atton returned to the cockpit to shut the ship down almost completely.

He was just hitting the last switch when someone stepped into the doorway behind him and he tensed.

"I have a feeling," Kreia said, "that we will not repair this ship until we conclude our business. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, your worship." He hit the switch. "What's so important about this place, anyway?"

"This is where the Mandalorian Wars began. She fought here, and there are things here she must see."

"Why didn't she tell the others?"

"Do you speak of all your battles? Or are there many you wish to forget?"

As Kreia turned, Atton cleared his throat. "Yeah, there is one thing, Kreia."

She stopped, but did not turn back.

"I told her. Everything."

Kreia was quiet for a moment, just long enough that he thought he might have won, or caught her off guard, or—

"And now you are free?"

His heart skipped for just a single beat. "Yeah. So no more threats, no more requests. You and me, we're done."

She scoffed. "Did you ever think I truly held you? You are more of a fool than I thought."

"I—"

"What held you was you — and let me show you why." His hand settled on his gun, more out of habit than the belief he'd win any fight against her. "I once held the galaxy by the throat... as you once held her by the throat, and let her die slowly. And your emotion at that point is what you fear."

Atton ran his tongue over his lips.

"I wielded power like you cannot imagine. Everything I saw was awash with possibilities, spreading outward, touching everything else. I saw all of that, all that the Force is... and only when it was ripped from me did I see it.

"And I know what lies buried within you, that you hide with your desperate thoughts, your guilt, your lusts." He grimaced as he felt the first touch of her in his mind, just a brush, a reminder of how easily she had broken through before. "I can unlock that part of you anytime I wish. It is a simple thing, the human mind, and once it feels something strongly, it becomes entrenched in the memory. The subconscious.

"Shall I show you, Jaq?" His old name sounded like a curse when she spoke it, and against his best efforts... he winced. "That part of you that hungered to kill Jedi? That took pleasure from it? Or perhaps you will continue to listen to my counsel, and I shall ignore your petty attempts at freedom."

"You really are a crusty old schutta, you know that, right?"

"Perhaps." She paused again, still never turning back. "And do not think I have missed the change in emotions between you. You should scour your mind of the idea that it will bring her anything of use."

"Yeah, well, at least I care," he shot back. "She's just a tool, and you'll throw her aside — or worse — when you're done with her."

"I will do nothing of the sort." She left the cockpit. "I have nothing further to say to you, murderer."

He slammed the last switch home harder than necessary. "Schutta."


"Bounty hunters..." Trista checked over the switch on her lightsaber as she mused. "Hostile animals, I'm covered in mud up to my knees, and I'm being eaten alive by bugs. Now I remember why firebombs were preferable to landing an army on this shitstain of a moon."

"You say somethin'?" Mira clicked something on her blaster, and Trista sighed.

"Nothing." She clipped the weapon to her belt. "Let's keep moving."

They kept traveling past more defunct droids and a few wrecked ships that they scavenged parts from. The metal was already corroded and dripping, often crumbling in their hands. Ten minutes of walking later, the comm chirped. Trista flicked it open.

"Yeah, Atton?"

"Orbital fighting just ended. Tobin kicked a mynock's nest when he took a shot at us. Still working on the repairs and I have to take down some more systems, including the sensors. So you'll have to do without my wonderful voice for a while. I know, you're crushed."

"You're on speaker."

He cleared his throat. "Right. Good news is, haven't clocked any other ships crashing for about thirty minutes, so it's just the few that've gone down at the moment. I'll check in as soon as we're done down here. Stay safe."

"You too." She sighed and closed the comm. "We're on our own now. Keep your eyes open."

They traveled for another ten minutes, pushing through several more predator ambushes and mud patches, before the Handmaiden motioned ahead.

"Is that fabric?"

Trista paused, staring through the trees with far more hesitation than she'd ever admit. Fabric... no, fabric should have long degraded on Dxun, or been eaten. But a glint of white, drifting in the breeze that wound predatory through the trees, waved in a small clearing up ahead. A campfire that absolutely should have not been burning in the jungle illuminated it even in the midday sun.

"Be careful," she murmured, resting her hand on her lightsaber. "I don't like that."

As they approached, the worse Trista's feeling got. While she'd felt watched since first stepping off the Hawk, this was different. The weight of a few eyes changed to the heavy, anticipatory stare of knowing one wasn't alone, of presence quivering in the Force, plucking it like strings on an instrument. But she crept forward until they stepped out of the clearing, and she caught sight of the banner.

Durasteel marker-poles curved outward into points, suspending a cream-colored banner between them. On it, emblazoned in gold, was a symbol: two points upward, two downward, branching off an oval flanked by two smaller circles on the sides. The symbol itself wasn't recognizable, but it didn't have to be. There was no question as to what it was. Trista's hands clenched of their own accord, sharp pains biting into her palms as her nails dug crescents into them. The humid air was already hellish in her lungs — but now it blazed just as strongly as it had when the trees burned around her.

"We're leaving." Her voice somehow managed to not tremble, even though she herself was close to snapping. "We'll wait until the ship's repaired and get to Onderon that way."

"Trista…" Mical started, but she interrupted.

"No, we're going."

As she turned, she found the barrel of a blaster even with her nose. Her eyes traveled past it, to the crimson-armored arm holding it, to the bell-shaped, slit-visored helm beyond.

The type of helm that haunted at least half of her nightmares.

"Hold it right there," said the Mandalorian behind the blaster, "we've got you surrounded."