"Port stabilizers?"
The tech in the cockpit of his shuttle nodded as she went over the boards. "They check out, Mandalore. All systems green."
Mandalore nodded, though his frown was deep behind his mask. "Good, I want it ready to run the blockade first thing in the morning."
"Shouldn't be a problem."
Fine-tuned senses, coupled with the increased sensors in his helm, alerted him to someone's approach. He glanced back and scowled.
There were a few members of the Jedi entourage that he'd met. Trista herself showed promise, to where he suspected he might lose 500 credits and some dignity to Juhani. The paranoid Cathar also seemed fond of the Miraluka, which he took as an endorsement.
Then there was this witch.
He had seen shit traveling with Revan. Being forced into the company of between two and four Jedi for most of the trip had taught more than fighting them ever had. And she set off alarm bells like few jetaii he'd met.
"Is all in readiness?"
His frown deepened. "Yes, like I promised. Why? Does she want to back out now?"
"My concerns are for the one you escort to Onderon, Mandalore." She paused for a moment, thoughtfully, before continuing. "Would you not do the same for one of your clan?"
"Don't pretend you understand us." He waved the tech off — this would not be a conversation he wanted gossiped about later. "Mandalorians are a breed apart."
"If by 'apart,' you mean scattered, broken, and lost... then yes, you are correct."
His hand twitched, itching to rearrange her skull.
"Not for long. Soon, we will be strong again, united as one clan under one banner — mine."
"Yes." She drew out the word, and he found it caused an indescribable rage somewhere in his gut. "The great crusade — after the first was ended by Revan and the Jedi. Such a defeat was merciful, an echo of the end, when your ships were aflame and crushed in the grip of Malachor V. But I need not remind you of such things."
"Maybe I need to remind you of how many Jedi died to stop us there." She had an amazing talent at getting under his skin. He'd stopped feeling anger over Malachor V years ago, but to have the audacity... "And no matter how many dead orbit that world, the Mandalorians still live. My clan still lives. Kex?" He motioned back toward the quartermaster's desk, no longer staffed at the late hour. "He was working on Nar Shaddaa, as muscle for the Hutts. Khelborn was a scout for the Duros on their frontier worlds. I brought them here, gave them purpose. This galaxy will be ours again, I promise you — that is the future."
"Is it? The future is always in motion, a difficult thing to see." He thought, for a moment, about shooting her, but thought better of it in the end. "Perhaps there will be no new age, Mandalore, and no great Mandalorian crusade. Perhaps your people fought their last battle at Malachor V and have been dying ever since, a quiet death, one that will last centuries. And perhaps all that remains will be what I see before me: a man, wounded by a Jedi, encased in a Mandalorian shell, haunted by the thought of being the last of them."
He unclenched his hand from the knife at his belt. "You've got guts talking to me like that. You think your age, or your Jedi whelp, will keep you safe from me?"
"No." She sounded amused, which only raised his ire further. "I hope it is you who will keep said 'whelp' safe. You are loyal, and you have served many masters... even when they abandoned you."
Something deep inside his instincts knew where this was going, and it didn't agree with him.
"Or do you not wonder where she wanders now, Mandalore? Why she gave you your orders, then abandoned you at the edge of the galaxy?"
His hand tensed on his knife without any conscious thought to it, almost as if the action kept him from standing there, gaping like a gutted cannok, as his brain struggled to process what she'd just said.
"How in the frakking hell do you know that?" he hissed through clenched teeth.
"I know many things. And I can answer the question that burns within your shell, Mandalore. But, like all information, there is a price." She tilted her head to the side, challenging, before continuing. "You must keep the one I travel with safe. She is important to me — more important than anything.
"Show the same loyalty you have shown in the past. If there is a great 'crusade,' let it be for something that will carry your people's memory into the future — so that when there are no more Mandalorians, at least their honor will remain."
Kreia brushed past him, as if she was unaware of how badly he wanted to kill her. "She has walked your same path — and I ask that, when the end comes, you remember that kinship."
She disappeared towards the Hawk's berth, and Mandalore loosened his grip on his knife. He turned, just in time to watch Kex hover in the doorway while the edge of Kreia's robe flicked around the corner.
"Um... Mandalore."
He stared out the hangar door for a moment, into yet another Dxun sunset, his fingers flexing against his knife.
"Forget the Jedi," he hissed. "Keep your eyes on her."
Her feet both ached, and didn't ache.
The nerves had long been burnt into submission through the soles of her boots, but she hadn't had time to check their condition in the chaos of Dxun. Ahead of her rose Keldab'Bral, the site of the Mandalorian command post on this damnable moon.
"Revs, any chance those fighters did a sweep?" she hissed into her comm, too aware of the Republic soldiers crouched in the surrounding bushes and clutching guns to their chests. "Revs?"
In a burst of static, her sister's voice broke from the comm. "Can't—to check. Need — communications, or — Keldab'Bral, over?"
Trista bit her lip with a huff, staring up at the canopy above her. The ash settled on it, the sweetened bite of burnt plants and oil and Force-death jarring her from her frustration. "Revs, we—" She turned away, tucking her head and the comm down into her robe so the others wouldn't hear. "Revs, this is a frakkin' suicide mission. If we go up, especially without support, we're talking massive casualties."
Smoke interrupted her and she coughed, barely getting her finger off the switch in time.
"Gonna — even more if — talking to each other!"
"Didn't copy that."
The sound that answered her — the swing of a lightsaber — wasn't what she expected. Revan spoke again, this time sounding closer to the comm, accompanied by bursts of blaster fire. "There's gonna be more casualties if the fuckers keep talking to each other, over."
"You can't even get one fighter to do a sweep?"
"I'm not sure if you can tell—" A lightsaber swung again. "—frakking hell. Our ship got boarded. Because they keep talking to each other as long as that command center's standing."
Trista tapped her fist against her forehead, groaning under the distant crackling of flames.
"Minimize it as much as you can, because our other choice is nuking it, and Dodonna says that isn't one."
"Force's sake," she breathed before answering. "Revs—"
"Don't worry, Trista. I have every confidence in you. I — godsdamn it, I have to go."
She sat behind the rock, stunned, deafened to the crackling flame and bitter, hot ash that fell on them like rain. But when she looked up again, it wasn't the slope of Keldab'Bral that met her eyes, but a world wreathed in green, fracturing inward, black against the star-pricked void and—
Trista awoke with a start to unfamiliar steel walls. She sat up and scrubbed her eyes, and it took a moment to remember that she'd swapped hidey-holes with Bao-Dur that night. She was still on Dxun — but on the Hawk, safe behind a starship-grade durasteel. A quick fumble with her datapad brought up the time: about 0400.
Two hours early.
Figures.
A footstep creaked on the steel outside, and she was instantly alert. Her hand found her lightsaber, finger tensing on the trigger, and she carefully stuck her head out of the smuggler's hatch. Atton hovered in the door between the garage and the ramp, threatening T3 in a hissing whisper as he half-lowered it.
"What's up?"
He didn't even turn, instead flattening himself against the ramp and looking out. "Either Bao-Dur got prettier or—"
Trista wrapped her robe around her and extracted herself from the hold. "He felt more secure with both me and a door between him and them."
"Mm." She got down next to him, staring out into the silent Mandalorian camp. "You feel that?"
"Depends." The night on Dxun always felt brimming with life, like the very tension of survival cut through it with a knife-edge. The Mandalorian camp was no different, though it was largely kept at bay by the walls of what had been Keldab'Bral.
She focused, though, and felt something beyond it. A hush. Unease crawled up her skin, and she swallowed.
"It's silent."
"Yeah."
"There's always sound here, even at night. Usually means—"
"Everything's gone to ground, yeah." She rarely felt actual nerves coming off of Atton — it was so often masked by bravado, but there it was. Whatever had roused him, it was serious, and she didn't take her pilot's warnings lightly.
Trista closed her eyes and stretched out, trying to feel beyond the walls of the Hawk. Past T3 behind them, silent, to HK and Goto wandering the ship, into the camp itself. Something niggled in the back of her mind until she could place what the Force was telling her.
"The Sith. They found us."
"Well," Atton said, "'bout time. We were just getting comfortable."
"T3, hit the comm and warn Mandalore." T3 responded with a low whistle and scurried off. "Atton, wake the ship up."
Atton stood and took a few steps away, then stopped. "No, you go wake the ship up."
"What? This isn't a deb—"
"I know you, Tris. You're gonna wait until I'm out of earshot, then jump off this ship and put a target on your back."
"No, I'm not!"
"Yes, you are. Now get on with it."
Trista growled back in her throat but stood, not sure if she was angry he'd stopped her — or angry that he'd been right. "Fine. Keep an eye out, then."
The conversation had turned a restful night's sleep into a restless, then sleepless one.
Mandalore found himself awake far earlier than he'd intended and resorted to pacing his communications center. That old witch was lucky he hadn't killed her where she stood — though, if his gut was correct, he might not have even made a dent.
How'd she known about Revan? There was no chance she meant anyone else, after all. But how had she known? It made him uneasy... and uncomfortable. He was careful regarding his identity for a multitude of reasons. But if she was a Jedi-type...
Mandalore scowled. No, the Jedi may have plenty of issues, but they'd footed his bill the last time he ran with them. He couldn't imagine they wouldn't have manipulated him into it were that an option.
The Incoming terminal beeped, and he flipped it open without looking, almost out of habit. "Mandalore."
After a long second of silence, a familiar beeping answered him. "/hi/"
Despite himself, the smallest edge of a smile crept onto the corners of his lips. "It's about time you contacted me, you over-grown trash can."
"/Trash can?/when you=trash canderous+now?/"
"She programmed that into you, didn't she?"
"/time=no/attack (Sith + here) = immediate/"
"Slow down, T3. Sith? Atta—"
His instincts, more than anything, caught a flash of something in the monitor's reflection. His carbine was immediately in hand as he spun back, squinting into the HUD built into his mask as—
There. Heat signature. He opened fire.
A stealth field dissipated, and a humanoid in dark robes collapsed to the ground behind him, smoking holes burned through their clothing. He scrunched his nose.
He'd seen that uniform before, or something very similar, back on Manaan.
Something moved in his peripheral and he had just the barest second to react. But the blade coming down on his head was blocked by a blue glow, bouncing off the screens in the command center. With a gurgle, another dark-clothed figure dropped. Behind him stood Juhani, lightsaber still humming in the silence.
"I do not know why there are Sith, but there are."
"Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring." Mandalore hefted his carbine. "Turn that off and put your helmet on before you get yourself killed."
He turned as she did and flipped a switch, and the speakers outside blasted an alarm.
"They are likely here for our guest." By the time he turned back, Juhani's weapon was gone, replaced by the vibroblade she'd been using. "Belaya and I would not have attracted this attention."
"Doubt they're here for us." She fell into step with him as he strode out of the center, into an ever-growing melee as Mandalorians started their morning the way they always should: neck-deep in enemies and blasterfire.
"It is bold for them," Juhani agreed. "I would not have thought them this brazen."
Mandalore drilled one as the figure appeared behind Kex, sending the assassin crashing through the quartermaster's stand. "You recognize them?"
Juhani parried off and dispatched an assassin that charged her. "Yes. They are the same assassins that attacked Anna on Manaan."
"Yeah. Thought I was right." Mandalore checked the sky, sighed, and tore through another assassin with his carbine. "Well, if they're here for our guest, we should get her business on Onderon taken care of. I'm going to make my way to the hangars. If you see Khelborn, tell him I'll be back this evening."
She nodded, and started toward where Khelborn was visible near the vheh'yaims, surrounded by assassins and having the time of his life. "Mandalore."
Between T3 on the anti-personnel gun, the multitude of Force-users she'd collected, and HK finding the perfect sniper nest on the roof, they'd kept the assassins back from the ship. It hadn't been as hard as before — she'd learned how these Sith fought by now, and the shimmer of their stealth gens was easy to spot against the dawn-stained grass. It also didn't take advanced sight to spot Mandalore striding toward them, gunning down inconvenient Sith as they got into his way.
"Mornin'." Trista already felt her teeth grinding together. "These friends of yours?"
"Do your friends try to kill you?"
"Most of the time, yeah." He stopped in front of her. "We're moving up the timetable. You ready to leave?"
Trista frowned, motioning back at the melee still raging behind him. "Your camp's busy right now."
Mandalore scoffed. "I don't see any lightsabers on these idiots." He kicked a body next to his foot over onto its back. "My people can handle themselves. We've got four seats in the shuttle — pick your two favorites off your crew and let's go. Offer expires in three minutes."
He disappeared around the corner, and Trista swore under her breath.
"Fine. Mical, Mira, HK, with me. Everyone else, clear out the camp and make sure the Hawk is ready to go as soon as we're back. I don't want to spend one excess minute in this hellscape." She looked at Kreia. "Unless you want to go."
"I am content to wait, and watch from afar."
"Great." One less thing for her to deal with, then. She nodded to Atton, hoping he could hear the silent "please keep Bao-Dur from doing something stupid" running through her head, and turned for the shuttle.
"Observation." HK landed with a thud next to her, actuators whirring in protest. "The tin can said two favorites. Statement: As I am clearly going, one of your meatbags—"
"Don't be ridiculous, HK." Trista wrapped her robe around her as they entered the hangar. "Dxun and Onderon share an atmosphere. If there isn't room, you get to mag-lock onto the outside."
HK mulled over her statement for a moment. "Introspection: Sometimes I tolerate you, Master."
The shuttle was rumbling already, the door propped open and ready. Trista stepped through, sinking into the copilot's seat.
"I said 'two,'" Mandalore observed as Mical and Mira strapped in behind them. "But we can fit your pet assassin droid in here."
Trista narrowed her eyes at him as HK, perhaps a little irritated at not clamping onto the outside of the shuttle, squeezed into the back. "I never said he was an assassin droid."
"I've run across my fair share of HK models. You learn what they look like."
"On your side, or against?"
He shrugged, closing the shuttle door. "Depends on the day."
Mandalore thrust the levers on the shuttle forward, and it lurched out of the hanger like a drunken bantha. Trista reached for a handle above her head.
"Any idea where the guy you're looking for is?"
"Well, if I know him-" And I definitely do… "He's worked his way into the Palace. Probably as an advisor or something. Gets him the information and view he'd be looking for."
"Hm," Mandalore said, directing the shuttle to bowl over a few Sith threatening a clump of Mandalorians, "then when we get there, we're gonna see a friend of mine, name of Dhagon Ghent."
"You're sure we can trust him?"
"He's my friend, so no."
"Noted."
"But he owes me a favor or two."
"You'd call in a favor for a stranger?"
"I pick up favors like a Jedi picks up strays." She scowled. "I'm sure I'll save his ass later to make up for it."
"And he can get us into the palace?"
"Eh, probably not." He continued, cutting off her retort, "but I know Dagon either knows someone, or can get a message in to your missing Jedi Master. He has more than enough contacts for it."
By the time the shuttle was well on its way from the black scars of Dxun, with the verdant sea of Onderon's jungle ahead of them, Trista was already thinking this was a mistake.
"Now, a few ground rules." Steering with one hand, Mandalore held up his other and counted off. "One, we get one starport visa. It is mine and, no, you can't hold on to it. If we lose it, we can't leave, and I guarantee it's safer behind my beskar than your robes."
"Sure," she said tonelessly.
"Two, don't say the 'Republic' or 'Jedi' words while we're here. Especially since it's your ship they shot down. Relations are strained right now. Best not find out the hard way if you're talking to a loyalist or a revolutionary.
"Three, try not to kill anyone unless they hit you first. The government frowns on it.
"Four, keep your nose out of everyone's business. I know how you lot work. If you keep your head down, we'll be in and out before Vaklu's gotten off the shitter.
"Five, you do anything to threaten my people back on Dxun, and I leave you in this sorry excuse for a city. Understood?"
Trista frowned and thought for a moment, then shook her head. "What's up with this political situation?"
"Damn stupid is what. Talia threw her weight in with the Republic and they're using Onderon and Dxun's wildlife to seed some of these worlds they're trying to rebuild. But Iziz's infrastructure wasn't built for this sort of traffic. Meanwhile, Vaklu's a traditionalist."
"So he wants the Republic out?"
"Basically."
"Which side are you on?"
Mandalore's head tilted toward her, the dawn sun glinting off the ridges of the helm. She could almost read the expression even that minor action showed.
"I'm on our side — the Mandalorian side. Who holds Onderon doesn't much matter to me, as long as they leave us alone." He paused. "That said... Vaklu's a prick. We clashed with them several times during the Wars and, what they had in bravery, they lacked in organization. And they were stupid. Vaklu had some promise, but, well, they kept us from getting a foothold on Onderon, and that's about it. Didn't take much when you consider Revan started steamrolling us around then.
"I respect Talia's spirit, but takes a lot more than that to win a war, and that's what she'll have on her hands soon. It's a nasty thermal detonator they've pulled the pin on, that's for sure."
Trista leaned her head back on the seat. "How long do you think it'll take your friend to arrange this? Will we be back tonight?"
"Should be. Why, the jungle not agreeing with you?"
No. No, it isn't. "With the Sith up my ass, I'd like to leave as soon as possible."
"Yeah, about that." A few alarms sounded on the dash of the shuttle, and Mandalore flipped the switches to turn them off before she could read them. "Sith?"
"You didn't think the Jedi disappeared just because."
"I guessed they had a reason. But, with Revan gone... well." He tilted his head as he turned to look at her, and she drew a slow breath through her nose. "They've lost their teeth."
"Revan isn't everything."
"But she sure was most of it. How serious are these Sith?"
She released the breath back out. "Not sure why the Mandalorians would care."
Mandalore settled the ship into a landing bay with a solid thunk and cut the engines, then turned to her. "I thought we had an understanding on the wall, Morace, and I've seen far more Sith than you so far. Get off my shuttle, I'll be right behind you." She stayed seated. "I said—"
"I heard you."
"You wanna know how I've seen more Sith than you?" He hit the last switch, killing the shuttle's power. "I cut my teeth with Exar Kun, and I ran afoul of your old buddy Malak more than once. I fought plenty of you, too, if you've forgotten that. Now clear out of my ship so we can get started."
Trista shoved herself to her feet, biting back the hissing voice inside her that begged her to respond. Violently. "Get condescending with me again, Mandalore, and the Sith'll be the least of your problems."
Perhaps not to her surprise, Mandalore chuckled. "That's better."
Trista joined Mical and Mira outside, tucking her hands inside her robe.
"Mira, while we're here, I want you to watch our backs. Keep your eyes open. You too, Mical. You're a good read of people, so watch for anything I miss. And you." She turned her attention to HK as he stepped out of the shuttle. "Stay in stealth and keep your eyes open. If you see anything, let us know on the comms. Let me know before you start shooting, please?"
"Appeasement: If you insist, Master, I shall not blast any meatbags before asking."
Mandalore finally joined them — this time, wearing a different helm, one that lacked the mask of Mandalore fixed to the front.
"Glad to see you're dressed for the occasion," Trista grumbled.
"What? I can't go walking around here in full regalia. It makes the Onderonians jumpy. Now, in case your friends didn't hear me, Vaklu's a step away from declaring martial law, so we won't be able to travel too far into the city. Fortunately, Ghent's office is only on the other side of the square."
"And you are sure he's a friend?" Mical asked.
"I wouldn't go to him to get stitched up after a fight, but he's good for a drink. Now, Morace, it might be best for you to do the talking. Like I said, Onderonians can get jumpy when they're talking to a Mandalorian."
"That won't be a problem. Shall we?"
Mandalore motioned to the exit from the docking bay, where a much-hassled, uniformed man stood holding a datapad. "Follow me."
Trista nodded to the others and trailed after Mandalore as he strode for the guard.
"Early for you, eh?"
Mandalore nodded and handed over his datapad. "What can I say, love the smell of Iziz in the morning."
"Don't those helmets have some sorta olfactory blockers? You're going to need them. You haven't been here for..." He checked the datapad and nodded. "Bout two months, yeah? Guess it's hard to shuttle people when no one can leave."
Mandalore's helm tilted, like he was glancing at her to the side. "It's hurt things a bit, yeah."
"Well, it's gotten worse. Military checkpoints are everywhere."
"Military checkpoints?" Trista asked. "Are they looking for something?"
"Hell if I know. They've added strict food and water rationing, too." He shook his head and handed Mandalore the datapad. "You know the drill, Ordo. And Vaklu's men have been very thorough in finding Republic spies." He clicked and shook his head, but Trista barely saw through her pointed glare at Mandalore. Ordo, eh? Lying bastard. "Bad days, and things are only getting worse. Bombings are getting common. I'd get out of the system fast if I were you, friend."
"Noted. Any changes to the blockade?"
"Not since that battle up in orbit." Mandalore handed the datapad back, and the guard scanned it. "All right, no cargo, so no inspection... and here's your starport visa. Don't lose it, they cost more than a cortosis cruiser right now."
"No worries there." Mandalore tucked the thin datapad under his armor. "Thanks."
"Stay safe now and don't lose that."
He stepped aside and let them through the gate and, as soon as they'd crossed, Trista stopped. "A word."
"Did you lose the ability to walk?"
Trista grabbed Mandalore's arm, perhaps a little too strongly, and pulled him to face her. "You told me you couldn't tell me your clan, Ordo."
"No, I said it was inappropriate to ask."
"Frak you." She let go. "Then where's your brother, or cousin, or whoever he is?"
"Look." He took a step towards her, and she almost stepped back. "We'll talk about this when we're not in a city on the verge of martial law. Tali'bac?"
"Fine." She held up her finger. "And don't use that tone with me."
She turned and strode for the next gate, fighting not to turn back and throw Mandalore into a wall as he followed, chuckling.
"Halt, off-worlder. You'll have to answer some questions before you go into the city."
She sighed and shook out her robe. "Can we skip the formalities? You don't want to be here, and I'm in a hurry. We've got nothing to declare, and we'll keep our heads down and be gone by nightfall."
He paused, stylus hovering over the datapad, before typing a few words in. "You're right. This is a waste of time. You're free to go, just don't lose your starport visa."
"Got it." Trista swept by him. "Thanks."
