CH. 2 New Shores

Rubble was surprisingly comfortable, Carolus realized, as he crawled through the remains of a ruined spaceport on the planet Saleucami. The sound of TIE's howling somewhere off in the distance and blaster fire echoing off miles away gave the whole demolished suburb a sense of melancholy loneliness. The streets were empty save for debris. Rain poured down from dark grey clouds, turning the dust into mud. Massive holes and craters were present on nearly every building. Most of the battles were being waged on the other side of town, where Carolus' target, an important Imperial officer, almost certainly was. The only reason he wasn't there now was the same reason he was currently crawling prone beneath a second story bedroom window. An Imperial sharpshooter, whom was a surprisingly good shot, had pinned him down and was at the moment biding his time waiting for Carolus to make a mistake. Carolus hadn't been able to pinpoint the sniper, so hunting down the Imp was momentarily out of the question. Wherever he was, he had to have been elevated; the last shot had come down at an angle. He'd have to draw the sniper out, and the only idea he had he hated. His eyes turned to the closet across the room then back to the window above him.

In a second, he bolted to the closet, flinging open the door and taking cover…or as much cover as he could. The closet was only about a foot in depth with shelves taking up most of the space. The same moment he came to this discovery a blaster bolt struck the door of the closet. After a moment of collecting himself, he ran back beneath the window; sliding into a crouched position in the same place he had started. A second bolt struck the edge of the window, nearly making contact with the back of Carolus' helmet. Carolus paid no heed to the near miss, instead studying the closet door. Durasteel. Nearly an inch thick. The bolt didn't penetrate. Carolus groaned, bemoaning the fact that this was the best plan he could come up with.

Taking a few moments to gather his courage, he did the one thing one should never do when dealing with a sniper. He stood up. Regret came an instant later as a concussive force struck his chest piece and sent him sprawling to the ground. A dull throbbing pain bloomed from his ribs, and it took all of his willpower not to move an inch. His durasteel-beskar alloy chest plate had stopped the shot, but it would still leave a mark. His plan had worked for the most part; he had figured that if a durasteel door could stop the blast then his armor would have no problem taking the shot. Beskar alone would have made the whole ordeal a non-issue, but with the durasteel diluting the metal all throughout his armor he still chose to err on the side of caution. He didn't move, didn't twitch, barely breathed for what seemed like an eternity. The deluge still continued on outside, making a single long droning noise that nearly lulled Carolus into a tired trance. He hadn't slept in days, fueled solely by adrenaline and Mandalorian spiced caf. Rubble, he reflected, was very comfortable when playing dead. He wasn't sure the others would approve of this tactic, but at this point all he wanted was to get on with his mission.

He wasn't sure how long he waited; he had begun to measure the time by the echoing reports of the far-off blaster fire rather than by actual minutes. It couldn't have been long though, for the sound of approaching footsteps gradually grew until the door to the bedroom opened. His Westar 35 was too far away, but his vambrace would work well enough. A booted foot rolled him over and he sprang into action, firing a blaster bolt from his forearm which grazed the side of the figure. The glancing shot sent the trooper reeling, shock and surprise causing him to fall to the ground. The sniper's armor was the average scout trooper variant coated in a glossy black finish. An Imperial storm commando. Adrenaline had set in again and he was now operating on pure instinct. Now not even thinking about his blaster or his vambraces, he crawled over to the recovering stormtrooper and began to grapple with him. Legs lashing out, arms waving and striking violently, the two had descended into little more than a wrestling match, neither cognizant of anything outside their own struggle.

Carolus sent a punch to the trooper's head, which did little with the helmet in the way. The commando retaliated with a punch to Carolus' side, then tried to stand to his feet only to be dragged back down again and receive a punch to the kidneys. Wrapping his arms around the trooper's neck, Carolus squeezed, occasionally sending a punch to the head for good measure. With great effort, the Imperial soldier flung the smaller fighter across the room. Landing with a grunt, Carolus recovered to see his opponent scramble for his weapon. In an act of desperation, the Mandalorian dived after the weapon himself. A second shot rang out, and the young Mereel felt the same pain as before resurface, sending him crashing to the floor. The storm commando advanced with his weapon trained on the teen, only for an explosion to erupt from outside the building. The blast was enough to distract the sniper, giving Carolus the opportunity to tackle his enemy back to the ground. Now in a frenzy, the Mandalorian pummeled the soldier from atop him with furious violence. Reaching for the trooper's helmet and yanking it off, Carolus began to rain blow after blow down upon the pinned soldier. Tremors of impact traveled through his arms and into the rest of his body. Bestial shouts tore their way out of his throat unbidden. His muscles rebelled, burning and buckling at the exerted effort and fatigue. The trooper wriggled about in agony, trying in vain to fight the young Mando off him. Droplets of blood splattered upon Carolus' green armor, even more splattered onto the glossy black armor of the trooper. Carolus reached for the Imp's helmet on the ground, and with another hoarse roar began to pummel the trooper with it. The protruding visor of the helmet jabbed into the man's skull. Cries of pain and panic tore their way out of the commando's mouth. Carolus ignored them, continuing to batter the unfortunate man to death with his own armor. He didn't stop. He didn't stop when the trooper eventually stopped fighting back. He didn't stop when the trooper stopped moving all together. He didn't stop when the trooper seemed to stop having anything resembling a human face, now resembling something akin to ground meat. He just… kept… going. He didn't stop until he was too exhausted to do any more.

He was tired.

He was so tired.

-R-R-M-

He was so tired. This was almost a constant nowadays. Sleep was hard to come by and almost always dreamless. He lied in his bunk fruitlessly trying to coax unconsciousness to come to him. Eyes closed, breathing light, muscles relaxed, he couldn't seem to get his mind to stop racing. Emulating the Mandalore's of old never sat well with him. Mandalore's the First, Indomitable, and Ultimate were venerated because they had brought greatness to the Mando'ade. They had all done something that changed the galaxy in some way or another; all he had done was flee and forgive traitors, and they had praised him for it. He just felt that he was doing the title a disservice by copying the actions of past rulers rather than carving out his own path. He didn't hate himself though. He knew that he had done what was best for his people. He was whatever his people needed him to be, and if that was as Mandalore then so be it. To be honest, he felt like the whole thing was just a colossal scheme by Rollo to send him stressing to an early grave. The first step of Rollo's plan, Carolus thought, was to deprive him of sleep in an effort to drive him to madness. All Carolus could do to fight this was counting banthas. And so he began. 1… 2…3… Carolus' mind finally started to slow. The murky haze of sleep beginning to settle over his haggard consciousness. Blessed sleep would come at last.

Or at least that would have happened if Rollo, the menace, hadn't burst into his quarters gasping for breath. "Carolus wake up! We're exiting hyperspace, we gotta get to the bridge!" Without another word, Rollo dashed out of his room and down the narrow hall, shoving aside several passing crewmen too slow to get out of his path.

'I am going to kill him one day, I swear to Mandalore.' Carolus thought, getting up. Dawning his armor and cape, he then armed himself with his Beskad and Mandalorian Shredder. The ancient weapons were still a little new to him but were nonetheless welcome. He had seen the damage these things could do and would readily swear upon their effectiveness. The familiar weight of the beskar helm provided Carolus a sense of privacy behind the visor. Now bedecked in full Mandalore regalia, head held high, shoulders squared, and back straight, the young man looked all the part of a Mandalore of old. A familiar calm focus fell over his mind as he brushed aside his doubts. An air of authority dominated his person and an aura of cold command seemed to demand reverence. Gone was the tired and doubtful young man and in his place stood an heir to legends. As he left his quarters, he saluted passing soldiers who were scrambling to their battle stations.

The journey to the Providence's bridge was a maze of hallways and lifts, twisting about in sharp turns, choke points, and a myriad of other ways in which to confuse and bog down enemy boarders. The crew and passengers of the dreadnaught navigated through the hulking labyrinth with practiced ease, expertly traversing through a network of metal corridors like small animals in a warren. As Carolus neared the lift to the bridge, he found Rollo speaking with another supercommando beside the elevator doors. Rollo noticed his approach and he and the ori'rami'kade parted ways, Rollo motioning Carolus to follow him. After the lift doors closed a moment of silence passed between them before Rollo spoke.

"Why do you think we'll find a world so soon?"

Carolus looked to Rollo before turning to the door. "It's not that I think we'll find a world right away, I just think that the sooner we start looking, the sooner we find a place to settle. Might as well start looking the second we arrive, you know? With luck, we may find a system that can support our people with little effort."

Rollo nodded, turning the words over in his mind. He, like many, had reservations over the apparent optimism Carolus seemed to have clung onto. The Great Purge had made it difficult to hope. The flight from their home galaxy had made many believe that they would merely amble through the universe endlessly. Rollo wasn't normally one for pessimism, but in these times, hope seemed like an empty promise. He guessed that was why so many had become so accepting of Carolus as Mandalore. In a time of complete turmoil, Carolus had come to represent hope. He had set aside his own doubts and fears in favor of uplifting the hearts and minds of nearly fifty thousand lost souls. Carolus Mereel, in the eyes of the Mando'ade, had earned his title as Mandalore. Despite harboring doubts about them discovering a safe haven, Rollo had no doubts about his leader.

Upon reaching the bridge, the two entered to find that the blue of hyperspace still whirled around them. Nera and Skald already stood off to the side awaiting them, and the bridge crew all turned to them and stood at attention. Mereel waved for them to be at ease and turned to the two.

"The fleet is readying to exit hyperspace in just a few moments, we thought you'd want to oversee this yourself." Nera said, motioning to the bridge's viewport. Carolus nodded and took his seat in the captain's chair.

As the writhing blue tunnel gave way to a starry void in a sudden halt, all hands on the bridge flew into action: scanners reached out as far as they were able, communications flooded in from every ship in the fleet, status reports scrolled from every terminal. Carolus watched as the Mandalorian fleet arrived around him. The Coronet, Duchess Satine's old barely armed yacht, pulled up behind the Providence defensively. As the ship holding the youngest of their people, roughly 900 infants and toddlers watched over by an overworked crew of 175, her safety was paramount. She had been the final addition to their fleet; during the last battle, as the fleet neared Mandalore, Bo Katan had sent out the Coronet packed with the young and defenseless with orders to protect the ship at all costs.

On the Coronet's port side, the Absolution, temporary home to 3,250 Mandalorians, took up a protective position. Stolen from a ship decommissioning yard, the ship was left in remarkably good condition when they had 'liberated' it. A ship once used by the Separatists during the Clone Wars, it was relatively easy to acquire and repair for their purposes. Ironically, the Absolution was one of the first ships to have been acquired by the fleet, second only to the Sundari.

Mirroring the Absolution on the starboard side was the Sundari, a Strike-class medium cruiser housing 3,132 passengers. She had been in use as Carolus' forces initial vessel during his time working for the larger Rebellion. It was this ship that had at one time been his Mandalorian's central operating vessel until the discovery of the Providence. The Rebels themselves had originally obtained it through an anonymous third-party, likely an embittered politician who wanted to wreak vengeance upon the Empire without repercussion.

Above and below the Coronet respectively were the Heiress and the Vestige of Canderous. The Heiress was a Sphyrna- class Hammerhead corvette, containing a meager crew of 207. Unlike the Sundari, the Heiress had been bought directly by the Rebel Alliance through the black market. While not as spacious as the Sundari, or as well armed as the Absolution, she was rugged and reliable, and needed little in terms of upkeep.

The Vestige of Canderous was an ancient Foray class blockade runner from the Old Republic during the Mandalorian Wars, whom had been stolen in the midst of the battle of Coruscant; the old craft had been laden with a crew of 400. The name itself was a rather deceptive one considering it had been taken in the time of Mandalore the Indomitable; despite this, the crew had saw fit to name it in honor of Skald's ancestor.

Finally bringing up the rear right behind the Coronet was the Potentate, an MC30c frigate with a ship's company of 915. She and her accompanying vessel, the at that time unnamed Heiress, were gifted to the Mandalorians by the Rebel Alliance as a means of thanks for several previous mercenary jobs. With the Providence taking the lead, the fleet held 49,316 young Mandalorians under its protection.

"Coronet reporting in, all systems green."

"Absolution reporting in, all systems green."

"Heiress reporting in, all systems green."

"Sundari reporting in, all systems green."

"Vestige of Canderous reporting in, all systems green.

"Potentate reporting in, all systems green."

"Providence reporting in," Carolus said, "all systems green. All fighter escorts, report to your designated ships. All ships, begin long range scanning." With that, he rested back in his seat. Step one was over and done with, now he needed to worry about two through ten.

"Looks like we all made it, should we begin the reorganization process?" Skald asked, crossing his arms, and gazing at the expanse before him.

"Only as far as the away parties; I want them all prepped and given a final briefing once we've finished the initial survey with our probe droids." Carolus answered, "The rest of the crews and passengers will have to wait until we have a bearing of where we are. Speaking of which, have we completed our initial scans?" He asked to the bridge crew.

One of the crewmembers sitting at one of the many consoles slowly turned back to him, shock and confusion etched onto his features. "About that sir… I can safely say that I have no idea where we are."

"What? Did you check the navicomputers?" Rollo asked, earning a dry look from the navigator.

"It doesn't know either."

"What!? How!?" The navigator shrugged and motioned to his terminal.

"The computer does a couple of things to figure out where we are; mainly, it takes the map of the known galaxy and charts the course made from its point of departure to its destination, then tells you where the map would say you are based on the course taken. If that doesn't work, it scans the surrounding star pattern and matches it up with pre-existing charts, then it calculates the position of the ship. Which it tried to do here. And it failed. None of the surrounding stars correspond with any of our charts, even preliminary scans of the visible stars in the unknown regions. The only thing that I can guess is that we're so far out that the light from our own galaxy hasn't reached here yet and vice versa. Simply put, I can't get a bearing."

Rollo's only response was a soft, "Oh."

Carolus considered this. There was a lot to take in from that, chief of which was that they were safe from the Empire for the foreseeable future but at the cost of distance from their home. After a moment's thought he asked the navigator, "Will it be possible to make the trip back?"

The navigator gave him an odd look, "Sir, we're out of coaxium."

Carolus waved him off, "If we had the provisions necessary?"

"I don't think so sir, at least not in our lifetime."

"Why would we be going back anyway? There's nothing for us there anymore." Rollo asked.

"…It's nothing Rollo, forget it. Do we have any readings on long range scans?" Carolus asked, being answered this time by a different crewman.

"We're receiving reports of a few gas giants, ocean and carbon planets, but apparently there is one world capable of supporting life sir."

The bridge halted at the announcement, some looking to Carolus for direction and answers, others now franticly scrambling to find conformation of the news. Nera and Rollo tensed, Skald tilted his helmeted head. Carolus sat up straighter, "Set course for that planet. Nera, Skald, I want all ships on alert; Buy'ce bat anade, vi jorir cuun be'adate vercopa ti mhi." A subdued excitement flooded the bridge. They had not acquired visual of this new world yet, but in that moment, as every Mandalorian in the fleet held their breath in desperate hope, as every heart beat in ardent defiance of a grim future, their minds turned back to their ancestors. The Taung, like them, had been ousted from their home on ancient Coruscant, and had searched for a place in which to call their own. Despite the bitter means in which they had come to this, a pride had settled itself into their minds. In this moment they had become closer to the first Mandalorians than any of their ancestors had for the past several millennia. Whispers of Evaar'la Manda'yaim, sol'yc yaim'ol, and even a few mutterings of cin vhetin wafted through the bridge. An echoing rumble rose up from all throughout the bowels of the ship. Through the halls of the Providence, muffled by countless blast doors and walls came a great unified voice, chanting together in harmony,

"Kote! Darasuum kote!

Te racin ka'ra juaan kote!

Kote, darasuum kote!

Darasuum kote!

Darasuum kote!

Te racin ka'ra juaan kote!"

-R-R-M-

As the Black Chariot docked with the Coronet, Zael and Aemos re-checked their equipment. Zael's Westar M5 hung at his side by a strap, a single black Blurrg 1120 pistol sat holstered on the right side of his kama. Littered about his armor were pouches containing medical supplies, his jetpack was situated on his back comfortably. His vambraces were in pristine condition, as was his vibro-blade which remained sheathed within his left arm brace. Idly, he looked to his brother.

Aemos toyed with is Amban pulse rifle, his single Westar 34 holstered on his right thigh. His cloak-like poncho was bunched over to one side as to make room for his jetpack. His shin guards, much like his vambraces, held small rockets which he had admittedly rarely used. Three thermal detonators resided on the left side of his belt right beside his own vibro-blade. Many more goodies and gadgets lined both his and Zael's persons, but they had always been the type to adhere to as little equipment as possible as a preference to agility and mobility. Both now fully armed and armored, rugged rucksacks laying at their sides, they awaited Evet's arrival.

Word had come in from the Providence that a world had already been found… as if the frantic chanting on almost every other comm channel was not enough of an indication. The planet was only visible through scanners at this point, but that hadn't stopped anyone from losing their collective minds and calling it the new Mandalore. For now though, they'd have to wait until the probe droids were sent out and reported back their findings.

"Got an addendum to the briefing; it's a doozy." Zael said, filling in the silence with the Mandalorian equivalent of small talk.

"Oh? And what would be so important as to change one of the great Skirata's flawless master plans?"

"The Mandalore's gonna be joining us." Zael answered flatly. Aemos paused, giving Zael a searching look before realizing Zael was serious.

"…Oh… Well at least now there's a more legitimate reason for them to send in us Protectors as the survey team."

"Yup. Rollo's probably spend most of his time bouncing around him, isn't he?"

Aemos groaned, "Oh haar'chak, I hadn't thought about that. This is going to be an absolute slog, isn't it?"

Zael chuckled, "Probably."

The door before them opened revealing an approaching Evet; Zael and Aemos stepped forward and greeted Evet with an outstretched hand, both of which she shook. "Evet! Me'vaar ti gar? Haven't spoken to you since that business on Bespin!" Aemos welcomed, a smile almost audible from behind his helmet.

"Naas. It has been a moment hasn't it? I've been keeping myself busy with the old girl, how about you two? How are the ik'aad? Does the Coronet crew have everything in hand?" At this Zael sighed, the talk had officially swung into the one subject he hadn't wanted to think about.

"We have it taken care of for the most part with the help of the droids, though Mandalore knows even they've been having a hard time keeping up as it is."

"Well, it could be worse. You two received the ops' little 'addition' yet?" Nera asked, motioning them to follow her into her ship.

"Yeah, this'll be the first time we actually do our jobs as Protectors, isn't it?" said Aemos, lugging his supplies on his back and following Nera. The interior of the Black Chariot was the standard dull metallic grey with luminescent blinking screens, buttons, and lights. Small personalization's were scattered about the place; poems written in Mando'a were etched into the walls, old memorabilia from the Mandalorian Civil War were posted about in some strange attempt of an approximation of those times, and a massive mural of the Protector's sigil took center place at the door to the cockpit.

"I think it is, at least for us. Speaking of, what about the other Protectors?"

"Skirata's dispatched only half of the Protectors to the planet, which mind you are already very low in number; we can't have the Mandalore completely undefended, but we also can't risk sending in several squads of troops. We want to maintain the advantage of stealth. Because of this, Skirata's also sending in some of her own people to act as our backup. Her own little black ops division. Specialized blasters, stolen Imperial recon droids, Cuy'val Dar level training, the works."

"Sounds asinine. Why not just have the rest of us act as QRF?" Aemos asked, dropping his rucksack beside a seat, and following her to the cockpit.

"I asked, and to quote Skirata verbatim, 'The Protectors are not a clandestine oriented unit, and therefore not suited for low profile extraction should the situation go awry.' Personally, I thought it was a bunch of osik up until I began to remember what you boys tend to get up to when on your own, so it's really for the best."

"Really? So you mean to tell me that that crash back on Mygeto was our fault… somehow… onboard a completely different ship altogether?" Zael teased, earning an embarrassed flush from Evet.

"That was different! How was I supposed to know that assassin droid had a thermal detonator!?"

"Aren't detonators like standard issue on IG series droids?" Zael asked Aemos, who was failing to hide a snicker.

"It's certainly known to happen ner vod, it's certainly known to happen."

"Remind me to forget to answer the com next time you two need pickup." Evet huffed, punching in commands on the console and taking the controls.

"Why would we do that- "

"-and how would that even work?"

"I hate twins." Evet muttered, disconnecting her ship from the Coronet, "Always trouble."

-R-R-M-

A hunk of metal drifted outward through space. In truth, it had at one point been an attempt at a rudimentary probe, but as the power and fuel failed upon exiting orbit, the piece of technology was now little more than a worthless heap of inert scrap. This probe, made by the greatest minds of a primitive planet, would become the unintentional catalyst that changed the course of its home planet's history.

It was found by a Mandalorian pilot flying a standard Fang class fighter, a young man by the name of Rus Trayshin. Rus had been in the process of conducting a simple patrol when something had pinged his sensors; intrigued, he maneuvered his fighter to investigate. It could have been a simple asteroid, in fact it was the most likely possibility, but something felt odd about it. An almost physical twisting in his gut. He was familiar with this feeling; it had saved his life several times in the past. Of course, it didn't necessarily always mean 'DANGER!', but more of a general, all purpose, 'ATTENTION! IMPORTANT THINGY!' So, when he followed to where his sensors said and found a random hunk of space scrap, he was vaguely disappointed. Disappointment quickly shifted into shock when he began to consider the implications. This thing, whatever it was, was manufactured. This thing wasn't Mandalorian. They weren't alone out here.

"Dank Ferrik! Command, this is Trayshin, we have an unidentified unmanned object, repeat unidentified unmanned object! Please advise!" Rus shouted into his comms, eyeing the inactive device as if it might suddenly attempt to eat him.

"Trayshin this is the Sundari, repeat your last, over."

"Sundari, I'm looking at an unidentified oblong metal object roughly 30 centimeters in width and 60-ish centimeters in length. Three antennae like protrusions on one end, seemingly inert. Origin unknown." Silence ensued, and for a tense moment Rus believed the that the object had somehow cut off his ship's commlink. Just as he had begun to reach to arm his ships weapons, a crackling voice broke through the comms.

"Trayshin this is Sundari, you are to hold position and wait for pickup team, repeat you are to hold position and wait for pickup team. Confirm."

"Trashin to Sundari, confirmed, orders received." Rus sighed; nothing could ever be simple.