Translation guide from Mando'a:
aliit = "clan"
aran/e = "guard." "e" suffix indicates plural form.
aruetii = "traitor" or "foreigner"
braala = "hero"
Cabur'alor = "Regent." Literally means "guardian leader."
demagolka = "monster." Specifically an individual who has done terrible things. Derogatory.
Mand'alor = "sole ruler"
ori'ramikad = "supercommando." Both an official and unofficial title, signifying the best of the best
oriya = "city"
Solus'alor/e = "Councilors" Literally means "united leaders." "e" suffix indicates plural form
Taakuir'tsad = "Horned Watch" (will only used when a character is speaking Mando'a)
Tracyn'verde = "Fire Marshal" or "Fire Chief"
XXX
Bo-Katan Kryze
XXX
No sooner had her shuttle landed that she was running down the ramp, her two arane struggling to keep up with her, to say nothing of the Council.
"My Lady, please wait until the fires have been better contained!" cried Jhonna, her noblewoman's robes blasting about her in the wind. "The danger of more activity is—"
"I won't make my people wait a moment longer," she snarled over her shoulder, then slid the angular helmet over her eyes. The display came alive and she activated her jetpack.
As did four others nearby her.
Four? She looked on both sides. Her arane, winded but ready to serve, and—
"I'm with you, my lady," Sarri Saxon said, nodding her gold and white helmet to her.
"As am I," Mareev Awaud added grimly. "Whenever you're ready."
Beneath the helmet, she felt a mixture of nostalgia and relief. Nostalgia for Sarri, who had been loyally fighting with her since Death Watch and the break with Maul, and relief that Mareev, often her biggest obstacle in the Council, was not letting politics blind her to not helping.
Plus they were the only ones who had their armor. The rest of the present solus'alore comparatively seemed rather naked.
She smiled tightly. "We fly," she commanded, keying on her flaming phoenix. It gave a brief sputter as it awakened, then sang out flame. The cabur'alor soared into the air, her entourage close behind.
As they entered a maelstrom. The good feelings on the landing pad melted just as fast as metal did in the flames. Below she could see the local police guiding people out of the danger zone to hastily set up relief camps.
A firecar came up alongside. She looked, expecting to see faces eager to see their regent, but behind the transparisteel she saw only focused and anxious men and women. A moment later their vehicle dove down into the flames, spitting water out of eight hoses running along its spine. The buildings below it groaned in agony, but the water soothed the rampage in their ruptured innards. Its load delivered, the firecar curved back around for the Keldabe Reservoir.
All she could think about was unraveling who had done this.
"M'lady." Mareev's voice, coming in over the helmet's comm to cut through her rage.
"Yes?" she managed.
"I see a cluster of firemen and officials over in District Three. They'll probably have some answers."
"They better have," Kryze muttered darkly to herself. Speaking louder: "Send coordinates. We'll head right over."
A few minutes later they were at the site. Bo-Katan landed lightly and immediately recognized the ashen expressions of Mayor Undar Bragg and Tracyn'verde Lordos Kast among the gathering. "Gentlemen, a rundown," she asked, not bothering to keep the anger from her tone despite knowing they had nothing to do with the damage. "What are we looking at?"
"Discovering the source is a secondary priority," Lordos said tiredly. "The primary blast—"
"Primary? You mean there were several?"
Lordos gestured hopelessly into the distance. "It appears that way, my lady. The primary blast was in the Keldabe Department of Employment, where Cleitus Kast was making a campaign speech to his supporters." The Tracyn'verde made an effort to actively gather himself; she could see that the loss of his aliit's spokesperson and bid for election had upset him on multiple levels. "He… the office was completely leveled. Not a trace. Buildings within two blocks of the office were equally vaporized."
The words hit like a punch through the armor. "Estimated casualties?" she managed, doing her best to keep her head high.
Lordos looked to Bragg, who held up a trembling datapad to his face. "Cleitus had acquired the whole office venue for his speech. Total occupancy was reached: 48,000." He wiped his sweating forehead. "In the adjacent buildings, a mixture of local shops and other minor bureaucrat offices… another 4,000. We're still pulling numbers off the six secondary bombs that went off after."
The statistics staggered her. Numbers like that hadn't been reached since the Siege of Mandalore two years ago, during wartime.
But the war was over. Wasn't it?
"Who… who is responsible?" she choked out.
Both men looked at each other. "My Lady, we need to prioritize—"
"Prioritize finding the demagolka that did this!" she spat, stepping in close to the mayor. "I want names and means of how in the hell they pulled this off right from under us! Explosives like that are banned for use except in—"
"My Lady." A hand on her shoulder; she tried to throw it off, but it held on even tighter. "My Lady Bo-Katan," the youthful voice said again, more urgently.
"What," she growled. She knew damn well what.
"We have to aid in the search and rescue," Sarri said with the same soft inflection, though beneath lied a tremble of emotion. "Our people's lives are at stake, and until more firecars and emergency response vehicles arrive from Sundari and Herastol, the Keldabe infrastructure will be overwhelmed. We have to help… and let them focus on helping, too."
Sarri didn't get it, but then again she wasn't Cabur'alor. She hadn't led like she had. But this wasn't the time to argue, and the scenes of devastation had been stomach-churning enough to imagine how much worse it would be if nothing was done.
"You're right," she said at last, calmly. The mayor, who had visibly shrunk before him, took the opportunity to step aside. "Tracyn'verde Lordos, where do you need us to—?"
An explosion went off in the distance on their right, causing audible gasps and cries from the assembly. Bo-Katan did not falter or look away, even as the ensuing shock and heatwaves slammed into her. They were incomparable to the volcanic fissure going on inside her as she saw the plume of oily red and black smoke shoot up into the sky.
"District?"
"Looks like Six," one of the nearby firemen said, his face aghast; he seemed almost robotic in response. He did not move to help over the bowled over Bragg. "The martial arts studio is there, my son…"
"We'll find them," Kryze said tartly, already igniting her jetpack. "Owl Team, with me."
Let's see what else we can find there, too.
XXX
Flying over the aftershock of the earlier detonations had been bad enough. They had had an hour to simmer before her shuttle had made the journey. Now with the fresh heat off this eighth bomb, there was also new wails of terror, pain, and panic to accompany them.
"There!" She had tuned the infrared sensors within her helmet to make human bodies stand out more prominently against the abundant heat. She could see four bodies, two large and two very small, stuck inside beneath a collapsed wall.
"We're with you, Cabur'alor!" Together the five descended down to the exterior side of the wall, which oozed flaming debris off its side like a molting skin.
A quick survey of the situation told her what to do. It was almost the same as responding quickly to a tactical change in battle. "Grappling hooks in the windows, there and there!" she ordered, shooting off her own from the sidearm at her side. The metal cable shot out and lodged itself tightly in the corner of a window that was decently far from the blackened parts of the white wall. The glass within it shattered; somewhere beneath it came terrified cries.
"It's okay, help is here!" Sarri shouted before shooting off her own hook. The other three let out their own, sinking the spikes into the wall behind.
"Pull!" Bo-Katan ordered. "Full power to the phoenixes!" There was a chorus of agreement and the packs collectively let out a screech as their fuel burned up. The flames behind them came out stronger than ever, making the jetpacks quiver on their backs—
The wall sifted, kicking loose new debris. "More!" Again a chorus, this time more strained. Bo-Katan abandoned the grip of her blaster pistol and grabbed the wire directly, pulling with all her strength. Her arm muscles screamed and the armor around her shivered, to say nothing of the jetpack starting to let out a warning beep into her helmet—
With an almost reluctant groan, the momentum turned into their favor. The wall toppled over towards the five flying Mandalorians and they quickly scattered out of the way. It hit the ground and fell apart into a mess of bricks and debris.
Its contents looked at her with wide eyes. "Lady Kryze?" the man asked, holding his two children protectively under his arms. His face was black and brown with soot, his words almost choking on exit.
"It is," she replied, touching down beside him. "Are you or your family injured? I have a medpack."
"Jirra has tough burns on her right side," he said, coughing. He gestured to his wife, whose pale face snuck out from behind him with a limp. Behind her mask, the regent felt her heart stop briefly. The other woman's upper torso was bad, the skin blackened and cracked, but her leg…
"Arane!"
The two warriors approached down instantly. "Orders?"
"Take the man's wife—carefully—to one of the medic camps. 3rd degree burns on the waist and right leg, second degree to her upper body."
They hesitated, unwilling to leave her behind. "I have Sarri and Mareev," she said impatiently. "Go!"
"Yes, my lady." They gingerly took the pained Jirra in their arms. Her husband gripped her good arm briefly, whispering words to her. Their children likewise held her tightly, either too shellshocked too understand why she was going or just desperate to not part with her. Their father quietly made them release their hands. The moment the kids were away, the jetpacks of the two arane took off.
"What of us, Lady Kryze?" the man asked bleakly. "We are not as badly injured, but we know not where to go. We were hiding within our apartment when the fire came."
Mareev pointed down the street, vaguely in the direction of where the guards had flown off. "A camp has been erected in that area," she said, pulling her canteen off her waistband and handing it to him. "Give your children some water, and have some yourself. In fact, take it with you."
Sarri was on one knee, talking more softly to the two frightened and now crying kids. Bo-Katan could not hear her words over Mareev or the other sounds of the district, but the kids shortly after stopped their tears. Sarri took off her helmet, showing her own beautiful blue eyes had recent tear streaks from them. Her hand went down to a capsule at her utility belt, opened it, pulled out something small and purple and gave it to them.
"Sounds like they're at Tir'sa Market," the man said with some confidence. "Not too far a walk. Thank you, thank you all." He bowed his head deeply.
Kryze nodded numbly at him. Thirty minutes spent helping him and his family; how many had died around them in that time?
"My Lady?" Sarri asked patiently. Her helmet was back over her head. The husband and his kids were walking down the cracked street. "Where to next?"
She shook her head, collecting herself. "I…" Standing amidst it all, her earlier rage was gone. Only a sickening, hollow grief clogged her throat.
"Stand steady now, Cabur'alor," Mareev warned. "You must appear strong during a crisis such as this. The people of Mandalore need to see their leader confident and with a plan."
A wet chuckle sounded; belatedly she realized from her own throat. "What if I don't have one?"
"Then you ask those around you to help make one," the older woman said firmly. "I see fire climbing higher southwest of us; fire teams have not had a chance to reach it. We will find more in need there."
She nodded mechanically. "Let's go."
They took off once more. The flame Mareev had spoke about registered right away, coming from a building that looked eerily similar to Sundari's Home for the Graced, a social building her sister had constructed to house warriors of middle-age and up so that they would not leave the sector to become mercenaries.
Decades later, it was much more similar to a Core world retirement home.
A crowd of about two dozen was out front the building, tending to ash-covered figures who must have come from the Home. Bo-Katan motioned for her followers to come down beside them. "Is there anyone inside?" she demanded of the nearest civilian.
He shook his head wordlessly, blood streaking from a cut above his right eye. He seemed incapable of speech; the regent turned to the next. "Anyone inside!" she shouted, straining to be heard above the torrent beside them.
This one was old; probably one of the Graced. He was covered head-to-toe in ash and there were burn marks across his face. "There are two more of us inside," he said throatily, pointing towards the gaping hole that had originally been the front door. "But he's already inside getting more of us."
"We'll go get—what?" The last sentence took her off guard. "Who is inside?"
"A young braala, he went barreling inside to get us as soon as the Home was hit," the veteran said. He began to cough and he put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself; she held his other hand. "He's gotten seventeen of us out; there's only Klasta and Runill inside still."
"Was he armored?" Sarri asked, coming up beside them."
The old man coughed a little more, but when he stopped he held himself up, a proud look upon his face. "None," he declared, if weakly. "A braala like him needs no armor."
"He does if he doesn't want his body to boil and combust," Sarri said shortly, though her own voice betrayed an underlying respect. She turned to her leader. "My Lady, shall we go in?"
"I'll go." She released the old man's hand and guided him over to Mareev, also handing over her medpack. "Begin treating these people for their burns, I'll go rescue the remaining people inside."
"He needs no rescue," the Graced insisted before again being overcome with coughs. Sarri guided him gently to the street, kicking clear loose debris so he might lie down.
"Get in there, my lady," Mareev said. "We'll hold for—"
"There he is!" someone of the crowd cried. Bo whipped her gaze back to the front maw. The flames were licking out of it stronger than ever, it was impossible that—
A misshapen, almost alien figure was held in shadow for a moment in the frame, then suddenly burst out roaring painfully. His figure then made sense: another person was hanging limp over his right shoulder, and underneath his other was another. But they did not seem to weigh him down; he bolted out the Home and across its walkway. His face and hair were mostly black with ash, but hints of a white complexion and blonde color peeked through.
Those of the crowd who could move surged forward to help him, uttering watery cries of thanks and praise. If he replied she could not hear it over them all. She took off her helmet and tucked it under her shoulder; if Mareev wanted her to look strong, there was no better time than now.
"You there, braala!" she called as she parted the crowd, feeling as if she had just stepped out of a holonovella. "Let me treat your burns."
The Braala looked at her. Through the ash it was hard to tell, but she thought she saw his gray eyes narrow a moment. "That would be appreciated, yes," he said after a moment, extracting himself from his adorers.
Probably not someone who wants to vote for me, Bo-Katan thought distantly. But that hardly mattered under these conditions, nor any conditions at all. She beckoned him over and sat him upon a chunk of rubble. He bent over and coughed, some black material coming out his mouth. His clothes were torn or outright burned away entirely, leaving huge swaths of the skin on his upper body and legs exposed. It was thankfully mostly red, meaning the burns had managed to damage him too much underneath.
"That was very brave of you, citizen," she said, putting some warmth to her ordinarily hard tone. "You saved many lives today."
"Our old warriors should not be forgotten in a rest home," he replied between coughs. He did not sound angry, but spoke as if he was speaking a plain fact. "I had to act. No one else could have in time."
"You did remarkably well." She looked over at Mareev and extended a hand for burn cream. The woman came over, looking at the Braala for a moment. Her lips pursed but said nothing.
Bo-Katan frowned. Had she heard his politics?
"How bad is it elsewhere?" the Braala asked, sounding a little stronger with some of the ash out his throat. "I imagine you've seen it from above."
"Bad," she admitted, squeezing some cream onto her fingertips. She applied it to one of the few black spots, this one along his upper shoulder. It was quite broad and sculpted, though it showed some recent signs of deterioration. A former warrior, maybe from the Siege? Her fingers rubbed the ointment in slow circles and he winced. I wonder which side you were, Braala.
An ominous rumble came from the Home nearby; she suspected it would collapse soon. The fireteam would be too late to save it.
Another memory of my sister, gone. She bit her lip but kept herself collected. She would let herself cry when the helmet was back on and she was far away from any who would see. I have to stay strong.
"Do you have a name, Braala?" she asked, trying to distract herself.
There was an odd moment of hesitation. "My name doesn't need to be attached to my actions," he said. "I'm a Mandalorian, helping fellow Mandalorians. That is all."
Her fingers put on another patch of ointment on his back. "That's very humble of you," she replied, trying and failing to keep her voice warm. "But I would like a name. If only so I can remember you to inspire myself."
Again the pause. He was decidedly looking down at the ground. "It would do neither of us good to hear it," he said at last.
In a moment she was standing up, her hand on her blaster pistol. There were no armaments on him, not with his clothes so torn up. But a Mandalorian did not need their weapons to be deadly.
"Your name."
Slowly, the Braala pulled his face up to look at her. "If I didn't recognize you before, Lady Kryze, that hotheaded attitude certainly would have done the trick," he derided, letting out another cough.
So, he knew her, and intimately at that. He was indeed from the Siege, and by his scrupulous behavior towards he he had been from the other side. He was one of the prisoners she had just released last night.
"Wipe the ash from your face. Let me see you."
"Or you'll shoot me?"
"I shot enough aruetii a year-and-a-half ago, but I wouldn't mind doing it again."
The "Hero's" face contorted. He opened his mouth and let out a collective bellow of indignation—
No, not him. "How dare you!" the old veteran roared, tottering towards her on uncertain feet. His colleagues were of the same mind, waving their fists at her and shouting indecencies. Sarri and Mareev were too few to hold them back.
"It isn't at it appears!" she called to them, holding up both empty hands before herself. The "Braala," to her fury, gave her a smug grin from his seat. "This man may be involved in the bombings that took place today!"
To her satisfaction the grin was wiped away, but she could not pay him more attention with the agitated crowed right there. "Nonsense!" the Graced cried. "Did you not see him rescue us? Do you not see this braala covered in the burns of our rescue! You're mad, woman!"
"You will speak with respect to your Cabur'alor!" Sarri snapped, but the words had little meaning before the angry crowd.
"Then let your Braala offer us his name, which he had refused to do!" Kryze countered loudly, pointing down at him. "If he has nothing to hide, let his rescues know his name so they might thank him!"
"Yes, let him you cow," the veteran sneered. He gestured to the sitting man. "Go on, my boy. Let us hear it."
The "Braala" bit his lip. She could see the thoughts racing on his blackened and burnt face, but there was no spark of light. He was trapped and he knew it.
He stood up and faced the crowd. His eyes scanned them wearily. Then he began to wipe away the ash covering his face with an almost bitter edge, swiping the material off his hands before cleaning more off. The gray eyes became more pronounced, the blonde/silvery hair atop his head took color, the sharp angles of his jaw took shape—
Bo-Katan saw it first, but it was Sarri Saxon's dumbfounded whisper that was heard first. "Brother..."
Gar Saxon turned to face Kryze, a lopsided smile on his face that did not reach his eyes. She could imagine it was the same one he must have had beneath his helmet after he had slammed her with an elevator in Sundari's prison at the height of the Siege, when she had pursued him after he had assassinated Almec.
It was a smile she instantly hated. "Gar Saxon, as the former leader of the Taakuir'tsad and being found so close to this act of terrorism, I am placing you under arrest as a person of interest in the investigation that is to come." She grabbed him by his shoulder, purposely digging her fingers into where she had put the burn cream on his burn. "Don't bother resisting."
Some murmurs of resistance came from the Graced and onlookers, and the male veteran stared vibrodaggers of extreme dislike at her.
But they all had recognized the name, too. Their earlier fondness had been replaced with broad wariness.
Mareev approached him and withdrew a pair of binders from her utility belt. She stared Saxon straight in the eyes. "Same arrogant look as your brother," she commented. "It'll be good to have you in chains again."
"I can hardly wait," he said, standing tall as the cuffs came around his wrists. But his eyes betrayed the fear in his heart.
Kryze put the helmet back over her head. Finally, her subdued rage and had an outlet, and they had a lead to boot. "Let's take the aruetii back to Sundari. If we're fast, we can have him on trial by morning."
They escorted him through the broken oriya towards the landing pad. The crowd of huddled rescues slowly shrunk behind them. It was only when they were entirely out of sight did the Cabur'alor realize she'd forgotten to direct them to a refugee camp.