Translation guide from Mando'a:

aran/e = "guard." "e" suffix indicates plural form.
be'tal = "Kin" or "of blood." A synonym for clansmen or being part of a clan
beskar'gam = "armor" (don't worry I won't use this every time)
burc'ya/e = "friend." "e" suffix indicates plural form.
Cabur'alor = "Regent." Literally means "guardian leader."
ijaat= "honor"
Kando'al'verde = "Marshal." Literally means "important commander."
Kom'rk = "Gauntlet"
Kyr'tsad = "Death Watch" (will only used when a character is speaking Mando'a)
Laamyc'buir = "Patriarch" or "High Father." The head of the clan if they were male.
Mand'alor = "sole ruler"
oriya/e = "city." "e" suffix indicates plural form
Orjorar nas'par aaray, a'par parjai = "Cry out not for pain, but for victory." An ancient saying of Clan Saxon.
Ruug'verda = "Ancestors." Literally means "old warriors" but is more commonly used for the former
Solus'alor/e = "Councilors" Literally means "united leaders." "e" suffix indicates plural form

XXX

Gar Saxon

XXX

It was all easier said than done. The week after his midnight talk with Tiber saw little productivity for his campaign. He had a few thousand credits in an account Mother had set up when he was just a boy, an emergency fund she felt her children might need when they grew up. A final parting gift he was all too grateful to her for that Sarri and even Tiber insisted he take full custody of; he had been her favorite and it was he who was in the direst situation. As he dug into those dwindling coffers, he felt motivated to make sure it was all put to good use.

But, it was easier said than done. Few wanted to work with him, especially with no pay. Nobody wanted to donate to his cause either, believing it to be some sort of scam. None of the Horned Watch's old aristocratic backers were interested in him; there were hardly any left of any meaningful status to begin with. The Siege of Mandalore had sapped the livelihoods and hardened the hearts of Mandalorians everywhere, and since then misfortune had bred only greater economic uncertainty. Nobody wanted to buy in on a virtual nobody who sought to become Viceroy of Mandalore.

Sarri came to see him twice during the week, Tiber none. She told him he was probably the busiest person on the Council after the Cabur'alor herself, staying afoot of new security protocols concerning the other candidates. Apparently, Kryze suspected the bombings in Keldabe were politically motivated instead of being an isolated incidents against Cleitus and Keldabe.

One of the first thing she asked him was about the bombings. He could tell her if he was involved, or if he was not directly involved then if he had seen something, any hint to the subterfuge. The secret would go with her to the grave, but she had to know if one of her be'tal was behind it.

Unfortunately for her, she was a terrible liar. Gar could also see the pain lingering there, the pain of knowing thousands had died. She had been onsite helping save others, too, just as he had been. He still felt a deep sense of unease about the whole thing himself, a part of him that felt dread and disgust just thinking about the destruction caused. It was not hard to sympathize with her pain; as children he had comforted them after Mother had passed, and many times after then held her spirits high after a mental thrashing by their other parent. To see her in pain like then hurt him, too.

Yet he would not tell her. "I don't know anything, Sarri," he said quietly. They were at a pleasurable enough café, Sarri's treat for his ailing finances. "Believe me, if I did… I would have done more than help after the fact. I would have stopped it. Tried to stop it…"

"But you didn't see anything inside the refinery?" she persisted once more. "No equipment that looked off, nobody suspicious?"

"None of that!" Gar said partial honestly. "Do you think I want to live with that sort of guilt upon my shoulders? No. No, I wouldn't be able to."

Sarri ended their lunch soon after that. She came by one more time after, two days later, to just share in his company and offer some half-hearted tips on making convincing political slogans and messages. But since then, nothing.

Not that he really minded. Her help was appreciated, and he knew she meant well. But she was decidedly a pawn of Kryze. Tiber had been right to bring her up, and it was necessary to hold her at arm's length for now.

He sighed, staring at the datapad screen that still had only a few lines of dialog. That said, her heart of gold had a way of speaking truly to people that he just did not have in him to figure out. The night ended with the screen still looking the same.

XXX

Tiber reached out to him the next morning. "Any luck getting that campaign together? Haven't seen that charming smile of yours on any holoboards in Sundari."

"Funny," Gar growled. "What is it?"

"Family social call. I felt lonely."

Which was code for: 'I have something important to share.' Gar had decided that, especially after being tied so closely to the bombing, it was best to keep distanced communications between them casual in case they were being monitored.

He smiled at his datapad. "I'll get dressed."

"See you in fifteen."

Gar was waiting at the inn for only a few minutes when Tiber pulled up in a camouflaged military speeder. Brother hopped in next to brother and they were soon off. "Where are we going?" Gar asked, noting his brother was dressed in his armor.

"Mira Vizsla is giving a campaign speech at the Scilla Art Gallery, in the southernmost district of Sundari. I figured we'd want to be there."

"We?" Gar intoned with some confusion.

"Me to oversee the security. You so you can pick up some political sensibilities."

Gar grimaced. "Sarri told you?"

"Yes, but I already know you're hopeless at politics," Tiber said offhandedly. "I'm the only one out of three of us who is any good at negotiating and persuading people."

"I persuaded you well enough," Gar said defensively. He was not in the mood to be lectured the entire ride.

Tiber shrugged. "I'd say fair enough, but I'm still not going to believe you have a shot at this thing until you're actually at the First Primary." His casual expression broke out into a derisive leer. "But even if I was fully convinced, I'm just one person; now do that to three billion people."

The younger Saxon grimaced. "Fair enough," he echoed bitterly.

"If things go bad enough with the Mandalorian people, you can always try and get the vote of the Alamites."

"They'd sooner carve me up and eat me."

"Saves me the trouble of it." Tiber shot him a toothy grin. "Kidding. Come on, we're almost there." The airspeeder swung out of the main skylane to cut through a tunnel. Artificial lighting from the ceiling usually did the job of illuminating the interior, but there were such an inundation of traffic within it that their beams alone made Gar squint. He had known that Mira Vizsla was the second incumbent behind only Bo-Katan, but even this number of people was startling.

And I'll have to convince them all to vote for me instead.

Tiber pressed a button on the console and a double siren popped off the top of the hood; other speeders pulled out of the way to give them clearance. Gar shot him an amused look and Tiber returned it with a silent "are-you-going-to-complain?" with his icy eyes. Gar sighed and settled into his seat; moments later they were out of the tunnel with the glamorous Scilla Gallery coming into view.

Gar smiled. Mother had taken them all here long ago. Scilla had been one of Mandalore's earliest oriye, thought to have been founded by the ancient Taung. It had consequentially also been one of its first to be reduced to dust and bones in the incessant wars thousands of years ago. Artifacts had been continually pulled from it until the Siege, when the archaeological dig site had been mistaken for a Horned Watch bunker and been bombarded to smithereens. The assemblage of relics was still safely intact at distant Sundari, but what was in there was all that would ever be seen of Scilla forever.

That dismal fate for the Scilla culture did not dampen his memories of those innocent, memorable days of youth.

"Hell are you smiling at?"

It became a frown. Then again, Tiber had been just as annoying back then, too.

Tiber snorted. "You let me get to you too easily. Ah, here we go…" He brought the speeder into a slight curve and landed them at a closed off landing pad. He could see a few dignified looking shuttles clustered off to the side. "Clan Vizsla knows hot to spend its credits," he said with faint admiration.

"House funds," Tiber corrected. "Clans Ruber, Waldor, Awaud, Wren, Kryze, and Vizsla all contributed to this."

He looked at the shuttles again. "Wren and Kryze?" he said doubtfully. "You're telling me they're not supporting their own candidates?"

"Don't think you're the only one disliked by some of your be'tal," Tiber said astutely. He hopped out of the airspeeder. "Come on, I need to get there early to be sure the security plan Kryze made is in place. After that you can go join the crowd somewhere—ah, I see some of my request has been fulfilled already..."

Gar glowered at his back, not following his approving gaze. So he really had been brought along just to play observer? "Thanks for the generosity," he bit out, climbing out and jogging to catch up.

"Either this or you can waste away at the inn," Tiber retorted loudly, several meters ahead of him.

He frowned. "What?" he shouted. He looked up. No, it wasn't just the distance between them; someone's engines were running very loud, a high, riveting whine.

Tiber noticed it too. He put a hand above his eyes, scanning the horizon.

"Identification, please!" Gar whirled about, having missed the approaching footsteps over the sound of the incoming craft. Three clone troopers stood there, impassive behind their black-and-white helmets. One was waiting expectantly with a gloved hand outstretched. A ways behind them came the sound of heavy clanking: a burly All Terrain Attack Pod rounded the corner of the gallery to march into the landing pad, another clone visible at the gunnery seat of its heavy ventral cannon.

"Err—" He looked over his shoulder. "I'm with the Marshal. He should have our clearance codes. Tiber!"

Tiber didn't seem to hear him. One hand was still shielding his eyes, the other pointing ahead. Gar twisted around again, following his finger—

"Identification, now!" the clone repeated loudly over the din the engine whine.

"Would you wait a minute!" Gar broke contact with the helmet, saw the ship suddenly dip into view at the end of Tiber's point—

The muzzle of a rifle pressed into his side—

A compartment opened in the belly of the incoming blue-and-white fighter—

Fighter—?

Something fell out of the exposed interior and, with a burst of red and orange at the tail end, shot off on its own towards the gallery—

Whose shadow they had just walked into under.

Stars above.

The missile struck the flat wall of the gallery and exploded into a fireball, ripping chunks of white durasteel and brick free. The sound of the detonation numbed his ears and the shockwave threw him and the clones to the ground. The jolt of it did not stun him; he began to crawl first, then scampered back to his feet and ran back for the speeder—

Just as globs of building material began to rain from the gaping hole. Breacher missile. Low penetration damage in exchange for creating a wide entry-hole, usually for the entrance of shock troops. He knew the strategy; he'd followed the exact one to liberate Maul shortly before the disaster that had befallen them at Dathomir.

A hand-sized brick smashed into his back and almost bowled him over; he definitely felt some bone in his body break. He gasped but didn't stop moving. Behind him he could hear the clones screaming in panic, which was quickly cut off. A few moments after that he heard the telltale boom as the mounted cannon of the AT-AP, aiming for the offending fighter—

It was too fast and he figured only he knew why. The fighter was a Kom'rk-class fighter, one of the fastest and sleekest ships MandalMotors had ever produced. It was an exclusive product for Mandalorians only, meant to serve as shuttles for the Laamyc'buir or act as the local defense for clans or the oriye. Some full wings had also been purchased by the colony worlds of Cheravh and Concord Dawn. But to say people outside of Mandalorian space ever got to see one would be a far-fetched claim. Few clones would have ever seen them in action unless they participated in the Siege, and the 501st Legion that had fought that battle was long gone.

The whine of the Kom'rk was getting louder, meaning it was swinging back around. Gar kept limping, trying to get back to the airspeeder and away from the dangerous rainfall—

Tiber. Where's Tiber? He'd practically forgotten his brother. Had he already been crushed? He whipped around, taking a few seconds to look. He could see huge boulders on the ground, including a slightly red one with white debris where the clones had been. But there were no signs of Tiber anywhere—

Another blast burst from the AT-AP; another clean miss. The Kom'rk was getting closer.

Damn you, you better still be alive. He finally reached the speeder, yet it was at this moment the pain in his back decided to turn on him. All but sprawling atop the speeder's hood, he gasped again at the pain, wishing desperately that he still had his precious beskar'gam. It was suddenly so obvious he was naked without it on, and that if he still had his survival would not be hinging on the Kom'rk choosing not to outright spray him—

He bared his teeth, mouth inches away from the metal of the speeder. Orjorar nas'par aaray, a'par parjai. Father had instilled that into all his children through very practical lessons, and as a boy Gar had held only resentment for the old saying. But if it meant that he would survive now, then he swore to the Ruug'verda that he would never again question their teachings. He half-dragged his body across the hood towards the speeder's door—

Just as the rogue fighter swung back into his line of vision. It would deploy its containment of soldiers any minute now, though what they were hoping to do was beyond him. Steal art? Kidnap Mira Vizsla? He leaned to the second option, until he saw the compartment of the ship open up again.

No. No, no—

The AT-AP fired again, this blast only very narrowly missing the Kom'rk; its clone gunner had guessed its flight path and tried a preemptive shot. Gar gave them some credit for ingenuity, but that was not enough. The fighter had braked its engines hard so that the shot overshot; a moment later it let out its second missile.

This one sailed straight through the hole the breacher missile had made.

Gar cupped his ears.

XXX

Tiber Saxon

XXX

"How did this happen?" Bo-Katan's trembling voice matched her trembling lip on the holo. "We just made a new security protocol to secure and protect political candidates."

"Which didn't account for aerial attack," Tiber added unhelpfully but pointedly. "I tried to remedy that last minute by requesting an AT-AP from Commodore Moore, but the attack came before it could properly get into position."

"I heard," she choked out. Her hands were wringing at her side with such motion he began to morbidly wonder if she was fighting back a seizure. "Do… do we have a casualty report yet?"

Tiber pulled up the statistics on the side of the screen. "The strike came before the speech could get underway. We have a pretty low count of dead so far as a result, although I guess you could say the Scilla were entirely wiped out."

"Your humor is not appreciated at this time, Kando'al'verde," Meerva said with quiet menace. "Just answer the question."

Tiber sighed and read aloud the numbers. There were a few sighs of relief from the other solus'alore, but Kryze remained stone-faced. "How could this have happened?" she asked again, almost pleadingly. "Who is doing this to us? Who is attacking us? The war is over!"

"We'll get to the bottom of that soon, my lady," Sarri said. Her expression, like Kryze's, was brimming with grief. "This bloodletting is reaching unfathomable levels. Tiber, I take it Mira Vizsla was killed?"

"All we could retrieve was her right arm, only way we could identify it was by the espousal band affixed to—"

"That's enough of that description," Meerva barked, her small holo still managing to capture the disgust and horror on her face. "Thank you for your report, Kando'al'verde. Ruug'verda forbid we need to contact you again for another one."

"Always a pleasure." He snapped off the holo and looked in front of him. "What's with the face? I gave them the report. They're lucky I even gathered that much in so little time."

Gar shook his head, his body leaning against the shattered remains of one of the Gallery's ornate pillars. "And you say I have problems talking to people." He spat a little bit of mixed blood and saliva onto the ground. "You have a good sense of survival. I didn't see you after the breacher missile hit."

"Because you didn't care to look till after," Tiber commented, but not in an accusatory manner. He had activated his jetpack and left his brother behind without much of a moment's hesitation. Still, while he felt he knew Gar well enough some falling rocks wouldn't kill him, the time spent waiting for that confirmation had gone on enough that he'd begun affixing a somber message to Aurelius.

Still, it had almost happened. "How's your back?"

"Rock narrowly missed my vertebrae. Cracked my left scapula instead; it'll heal in a week according to the medic." He looked at the red medical tent, where Mandalorians and clones were working together to treat the survivors. "You didn't mention you called up Moore for support."

"You didn't ask."

"But you did it. You suspected something might happen?"

Tiber frowned. "Not in the sense I was expecting an attack. But Kryze's plan was pretty much anticipating only a repeat of the previous bombings; all internal security, little anywhere else. I wasn't about to disagree with her, so I just called up the commodore's aide Verideon for added support."

"His aide?"

He shrugged. "Tried the commodore directly, got nothing. Tried Lieutenant Hark, who answered but said he would if he could but didn't have the authorization. Transferred me to the aide who then got clearance for reinforcements."

Gar whistled. "Some aide. He really helped out."

Tiber looked to the sky, pinpointing in his mind's eye where the Kom'rk had hovered to deliver its payloads. "Not enough. Couple hundred dead, as well as another candidate removed before the First Primary can even happen. There's no mistaking what the motivations are now."

"Or that the terrorists are an outside band."

Tiber looked at him, confused. "How do you manage that?"

The other rolled his eyes. "You ever see a Kom'rk operating outside of a Mandalorian's hands? It isn't some Corellian freighter; very few born outside of Mandalore would know how to work it." He caught the look on his brother's face and rolled his eyes. "That was the easiest analogy I could make, brother. You know, for a man who always complains about how antiquated Mandalorian customs must be to the galaxy, you sure know nothing about the galaxy." Abruptly he rubbed his side, wincing; Tiber silently thanked the unknown force for its intervention. "Point being it has to be other Mandalorians. Bombs can be placed by anyone, but only we can pilot a Kom'rk like that. Especially so cleanly. This is a homegrown insurgency."

Air hissed out between Tiber's teeth. "A new Kyr'tsad."

"I wouldn't say that," Gar cautioned. "Kyr'tsad did some assassinations, yes, but not wholesale slaughter and destruction like this. Vizsla respected Mandalorian lives and culture, and Maul did too if it meant keeping the people loyal. These attacks have none of that restraint."

Tiber rubbed a hand through his thin, wispy hair. Already the hairline was beginning to recede; an unhappy result of constant stress, no doubt. It was starting to look as if he'd be entirely bald within a few years if this kept up. "So we're looking at violent, unhinged Mandalorians unhappy we are experimenting with democracy instead of honoring the traditional succession of the royal house. That fit everything in succinctly?"

"For now," Gar said agreeably enough. "But we must begin to investigate it. Whoever uncovers and captures the force behind the bombings will reap all the political reward. It has to be us."

"You mean it's not you doing all this?" Tiber asked innocently, peering at his brother through the corner of his eye.

To see Gar looking at him with the most deadly of faces he'd ever seen upon him. "Don't you ever imply or say I would mirthlessly kill our people like that," he said quietly. "Don't you ever smear my ijaat like that again. Do you understand me?"

"Crystal," Tiber replied flatly. A jab was totally unneeded in this situation. "But you can't blame me for asking. You were so vague about your intentions on how you were going to climb the political ladder. Undermining Kryze's administration would just as well be a way as to lower the ladder down to your level instead."

Gar gave him his malicious silvery stare for a few more moments, then relaxed some against the broken pillar. "Whoever is behind the attacks is breaking the people's faith in her rule," he admitted coolly. "That is an unintentional benefit to my cause. But uprooting and destroying the insurgents will be much more beneficial and direct."

"Because it'll earn you the praise of both the people and the Empire?"

"Especially the Empire," his brother agreed. "But it also helps to rule a world that hasn't been bombed to hell when you finally get the throne."

"Point taken. So then, what's our next move?"

Gar leaned off the pillar, wincing as he stressed his back. "Did your men or the clones get a good profile off the fighter?"

Tiber handed him the datapad. "Imperials got the better scan with the AT-AP. Only additional information our scanners picked had to do with the engines and a few video captures of the fighter interior when the belly opened up."

"Mhm." He was already reading, devouring the content. Tiber let him muse; he'd run through the report only briefly, hadn't seen anything stick out as particularly useful. But perhaps his ambitious sibling would find some nugget of truth they could—"

"That engine reading is intense," Gar commented. Tiber looked up to see him smiling slightly at the screen. "Giving off an exhaust temperature and rating well beyond what MandalMotors puts on as standard parts. We could hear it, too. That coil whine."

"So?"

"Don't you remember hearing that whine from somewhere?"

Tiber cocked his head. "Don't play guessing games, not when time is valuable. Where is it from?"

"Not guessing games, brother. Memory." He turned the datapad around. Tiber's eyes widened as he got it. "Only one fighter was ever modified to be able to reach that level of speed without blowing out its engine drivers. Only one person in living memory ever dared pushed the limits of what a Mandalorian starship and pilot could do."

"The Gauntlet. The first ever Kom'rk." Gar grinned; Tiber's lips creased. "Pre Vizsla's personal starship."