Translation guide from Mando'a:

dinui = "gift"
Kyr'tsad = "Death Watch" (will only used when a character is speaking Mando'a)
Mand'alor = "sole ruler"
Ruug'verda = "Ancestors." Literally means "old warriors" but is more commonly used for the former
verd/e = "warrior." "e" suffix indicates plural form.

XXX

Gar Saxon

XXX

Arcadius turned out to be quite thankful for the rescue, albeit quietly resentful on the loss of all the money. But he was out of the job and fearful that Rook and the "others" would hunt him down, especially after Gar had so soundly whooped them into letting them go in exchange for the credits. The added comment of Rook swearing to put a blaster bolt in his—which was true enough—was the final nudge in convincing him to room with Gar for the time being.

"This is all gibberish," he complained nasally; being knocked out in the rain had gotten him sick to boot. His brown irises fought back red cracks at its edges as they looked up from Gar's datapad. "You're telling me you wanted to try and get people to your side with this? Have you ever talked to another human being before me?"

"Yes," Gar said with thinning patience. "You see why I wanted your services?"

"Damn right I do." He sneezed, then set the datapad down. "Yes, I'll help. I owe you that much for saving my life. Not like I have anywhere else to go…"

Gar ignored the other's unimpressed scan of the inn's interior. "No family or friends who would take you in?"

Arcadius shook his head. "No… my Patriarch declared me a Gray when I returned home from Kyr'tsad. I was lucky to find employment in Sundari right after, but that's all gone now. All my assets were liquidated by the others.

Gar nodded, sinking deeper onto the bed. Grays were a step up from being exiled, but not by much; they were still banished from the clan and its territory, but they were at least gifted the official chance for redemption. It often encouraged the victim to strive for self-improvement, but most legends surrounding Grayed Mandalorians recounted terrible struggles against their inner demons that resulted in their deaths.

Luckily, Arcadius seemed to have no intentions of redemption. He was content to live his life uninvolved of his name unnamed clan, which meant more time could be dedicated to Gar.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "What I have, though not much, is yours. It should be no different than when we verde used to share accommodations on Concordia."

Arcadius brought his gaze back to him. "No better options out there," he conceded, if a little glumly. "But I accept. So, let's start with your mission statement."

"My mission statement?"

"You know, your purpose for running for Viceroy."

"Ahh…"

"You do have one, right?" Arcadius asked, some exasperation creeping in.

"I do," Gar said defensively. "But it's… private."

The other waved a hand about him dismissively. "Of course it is. All politicians have secret motivations for why they run, that's nothing new. What you do is translate those secret desires into something the people will appreciate and understand. Something that'll hook them in and let them gloss over the real meat."

Gar nodded. No wonder he had always hated politics; lies and persuasion, all of it. It made him hate the Kryze sisters even more, although he privately wondered what had been there secret agendas.

But there was time for that later. He needed to measure his own, first.

"The time approaches quickly when everything we have built will be challenged. We must prepare for it." Maul paced before him and Kast. They were alone inside the Nightbrother's main bay, while the rest of the Horned Watch busied themselves outside with the preparations for dinner. The two lieutenants had been singled out for his consideration.

Which was becoming more frequent. The pacing and restless paranoia in their lord was also rising. His words now did nothing to comfort Gar that their lord's mental stability was intact.

"What do you mean, sire?" Rook asked neutrally. She had also voiced her concerns on Maul's behavior, but knew better than to directly question that.

Maul ceased his movements before them. He appeared to be choosing his words carefully. "You observed the climax of my duel on Dathomir," he said at last. "The important parts of it anyway, before Mother Talzin pushed me into your arms for rescue. You saw what?"

"You and Dooku—through Mother Talzin—were dueling Grievous and another," Rook recounted, glancing at Gar briefly. He shrugged; it was an apt summary.

"'Another,'" Maul sneered. "An incredibly minute, borderline comical, description for who the one who is secretly the master of the galaxy."

"My Lord?"

The Zabrak looked between them both, his yellow eyes almost bulging in his sockets. It shocked Gar to his core to realize that the other wasn't on edge; he was terrified.

"The master of the galaxy. The Sith Lord who is master of Count Dooku, and was my own former master. Darth… Sidious."

The name itself meant nothing to Gar, but the previously unknown tremble in Maul's voice spoke for itself. Whoever this Sidious was indeed powerful influential if it could rattle the metal legs of the Mand'alor by his mere name.

"It was he who caused my vanishing to the prison on Stygeon Prime, which you both broke me out of. It has been he who has guided the Separatist forces in pursuit of us, and sent his lapdogs Dooku and Grievous after us at every opportunity since then. But he is more than that. So much more. For he has another identity, one that surpasses merely being Dooku's puppetmaster or just 'another.'" He resumed his pacing, muttering darkly to his breath. "After all, how could one be master of the galaxy if he only controls one half of it?"

Gar frowned. "What is this other identity, my liege? And is he still going to be after us?"

Maul whirled on him. "You are not to be privy to that knowledge!" he growled. "That information is the most sensitive of the whole galaxy. Precious few know. As if I would trust the likes of either of you with such information. It would overturn everything if it were to be known." His teeth bared. "More importantly, should that knowledge become widespread, it would destroy the greatest bargaining chip I have in my possession."

Part of him felt insult, but that quickly dissipated. He was a verd, and a loyal one at that. If Maul did not want to share, that was his prerogative and Gar had no reason or desire to delve deeper. Rook looked more visibly unhappy, but she held her tongue as well.

The alien Mand'alor breathed heavily before them for a few moments, sickly yellow eyes flitting between. He straightened back and growled deep within his throat. "Excellent. We are on the same page now. But to assuage your other concern, Gar Saxon, I do not believe he will pursue us further, no. With the Shadow Collective reduced to solely the Horned Watch, my former master will direct his attention elsewhere. He believes us broken and impotent."

"Which we are not."

Maul smiled. "Far from it. Let us now discuss my plans for Mandalore, and my people…"

Back in the present, Gar Saxon grimaced. He had not seen it then, of course, for the life of the loyal verd had blinded him. He guessed now that Rook had; her "bigger picture" lecture still rankled him some.

But it had been there all the same. Maul's hidden agenda had been practically thrown in his face and he had willingly ignored it in favor of hearing the plan for Mandalore. From the beginning Maul had sought self-preservation. His plan to 'retake' Mandalore, too, had just been cover for another agenda: to lure in Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker so that he might destroy them. A personal vendetta he had claimed, though Gar vaguely wondered if more had been there.

He figured he would never know, and that was the point of Maul's secrecy. Gar had thought he had the full picture the whole time, when in reality he had a surface-level understanding of it all. Never probing deeper for the real meanings behind what was said.

Tiber had been right, in a way, but it wasn't that he couldn't talk a people well. Gar was instead too forward and obtuse. To deceive was not in his nature; that was the natural tool of the assassin, not the warrior.

But if the Viceroyship was to be his, he would have to learn, and it started here.

Translate those secret desires into something people will understand and appreciate.

"I have it."

Arcadius' head shot up from the lull it had been slipping into while he waited. "Hummm, what?"

"This is how my mission statement will go…"

XXX

Tiber Saxon

XXX

"You look tired," he said, rubbing his own eyes as he drifted over to her from his desk.

"We all are," Sarri responded lightly. "There hasn't been a day of rest for the Council and those under us since the Keldabe Bombing."

"Well, that's just par for the course." He yawned. "Hardly different from any other day, really."

"Hardly different?" Without looking he could already envision the angry expression; he rolled his eyes. "Sundari's on the edge of panic thinking there'll be another attack any second, two houses are demanding we feed them information on the murder of their candidates, and every system governor from Gargon to Concord Dawn is requesting the 97th Task Force go to their system to protect their shipping lanes after the raid at Vorpa'ya. Then there's the lack of medical equipment to treat all the wounded from Keldabe, and Mayor Bragg still says there's radiation in the—"

"See, that's why you're tired! What does any of that have to do with the Department of Social Services?"

As soon as he said it, he knew it was the "wrong" thing to say. People seemed to think he said the wrong thing very often anyways, something he had never really understood since he knew he was "right" when he spoke. Mother had more than once gently tried to tell him other people sometimes didn't want to hear what was "right," but he had rebuffed her; if nobody was ever going to want to hear the "right" thing, then why bother talking at all?

His family had learned to accept his bluntness for the most part, but that did not mean always. Tiber simply swiveled around in his chair as his little sister berated him.

"Because I'm a Mandalorian! These things affect all Mandalorians, so maybe you should be paying attention to them!" She tched. "Would you really talk like this if Lady Kryze was present?"

"Is she? Is anyone right now?" he retorted, gesturing around the whole of the empty emergency room as he spun around. "No, so I'll happily speak my mind, and in this case, its telling you to relax. Workaholics never have functioning social lives, which doesn't fit the little social butterfly that you are."

"I have a great social butterf—social life, thank you."

He put up a finger, still spinning. "Holochess matches with Old Man Primir don't count, that's practically pity because he's an elder." She opened her mouth, but he put up a second one. "Neither does talking with Kryze, our boss who we have to engage with." A third finger went up before she could retort. "Talking with your own employees doesn't count, either. Same reasoning."

"I spoke to Gar!"

He snorted. "Yeah, about a week ago, and before that not for ages. Besides, he's your brother. You're obligated to talk to him, too."

Through the blur of his spinning he caught the fresh upset on her pinched-up face. "That's definitely not true. It's never an obligation to be with family, that's a dinui."

Having the old mantra thrown back at him only made scowl. "Would you be talking to me right now if I wasn't your brother?"

Sarri opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Has anyone ever told you that you have the same temperament of a child?" she said sourly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He finished his spinning, feeling a little dizzy. "No, never," he said sarcastically. "Maybe its because children always speak their mind?"

"Or because grown adults in their mid-thirties usually don't play in their office chairs?"

Now he was the one with nothing to say. Her expression lightened into a smirk. "Were you waiting for me to finish, by the way?"

"What if I was?"

She smiled. "Watching out for me so I don't drop dead from work now, Tiber? Careful now, you might almost convince me that you care about my well-being. Worse still, I might start thinking there's a shred of a family-orientated figure in there."

He shrugged, though some heat rose to his face. "Mother always told me to watch over you and Gar. Nothing more to it, just heeding her dying wish."

Both of them became briefly somber. Perhaps in an effort to change the subject, she lifted her chin at his desk. "What have you been up to?"

He spun around to it. "Updating the protocols Kryze made after the bombing. There were way too many holes in it from the start; I would've done it sooner, but managing the search-and-rescue at Keldabe kept eating up my time." He shook his head. "After the Gauntlet slipped through to the Scilla Gallery, I knew I had just down a couple gallons of caf and spend some late nights updating it. I just can't believe someone with her background would make so many holes."

"Sounds tedious. Want to share the finer points?"

He grunted dismissively. "That starved for social interaction, are you? Pretty soon all you'll be able to talk about is work."

Sarri shrugged. "Figured I'd give you some pointers. I was in Kyr'tsad, y'know."

"That'd be the hundredth time you've said that, and somehow I just know Father would demand you retell your adventurers it again anyway."

She chuckled. "Fine, let's go home so I can tell him. See if you're right. Along the way we can talk about your work and other stuff. Fair?"

"Haha." He gathered his things into his luggage, then tapped a key on it. The repulsorlift beneath it activated, and with a tap on his wrist's panel it linked it to follow him. "Let's go."

XXX

Sundari's skylanes were usually the busiest on Mandalore, but as the planetary calendar brought them into the weekend and night descended it became especially packed. Tiber was half-tempted to put on the airspeeder's sirens to skip ahead of slowed slough, but he wasn't interested in another motherly lecture from Sarri.

Especially when she finally seemed to be so animated. "… sweetest faces on them. Honestly, I've had very little problem with converting the Duchess' education programs over for Lady Kryze's administration. A few little tweaks and it was the same as before."

"Even with the Imperial censors and mandates?"

"Oh, you better believe I got around those," she said bitingly, mouth screwing up in distaste. "As if I'd let some high and mighty Emperor dictate what our children can learn about and study. Our specialized systems are part of what makes us Mandalorians; to let the Imperials standardize and even censor history and learning is obscene."

He tapped his fingers on the driving sticks. "You know if they caught you doing that, they'd haul you off to jail."

"Who's going to check, Moore?" she scoffed. "He only cares about our blasted trade routes like the rest of the Empire. Although I guess I can hand it to him for patrolling for even the slightest scent of piracy." She put an elbow on the sill of her door. "As long as things look nice and tidy on the surface, the Imperials won't care to look deeper."

"If you're sure you know what you're doing." He sunk deeper into his seat, restless. "You sure you'd care if I put the siren up?"

"Don't you dare."

"Okay, okay…"

She turned to him, sweeping her black hair from the eyes. "Well, that's all the excitement I've got going on. Your turn to spill the broth."

Tiber didn't respond. He was staring, open-mouthed, out the front windscreen.

"Tiber? Tiber, what is it?" She sounded panicked, and in the corner of his eye he saw she had a blaster pistol out.

That brought him out of her revere. "The hell did you pull that out for, Sarri?" he demanded. "You could've put a hole in my speeder!"

"You weren't responding to me!"

"What, so you pull out a damned blaster?!"

Her hair had cascaded over her face in her rush of movement, and she now angrily brushed it aside again. "I don't know, I thought something was wrong!" she said heatedly. "There's a lot of unexpected trouble brewing if you hadn't noticed."

"There is something wrong."

"In the name of the Ruug'verda, use your words!"

"Try your damn eyes." He pointed straight ahead. Frowning, she followed his direction—

Her reaction mirrored his original. "Oh my…"

"I'll be a boiled Alamite," Tiber said, surprised to hear the awe and respect in his own voice. Not even Mando'a could capture his feelings. "Son of a bitch did it."

The turn they always took was right before the Magister Building, one of the tallest skyscrapers of Sundari. Most barely knew it for the offices and companies it held, but rather marveled at the huge screens of advertisements that had been built into its side. It was always a kaleidoscope of images, always fighting for the attention of traffic.

Since the start of the election cycle this had only heightened. Candidates plastered their faces all over the screens with their slogans, or put the visages of their opponents in comically wimpy (and sometimes skimpy) suits of Mandalorian armor to disparage them.

Only this time one of the biggest screens wasn't showing anything. A huge chunk of a spacecraft's hull had been carefully bolted over one of the screens, and even now he could see the speeder of one responder pulling up to it to begin trying to take down.

But that would take time, and who knew how long the sight had been up for already. Despite himself, Tiber grinned. Just when I was thinking you wouldn't be able to pull it off, brother. You surprise.

For written on the scrap in clumsy but legible graffiti, illuminated by the dozens of other screens proximate to it, read:

VOTE GAR SAXON, THE SILENCED HERO OF MANDALORE!