"..and it was then I almost lost both my bodyguards to a wild ontux chase when they spotted one of their number. Well, not of their number, as it turned out. 'Dar'malna', I believe they called him, or some such like. Some kind of Mandalorian exile or untouchable or some such; one of their quaint warrior traditions they cling to, you understand. When I reprimanded them for their little flight of fancy, they barely even gave me a glance. I will say, however, that even through the helmets, I've never seen anyone so angry as my bodyguards the moment they saw that man…" - from the vid-memoirs of Bolan Jadain, self-proclaimed gentleman adventurer (deceased)
Hyperspace
Two standard months after the Liberation of Xenophon
Kavala sighed deeply as she scrolled onto the next paragraph on her datapad. How was it that some scholars managed to leech every interesting facet out of a subject and ended up making it akin to watching paint dry?
The common room was quiet and empty other than Kavala, who was sprawled out on the couch before the vid-screen. The screen itself was playing something or other that Kavala wasn't really paying attention to. It was background noise more than anything else. Her current focus was a historian's account of the Great Sith War, in which the ancient Mandalorians fought against the Republic and the Jedi after swearing fealty to Sith Lord Exar Kun. It always amazed Kavala just how different the ancient Mandalorians were from those of the modern day. Bitterly, she couldn't help but think of how long it would take for the Mando'ade to have the numbers to threaten the Galaxy like that again, if they were ever even inclined to do so.
Was the Night of A Thousand Tears the final retribution of karma built up by ancestors long dead and gone? Did the Force suddenly decide it was better to make sure rather than leave such things to chance?
Of course, Kavala knew the truth of things. Though the pacifist movement of the New Mandalorians had gained great traction, it had been replaced by the Protectors under the man that would become Mandalore the Resurrector, who would side with the Separatists in the Clone Wars. When the Empire rose, there were initially good relations between the Mando'ade and the Empire, with mercenary work to be found in abundance across the Galaxy, especially in helping purge the remaining Jedi. Even back then, though, there had been Mandalorians standing against the Empire. That number continued to grow as Imperial demands grew heavier and heavier, until one night, a Night of A Thousand Tears, the Empire decided a planet of highly skilled warriors in nearly impervious armor was too volatile an asset to have around anymore. That's when the bombs fell.
Kavala paused in reading, eyes sliding out of focus to stare off into space. She imagined falling through orbit of some war-torn world on the back of a Basilisk war droid. She imagined going into battle not alongside five others, but five-thousand, even five-million. The word "Mandalorian" once had the power to make kings throw their crowns in the dirt and flee. But it was the modern Mandos that ultimately payed the price for those long years of strength.
Time is a circle, ad'ika, so you'd best learn to roll with it. Kavala thought. One of Jodihan's little bits of wisdom.
As Kavala made to keep plowing on through her book, she realized she wasn't alone.
Zej stood just inside the door, looming rather ominously. She had a way of simply appearing that Kavala wasn't used to yet.
"I'm not really watching this if you want to put something else on." The zygerrian said, crooking her neck and turning her head to look at Zej.
The twi'lek continued to loom for a few moments, fingers nervously popping knuckles one at a time.
"I have a question." Zej said.
"I have an answer. I hope." Kavala said.
"Can you teach me your language?" Zej asked.
Kavala tilted her head the other way.
"Since you probably haven't evolved the vocal cords you'd need to speak Zygerrian, I can only assume you mean Mando'a." Kavala said.
"Yes." Zej said, taking another step inside. "All of us being able to speak to one another in a language that isn't Basic would be beneficial."
"That's true." Kavala said. It wasn't the full story, though. She sat up, turning herself to face Zej fully. "Are you sure about this?"
"Why…do you ask?" Zej was suddenly on guard.
"A Mandalorian teaching an aruetti Mando'a isn't something you do for fun or convenience, Zej." Kavala explained, trying to convey her seriousness through tone and expression without being threatening. "It's not a scholarly thing or a hobby thing. It's…well, it's usually the first step of the process of being adopted into the Mando'ade. At least, it is for Clan Mharal."
"Oh." Zej said. She hugged one arm across her midsection, looking away from Kavala. She seemed to take that as a rejection.
"Look, honestly, I'd be happy to teach you. Really. And what you need to understand is that you wouldn't still be on this ship if the idea of you joining the Clan wasn't a possibility." Kavala said.
Zej blinked in surprise. "Really?"
"Now more than ever, foundlings are our future." Kavala repeated the refrain she had heard from her Clan elders many times. "So, if you're serious about this, go grab a datapad and we'll get started with the basics."
It took a few moments of consideration, but Kavala could see it in Zej's eyes. She remembered seeing that same look on Hylt; that yearning to belong somewhere that would take you as you are. Kavala had never felt it, personally. She had been barely a year old when Jodihan rescued her. As for why Zej was coming to Kavala rather than Cazur, well, Kavala had a few ideas as to why that was. It was kind of funny to see how oblivious Cazur was, but that was an entirely different issue.
"I'll be right back." Zej said, leaving the common room.
Kavala watched her go, switching off the vid-screen, beginning to wonder what she had just gotten herself into. She didn't know how to feel about Zej. Even after two months, she felt like she didn't know anything about the twi'lek. Well, maybe this was going to be a good first step in amending that issue. Or it was going to be a disaster. Time would tell.
Halcyon Station, Pyth System
Pyth Prime was one of the best sources in the Galaxy of a leaf known as ganch. When dried, shredded, and smoked, it produced a bittersweet, green smoke that had a mild narcotic effect. The cantina Cazur sat in was thick with that green smoke, and he felt slightly lightheaded simply by being in the room. Something low, gritty, and almost as smokey as the room was crackling from old speakers hanging in the corners of the room.
Pyth Prime may have been the center of growing ganch, but Halcyon Station was the hub of its trade. Those two in conjunction were the only things that kept the Pyth System on the Galactic map.
Cazur sat with the entire flesh and blood crew of the Kath Hound, occupying a round booth in the corner of the cantina. The Mandalorians all had their helmets off. All had spotchka before them, with a half-empty bottle in the center of the table. The mood was sullen, quiet, and dour. The cantina was fairly full of travelers from all over the Outer Rim and beyond, but it was not a place for boisterous conversation or raucous laughter. The smoke and the dim lighting gave one the feeling of a grim, foggy night; the sort that made one wonder if the sun was even going to bother when morning came.
"So. No luck?" Cazur finally broke the silence. He knew the answer. Anybody who had heard anything wouldn't have remained silent about it.
Hylt and Kavala both shook their heads.
"Met a trader out of Tatooine that said she saw the ship when she came in." Stroyh said. "Far as where it went or who was aboard it, she didn't know."
Cazur let out a displeased grunt and took a drink of spotchka. They had been riding high after the defeat of Marshal Lauk and his Remnant. The bounty from the New Republic had come with a bonus, hazard pay for not only taking on Lauk's entire force, but aiding in the liberation of Xenophon from Remnant clutches. Cazur had not been privy to much before leaving Xenophon, but he had gathered that the Republic was trying to leverage the fact that they had hired the Kath Hound's crew as them taking direct part in freeing the planet. Verra, surprising no one, was hearing none of it. With the way things were turning in the Galaxy, it was clear that Xenophon was going to remain free of New Republic influence.
After that job, they had taken on a few others; ambushing spice runners in the Ganifar Belt and destroying their cargo, clearing a factory of glitched droids gone berserk on Nar Shaddaa, and a shootout with quarren gangers on Trask, to name a few. It was the way things went, the way they could keep going for months or years. Accept job, do it, get paid. It was on Trask where a stevedore drinking in a cantina had mentioned loading up a "Mando" bound for Pyth Prime. Once the terrified man had told all he knew to the four suddenly very interested Mandos, the Kath Hound was leaving Trask in less than an hour.
But that lead, it seemed, had gone cold. Try as he might to fight it, Cazur felt a dark mood settling over him as old memories stirred.
Zej was the only one who seemed more confused than upset. No one had really told her what was going on, and the twi'lek had not asked. It rather amazed Cazur that she could just go along with this without asking why. Perhaps her loyalty to her new crew was that strong. Or, and Cazur suspected this was more likely, she sensed the frustration in the four Mandalorians she traveled with. Zej had proven herself to be skittish when anyone on the crew started growing agitated, like the twi'lek expected a verbal tirade, or worse, to come her way at any moment. This contrasted the fact that Zej was easily the most diligent and attentive member of the crew, sometimes to the point of obsession. Cazur's curiosity as to what had made her this way grew as quickly as his certainty that it was something very bad, indeed.
A few tersely spoken curses brought Cazur back to the present. He saw three humans slowly filtering through the cantina, speaking a few words at each table before moving on to the next when they were invariably told to keep moving or were ignored. The humans wore clothes that were patched, shabby, and stained, one of them wearing a wide-brimmed hat of woven ganch stems. They were farmers, that much was certain, the one doing the talking being a portly man with a beard that fell all the way to his ample belly. When the fat man noticed Cazur looking his way, the zabrak could see cogs turning behind his eyes.
"We're about to have company." Cazur said.
"What sort?" Hylt asked.
"The sort that doesn't pay our rates." Cazur said. "And Zej, you can sheathe your knife."
Zej grimaced, then sheathed her vibroknife under the table.
"'Scuse me, master Mandos, 'scuse me." The fat man said as he stopped beside their table. "Thousand pardons for disrupting you…"
"All's forgiven." Cazur said.
"'Specially if you turn around and walk away." Stroyh added.
Cazur kicked the volpai under the table.
"Di''kut." The zabrak snipped at Stroyh.
Stroyh replied with a rude gesture.
The fat man seemed immune to such rebukes by now. "Only need a moment of your time, good masters, just a moment. Name's Toc. These are my boys, Tol and Toz."
Cazur looked behind Toc. His sons were in their early twenties, both of them made strong and stout by years of farm work. One of them, Cazur couldn't know which, was very blatantly staring at Zej.
"A moment costs nothing." Cazur assured Toc. "If it's a job, only fair to warn you that we don't work cheap."
"Aye, aye, same song sung by every throat in this place." Toc sighed, waving a hand before him. "I only come asking to you, good sir, because, well…we've been having trouble, you see. Bandits. They've been having their way with every town in the Scintilo Lowlands; forcing us all to pay tribute. Even when we do, they still wreck things, hurt people, and…worse…", he shook his head, and in his face Cazur saw desperation, impotent fury, and a humiliation that cut to the very core of him. "I come to you, sir, because one of yours leads them. A Mandalorian."
Five pairs of eyes immediately locked onto Toc with grave intensity. The farmer stumbled back a step, his sons holding him steady.
"I-I meant no insult…" Toc insisted.
"It's alright. None was taken." Cazur assured him, trying to inject some measure of calm into his voice. "What's this bandit leader look like?"
"Well…never seen his face, sorry to say, but he's a tall bastard, wears armor like yours, excepting his is silver and white." Toc recounted.
"And his helmet. Does it have tally marks on it?" Cazur asked further.
"Aye, aye, that it does, now that you mention it, Master Mando. Saw him scratch a new one into the damned thing after he stuck a blade in poor old Yett's heart." Toc said, pain etching his face.
Cazur rose from his chair, slowly but with purpose. "Toc, I'll be honest with you. The man that's troubling the Scintilo Lowlands, the one leading those bandits? I've been hunting him for years. We'll help you."
"We'll not be able to pay you much…if at all…", Toc said with a cringe.
"Then it's a good thing you don't need to." Cazur assured him. "This is personal. This man betrayed us. Betrayed me. There's a score needs settling."
"Whatever gets help for us, Master Mando." Toc said, and he followed that up with several successive bows. "Thank you, thank you a thousand times…"
"Let's save the thanks until after we've helped you. Give me the coordinates of your village. We'll settle our bill here and head down there as soon as possible." Cazur said.
"Right, right. We've got an old shuttle for bringing ganch bales up here for sale, so we'll go on ahead and let the others know you're coming." Toc said.
The data was exchanged and Toc, after a flurry of additional gratitude, made his way out of the cantina with his sons in tow.
Cazur let out a long breath, his eyes closed as if bracing himself. Then he turned to the table. Kavala, Stroyh, and Hylt had fire in their eyes. Stroyh went beyond fire and into naked hatred.
Unlike the others, Zej was not impassioned. Cazur knew she would attack this with the same diligence as any other job, but he wasn't about to take her for granted.
"Zej, this isn't your fight. I won't blame you if you choose to sit this out." Cazur said.
His response was outrage. Zej's eyebrows went up in an incredulous glare.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that." Zej chastised, folding her arms.
"In that case, thank you." Cazur said.
The twi'lek gave a single nod.
"Let's get back to the Kath Hound." Cazur said to the team. "And Zej, it's about time you learned about who we're hunting."
Low Orbit, Pyth Prime
Stroyh and Hylt occupied the pilot and co-pilot seats in the cockpit. Kavala was prepping Bucket. That left Cazur and Zej in the armory, laying out their equipment on the holo-table's surface.
"His name is Kroeth Skirr." Cazur said without preamble. "Once, it was Kroeth Mharal. 'Skirr' is a name he's since taken for himself."
"So, is he or is he not a Mandalorian?" Zej asked.
Cazur had to fight down the instinctive anger at even a suggestion that Kroeth would be considered a Mando. Zej didn't know any better, of course.
"He was. He once occupied the room you sleep in now." Cazur said softly, pausing in the act of loading spare charge packs for his blasters onto his belt.
"Oh." Zej said, frowning. "So he wasn't just Clan. He was…"
"...family." Cazur said. "Jodihan raised Kroeth and I together. Found both of us in the wreckage of a town destroyed by the Empire." His knuckle tapped the edge of the holo-table. He considered going further into his childhood, but it had no bearing here. "Kroeth was my brother. Now Kroeth is dar'manda; worse than an exile. He was of the Mando'ade, but has forgotten his heritage, and with it, his soul. Kroeth betrayed us in the worst way possible. It's our duty as Mandalorians to kill him and remove the stain on our honor."
Zej considered what Cazur had said. She lifted her vibroknife, peering down its edge.
"Family has a way of knowing exactly where to wound us in ways that refuse to heal. Even if they don't mean to. But especially when they do." Zej said as she sheathed the blade. She knew what she was talking about from experience. That much was obvious.
"It's true." Cazur murmured. His eyes were in the past. "Our sister, Ixi. She fell in love with an aruetti. An outsider. There's nothing prohibiting that. Normally there's an…understanding that a Mandalorian will try to bring an aruetti partner around to our ways. It's an unspoken tradition, but a tradition all the same. Not so, this time around. Ixi was a Mharin of the old school, through and through. She saw her partner, Na're, as her Muse. And I don't blame her. Na're…I've never heard a voice like hers."
Zej nodded in acknowledgement. Cazur had explained the Mharins and their origins to her not long after Xenophon.
Cazur went on. "Ixi could never dream of placing any limitations on Na're. And after the Night of A Thousand Tears, well, most of the Clan was just glad someone among us was finding a sliver of happiness in this blasted Galaxy." He shook his head, fists clenching on the table. "But not Kroeth. To him, it was a betrayal of everyone who had died on Mandalore. 'We need more Mando'ade now more than ever, not fewer', he said."
"That doesn't make any sense." Zej said.
"Our world had just been reduced to ash and glass, Zej. None of us were thinking rationally. Tempers were in shambles, to say the least. Kroeth and Ixi argued over it several times. He called Na're 'aruetti trash' to her face, told Ixi she was as good as dar'manda. Ixi slapped him, calling him hut'uun…think 'coward', but worse. Then Kroeth, he drew his beskad and he…he…" Cazur's fists clenched even harder, causing his knuckles to pop.
Zej was suddenly around the holo-table and at Cazur's side. Her hand flitted out, hovering over one of Cazur's fists. She hesitated, eyes dancing up from her had to Cazur's face, as if to ask permission. When Cazur didn't pull away or tell her no, Zej laid her hand over Cazur's fist. It was cold and callused. Even through his rage and grief, Cazur found himself surprised by the gesture. And grateful for it.
"Rather than stand and face trial, he ran. It was that last act, running away, that made him dar'manda." Cazur concluded the tale.
"I would take your pain away if I could, Cazur." Zej said adamantly, "instead…I'll hope Kroeth comes within reach of my knife, because I promise you he won't be leaving it."
Cazur looked up at her in that moment, his sea-green eyes meeting those of amber looking back at him. He didn't want to smile. He actively fought against it, trying to stoke his fury to drown it out. Yet, smile he did, however slightly, however wanly. Maybe it was the absurdity of Zej trying to comfort him with an offer of murdering someone for him.
"In that case, I'll hope he does, too." The zabrak said. "Thank you, Zej."
Zej drew her hand away after a final squeeze, then turned around and brushed one of her lekku back from her shoulder. "Anyhow, we…had better make sure we're ready. I'll…go see how the landing is going."
The twi'lek left the armory.
Cazur scratched at his beard, deep in thought, mind temporarily diverted. He realized that was the first time he'd seen Zej make physical contact with anyone on the crew. That was a good thing. At least, it seemed like a good thing.
After rubbing his eyes and refocusing Cazur finished equipping himself. They probably weren't going to be dropping into combat, but it never hurt to be sure.
Qihn, Pyth Prime
Cazur got a good look at the village of Qihn from the air. He decided the prospects for the fight ahead weren't entirely hopeless.
Its central structure was a large dome of ferrocrete and durasteel, a largely prefabricated building that would have been the shelter of the first settlers of the area. Cazur had a feeling that if they flew across the Scintilo Lowlands, they'd see such domes dotted in a couple dozen places along the way. Smaller buildings clung to the dome's sides like children upon their mother's skirts, spreading out from the center in three concentric rings. Beyond the rings to the east were a paddock and accompanying barn. The fenced-in pasture was occupied by six-legged creatures with goldenrod wool that Cazur did not recognize.
The terrain Qihn was rough, forested taiga, broken up by hills and crags. Such terrain was perfect for keeping multiple settlements of victims cut off from each other.
"Not the worst place for a stand." Stroyh decided as he circled the Kath Hound overhead.
"These people have no idea what they've brought down on themselves by asking for our help." Hylt said from the co-pilot's seat.
"How do you figure?" Stroyh asked.
"Think for a second, vod. Our objectives don't fully align. They want us to protect their village. We want to kill Kroeth." She looked over her shoulder at Cazur. "If it comes down to it, which will you pick?"
Cazur stood behind Stroyh's chair, his arms folded across his chest. His brow was furrowed. He could feel the attention of the entire crew on him, even if they weren't looking his way. As both the eldest in age and the one who had been Mandalorian the longest, he was what passed for a commanding officer among this group; Zej notwithstanding, though she seemed content to go along with it regardless. Cazur knew what his fellow Mandos would pick. They would say there were plenty of other podunk villages on Pyth Prime. There was only one Kroeth Skirr who needed to die.
"'The burden of steel is to wield it on behalf of those who cannot carry it. The burden of strength is to use it on behalf of those who do not have it.'" Cazur quoted one of Mharal's aphorisms. "Our first priority is Qihn."
Stroyh growled wordlessly, displeased at the decision. The others were, at least outwardly, nonplussed.
"Look at it this way, Stro'vod." Hylt said. "When Kroeth finds out we're the ones he's standing off against, do you really think he's going to sit back and let others do the fighting?"
"He's dar'manda, isn't he? Him running away like a coward is the entire reason for that." Stroyh shook his head. "But, whatever. What's done is done."
Cazur was of a mind with Hylt, but didn't add to the potential argument. Kroeth running away after killing Ixi and Na're hadn't been cowardice. Kroeth was many things, but a coward wasn't one of them. His flight had been shock. Shame. Facing the Clan after that would have unraveled Kroeth in an instant. Cazur wondered what Kroeth thought now. Did he look at what he had become and wonder if he should have stayed?
"Take us in, Stro'vod." Cazur said. "Let's see what we're working with."
Stroyh banked the Kath Hound in, taking the ship on a course around the dome until they reached a small hangar bay. There was just enough room for the Kath Hound to slip in beside an old, battered orbital hauler.
"Hands off weapons, helmets off. Public enemy number one around here is someone they all think is a Mando. Bucket, keep on board for now. Last thing we need is any veterans of the Clone Wars seeing a B2, modified as it might be." Cazur instructed.
"This unit won't complain. This unit rarely gets alone time." Bucket replied.
The rest of the crew made for the boarding ramp. Stroyh hit the button that lowered it.
A stone's throw beyond the bottom of the ramp, near the entrance to the dome's hangar, about twenty people were gathered. Like Toc and his sons, they wore practical and conservative clothing, much of it made from the wool and hides of those livestock out in the paddock, no doubt. All of Qihn's people appeared to be human.
There was a small ripple through the little gathering as the Kath Hound's crew disembarked. Other citizens of Qihn started filtering in from the open hangar doors. In relatively short order, Cazur and his compatriots found themselves loosely surrounded by wide, trepidatious gazes. The people tended toward olive skin tones and dark, curly hair, though they were by no means homogenous. Cazur picked out Toc among the crowd, more on account of his sons standing above the rest.
"Does anybody here speak for you? An…elder? Mayor?" Cazur asked above the murmuring susurrations around them.
A somewhat short, lean individual came to the fore. Their black hair framed a narrow face that had been tanned by sun and weathered by wind. Cazur judged them to be in their early thirties. They weren't dressed liked a farmer, but instead in the form-fitting, dun garments of a hunter.
"My uncle, Yett, was the elder before the leader of those bandits killed him." They said.
Cazur heard the implication in their voice. And now Qihn looks to me, they seemed to say without saying it.
"My name is Cazur." The zabrak said, then introduced each of his companions in turn, raising his voice enough for all to hear.
"Sintra." The hunter said. They also addressed the gathered citizens of Qihn. "These are the ones Toc contacted on Halcyon Station; the ones who will help us against the bandits."
"The Reaver's one of them!" Someone called from the back.
"What if they're with the bandits?!" Someone else added.
The protests started to spread, with comments about trading one threat for another being common, along with "letting the fang crav into the yol pens", which was partially lost on Cazur since he had no idea what either of those were. For his part, Cazur said nothing. If Sintra couldn't convince these people to accept the Kath Hound's help, the fight was already lost.
"Everyone! Listen!" Sintra called, raising a hand. They stepped up onto a nearby tool chest. "I understand you're afraid. I am, too. But more than that, I'm angry. I'd go so far as to say that I'm more pissed off than I've ever been in my entire life."
Cazur heard some agreement in the crowd, but for the most part their attention was raptly on Sintra.
They went on, "the Reaver has done evil to these Mandalorians, just as he and his Aruetti have done to us, and to villages like ours all across the Lowlands!"
Aruetti. Cazur grit his teeth, a completely humorless smile that was closer to a grimace now on his face. Aruetti. The son of a bitch always did have a certain sense of humor. These villagers wouldn't even know what that word meant.
Cazur realized Sintra, and thus all of Qihn, was looking at him.
"It's true." The zabrak said. "The one you call the Reaver is named Kroeth. He killed both my sister and the woman she loved." Cazur smacked one gauntleted fist into another. "I can't bring them back. But we'll do our damndest to make sure Kroeth doesn't take anyone else from you. You have my word on that, on my honor and the honor of my Clan."
"Mharal, Our Mother." Kavala intoned to drive the point home.
"And Toc has told me these Mandalorians have agreed to help us without expectation of pay, before any of you ask." Sintra added. "Now, if you aren't convinced by now, I can't think of anything else to sway you. If anyone has any protests left, speak them."
This time, no one said anything.
"Then everyone get back to it for now." Sintra said. "Cazur, please come with me. It's time we got you and yours up to speed."
"After you." Cazur said. He looked to his crew. "Pair up, get a lay of the land", he added before following the hunter deeper into the dome as the denizens of Qihn dispersed.
Much of the dome's interior space was, essentially, one big greenhouse for growing, drying, and baling ganch. The primary interior space was illuminated by grow lights and stank of manure. People were hard at work pruning and harvesting, spreading fertilizer or fresh soil.
"It's an impressive operation." Cazur said conversationally as the two of them walked.
"And a precarious one." Sintra said. "We've been worked into a corner, as it were. Without the ganch harvests this town would disappear. The entire Scintilo Lowlands would be abandoned. But nothing else was selling at market for enough to keep us up on our homesteading loans."
"Wait. Homesteading loans. You still have those? After…hell, two Galactic wars?" Cazur asked, incredulous.
Sintra laughed. "We owe a corporation, Cazur. Not a government. And if there's one thing a corp is to be good at, it's throwing around enough money to stay in the good graces of whoever is in power."
"Ah." Cazur said. "So…and sorry if this is a dumb question, but why settle here if it was going to be so predatory?"
"The Republic was failing for a long time before the Clone Wars. That was just the last straw." Sintra explained. "Our parents and grandparents settled Qihn. And in spite of the flaws, I still love it here. We get the credits in on time, and that's all the banks care about. Beyond that, we get to live as free as anyone can hope to in this bitch of a Galaxy."
Cazur nodded. "Sounded an awful lot like some Mandos I know there at the end."
Sintra looked back at him with a smirk. "I can't imagine any of you pruning ganch leaves."
"You'd be surprised." Cazur replied.
"So you won't mind helping out in the greenhouse while you're here?" Sintra went on, the picture of innocence.
"Well not me, but I'm sure someone else on my crew would surprise you." Cazur amended.
Sintra laughed, and this time Cazur did as well.
Cazur was led to a small room that adjoined the dome's exterior wall. There was a paper map affixed to one wall depicting the Scintilo Lowlands, as well as a long meeting table made of cheap particle board. The room was bright, with a row of thick windows looking out over the Lowlands.
There were two others in the room, waiting for the two of them. One was a stout, grizzled looking woman with iron grey hair. Her left eye was a prosthetic of gleaming chrome and muted blue light. She wore a mechanic's jumpsuit under a slate blue jacket that was bedecked with what were unmistakably military patches; unit identification, commemoratives for campaigns and battles, and the like. This woman was a soldier, and no mistake.
The other person was a bespeckled, reedy man wearing a long, white coat over his hides. He was probably the youngest person in the room, but his presence here indicated someone of some level of authority, Cazur reasoned. The man, Cazur noticed, had dirt under his fingernails and behind one ear.
"Cazur, this is Halaine Oor, head of our militia, and Lence Daer, the main mind behind our ganch operation." Sintra introduced as they approached the two.
"Cazur Mharal, captain of the Kath Hound. Good to meet you." Cazur greeted them.
"I'm surprised the others let a Mando come within a hundred yards of town without starting a riot." Halaine noted. She had a ganch cigarette in her lips. "You smoke, Cazur? I'll roll you one."
"No, thank you. I take my vices in liquid form" Cazur said with a chuckle.
"Believe it or not, Chief Oor's among the minority." Lence said, his voice unsteady, but that seemed to be a natural cadence rather than nervousness. "Most people are too sick of dealing with the stuff day in and out to want to smoke it as well."
Halaine shrugged.
"Halaine. Lence. I've brought Cazur up here to help us figure out how we're going to save this village from the Aruetti." Sintra said. "Captain, anything you want to know, you only have to ask."
"First thing's first, numbers." Cazur said. "How many in your militia and how many are we facing?"
"Twenty-two people count themselves among the militia." Halaine answered. "We've got almost double that number, if we throw everyone who knows how to shoot on the line. Not sure I want to do that, but we may have no choice. As for the bandits…tough to say. Eighty to one-hundred, with swoop bikes and speeders to carry all of them."
"That many bandits?" Cazur asked, surprised.
"This is the Outer Rim, Captain. There's marauders like them no matter where you go. It's just that they're usually fighting among themselves as much as raiding folks like us." Halaine explained. "This Reaver bastard's the problem. He came in and united them together."
"What if we were to coordinate with the other villages? Surely they've got militias, too." Cazur said.
"It was tried. Once." Sintra said, their eyes drifted to a brutal X on the map beside a crossed out name.
"You have to understand, Captain, that it's a matter of logistics. Most of the Lowlands villages don't have credits to sink into more than a speeder or two. We can't move the numbers we'd need to to make that plan effective. Besides, the Aruetti used their superiority in mobility to figure out which village had emptied out to go join with another and…well, you can figure it out." Halaine said, pointing at the X.
"Divide and conquer at its basics." Cazur muttered to himself, looking at the map. "We have any idea where they're based out of?"
"Here." Sintra pointed to a location that was atop a cliff, based on the map's topography. "It was once the palace of Gaffo the Hutt. When she died, her lieutenants fought over it and it ended up a graveyard. Centrally located, easy to reach out across the Lowlands, and with a good vantage."
Cazur looked at the point on the map and thought for a moment. A raid, perhaps, to thin their numbers and demoralize them? Maybe if he had more Mandalorians with him. He was sure the Qihn militia would be good enough in a fight, but a commando raid on an enemy stronghold was something else entirely. No. It was too great a risk with not enough reward. Bombard them from the air with the Kath Hound? No. The Hound wasn't equipped with powerful enough weapons for taking down fortifications with any speed. The bandits would retreat underground or mount up in their vehicles and scatter until the threat passed. Attempt an assassination on Kroeth like they had against Lauk on Xenophon? No. There wouldn't be hundreds of reinforcements waiting in the wings if and when things went awry.
"Lence. What kind of work force are we looking at here in Qihn?" Cazur asked.
"We currently have just over two-hundred people in town who regularly labor, counting the militia; they aren't full-time soldiers, after all." Lence said.
Cazur nodded. His eyes grew flinty. "We are going to have to confront an unfortunate truth here. If you want these bandits dealt with, only two things will do it. The first, and most obvious, is killing the man you call the Reaver, Kroeth. He united them, his death with splinter them. The second is to kill so many of them that Kroeth's authority is undermined. They're bandits, not warriors. They won't die to the last for a few bales of ganch. Either way, drawing the Aruetti into a killzone is going to be the best way to accomplish what we want."
"A killzone? Where?" Sintra asked, their eyes moving across the map.
Halaine's face became grim. "Qihn." She said.
"Qihn." Cazur repeated in agreement.
"You want to turn our home into a battlefield." Lence said, looking horrified.
"Your home's already a battlefield, sir." Cazur told him. "The Aruetti are only going to keep asking for more and more until you either starve yourselves to pay up or you can't meet what's demanded and they come in, kill you all, carry off anything of value, and burn your village to the ground."
Lence hid his eyes behind one hand, the stress of the situation overwhelming him for a moment. Cazur didn't blame him for that. It wasn't easy to face two bad options.
"The best hope we have is surprise." Cazur told them. "We keep the Kath Hound hidden, don't give them any idea you've brought in help from the outside. How long do you have until they come back?"
"They come once every two weeks. They were last here five days ago." Sintra said. "Ganch grows fast, and we have multiple plots that are on different schedules. The Aruetti usually arrive in a rush, circling around the village, shooting into the air or at the buildings in town, before some of them come in and take the money we owe them."
"That's it, then. That's where we'll hit them. Right when they're stuck in and think they're getting what they want." Cazur said, pointing at Sintra as he did. "And once a fight breaks out, the Kath Hound will lift off and give hell to any of the Aruetti who stray outside of the village. We'll be able to load the non-combatants aboard, too, though it might be a tight fit. That way if things go south my pilot will be able to take them somewhere safe."
"This…could work." Halaine said, holding her chin in her hand. "We set up overlapping fields of fire and lines of retreat toward the dome. If everything goes boots up, we fall back to the dome and make a stand there."
"I don't like this." Lence said. He wanted to suggest continuing to pay the tribute. Cazur could see it in the young man's eyes. Violence was supposed to be something that happened elsewhere.
"They killed Yett, Lence. They wiped Akan off the map, and who knows how many they've killed as examples everywhere else?" Sintra challenged him, their eyes bright with defiance. "Someone has to make the sacrifice for the good of every village in the Lowlands. If it has to be us, then so be it. Even if we fail, we have a chance to bloody the nose of our enemy badly enough that someone else could finish them off." They reached out, placing a hand on Lence's shoulder. "It's the right thing to do. You know it is."
"I don't know about right." Lence whispered, gently drawing his shoulder away. He blew out a shaky breath. "But it seems like it's the only thing to do." He sniffed and wiped his eyes on a sleeve. "Just…tell us where you need work done and we'll do it."
Lence departed.
Halaine sighed. "Have no fear, Captain Cazur. I scrapped clankers and killed stormtroopers aplenty. A bunch of backwater cutthroats aren't going to be the end of Sergeant Halaine Oor." Unlike Lence, she almost looked like she was anticipating the battle to come. "I'll call up the militia, Sintra. And I'll see who else is willing to fight."
"Thank you, Halaine." Sintra said as the Militia Chief departed.
That left Cazur and Sintra alone.
"Please don't think badly of Lence." Sintra finally said, turning to Cazur.
"I don't." Cazur assured them.
"I'm glad." Sintra said. "I know it must be frustrating, coming here to protect people, only to have one of them say the risk you're taking on their behalf is wrong."
A half-grin quirked up one side of Cazur's mouth. "I follow the traditions of the Mharin Mandalorians, Sintra. I'm sure that word means nothing to you, but know this; our entire belief system is being dedicated to the cause of protecting others so they don't have to fight, if they don't want to. Whether or not they're grateful for that protection has nothing to do with it."
"That is…I must admit, a far more noble ideal that what I expected." Sintra confessed.
"Than you expected from a Mandalorian?" Cazur asked, though his tone was teasing.
Sintra snorted. "From a mercenary."
"No more noble than you being willing to put your life on the line to protect the rest of the Lowlands." Cazur said, serious now. "If I wasn't sure about my decision to help you before, I am now."
"A Galaxy where no one has to touch a weapon again sounds like the loveliest possible future." Sintra said, their attention on some unseen place. "It's a lovely dream. But that's all it is. A dream. Someone's always going to take what they want at the point of a blaster. Might be a bandit, might be a damned Empire. The choice between becoming like them, silent obedience, or fighting back, isn't a choice. Maybe it is for others, but not for me." They locked eyes with Cazur. "I will fight. And, thanks to you, that fight might just be more than a forgotten footnote in fading memories."
Good. Cazur thought. The people here looked up to Sintra, or at least looked to them for direction. Their determination would help. They had Cazur's respect.
"I'm glad to hear it. Now, I need to confer with my crew and see what they have to say." Cazur said. "Then we'll make this place into one big regret for the Aruetti."
Gaffo the Hutt's Palace, Pyth Prime
Within a cordon of leaning minarets and crumbling exterior walls, the Aruetti were celebrating. Life was one long celebration occasionally broken up by bouts of extreme violence for them. And why shouldn't it be? They had the entire Lowlands under their thumb. Old grudges between gangs were buried, or at least relegated to fist fights. Food was plenty, and people providing services of all sorts were filtering in from across the planet to get a slice of the Aruetti's wealth.
In short, it was the beginning of something great. And it was all thanks to one man.
Kroeth Skirr sat brooding on a throne. Once, it had been the seat of Gaffo the Hutt's advisor resting beside the throne of the Hutt herself. It had since been moved to the place of prominence in Gaffo's old throne room.
Kroeth was a stringy, some might say gangly man in beskar'gam of silver and white. His tally-marked helm was upon his head, as it was for the majority of the time. Around Kroeth, a dim room that had once been full of scum and sycophants loyal to Gaffo was now full of scum and sycophants loyal to him. The carrion feeders that preyed on the Aruettis' shares of each take flitted around the room; spice pushers, sex workers, arms dealers, and the like. Carrion feeders they may have been in Kroeth's eyes, but just like actual carrion feeders, they were a necessary part of the ecosystem.
Kroeth was above the debauchery around him. He didn't need vices, but they were necessary to keep the trash that served him in line. Gone were his days of being certain of loyalty and honor. When his own Clan had betrayed him, what hope was there for the rest of the Galaxy?
The familiar sight of darkened forms shoving their way through the press of indulgence and stupidity brought Kroeth out of his brooding. Kroeth recognized the three humans in rough leathers before him. Two were lowly grunts who had more fingers than brain cells; Scrap and Rust. The third was Tezh, one of Kroeth's lieutenants; a muscle-bound slab of a man who concealed a deep cunning beneath his brutish veneer.
"Speak." Kroeth commanded.
"Been talking with the lads, boss. Been thinking, you know?" Tezh began. "We got new blood getting jumped in faster than we're getting vehicles to carry 'em all around. So, was thinking, there's this place in Pyth City, right? Has a bunch of used speeders just sitting around. Barely any security. I could take some lads into town and boost the lot. Can you imagine how we'll be making everyone around here piss themselves when we speed up?"
Scrap and Rust both guffawed their agreement, nodding along with their pack leader.
"Tezh…how you not been listening to me?" Kroeth asked.
"'Course I've been, boss." Tezh said.
"Then what part of 'patience will be the key to our success' didn't manage to hammer its way through the layer of spice that your brain is marinating in?" Kroeth mocked.
"Look, I was just saying…", Tezh tried to defend.
Kroeth's fist came down on the arm of his throne. The revelry around him was too loud for it to distract anyone. Kroeth leaned forward, looming over Tezh.
"We have the Scintilo Lowlands in a perfect setup, Tezh. Perfect. Regular recruits showing up at our doorstep, reliable supply lines, and steady credit income. When we hit the capital, it's going to be the only time we hit the capital, you understand? If we're going to carve our an empire in the Outer Rim, we can't make any wrong moves or we're going to be just another pile of corpses for someone else to laugh at." Kroeth leaned back in his throne. "So, no, you will not be raiding this place you mentioned. You'll stick with the plan. Got it?"
"Yeah…", Tezh grunted.
"I didn't quite catch that." Kroeth growled.
"I got it, boss." Tezh said, raising his voice.
"Good. Then get out of my sight." The crime boss commanded.
Tezh didn't move.
"The issue's closed." Kroeth let a true warning tone creep into his voice. Scrap and Rust both took half-steps back.
"Not that, boss. There's something else." Tezh said. "Cordite's patrol got back a little bit ago. Cordite herself says she seen a ship over Qihn, circling it."
"Just the village cargo hauler." Kroeth dismissed it.
"Maybe, boss. But I ain't sure. Don't think any of the sods in the Lowlands have a Starstreak." Tezh clarified.
Kroeth was glad his helm hid the widening of his eyes. The Aibova Aeronautics "Starstreak" was a old mainstay of the Outer Rim. It had been ubiquitous once, but it had been discontinued within the past decade or so, making it more difficult to maintain one. Owners either needed to be wealthy to get replacement parts searched out or manufactured, or needed to have a skilled mechanic on board that could make do with an endless series of jury-rigs, revamps, and upgrades. They were still common enough that Kroeth couldn't be certain of who had been aboard this one. There could have been any number of explanations. But what were the odds?
Kroeth considered his options. His authority here was founded upon his being utterly unflappable, brutal, and more to the point, seen as a true Mandalorian. If that Starstreak really was the Kath Hound, then Kroeth couldn't risk it throwing a spanner into his plans for Pyth Prime. But, if it ended up being a false alarm, that was how the whispers would begin. Boss had us chasing ghosts. Boss is scared of something. Maybe he doesn't have a handle on things after all.
"Boss?" Tezh asked, sounding nervous.
"Something to ask them very politely about next time we pick up tribute from there." Kroeth said. No need to overreact to every little anomaly, after all.
"Sure, sure." Tezh said. He kept waiting.
"Go." Kroeth ordered.
Tezh did, taking Scrap and Rust with him.
To everyone else in the throne room, nothing had changed. But now there was a turmoil within Kroeth that he had not felt for many years. If the Kath Hound was here…if the ones who had betrayed him were here…Kroeth was going to make an example of them the likes of which no one on Pyth Prime was ever going to forget.
(To be continued in…"Dar'manda, pt. 2!")