Chapter Text
Jabba growled at Gardulla, “This is not the time to taunt the Mandalorians or their allies. Surely, you know this.”
“Our armies outnumber theirs massively.”
“Conscripts and warriors, but no true soldiers. The Mandalorians are an army as are their allies. If you do not acknowledge that, at least acknowledge that the Mandalorians are here on Tatooine and the Hutt armies are not!”
“They wouldn’t dare attack a Hutt council member and a lord of Tatooine.”
“You place far too much trust on your title. If they come, can your palace withstand an attack?”
“The walls are nigh impenetrable. Besides, why are you so concerned? We are rivals for this planet.”
Jabba growled in fury, “I have no love for you, but you are a Hutt and I will not stand for any inferior races to attack you.”
Komari stood next to two fellow Ka’ra’ade as the briefing concluded. The briefer looked at them before asking, “Any questions?”
“Why the Tuskens and the slaves?”
One asked and Komari leaned forward, “Politics. A Mandalorian assault would be far more efficient, but it also takes the war public. Hutt space lies between Arrakis and Mandalore giving them the advantage of interior lines of supply and communication.”
“Plausible deniability is a wonderful thing.”
The three Ka’ar’ade nodded as the Heighliner emerged over Tatooine.
Komari turned on her shield and drew her swords, one, two, and step. Curses sounded as she materialized in Gardulla’s security room. Two Ka’ra’ade appeared behind her, moving swiftly to secure the door, blasters raised. The guards fell one by one, cut down by whirling blades or picked off by accurate blaster fire.
As the last corpse slid off her blade, Komari strode over to the security console and entered a series of commands. The gate creaked open and the slave implants deactivated. Komari smiled grimly, “Now it begins.”
Gardulla frowned as a dull rumbling echoed through the palace. Her majordomo glanced at the datapad in his hands and blanched, “Great Gardulla… the gates are opening.”
“Close them.”
“Of course, your greatness.” The majordomo frantically hit a few buttons and then pulled out his commlink. “How dare you defy my order? Close the gates!”
The commlink clicked and the majordomo gestured to a few of the guards. “Find out who is on duty and bring them to me.”
Gardulla felt a slight worm of fear start burrowing into her gut. She glared at the majordomo, “Check the exterior and find why the gates opened.”
The majordomo nodded jerkily and tapped through his datapad before becoming even whiter, “Your greatness…it’s..it’s…”
“The Mandalorians wouldn’t dare!” Gardulla boomed out, “That would be a war!”
“Worse, your greatness.” The howls sounded from the desert and echoed through the halls of the palace, “Tuskens.”
“Block the entrance!”
The Majordomo nodded and ordered the guards to the door. Gardulla gestured for the majordomo to approach and they watched their guards form improvised defensive positions perfectly set to guard the open gate. Gardulla chortled, “Now, the Tuskens are doomed. The defensive position will be enough to repel the savages.”
The majordomo frantically drew his commlink out, “If the security office is taken, who else is inside with us?” The commlink beeped as it connected, “Captain, there might be intruder behind…”
His voice trailed off as the security camera flared with blaster fire and the defensive position was annihilated from behind. Gardulla growled in anger, “Who would dare defy me in my own palace?”
The palace intercom clicked on, “Rainstorm, Rainstorm, Rainstorm.”
The majordomo looked at Gardulla for a brief second confused before the slaves in the throne room erupted in a storm of movement, blood and viscera pooling across the floor as hidden blades slashed across sycophants and gutted the few guards that remained.
Shmi watched the Tuskens and the Tusken-disguised Atreides soldiers pour through the open front gates. She moved slowly, marveling at the corpses sprawled across the floors. The rains have come and soon the planet would be free.
She stepped into the throne room and looked at the group of Amtivvka surrounding a blustering Gardulla.
“You’ll be flayed and pinned to the walls for this! I’ll keep you alive for decades so that no slave will ever dare raise their head in rebellion.”
Shmi laughed and the sound shocked Gardulla into silence. Smiling, Shmi broke the silence, “You think you have power here.”
Gardulla drew herself up, “I am on the Hutt council and one of the Lords of Tatooine. I can summon the armies of hundreds of worlds to fulfill my bidding.”
Shmi nodded slowly, “That may be true, but those armies aren’t here, are they?”
Gardulla sneered at her before Shmi continued softly, “Those armies aren’t here, but the slaves you brutalized, the families of those you’ve killed, the remnants of shattered families from you selling children, husbands, wives… they’re here now. Armed. Angry. What good are the Hutt armies?”
Gardulla stared at her in shock. “You’ll die.”
“Drukka be drukka. Freedom or death.”
“My armies will glass Tatooine and everyone will die.”
“Doubtful. The Mandalorians and Atreides are here and they are settling on the planet. Jobba may summon armies to him, but that’s war and the Tuskens are gathering their strength.” Shmi shrugged, “But that’s for me to worry about. I’ve always wondered how many times a Hutt needed to be stabbed.”
An hour later, Shmi was informed that it had taken 263 stabs wounds for Gardulla to expire.
Satine stepped off her family’s shuttle. The welcoming committee waited at the edge of the platform and she could see the other shuttles descending from the orbiting Heighliner. Striding forward, she greeted her father and the other members of her family although she noted the distance her pacifist aunts had set between themselves and her father was just far enough to be considered rude if one was versed in courtly politics. She lifted an eyebrow in her aunts direction and watched one of them flush in acknowledgment. Smiling sweetly, she advanced with the rest of her party.
Jango frowned and fidgeted as the New Mandalorian speaker droned on. Irulan cut her eyes toward him briefly and whispered, “Be still.”
Jango nodded and remained still for a little while but after another fifteen minutes of droning, he started fidgeting again, but fortunately the gong for the midday meal was rung and everyone separated for lunch.
Irulan looked at Jango with fond exasperation, “How can you remain perfectly still while waiting on a battlefield, but get antsy in a meeting hall?”
“I can get killed on a battlefield.”
“Do you think this is any less deadly?” She gestured at the New Mandalorian banner as they walked alone in a garden, “We have not yet won the allegiance of the New Mandalorians and this is a war over heart and souls. We must win over the pacifists in such a way that they integrate in our society or else they could go squalling to the Republic that they’re facing a genocide. Do you think the Republic will investigate? If the Republic thinks that we need to be brought to heel, I’m sure the Hutts would be happy to unite their armies with whatever forces the Republic can muster. House Atriedes doesn’t have the ships for a full war so the brunt of the war would be fought on Mandalorian soil. Are our people ready for another war?” Jango nodded in acknowledgment of her points and she continued, “I was raised as heiress to an Empire and this, right here right now, is a far more bloody battlefield than anything in the field.”
Jango snorted, “Maybe we should tell the pacifists that; get them to surrender.”
Irulan’s tinkling laugh echoed through the garden as they settled onto a blanket to eat.
Satine stood, “People of Mandalore, thank you for the opportunity to speak here today. We stand at an unprecedented time in our culture’s recent history as we have a new Mand’alor that wears the original mask of the Mand’alor and has been blessed by the Mythosaur and yet I was raised in a belief that this warrior culture was barbaric, brutish, and out of touch. A belief that said that weapons were inferior to words and that to fight and kill was to be a murderer.”
A wave of acknowledgments swept the New Mandalorians and Satine nodded, “I believed that! I was the first to say that our blasters should be scrapped, our beskads melted, and our armor reforged into building a new future.” A wave of applause swept the New Mandalorians and Satine lifted her arms for silence. “And then I went on a diplomatic mission to Arrakis and Melida-Daan.” She clicked the remote and images slowly displayed behind her. Children hiding in sewers, adults hunting the children, and rows upon rows of tiny graves. “On Arrakis, I met the children who had survived their parents’ war; a war that had lasted for generation upon generation. They had formed a third faction to bring peace to their world. They talked. Some of them died. They begged. More of them died. They summoned the Jedi. The Jedi nearly died. They fought. Yet more died. It took the imposition of an armed intervenor in the form of House Atriedes to end the war. House Atriedes is a warrior culture, but one that believes a blade has a time to be drawn and a time to be sheathed. Their Warmaster is just as quick to pick up his baliset as he is to wield a blade.”
The images of Melida-Daan changed to rebuilt houses, children running in the streets, and picnics in the parks. “Peace was brought at a bloody price, but now the children have a future! Seeing this, I began to wonder, what evils have I turned a blind eye to and the return of my sister opened my eyes to an evil we have let fester here in Mandalore for far too long. The Death Watch are everything the New Mandalorians have railed against for years. They are brutes who steal children, revel in bloodshed, and will tear the galaxy apart. Yet we as the New Mandalorians have been shielded for the most part from them by the True Mandalorians. Warriors who adhere to the traditional language and armor, men and women, anonymous, faceless in their armor, who have fought and died to keep ALL of Mandalore safe! If we are to pride ourselves on our intellect and our words, then we must acknowledge the difference. Further, we already coexist with them and they have died for us and for our children!”
Satine stood as the murmurs swept the New Mandalorian section. She continued, “I have met Mand’alor Jaster Mereel. His vision for Mandalore accounts for the New Mandalorians’ wish for pacifism yet unifies our wish with the Resol'nare.
One: Ba’jur, education; we can teach our children our history, our way, and who we are.
Two: Beskar’gam, Armor; we are so used to seeing Mandalorian armor as an offensive weapon, but if we want to change the perception of Mandalorians armored, weaponless Mandalorians will do far more to change public perception than blending into the mass of galactic society.
Three: Ara’nov, self defence; We scorn akalenedat as too aggressive, but there are more ways to defend ourselves than beating our opponents senseless. There are non-violent self-defense arts out there and I will see them become more popular here on Mandalore.
Four: aliit, Clan and family: Is this not why we espouse pacifism? To defend our families and to live in peace with them?
Five: Mando’a, language. As New Mandalorians, we have tried to erase Mando’a, claiming it to be a violent language, but it is our heritage and if we erase it, we cannot learn from it nor reclaim it in our own fashion.
Six: Mand’alor, our leader. I grew up hearing the stories from my fellow New Mandalorians that Jaster Mereel was a man of violence, a general, and someone who will not hesitate to kill an enemy. What we didn’t know about him is his love of books, his profound love of Mandalorian culture, his willingness to compromise so that New Mandalorians can answer his call in the future without compromising our own beliefs!
That is why I am here today! To urge you to UNITE Mandalore and help direct the path we will take in the future. The clans have sworn, the Kyraryc’ade have sworn, the True Mandalorians have sworn, and together with the New Mandalorians, we will stand as a united Mandalore.”
She turned to Jaster and his impassive mask, shedding her long outer robe to reveal an armored bodice, backplate, and bracers over a dress, “Mand’alor, hear my vow: Ba’jur, beskar’gam, ‘Ara’nov, aliit, ‘Mando’a bal Mand’alor, Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it.”
The assembly erupted into pandemonium and soon the roar resolved itself into a deafening chant, “Jorad’alor! Jorad’alor! Jorad’alor! Jorad’alor!”
She blinked as Jaster stood, the cries of the crowd calling for her to be appointed the voice of Mandalore continuing to echo and walked toward her. “Elek? Nayc?”
She looked at him and remembered the traditional words of Our lives for Mandalore, “Cun oyay.”
She could sense the smile as he turned her to face the assembly. The Mythosaur roared and the crowd fell silent, Jaster taking the opportunity to lift her hand and roar out “Jorad’alor!” into the silence.
The crowd roared in agreement and Satine looked baffled at the acclaim, looking to her father. He was beaming and applauding her with the crowd, but when he caught her eye, he mouthed, “That’s my girl,” with a look of pride at her accomplishment on his face.
With majority of the New Mandalorians persuaded by the speech and the immediate appointment of Satine as Jorad’alor, the following day had turned into a debate over what the new society would look like. Satine pushed herself back from the table with a sigh as she stretched.
Jaster opened his mouth to say something, but an explosion rocked the building with a thunderous BOOM!
Debris fell from the ceiling along with armored figures. Blaster fire echoed as the assembled Mandalorians returned fire, scattering to defensive positions whiled shepherding the New Mandalorians to safety.
Tor Vizla landed heavily in front of Satine and Jaster before igniting the Darksaber. The black blade crackled and hummed as he leveled it. “Dar’manda scum. You don’t even have the dignity to appoint a warrior to the position.”
Jaster shrugged, “Personally, I think kidnapping, torturing, and brainwashing kids is a far more disqualifying. In any event, I do choose a warrior, one who will passionately fight her battles with her words, which is the whole point of the position after all.” In the midst of the battle, Jaster’s sneer, hidden behind the mask, reverberated through his words. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Tor? You destroy and destroy and destroy, but you haven’t built anything other than a organization of bloodthirsty killers that is only interested in death and destruction. Once you die, you will be a footnote in the history of Mandalorian conquerors.”
Tor howled in fury and lifted the blade in a high overhead cut that was stopped by someone slipping by Jaster with an ornate short sword and a practical beskar dagger. Irulan threw the darksaber back and kicked Tor in the chest, stalking forward as he staggered back. “You have no right to challenge the Mand’alor in single combat. You are dar’manda and demagolka, unfit to bear the armor or the title.” She smiled, “I, Princess Irulan of House Corrino , Head of the Imperial Archive, Designated Heir Apparent with Imperial Right of Representation, ven’riddur to Jango Fett, Ad be Mand’alor, do challenge you, demagolka, to the death.”
He snarled and lunged, Irulan side-stepping the thrusting blade and slamming the flat of her blade against his helmet. As he staggered, Irulan stabbed her beskar dagger in a sloppy thrust that just missed his hand, close enough for her ring to touch his armor-woven glove. She stepped back and blocked his next flurry of blows. He drew back, calculating, aimed a cut, and stumbled. Irulan smiled behind her helmet and stabbed Tor in the leg, tearing through an unarmored section on his upper thigh. She backed up, twirled her blades, and lunged forward in a blistering series of attacks that left Tor bleeding from a number of fresh wounds. Tor collapsed to his knees and Irulan stepped forward to kneel in front of him. She whispered just loud enough to hear him, “Sardaukar trained, demagolka. That first stab that missed you? My flip-dart didn’t miss.” She smiled at the fury in his eyes, “No more children. No more warlord wannabe. No more threats to my new family.” She stabbed him through the throat and Tor’s eyes glazed over as he died, choking on his blood.
Jaster nodded in satisfaction, but then felt something wrap around his throat and squeeze.
Komari hung back with the other members of the Ka’ra’ade who were acting as snipers with their force-enhanced reflexes. The few Death Watch that survived the initial drop were fleeing and Komari nodded in satisfaction as she studied the hall when she felt something dark pull on the Force and reach for Jaster’s throat. Two of the Ka’ra’ade reached the tendrils in the force and disrupted the force choke; Komari had followed the disturbance to the rafters and shadow-walked up. She drew her blades when the small black cloaked figure looked up at her and Komari couldn’t help herself as she met the yellow gaze of the horned figure.
“Awww, he’s so cute!”
He snarled and ignited a red lightsaber, lunging forward. Komari deflected again, again, and again, alternating cooing over how cute he was with compliments to his lightsaber form. They sparred, the little dar’jetti getting progressively angrier and angrier at Komari’s unrelenting praise and optimism.
Komari heard the other Ka’ra’ade approaching and she took the little dar’jetti with a sliding tackled that disarmed and tranquilized him in a single motion.
Xanatos whistled as he walked up the ramp to the ship that Komari had taken to Mandalore, Komari having caught an earlier heighliner run before the conference officially ended. The conference had been wildly successful breaking the back of Death Watch and Princess Irulan had been appointed as the Blade of Mandalore; a position inherited by bloodline which would be useful in the marriage alliance between Mandalore and Arrakis. His own mission to bring the Verpine into an alliance with Arrakis had been successful as well, ensuring another major droid designer and manufacturer in the Atreides empire.
Komari smiled from her perch on a large beskar box when Xanatos entered. “Xanatos… do you remember the promise when we got married about how we will raise warriors?
“Yes…” Xanatos extended his force sense towards her stomach, but nothing registered. She smiled brightly at his force scan and shook her head.
“Not pregnant.”
“Ok. We will raise warriors, why are you asking?”
Komari hopped off the box, pulled the lock off, and tipped it over.
A black clad, red-skinned blur erupted from the box and leapt at Komari who extended her left arm to block him. The mysterious kid latched on, wrapping his arms around her arm and sunk his teeth into her arm. She swung him around and he narrowed slitted eyes at Xanatos while he chewed on the armorweave suit. Komari looked at the feral kid with pride as if he wasn’t trying to eat her arm and then up at Xanatos with a beaming smile, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”