Trying to get this story done in the near future, would be nice.
No chapter theme this time; mostly filler and set-up except for cards. I wasn’t expecting it to take so much space. Drama next time, I promise.
Part 7: Mirror
“While you were gone and I was still incapacitated, a man came to see me,” Selyn said to Mira. “He said he was a friend of yours. Do you know a man with a moustache by the name of Zez Kai-Ell?”
“The moustache, yes. The name, no. But I take it you know him too.” Mira squinted at her suspiciously. “What do you want with him?”
“I just want to talk,” she said. “He’s the whole reason I came to Nar Shaddaa in the first place.”
“Aha. I wondered why you would come to the place least welcoming to Jedi in the galaxy right now. Didn’t seem very smart. All right. I’ll get you a meeting. After that…”
“After that, would you come with us?” Selyn said. “We could use your help.”
Mira’s suspicious look was still there. “You’re not going to try to turn me into a Jedi like your droid said, are you?”
“Only if you want to,” Selyn said. “But that’s getting ahead of ourselves. For now, having someone with your skills on our ship would be of immense help.”
“And what exactly is your ‘team’ up to?”
“It’s a long story, but the short version might be ‘saving the galaxy’. What do you know about the Sith?”
In the end, Mira joined their group, and Selyn went with her to her apartment – or one of them – so she could bring some of her things.
Zez Kai-Ell was waiting for her. Mira nodded at him and left them in the kitchen-living area to talk while she went into the tiny bedroom to pack.
Zez’s eyes were solemn as he stared at her. “So you have returned from exile. Kavar thought you might, if only to wander your old battlegrounds. But I did not think you would come to Nar Shaddaa. Still, you were always a difficult one to read, both when you were tied to the Force, and even more when it was lost to you.”
“I only came to find you. Why did Kavar think I would return from exile?”
“I do not know. It was a sense he had, and he had served in war, as you had. Perhaps he thought he understood you, or maybe he simply hoped he did. He felt you were the key to understanding the threat we face – the others were not so certain. But so many of them are gone now, as you no doubt know. He sensed some connection between you and many of the worlds touched by war. He thought by traveling to such places, he could achieve understanding.”
Selyn stared at him. “I have hoped that someday you would understand… Understanding for me has been a long, slow journey, and I don’t think I’m nearly done yet. Every time I make a connection, the picture seems to get bigger.”
Zez nodded. “Such are the ways of the Force. Unfortunately, I have not seen Kavar since we split up, so I do not know what he has learned on his own travels, or what insights he might be able to share with you.”
“I will seek him out next, then. Why did you split up to begin with? Master Vrook said something about drawing out the Sith.”
He drew in a deep breath. “We have scattered, but there is a purpose in these movements. It is to both to hunt – and draw out our enemies. Somehow, the Jedi… we… are being targeted through the Force – and when Jedi gather, we are vulnerable. So we have chosen places where it is difficult to sense others through the Force… whether on planets dense with life, or touched by war. In such places, we may conceal ourselves, gather information – without presenting ourselves as targets. It was part of Kavar’s plan.”
“We could not allow the fact that when we gathered, we placed everything around us at risk… a Jedi’s life is sacrifice, but we cannot allow our presence or actions to endanger others. And we could not fight an enemy that would not reveal itself. But any Jedi, anyone who was strong in the Force, who attempted to track down such a threat… vanished, without a trace.”
“If it believed us defeated, then perhaps it would finally show itself. It was a faint hope, but it was the best we had. It was Kavar’s plan – he was always the greatest tactician among us. And had seen war more than the rest of us.”
Selyn nodded thoughtfully. She had had the idea that it was Kavar’s plan – Vrook hadn’t said, but none of the others except maybe Master Vash would have come up with the idea. It wasn’t really the Jedi way to play dead.
Mira passed through with a bag over her shoulder. “All right, when you leave, the door’s going to lock behind you, so don’t forget anything, ‘kay?”
“All right. See you on the ship,” Selyn said, and Mira tossed a wave over her shoulder as she left.
The apartment seemed very still when she was gone; orange-yellow light filtered through half-closed blinds and left streaks on the wall, constantly interrupted by the shadow of traffic. The muffled whining rumble of the speeders and swoops, the hum of the air filtration, the buzz of low-quality lights filled the air quietly.
Selyn looked up. “Why did you cast me out of the Order?”
Zez heaved a sigh. “We told you it was because you followed Revan to war. But you ask because you are not certain of the answer. Nor were we. The day we cast you out, was the day I decided to leave the Order. Because I do not believe we truly faced the reasons you were exiled, and if we do not examine such truths, then we are already lost.”
He paused, then went on in a lower voice. “I think it was because we were afraid. It is a difficult thing to live one’s life with the Force and to see a vision of what it would be like to be severed from it. It is more frightening than you know. To live life without the Force, to vanish and die and leave only an echo – it was terrifying. To be connected to all life around you, then to have it stripped… I can only imagine what it must have been like for you.”
“It was the worst pain in the universe,” she said, almost in a whisper, her gaze fixed on her hands neatly folded in her lap. “If the moment had not passed – if my connection had not been fully cut – I would be mad or dead. And yet I cannot tell if it was the cutting that caused the pain, or the pain that caused the cutting. And now that I have reconnected-”
“You have reconnected? How? Strange.”
“Atris and Vrook said they cannot sense the Force in me, that I feel as dead inside as on that day. But I feel it. I don’t know how, or why, only that I do. And it’s a beautiful thing to have back, I truly appreciate feeling again what I missed… but the echoes are still there, and they are growing.” She looked back up at him, resigned. “I don’t know how long it will be before I can’t bear it anymore.”
“I can offer no comfort, because I have never heard of such a situation before. I must think on it.”
“If you can, I would very much appreciate it. I need all the help I can get.”
“But I have lost my train of thought. Why I am here… yes. On Nar Shaddaa… one cannot escape what was left from the Jedi Civil War. Splintered families, former soldiers, victims and refugees and survivors… seeing them all has driven home the terrible cost of what happened to Revan and Malek and what they did.” He turned away, rested his face in his hand. “And I saw it, and did nothing. I am truly ashamed.”
Selyn said nothing. She wanted to comfort, to tell him that she herself knew it was a hopeless task to save every poor soul here, let alone the galaxy. But she knew that was not why he had not acted. He had been afraid, not just of being disconnected like her, but of the Sith finding him alone.
“I will make amends later,” Zez said, rousing himself. “What I witnessed… what I saw… is it truly all the fault of only Revan and Malek? From the failure of the Masters, from our failure to properly train Jedi, came disaster. And I wondered, if perhaps, the teachings of the Jedi had been our failing all along. There have been so many failures, by teachers who believed in the Code with all their being – Master Arca failed Ulic, as Master Baas failed Exar Kun, as Kae and Zhar and the others of the Council failed Revan… and Malek.”
“For all the acts we do to preserve the galaxy, from such an arrogance that all we do is right and just, I wonder if there is a counter-effect that is created, that strikes back at us. Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Malek, Revan, you… all Jedi.”
She wasn’t ecstatic to hear she was being grouped with Exar Kun and Ulic, but she had destroyed a world and two fleets in an abominable way. She had no cause to complain.
Zez was continuing, and a shiver ran down her spine at his words. “There is something wrong in the Force, a wound, a sound that is growing, like a scream. You can hear it echo on Nar Shaddaa, sometimes when the moon’s orbit faces out into space. It is a frightening thing to feel, that perhaps being connected to all life is not enlightenment at all, but simply another doom… And I think that maybe, perhaps, to forsake the Force as you did, to cut loose our bonds, may not be the wrong thing to do.” Not that she had done it on purpose.
“And not once did I hear one of the Council claim responsibility for Revan, for Ulic, for Exar Kun, for Malek… or for you. Yet… you were the only one who came back from the wars to face our judgement. You taught me something important in the Council Chamber long ago, Selyn Tekeri, and it has stayed with me all these years.”
“Do you wish to do battle now? You must be angry, and I have nothing more to say.” He bowed his head and was silent.
She was silent, too. Now that Zez said it, she too had never heard of a master really taking responsibility for the fall of a student. Responsibility for little flaws, yes, but not when the fallen went on to ravage the galaxy. Was this one reason why Atton hated them? And then, to know that her words had made an impression… that she hadn’t done the wrong thing in coming back… it was a weight off her mind. Although what that truly accomplished… she wasn’t sure.
And what he described as a wound, a scream… that was the voice in her that she heard in the Force. Did he hear it as she did, or was it coming from her? She couldn’t tell which frightened her more.
He was still waiting for her answer. “I do not wish to battle my allies,” she said. “I came to tell you that the Sith have revealed themselves, chasing me. I am seeking the last Jedi Masters for help; as far as I know, the plan is to meet on Dantooine. I don’t know what will happen then. I know what happened to Katarr, and I have a lead on who did such a thing, but I can’t face that Sith Lord alone.” He met her eyes reluctantly. “No matter what happened up until this point…” Her actions during the war, his inaction on Nar Shaddaa… “Please help me.”
He sighed. “I will. I cannot back away now. I will go to Dantooine and confer with Vrook.”
“Thank you.” She sighed too and gave him a tired smile. “We must keep hope. The Sith can never truly win.” It was the balance of the Force, the balance of life that would never let the light completely go out. Maybe the darkness would never truly leave either. But that was how it was.
“I hope you are right.”
“You have come for more instruction?” Kreia asked her, a day into travel to Onderon.
“Yes. May we continue the lesson from last time?” She sat across from her teacher, kneeling, passive, ready.
“Clear your thoughts, then. Silence them in stillness. Imagine the waters of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, each stream suddenly falling silent and still. Imagine the ice of Telos, cold and smooth, as it gathers upon the plateau. Now stretch out, feel the ship around you. Strip away the metal, and see the souls and minds of those who fill its corridors, with more thoughts and dreams and worries than can fill the spaces of this ship.”
She brushed them all, gently, her mind seeping into the surface of theirs. There were several thoughts that stayed with her, but most of all was Bao-Dur’s. Your command echoes still, General. And I obey, as I did at Malachor.
She could never ask him what he meant. She was afraid to know. She was disturbed that even though he was her friend now, and her student, he still thought of her as the General, that her fateful order at Malachor still tortured him every day as it did her.
She had never done such a thing before, to read the minds of those around her – usually she used the Force to manipulate the physical environment around her, to enhance her own body and mind. If she did use the Force to persuade, it was like laying her will like a weighted blanket on her target’s mind, not invading it. She wasn’t sure she really liked it.
“Now do you hear me? Truly hear me,” Kreia said, but she had not moved her lips.
“I hear you,” Selyn said, withdrawing from the others.
“There are limitations, as you no doubt noticed. The droids cannot be read in such a way. As for the alien who served with you in the war, its thoughts are more difficult, requiring many translations in meaning. Often it is better to read a non-human’s impulses and images than their spoken thoughts. That is why he is mute to you. I have found his impulses are cold, like a dead weight, and his thoughts are black.”
Selyn shifted uncomfortably at Bao-Dur being called an ‘it’, that Kreia would consider him in such a heartless manner. “But I did hear something from him.” She hoped Kreia would not ask what it was.
“Indeed. It is strange that I did not.” Kreia withdrew a moment, but not to ask any awkward questions, it seemed, more to reflect on Selyn’s ability – or her own inability. “You no doubt also noticed something strange about Atton’s thoughts.”
“That’s true,” Selyn said. “They didn’t seem like normal thoughts, more like… I don’t know.”
“That is because he was not playing pazaak, yet he counts cards in his head. At times, he will list off engine sequencers, memorize the hyperspace routes on the other side of the galaxy, count the ticking in the power couplings even though they are fixed. At other times… he will imagine certain… base lusts, certain… indignities.”
Wasn’t that part of being a male human?
“It may be that Atton is cleverer than he feigns to be… or that he is simply a fool. But you have learned from me what you can for now.”
She was already sure that Atton was no fool, and she thought Kreia thought so too, although with a different perspective. “Thank you, Kreia.” She didn’t want to read people’s minds… but it would help with her awareness.
Why did Atton count cards? Or engine sequencers, or hyperspace routes?
She walked quietly into the cockpit and took a seat in the co-pilot’s chair. She was always quiet moving anywhere, but there was something different about it this time. He was still trying to figure out what it was when she spoke.
“Atton… why do you count cards?”
Oh. She’d tried to look into his mind. He really wasn’t surprised. With her building power and control, it was going to happen sooner or later, especially since he was determined to stick around now. Had she only just done it, or had she done it a while back and decided to come clean now?
It didn’t really matter, he supposed. “It passes the time better than listing off engine sequencers, memorizing hyperspace routes, or counting ticks in the power couplings.” He glanced over at her; her attention was set on the console in front of her, but she was beginning to blush… Oh frak. Had she looked into his mind while he was imagining… them? This could be awkward.
But she also looked confused. “But there are no more ticks in the power coupling. It’s fixed.”
“I know. And that’s why you should count them, too.”
“What?”
He frowned at her. How did she not get it, yet? “All right, I’ll show you.” He pulled his cards out of his pocket and began to deal.
“I hope this isn’t for credits.” After he’d cleaned out their small earnings on paying for the barfight, he didn’t blame her. She’d made him return the bike, too.
He smirked. “Nah. Republic Senate rules. Just for fun.” No Nar Shaddaa rules either, but he didn’t want to bring that up in case she had been peeking on him while he was thinking about certain situations.
They played in silence for a few minutes; he won the first hand even though he’d gone first. “Now, what are you thinking about?”
“Well, the game, of course. What am I supposed to be thinking about?”
“No, no, that’s fine. And that’s exactly why I play pazaak in my head.”
She immediately looked uncomfortable. “Atton… a little while ago, with Kreia’s help… I felt your mind. I’m sorry.”
So it wasn’t a long while ago, and he hadn’t been thinking about her naked. That was a relief. And he could forgive her, now, this little trespass. “Of course you did. Jedi, light or dark, do it all the time.”
“You said that before, I think, but I said then that I wouldn’t – and I did.” She hung her head. “I’m so ashamed. But you’re so calm about this.”
“Well, I never heard one say they were sorry before. That’s a new house rule.”
She was quiet a moment. “So you play pazaak to shield your thoughts.”
She still didn’t get it. He shook his head, a tiny, frustrated frown growing on his face. “No, I play pazaak to play pazaak. But when I’m doing that, it’s a lot harder for anyone to just walk in.”
“Oh. Oh!” She nodded. “Okay. New game, then?”
He grinned. “All right, I’ll deal. …So if you’re ever fighting someone who has the power over your mind… whether light or dark… play pazaak. Start listing hyperspace routes. Recite engine sequencers. And when they try to use their powers on you, suddenly it’s not as easy as they thought. Jedi do it all the time, and when they walk in the dark places of your mind, they’ll attack you where you’re most vulnerable.” He indulged in a shudder, but when her eyes sought his for answers, he was in control again, his voice very soft. “But it will be all right for you. Because you’ll be in here. With me. Playing pazaak.”
Their eyes were joined, the game almost forgotten. He was going to seize the moment and reach out for her hands, but she withdrew her gaze, drew a +10 card and went horribly over the limit. “Although you’re really bad at it. I bet I’ll win even in your imagination.”
“I’ll kick your butt at dejarik.” She laid down the rest of her cards with a self-deprecating chuckle.
“Dejarik is boring!” Nope, the moment was gone, irrevocably. At least she was in a lighter mood than when she came in. “And it takes forever, compared to pazaak.”
“You don’t find that thinking so hard about hyperspace routes distracts you from fighting, or whatever else you’re doing?”
Not a bad question. “Nope, because I’m constantly practicing. These are all things I know, really, really well. You can… recite the Jedi code, I guess. Recite poetry. Whatever works for you. Counting something nearby works really well and doesn’t distract too much, although you have to be careful not to get into a rhythm or you’ll get shot. But hey. Practice. When you spar with us, you practice too.”
She smiled and for a moment she truly looked happy. “Yes, Atton-sensei.”
He snorted a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
She stood and turned for the door. “Thank you. And… thank you for forgiving me. I won’t do it again.”
Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I’ll probably forgive you again if you’re as nice about it as you were this time. “No problem.”
She’d gone to the garage to meditate with Bao-Dur. Even if she couldn’t admit to him as she could to Atton what she’d done, she could try to mitigate it. And it had been a while since she spent any one-on-one time with him.
They’d been meditating for about fifteen minutes when he sighed softly and spoke. “Having you here has an effect on me, Selyn. I never noticed it years ago. I think my mind was too preoccupied then.”
An effect beyond training him to be a Jedi? “What do you mean?”
“I feel… calm. More in control. The anger is still there, but I can feel it drifting away. The last years of my life have been defined by it – against the Mandalorians, Revan, Czerka. And above all else, against myself, for Malachor. But this training is slowly eroding all that. And it’s all thanks to you.”
She looked at him, at his unreadable brown eyes. “I was the one who gave the order.” Shouldn’t he be angry at her too? Wasn’t that the thought in his head?
He shook his head. “I’d never blame you for that. It had to be done. My hands destroyed the Mandalorians. I built the weapon. I can never be forgiven for that.”
She was silent a while. Everything he said was what she had said to herself. She had never blamed him; he had been under her orders; his was not the responsibility of that massacre. She could have not given that order, found some other way to defeat the Mandalorians.
But there was no other way. She’d known that all along. There was no choice that would have resulted in less bloodshed. “Never is a long time. Had you not, millions of innocents in the Republic would have been killed. You saved them.”
He frowned. “Even if I did it out of hatred of the Mandalorians?”
“You did it to save us, to protect us from death.”
Apparently that was as unconvincing to him as she’d found it for herself. “Even if that’s the truth, I don’t see it that way. I can’t just ignore the blood on my hands.”
“That is the same problem I’ve wrestled with every day since then. The past constantly calls to me, willing me to drown in it until I give up and die… It’s important to never forget, but it seems we both need to think more about the future, don’t we.”
“We can’t change the past, only the future,” he agreed sadly. “Otherwise, we’d go insane. I’ll keep that in mind, Master. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” And thank you, too, for also forgiving me.
Dxun. Anywhere but Dxun.
She stared out the cockpit viewport at the overwhelming infinity of green, at the never-ending rain, and tried not to show any emotion.
Tried not to feel any emotion, either, since most of her crew was both Force-sensitive and training under her. Oh yes, she had already convinced Mira to train as a Jedi with everyone else.
The Force was wailing to her here.
The others were talking about what to do now, now that the Onderon military had chased them away from the Iziz spaceport. “I did pick up the remains an old outpost of some kind a little ways to the north-east when we put down,” Atton was saying. “But until the ship is repaired, we’re not getting to Onderon, even if their military lets us sneak by.”
“There may be another route to Onderon from here,” Kreia said. “The Force has guided us here for a reason.”
“I’ll take a party and make for the outpost, then,” Selyn said. “There may be help there. We’re not too badly damaged, are we?”
“Nah, but it will probably take some time to repair. I’ll get on it, but can I have Bao-Dur’s help?”
Had Bao-Dur been on Dxun when she fought here? Would it be better for him to come, or to stay? She had no idea; she hadn’t known him at the time. She looked at him; he looked back.
She didn’t read his thoughts. She already knew he would do whatever she asked of him. And she wasn’t completely sure she liked that.
“He should go with you,” Kreia said in her mind, and Selyn blinked in surprise. “He has his own past to face here, as do you.”
Very well then. “I’d like Bao-Dur with me for this one. Sorry, Atton.”
He grimaced. “I’ll make do, then. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“What a vote of confidence,” Mira snarked to herself.
Selyn decided on Bao-Dur, Mira, and Mical for her excursion team, leaving the rest behind to guard the ship, especially the droids. HK might have been fine in the mud and humidity, but T3 probably was not, and she remembered how easily droids malfunctioned here. Besides, then Atton would have at least a little technical help. And HK needed to watch Goto’s droid and make sure it didn’t do anything suspicious.
Atton grumbled at basically having only Visas to help. “I guess she can, like, pass me tools and stuff…” They were checking out the interior damage before she set off. He turned to her, a serious furrow between his brows. “Hey… I know that you know that Mical and I hate each other. That’s probably not going to change ever. But I’m glad that he’s going with you, even if I can’t. He’s about the only one I trust not to backstab you.” He muttered to himself: “He’s such a puppy.”
Why had Kreia insisted that Atton be the one to repair the ship? Was she annoyed that Selyn was spending so much time with him? “I’m glad you’re getting along at least a little bit.” He scowled, and she would have smiled, but the Force was distracting her. She wasn’t looking forward to going outside.
He glanced at her. “Just… be careful out there. I’ve heard there are big nasty predators on Dxun, monsters that can chew right through your armour.”
“I’ll be careful, Atton.” She nodded at the fried circuitry, all non-essential stuff. “It doesn’t look too bad in here. Let’s check the outside.”
He nodded, and she beckoned to her team. She walked down the ramp as it lowered and was struck almost physically by the jungle smell and the thick, soupy humidity and the Force, almost stopping stock-still, eyes dilating.
It hadn’t changed at all.
She hardly heard Atton complaining about the new holes in the ship, didn’t hear Bao-Dur offering him last-minute advice on fixing it, didn’t hear Mira sigh impatiently. All she could hear was the rattle of rain on a billion leaves and the distant step of imaginary soldiers.
She was feeling all too much. She needed to shut it down before it overwhelmed her. Force, go away. I don’t want you right now.
Without speaking, she headed off to the north-east, and her team followed her.
They’d been walking for about an hour, fighting off vicious maalraas and the lumbering, aggressive bomas. Mira had been invaluable. She might consider Nar Shaddaa her home, but she was equally in her element in the natural jungle as the urban one. “If these animal hides were worth anything much, I’d make a fortune.”
Suddenly the rain grew heavier. Lightning flashed nearby, and its accompanying thunder cracked deafeningly overhead.
Selyn froze. She couldn’t move.
The was is over. It’s not a cannon. It’s just the afternoon monsoon.
Thunder cracked again.
It’s not a cannon. It’s not a cannon. It’s not a cannon-
“Master Selyn!” Mical leaned in front of her, taking her face in his hands with a look of concern. She jumped about two meters backwards before she registered that it was him. “M-master-”
They’d all felt the flare of alarm that she’d given off, staring at her in worry, and she straightened, closing her eyes and inhaling for a moment. “Sorry. I’ll be all right.” Everything was suddenly clearer now. She was ready to lead. After another deep, slow breath. “I’m ready. Move out.”
Was she really all right if her language was falling into military parlance?
Count cards. Just count cards.
Two hours later, Mira abruptly held up a hand in warning, and she felt a disturbance, bare seconds before a troop of living Mandalorians decloaked and emerged from the jungle before her.
Her lightsaber was in her hand without her remembering having drawn it; the Mandalorians and her followers raised their weapons instinctively. No one attacked, watching, waiting to see who would move first, waiting to see what she would do.
The war is over. She made herself deactivate the weapon and slowly hang it again from her belt, showing her empty hands to the Mandalorians, who slowly lowered their weapons. “My apologies. The rain and beasts have left me a bit on edge.”
“Yeah, sure, Jedi.” There was enough sarcasm buried there that she knew he knew that was only half the truth. “Though I’m surprised you got this far. The jungle doesn’t usually let its prey go that easily. What are a couple of Jedi… and others… doing here?” Mical was wielding his lightsaber, but Bao-Dur and Mira were both still more comfortable with blasters; no wonder the Mandalorian didn’t recognize them as Jedi as well.
The truth was fine. “Our ship was damaged over Onderon. I was exploring while our pilot repairs it. What are Mandalorians doing on Dxun?”
“We claimed this moon decades ago when we reforged ourselves after Exar Kun’s defeat. The area you’re ‘exploring’ is our territory. But I have orders to take you to our camp – our leader wants to speak with you.”
“Very well. We will go with you.”
She could feel Bao-Dur’s tension without even reaching out to him. Maybe he had been working on letting go of his anger, but he still hated them far more than she ever had. She still didn’t know what he had seen during the war. It didn’t matter.
When she did reach out to him, she found he was running through the Jedi Code as a mantra, putting exercises into practice. He felt her touch and his eyes turned to her. He nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded back. He wasn’t as impulsive as he’d been on Telos. He was telling the truth.
The leader of the Mandalorians was a big man in power armour, different armour than the rest of them. “So you’re the intruder? Our sensors picked up your handiwork in space. I’m Mandalore, the leader of the Mandalorians.”
So they’d picked a new leader after Revan had killed the last one. Naturally. “I had thought the Mandalorians had disbanded.” The groups she’d seen on Nar Shaddaa had told her as much.
Mandalore snorted. “Scattered, perhaps, but we’re still alive. Alive and rebuilding. This used to be the heart of the Mandalorian war effort. From this complex, we commanded an armada that had the Republic on the run.”
I know, thanks for reminding me. “It’s seen better days.”
“Covert camps are not meant to attract attention. Because we conquered them, the people of Onderon still hold a grudge against the Mandalorians. So we keep our presence here a secret.”
“Why Dxun?” Why the place where so many had bled and died over nothing? Why the place she had first learned the horrors of war?
Mandalore didn’t seem to notice the layers of her question. “Mandalorians have a rapport with this jungle. Every moment here is a struggle, all creatures gripped in a constant war for survival. The sole purpose of the weak is to feed the strong. We train here and learn the lessons of the jungle. The beasts help us keep our edge.” That was the reason they’d given for going to war in the first place, and she felt a flash of anger that they still believed it.
“Anyway, I imagine you were trying to get to Onderon before you got forced down here. It just so happens I have a small shuttle that’s more than capable of running the Onderon military blockade. I make occasional trips to Iziz for information and supplies. I might be persuaded to let you and maybe one of your companions come along… if you’re willing to prove your worth.”
She had to find Kavar, and if she had to work with Mandalorians to get to him, then so be it. The war is over. “I’m sure I can find something helpful to do.”
“Good. You’ve got a couple days before my next planned trip. Talk to my boys around camp, they’ll give you things to do.”
The Mandalorian camp was sprawling, though a lot of it was hidden under jungle. But the main area maintained a well-cleared ground of relatively dry earth and grass, and the rain had let up as she and her companions walked it without supervision. Either the Mandalorians trusted them, or trusted that they could take them if she put a foot out of line. Probably the latter.
The massive defensive walls were rusted, and pieces were falling off. Many of the huts and offices had caved in, though the bunkers and hangers were still standing strong, built of ferrocrete as they were. From the outside, there were no electronics to be seen, yet Mandalore had been monitoring a huge wall of scanners and other information screens. It was as he said; covert camps were not meant to attract attention, and an aerial scan would have revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Besides the soldiers.
For there were many men in armour here, all men. And it became clear that only a small number of them were present; the rest, they were told, were spread across the moon, at other bases, trekking the jungle. The base could have held several thousand soldiers easily, yet there were only a few hundred there.
And it was so strange, to be walking among them, unopposed. Stared at, yes, but without hostility for the most part. And it was so strange, to see some of them without their ubiquitous ominous helmets, talking and eating and working, just like any other men.
Someday, they were told, Mandalore would gather all the Mandalorian clans… and begin again.
It should have sent a chill down her spine. Mical and Bao-Dur certainly reacted with horror. Why did she not fully believe them?
She was allowed to call the ship in the evening to let those there know she was safe. Visas answered, and she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed. “Everything is fine. The outpost belongs to Mandalorians, who will give us transport to Onderon past the blockade if we help them out.”
“I see,” Visas said, and paused. She had certainly picked up on Selyn’s past, living on board their ship, even if she hadn’t experienced it or cared about it. “This does not bother you?”
“It won’t,” Selyn said firmly. The helmets everywhere were enough to keep her on edge, but the men inside them… were not evil, besides their unadulterated love of violence-equals-honour. “How is the ship?”
“I think it is coming along.” Selyn heard quick bootsteps coming closer, and then Visas said: “But here is someone who can tell you much more about that.” She left, and Selyn could just hear the resigned exasperation over the comm.
A new body slid into the comm chair on the other end, and Atton said: “Hey, sweetheart. Everything all right?”
What was this, calling her boyfriend in the evening? It wasn’t fair to Visas, to be so glad to hear Atton’s voice. “Everything’s fine. How are the repairs?”
“They’ll be done by the time you get back. What was that about Onderon? You’ve found transport?”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t need me anymore.” He was pretending to pout, to get a rise out of her.
Normally that would have worked. “Not until I get back.”
“Ouch. Well, take care of yourself, all right? I don’t wanna have to take HK and extract you. He’s the worst conversationalist. We’d shoot each other before we were halfway there.”
“Noted. I’ll be fine. Especially once I get to Onderon.”
“Mm.” He lowered his voice. “You’re sure you’re all right? This afternoon-”
“I’m fine,” she said, a little too shortly. He’d felt it too? “It was nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, I’m just saying. Just, you know, if you ever need me… for anything… I’m here.”
“I know.”
“All right, then. …I’ll talk to you later, all right?”
“Good night, Atton.”
“Night.”