A Life at War: Twilight

I march through the space station, R4 as ever by my side, while I read a report. Bvinsk sliding in beside me as we walk past a window. I glance over to see the Little Revenge continue undergoing its repairs. Droids, mechanics and technicians were working around the clock to return her to standard operation, the same occurring to the dozen corvettes that came with us to Nyny for their repairs, the larger ships needing to head all the way to Mintooine for the same treatment.

“So we’ll have half of the damaged corvettes done by the time the Little Revenge is done and repair the others in transit back to Caluula?” I inquire.

“That is the current plan.” Bvinsk replies.

“Can the repair ships even manage in hyperspace repairs?”

“They should, they were purpose built to be capable of it.” Bvinsk answers.

“Well, I suppose it will have to do. Though I do thank you for organizing all this on such short notice.”

“It is of little issue Thraken.”

“Speak for yourself.” I reply, “I happen to know how much karking work it is to repair a corvette. The fact we’re getting six done over the course of a Fondorian day is unsettling.”

“Agree to disagree.” Bvinsk replies, “Oh, before I forget, the Mandalorian ambassador is arriving within the hour.”

“I thought they were heading to Dac?” I ask.

“They decided to re-host the preliminary negotiations here when they learned they would catch you.” Bvinsk replies.

I sigh, great. Last thing I needed was to meet a bunch of Mandos in a position of weakness: “Can’t Green handle it?”

“He would, but you are present, sir. It would come across as … disrespectful to avoid them.” Bvinsk replies, for which he receives another sigh.

“Fine, I’ll get ready for that, R4 get me a dossier on the likely ambassador and some faux pas I should avoid. Don’t think some Mando diplomat will act the same as a long time Mando exile pirate leader.” I request, R4 giving an affirmative whistle in reply.

“Oh and once you’re done with that, we have a couple of people who claim to know you.”

“Anyone you think I’d actually know?”

“One … maybe. It is rather difficult to confirm his identity at this point. Two of his companions needed severe medical assistance. One has been placed in a bacta tank and the other in a medically induced coma to fully recover from her exhaustion. Both have IVs to combat their malnutrition.”

“Hm. I suppose I can take some time after I’ve dealt with the Mandos to see if they’re mine.”

“Very good. If that is all, I have a shuttle heading to Mintooine to catch.”

“Overseeing the defenses?” I ask.

“It’s not that we don’t trust you-”

I interrupt my friend before he can finish: “-But you wish to be prepared for the worst.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright then. I’ll read up on the Mandos then check to see if those Agents are mine or not. After that I’ll be catching up on some sleep for a couple hours and finally double check my flagship’s repairs before we break mooring.”

“Sounds fine with me.” Bvinsk says, “Stars be with you.”

“Maker keep you.” I reply as we split off from one another.

It’s a trio of Kom’rk fighter-transports that deliver the Mandalorian Rebels’ Ambassador to us. A trio of ships theoretically capable of transporting twenty four Mandos each with little effort. A theoretical seventy two Mando warriors about to board this station. I frown at the thought. I did not like my odds of surviving that kind of firefight.

Though inevitably one of the ships enter the small hangar bay, lowering its lamp to disgorge its Mandooccupants. The first two out are dressed in blue and white armor, a series of small plates connecting to form a flexible, if rather light, armor. Their helmets are on a swivel and their hands are itching for their blasters. Next is a young man, maybe nineteen if I had to guess, wearing the robes of a New Mandalorian, though I catch a glimpse of beskar under his collar.

“Ambassador.” I greet the man, “I am surprised that Regentrix Kryze would send her own cousin to treat with us.”

“My aunt is taking this rather seriously, even after your recent loss.” Korkie Kryze replies evenly.

Aunt? Was this a cultural thing, like how older cousins would be referred to as aunts and uncles back home? Or did it have deeper meaning here. A sign of closeness? Or did his use of a familial title have legal implications as well? I fear it is unlikely that I will find out soon.

“Of course.” I reply, “May I introduce Brigadier General Green, our head Intelligence officer and the man with which your government has spoken with in the past?”

“A pleasure.” Green adds with a small nod of submission.

“Indeed.” Kryze says before another quartet of Mando warriors join him, followed by an apparent Aide.

“Would you mind following us to a more … practical room?” I ask.

“That sounds suitable to us.” Kryze replies, falling in behind my fellow Rebels and I as we move towards a bog standard conference room.

Said room is spartan, its only true luxury a high quality holoprojector mounted into the center of the rectangular table. I choose the side away from the door, giving the Mandos an easier way out if they want it while also hinting at a threat from behind. I take my seat at the center of my chosen side, the Mando Ambassador doing much the same for his.

Though while his guards and Aide remain standing, Green and the Adjutant I had chosen to act as secretary and minute keeper join me at the table, our two Marine guardsmen standing at attention in the corners behind us. I suppose it could be construed as threatening, if one was being pedantic, but I thought it gave me an excellent show of strength.

“We are here to negotiate a preliminary agreement between the Mandalorian State and the Rebel Coalition, whatever form it may take.” I begin, “We would request collaboration in any effort in the greater Mando cultural sphere.”

“This entailing?” Kryze asks.

“Intelligence sharing, logistical support for Navy, Army and Intelligence assets. Military access through Mando occupied space and the possibility of Mando and Rebel forces joining in battle to defeat Imperial forces.” I elaborate.

“Sounds like you wish for a Mandalorian client state.” Kryze points out.

“Mandalore has been a member state of the Republic for decades now and an on again off again ally for far longer than that.” I point out, “An increase in autonomy would not be seen as a … negative, would it?”

“You mean the Republic which devastated Mandalore’s surface and forced us to live within the domes we call home? The Republic which occupied our worlds and constricted us to a single Sector where before we controlled almost the entirety of the Mandalorian cultural sphere?”

“Do you think the Empire will give you a better deal?” I ask, “After your people committed treason in Palpatine’s eyes and stole his ships, killed his men and declared a wish to secede?”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Perhaps we could lessen our expectations?” Green suggests, playing the proverbial good cop to my bad one.

“Your meaning?” Kryze asks.

“An alliance, instead of a client state. We agree to an equal intelligence sharing agreement, provide one another military access on a case by case basis, excluding when those requesting it are in grave danger, have liaisons in one another’s command structure and provide safe haven to one another’s refugees.”

“That still sounds awfully similar to what Admiral Dericote here suggested.”

I let the Mando’s words sink in for a moment before speaking: “What if we were willing to acknowledge the Mandalorian state’s ownership of traditionally and culturally Mandalorian worlds as well? As decided throughplebisciteon a series of mutually agreed upon worlds. Any further agreements can come later, such as market access, tariffs and the like. Maybe after the war is not so … desperate.”

“That would certainly entice some of our more … patriotic supporters. However you would need to provide us with far more than a handful of worlds for such harsh demands.”

“Then what is your counter offer, Kryze?” I ask, voice becoming colder as he continues to wring blood from stone.

“Limited intelligence sharing, case by case military access as long as it doesn’t immediately risk the lives of those requesting it, recognition of the Mandalorian state, non-interference in our internal policies, non-aggression, the hand over of this list of systems to the Mandalorian state, reparations for the Dral’Han whose sum is to be paid out once you have control over Coruscant, the return of various Mandalorian cultural artifacts and limited cooperation between our military forces in a purely defensive fashion.”

“What of the liaisons and possible refugees?” Green asks.

“A single Liaison to be called upon from one another’s consulates. I am … fine with the refugee offer.” Kryze replies.

“So there will be consulates?” I ask.

“If you are recognizing my aunt’s state, it should be obvious.”

I exchange a glance between Green and I as I pick up the datapad with the list of worlds. Some were fine, lesser border worlds that barely made it on most local maps. Some were more contentious, such as Anteevy, a far flung piece of Mando culture in the Esuaine Sector that had been a Seppy manufacturing base for most of the war. Though my main contention was they were demanding the trailing half of the Trans’Vulta Sector. A sector known for their … contentious relationship with Mandos, as about half of their people were, in some fashion, Mandos, yet they outlawed most of the types of Merc companies that Mando Clans had used to skirt some of the harsher Ruusan Reformation’s regulations after the Excision.

“We are willing to allow plebiscites on this list of worlds. However you have to recognize this may give you many an exclave and enclave in the future.”

“Whose precise border controls I am certain we can negotiate once said plebiscites have been held.” Kryze replies.

I exchange a glance with Green. He gives me an affirmative leaning shrug. I sigh openly before speaking: “We would press for a more … extensive intelligence sharing between us and … perhaps a defensive alliance of some sort, to expand upon the non-aggression and non-interference agreements.”

“I could be amenable to that, if the reparations are more favorable to Mandalore.”

“I’ll inform the principle negotiators of that then.”

“Very good.” Kryze says with a smile.

“If that is all, I would direct you to Mon Cala and the Coalition Council with my approval to the tentative agreement in its current form.” I reply, “Now if you would excuse me, I have some Agents to debrief. Any smaller details or issues which come up in the meantime can be directed to General Green here.”

“It has been a pleasure Admiral. May the Manda watch over you.”

“Maker keep ya too, Ambassador Kryze.”

I’m busy reading a report as I march to the brig, R4 and two Marines escorting me as I walk. We should be able to muster the entirety of the local patrol and garrison forces, giving me another four dozen light ships and pickets and a dozen cruisers of varying types to play with alongside whatever forces ended up joining us over Caluula with her defenses. The ships undergoing repairs at Mintooine would be joined by the local garrison too, adding a few non-retrofitted Star Cruisers and four Dreadnoughts too. That would likely be a very useful addition to our limited number of battleships.

Though it still wasn’t as many ships as I would want. I sigh, it would have to do. Not like I could rally the entire coalition to Caluula, it would only leave us exposed from other avenues. Leave vulnerable worlds undefended. Though if phase three came into effect it wouldn’t matter much.

“Here he is, sir.” Comes the voice from one of the Clone Marines.

“Aight, he disarmed?” I ask, continuing to read from the datapad. We’ll need to see if we can siphon off some tibana from the local merchants before we head back north.

“Yessir.”

“Okay, open it up.” I order, the red shield lowering just in time for me to look up and get punched in the face.

I stumble back slightly before righting myself and getting captured in a hug. A quick flick of the wrist and I have a knife in hand. A jerk and I have it pointed at a familiar mop of orange hair.

I blink in confusion before dropping the knife, letting it harmlessly clatter to the floor: “Let go, Commander.”

“No.” Comes the muffled reply from my chest.

“Kestis, I almost stabbed you. The Marines would probably have shot you if their bolt wouldn’t’ve nailed me too.

“Don’t care.”

I sigh openly, head falling back so I could stare up at the Maker and start questioning all the decisions that lead me here. Maker this was not what I expected when Bvinsk said I’d know whoever they put in the brig. After a moment I begin returning the hug, head returning to its usual orientation.

“I’m sorry, Cal.” I mutter, patting the kid’s back a few times.

“Not your fault.” The boy replies as I start to feel a bit of wetness seep into my tunic.

“I knew something was wrong with your ships. Should’ve insisted more. Shouldn’t’ve tried to hide anything. Shoulda tried harder when the order came through. Maker damnit, I knew about the order I just … they were never supposed to come into effect. They were contingencies of contingencies. Something only to use when all reasonable action had been tried and thrown out.” I continue to prattle.

“You did what you could.” I hear muttered into my chest.

“Wish I could’ve done more.” I mutter back.

After taking a few minutes to get ourselves together things had rapidly changed into a semi-coherent mix between a proper debrief and the ramblings of a nervous teenager with occasional clarifications or interruptions from his friends. It had left me stumped in more ways than one. Oh if I had the time I would murder to visit those ancient ruins. Sure, ancient Jedi cults and sub-cultures weren’t my specialty when I had studied, I had been far more focused on the military side of history as befit the rest of my education, but still. Temples millennia old and only recently rediscovered, it was like from a dream of my childhood self.

Yet i stop myself. I was needed here. Maybe when the war was over, if we lived to see it, I would be able to make a pilgrimage or get the funding for a proper expedition to begin excavations and study. Dreams for another age.

I bring myself back to the present and for the first time really inspect the full crew of the Mantis with just the mildest hint of skepticism. Well I say the full crew, but since their leader and another Coruscanti orphan were in a medically induced coma … well I was still rather underwhelmed. A Latero pilot, a currently comatose ex-Jedi with performance issues, a teen Jedi, an ex-Inquisitor turned against the Empire and a Force witch from Dathomir of all places. No discipline, no supply lines, a handful of credchits between them, few connections and barely enough proper experience to be worth mention.

Yeah, I was underwhelmed, even if they had succeeded: “I am surprised you made it as far as you did.”

“So am I.” Cal admits between sips of his recently brought caf.

“You could stand to be a bit more positive.” The pilot, Greez, points out.

“So what’s y’all’s plan?”

The three awake members of the Mantis crew exchange glances before the witch speaks: “I would like to explore the galaxy. Study what can be studied, see what can be seen.”

“After this mess, Cerre will need all the help she can get. Suppose I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t do nothing.” Greez says, the two finally turning to look at Cal.

“I want to fight.” Cal finally decides.

“Kid-” Greez and I try.

“No.”

I sigh. Seems like little had changed for the kid: “Alright then.”

“What?” Greez asks, “You can’t be serious. He’s barely sixteen!”

“He’s already served since he was twelve. He learned well in that time. We could make him a proper Navy officer yet.” I reply.

“And you think that’s a good thing?” Greez asks incredulously.

“Jedi work differently.” I reply, “I had to learn that the hard way too.”

“So you’ll let me fight?” Cal asks.

“Sure. We already allowed Kota to keep his rank.” I answer, “Shouldn’t be too difficult to transfer your rank of Jedi Commander into something similar enough. Probably without a proper unit of soldiers under your command, but I doubt you’d want to stuck planetside for the foreseeable future.”

“Where can I do the most to help?”

I think about the kid’s question for a bit. His force ability to see things was awfully useful. And his Navy training wasn’t half bad either: “Intel probably. Spying on Imps, infiltration and sabotage.”

“Sign me up.”

I sigh before nodding: “Aight. Commander Kestis, I am unofficially transferring you to the Rebel Intelligence Brigade as a brevet Lieutenant until a time where I can make it official. In the meantime, I would offer you a post as an Adjutant on the Little Revenge.”

The boy falls into attention at hearing me speak and nods once: “I will take you up on that, sir. Until I have an assignment from Rebel Intelligence. Though I wish to inquire on how useful such a thing would be for my role as an infiltrator and saboteur, sir.”

“We’re gonna be reminding you of and polishing up your short Navy education. That’ll make infiltrating important places easier for you. Besides, I will never say no to having a Jedi on board in case of enemy boarding action.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“This is disturbing.” Greez mutters.

I think I hear the witch mutter something about the room temperature before I roll my eyes at the older man. Navy life wasn’t for everyone, but times weren’t looking good and we’ll need every man we can get.