The Force Wills - Chapter 35 (Patreon)

I had to admit that I was impressed.

The flight from Concordia to Sundari was too brief, but now that I was flying from Sundari to the northern hemisphere of Mandalore, taking the long route as it were, I was fully appreciating the performance of my Kom’rk class fighter-transport fully.

From outside, the ship was 68 meters of sleek deadliness, shaped like an elegant tri-pronged blade. It had the blue color scheme of the Death Watch, but I didn’t mind it.

Where the Kom’rk truly shined was still being able to maintain near fighter velocities even in an atmosphere - something that could be improved on. It could just about reach over a thousand KPH. It didn’t have the maneuverability, but that’s what the rear facing laser cannons were for. There was no safe approach angle unless you dived from above or attacked from below, but the craft did have enough agility to mitigate that with the right pilot at the controls.

The ship was also designed to fit 24 troops and their gear for a maximum theoretical time of two months. How it did that almost reminded me of those Japanese sleeping pod hotels on old Earth. In the central deck of the ship, there were 12 sleeping pods, which could be hot-bunked in shifts. It also held a small galley for food prep including a holo-system for recreation. The lowest deck held the cargo and engineering spaces. The upper deck, which held the cockpit and the two small quarters for pilot and co-pilot, was rather well furnished and comfortable.

The cockpit itself was an interesting blend of ergonomics that I didn’t think any ship designer in the galaxy had the sense for. It was actually rather roomy, consisting of two full back seats nicely spread apart, with controls and MFDs arrayed around the pilots. To emphasize the fighting nature of the Kom’rk, the ship was controlled with a single stick mounted between the pilot’s legs. In contrast though, the direct view outside was a little limited for my taste, with only 180 degree forward lines of sight. This was compensated for by displays from visual sensors facing rear, down and upward, plugging the blind spots.

All in all, it was a ship that I would propose to Anakin to adopt for our own missions. The Twilight had its own rugged charm, but it just couldn’t compare to the Kom’rk.

I spent most of the flight rather unsuccessfully brainstorming a nice name for the ship. The current name encoded on the transponder was something I imagined Pre thought up just because he couldn’t be bothered with the effort of being original. He just didn’t attach any romance or value to ships, they were just methods of transport or ways to destroy or fight.

It was the only reason I could see he would name this ship, Kote.

It translated to Basic as either glory or might. The latter was more probable as it just seemed to fit what I had sensed of Pre’s mind and temperament while he was alive.

Getting that changed would require a visit to MandalMotors and I wanted to investigate what it would take to have an adaptable ship transponder installed. It was something that easily could be done at the Jedi Temple, as that bit of technology was highly illegal in civilian hands, but the Jedi ship techs often installed them for missions requiring that bit of misdirection.

The other nice thing about this ship was that it was the first that had actually received the approval of my current co-pilot and that there was at least a little hope for meatbag ship designers of this era.

“Statement: Master, I think this visit is most unwise.”

“Probably,” I admitted.

“Statement: I have reviewed the publicly available data on Kyrimorut. If this clan should turn hostile, the probability of our survival is low.”

“I have a feeling about this, HK. This is not a trap or some convoluted plan to get the Darksaber.”

“Statement: Their stated objective of talking to you of the cloned meatbags and their training process should be generating caution, Master. Conclusion: Any information Kal Skirata might have will be known to the enemy.”

“If they truly had anything that could be proven, they’d be dead already, disappeared or have a convenient accident,” I pointed out.

“Agreement: Precisely, Master. That is how the enemy seems to work. Questioning: Then what are you hoping you could learn here?”

“I’m not sure exactly, perhaps in all their time on Kamino, they deduced something that could be a first step towards getting proof.”

When we finally approached Kyrimorut a few hours later, we discovered it was the typical dome shape of all Mandalorian city structures, but much smaller, with a general diameter of only three kilometers and rising to a peak of 1,5 kilometers. The landing area for ships was a large enclosure at the exterior perimeter of the dome, which held the main entrance. The biggest difference that immediately struck me was the lack of any active ship traffic. There were a lot of swoops and ships of various sizes parked here, but none were coming or going.

The radio crackled to life and a droid directed us to an open landing spot.

I set the ship down after shifting its wings into landing configuration, then went through the post-flight checklist.

By the time we emerged from the ship via the passenger lift, our host was already outside and waiting for us.

Kal Skirata, reminded me of the weather-beaten brother of Ed Harris from my old life. Natural dimples, permanent frown, very tanned and scarred skin was a visible testament to a hard life. His brown beskar’gam was well worn and meticulously cared for. It was a family heirloom and priceless to Clan Skirata but still functional and did its job.

Kal bumped a clenched left fist to his chest and bowed slightly to me. “Manda’lor Vizsla, welcome to my home.”

I imitated the greeting, “Manda’lor Skirata, thank you for the invitation.”

“On my honor and that of my clan, you are a guest here at Kyrimorut. No harm shall come to you from our blades.”

“Thank you.”

Kal smiled slightly and presented his hand, “Now that the formalities are taken care of, it’s good to meet you, Commander Tano.”

I sensed the genuine amusement he felt and underneath the respect he had for me. That could only come from someone who had done some level of homework on my record, which almost every clan with some sense in their heads had probably done. My hand reached out and I shook his.

“A pleasure, Commander Skirata.”

He next took in HK, seeing the blaster cannons on his back and all the custom work on his chassis. “You have a droid bodyguard?”

“It’s a role HK performs, one of many. He mostly accompanies me on the battlefield and enjoys himself.”

Kal took that in and I could sense his mind working furiously through the implications of that. “How secure are its memories?”

“HK, you can answer him.”

“Acknowledgement: Very well, Master. Explanation: My original creator was a Jedi who crafted my encryption scheme and programming using the Force itself. My complexity is such that it would take current computing technology more than a few centuries just to break one of my encryption iterations and I cycle them constantly. Only my current Master is allowed to even see my code.”

“Fascinating,” Kal muttered. He had been looking at me as HK spoke and left me with the feeling that he had been cold reading me as best he could. He gestured graciously for us to follow him and we began walking to the dome entrance. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m somewhat security conscious of Kyrimorut. It is my home and the future of my clan.”

“Given how new this place is and the funds your clan has invested here, I can understand that.”

Kal just chuckled and shook his head.

The large doors parted before us and as we walked out of the blistering sun and into the dome, I understood why he was amused.

If Sundari was some utopian city ‘paradise’, then Kyrimorut was utopian, but as a vision of nature.

It was like I was walking into a hundreds of hectares of pristine landscape; with rolling hills, grassland, patches of forest here and there. I could even hear avian life flying about. It was like someone had carved out a gigantic circular piece from a garden world and transplanted it directly underneath this dome.

The Force was strong here.

There was even an occasional breeze or wind. How they achieved that I dearly wanted to know.

I had to say it. “This is amazing, commander.”

“So much better than Sundari, isn’t it?”

“The capital has its place, but I agree,” I said with feeling.

The massive doors closed automatically behind us. We walked along a demarcated foot path for a few minutes and now could see the first signs of structures and habitation.

They were vheh’yaim.

It was the traditional Mandalorian home and all the dome cities were actually just extremely large versions of vheh’yaim.

The traditional version ranged in size from three meters in diameter for a single person to the largest being fifteen meters for the large family homes. Some homes also had basement levels or could go deeper.

They were built from modern materials; duracrete, durasteel, artificial fibers, but their exteriors were given treatment to appear made of the natural materials of old; wood, vine, grass, tree bark, with regular circular holes for transparisteel windows.

The vheh’yaim had a sunken entrance and small stairway that led to the front door. This neatly doubled as a defensive foxhole, which would allow up to three people to stand in it and fire outward in defense.

The larger vheh’yaim’s were still in the construction phases and this was done with droids working under supervision of a clan member.

Finally we were led into a large house that had been built on top of a hill, that gave a commanding view of a large section of Kyrimorut.

Inside it was very homely and I could immediately see that this one had a total of three floors above ground and if my napkin math estimation was right, just the lower floor had nearly 170 square meters of living space. The interior was made of natural oak wall paneling, with only the automatic interior doors betraying the modern construction. The walls were tastefully decorated with paintings and mounted melee weapons, with the odd interior plant standing in pots.

The entrance hall had a snaking circular staircase that let you climb to the higher floors but Kal led us deeper into the home on the ground floor, towards a sitting room that had its own fireplace. The couches and seats were long and comfy looking.

“Please, commander, have a seat anywhere. Would you like something to drink?”

I chose an armchair relatively close to the fireplace. It was such a pity I couldn’t really feel the comfort considering I was in my armor. “Just a caf will do, thanks.”

He moved to the corner of the room, opening an expansive cabinet which contained a lot of varieties of alcohol in bottles, but also a caf machine. He poured himself something that had a dark amber color and handed me a cup of a very aromatic caf that I could smell across the room.

A careful sip and my tastebuds were in heaven. “This a local blend, commander?”

“Grown on Kalevala,” he answered with a knowing smile, sitting down on a chair across from me. “We could theoretically create the climate to grow caf plants in one of the domes on Mandalore. That level of humidity is not something we consider an ideal climate though and their caf is already so good, so why bother making a local competitor at great expense, when thousands of hectares of natural caf plantations is just a shuttle ride away.”

“You’ve done impressive work on this dome.”

“Thank you, but it’s all done by the specialist planetary engineering droids we imported combined with the expense of fertile soil and breaking apart a few ice asteroids to get the internal water cycle going.”

I remembered studying those kinds of droids in the academy. They were roughly the size of a giant mining dump truck and worked in groups to steadily ‘terraform’ a planet. Even with those and expert supervision, it still took at least twenty to thirty years for the smallest planet. It was much easier, cheaper and faster, relatively speaking to work inside a dome like this, creating an ecology in a bottle.

“Well, it’ll certainly be an idyllic place to ensure the future of your clan, commander, though it’s a bit excessive in size.”

I sensed immediately that I had touched on the heart of the reason why I was brought here, just from the way Kal’s emotions spiked behind his stoic face. He took a brief sip of his drink, studying me intently.

“You are a Jedi,” he said wryly. “The usual verbal games won’t really work here. Very well, I’ll begin with the why. I brought you here to gain your measure, to understand you, because as a Jedi and the way these things work, you might one day ‘sense’ or stumble across what my clan is going to be doing. I must know whether you will be my enemy or not, now.”

My mind was racing with alarm, even as I dared look into the probability lines of this conversation.

Kal Skirata was one of those who had answered Jango Fett’s call to help train the initial batch of clone troopers. My mind’s eye recalled a memory, seeing a distant view of the process, adult clones steadily armoring up, entire galleries and halls of young clones, working at terminals with conditioning caps on their heads. Kal was human, the mind and emotions of the man I was sensing painted a picture.

“I very much do not want to be your enemy, Commander Skirata.”

“You may not have any choice in the matter,” he said, staring into his drink.

“There is always a choice,” I retorted firmly. “We just delude ourselves into thinking otherwise for a variety of reasons.”

He kept slowly sipping at his drink, letting the silence stretch. Finally, his glass was empty and he set it down on his armrest.

“Very well, I’ll begin with a question. Tell me, what do you think of the legal status of the clones in the Republic?”

I sat back and tented my fingers, “That’s very easy to answer. It’s wrong in about every aspect I can care to name; morally, legally, ethically… take your pick.”

Kal carefully looked at me, “You consider them people? Not just biological droids?”

“They are human men, people, every one of them,” I said firmly. “I’m a Jedi first and foremost. Sophont life is life and deserves protection and the same rights. The process that life comes from and the strata it occupies is irrelevant.”

“Would you die to save one of them?”

I gave him an unimpressed look, “Yes. Just as many of them have died to save mine over the course of my battles in this war. They are my brothers in arms. Yes, I fully understand the hypocrisy that the Republic perpetrates and continues to do so with no sign of stopping or course correcting.”

“Consider me curious, what would you have done then?”

He might as well be waving a sign ‘I’m testing you’ at this point. “I could certainly understand the initial need for the clones. There was no federal military at all to fight the CIS. You can’t conjure up an army and navy overnight from nothing. Throwing all the PDFs across the Republic together would be a disaster. None have the same levels of training, equipment and organization. The clones should’ve been a stopgap at best, to buy the time needed for a federal military organization to be established gradually, which could steadily filter in trained recruits and replace the clones who either died in service or choose retirement to civilian life after a fifteen month tour of duty.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “It seems you’ve given a bit of thought to this.”

“The ethical problem of the clones is something every Jedi who is in command of them has to come to terms with eventually,” I said, allowing my emotions of anger and disgust to display. “Some will go down the path of viewing the clones as fleshy weapons to be used and discarded, others will walk my path. We were essentially driven into a corner. We chose to fulfill our vow to defend the Republic, at the cost of breaking our oaths as Jedi. The Jedi Council hoped the war and the use of clones would be a short term thing. That the Senate would get their heads out of their asses and call for a general mobilization and recruitment from the citizenry.” That little fact had surprised me, but Yoda’s holocron had been rather forthcoming on his thoughts about the Clone Wars.

“That’s not going to happen with those politicians,” Kal sneered, shaking his head. “They’re voiding themselves at the very thought that they’d need to spend the blood of their citizens in this war.”

“They should rightly fear that,” I pointed out. “The problem is that fear has gone too far. They can’t imagine any of their sons and daughters dying on some distant world for their freedom, so they’ve offloaded that burden onto the clones. Any civilization that isn’t willing to defend its own freedom, its way of life, deserves to fall.”

“You realize what you’ve just said?” Kal asked me with astonishment.

“Yes. A Jedi’s ultimate duty is to life and the Force, not the artificial political construct of the Republic. If it becomes something which is antithetical to life in the galaxy, our duty is clear.”

“I see,” he nodded in understanding. “It’s rather astonishing. I always thought the Jedi and the Republic were always in lockstep.”

“We generally try not to make our disagreements with the Senate public,” I said with a wry grin. “Our Order has in the distant past broken away from the Republic when… circumstances called for it.”

“Could that happen now?”

“Anything is possible, commander. We would strive in the utmost to avoid it, destruction of that relationship is the easy path.”

“And if there’s one thing I know about Jedi, is that you don’t do anything the easy way.”

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders in a ‘that’s just the way it is,’ manner. The silence stretched between us again. I kept my patience, sensing that he was working through my words and deciding whether he should actually trust me. He got up and fetched himself another drink, sat down again, slowly sipping from his glass.

His next test was obvious, so I got up and poured myself a fresh cup of caf and returned to my seat.

We sat like this for about twenty minutes before he eventually pushed a button on his chair, which started a merrily burning fire in the fireplace before us.

“I am a man who discovered that he has the fortunate and unfortunate burden of possessing a big heart,” he declared. “That is why my wife, Illipi and I had three children together. We were generally happy, and had the ups and downs of life. We fought in and survived the civil war. Then came the call from Jango and the call to battle in my heart was still burning somewhat. Training the clones would be an opportunity to settle things down. Illipi and the kids didn’t see it that way. They just saw their husband and father gallivanting off-world to further sate his battle lust. The divorce and disownment was rather quick as is the case in most Mandalorian traditions.

“I threw myself into my work on Kamino, just to occupy my mind and run away from the pain and the disgrace. There, one night, surrounded by a cadre of young clones… young boys, looking to me and… well, that story I might be convinced one day to share, but suffice it to say they entered my heart and have never left it. They feel the same way. There was even a time when they were supposed to enter stasis, but they rebelled out of their loyalty to me, taking over an entire block of Tipoca City. The GAR had to publicly arrest me and secretly bring me to them for things to calm down and be resolved.”

I closed my eyes and could imagine the chain of events. “That’s how you gained a commander commission.”

He nodded, “I technically command them but they’re out there, fighting in the war. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t share their squad designations.”

“I understand perfectly, not only for information security’s sake, but I could just as well turn you in at this point. I haven’t earned that trust yet.”

He bowed his head in thanks. “As far as I’m concerned those men are now my adopted sons. Do you know what that means in Mandalorian tradition yet?”

“The specifics probably I’ve yet to learn, but I understand broadly. They are in the clan, if they die, they cannot be harvested by the Kaminoans. You’d be honor bound to steal their bodies before that could happen. They are Mandalorian citizens, the right to marry, hold property, everything that’s denied to them in the GAR and under the Republic.”

And I immediately realized as I said it, that was the primary purpose of building Kyrimorut. A safe haven for his adopted sons, should they have to desert the GAR at some point. Intuition also told me that this could just as well be for… You didn’t build something the size of this place for just a squad or two of Skirata adopted clones.

If Kal Skirata wasn’t already a beskar plated badass, he just went up a level to probably having beskar balls dangling between his legs in my opinion.

You couldn’t fit the entire GAR in here, but if there were any deserters - which definitely happened, the Kaminoan indoctrination wasn’t perfect - then Kyrimorut was perfect.

No, desertion was the wrong word. The clones were never given a choice. This was simply all they knew and their purpose, even if their purpose was in the end horrific.

They were slaves.

Slaves to the Republic, slaves to the Sith.

The myriad of probability lines swerved and condensed as my resolve grew.

There was always choice, but in the end our character and nature inexorably drew us down a path we could either allow or deny.

“Precisely, that’s-” He continued but I interrupted him by standing and holding my hand forward.

“In this, you have my blades,” I said resolutely, staring into his eyes. He wasn’t Force Sensitive, but he was an old warrior, learned in reading someone in many other ways.

Kal Skirata slowly stood, examining me, then eventually leaned forward and we grasped our forearms.

“You know?”

“There is much I know, commander. Helping you may pave the way to helping me, the Jedi and the entire galaxy at this point. You can’t see it yet, but in time, with more trust between us, all will become clear. I vow that any clone I find that is doubting his place in the GAR, where the conditioning is breaking down - he will find his way here if that is his wish. If you need any further help, simply ask. Aliit ori'shya taldin.” (Family is more than blood.)

Kal reflexively squeezed on my forearm as I said it. Such a commitment from me automatically meant that it was an extension of support from my clan to his.

“Aliit ori'shya taldin.” He repeated and I could sense his confusion and gratefulness underneath that.

“Now, it’s nearly time for lunch. I’m sure we can both trade stories of your time on Kamino and my time with the 501st,” I smiled and we both let go of each other’s arms.

“That we can do.”

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Twelve hours of peace.

That was the only thought running through Satine Kryze’s mind as the door to her Royal Suite aboard the Coronet shut and firmly locked itself.

The ship was on the final leg to Coruscant and the week it had taken to get here was a seeming non-stop session of work, all because of those accursed CIS sponsored pirates and the fact that the sector she served was now at war. She dearly wished she could wring the neck of whoever had invented the Holonet in ancient times, for her work followed her like a demented pet, seeking attention at the worst times.

If it wasn’t Almec seeking advice on some or other matter which he should already know the answer to, coordinating the relief efforts for the Gargon colony, then it was stopping little Bo from blowing half the treasury on the increased military budget. Her other constant interlocutor was the director for the Secret Service, who was being run ragged trying to keep a watch on all the major clans to make sure they kept following the leadership of her sister and not go tearing off to the north in some minor reenactment of the ancient crusades.

She took a deep breath and pushed herself off the door. No Satine, no thinking about work.

It was so tempting to just go to her bedroom and just welcome the sweet oblivion of sleep, but the necessity of changing her sleeping cycle to Coruscanti time prevented even that.

She pressed the hidden button on her headdress and its tiny complex mechanisms began their intricate dance to unfold from her hair. Barely ten seconds later, she could pull it off and use her fingers to get some semblance of order to the strands of her hair.

Her eyes were resolutely fixed forward as she walked into her bedroom and straight into the walk-in closet.

If only removing her formal gown was that easy.

This took over five minutes of careful unzipping, undoing buttons, all the while holding sections of it up with her left hand.

Finally, it was off and the entire ensemble was mounted on its dedicated manakin.

She left the closet and towards her favorite room on the Coronet.

The lights to her personal spa switched on automatically when it detected her presence, including the other features of the room.

She removed her undergarments without care, just letting them fall to the floor and carefully stepped into the small pool.

The instant it had detected her sitting on the pool’s contoured seating, the pumps began, streaming bubbles through the water.

She sat back, leaning her head against the pool edge and stared into the streaking miasma of hyperspace beyond the transparisteel window of her spa room, whilst luxuriating in the roiling water. A tap of a button on its nearby control panel, began the release of non-foaming cleaning agents.

There was a danger of falling asleep, but not in the fatal sense, the spa’s systems kept a careful watch on things and would drain the pool before she could potentially drown. No, she needed to be alert and on top form when she arrived on Coruscant.

She forcibly turned her mind to a few mental exercises and started the room’s sound system.

“Play me something that will keep me awake,” she instructed the room’s BD-3000 droid intelligence.

The sound of a string instrument, combined shortly thereafter with heavy drums, followed by a guttural human male voice singing in a language she vaguely recognized from the southern Outer Rim.

“While that will certainly do the job, I want to relax a bit.”

The music changed to a steady percussion instrument with a rather enchanting melody and rhythm.

“Perfect, thank you, BD.”

“You’re welcome, mistress.”

Five minutes of mental exercises later, she reached out of the small pool, shaking her hand to shrug off most of the water and grabbed a datapad.

She avoided even looking at the news feeds, tapping and swiping to display more lighthearted topics and with inevitability fell into watching her personalized vid feed on Corusca Online.

Satine didn’t know whether to curse or praise whoever had thought of this idea, but it was just the thing for a bit of escapism. The system had decided to throw an inordinate amount of comedy and humor vids for her today, with the occasional cute pet vid mixed in and it was somewhat alarming and creepy. CSO did indicate they delivered vids based on learned preference and a questionnaire, but it was uncanny how well it delivered content.

“Mistress, it’s been twenty minutes. Your skin will not be happy with you.”

Satine blinked and looked up from the datapad, where it had been showing a little Corellian boy cutely playing with a six legged furry pet.

Yet another reason to dislike CSO, time absolutely flew by when you were on it.

She put the pad down, climbed out of the pool and grabbed a towel from the nearby pile, beginning to dry herself off.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t be making a mess of dripping water, she walked over to the nearby masseuse table and laid the towel down, before draping her body face down on it.

“BD, activate.”

From a nearby alcove, its screening door slid open and the humanoid body of her personal BD-3000 stepped out of its charging station. This was the male version of the droid but her model was much rarer. Its existence was only known to the cybernetics company that had come to deliver it and one of her most trusted guards.

The droid walked closer and its five fingered hands began to massage her back. The padding and synthskin that covered it made for an experience that was perfectly tailored and unlike a regular masseuse, couldn’t get tired. The hands also automatically oiled themselves.

Her mind drifted off, and as always these days, began to throw her worries and fears.

She despised that she had seemingly no choice but to throw her people back into war. Her mind knew that it was patently unfair, but her heart could only find blame in the person of a damn sixteen year old girl. Nevermind that it was that infernal mir'osik Dooku that started it all and seemingly wanted to remake the galaxy in his own twisted image. She was the one who had delivered the evidence to the clans. She was the one who taken that sheb Pre Vizsla’s Death Watch and led a purge through it, to deliver to her a dubiously loyal paramilitary force that would deliver death and destruction at Satine’s mere word.

Every fiber of her being wanted her only order to the Blades of Mandalore to be simply - Disband, go home. It was far too late for that.

Every time she even thought about it, the voice of her father would come and tell her to woman up and be strong. That she’d be a fool to discard such a potent tool in her kitbag. The Mandalorian Guard was strong at home, but beyond the home sector things were very different. Only the clan warriors truly had the lessons, skills, experience and traditions to take the fight beyond the borders.

Then there was their leader.

Someone who should by all rights be still on Coruscant, learning in the Jedi Temple, yet the galaxy saw fit to take this young girl and mold her into a soldier, a warrior, a commander of men, to carry war among the stars. Something she did with a near frightening adeptness.

The stories her Jedi Knight mentor had shared.

The full recording of her duel with Rav Bralor.

Now Ahsoka Tano was the newest Mandalorian citizen and had sworn fealty to the throne and the people, adopting the Resol’nare with a baffling ease.

She was the first Mandalorian Jedi in centuries, holder of the Darksaber.

Satine still found it somewhat hard to believe that she had a Jedi Padawan at her beck and call and everything that went with that.

The power of the Force.

She knew more than most in the galaxy what it was capable of, having spent so long with Obi all those years ago, then most recently further availing herself of classified ancient Mandalorian records in the archives.

It was frightening, amazing, and a part of herself wanted to forget what she had read. Tarre Vizsla had known that his descendants would one day fight the Jedi again and as such had passed down the lessons and tactics that would arm them. The problem was he had not just written that down - but also how to fight the Jedi’s nemesis - the old Sith, the Siit.

An ancient dark order that her new Blade of Mandalore told her was not extinct at all and was moving in the shadows cast by the war.

The Death Watch insurgency, a renewed civil war in the Mandalore sector, all plans stemming from Dooku who had taken up that old dark mantle.

“Mistress, your back and arms are done, do you wish to continue?” BD asked.

“Yes, go on.”

The droid’s tireless hands moved down, beginning to work on her buttocks and legs.

“On second thought, move to program darasuum.”

She wanted to forget, she just wanted to feel anything besides the old cloying anxious fear that death and darkness was once more coming for her people.

The droid stepped back, allowing her to turn over onto her back. She spread her legs wide open, pulling in her ankles to touch her butt, giving maximum room for it to work. A look down past her breasts showed she was already somewhat wet down there, her core and nether lips beginning to flush with blood flow already at the anticipation.

BD placed its hand flat on her mound, the slick artificial hand warming, then the middle three fingers began moving slowly up and down in a back and forth caressing motion.

Pleasure began spiking through her body, her breathing speeding up and she closed her eyes, beginning to imagine that it was not the hands of a droid caressing her slit and teasing her clitoris.

The droid’s other hand was placed on her lower belly, then it moved slowly up, cupping her breasts alternately and massaging them.

Her body began to slowly warm and fill with a steadily building arousal, the occasional moan managing to slip past her control.

The slick hand began caressing across her hips, then steadily worked back up to her breasts, now playing with her nipples. She hissed as the fingers at her slit began exclusively targeting her clit.

“Shabla!” She cried in surprise as she felt the folds of her nether lips getting parted by the large flesh toned phallus jutting out from BD’s crotch. It steadily pushed forward, filling her core completely and she began panting as the pleasure in her body spiked again, waves of it rushing back and forth.

“B- BD, slo- slower,” she moaned.

The droid complied, moving its hands to her inner thighs and caressing there, before it began slowly pulling out, stopping just before the head of the phallus would pop out, then it pushed forward again. It bottomed out, it was perfectly sized for her inner core.

“Go ah - oh - go ahead.”

The thrusts began and Satine began properly losing herself to the pleasure. The slaps of synthflesh on her butt echoing across the spa. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, trying mightily to resist the flow, to stave off her climax. The sensation of her breasts bouncing back and forth on her chest distracted her as the droid's thrusts reached a high enough speed.

She surrendered.

“AH! Oh, sha- sha!” The climax had her entire body tense, then start twitching. BD registered that it had happened and paused the thrusts for a few seconds, then resumed at slow speed, starting again.

Satine continued for another two mind blowing climaxes before calling an end to it. Her imagination took her to impossible places with a partner that was equally impossible.

“Program complete, mistress.” The droid said, stepping back from the table.

“Thank you, BD, you may go.”

The droid walked back to its alcove and powered down the body. Its ownership was her guilty pleasure. Her station and notions of security didn’t allow for her to avail of an actual flesh and blood person for this. The one man in the galaxy that she wanted here now…

She shook her head, dismissing the longing and aching heart from her thoughts. How long she could deny it and not act on it in some way, she had no idea. Just the fact that he was on this ship, just a few decks away, in the relative privacy she could achieve on the Coronet, was maddening. How hard would it have been to engineer an encounter or even take the courage to just simply invite him?

Jedi were not celibate monks, Obi certainly wasn’t.

She got up from the table and plunged back into the pool.

Her heart would win eventually, she knew that. Her hope was that she wouldn’t make a mess of things in the process.

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I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

My eyes opened and I tucked the rifle’s stock deeper into my left shoulder, trying to find a comfortable spot for it somewhere, given my armor’s pauldron and breastplate being in the way. My left eye sighted down the scope and I studied my target and its surroundings.

Having a dominant left eye and being right handed was a quirk that I also remember having in my previous life and it had been very annoying during my army days.

I studied the tall grass for windage indications, prompting me to make a slight aiming adjustment left.

Deep breath, let it out slowly.

Gravity on Concordia was point 96 of standard, which was another bit of the galaxy that made absolutely no sense whatsoever and was either ancient Celestial bullshit or Rakatan tech buried deep down, which artificially increased the grav well of the moon.

I made another fine adjustment.

Deep breath, let it out.

I squeezed the trigger.

The GALAAR-20 Sniper Rifle gave a low electric whine and thump as it sent a dull yellow-orange plasma bolt downrange.

A moment later and 1000 meters away, the thick durasteel target shaped in the form of a human figure, was hit on its lower stomach, but well away from my intended target of the ‘lethal sweet spot’ on a human or even a B2 droid. Both would nevertheless still be having a very bad day.

Lying next to me, Togai studied the target with large macrobinoculars. “Better, just remember Zions effect, Ahsoka.”

I nodded and reacquired the target. A plasma bolt from a blaster was not a bullet, but it still had some mass, therefore all the same rules generally applied, but to a far less degree. It was that which was tripping me up. Zions effect was the Corusca term for the Coriolis effect.

The GALAAR-20’s electronic sight and targeting computer was in ‘training mode’, it was literally giving me just a target reticle and zoom functions. If I switched it to ‘military mode’, using the rifle’s onboard computer, I could send the bolt through someone’s eye at three kilometers with an unobstructed sight line.

Deep breath, let it out. A squeeze of the trigger. Another shot went downrange.

“Again better, but you drifted right this time,” Togai pronounced.

I let my frustration pass through me. I unloaded the rifle’s power pack and swapped it for a fresh one.

I went through the firing procedure and shot again.

“Well done, center mass, missed the lethal triangle by two centimeters low. Ahsoka, are you sure you’re not using the Force?” he asked me teasingly.

“I’m not using the Force,” I said flatly. Nope, just using the internal body control that came as a byproduct from Jedi training, something I dearly wish I had before.

“You still also haven’t given me an answer for just why we’re doing this. When are you ever going to use a sniper rifle in the war? There are specialist clones for this.”

“Two reasons,” I answered, sending another shot downrange.

“Miss, over the right shoulder.”

Deep breath, let it out. “There might come a time when I can’t afford to use the Force. I also happen to agree with quite a few of the principles by which the Jedi Sentinels train and live by.”

“Not really familiar with them.”

“Not surprising, they’re a relatively small subsect of Jedi. These days you’ll find them mostly as Temple guards on Coruscant, otherwise they’re Jedi who are assigned to a planet and will generally stay there. They rarely even draw their lightsabers for anything, preferring to use more conventional means to achieve their aims and goals.”

“It almost sounds like they’re trying to not be Jedi at all or are infiltrators.”

“That’s actually correct, from a certain point of view,” I grinned, focused and squeezed the trigger.

“Centre mass, low. Keep that line.”

“They devote themselves to a ground level approach, you could say. Whereas I would look at the big picture, seeing the entire forest, so to speak, the Sentinel would worry about the health of individual trees in that forest. In terms of personal ability, they believe that the Force should enhance what’s already there, not act as a crutch for achieving utterly supernatural feats.”

“So you’re now practicing long range marksmanship without the Force, as they would?”

“If they see the need for it, yes.”

The GALAAR whined as I fired again.

“On target, you got the kill triangle.”

“At bloody last,” I grumbled.

“What’s the second reason then?”

I smiled widely at him, “For fun, Togai.”

“You consider shooting at the ridiculous ranges of snipers… fun?”

“Yes,” I shrugged and peered into the scope again.

“All right, Ahsoka, consider my curiosity piqued, what could you do with that rifle if you used the Force?”

A giggle escaped me as I considered how best to demonstrate. “Focus on the 1500 meter target, it should be nice and unblemished.”

He turned his binocs to the right slightly and fiddled with its controls. “Got it.”

A deep breath, embracing the Force. In comparison it felt like I had been shooting blindfolded before, using just my native skill and eyes. I felt the gravitational conditions acutely, my technometry told me this particular sniper rifle had a slight defect in its internal coil assembly. All that and more unfolded to my mind and I saw the path.

Then I began firing once, twice, then after a bit of adjustment, a further five times in rapid succession, emptying the power pack.

I didn’t even bother looking at the results and put the rifle down on its bipods on the grass beneath me and stood, stretching to relieve achy muscles.

Togai eventually looked up from his binocs and just gave me a flat stare. “Ahsoka, did you just use a GALAAR to draw a symbolic smiling face on the chest of that target?”

“Yes,” I shrugged… that was fun and honestly the expression on his face made it totally worth it.

“Manda’lor, begging your pardon, but you’re the strangest Jedi I’ve ever met.”

“Aren’t I the only Jedi you’ve ever met and gotten to know well?”

“I suppose, but surely…”

I laughed heartily and patted him on the shoulder. “Just teasing, I’ll be the first to admit and you can ask my Jedi Master or my childhood friends in the Order… I’m weird.”

“Weird?” He asked incredulously, as if he couldn’t imagine someone just defining themselves in that way.

“Yes,” I said, picking up the rifle and going through its safety procedure.

He stood as well and affected a mock air of realization, “Yes, of course. Any Jedi in the galaxy would’ve formally challenged Pre to a duel, won the Darksaber, reformed an insurgency to a proper paramilitary which somehow gained Royal sanction, embraces Mandalorian culture and a clan, has the boards of multiple companies running around like their butts are on fire… shall I go on?”

“The latter is entirely House Kryze’s fault, they’re the ones who wanted proper warships again,” I deflected airily.

He just looked at me with a ‘wasn’t born yesterday’ expression.

Any further discussion was interrupted when Togai’s comlink beeped. He frowned at his wrist and tapped the channel open. “Yes, dear?”

“If you two are finished shooting up the countryside, lunch is ready and the duchess’ speech to the Senate is in thirty minutes,” Oba Vizsla’s stern voice, tinnily issued from his arm.

“On our way.”

I shouldered the rifle and we both walked to our respective swoops. The shooting range wasn’t that far from the Vizsla compound, merely a three minute flight.

By the time the swoops were parked at Vizsla house, our weapons and gear stowed, and I had changed to more comfortable attire, the large dinner table was more than ready to accept a large amount of eager stomachs.

The children were rather admirably waiting for the slow poke adults to get to the table, but I saw a number of impatient tics happening from the twin girls, with their feet bouncing in the air or a leg twitching.

“How did you do, Ahsoka?” Paz asked eagerly, his large eyes twinkling cutely.

“Acceptably, but I’ve got a lot of practice ahead of me,” I answered, taking my seat at the table.

“How far?”

“I’ve moved on to the 1 km target today, but my accuracy still leaves much to be desired.”

“That’s so awesome,” he blurted, but then slumped slightly. “I wish I could shoot that far. I can barely hit 300 meters, when dad takes us.”

I inwardly marveled somewhat, any boy his age in my old life hitting targets at that range would be considered a bloody good shot, but that was with ye olde slugthrower and lens optical sights and not a modern Mandalorian plasma sniper with electronic scope in training mode.

“You’re young. Trust me, it might seem like forever, but give it a few years of dedication and you’ll be right there with me.”

“That’s stupid, give me WESTAR blasters any day,” Tholu sniffed. Naturally, the middle child of the family did anything he could to stand out and preferred the close range shooting of dual pistols and was better than his older brother at using a jetpack.

Mandalorians being Mandalorians, (the traditional ones at least) their children began to learn to shoot when they were old enough to hold a blaster with any sort of dextrous precision. The twins were frighteningly accurate using the small pistols that were specially sized for them. One of the national sports on Concordia was a version of quickdraw shooting done at ranges of ten to twenty-five meters and the little tykes were in the top percentage for their age group.

“Enough of that,” Oba said forbiddingly, taking her seat and her husband joining soon after.

We began dishing up from the generous spread in front of us. Oba had to make a bit more meat than usual since I couldn’t eat the typical Mando veg and starches.

A beeping alarm resounded in the room and Togai pushed a few buttons on a small control panel embedded in the table.

A large holo screen appeared on the right side of the room, which resolved into displaying a local news channel that was piping the public Senate feed through the HoloNet. Overlaying it with text commentary that was slowly scrolling on the bottom of the screen in Mando’a and Aurebesh alternately.

The camera started with a wide shot of the gigantic bowl arena of the Republic Senate, with its seemingly countless podium ‘flying saucers’ arranged perfectly around the central plinth podium, on which the Supreme Chancellor stood with his two immediate aides on either side of him. The arrangement of the docked, floating saucers always amazed me. The pattern they formed from certain angles was enough to dazzle the eye.

Various podiums were floating in the space around the Chancellor seat at the moment. I couldn’t see from the angle and distance who was there, but it was clear after a minute of reading the screen that we were watching the tail end of another debate.

“... this is intolerable! Where is the Grand Army? It doesn’t help that they’re all on the front lines, when all these pirates are rampaging at will behind them throughout Republic space.”

Palpatine stood and the Senate Speaker, Mas Amedda, slammed his staff - creating a loud gong throughout the Senate. “Order! Order!” shouted the chagrian.

“Senators, colleagues,” Palpatine began. “The Office of the Supreme Chancellor understands all your concerns. Every effort is being made to track down the pirates and privateers back towards their bases. When this happens, the GAR will bring swift justice to these brigands. It’s time to move on to our next item for today’s agenda.”

The various podiums started to slowly retreat back to their assigned docking stations.

“Thank you, the floor is given to Duchess Kryze of Mandalore.”

My eyes narrowed on the image of Palpatine. He looked the same cool, calm customer he always was in this setting, though I vaguely saw the slight drooping under his eyes which showed a man that was fighting tiredness after a long session in the Senate. Naturally, it was all just another mask.

Satine’s podium floated forward and began its slow orbit around the Chancellor’s Plinth. She looked vital, full of energy, determination and her natural yet forbidding charisma on full display. I was a bit relieved that she was there at all, as there was a chance that Dooku might have attempted an assassination on Coruscant. Thankfully, it had not seemingly happened or if it had, it had no effect on her.

“Supreme Chancellor, Speaker, Senators of the Republic,” she began powerfully, her voice resounding and dangerous, looking down her nose at everyone. “I was summoned here today to answer for the threat of the Death Watch and its attack on the Republic Navy. I’m pleased to report that the Mandalorian government working in concert with the Jedi Council has torn this insurgent threat, root and stem, from the moon of Concordia. The Death Watch is no more.”

Giant holos began playing behind her of images taken in the aftermath of the battle at the mine, showing the damage, the deaths hidden under blankets with the armor sets displayed next to them, along with Mandalorian Guardsmen and officials collecting evidence and supervising everything.

Somewhere an applause and a cheer began and soon enough it spread throughout the chamber. It took Mas Amedda and another ‘gong’ from his Senate staff in hand to restore silence.

“Further evidence, has revealed that the Death Watch was indeed being directed and supported by the CIS, in an effort to overthrow the Mandalorian government and assassinate me.”

A nicely edited clip of Pre and Dooku talking began playing, quickly followed by showing off the damage that had been done to the Coronet when pirates had attacked her ship and the colony of Gargon. This was enough to set the Senate into another round of rambunctious booing and outrage.

“Order!” snapped Mas.

“In light of these events, with the support of my government and the Mandalorian clans. I am empowered to declare that a state of war now exists between the Mandalorian sector and the CIS. Our neutrality cannot continue.”

The Senate rose to their feet and mass rounds of cheering began to erupt.

“We will coordinate with the Republic Navy and Army appropriately!” Her voice as current speaker drowned out the din and the Senate settled down. “But I can already report that lead elements of Mandalorian commandos have already struck at Separatists positions along the northern Hydian Way. I have also directed that with the aid of Republic Intelligence, anti-piracy operations are to commence.”

Togai tapped the keypad to mute the feed and resumed eating. “Any casualties?”

“Two dead, five injured among the Blades, but they managed a partial success to the objective,” I muttered, giving a look to the children. I didn’t really relish discussing this at the table, but… Mandalorians. “That Providence dread is now effectively stuck in Toprawa, until they organize for a replacement of its hyperdrive to be shipped forward and can stick it in a mobile repair dock. Even then, they’re looking at months of work.”

It would have been nice to go along with them, but Bo-Katan had firmly stopped that idea. Risking my neck on such a near suicidal mission was not on the cards. Nevermind my death, the Darksaber falling into CIS hands was a nightmare scenario.

“Good, the thought of that much concentrated firepower slowly barreling towards our sector isn’t a pleasant one. It’s just a pity it couldn’t be destroyed utterly.”

“The commander on the ground made the call. At least now we’ve delivered an extreme logistical headache to them, the cost is going to be extreme.”

The comlink on my vambrace beeped for attention.

“Sorry Oba,” I said with a wince under the woman’s glare. “I have to take this. Yes, Master?”

“Ahsoka, how soon can you get to Coruscant?”

Anakin’s voice and what I was sensing sent shudders down my spine.

“I can leave within the hour, four days after that.”

“Good, do so. You have an appointment.”

I closed my eyes as I stared at the probability lines. “The Chancellor?”

“Correct, he wishes to meet the one who so successfully brought the Mandalorians to our side.”

“Tell him, I look forward to the honor. See you soon, master.”

“Force be with you, Snips.”

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mir'osik - closest translation ‘shithead’

Sheb - ass / asshole

Darasuum - eternity

Shabla - Mando’a equivalent of ‘Fuck’.

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A/N: Dun dun dunnn. Hope you enjoyed. Winding down the Mando Arc.