Objective: Resist #2
War was coming, and where war is, there are Mando’ade.
The CIS no doubt had their own reasons for being here, she’d been told that there were good people among them. But aside from the few she knew and the Protectors, who were... unique, even among her people, the CIS were aruetii - and ones responsible for just as many crimes as they claimed to free people from.
But that, then, was nothing new.
War, war is eternal.
So Shia was here, in a medium sized warehouse with a motley group of freedom fighters - not all of them slaves, and several crates of highly advanced weapons with stamp of Kryze on the sides. A battered heavy freighter sat on the pad outside, with a dozen armed Mando’ade concealed in the covert transport holds... just in case.
“You promised 50,000 credits.” She said calmly to their leader, a battered looking but confidently competent farm worker.
“I... I’m sorry, but 30,000 is all we can manage.” The woman had enough pride not to beg, or ask for a discount. Good.
“Then I’m afraid 30,000’s worth is all you get - Kryze don’t run charities.” Shia kept her voice calm, controlled, level.
“We... we understand, thank you anyway.”
The CIS was providing funds and weapons for free, but no one had an unlimited supply, and they both knew it. Frankly, the advanced blaster rifles were at a knock down bargain price anyway, with the hope of future business.
“But... I’ll tell you what we will do. We’ve space aboard for your families - and family is important - we’ll keep them out of the line of fire when this goes... hotter than it already is, you have my word.”
“You’ll forgive me, but... your asking us to trust you with a great deal. How can we be sure?”
Shia shrugged.
“If the word of Al'Ori'Ramikade isn’t enough...” Shia saw no irony in using the term traditionally claimed by Mand’alor, she had been named second, and as far as she was concerned that title didn’t get passed on without someone taking it from her. “...or if the word of a ori'ramikad isn’t enough, then... well... I suppose the reputation of the Mando’ade has suffered a bit lately.” A bit. Oh, just a bit. “I’ll stay, as hostage and... security of our investment.”
The rebel commander looked at the Mandalorian, resplendent in her white and blue armour, cape fluttering slightly in the breeze of the climate control, and clearly weighed the dangers of having her vs. the dangers of not. Her gaze flicked to the twin lightsabers on Shia’s back.
“I thought you people hated Jedi?”
“I’m no Jedi, or Sith. You don’t need to be one to use one of these.” Shia reached over her back to caress the oddly shaped, square hilts of the lightsabers. “But if it helps, my wife is sort of a Jedi, and she’d kill me if I abandoned you - and... I do support your cause.”
Silence ruled the room for a moment, then the farmer-commander nodded.
“Okay, you can help us load these up then.”
