I Don't Get No Respect (Ijaat)

[Ashin Varanin]

SHRINE OF KRUL
BALOWA

"Force, he's basically hamburger."

"Well, Admiral, you should see the other army."

"Do tell."

"Death Watch, near as I could tell. You want to talk hamburger, I had trouble counting the dead."

"And Doctor Barkis says he's unsalvageable?"

"Close enough."

"You think he's an asset?"

"I met him on Trevel'ka, Admiral. Brass balls. Walked right up to our facility there."

"I spoke with him too, if you'll recall, Seren. And of course I'm familiar with his work. Finest blacksmith alive, the Mandalorians say, and they'd know. All right, what do we have for a new face?"

"One of the old Fringe clones from that backup project of yours, back in the day. Myostim muscle conditioning, mind's ready to go."

"Oh, this'll be good. Who'd you pick?"

A mumble.

A laugh. "Well that's just ideal, Seren. Clear the room, bring in the alternate, and get me a knife. I'd rather do this quickly."

Pain -- darkness -- a full-body itch. A sense of relative youth, decades of wear and tear falling away. Time lost meaning, stars wheeled overhead, every day was a life-age of the Earth, etc.

Wakefulness, and a dark room, its ceiling ribbed and organic, curved like the inside of a nautilus shell. A dark-skinned woman in a black robe and a metal mask stood over [member="Ijaat Mereel"].

"Wake up, Mister Mereel."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

It had been a rough week. Ijaat had lost most of his fledgling House. Kyr'stad had ambushed him whilst trying to call for the United Clans to assist him in bringing law and order to Concord Dawn. As he lay there, with the Ke'dem folk doing their work, he hallucinated.. Or maybe dreamed... Of his last fight... Some Death Watch pup called himself Lord of the Dawn and dared to finally call himself Mandalore the Infernal. A Sith puppet, as he found out. So he had donned the armor of Jaster Mereel that he had recovered. Girded on his sword, holstered his guns, and from the small shrine in his makeshift fortress, he had affixed the Mask of Mandalore the Ultimate to his helmet. To war he would ride, likely one last time. And he knew it from the get-go of the mission.

They had met heavy resistance, and when he had realized how heavy, he had sent the guard back to the stronghold, except a few handpicked Ori'ramikade. Protect the population, keep the citizens and the infirm safe. Fall back to the Chioux peoples' safe-houses, the offshot Dathomirians in the wild plains of the planet, and warn them. And warn the Clans, if they could. They had no fleet to speak of really. So when they had found the camp, they had snuck in as new defections from House Mereel. And into the very camp of the leader. From there, Ijaat had gathered his men from their scattered spots inside the enemy, and given one final order. As his mind replayed the banner of the True Mandalorians raised over the Death Watch camp center, he spoke the words too, a scrap of that flag falling from his hand. A tassle with the same symbol as the flag minted on a coin.

"Hoist the colors... True steel..."

Bleery eyes looked around, finding Ajira, and looking utterly confused as he came back to the world through a sea of death and destruction, gaps in memory and gaps in self utterly flooring his reasoning. The face wasn't the same. Just not the same. Something was odd though, he got the very strong feeling he knew this woman, and knew her very well indeed. In the eyes, it was. Or so he felt it, a certain way of looking right through you. Not coldly. Or with judgement. But just with a certain weight that spoke of command and judgement, of piercing into ones' very soul and center of being. Laying your core naked to her gaze.

But rather than speak, he waited, eyeing her, trying not to move, tensing muscles to see what would function and work, if he had to fight.

[member="Ajira Cardei"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

A firm nod. "Good. Feel free to get up, move around, at least as much as this room permits. I apologize for the cramped quarters; you're in the Shrine of Krul, built from a snail-shell on the bottom of a cursed lake on Balowa. You can call me Shira for now, Mister Mereel. In case it wasn't abundantly clear to you, the Death Watch shredded you and I've placed you in a new and younger body. It's Force-sensitive. You're welcome. Your new body has spent significant time in a myostim unit, so you shouldn't have much trouble with balance and so forth. The one thing I can't do much about is your...well, smithing muscles. The myostim unit put you in good shape for combat and various other pursuits, but it takes different muscles to do specialized work." A snort. "Frankly, though, you're in far better shape than the original of this body, which is a clone, by the way."

It occurred to the former Dark Lord of the Sith and Empress of the Sith Empire that she was running her mouth slightly.

"Not of you," she added, because it seemed like a necessary clarification.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Still silent. Still thinking.

He stood, in one smooth and fluid rolling motion, a simple movement of muscles. He hadn't been this agile since he had opened up the Mad Strill in Keldabe. Not by half. Youth definitely was something he could get used to. Most would have been crumbled at the thought of being in a new body. Of what Shira had just told him. Those who would were simply not Ijaat. Not one who had controlled planetary defenses with his mind, destroyed Sith Temples, and fought alongside some of the most legendary warrirors in the Galaxy. In his youth, he could remember Mare'cye telling him how handsome he was, something he was sure that had faded with time. But the looks had been a small price to pay for knowledge and ability he had gained. So many things, particularly after Selvaris.

Flexing his hands open and shut, he turned to eye the other occupant of the room, knees bending, steps liquid and steady. He stopped a respectful distance away.

"Muscles can be rebuilt and trained. I've seen skinny smiths. I thank you for this. The particulars don't bother me, just the chance to fight again..But whose body was it I am now in?"

Suddenly, a light went off...

"Wait... Force Sensitive? Feck, you turned me into a karking Jedi! Oh this is rich...Marasun is laughing, if he is still alive, old Atrisian bastard..."

[member="Ajira Cardei"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

"Convenient empty clone bodies aren't so common as all that. Your current form was repurposed from an old project. The leaders of the Lords of the Fringe cloned themselves, and winnowed out the stable ones, as resources for essence transfer, organ replacement, faking death and body doubles. The Fringe is long gone, of course."

A snort. "Jedi? Hardly. No, Mister Mereel, the body you wear is that of a man called Jared Ovmar. You may or may not have heard the name. Before he died, he was a mentalist of some repute, and a businessman. I believe he left a trail of bastards across the universe, so even outside the realm of clones, your genetic material isn't unique. But in no sense was Jared Ovmar a Jedi, not even when you take ethics out of the equation. On a functional level, he didn't have a prayer when using a lightsabre, and he lacked a really firm grasp of the core abilities; he'd traded them for the ability to cut into your mind or your computer. My point, Mister Mereel, is that the Force is a tool like any other, and what you build of yourself with it, that's as individual as your soul."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

"A man is but a man... Souls notwithstanding, all we are is a product of what we do. I doubt i'll be the mentalist type... Not exactly my style..."

Tapping his chin, he stretched from top to bottom. It looked positively like calistenics, and in part it was. Old Atrisian and Echani muscle limbering exercises. Stretching hamstrings and biceps and trapezoid muscles. Everything moved wonderfully. Fluid. No aches, no pains... The clone felt like just past its' teens, if that. Smirking, he flicked out a hand and watched as nothing happened, and shook his head, rolling his neck to pop it and crack it, feeling the release of tension.

"Why he never became a swordsman is... Beyond me... If this is even a minor reflection of his natural state, he had the ability to become a stupendous combatant. Reflexes and tone are perfect for agility fighting... That will be a switch... I was always the brute.."

Suddenly, a loud rumbling noise came from him and he gazed at his gut and cocked his head to the side.

"It would seem dying has made me hungry....But this body will need to learn discipline... Mandokarla, eh? So... Why such a procedure on me? I can't believe I was that valuable to the Clans, Ke'dem, the Underground or anyone I worked with... Just an old has been on some damned-fool idealistic crusade"

[member="Ajira Cardei"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

"Because you impressed Seren Ordavo, a man who spent twenty years in maximum security on Hellgotha, plus a non-negligible amount of time as an undead corpse grafted to a suit of cursed armour. Ordavo does not impress easily."

The Shrine of Krul was not, by and large, a hospitable place. Ajira sat down on a packing crate.

"There's another reason, of course. I was adopted into Clan Ordo in another life, by another name. I have history with your world and your people. When the Mandalorians call someone the finest smith alive, they mean it. I've swung a hammer or two in my time, made my own swords and armor, enough to appreciate the difference between sufficient and transcendent. Having the Mandalorians' finest smith owe you a favour is a small price to pay for a clone body that wasn't going to be used anyway. Well, that and a ridiculous amount of power and study, if I do say so myself. Bottom line, I like my potential outcomes here."

 

[Julius Sedaire]

This time the stare that came from his eyes was at odds with the youth and vitality of the body. It wasn't jaded, or wore out. But somehow, the soul shone through those eyes, a weary grin in them, even though the mouth merely smirked. His hand ran through short hair, and across a five-a-clock shadow that showed this body had been 'alive' for a few moments at least. Eventually, he nodded, taking a similar seat, elbows on knees and soles of his feet against two stacked crates he hopped onto, chin in his hands almost casually. There was truth, to what she said. Pretty much everything was owed to her now. And if he had the ability to use the Force.... Well... He had wielded what the Je'daii had made on Tython.

"Fierfek.... If I'm a Forcer, I really kick myself for sending that Netherworld blade to Ember... Manda knows what it was really capable of... And I think Seren overestimates my esteem in battle. I'm just stubborn. Don't know when to quit. Every Akun, my Clan, and every Mereel, my house, is that way. We don't know when to quit. Ever. Regardless.... You are right... I owe you... And it will be paid. Warrior, Smith, I make a pretty mean bit of tihaar if liquor is a passion of yours. All of it is yours. I don't pledge service lightly, or easily, but you have mine, in whatever capacity you wish it... And only one other has had that oath lain to them... And they were almost an Emperor once, before being a Jedi."

[member="Ajira Cardei"]

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ijaat Mereel"]

Almost an Emperor. Almost, to Ajira's mind, only counted with nerfshoes and thermal detonators. But then again, she'd sat on the Obsidian Throne, and had to make allowances for those who hadn't. Not that she had any idea who Mereel was talking about.

"Mister Mereel, I respect tenacity as much as I respect lasting loyalty; neither one is a common discovery. Here's what I ask of you: live as you will, and when you find yourself in contact with the One Sith, show no mercy. I don't care whether you decide to explore the Dark Side or the Light or something in between, though I suppose I'd recommend the Light so as to keep your options open. Don't make a face: not all Lightsiders are Jedi."

She stood and opened the crate, then produced a pyramid of alchemical metal, glossy black.

"This is my holocron. It should teach you what you need to know. I have other business to manage; if you need further information or assistance, my aide [member="Lady Shambleau"] is here." And getting along swimmingly with Lake Krul, bizarrely.

 

[Julius Sedaire]

The man took the holocron. A slight look of a pensive nature crossed his face as he looked at it. Holding it, just even holding it, made him wonder. There was something here, in this... This moment, the place, this woman... All of this was something that was terribly important. Whether just to him, or to others, he couldn't tell. But the growing feeling of pomp, of import, pressed on him like a weight. It was a moment before he licked his lips to speak. And moments more before he did speak. The words were chosen with extreme care, as what he said next was something beyond memorable to him in the times to come.

"They won't win... I will tear them down root and stem to find my Father.... Every bolthole, every stronghold... All of it will burn... I will see Coruscant razed, if I can... Make no mistake, they will fall..."

Breathing, he took a shaky inhale, a vein pulsing in his forehead.

"Light... Dark... Whatever the job requires....I've always been a man of greys, in most things..."

[member="Ajira Cardei"]