Survivor

[Ordo]

Deep Space
2 Parsecs from nearest port
0530 GST

The old refitted beskar hulled YT-2000 floated through deep space like so much flotsam. With no star near the only light to be seen was the glow lamp on the mask of the old patchwork eva suit that clung to the ship's side like a fish by a shark's gills wait it waited for scrapes.

Sparks flew from the arc welder in the beings hand as he worked steadily to get his only chance of ever making it home work again. The last patch made he crawled hand over fist along the dull grey hull like a scuttling insect in search of food while the welder trailed behind on its cables until he got to the airlock hatch. He tried the controls and was met with nothing but an inaudible click. He puched the panel and the lights flared on. The vibration of the ship's systems vibrated through the hull and the hatch opened. He pulled himself inside and waited for the airlock to pressurize before he began to fumble the suit off and hang it back in the storage locker.

His armored boots clanged like a distant gong as he walked back through the ship to the cockpit and began bringing the engines back online.

"There you go, baby." He told the ship, "Good as new."

He played the audio of the last transmission he had received from Mandalorian space, nearly a decade old, and double checked his course. Just 2 more parsecs, 30 years and he was finally coming home. Maybe by now, they'll have forgotten about the bounties.

 

[Gideon Saigo]

The nearest port

"FIVE THOUSAND CREDITS?! I flew all the way from the Outrim back to here to get this darn accelerator fixed for a good price." Jair screeched.

"You said you were off for a ten kay job on Bespin, the hell happened?"

"...there were four of us hunters. Ended up with two kay five of which the majority I just gave to the clan."

"Tough luck, Ordo. With the Sith's blockade on the Daragon Trail, smuggling prices have skyrocketed. Our depots are already at a deficit. I can't go less than five kay."

"Kark. Fine. I understand, hoss. I will restock what needs restocking and get back out there. If I get jacked by pirates - it's on you." Jair muttered and left.

The Mandalorian walked aimlessly down the large hallway of the docks scrolling down through his datapad figuring out what in his inventory required refilling. He unintentionally stopped and looked around. The hallway was so empty bar for a three or four others, like him, armored Mandalorians. The silence was murderous. Lethal. He could not get used to it. Once this port had been full of vode going about their business. The clanking of sabatons on the durasteel floor and the vocalized conversations through the buy'ce filled the docks.

Once.

Jair still couldn't get used to how many had perished in the war against the Sith, in the last stand of Manda'yaim and how many much more were driven, exiled away from Mandalorian lands prior - whether due to the civil wars or due to the former Mand'alor's incompetent rule. It all had led to that Last Stand. It had made the Mandalorians vulnerable.

But now the rains weep o'er Mandalore
With no one there to hear
Yes, now the rains weep o'er Mandalore
And not a soul to hear

The eerie song rang across his mind until the hissing off a ship landing on a dock next to him took his attention. A retrofitted YT-2000. For some reason, Jair approached the viewport overlooking the dock where it landed. He stared at it, maybe a little too hopeful that it was a smuggler with a cheap accelerator Jair could purchase from. Maybe I should push my luck, he thought and entered the dock through the doors heading straight to the ramp of the vessel expecting a smuggler to come off it.

And maybe with a cheap accelerator.

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

The ship sat down on its struts and began venting heat and cycling in fresh air. The engines whined down with a shudder that ran through the hull as he hit the actuator to lower the boarding ramp and stood with his concussion rifle slung over his shoulder. It was a slow jerky process, the hydro-pneumatic system had been refitted from a troop ship six years ago and the jury rigged systems needed almost weekly attention.

The ramp touched down with the dull clang of metal on duracrete as he started down the ramp. Steam blasted down from the port bow heat exchanger and bathed him in a shroud of white fog as he stepped off the end of the ramp and looked to see another Mandalorian striding toward him with purpose. He scanned the other man through the black transparent-beskar of his helmet and decided he probably wasn't going to have to shoot him in the face before he found out what was going on. Probably.

"You're still alive?" He said by way of greeting as was custom. It was an odd short of hello, but when life was war nothing was normal.

[member="Jair Ordo"]

 

[Gideon Saigo]

"You're still alive?"

Jair gaped at the man he saw come down the ramp of the junk of a ship and couldn't believe it. If it wasn't for his helmet, Jair's expression was the absolute antipode of the stereotypical stoicism expressed by Mandalorians. Yet, he doubted there would be many others who would react differently from the clan. The vague memories of his childhood resurfaced, some twenty years ago this man had disappeared and believed to be dead. With the man's brother's demise, a lot crumbled. Clan. Mandalorians. Another sundering in the recent history of the Mandalorians after the Gulag plague.

Jasper and Jor. The twin brothers of Ordo. The former - a respected Alor and a...memorable Mand'alor. Jair, like any other youth during these times, heard the tales of both formidable warriors.

The younger Mandalorian shook his head but Jor did not disappear.

"Uh...yeah. I am." Jair said tonelessly. Truly, the bounty hunter had been always beneath the Mandalorian standard of capabilities during his youth. Somehow he had survived. Maybe that's what surprised the older man. Or maybe he mistook him for someone else. Either way, Jair mentally smacked his head to cease the endless loop of trivial questions in his mind.

"We thought you are dead." Jair stated and then picked his wits gesturing at the nearly abandoned port in which they were on. "Not much to come back to, ol' man. Mandalore's gone to the Sith. Our worlds - ravaged. Our clans - shattered."

​Once upon a time in his childhood he read a book called The Pledge which heavily emphasized the existence of fate and destiny. As he grew up, the naive belief in a scripted story for the galaxy disappeared, replaced by the harsh reality. But for some reason the reappearance of Jorso'ran Ordo at this exact time reminded him of that book.

"A great time to come back." he tried finding humor in all of it with a sarcastic tone but his eyes beneath the helmet lingered to the emptiness of the port where the shadows of a better past crept.

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

He couldn't help but just stand and stare for a moment at the younger man. His armor was clean, well relatively speaking, he had the sarcastic confidence of a younger man, a man that hadn't yet had his existence worn down to bare instinct and muscle memory. It was a kind of innocence that Ordo didn't know if he wanted to preserve or stomp out to save the man the trouble it would cause later.

"And what are we doing about it?" He said simply.

Mandalorians were patient people. Any soldier had to be. His clan brother was likely simply stating the obvious but Ordo had never been a social animal and he hadn't interacted with anyone that wasn't an enemy for more than a few minutes at a time in the last six years.

"I need repairs and any information you have on this Sith empire, jetii'se don't belong on Manda'yaim." His voice sounded like a landslide as he spoke. Luckily he didn't think he'd have to do much of it.

[member="Jair Ordo"]

 

[Gideon Saigo]

The tales of the two twins were quite real, Jair realized when he heard the man talking. Everything about Jor's attitude, manners, body language and directness were exactly as the tales portrayed him. It was no surprise of course, most Mandalorians were rather stoic and direct but much fewer achieved galactic-wide reputation like Jor's brother - Jasper. He emanated an aura of intimidation which many would cower to. And it wasn't just the armor. Jair? It locked him into soldier-like respect, not very different from how grunts acted when talking to an officer. The difference was, in standing armies respect to officers was dictated by a martial code. Among Mandalorians? By pure strength.

"You've come to the right place then. There's a Rekali mechanic over 'ere, Hem, he's good. The only Rekali I know of that didn't venture off with the rest of the clan." Jair replied gesturing back at the bay's doors that lead back to the corridors of the port. "Things got pretty pricey though with the Sith running wild on customs and inspections all across the Daragon Trail."

He paused for a moment, carefully thinking whether to answer the first question Ordo asked him. Eventually, the respect won over.

"We're...well the long answer is - when the previous Mand'alor, one Yasha Mantis, or Cadera, or whatever the kark she goes by nowadays, claimed the mantle, Vizla's alor challenged her and others like Fett supported his dispute. Things went south on that 'coronation'. Callin' it the Red Coronation nowadays. Split the clans apart. Ended up with Mandos behind Yasha and Mandos against Yasha. So that status quo ain't really different now. Everyone's split. Most are dead, exterminated by the Sith. Others fell in the battles against the Confederates and the Silvers. The remnant Mandalorians either joined rebel cells in Sith occupied worlds, others formed their own and then another batch, like me, went across the galaxy for work - bounty hunting, mercing, you name it and what they made they gave back to their clans. A few turned lone wolves, livin' for the paycheck." The last kind immediately reminded him of [member="Mar Kerser"].

"Too much animosity from that schism. Short answer is - we doin' kark all other than trynna survive."

The younger Ordo never thought he'd report to someone in such a soldier-like manner, despite the space millennial slang.

"Rekali ought to know more on the happenings with the Sith Empire."

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

"Bas'lan Shev'la." He said nodding slowly, "They forgot the Manda, they lost the way."

He tilted his head over his shoulder to his battered ship. His shoulders and posture rigid as if he were still in a combat zone and he was waiting for an ambush. And that was exactly what he was. His life had been war, and where he went he would take it with him, always.

"I don't have much; parts, rations, and some weapons that ran out of ammo, but your welcome to the home I have. You've done the right thing. Support your family, build strength for the next crusade. This is the way."

He took his concussion rifle off his shoulder and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.

"Let's go see this Rekali witch." He said, "I'll have to tell them how many they lost on the fringe."

Not waiting for a reply he began walking in the direction the younger man had indicated. All business, cold and unyielding as the armor he wore.

"And I'll need some ammo, if you can point me in a good direction."
[member="Jair Ordo"]

 

[Gideon Saigo]

A reverential nod at the older Ordo and both headed to the Rekali.

"Already back with the five kay? What you do? Rob the three malfunctionin' droids running aro- by the fethin stars." Rekali shook his helmeted head and pinched at his forearm. He looked around trying to find the source of his hallucinations but there was nothing but tools and parts for starship repairs. "What Rekali witch pulled you out of the grave, Jorso'ran?"

Jair took the word. "He needs repairs, ammo and information."

"Yeah, I will get you sorted, Jor." Hem said. He had seen the Ordo twins in combat and had heard the rest of their 'adventures' through stories. Unlike Jair, though, Hem was their contemporary. Heck, even older. Morellian ageing was confusing.

Rekali handed a datapad with a quartermaster's catalogue of inventory and sat back on a rusty part of a ship. He gestured for the two Ordo two do the same opposite of him on other rusty pieces, if they wished so.

"I am sure the kid already gave you a summary of what happened, Ordo." Hem began calmly but to those more noticeable to details there was a hint of tension rising in his tone. An over sharpening of knives. "But I know what the kid might've missed."

"They are dar'manda, hoss. I don't acknowledge their existence." Jair cut off. Personal simmering anger slid through his tone. He had a very good friend, a Munin, who he'd lost not to death but to...betrayal.

"Sure, kid, but they're still there and their guns are as real as the ones you got on you." Hem replied to the younger Ordo and turned his visor to the older one. "The rift that opened between the clans, Ordo, sent a fraction of our people to a more extreme side. Point of view."

Hem paused and silently sighed.

"[member="Vilaz Munin"] and his followers aided the Sith in the purge of Mandalore. He, as far as I know, saw it as a cleansing. A sign of rebirth. Always an extreme man that Munin." Hem said recalling memories of when he had fought shoulder to shoulder with Vilaz. The man was born under a radical sign. "This betrayal gave the Sith the opportunity for victory. Vilaz handed the Sith Mandalore on a silver platter and when that was done, the Sith raised a Mand'alor of their own. Kadtaniyai Mand'alor, a puppet to [member="Darth Carnifex"] himself. We call him Hodar Mand'alor. Teyn Gratiir, you may have heard the name, you may have not."

"Dar'manda scum." Jair spat.

"With the Sith in control of the core Mandalorian worlds, these dar'manda serve as a brutal police force with the limitless resources of the Empire stomping any thought of resistance and rebellion." Hem finished.

Jair looked up at the senior Ordo.

 

[Ordo]

"They're just targets now." He said without so much as a shrug, "Mandalorians don't have the luxury to dwell, the next battle waits for no one."

He tilted his head over his shoulder to his battered ship.

"I have four of your kin on board. They fought well and honored your clan," he said then hesitated as if trying to remember the basic social propriety involved with the situation, "I...mourn, with you."

He paused again as if searching for the wprds. It had been a long time since he had spoken so much and heard basic spoken back to him.

"As soon as I secure supplies and a depot to stike from, even a mobile one." He began looking at them through the T-shaped visor but his thoughts far away, "I'll start a counter offensive, guerilla war, insurgency, counter insurgency, more will come to help, or I'll fight alone until they kill me. This is the way."

He turned back to his ship.

"Our forge is in the cargo hold. Your free to use it if you've the need."




[member="Jair Ordo"]

 

[Gideon Saigo]

Rekali nodded with a strain and stood up along with Jair following Ordo back to his ship where work awaited them.

Just targets now, Jair thought. Ordo's words ringing in his head. Where aruetiise complicated stuff, Mandalorians simplified them. He shouldn't forget that. All this mingling with the aruetiise had his mind heavy. The senior Ordo really did loosen up Jair's own mental luggage by far.

He remained silent for much of the work going on until he suddenly jerked up from putting down a crate and calmly turned to Jor.

"So...what's your next move, al'verd' ?"

[member="Ordo"]

 

[Ordo]

Ordo needed to spend time studying troop movements and gathering intel. He wanted them to hurt. And he wanted them to know it was him. But how, until he knew more he didn't know.

"I'm going to hurt them until they kill me or I win." He told his clan brother simply, "As to how? I'm open to suggestions."

He paused and gave the younger man his full and undivided attention. He was young and full of the brash sarcasm of a young man, but he gave a report, sought to aid and was looking for plans like a warrior ready to act. Any good leader knew to listen to his troops, you never knew what they might see that you don't.


[member="Jair Ordo"]