112

A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars

112

33 BBY/967 GSC. Serenno.

“Welcome back,” Jenza smiled as we made our way into the palace. She opened her arms and gave Allaya a smile, and a moment later the redhead was hugging her about the waist. Jenza was an equal opportunity hugger however, and motioned for Asajj to join them, and soon enough she had both of my Padawans trapped in her embrace.

“Thank you. It’s been some time,” I sighed, pulling off my helmet and sticking it to my mag plate. “If only I weren’t going to be wasting most of my shore leave here.”

“Sorry,” the older woman chuckled. Looking past me, she spotted Bo-Katan and Shmi. “And this must be our guest.” Jenza let go of the girls and made her way over, pulling Shmi into a hug as well.

“Thank you for having me,” Anakin’s mother smiled and returned the hug.

“Think nothing of it,” Jenza shook her head, letting go. “We’ve already got several potential locations picked out. My assistant Ann will take you out to each and let you see them, and you can choose whichever one you like. Just let her know and we’ll make it official. And I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of having you enrolled at our local college for some courses I think you may enjoy. Classes start next month. Feel free to attend, or not—but I recommend you do.”

“O-oh! Well, thank you. I just might,” Shmi nodded.

Jenza waved over a younger woman who smiled and gave a polite bow to Shmi before motioning towards the stairs down to the vehicle pool. “This way. We’ll be taking a speeder. One of the options is a bit of a drive outside the city.”

Shmi perked up at that, asking, “What can you tell me about it?”

“It’s a lovely little lakefront cottage—”

Their conversation faded quickly as they left and we made our way to the elevator. The doors closed behind us and quickly took us up to the private level of the palace. We left the girls to their own devices and made our way to Master Dooku’s office, where Bo stopped outside the door and posted up, leaning against the wall beside it and crossing her arms over her chest to wait.

It was just Jenza and I as we stepped into the office she and Master Dooku shared, to the sound of lightsabers flashing. I didn’t sense danger in the Force, but rested a hand on my hand cannon anyway, just in case, as I assessed the scene before me.

Master Dooku and an alien of a species I didn’t recognize were sparring, lightsabers clashing as they moved quickly back and forth across the floor of the office—the furniture having been cleared away and moved back to rest against the walls so they could fight unobstructed. The alien was some sort of humanoid reptilian species, with red skin, four fingered clawed hands, claw toed feet, tusks, and large, almost bat-like ears. It, or rather he as my senses told me, wore a metal mask over his face and a set of brown Jedi initiate robes and his lightsaber was a darker orange color.

The alien attacked Master Dooku with fast, aggressive strikes as he pushed himself to the limits of his mobility. The technique was Form IV, but it was clear he wasn’t capable of using the Force so it lacked the speed and force of a true practitioner of the form. Despite that, the man was very athletic, and he kept up relatively well with Master Dooku setting a slower pace.

After several exchanges of blows, Master Dooku deflected the man’s saber and stepped into his guard, his own lightsaber coming down and tapping the alien on the shoulder. They shut off their sabers and backed off, and the alien bowed. Master Dooku nodded before turning to us and smiling. “Welcome home, Tanya,” he said, before gesturing at the alien. “Allow me to introduce our kaleesh friend. This is Grievous of Kalee. Grievous, this is one of my former Padawans, Tanya Mereel.”

“Greetings,” I nodded. The kaleesh eyed me up and down before snorting quietly, radiating derision—over a sense of grief and rage that never seemed to fade. Frowning, I asked, “Is there a problem?”

“I have heard much about the fabled Mandalorians. Those who conquered the stars, only to be defeated by the Jedi in the end. It is a shame they are all cowards who hide in shells of armor.”

I glanced at Master Dooku, who offered, “The kaleesh are a warrior race whose culture is steeped in ritual. They see war and conflict as an essential part of life.” I felt the man’s mirth as he asked, “Perhaps that sounds familiar to you?”

Chuckling, I nodded once, before meeting Jenza’s eyes and motioning for her to join Master Dooku. “I see. The usual, then.”

“‘The usual?’” Grievous asked, as Jenza crossed the room and joined her brother as they backed away from the center of the room.

“Yes, it’s become a bit of a recurring routine at this point,” I answered, as I reached out with the Force and hit the quick releases for my armor, then pulled it away and set it to the side, leaving me in my robe and the vac suit under it. Undoing my belt, I set it aside with the armor as well, leaving me unarmed. Taking a breath, I began walking towards him. “Set that for lethal.”

The kaleesh blinked beneath his mask. He glanced at Master Dooku, who only nodded. Shrugging, Grievous flipped the switch to swap his lightsaber over from training mode to normal. I felt the threat of it in the Force as the hum it made grew louder. He took a Form IV stance and began circling as I slowly closed the distance between us.

Deciding to take the initiative, he rushed me, drawing his saber up for a one-handed diagonal swing from my left to right. I leaned left, out of the arc of the strike. One more step put me close enough and as I straightened up, I drove a fist into his diaphragm hard enough to lift him a couple inches off the ground and double him over. Pushing him away, I put my arms behind my back and waited for him to recover.

The kaleesh coughed and hacked as he backed away and sucked in a lungful of air. As soon as he had, he rushed in again, throwing a series of quick jabs. I swayed between them, the lightsaber humming so close I could feel the heat off of it.

“Out of curiosity,” I began as I hopped back from a textbook horizontal zone two to three right to left strike. “Your culture demands that you submit to any warrior who defeats you and lets you live, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Grievous growled, stepping into a diagonal low to high, left to right six/two slash, before following it up with a zone one jab at my head. “Stand still and face me, coward!”

“Well, if that’s what you want,” I murmured, stopping in place and bringing my hands back around to the front. He drew back for another zone three strike at my side and I reached out, hitting his wrist with the blade of my left hand, before bringing the right up for a strike. The sound of my open palm striking his face was loud in the room and the kaleesh froze as his head turned and his mask went flying, clattering across the floor. He slowly turned back and I saw the face he was hiding beneath the mask—looking like some cross between a lizard and a bat, given the long slit nostrils.

The kaleesh radiated rage and humiliation. Quietly, he hissed, “I’ll kill you for that insult.”

“You’ll try,” I nodded, waiting.

This time, he took his time on the approach, eyeing me cautiously. It seemed the lesson had finally penetrated—it just needed to be driven home with a fist, as tended to be the case with these types.

Why is it always meatheads?

He feinted a jab and I ignored it, as it didn’t even touch my robe. Another feint and a half-step forward, closer this time—a bit of Force trickery pulled my robe in flat against my body, once more sparing it the assault. I felt the real strike coming as he lifted the blade overhead and lunged forward into a fast, two-handed downward stroke at zone one—my head. Any kendo enthusiast would have been proud at the absolutely textbook form, power, and speed.

I stepped into a kick, driving my foot into his crotch at the same time I caught his hands. His eyes went wide and he began to collapse as I twisted the lightsaber out of his hands. A flick of the switch changed it back over to training mode and I completed the half turn, putting my right side facing him and driving the lightsaber forward and across my body in three quick thrusts that tagged his stomach, heart, and throat, before shoving him off with my shoulder. The kaleesh hit the ground and I spun, bringing his own saber in and stopping it against his neck.

Shutting off the lightsaber, I reached down and clasped the kaleesh by the forearm, pulling him up to his feet. Handing his lightsaber back, I grabbed his mask with the Force and handed that to him as well so he could put it back on. Then, I turned away and walked back over to my gear, lifting it with the Force and quickly putting it back on. When I turned back around, I found the kaleesh kneeling behind me. I sent Master Dooku a questioning look.

It was Grievous who answered my unspoken question, however. “I have come to plead for your aid, Mandalore.”

I blinked. “Me specifically, not the Confederacy?”

The kaleesh made an annoyed grunt. “I do not know your Confederacy, but I know the Republic, and politicians are the same practically everywhere you go. If yours are anything like mine a plea for assistance would fall on deaf ears, be tied up in debates for months or years, or our enemy would simply buy the votes necessary to get their way again. I cannot allow that to happen. We have heard many tales of the Mandalorians. Of how you will take any who would swear to fight with you into your clans and give them a place at your side, to fight for glory, honor, and riches.”

“Yes, we still do that,” I confirmed. “What exactly do you need?”

Master Dooku began moving furniture around the room back into its usual places and I reached out to help. As I did, the kaleesh explained, “I come from Kalee—located in Wild Space, far to the galactic north of the Republic and well outside of their space. We were a simple warrior people—we were barely up to slug throwers when the Huk invaded.”

There was a vitriol to the slur that I had rarely heard or felt before. “And what is a ‘huk?’”

“Soulless bugs,” Grievous spat. “You call them ‘Yam’rii.’”

Nodding, I pulled out my holocom as we sat, looking up the race quickly. It only took a moment and I frowned at what I saw—a mantis-like species of sentient insects as tall as an adult human, with either shears for hands or dexterous fingers. And according to the entry I saw, their diet consisted of meat and eggs—with a preference for eggs from other sentient species. They were apparently new to the Republic and the page’s edit history suggested that not too long ago, there had been a warning to egg laying species to guard their eggs and nests if a yam’rii was sighted nearby—and its removal coincided with their joining the Republic.

“I see,” I murmured. “Go on.”

“They invaded Kalee and enslaved my people. We fought back and liberated Kalee. We took their ships and their weapons, and then we drove the Huk all the way back to their home planet. Then, they sought help from the Republic.”

Once more, I felt the kaleesh’s rage grow. “I have some idea of how that went,” I mused, glancing at Master Dooku, who nodded.

“Yes. The Republic sided with the yam’rii, not knowing or not caring that they were the aggressors. The Jedi had our suspicions at the time that they purchased votes from several senators. The Trade Federation had a hand in it. Regardless, the matter was decided and the Jedi were dispatched, along with a force of mercenaries. Masters T’chooka D’oon and Jmmaar led the punitive force and pushed the kaleesh back to Kalee. Unfortunately the treachery of the yam’rii was discovered too late. The Senate had made its decision and the verdict was carried out, and they could not backtrack now that they had acted. So the truth was buried, and the kaleesh were sanctioned and ordered to pay reparations to the yam’rii. The Republic then gave half of the planet to the yam’rii and considers the matter settled.”

“Disgusting,” I shook my head, my lip curling. “The sheer, brainless incompetence to just believe the first thing you hear and make a decision based upon initial reports without first investigating, and then when the truth comes out having the gall to demand that the wronged party be punished and bury the truth? Everyone who approved of this shitshow deserves to be put in front of a firing squad. I understand why you would want to try to get the Confederacy involved, but not Mandalore.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“My people are dying. Starvation kills as many as the Huk now,” Grievous explained. “We are being driven to extinction. Our numbers are few now and we have little to our name but our weapons, our skill, and ourselves. I have come to offer them, in exchange for saving my people. We cannot take back Kalee as we are and we would not have you take it for us. We wish to join you instead. Give us a place to lick our wounds and grow strong again, that we might one day retake Kalee ourselves.”

“Ah. I see,” I murmured. “So you want us to come evacuate your people, disappear them, and induct them into the Mandalorians. Then when the Republic notices they’re gone, they have no one to level those sanctions and fees on. Your debt gets wiped out. Your people disappear for a few generations to get the population numbers back up. Then you return and remove the yam’rii, then declare for the Confederation.”

“Yes,” Grievous nodded.

“How many?”

The kaleesh man frowned. “We have fallen from nearly a billion down to perhaps ten thousand. Meanwhile, the yam’rii multiply quickly and they bring ships full of their people in by the millions.”

Jenza quietly gasped. “That’s a genocide. It’s… it’s population replacement.”

The kaleesh nodded. “Obviously.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I thought it over for a few moments, before nodding. “It would have to be completely covert. You would need to get in, let your people know to gather in a specific location at a specific time. We’d have to send in covert teams to shut down any means the yam’rii have of detecting our ships or getting any sort of signal out, and clean up after ourselves if there are any witnesses. We could send our drop ships in, grab them, and be out inside of an hour…”

It was feasible, certainly. The problem was, taking that many at once. I didn’t want a singular clan of kaleesh forming a splinter faction within my people, nor did I want them forming ghettos or other majority kaleesh areas or factions.

“If your people join mine, they must integrate fully. You will be Mandalorians first, Kaleesh second. You will adopt our values and our culture. Your children will speak Mando’a in addition to Basic. And when we take Kalee, it will not be as just the Kaleesh. If you cannot agree to those terms, I cannot help you directly. You’ll need to appeal to the Senate.”

Grievous was silent for several seconds, before eventually nodding. “I will make them understand. There may be some… butting of heads over it.”

“That’s fine. My people like a good fight,” I shrugged, before continuing. “Obviously, we can’t put this in writing or anywhere official. And once they’re in, your people can’t risk exposing themselves, so they’re going to be wearing beskar’gam for a long time. Until the Republic forgets about Kalee, at least.”

When Grievous nodded, I pulled out my holocom and called the Redoubt. As soon as I got the comms officer, I ordered, “Priority message to Mandalore. Empty and retask clone troop carriers and send them to Serenno with an escort. Estimate capacity at twenty thousand. Orders to follow when they arrive. That is all.”

“Understood, ma’am. Relaying now. Redoubt out.”

I hung up and put the holocom away. “There. Ships are on the way.”

“Thank you, Mandalore,” the kaleesh bowed in his seat.

I waved him off. “We don’t bow. A salute is good enough,” I said, and demonstrated. Grievous returned it with a nod and I hummed. “You’ll need to be sworn in. Best to do that now, then.” I stood and motioned for Grievous to do so as well. “Repeat after me. I adhere to the Six Actions…”

I walked Grievous through the short swearing in, then nodded when he finished. “There. It’s done. I’ll have someone comm you a copy of the full responsibilities, duties, and benefits package later.”

“Yes…?” his tone was leading, asking after my title.

“Mandalore, in Basic.”

“Yes, Mandalore,” he saluted.

Returning to our seats, I turned my attention to Master Dooku. “How much do the Senate want a win against us?”

“Desperately,” he answered with a frown, as he leaned back in his chair. “They’ve been going over the initial after action reports. Confederate Intelligence reports that they are planning to push for a military tribunal.” Sighing quietly, he added, “They want to try you under galactic war crime laws and enforce the maximum punishment.”

Death. They were seeking the death penalty.

Now, that didn’t mean they were going to get it, just that they were seeking it. Much like any negotiation, they were leading with a big demand well outside of any sense of reason or proportion, so that what they actually wanted would sound reasonable. Unfortunately for them, the laws of the Confederacy forbid such legal chicanery and the punishment for attempting it was clear, in black and white. It was effectively a legal ‘Uno Reverse’ as I believe it was called.

Jenza frowned. “They do remember we have bad faith laws in place specifically to prevent this sort of thing, don’t they?”

“I suspect that they don’t believe it applies to them, or they have convinced themselves that the Senate are exempt,” Master Dooku chuckled.

“Then they’ll be getting a demonstration of the law working, just not the one they wanted,” I murmured.

“Enough about that. Tell me about these gungans. What did you do?” Jenza demanded, eyeing me critically.

“Nothing that can be directly tied back to Confederate forces.” At the woman’s unimpressed look, I turned a meaningful look on Grievous before asking, “Why is he still here?”

Master Dooku sent me an amused look. “In all the excitement, it seems it slipped my mind. Grievous has experience leading men and with asymmetrical warfare against a technologically and numerically superior foe. With you having made it official, he will be joining the Confederacy as a general of our ground forces.”

“Good use of a new asset. I approve,” I agreed. That also neatly gave him the security clearance to be in this room for this conversation. “Very well then. The short answer is, I baited them into a civil war amongst themselves.”

Grievous chuckled, radiating malicious humor. “A classic, and one we employed many times.”

“After that, they turned in on themselves and now Padme is waiting for the dust to settle before coming in to negotiate. With any luck, they’ll have lost the taste for war by the time she does. If not… There are options.”

The Naboo weren’t keen on getting their hands dirty, but I had no such compunctions. If I had to stack enough gungan bodies to build a wall around Theed before they got the message and surrendered, I would.

“Tell me about Qui-Gon’s new Padawan,” Master Dooku asked, leaning forward in his seat. “Is he set on this one being the supposed Chosen One?”

I sighed. “Yes, I believe he is. As for the boy… Anakin is powerful and intelligent, and possesses an intuitive grasp of the Force. However, he is still a child. Impatient. Prone to emotional outbursts. With time and a proper Master, he’ll likely grow out of it. I let him train with Asajj and Allaya and they seem to get along well enough.”

Conversation wandered from there, on to what had been going on while I was away conducting the Liberation of Naboo. Apparently, there had been a vote while I was away and the majority decided that we were going to move the capital from Serenno out to Raxus Secundus in the Tion Hegemony, S-5 on the map. It wasn’t that far from Mandalore and Serenno, but apparently it was far enough in the majority’s opinion to separate Master Dooku from his power base on Serenno and allow them to not feel as though they were being pressured.

It would alter the perceived balance of power more in favor of the Senate than the Suzerain. Master Dooku was willing to go along with it, because he wanted this to work and didn’t want to be seen as a dictator who ignored the desires of his Senate, but only on the condition that all the senators moved their permanent residence to Raxus Secundus as well and that they live on the planet for the majority of the year—not less than eight months.

I thought it was absurd to allow the Senate to dictate terms on where the capital should be. They were obviously using this to test the waters and determine the extent of their power. Master Dooku agreed, but insisted that the capitulation here was worth the perceived leniency, as it would paint him as the voice of reason in the future.

Personally, I disliked it because it meant moving my own home from Mandalore to Raxus Secundus and having to construct new housing. Thankfully, any senators or representatives who were also members of the military were exempt from the rule of having to be physically present for two thirds of the year, or I’d end up chained to the planet and unable to go on campaign when I needed to.

It could be worse. They could try pushing for a separation of military from the other branches of government to force me or others serving out.

Eventually we parted ways for the evening and I went to go make last minute preparations for tomorrow.

“…And thus, with the Trade Federation pushed off of Naboo and confirmation of their forces withdrawing from neighboring systems, I concluded the operation.”

I finished my report, shutting off the holocom broadcasting to the main holo projector inside the Confederate Senate chambers. Looking around, I took in the Senators who sat quietly discussing the report, feeling out their emotions from where I stood on the Senate floor. There weren’t that many yet, barely a hundred, and as such they only filled the first ring of seats around the center of the room.

Unlike the Republic Senate, with its hovering platforms, wide open space, and high tech everything the Confederate Senate chamber was smaller, more intimate, and almost entirely no-tech. It was modeled off of any circular amphitheater, with a large, open, central circular area surrounded by progressively higher rings of seats. The floor was marble, while the stands were all a rich, warm red wood.

The seats, I knew from experience, were very nice, supremely comfortable artificial leather filled with the sort of gel found in top of the line space ship seats designed to conform to any body type. The most advanced tech in the room was the color holographic projection system, with the environmental controls coming a close second. There were no floating platforms.

If someone wanted to address the senate, their hologram would be broadcast into the center of the space from where they sat. If, as in my case, someone was called to the Senate floor for testimony or questioning, they had to get up and walk down to the box below, across from the Congress Leader—the only person who remained on the floor at all times.

Personally, I liked the visual messaging it sent. No frills. No pomp and circumstance. No horrendous waste of taxpayer money on building, maintaining, or supplying power to it. The sort of permanence that would last for centuries and the simplicity that meant that if something broke, it would be easy to repair. It said that we were there to conduct our duties, not to make a spectacle of things and endlessly waste time.

Honestly, it made the Republic’s Senate look like a high tech circus/theater by comparison.

One of the chimes sounded indicating one of the senators wanted to address the room and their image, name, and relevant information popped up above the floor. Voe Atell, Rattatakan, Corporate Alliance.

Senator Atell’s species were similar to the zabrak, in the ‘bald near-human with head protrusions’ way—though hers were a series of eight large, roughly triangular plates set in two rows of four that reminded me of a stegosaurus. The woman had green skin and purple eyes, and looked relatively young. She waited patiently for the Congress Leader to acknowledge her, which thankfully didn’t take but a few seconds.

“The floor recognizes Senator Atell,” Congress Leader Lawise announced.

“Yes,” the woman paused to clear her throat. “I have a question for Mandalore Mereel. The timestamps here indicate that your campaign ended on one date, but that you stayed for quite some time after before returning to Serenno. You also mentioned a conflict with the local, pre-spaceflight race. The gungans? What happened there? Was that situation resolved?”

“That is a separate report,” I nodded, calling up the relevant files and dropping them into the holoprojector. “Let me begin with the inciting event…”

I had been thorough with my report on the gungans. Everything was detailed from start to finish, leaving out our involvement in said finish.

The Trade Federation specifically requesting we not destroy their falling Lucrehulks so they could potentially conduct salvage operations. Their complete failure to judge just how quickly they were falling due to their own fleet’s actions in firing upon them.

The subsequent destruction of Otoh Gunga and the reasons the Naboo didn’t know where the gungan cities were. My own observations and theories on their status as a cargo cult living in the cities of the race that preceded them and built the cities, thus casting reasonable doubt onto any claim they could make to being native to Naboo in an effort to claim the humans on Naboo were invaders.

The kidnapping of my men. My attempt to explain the situation and the gungans’ complete disregard for it, and their dismissal of trying to reason with them being seen as weakness. The first execution by gungan terrorists as they announced their intent—complete with the actual, uncut and unedited footage of the beheading of the trooper I later learned was named Mirshko.

My entirely measured, reasonable, and proportional response.

Footage and documentation showing my men and their own response to the gungans, and them carrying out their duty admirably and with military efficiency. The gungans and their own response to our people, in sending more troops, to which my troops demonstrated their proficiency with artillery fire.

The gungans and their response of sending even more troops. The subsequent descent into gungan civil war. And finally, our response of quietly withdrawing our troops and Naboo’s decision to step back and wait for the gungans to resolve their internal issues before engaging with them again.

Needless to say, most of the Senate were justifiably angry at the gungans. Enough so that the room devolved into shouting and calls for more drastic punitive measures against them.

Congress Leader Lawise banged his gavel, trying to restore order that way, before resorting to technological means. He pressed two of the buttons on his control panel. The first generated a foghorn bellow at a high enough volume to make everyone wince. The second produced an active noise cancellation field over the stands. He held them in silence for a full thirty seconds before cutting it off.

“In light of this report, and given the time, I am calling a two hour recess to take lunch and discuss amongst yourselves. Dismissed.” With that, he stood and hurried for the rear doors leading to his private chambers. The gathered senators stood and began moving about while I remained seated, waiting for them to clear out. Many of them moved to the exits, grouping up and clearly going to discuss amongst themselves. Several made their way down to the Senate floor and into the back, to speak with Congress Leader Lawise.

A somewhat familiar presence at my shoulder and a quiet throat clearing drew my attention. Looking to my right, I found the redheaded Mina Bonteri standing there in a lovely dress, smiling down at me, her green eyes intense as I felt a conflicting mess of emotions from her—only some of which I could discern.

She felt genuinely happy to see me again, but also a bit saddened, likely that it was under these circumstances. There was worry and anxiety there, not directed at me but at something else. Though there was a little anxiety pointed my direction, along with the usual sexual arousal I felt from many people that I had learned to mostly tune out and excuse as just a fact of life as a zeltron. There was something else attached to that, almost like conniving, but… not negative or hostile.

“Tanya, would you have lunch with me?” she asked with a smile.

I nodded and stood. “I’d love to, Mina.”

Given the relief she felt at my agreement and the way certain emotions strengthened, I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a simple lunch with a colleague. She wanted something from me. The question was, what. It felt as though she knew it was going to be a big ask she would need to work her way up to—and important enough that she was one hundred percent committed to seeing it through and doing whatever she needed to do to secure my agreement.

I’ll make this easy for her, then. Hear her out, ask for a few minor concessions in exchange for whatever it is, and use this as an opportunity to build goodwill and trade that in for a favor in the future. Easy enough.

Surely, if it were anything truly important or time sensitive, she would have already spoken to the Senate about it. So really, this was just going to be an exercise in networking and exchanging favors.

If only every part of my job were so simple.