Concord Dawn
As agreed, they brought me my armor and weapons the following day. Once I confirmed everything was present, I let out a calm breath.
"Shade, so how do you use this weapon?" Des asked, pointedly gripping my sword with both hands.
"It is useless to you," I said, shaking my head. I reached out, and with a light pulse of the Force, I drew the weapon to myself. A white beam of energy erupted from it. "These swords are made according to old traditions, and only their owner is capable of controlling them." With those words, I opened my hand and extended the ignited sword to Des. The Mandalorian took the weapon with some trepidation but acclimated to it quite quickly.
"I don't know... In my opinion, a blaster is more effective," Warren shared his thought.
"Everything depends on the user," I disagreed. "For someone gifted with the Force, such a device will always be useful. It is for both offense and defense, takes up little space, and won't work in someone else's hands."
"Oh really?" Des even took a swing with the sword for effect. To show off, I snapped my fingers, and the sword immediately went out. "Um..."
"This sword and I are one."
"Just like a Basilisk," Des said, respectfully running his other hand over the hilt.
"A Basilisk?"
"Mandalorian combat droids. It is better to show one once, because words cannot describe it."
"I will remember that."
"Shade, what about these swords?" Warren nodded at the other three.
"Another one is also mine. But the other two... They are a memory of my mother. We were together on the last mission, but only I managed to get out."
"My condolences."
"Thank you."
"Is the second mask hers?"
"Yes."
"My respects to its mistress," Des shifted his attention to the mask and examined it closely.
"Shade, do I understand correctly that in your culture, not only men but women are warriors too?"
"Heh. Something like that. Circumstances, so to speak, dictated the conditions. Why?"
"Just comparing our traditions," Warren leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Among Mandalorians, both women and men must know how to fight."
"Then we are more alike than one might assume."
"Indeed. Tell me, what is your view on mercenaries?"
"Depends on which ones. One mercenary is not the same as another. In my time, there were few. For example, what do you do?"
"It depends on the circumstances. I am an adherent of the older traditions, those very canons of honor you know about, and I don't take just any contract. For instance, I won't take a kidnapping or the murder of a child, and many other Mandalorians are the same. I won't take part in the execution of civilians or terrorist attacks. I am a warrior, not a maniac. For example, I was once offered the suppression of an uprising at a mine. But ordinary unarmed workers were striking there. To shoot at such people is a disgrace for any Mandalorian! Or do you think otherwise?"
"No, I share that point of view."
"Yes... But alas, not everyone thinks so," Des added sadly.
"M?"
"There are some... who, let's say, want to return to the times when Mandalore went on a conquest of the galaxy. They have different views, ideas, and... methods. These would even sell their own into slavery, but fortunately, they are few."
"Yes, but if that became known, their own people would tear that 'someone' apart. It is not fitting for us to sell our brothers and sisters!"
"Nevertheless, it happens," Warren sighed.
"I understand. Not everything is as smooth as one would like."
"That is putting it mildly," Des smirked.
"So you were lucky that it was us who found you. I mean, the True Mandalorians."
"Heh."
"Shade, what do you plan to do after you recover?"
"In what sense?"
"Well. Where will you go?"
"I don't know. First, I need to get used to this world, learn about it better, find somewhere to lie low. It is hard to just take it all in and immediately get used to the new. To confess, I am still back there, in another time..."
"That is true."
"But why do you ask?"
"We thought that if you are interested in mercenary work, you could stay among us for a while. Especially since our views are similar in many ways. And a fighter like you certainly wouldn't hurt us. What do you say?"
"Hmm... I am grateful for the offer. Sincerely grateful, as I feel you mean me no harm." The Mandalorians exchanged glances. "But... Not yet. I need to get used to things a little."
"As you wish. If you change your mind, the offer remains open."
So, passing the time by talking with the mercenaries, I recovered. Each of their visits meant not only a new portion of information but also language lessons. Primarily in Mando'a, so I could at least speak the same language as them. Secondly, in Basic.
By the way, a funny point: the Basic language, just as it was common in my time, has survived to this day, just in a much more altered form than the Taung language. In any case, I had a base for both languages, and many rules remained the same, making it easier to learn.
To get back to normal as quickly as possible, as soon as I could walk, I immediately took up my old training. The Force is the Force, but it is not a panacea. The Mandalorians watched this with approval and encouraged me in every way. Interestingly, both made me promise that as soon as I recovered, I would spar with them. At first, I thought they were joking, but no, both were perfectly serious.
Truth be told, a mishap occurred when I wanted to leave the hospital, thinking I was ready—but the medics said, "Stay down!" Well, I had to stay a little longer. Ramira had thoroughly taught me not to argue with doctors, and these were beasts. Stern faces, commanding voices, whew!
Good thing I didn't have to be bored, and thanks to the guys, I could get lost in a data pad. After going into the HoloNet once, I realized that without knowledge of Basic, I had nothing to do there, so all my free time was directed at catching up on what I had missed.
When the time finally came to leave, the pair of Des and Warren were waiting for me at the exit. While dressing, I stumbled upon a ring. Taking the jewelry in my hand, I rolled the ring between my fingers, remembering the past. Yes... The past life remained in the past, but the memories would stay forever. If only I could quiet my soul with the knowledge that everything was fine after I left. Putting the jewelry on my finger, I covered my hands with gloves and hung the swords and my mother's mask on my belt. Finally, before fastening my mask to my face, I looked into the visor.
Gazing at my reflection in it, I smiled with the corners of my lips. An echo of the past, right? Who would have thought... Fastening the mask to my face, I left the hospital. Notably, the staff looked at me with respect, and the sisters who cared for me at first bowed respectfully. Strange, why was that? I don't understand.
As Warren had promised, they arranged a small tour of the city for me. Kero'Tus, the planet's capital, didn't exactly inspire awe. To the eye, it was a city of private plots and houses; sometimes the houses occupied the entire plot and stood flush against the next. There were no multi-story buildings here; the structures had three floors at most. There were no landmarks here testifying to high development. No. This place was very sprawling; some houses looked more like fortifications, and others actually were fortifications. It gave the impression that we were walking not through a civilized city, but in some military village. A very, very large and densely populated village where cars roll through the streets, droids walk, and shops and establishments have neon signs straight out of cyberpunk, and along with ordinary passersby, cutthroats armed to the teeth are walking. In some ways, it all reminded me of Shikaakwa, but even there I hadn't seen guys walking right down the street with a grenade launcher.
"So, how do you like our city?" Des nudged me with his elbow.
"Honestly?" I looked sideways at the Mandalorian. "I am at a loss. This is some kind of surrealism for me."
"Kero'Tus is indeed an unusual city," Warren added. "Even for our world. Concord Dawn is an agricultural planet, and there are many farms here. This city was built on one of those, primarily because clans that couldn't get along with the authorities began to be sent here."
"What do you mean, 'sent'?"
"Literally."
"Are you not the authority on Mandalore?!"
"Alas, Shade. Mandalore is currently in the hands of the so-called 'New Mandalorians'."
"A pacifist faction that rejects violence," Des explained to me.
"Mandalorians—pacifists?!" I couldn't believe my own ears. "Guys, are you playing a joke on me?"
"If only," Warren grunted, turning away. "After the defeat in the Great Crusade, the New Mandalorian faction was born. I don't argue that radical measures were needed then, but..."
"But someone decided to hit rock bottom."
"Yes."
"Great Force..." Placing a hand to my mask, I shook my head. "Unfathomable. Poor Taungs, what must it be like for them to look at you from Manda?"
"Don't touch the sore spot," Warren growled quietly.
"Fine... But this is a nightmare. This is just a nightmare. I am in shock."
"Because of this, it is an unsettled time now. Three factions, each pulling the blanket toward themselves. Some want war, others honor for our people, others... I will leave that without comment." Warren sighed, and there was so much pain in those words. Poor man. I had managed to tell them so much about their ancestors, and now I understand why he is so ashamed before me. Horror.
"But there are those like you," I tried to comfort the guys. "Those who honor the traditions, who preserve the culture. As Te Cor'Kan said: 'You cannot exterminate us, aruetii. We do not sit in one place—we are scattered across the galaxy. We do not need rulers or leaders—so you cannot destroy our command. We can survive without technology—and are thus in a position to fight with our bare hands. Racial background or blood kinship is not for us, and that is why our ranks are joined by all who wish to join. We are more than just a people or an army, aruetii. We are a culture. We are an idea. And just as you are incapable of killing an idea, by our hands you are, without a doubt, capable of dying.' So it's not all that bad!"
"I think those words belong to Mandalore the Destroyer."
"No, Des. Those words were spoken by Te Cor'Kan in the war with the Celestials when they bombed their worlds. And then, the Mandalorians gave them a good thrashing! I don't know who you just named, but those words are many more years old than you think."
"Shade..."
"What?"
"Have mercy. Don't finish me off, I already feel bad enough..."
"Well. Fine, let's leave history in peace. Will you boast of technical achievements? I don't believe there aren't any."
"Oh! That's this way for us," Des immediately oriented himself.
"Where?!"
"Despite the overall sad picture, we have companies left that make very interesting weapons, armor, and even equipment. Because they are small, the goods aren't widespread, but the quality is amazing. The clans make them as if for themselves."
"They do make them for themselves," Warren smirked. "For Mandalorians."
The conversation was interrupted by the crash of a body in armor flying out of a doorway. Three others followed, who began to kick the first without any embarrassment.
"…'new law,' you filth?"
A strike.
"'Your rules,' you scoundrel?"
A strike.
"I am the law, you maggot!"
A strike.
"And it's for us to decide who is right here and who isn't!"
A strike.
"What was to be proven," Warren noted melancholically, waving a hand at the fight.
"What are you talking about?"
"The one being kicked is Tor Vizsla. One of the representatives of that very boisterous faction that likes to wave a blaster even among their own and thinks we need a new war. The one who disgraces Mandalore..."
"And the ones doing the kicking?"
"Journeyman Protectors. We are among them."
"Now I specifically don't understand. Are you no longer mercenaries, but police?"
"No. We are mercenaries, Shade. But when we return home, we become its protectors. We are True Mandalorians, we honor the code of honor, and we watch over the order here as much as possible."
"Ah. Now I understand."
"Let's go."
"A-a-ah..."
"Don't pay attention, it's a common thing."
"As you say."
The tour continued. The fact that the city was formed from a village left a mark. For example, in the form of a dirt road in the middle of the city. Or a pack animal that was dragging some load. But despite this, there was something to see in the city. For example, a weapon shop. The guys entered it as if it were their own home; I was also interested to see what would be shot at me.
Blasters, laser rifles, both classic and original firearms. By the word "original," I mean truly original weapons that one must still guess how to invent. Because I cannot even imagine who could have thought to make a Particle Beam Cannon out of an emitter. As I understood it, it is an energy weapon that fires a concentrated stream of protons or ions at a target, with damage caused by both thermal and kinetic energy. To think of it, an energy weapon, yet it has both recoil and some kind of stopping effect! This thing burned through armor "wonderfully," according to some. And there is also a side effect after a hit! A target hit by a couple of such beams will at the very least suffer from overloads in its computer system.
This thing had plenty of downsides too, and essentially there were three. First: cooling. There was a big problem with it; the cannon heated up just like that, which prevented it from firing for long. Second: energy. This thing ate quite a bit; you couldn't put such a power cell in your pocket. You need wheels, or a ship. And the third, and most important downside: price. This masterpiece cost an indecent amount! Therefore, many bypassed it, and large companies preferred well-proven turbolasers to this thing.
Another curiosity was the Pulse-Wave cannon, which has been installed on equipment since the times of the Mandalorian Wars to this day. The mechanism is refined, very reliable, simple, and relatively cheap. Regarding effectiveness... well, this thing was installed four thousand years ago and is installed now, and that—means something.
There is also the "Shockwave Generator." A primitive sonic weapon that caused and causes problems for everyone and anyone who falls under it, and the closer you are, the more it hurts. Funny, but there are versions of the weapon where this thing starts to blast plasma, so you won't be left unarmed in space.
That's regarding big guns. But there are also "small" ones. A wrist-mounted rocket launcher, a wrist-mounted poison dart launcher, a wrist-mounted shocker, a wrist-mounted knife with a "shootable" blade... Mandalorians had a whole wagon of devices for wrist mounting—take your pick! They didn't forget about hands either, making so-called "crushgaunts." Dangerous junk; not just bones, you can crush metal in them.
They also showed me what is popularly called the "Cosmetic Case." In a disassembled state, this thing is a simple repair kit consisting of three elements. And truly a repair kit; everything worked as it should. But if you connect everything, you get a piece of junk that can leave a through-and-through scorched hole in someone's carcass fifty times in a row. Versions of "Cosmetic Cases" ranged from a pistol to a sniper rifle, all depending on the buyer's needs and funds. Hadiya certainly wouldn't have refused such a toy, that's for sure.
Warren and Des, seeing my interest, sang like nightingales. These devils didn't even hide that they were actively campaigning and tempting me to join the clan. Truth be told, everything I was shown and introduced to cost a lot. For crushgaunts alone, they asked fifty thousand. Just for reference, some used ships cost less.
"Yes... Now I understand the meaning of the phrase, 'Do for others as for yourself.' Listen, is this definitely a farming planet?"
"Yep."
"I am afraid to imagine what was on Mandalore."
"Don't even mention it, but it's easier on Concord Dawn."
When I mentioned the legality of all this wealth, I was surprised by the answer that half of the entire range is considered banned in the Republic, and the other half is particularly dangerous, and they simply won't let you through with it just like that. And no one cares! At all! Absolutely everyone freely uses these goods, arms themselves, and arms their ships. And to take away a Mandalorian's weapon... well, there are more humane ways to commit suicide.
Or I underestimated the level of corruption. Seriously, how is that? An armed-to-the-teeth mercenary arrives on a densely populated planet "for work" and feels more than wonderful. When I clarified this, I received an affirmative answer. Now you can transport anything anywhere, if you have the connections or the money. Some pirates even protect entire planets, if not systems, which, by the way, are part of the Republic. Well. What interesting times I've fallen into, indeed!
But returning to the shops. With armor, things were no better than with weapons. Once I saw the price tags there, I left the very first shop. Yes... Now it's clear why Mandalorians earn a lot but don't have much money. With such prices, even with "friends' discounts," everything is indecently expensive. But the quality speaks for itself.
With the onset of evening, more people appeared on the street; many were returning home, and they were dressed in everyday clothes. Relatively everyday. Yes, with weapons, but nonetheless, it wasn't the sealed armor you'd walk through space in.
"What is it, Shade?"
"I'm looking at the people. I thought you always walked around in armor..."
"Are you joking? No, of course not!" Des laughed.
"It is very inconvenient. When we are on a mission, or just outside our own planet, then yes. But at home, many, especially the more peaceful brothers and sisters, prefer ordinary clothing to armor. Agree, you won't walk in the field in combat armor, plowing the land?"
"Heh... It would be funny."
"Depends for whom. Come on, let's go."
"Where?"
"To arrange for a night's lodging. Or do you prefer to sleep in the fresh air?" Warren joked.
And they led me... No, not to a hotel, strangely enough. Warren invited me to his house and offered for me to live with him temporarily. They are still waiting for the return of other members of their improvised squad from a mission, so for now they will be protectors on Concord Dawn, and then off on a new mission with the old group. For me, this will be a time to adapt and not accidentally cause myself problems through misunderstanding. And besides, I've just come from a hospital bed; where am I to hurry?
Warren lived... strangely. To look at it, his house had an L-shape, where the top half of the house has a second floor, and the first serves as the entrance and living room. The strangeness lay in the absence of any domestic trifles in the house. There was a lot of space, especially for one person, yet almost no furniture. A table in the kitchen, a stove, an empty refrigerator, a couple of armchairs, a sofa, a bed... The only thing that suggested someone was here was the workshop and the armory. There was a lot of good stuff there, as every self-respecting Mandalorian maintains his own equipment.
In the house, I was handed cash credits in the amount of fifty-five thousand. Five went for treatment. Since I had no intention of being a leech, but knowing that Mandalorians contribute a certain amount to the clan treasury, I returned ten to Warren. Yes, essentially, I overpaid significantly, very significantly, but for these guys, I wouldn't have begrudged the entire sum. The Mandalorians appreciated the gesture, so that very evening we arranged a small party. At the neighbors'. Again, due to the lack of furniture in Warren's house.
The neighbors responded to our arrival warmly and met us like family. Literally like family. I mean, here our trio showed up on the doorstep dragging a crate of something alcoholic, hell knows exactly what the guys took. And the owners of the house immediately rubbed their hands and set the table. Clan Hawk, whose peace we had just disturbed, consisted of nine people, two of whom were on a mission, and they didn't even look at the fact that I somehow differed and spoke Mando'a poorly. On the contrary, I was given special attention as a respected guest, as Warren had introduced me. Like: "A seasoned fighter who is interested in our ways."
So, sitting at the common table, I could see Mandalorian culture from the inside. At least, a part of it, that very part that preserved the old traditions and the Resol'nare code. At first, stories from life were told at the table; I also had something to tell these guys and earn a couple of points. When the clan head, decorated with scars like a tree with ornaments, suggested I test my strength, we held a couple of training spars where we traded bruises. The body still obeyed me poorly; strikes came out weak, but even so, I was able to show my best side.
Truth be told, when the alcohol began to hit the head, an incident occurred during which we, shooting at targets in the back yard, almost shot each other. But my resolve, core, and readiness to stand by my opinion played in my favor, and a new bottle immediately helped settle the conflict, and the shooting turned into singing.
Songs on Mandalore are something else. A hard drum rhythm, accompanied by something resembling a violin or the wail of pipes and a horn—whew! It gave me goosebumps. And to confess, by the third song, I was singing along with everyone:
Kote! Darasuum kote!
Jorso'ran kando a tome!
Taung sa rang broka jetiise ka'rta.
Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu,
Coruscanta kandosii adu.
Duum motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a, tong!... Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Aruetyc runi solus cet o'r.
Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Aruetyc runi trattok'o.
Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an!
Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a, tong!
Bal kote! Darasuum kote!
Jorso'ran kando a tome!
Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an!
Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an.
Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an.
Bal…
Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Aruetyc runi solus cet o'r.
Motir ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a.
Aruetyc runi trattok'o.
Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an!
Kandosii sa kyr'am ast,
Troan teroch righteous a'den,
Duraan vi at ara'nov.
Vode an, ka'rta Tor!
Bal kote! Darasuum kote!
Jorso'ran kando a tome!
Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an!
And if translating into simple language, it turns out to be something like:
Glory! Eternal glory!
We shall bear its burden together!
The spirit of the Taungs burns in the heart of the Republic.
We are the fury of the Shadow Warriors,
The first noble sons of Coruscant.
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame.
But our vengeance will burn brighter, Justice!
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame.
But our vengeance burns stronger.
Every petty, treacherous soul will fall prostrate.
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame.
But our vengeance burns stronger.
Every petty, treacherous soul will be defeated!
We are the sword forged in the flames of death, all of us are brothers!
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame,
But our vengeance burns stronger, Justice!
And glory! Eternal glory!
We will bear its burden together!
We are the sword forged in the flames of death, all of us are brothers!
All as one, brave in heart, all of us are brothers.
We bear the wrath of Coruscant, all of us are brothers.
And…
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame,
But our fury will burn brighter.
And all traitors will fall to their knees.
He who stands in our way—will fill the night skies with flame,
But our fury will burn brighter.
And all betrayers will be defeated.
We are the sword forged in the flames of death, all of us are brothers!
Merciless as death itself,
The stern face of righteous wrath
We will look down upon those before us.
All of us are brothers, a single heart of justice.
And glory! Eternal glory!
We will bear its burden together!
We are the sword forged in the flames of death, all of us are brothers!
Through ignorance, one might take this as an anthem to the Republic, but no. It is a song of the Taungs, the "Taungs." For initially, Coruscant was their planet. And it was the Celestials who drove them from their homeland. And this song was written in honor of that, when the Taungs returned and gave the offenders a thorough thrashing.
Singing these motifs, I saw images of the hated Rakata and how I burst on board their vessel. I heard the language of the Taungs, felt the emotions of this people, relived past events anew. To confess, I wanted to stretch my fists, return to the past, and once more charge into battle alongside a faithful ally.
Being a little tipsy—alcohol still affects me worse than others—nonetheless, I was carried away into revelations in which I, like a walking reference book, held forth about the past, how everything was, revealed the meaning of every word in the song, and almost in plain text declared that Coruscant is a planet of Mandalorians, but I checked myself in time. The people are hot-headed enough as it is; I didn't need to heat them up even more.
Given how much I had absorbed the spirit of my drinking companions, they asked me to sing something from my people's repertoire. Unlike these stern warriors, my performance was more melodic, because I sang not about war, but about those who left their lives in it. And then, the devil moved me to tell about the war with the Rakata. Though what war... A slaughter. Can one war with a steamroller that just rolls and crushes everything it sees? No. But nonetheless, we won. I believe in that, I want to believe in that, but... I will need to be sure.
The Mandalorians, to my surprise, with a fist strike on the table, offered help. Warren offered to help me find chronicles and find out what became of my descendants, what the war led to, and whether our efforts were in vain. But I refused. This is my past, and it is for me to deal with it, though I thanked him for the offer.
Warriors? Killers? Dirty mercenaries? I know nothing of that. These guys pulled me out, healed me, shared the proceeds, invited me into a home, gave me bread, and accepted me as one of their own. And all this without a selfish thought in their heads—I watched for that the whole time, but no. These are open people, and if they don't like you, you will certainly know about it. Immediately. Sometimes—with a fist to the face. And if they really don't like you, then with a blaster to the face. And this openness, and simplicity... they were endearing. And I seriously began to think about staying with them; I have nowhere to go anyway, and money is needed. But later. After I find out the details of the past.
From the following day, I temporarily joined the collective and patrolled the city streets with the Journeyman Protectors. Conflicts in the city were mostly with those who constantly looked for trouble, who called for others to start a new movement. A couple of times we restrained wandering mercenaries and a gang of bandits, the latter posthumously. The guys went into "the wrong neighborhood"—crime is strictly handled on Concord Dawn. It doesn't exist. Physically. I mean robberies, murders, and such toward the local population. And all because you either follow the rules or lie down with a hole in your head. Mercenaries, smugglers, even just bandits, all behaved peacefully and for the most part didn't try to cause a stir. A pirate flies in, buys and sells what's needed, and immediately leaves.
By the way, I noticed that there are no slave traders or drug dealers here, not even passing through. For selling drugs here, they shoot immediately, and they might even go after the supplier to make sure it doesn't happen again. For the clan—is family, and all Mandalorians—are brothers and sisters.
My person, for that matter, within the Journeyman Protectors caused a small stir. After all, I didn't look entirely like a Mandalorian, which caused some incidents. For example, some tried to find out who I was, where I came from, which clan I belonged to. Not without Warren's help, but all this was resolved. Des went even further and told everyone that I am a novice who wants to become a Mandalorian, hence why I stand out. That's where the interest ended. On the other hand, I made several new acquaintances who mistakenly took me for a Jedi, but later even apologized, and after a training spar and getting hit on the helmet, invited me for a drink. Did I mention I like the locals? I'll say it again! Mandalore forever! Respect others' traditions, and the most crazed warriors in the galaxy will welcome you with bread and salt. I tried not to use the Force all this time; there was enough stir around my clothes, and it wasn't required.
Along the way, I met respected representatives of the clans, including a representative of Clan Fett and Mereel. These two were among the persons governing the planet. Despite the fact that there was a governor here from Mandalore, his power remained nominal, and the clans ran everything.
And so nothing foreshadowed anything, as they say—I lived, learned, got used to the new world, but... First, I felt ripples in the Force. Balance-disturbing ripples. A pair of Force-sensitives had arrived in Kero'Tus and were walking somewhere nearby. Feeling them was no problem; no one even tried to hide, unlike me.
Yes, Mother, by your efforts I always try to hide myself in the Force; I remember your lessons, do you hear?
"What is it?" I noticed Warren's agitation.
"A message came over the link that we have a pair of Jedi in the city."
"So what?"
"Mandalorians have strained relations with them. I understand why, but so much time has passed. We admitted our mistakes, whereas they do not forget to remind us of them and use it in politics. That's how the pacifists appeared, Shade. That's how Mandalore dies..."
I patted the Mandalorian on the shoulder, comforting him. Yes... To see your world dying—it is very painful. If mine died, perhaps it's good that I didn't see it.
Meanwhile, observers were unobtrusively assigned to the pair of sensitives, but it didn't bother them. We crossed paths with them too. Two Jedi in gray cloaks. One older, one younger, both with stern faces, and the older one had a face... well, I would say, aristocratic.
And both had a tilt toward the Light Side of the Force. I wouldn't call it extreme; you wouldn't be sent to the moon for it yet, but you'd certainly be kept at the temple for retraining.
This pair noticed us too. And as they noticed, they immediately came toward us.
"They are preparing for a fight," I informed my companions.
"Will you be able to fight at full strength?" Warren asked with concern.
"I thrashed the Rakata; what are a pair of Jedi to me?" I smirked. "Keep your distance and cover me. Don't even try to get close; they'll cut you."
"Understood."
"Roger."
While this pair of wound springs was thinking what to do, I realized how I looked from their perspective. A guy with Force Swords, in a uniform close to adepts of the Dark Side, and moreover invisible in the Force. Smirking to myself, I removed the camouflage, showing this pair that I am not an adept of the Dark Side.
The Jedi stopped in their tracks. What synchrony, though.
"What's with them?" Warren wondered.
"I stopped hiding."
"Looks like you scared them," Des commented with satisfaction.
"More like surprised them."
The elder was the first to recover. Whispering something to the younger, they continued their approach.
"My name is Dooku. This is Qui-Gon," the "aristocrat" introduced himself and the boy. So that's what you're like, Count, in your youth.
"And what do you want?" Warren asked without malice but with clear subtext, keeping a hand on his pistol.
"First, I want to say what we do not want. We do not want problems."
"Then I advise you not to linger here."
"I completely agree. But! The fact is that a rumor has reached us of ancient finds, the trail of which led us here. And... as I see, your friend is wearing them." The gaze shifted to me. Des flared with shame at this, and I saw right through the helmet what kind of look Warren gave him. Hm... I think I understand where the leak came from.
"Tek, ar'kon?" Slowly removing one of the swords, I showed it to the Jedi. I might understand them, even if with a creak, but I speak Basic poorly.
"Forgive me, but I do not understand Mando'a."
"My friend asked, 'Is this it?'" Warren translated.
"Yes. And are you their owner?" I nodded. "May I know who you are?"
"Warren, will you be the translator?"
"Fine."
"My name is Shade. You could say I am a guest from the past. Why do you need my swords?"
"Force Swords are considered Sith artifacts. They are dangerous, and we have flown here to seize them and ensure the absence of other dangerous finds."
"I don't understand who you're talking about, but this weapon was designed and made by me personally."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"M-m-m..." I was sized up with a surprised, searching look. "Doesn't it seem to you that this is not quite the place for a conversation?"
"Heh. Does something constrain you?"
"Yes, I am a bit bothered by the aimed blasters of your friends." At these words, I heard an echo of amusement from the Mandalorians.
"So, you would like to talk in a more private setting?"
"With pleasure. But since we are not locals, may I invite you aboard our ship?"
"Let's go."
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan