A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars

  80

  Mandalore. 35 BBY/965 GSC.

  I sighed as I stretched and the hot sun beat down on me. The body suit I wore under my robes did a lot to help with the temperature, but my hands and head were still exposed to the heat. Even with my hood keeping direct sunlight off, it was pretty miserable. Nearby, just inside the door, my Padawans waited in the air conditioning, looking anxious. Pulling my canteen from my belt, I took a sip and looked around at the gathered crowd as we waited for the main event to start. In the meantime, I allowed my mind to wander.

  A bit more than four months had passed since Master Dooku announced the official secession and things had been a bit hectic since. At least, for the Confederacy. Personally, not so much. I had felt kind of useless, honestly—even if I knew what I was doing was helping.

  Most of that time, after returning to Mandalore from Serenno, I had spent training myself and my Padawans. I’d picked up the pace of their training by a lot. After the incident with Krell, the girls hadn’t complained. No, they had thrown themselves into it. Then, they had started slipping off to train together outside of our normal training times, thinking I wasn’t aware. I was glad to see they were taking the threat seriously.

  Things with my new company were going well.

  The first lot of jeep clones was finished, after going through rigorous testing with the Mandalorians across a few different planets and environments. The evaluations came back positive, with most of the feedback being to add more power generation for prolonged shield and gun usage. They liked it well enough for the role it was meant to be used in.

  Were there roles where a speeder, armor, or practically anything else would be more suitable? Absolutely.

  But what it did well was provide cheap, light, modular, disposable all terrain ground transportation for a squad of six, plus gear. All while being easy to maintain, requiring less fuel than a speeder of a similar size, and being stealthier than a speeder simply by virtue of the fact that it was much easier for sensors to detect the repulsorlift system of a speeder when it was active.

  The development for bipedal mechas was proceeding relatively smoothly, but it would be a few years before we had a true humanoid model. On the other hand, they had designed a bipedal model that was more like a walking tank that looked to out-perform the Republic’s chicken walkers. It was faster, better armed and armored, shielded, and had an ejector seat. The only place it lagged behind was in combat time—because it had to power a repulsorlift to lower the weight and the shields when they were in use. Unfortunately, they hadn’t gotten arms working, so it was very much just a hull on legs with guns and missile pods on the sides. I had approved them for a limited production run, but made sure the development team understood that while I appreciated the effort, they needed to focus on the humanoid model.

  As for other things here on Mandalore, it was pretty much just an exercise in hurry up and wait at this point.

  Jaster had yet to find his replacement. I was pretty sure he was holding out for Jango to finish up with the clone troopers.

  Satine was a nervous wreck and Bo was little better. Being under constant surveillance and having to keep treating each other as enemies was beginning to wear on them.

  Xana assured me that what remained of the die hard true believers in Death Watch had made their way to Mandalore and were preparing to challenge me for the title when I made the offer. Our security forces were keeping a close watch on all of them and planning to move in and collect all of those who didn’t take the bait, in order to prevent sleeper cells from being formed here on Mandalore.

  When I wasn’t training, either alone or with my Padawans, I had taken the time to sit down and go over our budget and had spoken with several economists and individuals versed in the laws of the Mandalorian sector to find potential issues. Thankfully there had been few, and those that existed I took detailed notes of and marked to deal with after I officially took the role of Mandalore.

  Then, I had done the same over holocom calls to get the idea of how the Confederacy as a whole was supposed to work and remain financially independent of the Republic. It was a mess, but one that could be straightened out with some dedicated effort—which meant it was going to be practically impossible to herd the cats on the Confederate Senate into agreeing to the changes necessary. Either I or Master Dooku would need to step in and make sure it got done—even if that meant unilateral action.

  For starters, we needed to get off of the Republic credit. It was actually owned, issued, and the value wholly determined by the Intergalactic Banking Clan, who themselves were part of the Trade Federation. There were already signs that the credit was starting to undergo hyperinflation within Republic space specifically—certainly a ploy on the part of the Trade Federation to weaken one of their enemies. If we didn’t decouple ourselves from it, then we would find ourselves in the same boat—with the enemy telling us our currency was worthless inside our own space, but perfectly willing to collect them by the shipload for when they inevitably fixed that issue and the market returned to normal.

  At the same time, we needed to come to mutually beneficial trade agreements between member planets. One of the biggest agreements we could come to was to remove all taxes and tariffs on goods produced by member planets and traded between them then tariff the shit out of anything connected with the Republic or the Trade Federation. And since we controlled a number of agri-worlds, the majority of which had been supplying the Core, we should offer to sell to the Republic—vastly undercutting the Trade Federation’s attempts at price manipulation by introducing artificial scarcity, while still making multiple times the profit they were making before. That would generate taxable, external revenue that should more than make up for the loss of internal revenue caused by slashing inter-Confederate taxes.

  There were other things we needed to take care of, of course. Among them being forming a new branch of the government dedicated to going over our member planets’ finances to look for corruption and graft… But that could come later. We needed to make sure we could survive without the Republic or the Trade Federation first. We could iron out the details and protect the system from problems later.

  And then there was the wider universe…

  So far, the Confederacy’s first days had been met with vocal resistance from the Republic and their mouthpieces. Republic senators yelled and slammed their podiums about how the secession was unlawful, that there was a process for addressing grievances with the Republic and we were acting rashly, and that order would soon be restored. The media out of Coruscant and other Republic worlds kept repeating those points over and over—that we were taking the law into our own hands, that we didn’t respect the Republic’s law, that we didn’t give them a chance to address any grievances, and that the Republic would remain united. To my knowledge, they hadn’t done more than that yet. It was only a matter of time, though.

  I needed to get with someone in Confederate Intelligence and see what Republic ship resupply and military recruitment numbers looked like. We could work backwards from the hard data of how they were supplying their ships, how many were being resupplied, and what they were supplying them with in order to get an estimate on how soon they were planning some kind of retaliatory offensive—or if they were even taking the threat seriously.

  The Trade Federation, on the other hand, took it as an excuse to advance their plans and push harder. Blockades of Republic planets and trade routes had increased to the point where I was sure they were starting to stretch their forces thin. They hadn’t yet openly attacked us, but it wouldn’t be much longer. Which was fine with us, because we were almost ready to send our fleet to start liberating those worlds that wanted to join and to reinforce worlds like Onderon. That offensive was timed to start at the end of this month. Once I secured my position as Mandalore and we didn’t have to worry about the home front, we would be launching a coordinated attack against multiple targets along the Hydian Way to fulfill our obligations to our constituents. Unfortunately, I was going to be on the Redoubt, moving well away from the front and taking my Padawans to get more training before I handed Allaya off to Master Dooku and took Asajj with me when I went to Anaxes.

  Of course, thinking about the war and the Republic, my mind came back to the matter of the clone army.

  Master Dyas had set out to make an army to help the Republic fight some future threat he had foreseen in his visions and I had helped. Visions of men at war against a droid army. No one had predicted the secession, or that Master Dooku and I would find ourselves among the Confederacy’s leadership. I hadn’t helped make that army so it could fight against my own people. Handing it over to the Republic at this point seemed suicidally stupid.

  The problem was, I couldn’t reach Master Dyas at all. No one could. His comm unit was dead. Attempts to scry his location with the Force failed. Going back to the last time I had seen him and following him forward as I had with Obi had worked up to a point. Then, he crossed paths with something dark—an unfortunately familiar figure I had seen before, in my nightmares. A red and black Zabrak, wielding a red double bladed lightsaber. I couldn’t see beyond that point. I hoped he was alright, but realistically I acknowledged the very real possibility that he had been killed.

  But with Master Dyas potentially deceased and out of contact, control over the project fell to me according to the Kaminoans. So I had a decision to make very soon about how to handle them. I was leaning towards naturalizing all of them. Making them citizens of Mandalore, Mandalorians with all that entailed.

  I had even been working up a package for them, should they accept. Recognition of sentient rights. Pay for their service. Actual set time limits on the number of years they could serve unless they volunteered for more—at a higher pay scale, of course. Full benefits and even a retirement package, once they were out. And for any who wanted it, I would be proposing a deal with our member worlds to offer training programs, employment, housing, and land if they decided they were done with war and wanted to settle down and become farmers or something equally mundane.

  Happy soldiers who knew exactly what they were fighting for fought all the harder. They didn’t resent their commanding officers, or the government who sent them to fight. They didn’t rebel, defect, or cause other issues. And I wanted that army. With them on our side, we would have a much better chance of winning any ground based engagement and holding any planet we needed to occupy.

  Fully trained Mandos were all the equivalent to special forces. You didn’t waste special forces standing on street corners. You didn’t send special forces into the meat grinder, when someone had to go in there and jam it to keep it from chewing up everything in its path. That was an awful job, and I hated the idea of having to send anyone into it if there were alternatives, but sometimes there just weren’t and someone needed to do it. And when it came time to decide who went into the meat grinder, you didn’t throw your best into it.

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  We needed grunts. Basic, run of the mill ground pounders. Troops to fill out the rank and file. Of course, if they were trained by Mandalorians in Mandalorian tactics and already fully capable of working cohesively with our people, then so much the better.

  Naturalizing them would likely upset the more traditionalist faction, but then, I was Mand’alor and my word was law—or would be soon—so they would have to accept it, or challenge me over it. And I intended to make sure no one ever challenged me again…

  A bell was struck, booming gong-like over the huge, square arena. As it did, I pulled on the Mask of Mandalore and moved from just outside the entrance to the northernmost locker area towards the middle of the field. The sun reflected brightly off of the light gray duracrete surface as the bell continued to strike, once every five seconds, over the next minute.

  The last chime sounded and I stopped. Slowly, I turned to look around at the gathered crowd. The stadium had seating for half a million people and according to what I’d been told by the security team, every seat was filled.

  Obviously, we couldn’t seat the entire Mandalorian population. It just wasn’t physically possible. That was why the whole ordeal, from start to finish, was being broadcast across Mandalorian space. Every citizen on every planet we controlled would be able to watch the whole thing unfold. But only in Mandalorian space. We had shut off all external communications for the duration and the feed itself was being encrypted in such a way that it couldn’t be recorded—I wasn’t sure on the details of that, but Xana assured me it would work.

  I expected the footage to get out eventually, regardless. There was always a workaround to any sort of security features like this. That was why I would be limiting myself a bit, to keep from revealing everything.

  Above the arena, holographic screens lit up, broadcasting my image for everyone to see.

  Pulling the Darksaber from my belt, I held it up into the air and lit it. The crowd roared, the sound a physical thing that shook my bones as they stomped and slammed gauntleted hands to chests, the sound of beskar on beskar ringing across the stadium.

  I let them go for a few moments before lowering the saber and shutting it off. Asajj and Allaya took that as their cue as they walked out of the ready room they had been waiting in, wearing armor over their Jedi robes—the four horned dragon skull crest clearly visible on their pauldrons. I turned to face them as they reached me, turning and handing the saber off to Allaya, before removing the mask and doing the same. Then, I removed my long, loose light brown robe and folded it up before handing it to Asajj, along with my lightsabers—leaving me wearing a black body suit with only my belt and combat web. I had both pistols and my staff holstered, along with a couple of stun grenades, and that was it—aside from the computation orb hidden under the suit.

  The fact that I wore no armor, no beskar’gam, was minimally armed, and not even carrying my lightsabers was a statement. A challenge, really. That I intended to go through with this challenge without the benefit of hiding behind armor or the tools or badge of office of a Jedi. That way, no one who challenged me and lost could complain later about how I ‘cheated.’

  Reaching up, I tapped my ear bead, connecting to the sound system for the stadium. “For those who don’t know me, I am Tanya Mereel. Six years ago I killed Tor Vizsla, the leader of the Death Watch, in single combat. I took his head and claimed the Darksaber for myself. Last year, I tracked down and claimed the Mask of Mandalore. For the past several months, Jaster Mereel and Satine Kryze have been answering to me, as the new Mand’alor.”

  I paused for a moment to let that process, before continuing. “However, it has come to my attention that there is dissent among our people. Questions about our need for a Mand’alor at all, or about the division between the civilian and military government. Questions about my fitness to rule as Mand’alor. Those who wish to challenge me for the title and take it for themselves. So I say, let’s settle it here and now.”

  Taking a breath, I raised my voice. “Let all who wish to challenge me for the title of Mand’alor step forward! You may come alone, in groups, or all at once—it doesn’t matter. You have until sunset to best me and claim the Darksaber and Mask for yourselves. At that time, if no one has managed to claim them from me, I will declare this challenge over. From that point onward, anyone who attempts to challenge me again for the next five years will be killed on the spot. Exactly five years from today, we will host another challenge here and anyone who wishes to may fight to claim the title for themselves. But until then, a war is coming! War with the Republic! War with the Trade Federation! We do not have the luxury to divide ourselves, fighting over who rules our people!”

  With that, I motioned for Allaya and Asajj to leave the arena. As soon as they were safely inside the waiting area, I nodded and someone rang the bell. I drew my staff, holding the retracted cylinder in my hand as I waited. A few moments later, a large group walked out of one of the far locker rooms. I felt nothing but anger and contempt coming from them and a smile pulled my lips upwards.

  There you are~.

  They spread out, setting up with a variety of weapons. Heavy blaster cannons, heavy flamethrowers, net guns, missile launchers, and more—even a few slug throwers.

  A voice in my ear caught my attention. “We’re beginning the operation now, ma’am.”

  “Roger that,” I nodded absently, shutting off the call as the fire started and I stepped to the side, before whipping out my hand, songsteel staff half extending and catching a blaster bolt to return to sender.

  The first man went down with a smoking hole in his throat and I leered as I felt the first thrill of fear spread through them. That fear fueled their anger and the fire redoubled, and I found myself running towards them, weaving between shots, occasionally smacking a blaster bolt back into someone and taking out key people. One of those bolts found the fuel tank of one of the flamers and I laughed as the tank went up in flames, causing that entire side of the group to panic as fire washed over them.

  “What’s the matter?! I thought you wanted the title! Well, come and take it!”

  Satine paced her living room as Bo sat on the couch, watching the challenge. The redhead rolled her eyes as her sister made another circuit.

  “Why don’t you just sit down?” she asked, turning her attention back to the hologram, where Tanya had just closed into flamethrower range and the people she recognized as Death Watch opened up with streams of flame with two of the still remaining flamers. Streams that did fuck all as she jumped over them before they reached her and threw that staff of hers. It slammed into the helmeted head of one of the two wielding a flamer and put him on his ass, bouncing off and flying back to her as she landed and threw it again, repeating the maneuver with the other flamethrower.

  “How can you be so calm about this?” Satine demanded, glaring at her younger sister. “What happens today will determine the future for our people for the next decade or more!”

  “Uh huh,” Bo nodded, not bothering to look at Satine. “And it looks like shes got it under control. You should watch this. Seriously, being on this side of it much more entertaining than the other way around.”

  “I can’t just sit there and watch—” Satine hissed, and Bo cut her off.

  “So you’ll stand there and pace instead?” the redhead asked.

  In the feed, the remaining Death Watch members had taken to the air with their jetpacks. Bo wondered for a moment how Tanya would deal with it, before the red woman rose into the air on her own—no jetpack in sight. She blinked, mouth falling open. “…I didn’t know she could do that.” She turned to Satine, pointing at the hologram. “Did you know she could do that?!”

  Satine looked at the hologram and blinked. “Well, yes? She did it on Serenno to kill a dragon and then flew in with a team to stop Dooku’s brother from decorating the deck of his airship with my brains.”

  Bo stared at her sister. Quietly, she muttered, “And you didn’t think to tell me she can fly?”

  “You didn’t ask,” Satine shrugged.

  Bo groaned quietly. “So she could probably do it when she fought Tor. Meaning she held back, and then she let me go instead of chasing. Great.”

  Huffing a sigh, Bo shook her head and watched as Tanya proceeded to chase down the Death Watch across the sky over the arena—smashing heads with her staff or just removing jetpacks and disarming them, laughing as they fell to the ground where she could deal with them at her leisure. “This isn’t a fight, it’s a massacre.”

  Satine sent her sister an amused look. “That was rather the point.”

  “Then why are you even worried about it if you knew how it was going to go?” Bo demanded, and Satine turned away.

  [Edit]

  Satine made a frustrated noise and stormed away, out onto the balcony.

  On the hologram, Tanya finished off the last of the first batch and leaned against her staff, looking around the arena as the hologram pulled in close. Looking bored, she demanded, “Next.”

  The feed roared with cheers and the ring of beskar on beskar as the crowd demanded more. Laughing quietly to herself, Bo shut off the feed and went out to tease her big sister some more. Tanya would be fine. Satine had always been a bit high strung, though. But that was fine. Now, Bo had the perfect thing to take her mind off of it for the next few hours.

  Jaster watched as the bells began to chime and the sun touched the horizon. Down below, Tanya knelt in the center of the arena—where she had been for more than an hour now, simply meditating. Around her, the ground was littered with bodies of the dead—fewer than Jaster had feared would come of this whole ordeal, though. She had done her best not to actually kill anyone, just as she’d told him she would before it started. After all, killing good warriors was a waste when she could instead beat them then point them at their enemies. The Death Watch seemed to be the big exception to that, as practically every one of the dead were among their number.

  The challengers had stopped coming and the crowd was just waiting to see how it all ended before leaving. With the last bell tolling, that signaled the end to the challenge.

  Tanya’s two Padawans walked out of the waiting area, the blonde one levitating a big box this time. She stood as they got near, dusting herself off for a moment before gesturing at the box. Her robes flew out and she pulled them on, followed by a silver set of armor. It orbited her briefly before settling into place on her body—the helmet landing in her hand last. Pulling it on, she reached out towards the red headed Padawan and the Mask of Mandalore levitated into her hand, then slotted into place on the front of the helmet apparently made for it. Finally, the Darksaber made its way to her belt, along with the rest of the arsenal she had removed for what had started as a challenge but had become a demonstration of why future attempts at challenging her would be futile.

  Flashy, but they’re eating it up, he mused, looking around at the crowd. Given the volume he could feel in his chest, they loved it.

  After all, it wasn’t just about beating her enemies and killing those who would try to usurp her rule. No, if she was going to rule—and do so in absentia for a while through himself and Satine—then Tanya needed to set a tone. Make people understand that she wasn’t to be trifled with or have her time wasted with constant challenges, and that if she stepped away for a bit and they stepped out of line while she was gone, that she would clean house when she got back.

  That, and people loved spectacle. Having a ruler who could play to a crowd was important.

  The killing machine in the form of a little girl Jaster had adopted was all grown up, and Jaster couldn’t be more proud. He had seen something special there and his gut had told him to seize the opportunity with both hands. Now, his hunch had paid off, and the name of Jaster Mereel would go down in the history books as the man who found and took in the first true Mandalore in over three thousand years. He would be directly responsible for the resurgence of the Mandalorian people, and reshaping them into something more than the glorified fucking pirates that idiots like Tor Vizsla envisioned—true super commandos.

  Now, if only Jango would hurry up and finish his ‘secret assignment’ business and come back to Mandalore, so Jaster could hand everything over to him and retire to live an easy next few decades picking off their enemies, collecting everything not nailed down, and sell it for creds. Maybe give him a couple of grandkids while he was at it…

  I should look into finding someone for Tanya. Even if it’s just a donor.

  Down below, Tanya finished up her short speech, reiterating the need to work together for the coming war just as the Rusted Silver swooped in—hovering just above the ground. She and her Padawans quickly boarded before it took off again and Jaster stood, stretching as the crowd took that as a dismissal and started to filter out.

  I imagine that warning about the five year time limit’s going to last a month before someone tries something stupid and gets made an example of. Unfortunately, some people are just too stupid to live.

  A thought occurred and he winced. Force help anyone who goes after those two girls to get to Tanya, because sure as fuck I’m not stepping in between them.

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