Part 4: Mandalore ~ Chapter 3 - Relevance

It was easy to see how the planet could have spawned several generations of the galaxy’s most elite supercommandos, men and woman whose faces and futures were carved from craggy rock outcroppings and stone canyons. Mandalore’s pockmarked surface was etched in the coarse outlines of a hand dulled by Corellian ale and Mandalorian blood.

“You’re about to do it,” said Giddy, piloting their small, enclosed, two-person speeder over the Mandalorian landscape.

“Do what, Master?” asked Renora.

“You’re about to say something irrelevant. And snippy.”

“At the same time? I must be even more talented than I thought.”

“Can’t you funnel your impressive array of talents and say something relevant and snippy?”

“I could, but where’s the fun in relevancy?”

“I didn’t know ‘fun’ was included in our job description.”

“It better be, or I’m asking for a raise. Or turning in my badge.”

“Padawan, you and I both know that you don’t get paid, and you don’t own a badge.”

“Like I said, Master, where’s the fun in relevancy?”

The two Jedi Knights laughed, the metallic echoes of their voices resounding flatly in the tight confines of the speeder. It was the consummate illustration of what it meant to be a Jedi: venturing out into what could best be described as the unknown, impervious to the constant risk of pain or grief or death, willfully dismissive of a duty of galactic proportions, but discovering a brief solace in the companionship of someone who shared that duty, who shared that risk, who shared that adventure.

“So do I get to say it now?” asked Renora, flashing a cocky grin.

“You must do what you feel is right, of course,” said Giddy, stifling a smile.

“No, no, I’ve decided not to.”

“Why not?”

“The anticipation’s too great. It won’t be funny anymore.”

“You’re assuming that there’s ever a time in which you’re actually funny, Padawan.”
“Is that a wrongful assumption?”

“All assumptions are wrongful.”

“Yes, Master.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Oh, come on, Master. I know a lecture when I see one. You don’t encourage a rampaging gundark.”

“You’re very wise in your old age.”

“I have a very wise Master.”

“Hmm.”

“And a very old Master.”

“Hmm!”

“With a very young heart.”

“And a very short fuse.”

“Then it’s a good thing we won’t be bombing anything today.”

=========================

A short, heavily muscled man met them at a specified location to guide the Jedi to the precise coordinates of the resistance headquarters. His grim countenance was as lined and blemished as any of the ubiquitous mountain ranges they had passed on their brief journey through the Mandalorian countryside.

“No wonder the Mandos wear buckets on their heads,” muttered Renora. “They can’t stand the sight of each other.” Giddy flashed her a warning glance, and Renora shrugged innocently.

They were led through a dizzyingly complex, labyrinthine underground structure, until the small party reached a heavy durrasteal door that slid open after performing a brief retinal scan on their Mando companion. He gestured for Giddy and Renora to enter.

“Ah, the Jedi,” said the iron-haired man who sat behind a polished desk at the center of the room. His eyes, barely perceptible slits, narrowed perceivably as they came to rest on the faces of the Jedi Knights. Their escort stopped to salute his superior, one gloved hand snapping sharply, and palmed the door shut, leaving Giddy and Renora alone with the commanding officer.

Master Giddy stood patiently, her breathing slow and regular, irritatingly calm in the nucleus of the Force. Renora resisted the temptation to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet. The commander did not offer them a seat.

“Jedi Lightsky, Jedi Ta’a,” began the commander.

“With respect, General, our formal titles are Master Lightsky and Padawan Ta’a,” corrected Giddy, her tone neutral. Renora conducted a brief debate with herself whether “Padawan Ta’a” was a promotion or a demotion from “Jedi Ta’a.” After a hard-fought battle, she lost embarrassingly.

“And you will address me as Commander Okun,” he said through tight lips.

“Very well.”

“Master and Padawan, I must speak frankly. The Duchess Satine gives us the credits we need to do our job, and do it well. We’re fighting so that the old ways never return to Mand’alore.” Renora hated his precise, broken-syllable pronunciation of the word. “We’re fighting so we can be free again.”

“Yes, we understand that,” said Giddy.

“Do you? I’m not so sure.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that, Commander Okun?” asked Giddy, dusting her words with a barely perceptible trace of iciness.

“Duchess Satine funds us, coordinates our communications, and provides our political cover. But she has always encouraged Jedi involvement in our affairs. Affairs bridging generations of Mandalorian history and culture. Affairs to which context cannot be granted to outsiders. Mandalorian affairs.”

“The Jedi and the Mandalorians have been over this ground before, Commander,” said Renora, feeling Giddy send her a silent message through the Force that basically amounted to something along the lines of ‘don’t screw up.’ “You want our help. You may even need our help. But we can’t possibly understand why we’re helping you. Does that imply that you can’t possibly understand why we’re helping you, either? Because if it does, perhaps you do not require our help as much as you have led us to believe. At least until we gain a better understanding of each other. Which should occur sometime in the next millennium, when Manda’lore decides to open its borders and communicate freely with the rest of the galaxy.”

“You’re very well-informed, Padawan Ta’a.”

“I try, sir.” Renora couldn’t resist a small smirk.

“Especially concerning events which didn’t even occur during your lifetime.”

The smirk evaporated like bantha spit in the Tatooine suns.

“That’s what I don’t like about the Jedi. Everything is something you’ve encountered before.”

“But, historically speaking, everything is something we’ve encountered before, Commander. Do you not teach your junior bucket heads the history of their respective clans?”

Renora didn’t think it was possible, but Okun’s eyes narrowed even further. “The history of my people is sacred,” he said slowly, through gritted teeth.

“Why? I thought it was irrelevant.”

“It is of every relevance.”

“And that’s why you pass it on to the bucket kids? Right, Commander?”

“You have no place--”

“Commander, like it or not, we’re going to have to collaborate if we want to strike a blow at the current regime,” said Giddy, holding out her hands in a supplicating imitation of the classical Coruscanti sculpture A Study of Peace. “Your feelings towards the Jedi are not relevant to the Mandalorian lives that will be lost because we stood here and squabbled rather than planning for what lies ahead. I believe you would agree with me.”

Okun nodded curtly. “Very well. Master Lightsky, you will join my generals and I in the war room for our initial planning session.”

“What about my Padawan?”

Okun placed his strong hands on the desk and stood. Renora was amused to find that he was barely taller than Master Giddy.

“How old are you, Ta’a?”

Renora swallowed at his deliberate omission of her title. Sure it wasn’t much, but it was all she had at the moment, and she was a little picky about when and where it was being applied. But Renora decided to do the mature thing and overlook it. Outwardly. “Seventeen, Commander.”

“You are of the lowest rank for your Order, correct?”

“No, sir. Not…technically.”

“But you’re not yet a Jedi Knight.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Then you cannot participate in the battle.”

“I…can’t…?” Renora blinked in surprise.

“Only proven warriors are allowed to fight, so we can be certain they will be held accountable for themselves. If you get yourself killed, your blood with be on Mandalorian hands, and we will owe the Jedi a debt. I cannot accept that.”

“My apprentice is more than capable of handling herself, Commander. I know that better than anyone, and certainly better than you.”

Okun smiled slightly. It was not an attractive sight. “If it is as you say, there is one way,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Renora.

“The proving grounds.”

Renora winced. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”