Vihk

Bent against the crux of his silent forge, a string of saliva hung from Vihk's lips, threatening to mar the hard steel floor. A soft knock against the outer wall stoked the periphery of Vihk's pleasant nap, but barely registered with the middle-aged former Mandalor who'd been working tireless days on a massive order of composite that had rolled through. His weary arms hung haphazardly across the anvil and would've continued to hang in peace if one of his smithing droids hadn't thwacked him on the side of the head. Neutral Interjection: Sir, there appears to be a customer at the door. Vihk, who hadn't planned on waking abruptly, dropped loudly to the floor. Like a bucket of white-hot carbonite splashing against his bare skin, the pain bloomed against his sore muscles and forced him to jolt all the way to his feet. He gave a brief look at the droid who offered nothing in response. Then, with all the ceremony of a homeless drifter, he adjusted his clothes while shambling for the door. He limped, one foot stuck in the right leg of his cargo pants, before finally slipping to the end, watching as the automatic steel door hissed open. He clapped his thick callused hands together and the mechanical lights clicked, filling the forge with white fluorescence. "Yeah, what did you need?" Vihk's blurry vision was starting to clear when he noticed the customer was actually a few inches shorter than he thought. And she was incredibly nervous. The veteran smiled in the hopes that it might comfort her, but he wasn't sure whether it helped or not. His scratchy beard mixed with his wild hair did not exactly communicate professionalism.

Hours waned as the light of midday began to illuminate the battlefield. The MAD-01 watched as reinforcements came and padded the front lines, but the story and picture were the same. Bolts of fire from both sides pushed against one another in a perpetual sea of plasma. Sounds of death and dismemberment filled the short span of no man's land that filled the gap. Harvek, who had recovered from his wounds and rejoined the battle, was the only consistent verde at the droid’s side. The droid filled him in on the enemy’s movements and the two of them worked in tandem to keep the front barricades from falling. Others would come and go, but Harvek and the MAD-01 stood against small waves of mercenaries that threatened Keldabe's 'gate'. Scores of dings, burning metal and scorch marks littered what used to be the pristine midnight blue beskar of the droid’s chassis. And, although his battery power was now at 65%, the droid persisted. Harvek exchanged positions with him and took another vantage point to snipe a few and avoid return fire. If Harvek got in over his head, the droid used his phrik/beskar shield to deflect a few blasts. It wasn’t true trust – at least, not what humans saw as trust – but it was a cohesive pattern that brought the two of them together and kept them going. Even when the MAD-01’s onboard 334-21 processor started to overheat and the droid started to gyrate in a pop-in-lock style motion, Harvek covered him until the processor cooled down and resumed normal function. The droid took minimal damage during his ‘dance’ and then returned to cover when his h.u.d returned to adequate functionality. When they felt that forces at the front barricade were calming, the MAD-01 took small excursions east and west to assist and inform other teams of their progress. The droid would lend a helping blaster or two if needed, but ultimately ran fire support and returned to the frontline as he carried on.

Thunderous explosions peppered the battlefield. Heavily armed and well-trained mercenaries were slipping from the trees in a plethora of organized formations and issuing heavy fire to the Mandalorian perimeter. The North and Northeastern regions of the front were seeing heavy casualties on both sides; each force giving as much as they got. And although the Western front was partially covered by the Kelita River, the reports that came in were not much better. To top it off, signals of warfare came from further in the city nearer to the south balustrade, where Keldabe’s southern border was little more than a cliff-face that fell off into the fast moving Kelita River. The MAD-01 was crouched behind a barricade near Keldabe’s main ‘gate.’ It briefly perked its buy’ce above the improvised barricade to hazard a look across the no man’s land of the northeastern front, and narrowly missed a sniper’s bolt. It looked out to both sides of its open-ended barricade and saw a similar situation gripping the Eastern and Northern fronts. Green, red, and yellow fire rained from both sides and neither force was making much headway. A comm came in on one of the allied comm channels before a row of static hit the droid’s sensor array: …Sith sighted on the western flank coordinates 54.97 by 9374.784 and moving quickly… After that, the comm cut off. More reports flooded in from all sides, but the droid had a difficult time filtering the messages and trying to focus on the tasks at hand. It bent further to the rubble strewn ground behind the barricade and took a beat. It looked to the barricade on the other side of the main road and saw a Mando’ade - - Designation: Harvek Kiljaar of Clan Skirata. Source of Identification: Clan Meeting and discussion before second battle wave - - bleeding heavily next to his vode. The wound didn’t look severe but left untended, it would become increasingly lethal. The droid’s target identification systems and threat assessment systems were scrolling through massive amounts of numbers at a time, but this problem was near. It was a more immediate complication that the droid could fix. Acting quickly, instead of sifting through target priority data, the droid rolled across the gap between barricades, catching a sniper bolt that singed its left pauldron. When it re-oriented itself, the Mando’ade still bleeding on the ground – Harvek – made to lift a blaster and shoot at the assault droid. The MAD-01 offered no real consolation. It was a droid. Its bedside manner was non-existent. It simply said, “Su cuy'gar, vod. Mirjahaal.” The droid knelt below the top of the barricade and detached its combat bag. The others that stood behind the bleeding Mando’ade took notice of the droid’s presence and acknowledged its greeting, but didn’t stop to look in its direction. Their focus was drawn to their surroundings. The bleeding man on the ground, who was gripping a blaster with one hand and his wound with the other, nodded his head at the greeting, but his caution didn’t cease. When he saw the bag, he lowered the pistol slightly, but the Mandalorian didn’t live for as long as he did without being cautious. The droid reached its right arm into the combat bag and retrieved a stack of bacta patches, antiseptic and a ration bar. It looked to the injured Mando’ade and handed the objects over to him. “I am not equipped or programmed for triage, but my creator gave me a few items in case hazard warranted it. Please make use of them. Your wound looks severe. See to it as soon as you can.” The droid’s tone was matter-of-fact and its speech wasn’t minced. It simply sealed and reattached the combat bag to its backside with no added deliberation. It had very little skill in comfort and emotion. But any emotion was considered a vulnerability in war. It was hesitation. Warriors can’t hesitate. Warriors can’t flee. They fight to see victory. That is their purpose. Maybe that is why the droid was ‘mad’ as others called it; insane. It lacked the compassion that others had. But it was a necessary omission. The wounded Mando’ade looked up at the droid with a mixed expression and took the items from it as instructed. Harvek got to work using the medicine while his comrades continued to fire. Meanwhile, as their interaction waned, more mercenary ranks poured from the trees and were visible from the MAD-01’s current position. The droid, taking care to watch its surroundings through a 360-tactical readout, briefly noticed an opening in the mercenaries that neared the main ‘gate,’ and sprang into action. It seized the wounded Mando’ade’s sniper rifle that was leaning against the improvised barricade, nestled the bulk of the rifle against its rifle-mounted left arm and balanced the bulk of the sniper with its right hand. It hefted the viewfinder to its photoreceptors and took a millisecond to calculate the wind speed and range. When the optimal position was calculated and the proper trajectory adjustments were made, the MAD-01 fired a shot at the lead of one of the faceless mercenary groups, sending the mercenary flying to the ground in a heap of shock and surprise. Not pausing to see if the mercenary was dead, the MAD-01 dropped the sniper rifle and rolled back to its original barricade as the other mercenaries scattered to defensive positions behind nearby trees. Let the battle be joined once more…

The droid’s head drifted, swiveling between the east perimeter and the west perimeter. The sound of air rustling the trees and brushing passed the weathered metal of its chassis was all that filled its auditory sensors. As it scanned, angles and vector projections were shown, laid out across its H.U.D, indicating the best possible route of escape, assault, and each position’s general strategic viability. But, just as the light began to break over the horizon, the MAD-01 heard a bolt whizz past its buy’ce. The droid took cover and heard/watched as its sensors exploded. Infrared picked up a number of hostiles and auditory sensors were picking up artillery discharge. Early or not, the song of battle called the Mandalorians to war. The MAD-01 opened a direct comm to Mand’alor. “The enemy is at our gates. Snipers, squads of men and artillery strikes.” When the warning was sent, as quickly as the droid could manage, the Mandoade set to work. It climbed down the nearest ladder and joined other night watchmen as they assembled at the blockades to Keldabe’s main gate. FOR MAND’AOR!!!!

Designation: Tresha Ad’nort’s physical condition was consistent with galactic standard health regulations. Her dismissal was adequate and expected, considering the lack of need. It was a bit abrupt, but the droid logically deduced that its presence was not conducive to the practical conclusion of whatever conflict this had been. The MAD-01 looked to the battery regulator on its H.U.D, as instructed, verified that it was mostly full, and then proceeded back to the optimal indicated space; an exterior outpost near Keldabe’s main gate. The Mando’ade would require sleep to help rejuvenate their minds and bodies. Yet, their enemies might forgo sleep. The MAD-01 was an opportune piece in maintaining active surveillance, so the need for its post was dire. And although the droid could not comprehend tension, stress, or anxiety, the necessity for its role and the pragmatism behind its design were perfect motivators for it. The droid sprinted with incredible speed to the tower on the edge of the outpost and climbed the impromptu ladder on the side of the building. When it reached the top, the droid positioned itself at an angle to where it could see a good portion of the frontline. It situated itself and deployed its field comm unit for when or if the enemy forces tried to get the jump on Mand’alor’s forces. The MAD-01 regularly changed between standard sight, starlight vision, and infrared scans to compile a comprehensive layout of the frontline every few minutes. Organics might find such a chore tedious or obnoxious, but the MAD-01’s programming was consistent with principles of war. Knowledge was crucial.

“Elek Mand’alor. Jiila!” The MAD-01’s servos fired to life once more and the droid sprinted toward the perimeter defenses where he’d get the best view. However, as he neared the main entrance to Keldabe, a strong reading registered on his infrared. Temperature levels rose in intensity and he shifted the visor of his buy’ce to get a better look. Tension rose off in the forest. Temperature levels rose beyond the normal indicated for biological life and a plasma event took place, drawing even more bright light into his infrared sensors. Mand’alor’s orders hovered over the H.U.D of the MAD-01’s buy’ce. The droid considered the options put forth and it put the safety of Mand’alor’s verde higher than keeping to the letter of his current order. When this issue was handled, priority would return to the original order, but if Mandalorian lives were in danger, the droid would intercede. That was its job, among other things, to be a shield. Quickly the droid sprinted. The mechanical mando’ade vaulted over obstacles and took detours through several side streets before arriving in a clearing in the woods. It was one of the verde’s perimeter camps. The droid witnessed a gathering of individuals from many clans. A man, wireframed in green and walking away, was indicated as Aryian Darkfire – jetii – Father to Aidan Darkfire and former husband to Armiena Draygo. Mand’alor and Mirdala Ad’Goran arrived accompanied by Mellanie Devanus and Kaylani Wartide. Every verde within his optical sensors registered as burc'yase. But designation: Tresha Ad’nort was still on the edges of the camp trying to recover from something. The droid’s programming was a little mixed. But it read the situation as best it could. The mechanical Mando’ade rushed over to Tresha and saluted. The shield attachment in its right arm shifted until it was a large heater sized plate and the droid looked at Tresha with caring indifference. Its alliances were programmed and its concern was measured by algorithms. But it did what it could nonetheless. “Designation: Tresha Ad’nort, do you require assistance? My creator vaunted you as trustworthy. If any wish you harm, let me know if I can help.” The droid’s voice was low but clear. It didn’t hesitate at Tresha’s side and was determined to stay until it got an answer. The priority order from Mand'alor was still on its H.U.D and was very clear to be its next course of action. But its basic programming, as was repeated many times in the core of its droid heart, was to achieve victory through combat and protect those it could with its entire shell if it had to.

The MAD-01 droid’s servos still hummed. Its programming was still operating at peak efficiency. And despite a very colorful chassis, mingled with scorch marks and dents, it had escaped with little, if any, severe damage. It looked out to the other verde. They were gathered together, enjoying skraan and the company of their aliite. The MAD-01 had no aliit. He had designations and targets. But it understood the tradition and values of the Mandalorian people to a T. The glossary of galactic knowledge that it possessed, helped it glean the nuances of their behavior. And although the droid didn’t participate, it wouldn’t let anything hinder the respite that its fellow verde deserved before the next wave. The mechanical Mando’ad patrolled the perimeter of each camp. It sprinted past the Vevut camp, a small camp where only two verde conversed, other camps of varying sizes, and stopped only to shoot at mercenaries that still struggled to make for the opening that his verde presented. It wished to receive additional commands from Mand’alor, but its programming seized the vacancy quickly. Cabuor. Akaanir. Parjai. The words pounded into its synapses and formed the core of its being. It would fight until ordered to stand down. It would stand vigil until ordered to retreat. It would protect and guard over the wounded. Such was the extent of its charge. The adjustable shield in its right arm projected outward in heater formation just in time to catch a thrown detonator and bounce it into a nearby ditch. The return fire was a spray of uncoordinated bolts from the repeater in its left arm, but a few bolts caught the assailant right in his center of mass, knocking him to the wrong side of a trench. A few moments past with each perimeter sweep. Extra mercenaries that lingered on the line were eliminated and small reconnaissance probes were set at the far points of Keldabe’s borders. When it found a moment of relative peace between patrols, it deployed the small comm unit in its buy’ce. “Perimeter Secure Mand’alor. Orders?” It said. Its voice was a deep baritone and it only ever spoke in Mando’a or galactic basic if the words were not common in the Mando’a vocabulary.

“Elek Mand’alor. Jiila!” Minutes passed; minutes, that felt like hours. Fire fell from the sky in a billowing river of amber smoke. A symphony of thundering cannons and blaster bolts echoed from all sides. Bodies littered the ground at its feet. But the war was not lost. Every skirmish led to the next; every step; every calculation; and every preparation was one second closer to the next bout. The midnight blue armor of the MAD-01’s chassis glistened and shone under the rain that fell. Its pristine paint was now burned and spattered with gore. Scores of blaster bolts had crashed into the thick beskar-plating with little effect on the droid’s internal mechanics. But smoke rose from the metal and the paint was worn in places. The mint condition of Vihk’s proudest creation was now covered in ample weathering. It started to resemble the verde that fought alongside it. With every new barricade, a new challenge awaited. The MAD-01 hadn’t been battle tested, but it took to the macabre art like a fish to water. It crouched and assessed each situation as it passed. It grabbed cover and started rolling through numbers. The Mad One’s T-visor lit with a dull blue glow and tactical readouts of the battlefield sprung to life immediately. Those who registered as burc'yase were outlined in a green wireframe. Those who registered as aru'ese were outlined in a red wireframe. Dossiers sprang to life and the droid began to identify everyone on the field. Vode were assigned. Its mission was clear. Cabuor. Akaanir. Parjai. OYA! The repeater fired up in its arm and the droid rolled to cover as others moved to act. One barricade after another, the MAD-01 sprinted. Dirt clods and rocks kicked up under its metal feet, but it kept going. Exertion wasn’t relevant. It had one drive; one momentum. It took a blaster bolt meant for a young man. It blew out a fortified siege position with its wrist rocket and mowed down an advancing force user with the assistance of two verde at its side. Servo motors hummed and metal clanged. Blaster bolts seared the beskar as it moved, lighting a dazzling display of blue as the droid made its way through the front. Its movement was poetic and ended with a small explosion near Keldabe’s main gate. Another rocket from its wrist sent several mercenaries sprawling to all sides, scattering their defensive position and allowing allies to pick them off. When the smoke cleared and the MAD-01's orders were sufficiently carried out, the droid retreated to the command center for further instruction.

The next few days were consumed with fervent smithing. He conscripted a bit of the local flavor to assist him, but he did have his own team to help him out as well. There were twenty or so reprogrammed HK-52 droids that were very good at assisting him with anything he needed. After all, they didn't really have a choice. It was a little cold, but that's what they got for trying to rob him and seize his assets. Now, they were some of the best workers he had. To top that off, he conscripted: a droid engineer expert, a metal sculpting artist, a junker, and a demolitionist. They were kept out of the loop on some things, but the droid engineer was a close personal friend. He got to go with Vihk into the special second-floor smithy and look into a special project. The project was something that Vihk meant for Mand'alor as a pseudo-apology. He didn't want to leave his people behind, but he felt that he would prove a bigger asset providing arms and armor than he would on the battlefield. His mind just wasn't right for war anymore. But smithing, there was nothing like it. The curvature of steel, the strength of titanium, the luster of silver, and the sound of the hammer as it slammed onto the metal. It sang to him in his dreams and played with him throughout the day. There was nothing like it in the universe. It was his niche. It was his gift. It was his life. _________ When a week and a half passed by, Vihk was finished with the bulk of his commissions. Hadrian's armor was sent out to his requested delivery site, and the shipment to Mandalore was about set. He was just putting the finishing touches on his innovation when one of his re-programmed HK's piped up. Amused Interjection: "Sir, I believe we have secured a cargo freighter for use in your delivery to Mandalore." Vihk's brow wrinkled a little. He maintained his focus and put on the final piece to his special gift before turning and glaring at HK-52 unit Delta -- he had to give them identifiers or he would never know which one was which. "That's great Delta, do you have anything else for me?" Dejected Resignation: "No sir, I-- this unit only wanted to be helpful. I will return to my duties." Dejected? Does that droid have emotions? Maybe it needs a memory wipe. Vihk looked to the rest of his crew and shrugged nonchalantly. He wiped the sweat of labor from his brow and began to pack up the delivery for rapid shipment to Mandalore. When all was said and done, he encrypted a comm message and sent it out to Fett and Mirdala's personal comms. He did his best to attempt subterfuge. Even if he wasn't good at it sometimes.

Vihk had just gotten home, put his things away and gotten started on a special project. When, who should walk in? Hadrian Augustus. Why is it when I try to walk away, people always seem to draw me back into these things? Vihk mused to himself. The sigh wasn’t obvious. But it was implicit in the weary expression that hung from his middle-aged face. “Cute,” Vihk said with a sardonic half-smile. Vihk’s baritone mimicked the gruffness of Hadrian’s voice. Although, Vihk’s voice was more a reflection of fatigue and less a reflection of age. Hadrian looked a bit better dressed than he last remembered. But those details were inconsequential. Vihk knew why he was here, and he wasn’t going to go out again. That was final. He had things he wanted to accomplish, sure. But he was done venturing the galaxy and 'righting' wrongs. He had things he could do to provide valuable services. That was enough for him. And yet… “He’s here, but he ain’t comin’,” Vihk said, inclining his head toward Hadrian. “However, a young woman came in here not too long ago. You may remember her from your uprising. She wanted to use the forge and was on the run from Mandalorian Protectors.” Vihk fished around in a nearby drawer and handed a comm number to Hadrian. It was crumpled up, but the number was still legible. “Here is her number if you want to give her a call. Last I heard, she was on her way to Concord Dawn, said she had something she needed to handle there. She would be more than eager to join you. She said as much.” Vihk said, resuming his work. “In the meantime, I’m not going anywhere. You want armor, I’ll make or repair some. But I’m not leaving.”

You forgot Armorsmith, sweet cheeks. Vihk thought to himself as Mirdala reamed him a new sheb-hole. It was fair to say he was a bit rusty. In fact, he could understand that a heavy weapons expert would not make a good covert agent. But he had more than an inkling. He had more than an unqualified guess. The only three people in contact with him since yesterday – close enough to plant the device – were Kavut, Anika, and Luca. But Kavut, out of all of them, understood how closely Vihk inspected his armor. He would never have tried to put a device on his legplates. As to his violence, that was due to his own sibling interactions. His sisters had butted heads with him since they were young. He was the eldest. He was always heralded as the wisest of them all, which he found incredibly ironic, but it didn’t make any less of a scar. Each one of the other girls fought to be that much better than him. Only Luca, the youngest, ever started to like Vihk as something more than a goal to be vanquished; as something more than a benchmark to be achieved. They never responded to anything less than a threat to their safety and would keep anything and everything bottled up unless confronted with odds they couldn’t beat. Would he murder them in cold blood? O’course not; especially not after their mother died. We only have so much family left. Mirdala was acting in her and Fett’s best interests. Vihk knew that. It was part of the reason he didn’t want her to come along. But, hindsight being twenty-twenty, it might have been better if he volunteered the information to her before rushing off. It would have certainly made the problem less caustic and unforgiving. He understood her concern and listened intently to her instruction. It wore heavy on his heart, but it was the cold hard truth. Vihk, even restored to youth as he was, was not enjoying the prime of his life as he had forty years ago. I am getting too old for this dwang… Vihk’s expression turned somber and he looked to the ground, weighing his choices. When Mirdala left, he followed behind her and stopped beside the open door, propping his back against the side wall. As the others started to follow suit, Vihk turned toward Anika and Luca. The Mandalorians guarding them eyed him skeptically behind their visors, but Vihk didn’t attempt any act of violence. He may have still been wearing his beskar’gam, but A’den had been confiscated and was waiting for him back at the Oyu’baat. Instead, he asked to see his sisters in one of the private rooms. The guards paused and looked at each other for a moment, a little shocked that he would even ask that question. But, mirroring his civility, they shook their heads, politely declining. So, Vihk added an extra addendum, suggesting that one or both of them watch the room while they discuss. This concession seemed enough to the guards and both men spun the two women back into one of the private rooms. Kavut looked back with concern, but Vihk, who had taken his buy’ce off at the start of this whole thing, gave him a reassuring glance. Then, with a small nod to the guards, he stepped into the private room and crossed his arms, staring at the duo with hard eyes. “I am sorry I attacked you. I am sorry I threatened violence on you. But, knowing our history, I thought it was the only way to get one of you to confess.” Vihk said, doing his best to clear the growing concern from his voice. Anika looked a Vihk, with grave disdain implicit in her icy expression, and spat at his boots. “We don’t owe you anything Vihky, so just back off.” Her tone was vicious. Vihk winced at the memory of his least favorite childhood nickname but showed no other outward sign of aggression as a response. Luca looked at Vihk with big puppy dog eyes. But a small something lay on one side of her gaze. Anxiety tugged at her, and Vihk caught one of Luca’s tells before she could retract it: she reached her right arm up toward her hair and scratched right below where her sideburn met her temple. Vihk’s gaze shifted from looking at both of his sisters to looking at Luca directly. “Alright, Luca. What are you hiding?” Luca, the youngest and friendliest of his sisters, looked away and dodged the question. Her eyes looked at everything but him and her right foot fidgeted. She mused to herself for a few seconds and tried to quiet her nerves. But Vihk’s eyes were steel. She tried to play it off, but her cheerful smile fell into an expression of shame. She looked to the opposite wall and wanted to hide, but Vihk wouldn’t let her. His body and eyes followed her evasion carefully. She would not get to hide from this. Anika wasn’t sure what was going on, and although her brooding façade was still intact, something inside her wretched expression indicated her curiosity. Luca was sitting on a chair near the middle of the room, just opposite Anika, desperately trying to be smaller than she already was. Vihk crossed the room and knelt in front of her and clasped her right hand in his. He looked at her and used his left hand to guide her face until it was eye-to-eye with him. His eyes were hard, but a hint of sorrow fell from the crease. “Luca. We have both lost something lately. This information has the potential to cause a lot of harm. What did you do?” Vihk held his voice soft and plain and Luca collapsed. Her eyes filled with tears and she fell into fits of sobbing. When the guards poked their heads in to check on the noise, Vihk reassured them and they resumed their post outside the door. “Sh-She told me to do it. She told me it was important and that it would help our people. When I asked her why sh-she put a gun to my head and ordered me to do it. I don’t know what happ-I don’t know why my sister would do that.” Luca said through a waterfall of big ugly tears. It was heart-wrenching to watch little Luca cry, but it meant they were making progress. Vihk gently squeezed Luca’s hand and patted her on the back, trying to decipher her words a little. “So, you said yer sister did this? Sera?” Vihk asked, obviously overlooking the lump of emotional brooding in the corner. Luca nodded or seemed to nod as she continued to sob. Vihk nodded back in response, solemn and determined. “Thank you. I’ll have a chat with her when I get off this rock.” Vihk said. Luca looked up at him, questioning his resignation. Yet, when she caught his gaze, she could see the weariness in his bearing. She could see the old man that had run his course. Behind the young facsimile, her brother was growing tired. It broke her heart and threatened to renew her melancholic display, but it made sense. Luca stood up and hugged Vihk, not sure what else to say. Vihk accepted it and started to sob a bit himself. Grief has a way of binding even the most wayward of souls. It was nice to have family in the hard times. With his business settled, Vihk exited the investigation building without a word. He nodded to guards as he left and continued out. He hopped aboard a Mandal Motors trade ship making rounds to the outer Mandalore sector planets. And despite the renewed scrutiny, Vihk managed to leave without much resistance. He left A’den behind in the Oyu’baat for a daring young Mandalorian to have a shot at his favorite weapon and felt leaving was the best course of action. ________________________________________ The next day, a private and slightly encrypted 'farewell' arrived for Kavut, and another, heavily encrypted one, arrived for Fett. Hey, Fett, it's Vihk. I thought about what Mirdala said and she’s right. I’m not as fit as I was. I'm going to get somebody killed with my rashness. I don’t know what I was thinking jumping full bore into this when I can’t even set my head straight most of the time. Your secrets are safe with me. I won’t be telling the whole galaxy about your problems, you can count on that. However, I have passed the clan mantle on to the next of my clan, Kargak Ordo, and I have confronted my sister Sera, the one I eventuality found guilty of treason. She tried to take a shot at my life, but I managed to pin her down. We have her in lock up on Ordo and you are free to have her for questioning if you wish. As for me, I passed on the information and passed on my armor to my successor. The legacy of Ordo will live on without me. We have never really seen eye-to-eye, you and me. You were always caught up in whatever mission or purpose took hold of you and I was a stubborn jackass that thought I knew where I needed to go. But I was and am a bitter war veteran and you have a bright future with Mirdala ahead of you. I will continue to believe in the Mandalorian philosophies, but for all intents and purposes, this makes my actions consistent with the darmanda that I became when last we warred with each other. If violence comes from my choice, then I will finally have paid for my war crimes. But I’m tired. I have helped my people. I have done what I could to apologize to them. I will still send money to help repair the damage. But I will never win forgiveness for the black mark that I have stained on Mandalorians in the galaxy. There was a Vihk that was stubborn and hard headed. There was a Vihk that would have followed a cause to the end of the earth despite his better interest. That Vihk followed his duty. That Vihk was given a legacy and told to follow it. He wasn’t given a great deal of choice and felt a deep pervading obligation for his people that drove beyond rational belief. But that Vihk died a long time ago. This is where my legacy ends. If you need me, I’ll be on Nar Shadaa. Vihk out

Well kriff Ahzinger. Way to mess up. Just let your nerves get in the way of everything and forget yer in a public place and surrounded by hundreds of vode… Yeah. Brilliant. Vihk sighed as he and Kavut were apprehended. He was a little relieved to see that his sisters were apprehended too, but it didn’t help the situation much. He had just come back to Keldabe to represent his people and this was a piss poor attempt. Best he could do now was to try and clean it up a little bit, salvage what he could and conjure up a plan for later. The old Mandalorian was wistful. He could see the determination in Kavut’s eyes and felt a touch guilty for getting him in trouble. The man would have jumped off a bridge for him if there was a reason. It was mesmerizing to see and heart wrenching to witness. Countless days of that guilt – the guilt of leadership – weighed on Vihk and all of it was brought back in one careless act. It was shameful. Vihk looked to Kavut, his buy’ce removed and his cornsilk hair mussed. His piercing blue eyes were trained forward, ready to bear what his actions brought him. He had a noble soul. A soul that Vihk was woefully unworthy of. When both of them were shuffled into a room, Vihk scooted a little close to Kavut and pat the man gently on the back. He greeted those baby blues with a consoling glance and smiled weakly. Kavut returned the gesture and nodded his head. “Whatever comes, it’s okay.” Vihk’s gut twisted. Every syllable of that admission drove a splinter of iron into his skin and down into the meat of his muscles, drawing them down into a weary sag. When Tresha and Mirdala entered, Vihk removed his buy’ce and greeted the two of them with a solemn glance. “I messed up.” Vihk admitted, resignation lilting his voice. “I didn’t realize that it wasn’t the place until after I was already in motion. I apologize for any cover I have blown with my careless choice. If it were in a different place I would have tried the same, but I should have considered my surroundings better.” Exasperation tickled the nerves in his head and drooped the vague confidence in his posture. He leaned back onto the metal bench and sighed heavily. He nodded his head to Tresha to indicate who he was addressing. “As to your question, those two are my sisters. Anika, the one in the black. And Luca, the one in the orange. I suspect that one of them placed a listening device on my beskar’gam to listen in on the meeting.” Vihk pulled the offending device out and showed them the crumpled remains. “My strategy was to pin them down and intimidate them to get a response. But I didn’t consider my surroundings. And that was where I failed. I don’t know how much they got, or why. I also don’t know if either of my sisters is actually guilty, but I had a strong feeling in my gut.” Vihk looked toward Kavut and bowed his head.

Comforted at the site of a willing volunteer, Vihk smiled beneath his buy’ce. This had the potential to be grisly and he knew he might need that in the future. Fett’s suggestion did not fall on deaf ears, but Vihk wasn’t sure if he wanted to involve Mirdala in what might be something petty. He wasn’t sure how serious this was, or even how deep it went. All he had were gut feelings and suspicions. He bowed his head to Mand’alor and turned his visor to focus on the shorter female that had answered his call. “Tresha huh? Haven’t seen the Ad’Norts around much.” Vihk adjusted his shoulders a little and turned to face the door. “Thank you for volunteering. I have one more to grab on our way out, but I’ll show you who to pin down. I can’t tell you why, yet. I’m not even sure myself. I have evidence, but I don’t know who it points to. So, follow me please, and I’ll try to be as clear as possible.” After his small introduction, Vihk proceeded through the Oyu’baat to the front door. On the way, the old Mandalorian tapped Kavut on the back of his head to gather his assistance as well. All it took was a tap, a nod, and a few gestures to get the other clan leader to follow Vihk out the door and into the mid-morning. The skies were gray. It looked like the sky hadn’t given its all yet. It still had some tears to weep. But for now, the clouds were quiet, observing what unfolded beneath them. Vihk spotted his two sisters with a merchant across the way and got Tresha and Kavut’s attention. He used his index and middle finger to point at where his eyes would be and then pointed over toward the two women crowded around the old merchant. He pointed A’den in their direction and hesitated, his finger hovering over the trigger. One of the women was spindly and wearing black beskar’gam. Her tarry black mane draped to the side and her pale white skin shone even in the dim stormy light. The other girl was shorter, lithe, and filled with a youthful optimism, even though she was in her early thirties. Her beskar’gam was bright orange and her wild brown hair was tamed only with a few hair ties, drawing it up into two crazy pigtails. Vihk made a few steps toward the indicated targets. It was up to Kavut and Tresha to pin them. Kavut took a moment to register where Vihk had pointed, but settled in on the black armored one. His feet were quick. His movements were evasive and he dove at the woman before she could turn to see him. His heart was beating fast, the power of adrenaline fueling his tackle. But the middle-aged woman heard him and cracked an elbow up to intercept Kavut before he could bring his full body on top of her. Kavut coughed a little, the plated elbow grazing his throat beneath his buy’ce. Then he renewed his assault. He dropped into a low stance and swept his leg beneath her. Failing that, he quickly feinted a jab before coming up to slam the bottom of her chin with an uppercut. Anika jumped to dodge the sweep as his leg swung around, but the uppercut slammed hard into her chin. She staggered and cussed; disoriented. Kavut took advantage of her delirium and quickly ran to change positions. She tried to grab at him, but she was caught seeing too many things. She thought there were three of him and she tried to catch the mirror image as he dashed by. When she futilely attempted to grapple him, Kavut returned the favor and grabbed her underneath the arms, pushing her into a kneeling position, facing Vihk.

But who? The air was troubled. The old Mandalorian’s brow furrowed in concentration and a fire rose deep within the cockles of his heart. Suspicion, rife with speculation, filled Vihk’s mind with uncertainty like a thick mud. All he could hope for was a sign to help dig his way out. But his misgivings would have to wait. Mand'alor was beginning the final preparations for his briefing and the briefing was why he was here. It was the sole reason he left the comforts of Nar Shadaa. He owed Fett his ear. And he owed his people a leader they could be proud of. Apprehension lingered however, and the more that Vihk tried to focus, he found his mind drifting to the device on his leg plate. Vihk gravitated toward A'den while listening to Mand'alor's briefing. He still held the listening device, but crushed it in his right gauntlet as he moved. With A'den at his side, Vihk sighed deeply. His weary eyes lingered on Fett through the view-plate of his buy’ce as Mand’alor waxed poetic about the threat they all faced. Dark Jedi huh, seems pretty cut and dry. At least some things are cut and dry. Vihk bent over to grab the large repeater and braced his form before heaving it from the ground. It was almost too big for him, but with slight modifications, the repeater fit his body like a glove. He had already strapped the ammo belts to the back of his chest piece and latched the lower snap of his leg brace to stabilize the gun. The familiar leather grips of A’den put his mind at relative ease. But the lingering whispers of distrust still wove their way through his addled mind. Who could it be? He thought back to the early moments of his visit. And his first thought, was Kavut. He and Kavut were close. But would their relationship, no matter how short it was, be enough to drive the young man to rebel against his own people? Vihk remembered the amicability of their split and the practicality of the choice. Had they both relived it, they would have made the same decision. That alone would have been enough to convince Vihk that Kavut was innocent of sabotaging him. But Kavut was also extremely dedicated to his people. That was the main reason he was a clan leader. Vihk noticed the end to Mand’alor’s briefing through his peripheral vision, but was caught up in thought. He heard the words, but was finally able to piece together his anxious misdirection. This was why they wanted to sabotage me. Whoever did this wanted information on what Mand’alor planned to do next. Which means, whoever did this, was allied with the dark jedi. But, following his backlog of memories, he was left with only two candidates. His sisters: Anika and Luca. His heart sank. With his mother dead, his clan in danger, and the fact that someone in his family might be guilty of treason, it was too much. Vihk couldn’t effectively explain the hurt he felt. It seemed like the universe was trying to drag him back down. It seemed like he would never stop paying for the sins of his past. Even atoning seemed ineffective. With his young eyes dimming in the low-light of the Oyu'baat, Vihk felt himself giving up hope. But he couldn’t believe that. He wouldn’t believe that. He earned the right to represent his people again. He earned the respect of his peers again and he wouldn’t fall back down. Never again. When Fett’s speech was over, Vihk moved toward Mand’alor with fierce determination in his stride. He kept a safe distance from Mand'alor to prevent the bayonet of his weapon from posing any threat to him, but he got as close as he could to avoid announcing himself to the rest of the Oyu’baat. “Mand’alor. I have a problem. I have two possible traitors and I need able hands to help me pin them down. I don’t know if they have done anything yet, but I need to figure out what is going on.” Vihk patted A’den with his gauntlet and grunted a little under his buy’ce. “I plan on using a little aggressive negotiation, but I need a couple of vode to pin 'em down.”

Vihk’s forehead creased into worry lines that used to be a permanent part of his old face. He looked around the Oyu’baat and studied everyone around him before returning to Luca and Anika who were still standing nearby. Both of them held their buy’ce in the crooks of their arms and regarded him with patient eyes. He thought he saw the glint of something in Luca’s eyes but decided it was his mind playing tricks on him. He heard Kavut ambling down the stairs and caught his hand as he entered the main hall. He gave it a squeeze and let it slip right through his studded gauntlets. Then his gaze turned back to Anika and Luca. “Why are you here?” Vihk asked, finally. The girls looked at each other quizzically and exchanged more vague glances with one another. They talked for a few minutes and then turned back to the old Mandalorian with a shrug. “We wanted to see our big brother?” Luca said playfully. Vihk reacted with skeptical eyes. This wasn’t like them. His sisters had always been his rivals. Ever since he was a boy, his sisters were always trying to get the best of him. It was their aim. They needed to beat him. He didn’t know why at the time. And he still didn’t really know why. But he did know that they never ceased to get their end, whatever that was. Luca was the most playful of the bunch and never really meant anything sinister with her meddling. But her involvement didn’t come without its own scars. Anika was quiet most times, but she had a passive-aggressive edge that had no problem in curdling their mother’s blood. It was an art. An art that she used to get Vihk in trouble many times. If they were here, it didn’t mean anything good. Although he was happy to see them, he would be hard pressed to say that he was ecstatic, especially with everything else going on. Vihk nodded silently and grunted under his breath. “Alright. Feel free to stay in the Oyu’baat. But this briefing is for clan leaders and clan leaders only. When the briefing starts, you need to leave. “ The two girls nodded to Vihk and milled about. They gave him a small pat on the back and left to go join others near the door. After they left, the air stilled and Vihk’s mind was a torrent of thought amidst the noise that filled the Oyu’baat. Their silent affirmation seemed good enough, but Vihk wasn’t convinced. Something in his gut stirred and he wandered over to his repeater, A’den, and picked it up off the ground. He ran a few weapon checks and did a thorough inspection of his beskar’gam before setting A’den down once more and wandering to the bar to order his own spiced caf. On the way, he felt a small hiccup in one of his leg plates. He thought it was just an idle suspicion, but it happened again with a few more strides. Something wasn’t right. Vihk bent over and plucked at the underside of his right leg plate – where the foreign sore spot seemed to emanate – and found a small device no bigger than his thumb. It hummed and beeped, indicating its functionality. It was a listening device. Kriff…