Topic: Return of the Mandalorians(FanFic)

Ok; I'm taking the leap.

This is my first attempt at this sort of thing, so please forgive mistakes.

Also, keep in mind that this is a story with little to no reference checking about the real backstory of planets, charachters, or much of anything else; as at the time I started it (over 2 years ago)I had no idea how much had already been written about Boba and the rest of Star Wars post-Ep. VI.  So much if not all of this is completely imposable.  Just the rantings of a Boba/Mando fan before he even knew there really was much of an 'Expanded Universe.'   :D

If any of this IS possable, please let me know; as I'd love to do a more serious work based on this story if possable.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!  Any feed-back is greatly appreciated!

This first part will seem greatly off topic, but the dots will connected latter.

                                           *    *    *

STAR WARS:
RETURN OF THE MANDALORIANS

Introduction

This one's for you, Rebel.

"Fire!" Five bolts of high energy streaked through the trees at a Rebel trooper and several Ewoks.  Sergeant JC 225 watched the soldier he had targeted fold and collapse to the ground. 

"Stance Delta; fire at will."

With that order, the five Imperial Scout Snipers assumed a circular formation and began engaging targets at will.  Endor's dense vegetation and trees were ideal for them.  Unlike most scout troopers, the snipers were issued a camouflaged version of the basic scout armor.  Hidden in the thick undergrowth, the sergeant and his team quickly eliminated the targets in view with a few well aimed shots.  The report from their high power blasters was muffled by the dense surroundings and went unnoticed in the background of sporadic blaster shots and Ewok battle cries that still emanated from the forest. 

Their mission had been to patrol the woods in a relatively quiet sector south of the shield generator's secret entrance.  However, after a lost scout stumbled into camp with a concussion given to him by a female Rebel the day before, Sergeant JC 225 put his squad on full alert.  Hearing chatter of a battle at the bunker on their comlinks, the sergeant took it upon himself to leave his patrol area to check it out.  During the team's approach to the shield generator's secret entrance, they overheard one of the AT-ST commanders call for reinforcements to "pursue the enemy" The dead stormtroopers and burning AT-ST they passed betrayed a far different situation.

When all visible enemies had been eliminated and a crisp "clear" was heard over his comlink from each of his team members, the sergeant quietly turned to his second in command.  Using hand signals, the sergeant ordered them to hold position and remain hidden.  Moving from his cover, JC 225 crawled up a small hill that separated him from the secret entrance.  Reaching the top, he noticed two sets of droid tracks.  Strange.  Moving next to a tree on the hill's crest, he looked down on the bunker.  A team of Rebels ran from the entrance.  Their leader, a scruffy looking bard wearing a black vest over a white shirt, yelled to the others to get back as he trailed after them. 

JC 225 tried to zero in for a shot, but the Rebel dove for cover too quickly.  Every fiber of his being pounded a message to his brain; Eliminate the enemy leader!  His training, his very breeding demanded it.  His mission was to protect the shield generator, and killing the enemy leader would be the greatest step he could make towards accomplishing that mission.  Trying not to expose himself too greatly, he stood from his hidden position and tried to reacquire the target.  Zooming his scope to its highest magnification, he strained to pick up a movement through the foliage that blocked his view. 

Get up. . .  Get up you Rebel scum

Just as he thought he detected a slight motion, the sergeant felt a vibration through his armor in the tree he was using for support and cover.  A moment latter, the entire moon seemed to shake.  Dropping to his knees, JC 225 could tell the secondary explosion had come from the direction of the shield generator.  A wall of flame rose above the treetops from the direction of the main complex. 

We've failed.  I've failed.  The Emperor is totally defenseless on the Death Star.

Clearing his mind, the sergeant again searched for the enemy leader.  Unable to see him, JC 225 fired blindly through the undergrowth hoping for a lucky shot.  A Rebel trooper saw him and returned fire.  The sergeant wheeled and squeezed the firing stud again, sending a green energy bolt through the soldier's upper chest.  Swinging his rifle back toward the Rebel leader's hiding place, he still couldn't make out any movement. 

Got to get out of here; must receive new orders.

The Rebel trooper's companions quickly returned fire, but the sergeant was already gone; crawling back to his waiting team. 

"Our mission is failed; the shield generator has been destroyed.  We've got to pull back to the main complex for new orders."  Nodding, the team obediently fell into formation while their sergeant wondered if they would ever leave this moon again.

I like it. I like it alot.

Many thanks

It's the second part of the intro and later chapters that will start making real changes (or at least new theories and additions) to Star Wars info.

Very cool dude

I could help u out like you asked if you'd like

just email me

BTW i decided to post an RPG: AGE OF SKYWALKER

http://www.bobafett.com/boards/viewtopic.php?id=2014

check it out when you get the chance.

Here is the second part of the intro.

This one starts taking some swipes at possably established material in Star Wars; and latter chapters will do so even more.  So if any of this is factually imposable, let me know so I can perhapes make changes latter or scrap this as a serious idea. 

If it is imposable, I hope you can enjoy this story anyway as a alternate history.

Here goes!

                                                                    *     *     *

Four Months Latter

 
Kam Tarik stood, arms folded, ignoring the comfortable chair he had been offered fifteen minutes earlier.  The middle aged senator from Taris stared blankly at the durasteel walls that surrounded him.  His only companions in the waiting room were two armed guards, who occasionally glared at him from their posts around an armored doorway. 

Born to an upper middle class family, Kam used his keen mind and ruthless tactics to take over Taris’s orbital construction yards by his mid thirties.  In his early forties, his enterprises were making three times more than his predecessors had ever earned. 

Then the Empire came.  Nationalizing his construction docks into the Imperial war machine, the Empire kept Tarik as an advisor.  For fifteen years Kam was forced to stand by as Imperial overseers ran HIS company.  When the opportunity finally came, he leapt at the chance to break away from the Empire.  Hearing of the Rebel victory here on Endor, he quickly organized a revolt and ousted the Imperials.  Kam then contacted the Alliance, who greeted him and his planet’s orbital shipyards with open arms.  Now four months later, he stood here waiting to meet the Alliance leader.

Looking at this place, perhaps Taris isn’t so bad after all.  The Alliance of Free planets, formerly known as the Rebel Alliance, had set up its headquarters in the refurnished main complex on Endor.  Though operational, the facility was still in rough shape. 

When the armored door finally slid open, Kam stepped aside for a small delegation of Sullustans as they exited.  A young man followed them into the waiting room and motioned to Senator Tarik, “The Chief Councilor will see you now, sir.”  Kam walked with the aid down a short hallway into Mon Mothma’s office.  Mon Mothma was standing in front of her desk, her customary long white robe offset by her auburn hair. 

“Welcome, Senator Tarik.  I am sorry that I was unable to see you sooner; please,” Mon Mothma motioned to a chair in front of her desk.  As Kam took his seat, Mon Mothma turned to her aid, “Thank you, Malan, that will be all.”  The aid bowed curtly and left through a side entrance.

“It was an unexpected pleasure to get your request for this meeting” Senator Tarik lied as he leaned back comfortably. 

Mon Mothma moved to her chair behind her desk.  “Not at all.  I try to meet all new members of the Alliance in person.  Also, there is a matter of great importance that we must discuses.”

I’m sure there is Tarik thought with no amusement.  No senator is asked to come this far for a simple welcome.  So, how will you try to steal my shipyards, rebel?.  Betraying none of the fear or suspicion he felt, Kam continued with the formalities.  “Please continue.  If there is anything I or my people can do, you need only ask.”

“I have a plan in mind for the concentration of prisoners of war; specifically clone stormtroopers, into a single camp.  We have considered many planets for this camp, and my advisors and I consider Taris the most suitable.”  Mon Mothma leaned back slightly and watched her words sink in.

Tarik’s considerable self restraint failed him as he became visibly shocked.  Is this a joke?  The senator wasn’t sure if he should be amused or insulted.  He nearly laughed as he asked, “You want to turn my home world into a prison camp?  I wasn’t even aware your forces were holding a large number of prisoners.”

A faint grin crossed Mon Mothma’s face; though it was born of her understanding, not from any pleasure.  “In a civil war of galactic scale it is inevitable that prisoners will be taken.  Though stormtroopers typically fight to the last man, the few we have captured on the hundreds of worlds we have fought for and liberated add up to rather a large figure.  You don’t really believe we of the Alliance summarily execute our prisoners like the Empire often does, do you?”

“No, I suppose not.”  Senator Tarik composed himself.  This may be a ruse. I’ll play along; for the moment.  “But why Taris; we only have a small city on the planet’s surface.  All are real assets are off planet;” Tarik carefully withheld any direct mention of orbital facilities, delaying the inevitable confrontation.  “We have no facilities that could even be considered for conversion into such a facility.”

Mon Mothma, despite her reputation as a fierce and unyielding leader, beamed a sense of trust and compassion.  “We understand that.  I will not force this plan upon you, as there is a limited danger.  However, I hope you will give me a chance to explain.” 

“Very well” Senator Tarik allowed, but he remained suspicious.

“My staff and I have done considerable research on your home world since it has joined the Alliance of Free Planets.  We learned that Taris was leveled during the Second Sith War by Darth Malak nearly four thousand years ago.  In all the time since then, less then five percent of the planet’s surface has been reclaimed.  This reclaimed land is in a single, concentrated area directly below the heart of your orbiting space stations; an area that took the least amount of damage during the Sith War.  The rest of the planet is barren except for some smuggler and bandit hideouts in the ruins.  With your permission, our plan is to set up a camp for captured Imperial clones in an area opposite of your city.  They will build their own facility using materials supplied by us.  When they have a livable compound, they will then commence working on a reconstruction effort.  They will build a small, functional settlement.  When they are done, they will be moved and the process can be repeated on some other part of Taris.  You can use the abandoned compound as a lure for immigration to your world.”  Mon Mothma let her shoulders relax slightly.  “It sounds like slave labor, I know.  I rejected this plan myself when it was first proposed.  But ever since the Emperor’s death, the clone stormtroopers in our custody have fallen into a state I can only describe as extreme despair.  Hundreds have let themselves starve to death.  They only existed for the purpose of enforcing the Emperor’s will.  With him gone, the clones apparently feel they have no reason to go on.” 

Senator Tarik narrowed his dark eyes.  “I have never heard of any of this.  I was led to believe that there are still clones fighting with the Empire now.”

Mon Mothma nodded.  “That is true.  Many clones are still fighting for the Empire, but they had officers to look up to.  They were somehow able to adjust to the Emperor being gone.  However, most of the clones I am describing were already in our custody or were abandoned by their officers on Rim worlds, so they could not make that adjustment.  Like your native Taris, hundreds of other worlds joined our cause after the Emperor’s death.  However, a closely held secret is that most of those worlds joined us unopposed only because their stormtrooper garrisons failed to counter the revolt.  Those clones not massacred in their barracks were captured, leading to the sudden explosion in number of prisoners we now have.  Overpopulation in our current prisoner facilities is part of the reason for this proposal.  Also, I feel that if we can get them to do something constructive, it might help to rectify some of the deeds they committed in their past.  With proper reeducation, it may even be possible they could one day become model citizens in the New Republic.”

The two shared a long silence as Kam pondered the proposition.  Senator Tarik finally looked up.  “You said there would be a ‘limited danger’ involved.  To what were you referring?”

“Yes, there will be some risk involved.  The worst possibility being that if the Empire should learn of the camp, they might try to free the clones.  However, we know that ever since the Clone Wars, the Empire has never attached much sentiment to their clone soldiers, or any of their low ranking combatants.  They have also never had a manpower shortage.  Therefore, we have concluded that the Empire views your orbital docks as a much more tempting target than a POW camp would.  In any case, we will endeavor to maintain utmost secrecy for this project.”

“The other risk in a venture such as this of course is a mass breakout.  I see this possibility as most unlikely.  One of my most trusted advisors recently visited our current prisoner facility.  He assured me that ever since the Emperor’s death they barley move around or talk, much less make trouble.  However, that possibility is another reason we chose Taris.  If the entire camp were to revolt, your planet’s inhospitable nature would leave them stranded.  No form of long distance transportation would be allowed to stay at the camp for an extended amount of time, and the camp will be placed at a location too far for them to travel on foot to any settled parts of your world.”

Senator Tarik again thought over Mon Mothma’s words.  If this offer is all it seems to be, Taris and I may be able to benefit in more ways then one.  If only. . .  When he finally looked up, a slight grin spread across his face.  “I think we can come to an arrangement on this.”

Mon Mothma smiled back and offered her hand.  “Excellent!  There are many details that we must work out.  But you must be tired; Malan will show you to your room.”  A moment after she pressed one of the buttons on her desk, the young aid returned through the side door entrance.   

“Until tomorrow then,” said Tarik.

“One last thing, senator.  You now personally own Taris’s orbital shipyards again, don’t you?”

A cold chill ran down Kam’s spine. Now it comes.  Turning slowly, he replied in as even a tone as he could muster; “Yes, I do.”

“Good!  The Alliance needs starships badly, and we are now in a position to pay well for your company’s service.  If you like, I will have the contract my advisers have been working on taken to your room.  Review it when you have the time; no rush.  And thank you again for coming.”

“My pleasure.”  Following the aid, Senator Tarik was completely baffled.  One question rang in his mind that he couldn’t answer.  What’s her angle?

sounds good so far.
Im not exactly familiar with Taris, so I cant say if its accurate to the current timeline. However, an alternate timeline sounds most interesting...

either way, keep up the good work...

Really great.  I was really enjoying it.  Only one criticism.  I guess the one hole would be the clones.  WOuld they not be somewhere in their 70's or older by this time?  I'd say they'd be more of a burden the a help in the war.  I'm pretty sure if the Republic began disposing of their clones in the Clone Wars, would not the Empire have slaughtered all who hindered them?

These are Imperial clones of Ep. IV - VI era, not Jango's.  It will become clear later how they connect to Jango's tampering with the originals

Ok, this is the chapter that intro’s Boba.  Hope you all like my interpretation of his character, and feedback is always appreciated.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1   

Two years latter

It was good to be in command Slave I again.  The low hum emanating from the custom MandalMoters engines, the feel of the cockpit and its controls.  Though he would never admit to having such emotions, Boba Fett truly had a strong personal connection to the ship.  He had grown to manhood behind these controls. 

Since losing the vessel over Tatooine two years ago after a nearly fatal encounter with that young Jedi, he had used several different vessels.  Slave II, a Pursuer-class patrol ship once used by Mandalorian mercenaries in times past, had served as his primary vessel for roughly the last year.  It was a decent ship, but it couldn’t compare to Slave I.  The years of modifications and upgrades made to Slave I had created a ship in his own image; fast, efficient, and deadly.  No other ship would ever truly replace it.  Dengar, Fett’s partner since he found Fett dying in the Tatooine dunes, had Slave II in the Oseon system for a little time off with his wife. 

Too bad I can’t just tell him to keep Slave II and go his own way.  The galaxy’s belief that he had died two years ago had come in handy, however, and Fett wasn’t ready to throw away the advantage.  Slave I, a unique and exotic design, was nearly as famous as its owner.  Dengar was also useful for some menial tasks, like arranging contracts with clients Fett didn’t trust with the knowledge of his survival.  Therefore, he decided to have Slave I put into storage.  When came to ‘return from the dead,’ he could reclaim it and pick up his career as the galaxy’s best and most famous bounty hunter.

The collector who had purchased Slave I from the Alliance - The New Republic, I should say.  Still can’t get used to that thought Fett, never had the nerve to enter the vessel.  Rumors about Slave I’s security systems had scared off most buyers and reduced the price to almost nothing.  The only buyer with the guts to purchase Slave I hired a moving crew to transport the ship via freighter to his home on Toprawa.  There, he had it placed inside his beachfront villa as a new piece for his collection of strange artifacts.  Not wanting to ruin the belief that he was dead, Fett infiltrated the villa and took Slave I back rather then trying to bargain for it.  In any case, Boba Fett is not the kind of creature who buys his own property. 

Wonder how many credits it will cost to repair that hole in the roof, pondered Fett.  It had been the most difficult infiltration for him in some time.  The security had been tight.  A communications jammer prevented him from simply contacting the ship’s navigational computer and remotely flying it out.  He suspected that the collector must have a less then legal means of supporting his craving for rare and exotic items, considering the level of security systems employed.  Formerly employed, Boba reminded himself with mild amusement.

As Slave I dropped out of hyperspace, the planet Bandomeer raced into view.  As Fett kicked in the sub-light engines, he set course for the orbital station’s parking hangers.   

                                                                                 ***

How much more boring can this get? 

Lieutenant Surran and his two wingmen were halfway through their patrol shift.  With all that’s happening in the galaxy, command sticks a whole garrison here on Bandomeer; about as far from the action as you can get.  And I get stuck here watching them.  Surran banked his X-wing to the left, keeping to the predetermined flight plan. 

Suddenly, Surran’s comm unit broke through his mental grumbling, “Blue flight, this is Beta control.  A ship has just entered your sector.  Its transponder codes appear clean, but our initial scans show that it resembles a ship reported as stolen from Toprawa.  You are to intercept and detain.  An assault team is being preped and will board the vessel when you have stopped it.  Green flight is also scrambling and will assist if necessary.”

“Roger that Beta control; moving to intercept.”  Lieutenant Surran slid his blast visor into position over his eyes.  “Blue flight, this is Blue leader.  Move to attack formation three; and charge up your ion cannons in case this barve doesn’t want to cooperate.”  Bout time we got something to do. 

                                                                        ***

Boba Fett’s masked gaze snapped to the threat indicator that had suddenly come to life.  X-Wings?  What are they doing in this sector?   Three of them were coming straight for him.  As Fett considered prepping his weapon systems, his sensors picked up five more fighters coming from what appeared to be a new hanger on the space station. 

“Unidentified vessel, by authority of the New Republic, you are ordered to stop and prepare to be boarded.  Failure to comply will re. . .”   Fett switched off his comm unit.  He them performed a bottom-over-top loop that 180’ed his course in the blink of an eye.  I don’t have time for this.  Too much Republic activity here to safely store the ship, anyway.  What are they doing here?  Pushing Slave I’s throttles to the max, he began setting new hyperspace coordinates.  As the navi computer processed the destination, Fett looked up in time to see a large warship drop out of hyperspace directly in front of him.  A light indicating an incoming message from the dreadnaught prompted Fett to turn his comm unit back on. 

“. . . and after that, you miserable thief, I’ll have your skull mounted in my TROPHY ROOM!!!”

So, the collector really was angry about the hole in the roof, thought Fett.  He aborted his jump to hyperspace and made a sharp turn to his left.  As he did so, the number dots on his sensor screen grew larger as the Dreadnaught launched its own fighters.  This makes things a little more interesting.

                                                                        ***

Who the hell is that?!?   Ã¢Â€ÂœBeta control, this is Blue flight leader.  An unidentified warship has just dropped out of hyperspace and appears to be pursuing our target; how shall we proceed?”  Lieutenant Surran watched as the dreadnaught turned in response to the smaller ship’s maneuver. 

After a few seconds, the control station responded.  “Blue flight, this is Beta control; new orders incoming.  The larger vessel has been ID’ed as a pirate vessel.  More friendly units are on the way.  Hold position until reinforcements arrive.”

     Ã¢Â€ÂœAcknowledged, Beta control.  Holding position.”  Surran and his flight pulled back on their throttles and turned onto a parallel course with the dreadnaught.  Five old but still common Z-95 Headhunters left their mother ship and streaked after the fleeing vessel.  Their using their ion cannons.  Whoever’s in that dreadnaught, he must want that guy alive.  Poor bard doesn’t have a chance.

Lieutenant Surran was about to contact control and ask if he should assist the fleeing vessel when it again made a 180 loop. 

“Is that maniac attacking?!? ” called one of Surran’s wingmen.

“Keep the comm clear, two.  But yeah, I think he is.”

                                                                       ***

“What is that thief up to?”  Zan Miz’var, pirate and collector of unusual items, squinted through the forward transparisteel viewport of his flagship as he tried to make out what his latest purchase was doing.  Then he saw the red bolts firing from Slave I’s laser cannons.  In the seconds that it took for Slave I to pass the pursuing Headhunters, it destroyed two of them.  And rather then turn away from the oncoming dreadnaught, Slave I kept coming right at them!   

“Lock on with our turbo lasers and fire   Let’s just call it a bad investment and end this.”  Zan was not pleased with the order, as Slave I was an excellent addition to his collection, and a bargain at that.  However, watching the craft coming at him sent shivers down his spine.  He had been a follower of the late Boba Fett’s career.  No living creature in this galaxy can fly Slave I that well.  Too many of the systems were voice coded.  The only one who could be at those controls is . . .  But that’s imposable.  Maybe Fett had a partner nobody knew about who was familiar with flying Slave I.  Still, is it really imposable?

The panicked voice of Zan’s tracking officer cut into his thoughts.  “SIR  The target has dropped from our tracking sensors; we can’t get a lock! ”

“Check your system, find the problem now,” Zan ordered.  He looked back out through the view port as Slave I cut loose with its lasers on the Dreadnaught’s forward shields.  Heading strait for the larger ship’s bow, Slave I came incredibly close to a collision.    It dove underneath the dreadnaught just before striking it.  Zan turned from the view port to his tracking officer.  “Where did he go? ”  The officer could only give a befuddled shrug. 

Zan’s second officer was also looking through the forward transparisteel port when Slave I disappeared from view.  Still looking toward the ship’s bow, he pointed out the view port, “What’s that?” 

Zan looked and saw a small cylindrical object slowly sliding across the forward shield.  “That’s a seismic charge, SHIELDS FULL FORWARD, PREPAR FOR IMPACT!!!”

The shield control officers quicklypushed the proper levers all the way and watched as the forward shield indicator lights went bright green.  “Forward shields at maximum, Sir!”

Looking again at the canister shaped device, Zan and the command crew braced themselves for the coming explosion.  A moment later, the device continued to harmlessly bounce along the shield as the dreadnaught moved under it.  It was a trick!

His gaze darted back to the shield status board.  Zan felt a knot tighten in his throat when he saw the aft quarter shield’s indicator light was a dim yellow.  “EQUALIZE THE DEFLEC . . .” Zan’s words were cut off by a shuddering explosion.  Slave I had fired a full salvo of Dymek missiles into the rear quarter.  “Get the deflector shields equalized now ” 

The panicked defense officer looked to Zen.  “Sir, our shield generators were overloaded by that last attack, all our deflector shields are off line!”

Zan, doing his best to compose himself, looked back to his young lieutenant.  “Tracking, it’s up to you.  If you can get a lock, we can blow him to atoms!"

The tracking officer was nearly in tears.  “I’m sorry, sir.  He’s jamming us somehow!  There’s nothing I can do!!”

Then it’s true.  Only Boba Fett could do something like this.  “We’re in over our heads.  Plot a course back to the station.”

“There he is; to port!” shouted the second officer.  “Our fighters are right on him ”

Zan looked over his left shoulder out the bridge’s portside transparisteel viewer.  He had assumed the surviving fighters had been destroyed by now.  There were only two now.  Slave I was heading strait at the dreadnaught’s bridge, the fighters right behind it. 

As Zan watched Slave I pass less then a couple meters from where he stood, his eyes were caught by the fake seismic charge.  It had drifted right up against the bridge, and a red light was starting to blink on it . . .

                                                                     ***

Lieutenant Surran and his wingmen had just joined with their reinforcements when they saw the explosion.  It engulfed the whole of the dreadnaught’s bridge where the two Z-95s and the ship they were pursuing apparently collided with the larger vessel.  When the flash and flying debris subsided there was no sign of the smaller vessels.  The dreadnaught, its hull breached and exposed to the vacuum of space, was breaking up. 

Surran’s wingman again came on the comm unit.  “What happened?”

“Not sure.”  Surran continued to study the Dreadnaught as it lost structural integrity.  “Looked like the smaller ships ran right into the bridge.”

“Sure seems weird, that guy looked like a serious pro.  Hard to believe he’d 'accidentally' run into something like that; and at least one of those fighters would have pulled up.”   

“Yah, well, he pulled some close ones back there.  Guess he just ran out of luck; and the explosion must have fried the Headhunters to.  Come on; let’s get over there and see if anybody got out.”

Back again.  Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

Slave I came out of hyperspace opposite Taris’s orbiting platforms incase the New Republic had also set up a base in this system.  Fett’s remote detonation of the seismic charge took out the dreadnaught and disintegrated the pursuing Headhunters, but it also did a lot of damage to his own vessel.  The rear deflector shields took nearly as hard a hit as the dreadnaught’s hull.  Fett’s high power antenna, mounted on the back of Slave I, took considerable damage.  Also, one of the power generators was off line.  Speed was cut by 30%, and if another fire fight was in Fett’s near future, he wouldn’t be able to keep the weapons charged for long.  At least the sensor jamming unit was still operating. 

Hope Danthon can get me out of here quickly.  Fett had dealt with Kesh Danthon several times in the past.  He ran a small time smuggling operation on Taris’s wastelands.  His headquarters was in a cavern created by the fallen buildings.  The hanger was perfectly hidden, nearly imposable to find unless you knew where it was and what you were looking for. 

The red glow subsided from around the forward viewport as Slave I entered the atmosphere.  Fett brought up the coordinates of the base and punched them into the auto navigation system.  As Slave I passed through the clouds on its downward course, Fett noticed something in the seemingly endless plain of broken rubble.  A landing pad. 

The black top of the pad made it visible from a great distance.  Fett again took manual control of his ship and put it on the deck, flying around and just above the great piles of debris and gutted atmosphere scrapers.  A scan of the area showed enough life signs to populate a fair sized settlement.  Gaps in the rubble allowed Fett an occasional glimpse at the area around the pad.  It was surrounded on three sides by ruin.  But to the south, a good degree of reconstruction had taken place.  Mostly smaller buildings under five stories, and there appeared to be clusters of warehouse like structures concentrated in the further reaches of the settlement. 

If Boba Fett had been the kind of creature who succumbed to such emotional fluctuations, he would have been shocked.  He had never heard of any major development projects under way in this whole system.  Since his ‘death,’ it had been harder to get information.  But he had enough trustworthy sources left that he should have heard about this.  Taris was a dieing city when it was destroyed.  Why would anyone be interested in it now?  First a New Republic base on Bandomeer, and now this.  What’s going on in this sector?

With a new settlement so close, the likelihood of Kesh Danthon still running his operation here was about nil.  But with Slave I in its current condition, Fett decided to take the chance.  Even if Kesh was gone, he probably didn’t have time to strip the facility when he left.  There should be enough spare parts and gear lying about that Fett could make short term repairs.

After a fairly short flight, Fett approached the hanger.  He gave the clearance code, but as he expected, got no response.  The entrance to the hanger was difficult to see, even for someone who had been there before.  However, Boba recognized several of the crushed buildings in the area and the unique way they had fallen.  Using them as landmarks, he quickly pinpointed the hanger’s location.  Three great buildings once surrounded what was now the smuggling base.  Two of the buildings collapsed strait down, leaving a pile of rubble to the north and west.  The third building was split in half, with its northern side falling over the rubble of the first two, creating a cavern.  Somehow discovered by Kesh Danthon, he dug a crooked entrance between the still solid foundations of the first two buildings.  Being crooked prevented a passing ship from seeing into the hanger.  The opening was more than large enough for a small starship to fly into, but the overhang from the third building’s wall made the entrance difficult to see from the air. 

The hanger was totally dark.  Turning on Slave I’s navigation lights, Fett could see that it was empty.  He piloted Slave I to the repair pad, which was on the far side of the hanger.  As soon as the primary systems had been shut down, Fett disembarked and commenced getting things in order.  First, he located the hangers control room and turned the power on in the repair station.  He then commenced turning the base inside out looking for the required parts to repair the damaged power generator.  Fortunately, the base had a backup generator.  Fett was able to scavenge enough parts from it to repair Slave I. 

As midday came around, Boba had just completed hauling the scavenged parts from the generator room into the repair shop.  The shop, which was in the same corner as the repair bay, was surrounded on two sides by the hanger’s eastern and southern walls and on the northern and western sides by workbenches.  The western benches didn’t extend all the way to the northern side, which allowed access.  There, Fett set about modifying the scavenged parts for use on his ship.           

                                                                              ***

“Base control, this is Scout 5, over.”

Sure didn’t know about this place.  I’ve seen this ruble form some weird stuff, but nothing quite like this. Corporal Drada and his three troopers entered the growing darkness of the hanger’s cave-like entrance.  Whoever flew in here knew exactly where he was going; it’s hard to see until your practically walking into it   Must be some kind of hideout or supply catch.

“Base Control, this is Scout 5; come in.”  Some kind of interference is killing our comm-links.  Idiot   I should have sent someone back to base for reinforcements   Too late to think about that now; got to check this out.  If I don't do it now we might never find this place again.  A ship that size couldn’t hold many people anyway; we can handle this.

As the squad entered the hanger, they could see a glow coming from the far corner.  Blocking the light was the silhouette of the strange looking ship they saw fly into the cavern.   

Switching his combat visor to low light amplification, Drada scanned the hanger for any sign of life, weapon ready.  Satisfied that he wasn’t walking into a hive of smugglers or worse, the corporal split the team into two pairs.  Drada and the private at his side quietly moved toward the ship’s open loading ramp, while the other two went around the ship’s topside.  His A280 blaster rifle in firing position, Drada stepped onto the elevated landing platform that the ship was resting on.  Stopping next to the vessel’s starboard side, Drada gave his team time to switch their visors back to standard combat mode.  When everyone was ready, he gave the signal to move.  The corporal quickly moved around the hull and up loading ramp of the starship, while his partner kneeled down behind the ramp and covered the repair area.  Making a rapid inspection of the vessel’s interior, he noticed a military grade jet pack sitting in one of the passenger seats.  With no sign of the ship’s owner, Drada began to move back toward the exit. 

“LOOK OUT!!!”  The yell from one of Drada’s troopers was quickly followed by several rapid blaster shots.  As he ran to the exit, he saw his partner jump to the repair shop side of the loading ramp. 

Drada slowed down as he stepped off the ramp and scanned the repair shop for targets.  “What happened ?” 

“I don’t know ”  The private was in a kneeling position next to the ship’s portside wing, his back against the strange ship’s curved hull.  “I heard the shots, and when I got around the ramp they were down! ”  In front of the private were the two other members of the squad, sprawled on the dirty hanger floor in front of the repair shop entrance.   

“Take it easy, private.  We’ve got to take this guy out.  Cover me ”  The pair slowly walked toward their fallen comrades, blasters leveled toward the workbenches.  Just before reaching the bodies, Drada gave a hand signal to halt.  Kneeling, he reached into his belt pouch with his off hand while the private stood guard. 

As the corporal was reaching into his pouch, the private took a quick glimpse at one of the fallen troopers.  For the first time he noticed where his squad mate had been shot.  “HE’S BEHIND US!!”

                                                                       ***

The top of the landing pad that Slave I had landed on was made up of removable panels covering a pit.  These panels, which are designed to be removed from inside the pit even if a starship is sitting on them, enable a mechanic to work on the underside of a vessel.  The only panels that can be opened from the outside are those around the edges of the platform. 

Giving the edge panel he had been hiding under a shove, Fett emerged from the pit.  With only his upper torso exposed, Fett fired two quick shots from his E-3 blaster rifle at the young trooper who had wheeled about in his direction.  The corporal, who was still reaching for something in his belt pouch, swung his blaster around and fired a wild shot in Fett’s direction.  The muzzle of Fett’s blaster had already turned on the corporal.  Just as Drada’s blaster bolt streaked past its target, Fett fired a well aimed shot into the corporal’s upper chest.  The powerful bolt from Fett’s modified blaster burned through the corporal’s protective vest and knocked him onto his back.  Mortally wounded, the corporal was only able to roll onto his left side away from his attacker. 

Fett stepped out of the repair pit and checked the other downed troopers, kicking away their weapons.  Keeping his blaster pointed at the still moving corporal, he made a quick check on the private.  The man had died instantly, with the first shot striking him in the throat, and the second burning through his heart.  This New Republic and I just don’t seem to get along, thought Fett as he tossed the private’s weapon in the direction of Slave I.  Standing, he moved toward the corporal.  Looking down at him through the T-Visor of his helmet, Fett used his boot to kick away the dieing soldier’s blaster rifle.  “Nothing personal, trooper.  You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Gaging and barely able to talk, the corporal looked back at Fett.  “Yeah, same to you.”  With that, the corporal limply rolled onto his back, an armed fragmentation grenade slipping from his left hand.       

Without a moment’s hesitation, Fett lunged toward the repair shop and jumped over the nearest workbench.  As he sailed through the dimly lit air, the entire hanger suddenly glowed white.  The force of the explosion reached Fett just as he crashed down on the floor.  The workbench closest to the grenade didn’t have a back, and a shower of splinters flew through it.   Fett’s upper body was covered by a stronger, metal backed bench, but his legs were ripped by burning grenade fragments. 

Bold move, trooper.  You almost got me.  Fett rolled onto his back as the smoke cleared.  When he looked at his legs, he became deadly serious.  He was unable to move from his waist down.  The amount of blood flowing from his right leg indicated that an artery may have been cut.  “Maybe you did get me.”   

Grabbing a piece of electrical wiring from the floor, Fett tied it around his leg as tightly as he could.  Slinging his blaster across his back, he started to crawl toward Slave I.  Clawing his way through the open backed table, the pain started to set in.  As he passed what was left of the New Republic troopers, he noticed his vision was getting dim.  Halfway to Slave I’s loading ramp, Fett could feel shock from blood loss setting in.  Through force of will, he managed to pull himself onto the repair pad and reach the ramp.  As he tried to drag himself into the ship, the last of his strength left him. 

After all I have survived, this is how it ends; in a forgotten hole on a forgotten world.  Well, I’ve cheated death my whole life.  Guess it’s time to pay up.  Ready for the inevitable, Boba Fett closed his eyes for the last time.

Then he felt someone role him onto his back.  Opening his eyes again, Fett looked up to see a dirt smudged face staring back at him. 

“Hang on.  I’ll see what I can do.”  The stranger then stood and ran into Slave I. 

The only thought Fett could manage as he closed his eyes and darkness overtook him was, not another partner.

Perhaps the untouchable Boba Fett isnt so untouchable?

This is really good. Cant wait for more :)

Well, we know he isn't untouchable from Ep. VI; but he's pretty close.  I wasn't sure about that scene just for that reason.  Boba probably would have noticed the Rebel's hand hidden under him.  But on the other side, he probably wouldn't have expected such a move from a average grunt; more the kind of "If I'm dieing; I'm taking you with me" move he would do to someone else.

Anyway, glad you like.  Anybody have any questions or suggestions out there?  More than happy to field them.

My story as a game??  Hmmmmmmmmmmm. . . . . . . .   I like the sound of that!   :)   Thanks terra

Any and all help is appreciated

Hoping to have the next chapter up soon

Waiting eagerly :D

No suggestions yet for improvment??  Great!  I must be doing something right  :D   (or nobody's reading this  :P )

Ok, in this one, I'm doing something that I've never seen done in Star Wars: i'm showing a corrupt and evil side of the New Republic.  I explain it some in the story, but the short of it is that all major groups have bad eggs in the mix, even the Rebels.  The Alliance needs all there best personel at the front, which leaves more suspect troops behind for prison duty and the like.  And some of those 'suspect' personel are here in my story.

Enjoy!   :)

Chapter 3

I’ve had this feeling before.  The memory of waking up in Dengar’s hidden lair on Tatooine after blasting his way out of the Sarlacc was still clear in his mind.  This place had a much better climate.  Boba Fett managed to open his eyes for the first time in what seemed like years.  Taking in his surroundings, Fett could see that he was lying in the spare bunk just inside Slave I.  Looking to his left, he could see the coffin-like prisoner cages in which he had transported so many bounties. 

He couldn’t feel his legs, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing.  As he was pondering whether he still had legs, Fett heard someone entering the ship.  A well built human walked by, carrying a sack in one hand and Fett’s EE-3 blaster rifle in the other.  He wore a ragged white shirt with the sleeves torn off.  His brown trousers showed signs of having been repaired many times over.  His light brown hair was cut in a short military style.  Setting the bag down in the portside passenger seat, he collapsed into the second seat next to it. 

“What’s in the bag,” Fett managed to say. 

The other creature showed surprising reflexes, jumping up from the chair and leveling the blaster rifle at Fett only a second after he heard Fett’s voice.  The stranger quickly lowered the weapon when he saw who had startled him.  “You shouldn’t scare people like that.”  Leaning the rifle against the chair, the weather-beaten figure walked over to his patient and checked the monitors that read out Fett’s status. 

“Will I live?”  Each word seemed to drain strength.  Fett was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. 

“I didn’t think so at first, you were really torn up.”  The stranger lifted the blanket covering Fett’s legs.  They were wrapped in medical applicator sleeves.  “Your wounds are healing faster then they should be.  Is this bacta?” 

“Kolto . . .  From Manaan.”

“Never heard of it.  Thought it looked different; I was afraid it was some kind of hydraulic fluid at first.  Works awfully good, I’ll give it that.”  The stranger covered Fett’s legs again.

Fett studied the other creature for a moment.  “What’s your designation?”

The stranger stiffened and looked back into Fett’s eyes for a moment.  “Designation?”

Fett was having a harder time talking.  “Clone . . .  Designation.” 

Tensing himself further, the stranger asked, “How did you know?” 

Fett examined the man for a moment.  “Your face. . . seen it before. . . on a clone.”

The former stormtrooper was surprised.  Though his face wasn’t an uncommon one for an Imperial clone, he wasn’t used to being recognized outside of his armor.  “I was given the designation YT 597 at the cloning facility.  And you had better rest before you talk yourself to death.”  With that, the stormtrooper increased the anesthetic flow into the bounty hunter and walked back to his chair.

Never been accused of that before thought Fett as darkness again took hold of his vision.

                                                                   ***

Colonel Nix Caldrone sat in his spacious office, feet up, leisurely watching one of the Republic sponsored entertainment HoloNet channels.  Never a field officer, Caldrone slowly worked his way up the military ladder working with support units.  The closest he came to battle was on Hoth while working as a commissary.  Ever since then, he had been about as far away from the action as he was now.  And he loved it. 

The Colonel’s desk mounted comm link broke into the swoop bike race he was watching.  “Captain Gran’ell would like to see you, sir.”  A look of disgust came over the colonel.  Just as the third heat was starting, thought Caldrone with dismay.  That Bothan laser brain had better have something important.  “Very well.  Send him in.” 

Captain Horst Gran’ell entered the colonel’s office with all the military precision and flare he could muster.  His perfectly clean and creased uniform contrasted greatly with Caldrone’s, which hadn’t been changed in a couple days.  As usual; thinks he’s in a bloody parade.  “Yes, captain. What is it this time?”  Though muted, Colonel Caldrone continued to watch the ongoing swoop race. 

The young Bothan stood rigidly at attention before his superior’s desk.  “Colonel Caldrone, I again beg to report that Scout 5 is overdue.  The team only had supplies for ten days.  It has been over two weeks since they left.”

“Is that so?”  Caldrone watched as a swoop bike narrowly avoided a course obstacle on the muted holo.  “I thought I told you that those recapture missions were pointless.” 

Captain Gran’ell tried to avoid showing the frustration in his eyes by stared over the colonel’s balding head.  “Yes you did, sir.  However, this patrol must be in trouble.  Only you have the authority to transfer troops from guard duty to patrol and security work.  If I had a few more men to search . . .”

Caldrone cut off his second in command with a wave of his hand.  “We’ve had this discussion before, captain.  With so many of our troops on loan to the Taris security force, I cannot waste personnel chasing every runaway stormtrooper who decides to die out there in the wastes.  If you can’t keep track of your people, maybe you should stop wasting your time out their in the ruble and focus on making the lazy barves we have work harder.  You’ll have to make due with the forces you have.”       

Seeing that he would never get what he wanted, Gran’ell gave up.  “Very well, sir,” he said in despair.  Turning on his heel, he left the colonel to his swoop race. 

                                                                        ***

“Who was the last Mandalorian to use a Basilisk war droid in battle?”

“Mandalore Ordo, during the Onderon civil war.”

“Very good, son.  That’s all for today.

“Dad, when will the Mandalorians be strong again?”

“Soon, son, very soon.  If everything goes as planned, I will be the greatest Mandalore ever to lead our people.  And you will be my right hand, son.”

“Why won’t you tell me how you’ll do it?”

“We have powerful enemies, son.  Enemies that can see even into your thoughts.  Soon I will tell you everything.  But not untill we've left this place.  But come now; the Geonosians are executing the two Jedi and the female.  Count Dooku has invited us to watch with him.” 

“NO!!!”  Boba Fett sprang into a sitting position, unsure if he had yelled out loud or only in his mind.  Breathing heavily, Fett could feel a cold sweat running down his face.  Control yourself! Boba ordered himself.  Haven’t had that dream in years.  Looking around, he saw that he was still lying in Slave I’s spare bunk by the loading ramp.  Clearing his head, he removed the blanket covering his still legs.  Look at this waste.

Having heard Fett’s yell, the stormtrooper ran into the cargo area.  Fett was unfastening the second kolto sleeve.  With a cold look, Fett regarded YT 597.  “Do you have any conception of how expensive this is?”

Bewildered, the stormtrooper shrugged.  “No.”

“Considerably more then your clone hide is worth.”  Sitting on the edge of the bunk, Fett carefully put the applicator sleeves into their compartment next to the nearly empty kolto tank they were attached to.  “How long have I been out,” asked Fett in a more even tone as he tried to stretch his legs. 

The stormtrooper had to think for a moment before answering.  “You got hit nearly two weeks ago.  I had a hard time stopping the bleeding; you shouldn’t hide your medical supplies so well.  Your right leg got infected before I could find that bacta applicator; or whatever it is.  You’ve had a pretty bad fever for the last few days.  I don’t know if you remember, but you woke up about five days ago.  That was the first sign of hope I got that you wouldn’t die.”

Fett thoroughly checked his legs.  The sleeves had been left on far longer then needed.  Nearly all outer traces of any wounds had been healed.  “Any more patrols come this way?”

“One came close, but I led them off.”  YT 597 watched as Fett got to his feet, one hand against Salve I’s bulkhead for support.  “You sure you’re ready to be moving around?”

“I’ll get by.”  Looking at the prisoner cages opposite the bunk, Fett saw his Mandalorian armor and helmet inside the top compartment.  Sitting back down, he motioned to the armor.  “Give me those.”

The stormtrooper walked over and picked up the worn pieces of equipment.  He stared into the visor of the helmet for a moment.  The black gleam from the T-shaped macrobinocular plate seemed to stare right back.  When he put the armor down next to the scared figure before him, he looked at Fett for a moment.  “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Picking up his helmet and examining it for tampering, Fett seemed to ignore the question. 

“A Mandalorian I mean.”

Stopping for a moment, he concealed his surprise at the question and continued to check his scared helmet.  “You could say that.”

“I thought so when I saw the T-visor on the helmet; but I wasn’t sure until I heard you talking while you were out.” 

“What did I say?” asked Fett.

“Not much made any sense to me.  But I picked up a lot of words and phrases.”

Fett began to examine the rest of his armor.  He noticed the attempted repairs to the lower portions of the flight suit.  “Go on.”

“You talked a lot about the Mandalorians, reforming the clans, and I guess their history.”

“A creature will babble about the craziest things when it’s delirious.”  Fett began to examine the red painted armor gauntlets and their weapons. 

“You also mentioned your father.”

Fett froze.  After a moment, he slowly looked up and locked his gaze into YT 597’s eyes.  Setting the gauntlets down, he rose to his feet.  Fett’s voice had an edge that YT 597 could almost feel, and his piercing glare seemed more deadly then the blaster slung over his shoulder.  “I have many secrets in my life, stormtrooper.”  Thou obviously still weak, every molecule of Fett’s body seemed on a hair trigger, waiting for the order to tear the stormtrooper apart using only his bare hands.  “It is most unwise for a creature to meddle in them.”

YT 597 held his ground.  “I don’t mean to intrude into the secrets of your past; but I must ask.  Was your father Jango Fett?”

Boba's eye's widened slightly; a show of surprise that only a few had brought to him in all his life.  He had never called his father by name, and knew that he wouldn’t have said it in his sleep.  “How do you know that name?” 

“Stormtroopers have secrets, to.  Since we were first used in the Army of the Republic, clone troopers have passed down a legend that we are the descendents of the last leader of a great warrior race called the Mandalorians.  His name was Jango Fett.  We have also been told that he raised a clone as his son.  The legend says that someday, after the death of our master the Emperor, that Jango or his son would return and lead us back to our roots as Mandalorians.  I humbly ask again, are you the son of Jango Fett?” 

   In all his years, Boba Fett had never thought much of Imperial stormtroopers.  Not exceedingly bright, suicidal in their tactics, and blindly faithful to the Emperor.  He knew that his father had been the template for the clone army of the Republic.  Boba also knew that he was in fact a clone of Jango, and not his literal son.  But he never thought of stormtroopers as his brothers or his equal.
 
The stormtrooper standing before him didn’t look much like him.  He had a lighter completion, strait brown hair, and a less defined jaw.  However, they were exactly the same height.  Their physical build was also very similar.  New genetic material had obviously been introduced in the nearly forty years since his father had been selected as the template for the clone army; but was it possible that some of his father’s blood still ran in this creature’s veins?  Father; why didn't you tell me this??
 
“I am.”

The stormtrooper dropped to one knee, his head bowed.  “Then I pledge myself into your service, my master.” 

“Are you insane?”  Fett looked down at the kneeling creature.  “What do you know of the Mandalorian ways?”

The stormtrooper looked up into Fett’s eyes.  “Nothing, my master.  But you could teach me.”

Fett narrowed his gaze, “And why should I.” 

YT 597 paused for a moment, searching for an answer.  “Because. . . Because we are brothers; because it’s my birth right.  A birthright given to me by your father.”

Fett turned and hobbled away a few steps.  He had grown accustomed to the universal belief that he was an emotionless shell.  In many ways he had proven that believe correct.  Deep in his soul, however, there was one sentiment he had held on to.  The hope of one day living his father’s dream.  The dream of leading a Mandalorian Crusade as his forefathers had.  Searching the Galaxy and beyond for worthy opponents.  Finding Honor and victory where defeat is assured.  In his own way, that is the life Fett had been leading ever since his father died on the sands of the Geonosian arena.  But it wasn’t the same, and he always knew it wasn’t.  He had watched for opportunities to reform the clans, but they never came.  The current inhabitants of the planet Mandalore were a shadow of their former glory.  Fett secretly visited the planet periodically, ostensibly to buy replacement parts for his armor and weapons.  In actuality, he was gauging the people.  In his estimation, the people of Mandalore would not fight as a whole again for generations; if ever.  Those who had any desire for the old ways joined the so called ‘Supercommandos.’  Few were little more then local militia parading about in Mandalorian armor.  He had begun to accept it as a fact that he would never lead the Mandalorians back to glory.   Twice he had the chance to live in the Mandalorian ways, but he refused them because they were not on the scale he and his father had dreamed.  Perhaps this stormtrooper offered him another, if not his last, opportunity. 

YT 597 was still on his knee, watching Fett as he pondered the issue.  “Master?”

Fett turned.  “Stand up.  A Mandalorian kneels to no one.”

“Yes, my master,” said the relieved former stormtrooper as he rose to his feet.

“And don’t call me master.  To be a Mandalorian is to be part of a brotherhood.”

“Yes ma . . . oh.  What should I call you?”

Fett paused for a moment.  Looking down, he stared into the black visor of his helmet.  “Call me Mandalore.”

YT 597 snapped to attention.  “Yes, Mandalore!  What is your first command?”

Interesting alternative: What if Boba Fett was motivated to become Mandalore?

I like it, cant wait to see where you take this. Good job.

It's all speculation and wishful thinking on my part.  I’m about as big a Mando fan as I am a Boba fan; maybe more.  So it really moves me to combine my two favorite StarWars characters/topics.

And if not for the existing EU that came out before Ep. II, this is probably the general path he would have taken.  Traviss and others are trying to send him that way now; though they’re moving around the existing EU rather then just ignoring it like I’m doing :P

Should have more soon, and thanks for the support

Would be fine with me *can see myself now; buying my own customized Mando armor with the money I get for my story   :P *

But seriously, this is all just an alternative history unless this can be altered into fitting behind the scenes of ALL the other stuff he does in *so called* canon writtings.  Not giving up that that might be possibe, but it's not likely.

This is great! One of the better Boba Fett fan fics ive read. But i must offer a bit of criticism: the stormtroopers of the Empire, dont have any trace of Jango in them. The only true copys of jango are in the 501st. And the Stormtroopers have a much smaller life span then the Clone Wars clones. Like a normal Stormtrooper, would be ready for combat at age 5, or so. So YT 597 would be ageing rapidly. Thats all i can think of, but other than that its all good. I hope you finish it, im looking forward to seeing the end.

Here's the next part; hope you all like   :D

Chapter 4

Who would have thought joining the Rebel Alliance would prove so profitable, thought Colonel Caldrone as he disembarked the private shuttle that had been sent for him.  The landing platform was suspended between two of Taris’s still standing towers built before the bombardment that destroyed the city generations ago.  Walking toward the closer of the two towers, he was met by his old friend and new business associate. 

“It is good to see you again, colonel.  Please, come to my office.”  Senator Tarik motioned to the walkway leading to the tower. 

Walking toward the entrance of the masterfully crafted atmosphere scraper’s rooftop lobby, Caldrone could see several hundred of his prisoners loading into transports on a lower platform.  Credits right out of my pocket, he thought with a frown as followed his host.

The upper lobby was circular in shape, with rooms and offices along the sides.  It was exquisitely lit, with a transparisteel dome overhead.  Senator Tarik’s office was spacious and tastefully decorated.  The back wall also made of transparisteel, offering a magnificent view of the light cloud cover below.  As usual, the colonel’s favorite drink was waiting by the chair he always used on these visits.  Despite the pleasantries, however, Caldrone noticed the senator’s mood darken sharply as soon as the two were alone. 

As the colonel took his seat, Caldrone regarded his host.  “Before you start, I know what you’re going to say.”

“Really, I thought I had a most unique set of questions in store,” hissed Tarik.  “Why are my workers loading into transports and heading back to that camp of yours again??”

“The same reason as last time.  I would have arranged this meeting myself if I hadn’t got your message.  I’ll be calling back the work details for a short time.”  Caldrone took his drink and sipped at it.

“Another inspection?”  The senator didn’t try to conceal his displeasure.

“I told you on my last visit that the POW camp on Sullust would be closing; well, it’s happened.”  The colonel took another sip before continuing.  “They’re getting ready to send them here.”

Senator Tarik arched his eyebrow.  “Really?  Then why the inspection?  You told me the last one was to make sure your facility was ready.”

Caldrone chuckled slightly.  “Yes, I did.  However, I failed to take into account the Chief Inspector’s dislike for me.  He suspects that something is amiss with the camp and has been trying to catch me for some time.  He’s the reason camp commanders aren’t told about upcoming inspections.  Apparently he’s grown fond of clones and has taken it upon himself to see that they aren’t ‘mistreated,’” Caldrone said in a most sarcastic tone.  “If it wasn’t for the regulation restricting civilians from my site he’d probably never leave.”  Caldrone grinned and shook his head as he lifted his glass again.  “Once I’m shed of this latest inspection, I’ll be able to ‘loan’ you almost twice as many workers as before.”

Tarik’s mood was considerably lifted.  “Excellent.  In that case, I have another project for you.  I want a debris field cleared on the east side of the city.  It’s a perfect spot for a housing program that I have just promised to build.”

“Really?  How many do you want?”

“All I can get.”

“Very well.  As soon as I’ve got the new prisoners settled in, we’ll be right on it.” 

Tarik punched some figures into his datapad.  “How does this amount strike you?”  The senator showed his guest the datapad, which had a large number displayed on the screen.

Caldrone’s eyes widened.  “It strikes me down to the bone,” answered the colonel with a fat grin.  The first payment Caldrone received for ‘loaning’ the prisoners under his care was more then he had made his whole career with the New Republic.  Since then, the payments had steadily increased.  It was a shame so many prisoners died while on the work details.  While clearing rubble, prisoners often triggered collapses of the debris or uncovered toxic material that had remained preserved under the fallen buildings all these centuries.  Getting themselves killed meant they would be unavailable for future ‘loans.’  However, not reporting their deaths allowed Caldrone to sell the senator all supplies allotted for them, rather than just skimming those supplies the prisoners didn’t really need. Everything has its good and bad side, thought the colonel as he finished his drink.

                                                                                                              ***

“So it’s true Imperial clones are descendents of Jango Fett, and he was the last leader of the Mandalorians?” 
   
“Yes; for the most part.”  Again donning his battle armor, the new Mandalore adapted the power coupling of an energy converter in the hanger’s repair shop.  He had never enjoyed talking; in fact he usually hated any form of communication with sentient creatures.  But speaking of the old Mandalorians to this eager listener didn’t seem so bad.  Perhaps the former stormtrooper reminded Mandalore Fett of himself as a boy, listening so intently to his Father’s tales of Mandalorian Honor and glory.  “My Father was the first clone template for what would become the stormtrooper corp.  Whether or not some of his genetic material is still used I do not know.” 

“As to who was the last leader of the Mandalorian clans, my Father was the last one with the vision to make them great.”  Glancing back at YT 597 for a moment, Mandalore began to appreciate just how farsighted his Father was.  Being paid to create and train a clone army for the Republic, while secretly teaching the clones about their Mandalorian heritage.........brilliant!   Only Dad could have gotten away with something like that.  Why didn’t I have the vision to see what he had been doing?  There were so many clues that he laid out for me.  All the stories that he told me; was I really so naive to believe they were nothing more them bedtime tall tales?  Why didn’t I understand?  He told me that we would one day lead the greatest army ever seen; while that very army was being created all around me in Kamino.   

Looking back to his work, Mandalore continued his answer.  “The first to try after his death was a clone.  Alpha-02, a clone of my father, joined the Separatists and led two hundred Mandalorians on a strike against the Republic.  They failed, of course.  About two and a half years ago, a handful of Mandalorian police units joined the Rebels against the Empire, but none of them claimed the title of Mandalore.  One of their leaders, Tobbi Dala, was killed in that resurgence.  He was one of the few creatures that still deserved the title Mandalorian.  I still owe him a dept.” 

YT 597 looked puzzled.  “How can you repay a dept to a dead man?”

“It’s a personal matter,” responded Mandalore.

Sensing he had intruded, YT 597 changed the subject.  “What is the significance to the name Mandalore?  Is it a title or is that your name?”

Mandalore completed his adjustments to the piece of equipment he had been working on and turned to YT 597.  “You know my father’s name but not mine?”

“No Mandalore; should I?”

“Most in the galaxy would after seeing my armor and that ship.”  Taking the adapted power coupling he left the work station and headed for the mechanic’s pit under Slave I.  “Mandalore was the name of our first leader.  He conquered the world that is now named for him.  Since that time, each leader of the Mandalorians has taken up his name and identity.”  Mandalore stopped under an access panel leading to Slave I’s damaged power generator.  “Give me the hydrospanner.”

“Yes, Mandalore.”  YT 597 turned and looked into the exposed tool chest.  Looking back, “What’s a hydrospanner?”

Mandalore Fett looked over his shoulder.  “You don’t know what a hydrospanner is; the most basic repair tool in the galaxy?”

YT 597 looked down at the greasy and oil smeared floor ashamedly.  “No, Mandalore.”

“I don’t suppose mechanic work was a high priority in your training.”  Mandalore set the energy converter down on a small bench and walked over to the chest.  “This is a hydrospanner.”  Mandalore showed the former stormtrooper the implement.  “And this is a fusioncuttor; I’ll need it in a moment.”

YT 597 examined the tool he had been given.  “So, what’s the plan, Mandalore?”

Mandalore’s upper body was inside the access hatch.  “Give me the fusioncuttor.”  Taking the tool, he cut out the damaged power coupling and began replacing it.  “That’s not really your concern.  Suffice to say that I know of some creatures in the galaxy that will join us and be worthy Mandalorians.”

“I mean before we leave.  How are we going to free the rest of the clones in the camp?” 

Mandalore completed his repairs and started to replace the access panel.  “That isn’t an option.”

YT 597 clenched his fists.  “What do mean?  Aren’t they coming with us?”

Mandalore turned to face his new partner.  “I once asked if you were insane; should I ask again?  First, how do you propose we take the camp from the Republic garrison?  I estimate they have nearly ten thousand troops on Taris and fifty on Bandomeer.  Even if their sceond rate at best, they're still more then enough to stop two of us.  Second, how do you plan to get off this rock?  My life form sensor picked up nearly a million creatures in there.  Slave I is a good ship, but transporting that many creatures is a little beyond its limits.”

“What’s Bandomeer,” asked the still tense YT 597.

Mandalore returned to fastening the access panel.  “It’s a nearby system; and it’s the reason I’m here.  The New Republic set up a base there.  I didn’t know why at first, but when I found this place it made sense.  Putting troops on the ground here would tie them down.  Using them as a response force, however, allows them to be moved most anywhere if needed.”

YT 597 folded his arms as he watched Mandalore.  “If there is a garrison there, how do you know it’s meant to counter a breakout here?”     

“Simple.  The camp here is the only reason the Republic would be wasting personnel in this sector.  I scanned the space station and found several new additions, including barracks type facilities.”  Tightening the last bolt, Mandalore Fett faced YT 597.  “As this is a safe area, the only logical assumption is that the soldiers have been stationed there to react to any revolt here on Taris.  Also, being a reaction force, they are ready to move and can be quickly withdrawn if needed elsewhere.”  Mandalore carefully put his tools into the chest and started for the exit.

“I can’t leave my brothers.”

Stopping at the pit’s access hatch, Mandalore looked over his shoulder at the other creature.  “You must; or you will not travel with me.”  He then walked out.  As he ascended Slave I’s ramp, his helmet’s motion sensors detected YT 597 running after him.

“Mandalore, wait ” 

Mandalore stopped just before entering his ship, though he didn’t turn. 

“Give me a chance.  There must be a way.  If we work together, I’m sure we can do it.”  When the T-visored helmet finally turned toward YT 597, he could see his reflection in its dark gaze.   

“Good.  You are loyal to your brothers.  I was afraid you would be as blindly obedient to me as you were to your Emperor.  You are more of a Mandalorian then I expected.  I can have Slave I ready to leave in two days.  We’ll need a plan before then.”  Mandalore continued into the ship. 

YT 597 stared blankly at the space where Mandalore had just stood.  Two days.  OK.  Better get started then.

“Also,” Mandalore stepped back out Slave I’s main entrance.  “This is the only time I will test you in this way.”  He raised his gloved hand and pointed toward YT 597.  “From now on, you had best remember your place and do as you’re told; unless you have it in mind to challenge me for the title of Mandalore.”  He then disappeared back into Slave I.

“Yes, Mandalore.  Whatever you say.”

                                                                                                                             ***

Captain Gran’ell watched as several hundred prisoners started to erect the east wall of a new building.  The dust from the destroyed buildings choked the air and obscured the work area.  Two guards watched from the shade of a nearly completed mess hall. 

“Lucky their so tame.”

The voice from behind startled Gran’ell.  Looking over his shoulder, he saw his sergeant observing the scene.  “Why’s that?”
   
“If we were to have trouble with them, we’d need a lot more troops.”

Captain Gran’ell folded his arms and turned back to the work detail.  “We have more.  They’re all in Taris on ‘loan’ to the colonel’s new friends.”

The battle hardened sergeant rested his left hand on his sheathed force pike.  “It’s not just our numbers, sir.  The men stationed here are the dregs of the New Republic.  I’ve personally observed dozens of unnecessary beatings and killings of the prisoners.”  A veteran of Hoth, the sergeant had no love for stormtroopers.  However, he took pride in his uniform, and hated to see it disgraced by lazy and undisciplined prison guards calling themselves soldiers. 

“I’m not overly concerned for the welfare of these Imperial goons.”  The captain began to rub his fur covered hands together.  “If I had my way, I’d be with the fleet getting ready for the big push into the Core Worlds.  It must be coming soon.”

“Very soon.  To bad we won’t be in it.”

Captain Gran’ell closed his eyes for a moment.  “Speak for yourself, sergeant.”

The sergeant looked away from the prisoners and at his captain.  “Sir?”

Gran’ell opened his eyes again and started for the command facility.  “Come to my quarters tomorrow; early.  We may not be out of the war just yet.”

                                                                                                                                            ***

YT 597 watched the opening into Slave I’s hull just above and to starboard of the ship’s transparisteel viewport.  “Why won’t it work,” frustration in his voice. 

“Because even if your friends are as bold and courageous as you and I hope, they won’t stand a chance of breaking through the main compound’s gate.  The automated turrets will wipe them out as they approach.”  Mandalore stood up over the damaged communications monitor, exposing his upper body.  “Give me the fusioncutter.”

YT 597 grabbed the tool from its place in the repair chest and put it into Mandalore’s gloved hand.  “Not if you destroy the turrets with the cruiser.”

“I’ve told you.  The New Republic may have moved the cruisers away from Bestine.  I could come back with only a broken down freighter, or with nothing at all.”  Mandalore Fett was referring to a theory he had mentioned of stealing a retired Imperial cruiser from the scrap yards over the planet Bestine.  The planet was once a famous producer of Old Republic Acclamator and Venator class cruisers.  The Empire latter converted the planet’s orbital shipyards from producing to dismantling the ships when they were decommissioned.  Converting the docks was a very slow process due to mishandling of funds and man power shortages.  The vessels had been left in a combat ready status, and had often been ‘barrowed’ for short missions by the Imperial Navy.  The first cruisers were just being broken up when the locals overthrew the Imperial governor and joined the New Republic.  The New Republic continued the dismantling process, but most of the vessels should still be operational, waiting to be scraped.  “Even if they are still there, stealing one from a defended space station won’t exactly be easy for a team of eleven.”  He then descended back into the access hatch.

“Well, what if we combine my first plan with your idea about stealing the cruiser.  We wait a couple weeks for the supply ship to arrive, steal it, load it with all the men it can carry, and assault the ship yard with a small army   Then we can come back with the cruiser and take even more out.”

Mandalore continued his repairs as he responded.  “You’re still left with the problem of how to get by the defense turrets and to the landing pad.  Also, the transport would probably take off as soon as your little rebellion got stared.” 

“Fine.”  Folding his arms, YT 597 searched his brain for another idea.  “How ‘bout this.  It’s not hard to get out of the camp, in fact it’s easy.  Why don’t we get a larger ship and start smuggling men out a few at a time ”

“Because as soon as the guards realize prisoners are getting off planet, they’ll either set up a blockade to keep us out or will ambush us.” 

YT 597 picked up the wrapper of an eaten military ration bar and flung it toward Slave I.  He watched it flutter through the air and float harmlessly to the floor less than a meter from where he sat on a makeshift table.  “Well, do you have any ideas?”

Finishing his work, Mandalore stood up and leaned on the edge of the access port.  “Not yet.  I will begin working on one when I get back.”

“Back?  Back from where?”

“The command building.”

“Command building?  You mean the command tower in the camp ?!?”

Mandalore pulled himself from the opening and stood over it.  “Yes.”

“You’re going to break into the camp command center   How?”

“The same way I infiltrate any target; carefully.”  Mandalore began to lower the armored panel that had been suspended over his head.  “Perhaps the answer to getting your brothers off this rock is on the base computer.”  Mandalore Fett paused and looked down at YT 597.  “We have to decide what to call you.”

YT 597 returned the look, confusion written on his face.  “Call me; what do you mean?”
   
“A real name.  My second in command should have more then a clone designation; unless you have some objection.”
   
YT 597 was both surprised and proud.  “Your second in command; this is a great honor.  But I’ve never been more then a basic trooper; are you sure I’m worthy?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”  Mandalore resumed lowering the armor plate.  “First, I need to meet some more of these brothers of yours.  I must be sure you’re not an anomaly.”

YT 597 cocked his head slightly.  “What do you mean?”

Mandalore looked at the other man as the plate continued to slowly descend.  “I need to be sure you’re not crazy and made this whole thing up about a secret Mandalorian cult in the stormtrooper ranks.”

“Do you really think I could make all this up?”

“Your story is possible, but as yet unproven.  I must be sure.”  As the armor plate slipped into place, Mandalore released the overhead lift’s clamp and commenced sealing the panel.  “I’ll be done with this shortly.  Stow away the gear so I can lock down Slave I.  When we get back, we can talk about getting you that name.”       

                                                                                                                           ***

Captain Gran’ell didn’t expect it to be this easy.  After he had left his sergeant, his hopes of finding something incriminating on his commander’s personal data base started to fade when he began to contemplate all the possible security precautions that might be employed.  The whole system is wide open   Not even a simple access code or a means of verifying identification. 

With time to spare, he leisurely worked his way through the hundreds of files. He finally came upon what he was searching for.  Listed before the captain was a list containing several rows of numbers.  Gran’ell recognized one row as the number of troops transferred to the city of Taris per month.  This other column must be the number of clones sent out on the work parties; and this row must be the credits received.  For that many credits I’d be doing the same thing.  If these files were to fall into the wrong hands, the colonel would be locked away for a long time.  Either the accountant in him made him keep all these records, or he’s planning on blackmailing Senator Tarik for his retirement. 

Satisfied with what he had found, Captain Gran’ell copied the files to his datapad and exited the office.  As he entered the adjacent waiting room, he checked the time.  That wasn’t even close. 

Resetting the door’s lock, he settled into one of the room’s chairs.  Over an hour latter Colonel Caldron’s secretarial and assistance droid, B-8ZU, entered the room at the usual time. 

“Captain Gran’ell, my personal memory base does not recall an appointment at this time.”  The dull gray colored droid cocked its head slightly to the left.  “Is something the matter?”

Gran’ell had never liked or trusted droids.  CZ-37 had always been an object of his many prejudices.  But success had put Gran’ell in a good mood.  He decided to be civil to the droid this time.  “Nothing’s wrong.  I was just passing by and decided to drop in to see if there were any updates on when the colonel would be returning.  There’s something I would like to discuss with him.” 

The droid searched its memory banks for a moment.  “I have received no updates concerning Colonel Caldron’s return.  Therefore, his return is still estimated at fourteen hours, seventeen minutes, and nine seconds.  Is the matter you referenced urgent?  I can easily contact the colonel and alert him of any emergency.” 

Why can’t he just say the colonel will be back later tomorrow?  CZ-37’s inability to use plain galactic basic when giving time or a date was one of the many things about the droid that got on Captain Gran’ell’s nerves.  Never-the-less, this would not be enough to ruin his current state of mind.  “No; don’t bother.  Just make an appointment for me to see the colonel after the camp inspectors leave.”  As the captain stood and moved toward the exit, he gave a rare grin.  “I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear what I have to say.”

Well one thing.  I hav to say I'm not a fan of how you portray the trooper as completely innocent of the world.  It seems ridiculous.  Is he a POW?  If he is, it means he has fought.  He comes aross as very child-like and I'm sure anyone who has fought in war would be much more hardened. 

It is a really interesting concept and I look forward to Chapter 5.

You’re making an assumption that he’s a veteran of many battles.  As stated by Mon Mothma in the intro, most of the thousands of clones in Rebel custody were captured without a struggle when they received word that the Emperor was dead.  Not saying he isn’t a veteran of battles, to be honest, I never worked out his backstory.  But this is something to be kept in mind.

Also, you seem to be comparing my portrayal of Imperial clones to real-world veterans.  Keep in mind, a clone has NO contact with the ‘real’ world other then through his blaster’s sights.  Child like when dealing with a situation this clone is in might be an excellent term.  Not only is he for the first time experiencing some level of freedom, he’s learning of a way of life that he *in this story* has been dreaming of all his life. 

And don’t think any of this makes him less hardened or dangerous.  His attitude toward Fett might very well be childlike, but his dedication and skills are as focused towards his duty as ever.  The life he’s been dreaming and waiting for is one of unending war until victory or death.  Not the dream of one who is weak.

Will post the next chapter soon, sorry for the delay    :)

Thanks a lot for the tips on Imperial clones, Mandal.  I wasn't sure about whether or not any of Jango's genetic material was still used, but it doesn't really matter either way.  That part about Imperial clones having a really short life span hurts though............not sure if I'll be able to take that into accout in my story or not.  It really kills my long term plans.  You sure about that?  How many good years do they have?  And what's your souce?  *not doubting you, but I'd like to see where you got that as I've tried to look it up and failed; and I'm curious just how canon that is*

Here it is, hope you all enjoy

Chapter 5

As the last vestiges of light faded from the Taris wastes, Mandalore Fett and YT 597 watched as the work detail they had been observing started back for the barracks, their shift over.  The guards used force pikes set on low to prod slow moving individuals in the right direction.  None of the prisoners resisted or tried to defend themselves.  They slowly walked back to their barracks, heads down, stirring a cloud of dust as they dragged their feet up the path leading back to their camp.  Those jabbed by a pike only raising their hands defensively and stumbling back into line.

Mandalore scanned the formation as it worked its way out of the ruble and into the city of simple barracks’s, mess halls, and support buildings they had constructed.  There must be five thousand prisoners in each of those work crews; and only about fifty guards combined.  They must really be sure of themselves; that will work to our advantage.  Several binary loadlifters used another trail away from the site. Most had been working to haul away the debris freed by the prisoners, while others used pincer like graspers to crush chunks of foundation too large for the men to move.  The ponderous droids worked their way to a large building at the edge of the completed settlement that apparently served as their hanger. 

So this is the fate the New Republic gives to the most feared army in a thousand years; mindless slaves building their own prison.  A fate far worse then death for a Mandalorian.  The question now becomes is there a soul of a warrior locked in those minds, waiting to be freed.  Or are they just what everyone believes; useless servants of a dead tyrant.   

The sound of coughing and gagging from the column filled the clouded air.  The air filter in Mandalore’s helmet kept the dust out of his lungs; and the guards wore breath masks.  However, YT 597 only had a rage to cover his nose and mouth with, while his brothers had nothing.   

Stalking the column from the hill-like mounds of debris that rested above the camp, the pair stayed out of sight.  The column passed the first erected buildings, moving toward the mess hall.  The mess hall was in the center of a well lit open area about one hundred and fifty meters in diameter, with barracks surrounding the outside of the area.  A light hung over the entrance to each of the buildings.  The mess hall had large flood lights on poles above each of its four corners.  The buildings were prefabricated multipurpose plasteel storage units converted for use in the camp.  As the column approached, two doors opened.  Inside, Mandalore could see stacks of food parcels on the left and right of each door.  The guards then split the disorderly column into four single file lines, two entering each door.  Shortly after entering the building, the columns exited the rear and broke up; each man finding a place on the ground to sit and eat.  Shortly after all the prisoners had left the mess hall, one of the guards removed his breath mask just long enough to blow a whistle.  Upon hearing it, the prisoners slowly rose to their feet, leaving the parcels and whatever might have still been in them for the sanitation droids that scurried from their port adjacent the hall.  Forming back into their column, they marched to a long, narrow building on the outskirts of the eating area. 

“They’re being marched to the showers,” whispered YT 597.  His emotionless expression couldn’t conceal the anger in his eyes.

Mandalore detected the hate that was building in the man next to him.  “What happened there?”

YT 597 looked away for a moment.  When he returned Mandalore’s gaze, he was grinning slightly.  “That’s where I woke up.”

“What do you mean?”

YT 597 looked back toward the showers.  “After I learned of the Emperor’s death my mind seemed to be in a nebula.  I have almost no memory of my capture, coming here, or of the things I did while I was a prisoner.  Only incomplete images and scenes; like in a dream.  All that changed about four weeks ago.  I remember standing in one of the shower booths, my clothes still on, trying to get off the layers of dust that had hardened to me.  One of the guards walked by and said something.  I didn’t say anything back to him, I don’t think I even understood what he said; I just kept rubbing at the dirt that was caked to my face and chest.  Suddenly my entire body seized up.”  YT 597’s stare hardened; his memory replaying the incident before his eyes.  “The guard had stuck his force-pike into the water around my feet.  I could feel the electric currents running through my body as I was frozen there.  When he finally pulled it out, I just collapsed onto the floor.  I could feel the water evaporating from my skin.  As he walked away, I clearly heard him talking to himself.  He said ‘I bet that felt like he was hit with a Mando disrupter.’  He said it with a laugh.”  YT 597’s hands had formed white knuckled fists as he recounted the story.  “Strangely enough, despite the pain, I felt like I’d waken up from a long sleep.  For the first time since the Emperor’s death, I was aware of my surroundings.  I felt alive again.” 

“Go on.”

Hearing Mandalore’s voice brought the former stormtrooper back to the present.  Though he relaxed his hands, hatred still kindled in his stare.  “I managed to shake off the effects of the shock and got to my feet.  The only thing I could think off was killing the guard who had done that to me.  I looked out of the stall and saw him walking down the row; he was still laughing.  I stepped onto the walkway and ran after him.  It had been so long since I had run my legs nearly buckled under me, but I kept going.  He heard me coming and started to turn just as I reached him.  I hit him with all the force I could.  He must have hit his head pretty hard when we landed, cause he didn’t even try to get up.”  YT 597 again cast a burning gaze in the direction of the shower building.  “He looked up at me as I stood over him with the pike in my hands.  I set it to maximum and shoved it down into his chest.”  YT 597 looked down at the white dust at his feet.  He picked up a handful and watched it slowly pour out of his palm.  “I don’t know how long I pressed the pike into him.  I only stopped when one of my brothers grabbed me.  He told me follow him; that we had to hide in the ruble.  I guess he had been awake for some time, but had been acting unchanged.  We ran toward the entrance.  A guard somewhere behind us must have seen the body and yelled out.  As we ran through the doorway, the man who was helping me ran into another guard.  They both hit the ground.  I stopped; I didn’t know what to do.  He yelled at me; telling me to run.  The last I saw off him he was struggling for the guard’s blaster.” 

  Mandalore watched as the still soaking prisoners were ushered outside.  “And you blame yourself for leaving him.”

YT 597’s sharp stare darted to the man next to him.  “I could have helped him ”  Together we could have killed the guard and escaped.”

“Perhaps.”  Mandalore’s dark visor gleamed slightly in the moonlight that was falling around them.  “Your heart is in the right place now.    You were confused and disoriented, and can’t be blamed for your actions then.  What matters is that you would have helped if you could.  In the future you will know what to do.”  Mandalore leaned slightly closer to YT 597.  “Tell me.  When you killed the guard who had mistreated you; how did it feel?”

The question surprised YT 597; his eyes looked away for a moment.  Looking back at his leader, a slight sneer showed on his face.  “It was good.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”  Running his dirty fingers through his short brown hair, his mind wrestled with the question.  “It felt good because I was getting even for what he had done to me; but not just because of that.”  YT 597 closed his eyes, searching for the words to explain his feelings.  “It felt good because he thought he was strong and I was weak.”  Opening his eyes, he clenched his right hand and returned Mandalore’s dark gaze.  “Because he was armed and armored while I had nothing; because I won in the face of certain defeat and killed him with his own weapon.”

Mandalore gave a slight nod of his head.  “So it is true.  You have the heart of a Mandalorian.”  Mandalore put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.  “Come; let’s see if your brothers do too.”

Slightly confused by Mandalore’s reaction to his answer, YT 597 shook his head and followed his leader down the jagged slopes and broken foundations toward the camp.  When they finally reached the cleared area that the camp rested in, the work detail had been broken into groups of five hundred and each sent to a barracks.  Moving undetected behind one of the barracks, Mandalore and YT 597 watched as the guards emerged from the dull gray metal buildings and met with the perimeter defense units who arrived to relieve them.  Over one hundred strong and armed with heavy blaster rifles rather then force pikes and pistols, the perimeter defense unit’s job was to keep the prisoners in their barracks and foil any escape or riot attempts.  As the guards headed back to their own barracks, the perimeter units broke up into three man groups and started patrolling the camp. 

Pulling his head back from watching the Republic troopers, YT 597 turned to Mandalore.  “This could be tricky; there’s more night guards then there used to be.  You don’t need any ID to open the door; you just turn the handle.   But there’s no way to open it from the inside.”

“Let me worry about that; step aside.”  Moving around the corner of the barracks, Mandalore positioned himself in a kneeling stance facing the mess hall.  With a flick of his wrist, a targeting reticle appeared before Mandalore’s eyes on his HUD.  Extending his arms strait ahead, his left hand supporting his right, the bright red crosshair moved in unison to the center of his line of sight.  Breathing slowly, Mandalore patiently waited for the perfect window of opportunity.  With a seemingly benign clenching of his fingers, a dart fired across the open field toward the mess hall from his Mandalorian armored gauntlet.

YT 597 looked to see what Mandalore had shot at.  A team of guards was half way across the open area and calmly walking in his direction.  “You missed.”

“Keep watching,” responded Mandalore as he reloaded the launcher; this time with a HE explosive rocket dart..........just in case.

The moment Mandalore stopped speaking one of the mess hall’s floodlight trees erupted in sparks and fell to the ground.  “How did you do that,” asked a saucer eyed YT 597.

“Never ask stupid questions while on a mission; come on.”  Already on his feet, Mandalore swung his blaster rifle from his shoulder and into his hands.  When they reached the front of the building Mandalore shouldered his weapon and sidestepped his way to the door, keeping the guards to his front.  “Open it,” he ordered.

Turning the handle, YT 597 slid the large door open just enough to slip through.  He starred into the blackness of the barracks for a moment.  “Don’t shut the door or we’ll . . .” Before he could finish he heard the door’s lock snap back into position.  He turned to see Mandalore stepping away from the closed door.  “. . . be trapped.  Well, we’ve got a long wait until the guards find us in the morning.”

Mandalore walked past YT 597.  “Trust me,” said Mandalore calmly as he stepped deeper into the complete darkness of the prison barracks.  His helmet’s light amplification adjusting automatically, allowing him to clearly see the two rows of triple bunk beds stretching to the end of the building.  It was painfully obvious that the building was overcrowded.  Many prisoners were sharing beds, while dozens more slept on mats or just blankets on the floor.  To Mandalore’s right several prisoners waited in line to use the barracks’s single refresher.  The stench from the backed up unit even penetrated the air filters in his helmet. 

Leaving the refresher, a prisoner slowly shuffled back to the bunks.  Although he was identical in height to YT 597, the prisoner had dirty blond hair, a slightly leaner physical build, and a different face.  There was more diversity in the barracks than Mandalore had expected.  The Empire must have been using well over a dozen models of clone when the Emperor died.  There are at least ten different faces in here. 

When the prisoner tried to pass, Mandalore turned and stepped in front of him.  The prisoner stopped for a moment, then tried to walk around the armored figure.  Mandalore stepped to the side, again blocking the clone’s rout.  Unable to get by, the prisoner just stood there.  Examining the creature before him, Mandalore observed the prisoner’s slouched posture, his distant expression, and unfocused eyes. 

Using his left hand to lift the prisoner’s head, Mandalore raised his right index finger and moved it back and forth in front of the prisoners face.  “Look at me, trooper.”  The prisoner showed little response.  “LOOK AT ME ”  The clone shuddered slightly and looked up; though his gaze was distant and unfocused.  “I am Boba, son of Jango Fett; does that mean anything to you?”

The man began to show a glimmer of reaction.  His eyes cleared for a moment, and he seemed to try to concentrate on the words he had just heard.  However, he began to fade again. 

In a quick motion, Mandalore grabbed the prisoner by the shirt with his left hand and struck him across the face with the other.  The prisoner’s eyes cleared again and he raised his hands in a show of defense. 

Using only one hand to hold the prisoner up, Mandalore pulled him closer.  “I have come to rebuild the Mandalorian clans; will you join me?”

The prisoner looked blankly into Mandalore’s visor, confusion spread across his face.  Then, as if some part of his mind had suddenly been unlocked, he understood what had been said.  Shaking his head slightly, he rubbed the side of his jaw where he had been hit.  “You’re the lost son of our Father Jango Fett,” asked the prisoner weakly.     

“I am,” responded Mandalore as he let go of the prisoner’s shirt.   

YT 597, who had been watching the exchange, came forward and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “It’s true.  He’s been teaching me about our heritage.  With his help, we’re going to escape this place and live our dreams.”

The former stormtrooper gathered his thoughts.  He was still confused, having just awakened from the murky existence he had been living in for over a year.  He again gazed into Mandalore’s visor.  “You have come to return us to the ways of our ancestors?”

“First answer two questions.”

A ray of hope was beginning to show on the prisoner’s face.  “Anything.”

“Are you part of a secret Mandalorian cult inside the Imperial stormtrooper corps?”

The prisoner turned to the man standing next to him.  YT 597 gave him a nod.  “Yes.  Now that the Emperor is dead, all clone stormtroopers wait for the day when a true Mandalorian comes and leads us back to the ways of our fathers.”

Mandalore tilted his head back slightly.  “I am that Mandalorian.  Will you follow me on a crusade that will forever be remembered in the annals of our people?”

The prisoner had a light in his eyes that even YT 597 could see through the darkness of the barracks.  “Yes.  I’ll follow you to the ends of the galaxy if you ask me.”

Mandalore put his hand on the man’s shoulder.  “And perhaps beyond; if that is where our destiny lies.  Come, we’re leaving.”

As Mandalore and the prisoner moved deeper into the barracks, YT 597 looked back over his shoulder as he followed.  “But you locked the door. . .”

                                                                                                                                      ***

A chill ran through Colonel Caldrone as he stepped out of the shuttle and into the night air.  As the small craft lifted off, Caldrone scanned the landing pad.  The first project to be ‘financed’ by senator Tarik, it was his pride and joy.  Originally designed to be just large enough to land a single large freighter, the senator made a friendly suggestion that a much larger pad would be much more profitable for Taris and for the colonel.  Claiming there had been a mix-up with the design plans he had been sent, Caldrone was able to explain away the size and cost in materials.  With the war raging and supplies in high demand, it was actually easier for him to skim extra resources into the camp then it would have been in normal times.  The New Republic was swamped with matters far more important then his camp, and inconsistencies on his projected supply needs could never be fully investigated. 

Rubbing his hands together, he entered the primary control tower, which was part of the durasteel wall that surrounded the pad’s perimeter.  Entering the operations deck, Caldrone was greeted by the night watch officer.

“Colonel, welcome back.  How was your trip?”

“Tolerable, lieutenant.”  Caldrone was only able to conceal most of the satisfaction he really felt about the trip.  “Is the inspection team on schedule?”

The young officer dutifully checked his arrivals readout.  “Yes sir.  TOA is still estimated at zero nine hundred hours.” 

“Very well.  I’ll be in my quarters.”

The young deck officer started to turn back to his panel, but then a thought hit him.  “Colonel; how did you know we had an inspection coming?  We only got the landing authorization a few hours ago.”

Damn!!!  Caldrone thought for a moment.  “My droid contacted me shortly after I left Taris.  Why?”

The lieutenant realized he had overstepped his bounds and shifted to the defensive.  “No reason sir.  It just seemed odd that you would already know considering you where off station.”

“On your toes; that’s good.  Just save that observant nature for those murderers out there,” said Caldrone as he pointed out the south viewport toward the prisoner camps. 

“Yes sir; I will sir,” the lieutenant responded, unsure if he was in trouble or not.     

Old fool; letting yourself get caught by a young punk like that.  This is no time to get sloppy.  One more inspection and the galaxy is yours.  Caldrone took the lift down to the underground section of the facility.  The most sophisticated part of the compound, it was largely built by professional builders during the early stages of the camp’s construction.  He decided to detour to his office and update his financial files.  Locking his office door behind him, Caldrone settled in behind his large desk. 

“Security sign in; Colonel Caldrone.”  He couldn’t be more pleased.  Caldrone was always full of self satisfaction while recording another large addition to his accounts. 

The screen to the colonel’s computer came to life without his having to switch it on.  “Voice print access code recognized.  Welcome, Colonel Caldrone.”  The soothing female voice always made it a pleasure to activate the system.  "This system has had a security breech.”

Caldrone arched his eyebrow.  What’s been going on here?  “Source of security breech.”

“Data files were reviewed without authorization 15.24 standard hours ago.”

“Show security footage starting at the time of the unauthorized entry,” ordered the colonel as he rubbed his forehead.  The screen went blank for a moment, then returned to life.  The image of Captain Gran’ell, captured by a secret holo camera hidden behind a see-through panel opposite the desk, nervously opening the phony data files came to life.  As time passed, Caldrone could see Gran’ell becoming more comfortable as the files he accessed opened without difficulty. 

Take me for a fool, do you?  Caldrone hadn’t expected any trouble from his subordinates, but never the less took the precaution of setting up a dummy file that would easily be available to unauthorized entries onto the system.  He tapped a button on the corner of his desk, then proceeded to update his real financial records. 

As he was finishing, CZ-37 unlocked the door and entered.  “It is good to see you again, Colonel Caldrone.  I hope you had a pleasant trip.  What do you require?”

“Did I have any callers while I was away,” asked Caldrone as he completed the last entry. 

CZ-37 tilted its head as it tapped into its memory storage.  “Yes.  Captain Gran’ell was here fourteen hours, seven minutes, and twenty two seconds ago.  He requested to see you after the inspectors have gone.  He also said that you would be very interested in what he had to say.”

“I’m interested already.”  Caldrone grinned to himself as he shut down his desk terminal.  “Set the appointment for later that night so nothing will disturb us.”

“As you wish, Colonel Caldrone.  Will 10:30 that evening be late enough?”

Caldrone stood from his desk and looked at the near edge of his desk.  “That’ll be just fine.”

                                                                                                                                        ***

The harsh Sullust heat even burned through the captain’s heat resistant suit.  Through the volcanic haze, Captain Panah could see one of the stasis ships, its engines going from a low red to white, lifting off in the distance.  Its four oversized landing struts, shaped like the foot pads of an AT-AT, revealed their own engines as they slowly bent back into flying position. 

Who would have thought WE would ever use these damned things.  Turning around, he scanned another one of the monstrous vessels.  The engine compartment, which was an extension off the back of the squared hull, loomed over him and the main loading ramp.  About as long and far more massive then a Mon Cal Star Cruiser, the ship had only one purpose; the transport of slaves.  They carried millions of Wookiees and other enslaved species to the Death Star projects; and their deaths.  One and a half million single creature cells line the walls of the ship’s interior.  In stacks of four, the cells were designed for the prisoner to lie on his back through the entire journey.  Once all the cells were secured, they would be filled with a sedative gas that would render the prisoners unconscious for the duration of the trip, giving the ship its name.  After the battle of Endor the only three vessels of the type known to exist were captured.  Abandoned, they were still orbiting the far side of the moon where the Imperial fleet had left them.  We should have blown the evil things into space debris then and there.   

Prisoners were supposed to be inserted into their cells using some sort of device that was never recovered, making it necessary for New Republic guards to force prisoners to crawl into their cell.  This inefficient loading method was the reason all three ships were being used for the transfer.  Each ship was capable of carrying the entire camp population.  However, it would have been nearly imposable to load prisoners into the top rows and would have taken days to get them all on board.   

As his last act as head of security for the Sullust POW camp, Captain Panah watched as the last group of prisoners and their guards slowly emerged from the underground facility and made their way toward him.  Taken from the top security section, these were the only dangerous prisoners Panah had dealt with in the year since the camp had opened.  Attacks on guards and constant escape attempts had condemned these men to a life of chains and isolation.  Most were basic stormtroopers, each identical to one of the twenty seven clone variants that were cataloged in New Republic records.  Two hundred and seventy eight, however, were different.  All identical to each other, they didn’t match any clone seen before, and were initially the only fully conscious prisoners in the camp.  Slightly taller than the standard stormtrooper, they were completely different psychologically than any stormtrooper, clone or not, that anyone had seen before.  They seemed to posses a leadership trait that was remarkable for a clone.  Mixed in with the general population, they somehow began to wake up the other clones and started making trouble.  The number of conscious clones jumped to over a thousand, and all were getting harder to handle.  The decision to segregate the conscious clones before their numbers could grow further sparked outright attacks and large scale escape attempts.  Someone in New Republic intelligence decided that it would be better if no one knew about any of this until they could figure out how the unique clones were able to bring others back to their senses.  Several attempts by intelligence officers to interrogate the maximum security inmates as to how they had maintained or returned to clarity had gone sour, including the death of one New Republic intelligence officer and severe injuries to another. 

Standing at the foot of the stasis ship’s ramp, Panah watched as the prisoners shuffled past.  Tightly chained around the ankles, they made very slow progress.  The guards, who had their force pikes and shock shields out, struggled to watch the prisoners and fight off the heat at the same time.  The prisoners were only wearing the full body coveralls they had been issued.  The searing heat was cutting through them like a vibroblade.  Worse, their arms were secured behind their backs by maximum security forearm braces, preventing them from even protecting their eyes from the burning ash and dust that filled the air.   

“What do you think?”

Captain Panah looked over his shoulder to see the base commander.  “I don’t think they’ll give us any trouble, sir.”  Looking back at the column, Panah observed as the prisoners started up the ramp.  “They’re dangerous enough, but they’re also smart enough to know when to play along.”

“Maybe; just make sure your men are extra careful getting those barves into their cells.  It’ll be distracting enough getting them in there even if they wanted to cooperate.  If one starts to resist, it could spark a full blown riot.”

“We’ll be careful, sir.”

“I know you will.”  The general held a hand over his mouth and nose.  Unlike the others, he wasn’t wearing a breath mask. 

“You still think this is a mistake, sir?”

“Colonel Caldron says he has the facilities to deal with them, but I just can’t get over this feeling in my gut that something is wrong.”  A smile crossing his face, the old general looked over at his second in command.  “Maybe I’m just nervous about getting a field command again.” 

Captain Panah got a chuckle out of that.  “I doubt that, sir.”

“Anyway, it’s not my decision to make; about them, I mean.”  Turning to face the captain, the general extended his hand to his longtime subordinate and friend.  “Hurry back, captain.  There’s a lot of fighting left out there, and some fool wants us back in it.” 
Grinning, Captain Panah took his general’s hand and gave him a nod.  “I will sir.” 

                                                                                                                                 ***

“Come on, sergeant.  Let’s get these barves to Taris,” yelled the captain to one of the sergeants.

Barely able to squint due to the intense heat, the clones shuffled up the ramp as fast as their shackles allowed.  As they got farther into the loading bay, the heat subsided.

“Hurry, keep moving; our brothers behind us are still burning,” came whispers through the ranks.

Toward the back of the column, the shackles burning into his flesh, one of the clones never took his watering eyes off Captain Panah.  No longer.  When we reach Taris, we’ll put up with this no longer.  You’ll see, rebel.  Chained and shackled as we are, we’ll show you how we can die, thought JC 225.  Like Mandalorians

I love the things you say, the way you think, the things you write.

No matter what happens with us, I hope you will never give up on writing, because it's something you really do well.

I love you.

Wow, I took my sweet time cranking this one out   :P   Hope you all enjoy.  And  if you check this Mandal, could I get the info I requested on top of my last post?  Thanks

Chapter 6

I detest space travel.  Everything is so cold and devoid of life.

Standing on the observation deck of the Star Flyer, a large SoroSuub luxury yacht formerly owned by the Imperial governor of Fondor, Guntah watched the glow of the hyper tunnel swirl around the ship as it blazed through hyperspace toward its destination.  Like most Ithorians, Guntah preferred to live a simple life among the forests of a warm green world.  The destruction of his village eight years ago by the Empire forced him into the wilds of space and war.  Drifting from planet to planet, he eventually joined the Rebel Alliance.  Finding work as a quartermaster, diplomat, and even as a councilor on occasion, Guntah finally found his calling as a prison supervisor.  Despite what Imperial stormtroopers had done to his home and herd years before, he held no ill will toward them.  He made it his mission to see that prisoners under his care were treated with respect, and every effort be made to rehabilitate them.  He found that most who voluntarily joined the stormtrooper corps were ignorant of just how evil the Empire was.  They had been deceived by Imperial propaganda and lies that made them believe they were on the right side.  When and if they were confronted with an obviously barbaric order, they were forced to accept their officer’s explanation that it was a necessary means to an end.  Under Guntah’s care, they were confronted with the truth, and most accepted it.  Many prisoners from his camps were so appalled by what they had done they requested to join the fight against the Empire. 

“Chief Inspector?”

Guntah turned to regard the human.  It was a young ensign, a new member of the ship’s military crew.

“We will arrive at Taris shortly.  You should prepare your team for debarkation.”

“Thank you, ensign; I shall.”

The visibly startled young man wasn’t sure if he heard the words or not. 

“You heard him,” said an emotionless robed figure at Guntah’s side.  “He can speak telepathically through the Force.”   

“Oh, well . . . uh.”  Unable to find something appropriate to say, the ensign walked away embarrassed.

“Perhaps I need a sign to warn creatures.”

“Perhaps,” responded Fin.

Fin.  Once known as clone stormtrooper FN-647, heavy weapons unit. Now he was Guntah’s constant companion, translator, and lone success with clones.  He found Fin on his first assignment after his promotion to Chief Inspector of New Republic Prisoner of War Facilities.  Fin had been pulled from his barracks by a band of vengeful guards who proceeded to beat him for hours.  Sensing the man’s pain through the Force, Guntah found him near death.  Nursed back to health, he was no longer affected by the state of confusion that affected his brothers.  However, he also experienced severe memory loss.  He couldn’t remember anything before waking up in Guntah’s care.  Once he was recovered, Fin showed remarkable learning abilities.  Guntah was even able to teach him to understand the Ithorian language; something Guntah had never been able to do with another humanoid. 

Guntah stared at Fin for a moment.  Why are they so different?  Why can’t I get through to them?  And why did Fin wake up; it wasn’t the beating.  Thousands of clones under New Republic care are mistreated and still don’t recover.  He returned his gaze to the viewport.  When I reach out to them through the Force, it’s like they’re mentally not there.  It’s as if they were droids switched to some kind of low power setting.  If only I could find a way to flip that switch.  With that thought came another; one that disturbed the Chief Inspector.  I only hope no one else finds that switch before I do.

Guntah ceased his ponderings as the Star Flyer dropped out of hyperspace and the gray/white globe known as Taris came into view.

                                                                                                                              ***

“But what was wrong with me?  What’s wrong with the others,” asked the newest member of the clan.  UH 238, as it turned out his designation was, had asked one question after another since getting clear of the camp.

YT 597, who was still smeared with dust covered grease after crawling through the barrack’s oversized air filtration system, rolled his eyes at the latest query.  I didn’t ask this many questions when I first met Mandalore, did I?

“Simple.”  Mandalore’s voice echoed slightly as the trio entered the tunnel leading to the secret hanger.  “While you were still in a cloning tube, you were being programmed with certain characteristics and responses to certain orders and situations.  Most of these imprints were ordered by the Emperor himself.  One of those responses must have been for you to go into a sort of shock in the event the Emperor was reported dead.  Perhaps he considered the possibility of faking his own death, and in his absence thousands of stunned clones would be captured.  Upon his return, you would reactivate and cause chaos behind the Rebel lines.”

“Guess that makes sense.”  UH 238 considered that for a moment.  “But if we’re only supposed to wake up when the Emperor returns, how did you wake me up?”

As the group entered the hanger, Mandalore punched a button on his wrist guard, turning on the workstation lights around Slave I.  “The human mind is a difficult thing to manipulate.  Jogging a strong memory seems to be all that’s necessary to break this particular subconscious order.  In your case, I made sure I had your full attention, then I reminded you of your Mandalorian aspirations.”

“You really got my full attention,” said UH 238 as he rubbed his still sore jaw. 

Mandalore didn’t respond.  Slave I’s loading ramp opened as he stepped onto the repair platform.  Unfastening his jetpack and setting it in the passenger seat, he motioned to his apprentices to follow him up to the cockpit capsule.  Sitting in the pilot’s seat, Mandalore powered up the cockpit controls and brought up a schematic of a large space station. 

“What’s that,” asked UH 238 as he took his place next to Mandalore. 

Mandalore zoomed in on one of the orbital station’s platforms.  “That is our objective.”

“Isn’t that one of the platforms over Bestine,” asked YT 597, who was standing opposite UH 238.  “The place where they keep those retired cruisers you were telling me about.”

“Correct.”  Mandalore focused the viewer on a massive Ion cannon that sat on one of the station platforms. 

YT 597 folded his arms.  “I thought you said it would be nearly impossible to steal one of the cruisers from there with only the men this ship can hold.”

The blue background on the screen glowed dimly off Mandalore’s visor as he studied the schematic.  “No, I said it wouldn’t be easy.”  Leaning back into the command chair, he continued to scan the readout before him.  “Stealing nine of them will be nearly impossible.”

YT 597 and UH 238 shared a wide eyed look. 

“Stealing one would only allow us to free a few thousand men from the camp.  Nine, however, gives us greater carrying power and the beginnings of a fleet.” 

“Why nine?” asked UH 238 as he leaned forward for a closer look at the readout.  “I mean, if we’re going for a fleet, why not take as many as are space worthy?”

Mandalore switched the space station readout for a schematic of Slave I.  “Because I don’t think you or any of the men in the camp can pilot a star cruiser.  I can slave the navigational controls of several of them to this ship, but Slave I’s computer can only handle the load from nine other vessels of that size.”  Turning to his left, Mandalore looked up into YT 597’s unsure eyes.  “I can promise you both that we will almost assuredly be killed in this foolish venture.  And even if we do succeed, we may not be able to get more than a few thousand of our comrades off planet.”  Mandalore looked over his other shoulder at the newest member of this mad enterprise.  “I can also promise you that I will do all in my power to make this work.  If we are worthy, this will be the beginning of the greatest Mandalorian crusade of all time.”     

YT 597 felt himself fill with pride.  This was the first time Mandalore referred to the other prisoners in the camp as brothers.  Now he was certain Mandalore was the leader who had been foretold in the prophecy.
     
With a deep breath and a nod from YT 597, UH 238 returned Mandalore’s gaze.  “Where you lead, we follow, Mandalore!”

“Good.”  Mandalore stood, this time leaving the ship’s secondary power on.  “I have some loose ends to tie up with Slave I’s electronics.  Tonight I will infiltrate the camp’s command center.  We will need to study the base schematics and know the exact troop strength.  Perhaps their computer will also have some information about Bestine.  Then we can leave this place and recruit a strike team to take the cruisers.”

                                                                                                                                          ***

The sun was getting high over the camp.  A slight shimmer could be seen on the landing pad’s dark surface as the temperature continued to rise. 

Let’s get this over with.  Colonel Caldrone, hands clasped behind his back, waited for the Star Flyer’s exit ramp to lower.  Sweat already beading on his forehead, Caldrone clenched his teeth with agitation.  Standing behind him was the entire command staff, save for Captain Gran’ell.  Caldrone, having met the Chief Inspector before, knew of his telepathic abilities.  Though he was able to mask his own feelings, the colonel wasn’t so sure about Captain Gran’ell.  Therefore, he saw to it that the captain would be far too busy to pay his respects to the Chief Inspector this trip.  Caldrone straitened himself as the hydraulic arms that controlled the ramp began to extend.  Finally.

Guntah and Fin waited for the ramp to complete its decent before starting down.  Halfway to the pad’s surface, Guntah could see Colonel Caldrone and his staff waiting a few meters away.  Caldrone was wearing his customary phony grin.  Of all the camp commanders, Caldrone was the one Guntah least trusted.  Unable to actually read thoughts, as most assumed he could, Guntah could read feelings and emotions.  The high level of deceit he felt in Caldrone prompted Guntah to quietly request the colonel’s reassignment.  Without hard evidence, however, New Republic officials were unwilling to take action.  Investigations into Caldrone’s reports and financial records seemed to indicate that he was doing a stellar job.  Never the less, Guntah remained suspicious.  What is it you’re hiding?

As the Chief Inspector stepped onto the landing pad, Colonel Caldrone approached.  “Welcome to Taris, Chief Inspector.  How was your trip?”

“Long, but worthwhile.  We had an excellent view of your facility during our approach.  I am eager to take a closer look.

“As you wish.”  Motioning toward the nearby control tower, the combined staff of Caldrone' and Guntah followed their respective leaders into the building’s entrance.

Guntah could feel the deception radiating from Caldrone as they walked.  I can’t be wrong about him.  I must find out what he is hiding.  Guntah turned and walked into the control tower.  “I want to personally inspect each level of construction; from the completed sections of the settlement to the initial ground clearing sites.  Parts of my team will also request to see the same thing at different locations.  I trust that won’t be a problem.”

As Guntah and his team of over fifty entered the tower, Colonel Caldrone looked back at his staff and gave a nod, then closed his eyes and sighed.  This is going to be a long day.

                                                                                                                                 ***

Standing with his sergeant in one of the advanced work sites, Captain Gran’ell had watched the star yacht enter the atmosphere and land.  With a shake of his head, he returned his gaze to the prisoners as they labored on a new field. 

The old sergeant scratched at the stubble growing on his chin.  “You really think we can blackmail the colonel into reassigning us?” 

“I’m sure of it.”  Gran’ell squinted to keep the dust out of his eyes as a binary load-lifter passed.  “The stuff I found combined with what I know would put him away for a long time if I was ever to talk.  Reassigning a few personnel would be nothing compared to what I could ask.”

“Just remember, he’s not stupid.”  Looking over his shoulder, the sergeant watched one of the guards laugh at a prisoner who had tripped and fallen.  “He’s bet his entire future on keeping his little business secret.  I don’t think he’ll let us walk out of here with his neck in our hands.”

“Maybe, but as wide open as he kept those files makes me think he is stupid.  But if he isn’t, I have a backup plan.  It won’t be as neat, but it should get the job done.”

The sergeant looked back at Gran’ell.  “What are you talking about?”

“If all goes well, you’ll never have to know.”

                                                                                                                               ***

YT 597 leaned against the opposite bulkhead as Mandalore replaced some burned out wiring.  “If we do make it out of here, would it be possible to come back?  I can’t stand the thought of only being able to take a hundred and eighty thousand when there are so many here.” 

“One thing at a time, boy; we’ll make that jump when and if we get to it.”  Mandalore prepared to retrieve his tools when a thought came to him.  Turning to face YT 597, he stared at him for a moment.  A dry smile crossed Mandalore’s face, thou it was concealed behind his Mandalorian helm.  “I think I will call you Rann Taler.”

Giving a confused look to UH 597, who shrugged as he took another bite out of military ration bar he had been chewing on, YT 597 looked back at Mandalore.  “Rann Taler?  What made you choose that name?”

Mandalore crossed his arms.  “Any objections?”

“No, it just seems kind of sudden.  It’s all right, I guess.”

“Good.  Then that’s what I will call you.”  Picking up his tools, Mandalore returned to the open compartment.  “It’s a twist on a New Republic officer’s name; Rand Talor.”

A streak of disgust showed on YT 597’s face.  “Why would you name me after a Rebel?”

“Don’t judge the galaxy by what you were taught as a stormtrooper.  The two of you have many similarities.”

Intrigued, YT 597 leaned back against the bulkhead.  “Like what.”

“Devotion to those he is responsible for.  Of all the military commanders that I have studied, he is probably the one most concerned for the welfare of his troops.”  Delicately checking the live cables for shorts and burnouts, Mandalore recalled the Rebel’s profile.  “He commanded a platoon on Hoth; he was a lieutenant then.  His unit stopped three attacks by Imperial ground troops.  When one of the AT-ATs moved on his position, he kept his soldiers from bolting into the wastes like the others.  Against the odds, he was able to get most of the survivors to the hanger.  He was the last to board the ship, making sure his troops were safe, despite threats from the transport’s captain that he would take off without him.  The last I heard, he was being considered for promotion to general.”

UH 238, finished with the ration bar, looked for a place to get rid of the wrapper.  “How do you know so much about him; have you met him?” 

“No; luckily for him we never met.”  Finding a dead wire, Mandalore returned the power sensor to the box.  Raising the tool tray, he revealed a larger compartment underneath.  Inside were several spools of varying sized and colored wires.  Taking a roll of green coated electric wire, he began measuring off a length.  “Like all Imperial defectors, he had a considerable bounty.  I never tried to collect, but I studied him in case we ever crossed paths.”

Moving between Mandalore and Rann, UH 238 headed toward the loading ramp.  “He used to be on our . . . that is . . . the Imperial side?”

“Yes.”  Mandalore tightened his left hand into a fist.  With a slight flick of his wrist, a short double-edged vibroblade shot out to full extension on the off side of his gauntlet.  Holding the spool in his right hand, he used the dagger like blade to slice through a small loop in the wire that was clenched between his fingers.  “He was part of Brenn Tantor’s volunteer stormtrooper corps.”

UH 238 stopped short of the exit.  “Tantor; I know that name.  Wasn’t he one of Lord Vader’s generals?”

“He was under Vader’s command for a time.”  Placing the piece of wire he had just cut in an open belt pouch, Mandalore began to extract the piece of burned out wire he had discovered.  “Someday I’ll teach you about him.  His history has some valuable lessons we can learn from.”  Looking over his shoulder, Mandalore watched as UH 238 started for the exit again.  “And don’t throw that out there.  Anything that leaves this ship could potentially be traced back to this ship.  The incinerator is in the cargo hold.”

“Yes Mandalore.”
   
“When are you leaving for the camp, again,” asked Rann as UH 238 walked passed. 

Mandalore delicately pulled the damaged wire free.  “At dusk.”

ok....I'm reading this THIS WEEKEND WHEN I HAVE TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!.....RIght after I finish that Strill drawing...

I feel bad that I stopped...

No worries, vod; it's not goin' anywhere.  Just glad you liked what you read before enough to start again    :)

I got the information about the age of stormtroopers from either Bloodlines or True Colors (or both) I remember Tan We (in Bloodlines) saying something about industrial clonesbeing grown quicker for the use of mining and other stuff. and in True Colors (i think) I heard Kal saying something about other clone armys and saying they wernt as good becasue they were grown in like 5 years. But all of this information is sketchy, and i could be 100% wrong. So you should check it out for yourself. (if you have the books, which Im sure you do.)

lol, no, I don't.  I have Bloodlines, but havn't even started it yet.  I want to get deeper into the EU, but just havn't found the time yet. 

Hope you liked the last chapter; I'll post another before too long

I"m VERY sorry it's taken so long to post this; I know I told some of you it would be up long ago, and truely regret I didn't come through for those who were reading this.  Here's chapter 7 for those still interested

Chapter 7

Colonel Caldrone patiently stood behind the Chief Inspector as he and his staff studied a holo map of the compound.  Darkness had fallen outside the control building nearly two hours ago; still, Guntah tirelessly checked his subordinate’s reports and made sure all sectors of the compound had been inspected.  Much to Caldrone’s relief, his subordinates had carried out his orders to the letter.  Many sectors had been removed from the map, ensuring Guntah and his fellow pests would only inspect the sites Caldrone wanted them to see.  Excess prisoners were crammed into the hidden sites, fresh bedding and supplies were issued to the barracks that might be inspected, and the worksites were made safer.  Despite his sore feet, caused from following the Chief Inspector from site to site, Caldrone’s mind was at ease.  Yet again, he had fooled this green skinned thing.  Just as he had done on his other inspections here, the Ithorian poured over the holo map in a vain search for something he had missed.  When he finally gives up, he’ll gather his team and return to his ship, disappointed over failing yet again to find anything wrong with the operation.

Guntah turned his tired eyes to Fin, who walked into the control room from the landing pad.  He whispered something to Guntah that Caldrone couldn’t make out.  When he finished, he handed Guntah a data pad.  The Chief Inspector seemed to respond, then turned back to Caldrone.

As Fin turned and started to gather the team, Guntah looked into the base commander’s eyes.  “Colonel, could we speak somewhere private.” 

Slightly surprised by the request, Colonel Caldrone motioned toward the turbo lift.  “Of course, come to my office.” 

As the pair stepped into the lift, Caldrone tried to figure out what this could be about.  Usually, the Chief Inspector would give his goodbyes and parting warnings there in the control tower. 

The two silently rode the lift down to the lower levels of the command center, Guntah studying the datapad he’s received from his assistant.  When the lift stopped at the fourth sub-level, they stepped into the dimly lit hallway and walked the short distance to Caldrone’s office.  Entering the office’s waiting room, Caldrone observed Captain Gran’ell. 

Waving Guntah into the office, Caldrone approached the now standing captain.  “Anything wrong, captain?”
 
“No sir.  Just thought I would get you caught up on things since your return from the city.  I have an appointment.”

“Ah yes; CZ-37 told me something about it.  I’ll see you as soon as the Chief Inspector leaves.”

“As you wish, sir.”  Returning to his seat as the office door closed behind the colonel, Gran’ell smiled as he pondered his coming meeting.

Dropping into his plush chair, Caldrone offered one of the chairs before his desk. 

Guntah refused it, preferring to stand.  Looking at his host, he was slightly repulsed by Caldrone’s fat, conceited grin.  “Well, it seems everything is in order.  I will be taking my leave of you as soon as my team has been gathered.”

“Well it’s been a real pleasure having you here, Chief Inspector.  Nothing better than to have your efforts cleared by someone as high up as you.”

“I’m sure.  Before I leave, however, there is something we must discuss.”

“Anything at all, Chief Inspector.”

“I will be leaving my assistant and a team of inspectors here.  They will observe the new prisoners as they settle into the camp and unofficially take charge of the facility.”
   
The self-satisfied smirk on Caldrone vanished.  “Are you crazy?  You and you’re team are civilians; you don’t have the authority to relieve me of command, no matter what you find here.” 

“Quite true.  However, General Bron Travid does.  As commanding general of this quadrant, he has authorized me to select some members of my team to remain and see that things are run smoothly until the new base commander arrives.”

Caldrone jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the back wall of his office.  “You’re a liar!  I would have been informed of any such orders.”  Caldrone’s smirk was replaced by a hateful glare.  “You have nothing; you have no authority to take my command, and I must kindly ask you to leave my camp.”

“I will go, but my team will remain.  You should receive the communication from General Travid about your current status any moment n…..”

Caldrone turned pale when a soft tone sounded from his datapad, which was lying on his desk.  Picking it up, he read on the screen that there was a priority message inbound from command.  “I don’t understand; why wasn’t I warned?”

“Perhaps your friends who have been warning you about my surprise inspections failed to appreciate how much this would affect you.  Or perhaps they had their own problems.”

Caldrone looked up into Guntah’s small black eyes.  “What are you talking about?”

“It seems your friend, Stam Kadesh, was being investigated for having considerably more credits then he could have ever saved from his pay.  After he was caught trying to escape to Hutt space, he reveled to the authorities that you had paid him to warn you about my activities.  He also gave up the names of several other officers who were doing the same thing.”

Colonel Caldrone stared into space as he pondered his next move.  Slowly rolling his chair back to his desk, Caldrone collapsed back into his seat.  “What happens now?”

“As you and your command staff are all under suspicion, control of the facility will move to the personnel I leave behind until the arrival of the Sullust prisoners.  The officer in charge of their transfer will take command on arrival.  If you cooperate with my people and reveal all of your crimes and associates, you will be allowed to retire quietly rather then face a court-martial.” 

Caldrone squirmed as he answered.  “Alright.”

“You will also not attempt to escape.  If you do, you will be hunted down and be made an example of.  Trust me when I tell you that the life of a fugitive is not one I would wish on anyone.”

Caldrone, his shoulders and head slumped, blankly gazed at his desk.  “Is that all?”

“It is.”  Guntah looked to the door as it slid open. 

Fin walked in and stood before Guntah.  “All personal except those remaining behind with me are on board; the ship’s crew says they are ready to leave on your order, sir.”  Fin shot a quick look toward Colonel Caldrone, who was still staring at his desk, as he finished his report. 

“Excellent.  Wait for me in the hall, please.  I will be out shortly.”

“Yes Chief Inspector.”

As the door slid shut behind Fin, Guntah looked back toward Colonel Caldrone.  “I am sorry it had to be like this, colonel.  I only hope something constructive can be formed out of all this.” 

“Why do you care?”

The question stopped Guntah as he was stepping into the doorway to leave.  Turning back around, the Chief Inspector met Caldrone’s glazed eyes, which had lifted to meet Guntah’s. 

“They’re stormtroopers; each likely guilty of the most unthinkable brutality.  Why does it matter to you if I make a few credits off them here and there?”

Guntah stared back at Caldrone for a moment before he answered.  He really doesn’t understand why it is wrong.  “Because it is the right thing to do; and because it is something they would not do for us if circumstances were reversed.  I hope someday you will realize for your self why I care.”

Colonel Caldrone watched Guntah walk out of his office and through the adjacent waiting room until his view was cut off by the closing of his door.  He must be out of his mind.

                                                                                                   ***

“How’s he taking it, sir,” asked Fin as he and the Chief Inspector walked down the hall toward the turbo lift.

“Not well.  He will try to escape.”  As they stepped into the lift, Guntah turned to Fin as they started to rise toward the landing pad level.  “Remember, you are not to try and stop him.  You should even avoid him; especially if none of your fellow inspectors are with you.  Though General Travid has contacted the other officers of this facility and informed them of your authority as temporary base commander, they may still follow an order from Caldrone to have you held or even killed.  Many may even be in league with Caldrone, though I do not sense it.  Your only concern is that everything goes smoothly until the Sullust transports arrive.”

“Understood, Chief Inspector.”

When they reached the ground level, Guntah and Fin stepped out and started for the exit.  “It may also be a . . .” Before Guntah could finish what he was saying, he suddenly felt the presence of a human behind him in the lift.  Turning, he fully expected to see one of Caldrone’s men standing at his back.  But as he looked into the turbo lift, he could see no one.

“Is something wrong, Chief Inspector,” asked Fin. 

Strange.  “It is nothing.”  Still feeling the presence of another, Guntah continued out of the control tower and on to the waiting Star Flyer.  “The commander of the Sullust prisoner transports will be alerted about his new assignment as soon as he drops out of hyperspace.  Until he arrives, it would be a good idea to order all land clearance and construction projects halted; the less activity to be monitored, the smoother the transition will be tomorrow.” 

“It will be done.”

As the pair approached the Star Flyer, the converted star yacht began to warm up its engines.  Guntah extended his long, thin arm and placed his hand on Fin’s shoulder.  “Be safe, my friend.”

“I will Chief Inspector.  This mission will be accomplished, I promise.”

“I’m sure it will.  I will send a shuttle for you and the others as soon as the base is in the proper hands.” With that, Guntah started up the loading ramp.  He watched as Fin turned a walked back to the control tower.  Stopping just short of the access hatch, he stared as Fin entered the light gray building.  Why do I sense that I will never see you again?

                                                                                                      ***

Caldrone busily collected his essential files and affects.  I’ll have to wait till I’m off planet before checking my bank accounts.  That overgrown slug has probably had all my communication links taped.  With his briefcase in hand, Caldrone stepped into the waiting room. 

“Colonel; you haven’t forgotten our appointment, have you?”

Stopping short of the exit, Caldrone looked to his left into the grinning face of Captain Gran’ell.  “Captain, this isn’t the best time; if you could come back tomorrow I’ll see you then.

Standing, Gran’ell stepped in front of CZ-37’s desk.  “This really can’t wait.”

“Something has come up that requires my attention, so if you don’t mind . . .”

Before Caldrone could finish, Captain Gran’ell stepped within reaching distance of the colonel.  “You don’t understand, you don’t have an option,” said Gran’ell in a low voice, his hand resting on his holstered blaster pistol.  “You do want hear what I have to say, and we are going to discuss it right now.”

You asked for it.  I suppose I have enough time to deal with you.  Checking his datapad for the time, Caldrone sighed and waved to his office.  “Very well.”  Walking back into the office, Caldrone set his briefcase next to his desk before sitting.

Gran’ell waited for the door to close behind them before taking one of the chairs in front of Caldrone’s desk.  Folding his hands in his lap, he leaned back and cleared his throat before beginning.  “I have a business proposition for you, Colonel.”

“Really; in the waiting room it sounded like you had a set of orders to give me.”

“Not at all, colonel.  You have complete freedom of choice in this matter.  You see, while you were away, I happened to come in here and study some of your records.  I found some things on your computer that verified several notions I had about our little operation here.”

“Is that a fact?”  Caldrone emotionlessly stared back at Gran’ell.  The colonel rested his left arm on the edge of his desk and his right hand on his thigh, out of Gran’ell’s view.

“It is.”  Gran’ell continued to radiate confidence.  “My proposal is simple.  Several of my men and I wish to rejoin the war effort.  What you do with the stormtroopers here is your business; we could care less what you do with them.  However, if you’re ever caught, our records might be affected along with yours.  Therefore, I suggest a trade; your signature on a transfer order for my friends and myself for the information I took.”

“You really do take me for a fool, don’t you?  Well get this; you’re the fool.”  Caldrone leaned forward and sneered at his second in command.  “I was aware of your snooping into my files as soon as I got back from Taris.  Those files you stole, they’re fake.  I planted them for some idiot like you to find.  All the figures on the records you took match early construction expenses.”

The smile had disappeared from Captain Gran’ell, and his tense right hand was resting a little closer to the blaster strapped to his leg.  “No matter; I still know about your ‘loaning’ operations.  If you refuse to transfer us back into combat units, I’ll take everything I know and inform command.”

“I suspected this would happen someday.  I had an elaborate plan in mind where I would force you and anyone else in your little conspiracy to join my operation.  However,” Caldrone pulled his right hand from under the desk and rested it on his desktop, a small holdout blaster firmly in his grasp, “the Chief Inspector’s recent visit forces me to take a less tasteful course of action.” 

Gran’ell, eyes wide, leaped form his chair and grabbed for his blaster.  Though faster then Caldrone anticipated, the captain wasn’t fast enough.  Gran’ell had his DH-17 nearly out of its holster before a red energy bolt struck the Captain just above his heart.  Gran’ell was knocked back into his chair, which crashed backward down to the floor. 

Pushing a button on his desk to summon CZ-37, Caldrone walked around the desk to check Gran’ell.  Still sitting in the chair, his eyes blindly staring at the ceiling, Gran’ell lay dead on the floor.  Sticking the holdout blaster in his belt, Caldrone stepped back to his desk to retrieve his briefcase.  I told you to come back tomorrow, thought the colonel with a sick grin.  Hearing the door slide open behind him, Caldrone turned to give his droid its instructions.  “Take this silly looking . . .”
As Caldrone looked at the figure standing in the open doorway, a blaster bolt pierced his stomach.  Dropping his briefcase as he screamed in pain, Caldrone folded over and hit his knees.  Mouth agape and tightly holding his wound with both arms, a saucer eyed Caldrone looked up to see his attacker.

Using one hand to point his E-3 blaster rifle at Caldrone, Mandalore Fett looked down at the corpse of Captain Gran’ell.  Picking up the captain’s DH-17, he examined the weapon and flicked off its safety.  Holding it in his left hand, he extended his arm in front of the hidden holo cam and fired.  Slipping the blaster between his armor and belt, Mandalore grabbed the panel by the hole created by the blaster shot and tore it from the wall.  Examining the destroyed camera, he found that it had a single information feed linked to Caldrone’s desk computer.  With his helmet mounted security scanners picking up no other hidden devices, Fett stepped into the office and crouched in front of Caldrone.  “Your droid is indisposed at the moment, so I came in his stead.”  Mandalore tilted his head as he looked down at the colonel’s wound.  “You’re not looking well at all, colonel.  I think it would be best if I took charge of the prisoners for a time.”  Standing, Mandalore slung his rifle onto his shoulder.  “I need your access code to the base central computer.  And no games, if I can’t get it from you one way, I’ll use another.”

“Will you help me,” Caldrone managed to stammer.

The black visor of Mandalore’s scared battle helm continued to emotionlessly look down at Caldrone.  “I will help you.”

“Access code; it’s . . . AHRRR,” Caldrone slipped from his knees and fell against the desk.  Propping himself against the side of the desk, Caldrone forced his brain to remember the access code over the intense pain.  “The code is 21 . . . 58 . . . uh, 9374.  Now help me; please!”

Mandalore crushed Caldrone’s holdout blaster under his heel as he stepped in around the colonel and accessed the computer terminal.  As the base interface and command controls came up, Mandalore hooked up a transmission receiver to the computer.  “Excellent.”

As Mandalore stepped around the desk, Caldrone looked up into the barrel of a disrupter pistol.  He only had time to widen his eyes in horror before the weapon’s muzzle glowed red. You will never control those who have walked on the field of honor again, thought Mandalore as the man disintegrated before him. 

As the door opened for Mandalore as he approached, he pulled a thermal wielding strip from one of the pouches on his belt.  Carefully avoiding the obstacle sensors that prevent the door from closing on any slow moving guests, he attached the strip to the door’s edge and around the locking mechanism.  As Mandalore stepped away, the door closed on the strip, which fused it to the durasteel frame. 

As sparks were still flying from the doorframe, Mandalore had already started to remove the head of Caldrone’s secretary droid, CZ-37.  The smoke from the door joined that coming from the droid’s overloaded circuits, which had been caused by the ion blast Mandalore hit it with when he first entered the waiting room.  When the cranial unit came free, he reached in and delicately removed the intelligence matrix from the droid’s verbobrain.  With the device tucked into his pants pocket, Mandalore replaced it with a smaller device.  Hooking the small, yellow chip he had pulled from his belt to the droid’s photoreceptors, memory bank, and vocabulator, Mandalore then reattached the droid’s head to its frame.  Pulling a power charger from his pack, Mandalore attached it to the droid’s power jack and fired a burst of energy into its circuitry.  Returning his equipment to its proper place, Mandalore silently watched as the droid convulsed in its chair. 

When the droid’s shaking finally subsided, its dark photoreceptors turned to Mandalore.  “Master?”

“Colonel Caldrone,” responded Mandalore.

“Mission?”

“Delay.”

The droid’s head bobbed slightly as it processed the orders it had just received.  When it finished, its new hardware went to work.  “Colonel Caldrone is busy, please leave your name and I will make an appointment for you.”

Perfect.  His mission complete, Mandalore turned to leave. 

                                                                                                               ***

Lieutenant Beran, the on duty watch officer, suspiciously watched Fin as the new base commander studied the camp’s layout on a holo map.  Giving a stormtrooper prison to an Imperial clone; what’s the New Republic coming to? 

Hearing the turbo lift door open behind him, Beran looked over his shoulder.  Ready to bawl someone out for coming up the observation deck at this time of night without his permission, he was surprised to see no one.  Looking inside, he checked the controls for a malfunction.

Noticing the lieutenant’s interest in the lift, Fin shifted his attention from the map.  “What’s wrong?”

“This lift; it shouldn’t come up here without a passenger.  It should only be here if called by someone on this level or if someone gets inside and uses the access code for this level.”  Finding nothing wrong with the controls, Lieutenant Beran made his way the communications panel.  “Someone must be playing around down there.”

As the lieutenant argued with his subordinates on the lower levels, neither he, Fin, or the other members of the night watch noticed the dim light emitted from a jetpack that launched from the roof above them.

                                                                                                 ***

Sitting on the most comfortable rock he could find as he kept watch over the hanger entrance, UH 238 cradled one of the two still working A280 blaster rifles in his arms.

“If I was here to kill you . . .” came a familiar voice from behind.

Startled, UH 238 leapt to his feet and leveled the blaster at the dark figure standing directly behind him.

“. . . You would already be dead.”

UH 238 quickly lowered the blaster, recognizing his master.  “I’m sorry, Mandalore.”

“Collect your wits; a great task lies before us.  Come.” 

Following his leader down a hidden stairway into the hanger, the pair made their way to Slave I.

Entering his vessel, Mandalore began opening several hidden compartments.  Most were full of weapons; others concealed pieces of armor and other military gear. 

In one compartment, Rann found a complete set of stormtrooper armor.  “Where did you get all this?”

“You find all kinds of things while working as a bounty hunter; I keep anything I feel could be useful,” responded Mandalore as he opened the last compartment.  “I have twenty five blaster rifles and twelve pistols including this.”  Pulling the DH-17 from his belt, he switched the safety back on and tossed the weapon to Rann.  “That should be enough to get things started.”

“What exactly is it we’re going to start?” asked a confused UH 238.

Looking back at his followers, Mandalore Fett grinned behind the T-visor of his helmet.  “The greatest Mandalorian Crusade in four thousand years.”  Glancing at the time readout in the upper left corner of the heads up display projected by his helmet, Mandalore reached into one of the compartments and handed UH 238 the Stormtrooper helmet.  “And we have roughly eight hours to set it in motion.”

Ralin you're story is great. The only things I found a little out of place was Boba saying: "Are you insane?" I just can't imagine him saying that without circling someone like he was ready to pounce - but that's just me.

At first when you started calling Boba simply Mandalore I found it a bit odd, since Boba Fett is so attached to his reputation which is linked to his name, so I liked it when you started calling him Mandalore Fett.

Other than that, it's the best read I've had in ages! Keep it going :D

Wow, you read it all already??  Glad you like  :D

I don't muck about :P Read it in one sitting, though it took a while ;)

I confess that I have not read all seven chapters in one sitting; however, I do think it is good writing whether or not it is completely "accurate".

Thanks Sharra, I really appreciate the comment    :)

Here's the next chapter.  After this one, I have only one more that's 'pre-written.'  Guess I'll have to get off my lazy butt and start writing again   :P

Hope you like

Chapter 8

    Fin’s eyes instantly opened out of a dead sleep when the durasteel door to his room opened.  Throwing off his blanket and rising to his feet in a single motion, he faced the intruder. 

    The ‘intruder’ was a young private, who was so startled by Fin’s reaction that he almost fell back out of the room.

    Relieved that it wasn’t a gang of stormtrooper-hating soldiers come to kill him, Fin sat back down on the bunk he had been given and rubbed his eyes.  “What is it?”

    Regaining his composure, the trooper stood at attention before the base commander.  “Lieutenant Beran sent me.  He said that the transports will be here in about an hour and that you should come up to the command deck. 

    He had been up far too late the night before studying the camp’s layout.  Shaking the sleep from his head, Fin remembered that Lieutenant Beran had been up all night in the observation deck as well.  “Lieutenant Beran; wasn’t he the watch officer last night?” 

“Yes sir.”

“He stayed up longer then I did.”  Fin reached over and pulled his shirt from a small table that stood next to his bunk.  “Why isn’t he off duty now?”

“The most senior officer available must be on duty during prisoner arrivals.”

Pulling on his knee high boots, Fin looked up at the private.  “Beran isn’t the senior officer.  Where is the head of security?”

“Uh . . . I’m not at liberty to say,” stammered the private.

Coming to his feet, Fin lifted his robe from the chair he had draped it over.  Throwing it over his broad shoulders, Fin cast a stern glare at the private.  “Where is he?”

The private, trying to look anywhere but into the other man’s gaze, continued to stand at attention.  “I don’t know, sir.”

Fin stepped a little closer to the private.  “Does anyone know?”  As the private tried to decide how to answer, Fin confronted him with another question.  “Where is Colonel Caldrone?”

Obviously not expecting that question, the private returned Fin’s gaze with a blank look of confusion.  “In his quarters, I guess.  We haven’t seen him since . . .” the private stopped himself, realizing that he shouldn’t be talking about such matters, “that is, since you became the base commander.”

Turning to pick up his belt from a small table at the end of his bunk, Fin considered the situation.  The warrior side of his clone programming urged him to find Caldrone and whoever else had mistreated his brothers and take them out in some painful manner.  However, his stronger imprinted trait, his obedience to orders, still guided his actions.  Guntah’s parting warning of not trying to stop Caldrone if he tried to escape was still clear in his mind.  Very well.  If Gran’ell wants to join his commander in a life of hiding and fear, that’s his business.  “All right, private.  Take me to the command deck.”

                                                                                                          ***

The bright lights of the guard barracks compartment flicked on, causing those soldiers who had been sleeping on their backs to shield their eyes.  Those who had managed to remain asleep soon came to life thanks to the booming voice of the company’s top sergeant.  “Rise and shine!  Let’s see some life there, you lazy nerf herders!”  The sergeant slowly walked between the two rows of bunks, hands clasped behind his back, eyeing each of his trooper’s equipment as he passed. 

Standing in the entrance of the guard barracks, Captain Panah observed his men with pride.  They were good soldiers; none had given him cause for shame.  Every one had worked hard to improve their combat skills with the hope that they would be called up to join the war against the Empire.  Like him, they had just gotten a bad break being sent to guard the very enemies they wished to fight.  Too bad I have to tell them we’ll have to wait a little longer.

“Gather round, troops,” the presence of four females in the company kept Panah from calling his ‘men’ together, as he normally would have.  “I’m afraid I got some bad news when we dropped out of hyperspace a few minutes ago.  It seems that a situation has come up involving the command staff at the Taris facility.  I received a transmission from General Travid, commander of New Republic forces in this quadrant, ordering me to take command of the Taris facility upon arrival.  The order also states that all troops currently under my command are to remain at the Taris facility as well.”

Panah could see the look of disappointment spread across the faces of his troops like a shock wave.  “I know you all had high expectations about joining, or for some of us rejoining the war effort.  I know exactly how you feel.  However, we’re all professionals, and our job is to take orders and carry them out to the best of our abilities.  Hopefully this will only be a temporary setback.  Command may already be organizing a force to permanently take over the Taris camp, and their just using us as a temporary garrison.  Whatever the case, I know I can count on all of you to carry out your orders with the speed and commitment I’ve come to expect from you . . .” seeing that his speech hadn’t lifted anyone’s spirits, the captain cracked a smile. . . “Which isn’t much.”   

A few smiles broke out here and there, but the feeling of being let down was still heavy in the air.  Well, we’ll just have to get over it.  “This Imperial tub doesn’t make very good time, so you all have another couple hours before we break atmo.; estimated time of landing is 0820.  Since we’re going to be offloading ALL our gear, platoons one and two will handle the offloading of prisoners while three and four carry out our gear, so make sure if it's yours it's clearly marked if you ever want to find it again.  Platoons one and two, I expect you on the holding decks in full riot gear by 0800.  Clear!”

“CLEAR, SIR!” came the loud response from the portside of the barracks.

As Captain Panah turned and started for Zeta company’s sleeping quarters to start his speech over again, the troopers heard a loud voice from behind.  “You heard the captain!”  They looked around to see their sergeant and his typically unhappy glare.  “If any of you spice addicts in first or second platoon are late getting to the holding decks, I’m apt to get Old Republic on somebody’s BUTT!  So lets move!”

                                                                                         ***

As the turbo lift’s door slid open, Fin was surprised to see so much activity in the command center.  The late night shift he'd seen before consisted of only five or six men and lieutenant Beran.  Now the large control room was buzzing with activity.   Avoiding the officers and personnel who were scurrying from one station to another, Fin managed to find Lieutenant Beran. 

“Busy day I see,” said Fin as he gazed out the tower’s north viewport at the landing pad.  The dark surface of the pad stretched as far as his vision could reach; only the durasteel wall that surrounded it could be seen in the distance. 

Examining a supply readout, Beran looked over his shoulder at Fin.  “We’re just about ready for the transfer.  Living space, supplies, and security have all been taken care of.  All that’s left to be done on our end is to get additional security in place for offloading and run a final sweep over the pad with the cleaning droids.”  Beran’s blood-shot eyes returned to the readout.

Fin casually watched one of the massive cleaning droids as it raced across the duracrete surface.  “How many of your shuttles are missing?”

Half ignoring the other man, Lieutenant Beran pointed out the location he wanted the supply operator to send the extra load of internment parcels.  “What are you talking about?”

“I gather that Colonel Caldrone and at least one other officer has left the facility.  How many ships did they take?”

Stretching his back as he straitened himself, Beran impatiently turned to Fin.  “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a prison facility.  There aren’t any transports stationed here.  That would violate our agreement with the Taris officials” he added sarcastically but truthfully.  “The only shuttles available to us are stationed in the Taris orbital facility, and those aren’t hyperspace capable.”   

“Fine, when did the Taris shuttle take the colonel out of the camp?”

“It didn’t; we haven’t had a Taris shuttle since Colonel Caldrone returned from his last visit to Taris just before the inspection last night.”  As Beran impatiently explained he moved to the security terminal to check the status of the prisoner transfer security detail. 

“Has one been requested?”

“The only way to request a shuttle from Taris is to use a top security clearance on that terminal,” Beran pointed toward an unmanned communications station next to the primary communications terminal.  “It can’t be accessed anywhere else on the station; and no one has used it since Colonel Caldrone’s last trip.”

Fin narrowed his eyes.  He was sure Caldrone and Gran’ell had made their move to escape, and was now confronted by the possibility that they hadn’t.  What’s going on here?  “Keep up the good work, Lieutenant.  I’ll be back.”

Beran ignored Fin as the base commander made his way to the turbo lift.  “Double-check with security station one.  They reported the transfer unit was in position, but I don’t see them at the gate.”

“Aye sir,” responded the corporal sitting at the station.  He adjusted his controls to contact the security center and barracks just outside the landing pad gate.  “Security station one, come in.”  A moment passed with no response.  “Security station one, please come in.”  Only static came back over the comm.

Lieutenant Beran was suddenly wide awake.   

                                                                                        ***

“How long is the delay going to be?”

“Unknown; at least an hour.  Have your people ready to move but don’t bother leaving the barracks until ordered; it may be a longer wait then expected.  Control out.”

“Roger that; security station one out.”

As Mandalore turned his comm unit off, he commenced the power up sequence on Slave I and rotated the cockpit capsule into flying position.  Before charging up the shipboard weapons, he typed a command into his datapad, which was linked to Colonel Caldrone’s personal computer via the receiver Mandalore had attached to it. 

This should give them something to think about.

                                                                                         ***

“Try the primary communications array; we can’t have lost contact with everyone.”  As soon as Lieutenant Beran completed his order, heavy durasteel blast shields suddenly slammed down over the transparisteel viewers that looked out over the camp and landing pad.  Darkness flooded the command deck, defeated only when the red emergency lights came to life.  The once busy control center was suddenly still, the eerie silence disturbed only by the sound of the turbo lift’s blast door motor as it sealed the entrance.     

Regaining his composure, one of the technical sergeants raced to the status board, Lieutenant Beran close behind.

Beran tried to keep up with the sergeant as he expertly scanned the four dozen or more power readings, damage reviews, computer diagnostics, and program reports.  When the sergeant finally stopped scrolling through the information before him, Beran turned to him.  “Well; why are we in emergency lockdown?”

Shaking his head slightly, the sergeant searched for an answer.  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Brilliant, sergeant.  That solves everything.”  The sarcasm in Beran’s voice turned to frustration.  “What has happened to my command center; was it a power failure of some kind.”

“No sir.  A power fluctuation can trigger a security lockdown as a safety measure, but that isn’t what happened here.  The computer logs don’t show any such fluctuation.  I don’t believe this is an accident, sir.”

“Sabotage?”  The facility had had its share of technical glitches, and the thought that his could be anything but another one had been the last thing on Beran’s mind.

“Yes sir; look at this.  The command log shows that the security lockdown was ordered.  Same with communications; a command was issued to the base computer ordering it to sever all forms of communication throughout the entire command building.  I would say that the computer is going off the deep end and ordered itself to do all this, but it just doesn’t add up.  The command is right there!  As if someone sat here and punched in the order!  The only other way the order would show up in the log like this is if someone remotely accessed the system.”

“That’s not possible, is it!?” demanded Beran.  “The only access terminals to the computer that can control those functions are in this room!”

One of the sergeant’s assistants, a young Nautolan corporal, stepped forward.  “Ah, sir; I’m afraid it is possible.”
Turning around, Beran looked into the green skinned man’s dark eyes.  “What do you mean?”

“Over a year ago, when Colonel Caldrone’s office was finished, he had me hook up his personal computer to the central core.”

Beran narrowly avoided exploding.  Controlling himself, he narrowed his gaze on the Nautolan.  “Can we access the connection you made?”

“No sir.  I tapped directly into the computer core on sub level three.  That’s the way he told me to do it!”

Rubbing his face in frustration, Beran walked away from the others.  Taking a deep breath, he looked at the command personnel.  “I need options, and I need them now.”

Looking down at his console in despair, the sergeant in charge of the security station looked down at his console.  “Sir, something’s happening!”

Beran and most of the others ran to the station.  “What is it?”

“The status lights are indicating that the guard stations are reporting that they are locking down and ready for orbital bombardment.”

Lieutenant Beran stepped back, utterly baffled.  “Sith’s blood; what is going on here!”

                                                                                             ***

“He did it!”  Rann watched as the security teams who had been patrolling the prisoner barracks areas ran toward the nearest security center. 

Looking back into the barracks, he saw over one hundred of his brothers looking back, ready for the order to move.  Others were in the back trying to help those troopers who were having trouble waking from the haze they had lived in for over two years.

“You troopers in the back stay here and protect your brothers.  Join us only if they all wake and can travel.  We’ll come back for you if necessary.”

One of the clones stood at attention.  “Yes sir.”

Looking back out the door, Rann watched as the last of the guards ran out of sight.  Opening the barracks door, he readied the blaster rifle Mandalore had given him and slowly walked out.  On the other side of the centrally placed mess hall, UH 238 stepped out of another barracks, two other clones behind him.  Convinced that the last of the guards were gone, Rann gave UH 238 a hand signal and ran back to the barracks entrance. 

“Alright, first five.”  With that command, the first five clones came out of the barracks.  “Do you remember what to do?”

“Yes sir,” responded the lead trooper.  “We each confront one of our brothers, get his full attention, and we tell them about the return of Jango Fett’s son.”

“Good; go to that barracks.  Next five!”

                                                                                     ***

After spending several minutes trying to force the turbo lift door to slide open, Fin stepped back to rethink the problem.  "I’ll never open it this way.[/i]  Reexamining the keypad at his right, he felt like a complete idiot for not seeing the red emergency open button earlier.  Jabbing his finger into it, he heard the turbo lift’s door open and started to leave, but nearly walked into the blast door that now blocked his way.  What the. . .

Sliding his hand across the cold durasteel, Fin examined the barrier.  Clenching his fist, he pounded on the door a few times hoping to make enough noise to get someone’s attention.  Thick; probably no one could have heard that even if they had had their ear to the door.

Sitting down on the lift’s hard floor, he decided to wait for rescue.   As the pain subsided from his hand, he looked up at the illumination panels on the lift’s ceiling.  I wonder. . . 

Getting back to his feet, he stood under one of the panels, Fin leapt for it.  Barely within his reach, he felt the panel move when his fingertips hit it.  After several more attempts, however, he was unable to nock the panel from its position and grab the edge.     
   
Fin squinted at the panel through the glare of its light as he rested his legs.  Maybe this’ll work.  Backing up against the blast door, he ran at the lift’s back wall.  Jumping at the wall, he kicked off of it and stretched for the panel.  Fully extended, he punched his fist into the fixture, killing the light and knocking it out of its position, revealing the hidden access panel.  Coming down hard on his side, he quickly got back to his feet.  After two more tries, he was able to get a secure hold on the edge of the open panel space.  Pulling himself through, he looked up into the dark turbo shaft.  Turning around, he saw a ladder that ran next to the lift and stretched into the darkness above.  Looking back into the turbo lift through the porthole he had just pulled himself through, Fin briefly considered his options. 

Why not he thought to himself as he started upward.

                                                                                               ***

As the men in his section finished preparing their makeshift defenses around one of the outer defense bunkers, Sergeant JC 225 looked over his shoulder at Captain Hikara and the trooper who was operating a salvaged communications pack.  The captain was frantically pacing back and forth, occasionally glaring at the trooper as he tried to contact one of the Star Destroyers somewhere overhead.  Behind them, the fire still raged where the shield generator complex once stood.  Nearby, the one AT-AT that had been planet-side peacefully lay on its side like a resting animal.  One of the few survivors of the explosion said the mechanical behemoth was lifted off of its feet and carried about twenty meters when the shockwave from the shield generator’s energy core went thermal.

Looking up into the blue Endor sky, the glowing cloud that had once been the second Death Star could no longer be seen.  According to the reports that the trooper was able to intercept the Death Star was totally vaporized, taking all on board.  The only question that mattered now was whether or not the Emperor had escaped before the explosion.

“Sir, I’m getting something.  It’s a Captain Pallaeon of the Chimaera.  He says that . . .”

“Yes?  Spit it out, you fool!”

The trooper, who had been kneeling over the scorched communications pack, suddenly went limp.  Falling backward, he let the receiver slip from his hand. 

Running past the fallen trooper, Captain Hikara snatched up the communicator.  “This is Captain Hikara; repeat please!”

JC 225 and most of the other troopers openly stared at the captain.  Of the nearly one thousand clones still alive and preparing for a final battle, they all feared they knew what news could have affected their brother in such a way. 

“But you can’t leave us here; we’ll be trapped! Wait, why can’t you just. . . are you there?!  Come in; does anyone read me?!”  With fear engulfing his wide eyes, Captain Hikara dropped the communicator next to the battered pack as he stood.  “They’ve left us; left us to die!”

JC 225 stepped forward from his men.  “Sir, what about Lord Vader or the Emperor?  Did either of them escape the Death Star?”

Panic began to set into the captain as he tried to think of something to do.  “Must think of something; must do something.”  Unlike the officers of JC 225’s company, this man seemed to be a sniveling coward.  Not even an Army captain, Captain Hikara was however the only officer that escaped the destruction of the main complex. 
Suddenly, the captain’s eyes lit up.  “Surrender!  Yes, that’s my only option.  With a little convincing, I might even be able to defect to their side. . .”

A gloved hand grabbed Hikara by the shoulder and spun him around.  He found himself staring into the polarized black visor of the sergeant’s scout trooper helmet.  “Did Lord Vader or the Emperor escape the battle?!”

“No. . .” he barley was able to squeal; “they're dead!  They're all dead!”  Realizing who he was talking to, Hikara regained his composure and slapped the sergeant’s hand away.  “And you will be to if you ever touch me like that again!  I need another communications trooper who can contact the . . .”

Looking around, Captain Hikara saw his clone troopers dropping their weapons and falling to the ground.  “What’s wrong with all of you?!  I order you to get up!”  The only troopers with all their senses were the non-clone volunteer stormtroopers and the sergeant clones.  The rest were oblivious to the commands being shouted at them. 

“Blast; I’ll do it myself.”  But as Captain Hikara reached for the comm pack’s communicator, a black leather boot stepped on its connecting wire.  Looking up, he was again confronted by the sniper.  “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Sir, I can’t allow you to surrender to the Rebels.  We must make a stand and die with honor as Lord Vader would have willed.”

With a hateful sneer, Hikara laughed.  “As Vader would have willed; it wouldn’t surprise me.  I have a news flash for you, sergeant.  The Emperor is DEAD, and I’M in command here.  You can join him if you wish,” Hikara pulled his blaster from its holster and pointed it just above the sergeant’s visor, “But I’m surrendering.  Now stand aside!” 

Before the standoff could escalate further, one of the volunteer stormtroopers interrupted.  “Look sir; coming out of the woods!”

Looking into the direction of the shield generator’s secret entrance, the sergeant and his captain watched an AT-ST break through the dense undergrowth into the clearing.

“Excellent. That walker may prove useful during the surrender negotiations,” said Hikara as he turned back to JC 225.  “Now stand BACK!”  The captain pressed the blaster’s barrel into the sergeant’s visor until he stepped back off of the wire.  Keeping the sergeant covered, he used his free hand to pick up the communicator.       

Sergeant JC 225 prepared to end the argument forcefully when the woods around the bunker seemed to come alive with Rebels and Ewoks.  Several Rebels fell in behind the AT-ST as the walker leveled its blasters on its former masters.   Surrounding the now depleted force of only about three hundred stormtroopers, the Rebels and their allies were in position to completely annihilate the Imperials. 

“Hold your fire,” shouted Captain Hikara to both his men and the Rebels.  Holding his hands over his head, though he still clutched his blaster, Hikara took a step toward the Rebels nearest him.  “Hold your fire; I want to negotiate!” 

A Rebel squad leader directly across from Hikara, keeping his assault blaster leveled on the Imperials, tilted his head and said something into his collar mounted comm-link.  “Order your men to drop their weapons,” shouted another Rebel as he pointed to the ground with his off hand.

“Do as he says!  Lay down your weapons and drop to your knees,” ordered Hikara.

In his peripheral vision, Hikara could see two volunteer stormtroopers comply with his order.  However, he could also see a clone sniper continue to point his weapon at the massing Rebels while looking behind the captain.  Turning around, Hikara saw several other snipers and clone scouts nervously looking back and forth from the enemy to the sergeant standing behind him. 

Lowering his hands, Hikara walked toward the sniper.  Sergeant JC 225 stood before him, defiantly holding his sniper rifle across his chest.  Moving within arms reach of the other man, the captain squared off with the sergeant.  “I’m not going to repeat myself to you again, sergeant,” hissed Hikara.  “Lay down your weapon and get on your knees; and tell your men to do the same.”

“I can’t do that, sir.  The Emperor is dead.  I now have a loyalty you wouldn’t understand.  If this is to be my end, then I prefer to die with honor; here and now.”

“And that is something I can’t allow.”  As the last word passed the captain’s lips JC 225 saw the muzzle of Hikara’s blaster point directly into his visor, followed by the red glow of a blaster bolt. 

Opening his eyes, the sergeant found himself laying on his side in the dark.  Attempting to reach up to his right temple and feel the scar that ran partially into his hairline, he found himself unable to move his arms.  Oh yeah; now I remember.

Sniffing the cold air in the stasis cell, JC 225 noticed a faint vapor in the air.  Judging from the lack of odor he decided that he wasn’t to blame, though he would be if he had to wait for much longer.  The more deeply he breathed, the wider awake he became.  Must be some kind of counter to that sleeping agent they pumped in here earlier.

His shoulder ached after lying on it for who knows how many hours, so he tried to roll over.  This proved difficult, however, due to the forearm braces that held his hands clasped around his elbows.  Worse, the cuffs were too tight and had cut off circulation.  He couldn’t even feel his forearms, let alone move them.  Wriggling onto his back, the sergeant looked down his body to the front of the compartment.  A dim stream of blue light cut into the darkness through a small inspection window.  Swinging his head and legs to the left for momentum, he rolled onto his fresh side.  That’s better. 

Lying still in the darkness he could hear other prisoners bumping the stainless plasteel walls of their cells as they woke up and tried to stretch out.  Some of his brothers began to communicate with each other by tapping on the side of their compartment with their feet.  JC 225 considered joining the conversation for a moment, but decided against it. 

They all know what to do the sergeant thought as his compartment began to shake slightly.  They may kill us all, but it’ll be a good death.  Even though we never got the chance to live like Mandalorians, at least we can die a warrior’s death.  The tapping stopped for a moment, and then came alive again with questions of what was happening.  Edging himself a little closer to the wall in front of him, the sergeant tapped out a message.  “Prepare yourselves; we’re landing.”

                                                                                                  ***

As Rann set an explosive charge on one of the guard station’s doors, he suddenly heard the loud report of starship engines coming from the other side of the building.  Quickly finishing his work, he then ran onto the main path leading up toward the command facility.  Initially unable to see anything, his jaw dropped when he saw the hulking slave ship slowly drop through the light overcast.  As he watched the massive ship maneuver toward the landing pad, its dark shadow passed over him.  Turning around, a nearly deafening roar sounded from overhead.  Falling to the ground, hands tightly covering his ears, Rann looked up at a second stasis ship as it flew over the camp.  Passing directly over him, Rann could see the vessel’s huge four toed landing struts twisting down into docking configuration.

When the enormous craft finally passed, Rann got back to his feet and watched the dark gray monster descended on the landing pad.  Turning toward the last guard barracks on his list, he shook his head and wondered what Mandalore could possibly have in mind. 

                                                                                    ***

Wow; that maniac cut it close thought captain Basell as he watched through a holographic display as one of his ship’s rear landing struts touched down dangerously close to the security wall’s main gate.  “Thank you, control,” he said a moment later into his com unit with a noticeably cynical tone. “We are on the deck and are preparing to offload our passengers.” 

“Roger that, Two One Six,” crackled a response over the intercom.  “Once again, you are ordered to ONLY wake up the high security risk prisoners.  You should then combine your security forces and escort those prisoners to the main gate, where our people will take control.  With the high risk prisoners out of the way, the rest can be offloaded quickly and you can get your ships out of here.”

“Once again control, I understand; Two One Six OUT!”  Basell angrily killed the communications link.  This is the weirdest thing I’ve been asked to do yet!  First they tell me they’re changing the plan and want to land all three of these monsters at the same time, then as I’m about to touch down they decide to let me in on the fact that there is a possible threat of an Imperial attack on the camp!  I'll bet NONE of this is procedural.  General Travid is going to get a report from me about this.  As one of the helmsmen wiped the sweat from his brow after the close landing, Basell checked the other landing holo cams to make sure the primary loading ramp was clear to lower. 

“All systems on standby sir,” reported the chief engineer. 

“Thank you, lieutenant; keep the engines hot and ready to go,” said Basell with a hint of agitation.  His own days as the chief engineer of a Rebel frigate patrolling the Outer Rim taught him to save fuel and energy whenever possible.  That was well before the battle of Endor, though.  Since the Emperor got what was coming to him the New Republic’s resources had grown immeasurably.  Nevertheless, the young captain tried to implement all the lessons he had learned into his first command, and keeping the massive thrusters on these beasts hot was yet another thing he wasn't liking about this delivery. 

I’m going to give that landing control operator a talking to if I get the chance.  Stepping into the forward observation section of the bridge, Captain Basell glance out one of the portside transparisteel view screens at Two One Five which had landed earlier.    He then turned to his right and watched the third stasis ship in his command approach the landing pad.  Motioning to his communications officer, the ensign knew from experience to route radio traffic from the other ships through the bridge intercom. 

“Control, this is Two One Seven, we have the designated landing site in view and are making our approach.  You sure we’re going to fit?”

                                                                                 ***

“Trust me, Two One Seven,” said Mandalore as he ran final calculations from the cockpit of Slave I.  Slicing into the feed of holo viewers mounted on the landing pad’s security wall, he could guide the incoming starships into position.  He pressed the transmit button again.  “It will all be over soon.  Adjust course three degrees north.”

While he watched the last transport moving into position, he pushed the accelerator controls forward and streaked toward the landing pad.         

So it begins...

how very interesting.i suppose the empire would have clone regiemts though its never been mentioned.the mandalorians as i understand them are mercinaries with no ideology so id imagine them just going to mandalore.

They do have an ideology...although it's a little disputed as to exactly what it is.  Karren Travis is giving her angle on the Mando way of life with her books: I agree with her in a lot of ways *and in some ways, we both came to the same conclusions as to the Mando influence on the clones, I just took it to a more extreme and deliberate level.*

Thanks for the comment though, hope you like what I've got.  I haz a plan for where they go and what happens...in fact I have a very vague storyline that goes years from that point...only trouble is I only have one more chapter completed.  I guess I'll have to get back to work on this thing   :P

Will try to convert the last chapter and get it posted before too long

---RD

You gotta post more often, Ralin. I had forgotten who was who :P

lol

I would, but it takes time to fill in all the italics codes, and time isn't something I've had a lot of lately  :(

That, and I havn't worked on this thing for like 2 years... I'm just posting the material that I wrote with slight updates that I make when rereading before putting it up here.  I REALLY need to start adding material to the story again....

you will let fett win wont you? ill feel so depressed if those republicans win again.

Wow, that's a coincidence.  I was just thinking about reviving this thread with an update, and your question ties into what I plan on posting.

I'm not really sure who you're talking about when you say 'Republicans,' did you mean the Rebels?  But anyway, I don't want to spoil the story for you by just telling you what will happen, so I'll make a serious effort to get the next couple of chapters up tonight after work *I need to leave like.....now  :( *  since somebody is actively interested in what happens *sorry, I thought this was pretty dead and didn't make time to add the next couple chapters*

However, I will give the update I was thinking of adding.  For my creative writing class, I have an assignment to write a short story that my class will critique on Wednesday.  I've chosen to write the intro to what would be like novel Three in the series of Four I have in mind for this plot.  It WILL contain a LOT of spoilers for this story, so Don't read it if You're REALLY into this one and don't want to know what's coming *though as you've seen, I'm REALLY slow adding to this story, so you might have to wait a LONG time in between posts... so I guess I'd encourage ppl to read what I'm working on in the class assignment if you like this FanFic and are tired of waiting for my terribly slow posts *again, sorry bout that** 

I'll try to have it up right after we have do the class discussion on it.  Thanks for the interest Stone Mando; I hope you like the next chapters  :)

Wow, just got around to reading these, Ralin, and their really good. Some of how Boba immediately was willing to help is odd, but its still REALLY interesting. Can't wait for more.

ill look foreward to the next part.

Oh damn, sorry vode.  I'd promised to add more to this a long time ago....

Honestly, I've given up on this one.  There are a couple more chapters that I'd already written that I'll put up here next chance I get *my lack of presence here is rooted in some serious internet issues at home that have been eating at me for some time now - that's why I havn't been participating in any of the RP's - combined with some other issues,* but I'm no longer planning on adding anything new. 

Originally, this was my idea for a truely possible hidden backstory for Boba, the clones, and the future of the Mando'ade.  But as I've learned more about the existing EU on the subject, I've come to the conclusion that none of this is even remotely possible.  Still an interesting idea for an alternate history, and one that I might revisit in the future, but I've been working primarily on actionable bacstories for my own character *who does need a new backstory since this one won't work anymore* and backstories on notable figures in his family line.

I've worked on or at least begun several shortstories and pieces of FanFictions for both my character and members of his family/Clan for school projects, and I'll post them eventually *working on one right at this very moment for a Mythology project in fact*.  I'm going to focus on expanding on those at this time rather then this, but thanks again for the interest.  And again, I will try to get those last couple of chapters posted for this before letting it go completely.

Sorry for the long wait on this,

---Ralin

Wow, its just.....wow....  I like the title to, sound like something that George Lucas thought up!

Great!

Thanks Karson  :)

Just for kicks sometimes I'll upload the rest of what I wrote, but as stated in my last post, I'm afraid I've given up the ghost on this one.  I still like to think it's an interesting alternate history, but that's about it. 

If I ever got a chance to work on it, I hope you'll all enjoy the new work I'm sorting out.  My 'Mandalorian Saga' series has, I hope, a lot more potential, since nobody is really working on the Old Republic era Mandos yet.  I'm using my Counter Culture ideas as the basis of the characters and conflict in the stories, and I've already posted the conclusion of one of the 'Sagas', my STAR WARS: The Mandalorian Saga III story.  I wrote that as a stand alone short story for my Creative Writing class last semester, but I plan to use it as the last chapter of book 2 of my planned series.  I'm going to start working out the hard plot line over this weekend hopefully   :D

Do it soon

wow, you guys are still checking up on this dinosaur?  I'm flattered

On top of my lazyness and constanly being busy, I've got a new issue that's going to make it hard for me to update this thing ever again.  I moved a few months ago, and my parents have the old computer that I originally wrote this on.  I actually want that PC so that I don't have to use my brother's for my writing needs, but it's probably gonna be a while before I can get it.

And in all honesty, I'm not sure I have anything else finished..  I know there was more material, and tons more planned plotline, but I can't say for sure after all this time if it was finished or not.  Only one or two more finished chapters at the most.  When I get the computer to my new place I'll check it out for you guys.

They are some long posts

Never was able to recover those last couple of chapters that I was planning to post...

Working two jobs and two kids, but I just copied over everything posted here so I can clean out that coding crap and maybe someday start adding material again.  No promises, but I'd love to work on this beast again so we'll see what happens