The Mandalorian Saga III - FanFic

Here's my Creative Writing class project that I mentioned in a couple threads.  Those of you who've seen it will undoubtedly see some similarities between this and the movie Taken.  I've been mulling around this basic plot for a long time, but I saw that movie right after recieving the assignment.  It was a strong influence on me, and with an incorporation of my inspiration from there with my own ideas, I think this was a fair piece of work.  A strong shout out to that awesome film to give me a ton of help in how to depict the emotion and pace of the situaion.  Hope you enjoy

                                                        STAR WARS: THE MANDALORIAN SAGA III

                                                                                REDEMPTION

                                                                                                     
The months since the end of the Mandalorian Wars were still few.  The weight of the greatest conflict in the known galaxy’s memory had impacted all, and few had returned to what could be called a normal life.  The few Mandalorian warriors who had survived their ill fated attempt to conquer the galactic Republic could never return to what they knew as normal.  But some could still try.

Fynn Drakus stood in the shadows, a ragged knee-length coat obscuring his form in the urban darkness as a polluted drizzle of acidic rain fell to his bare head.  Dim flashing lights of the seedy side of the human district promised every form of illicit pleasure the galaxy could offer, for a price.  The water ran down from his military cut dirty-blond hair creating streaks down his unwashed face.  Fynn didn’t mind; it helped enforce the image of a poor vagabond that he’d been more then happy to let others see in him.  The touch of camouflage it created didn’t hurt either. 

The incessant beat of some dance tune was audible from across the street of The Palace.  From his dark patch of sidewalk he could see the club’s back door, the entire alley way it faced, as well as one of the side entrances.  That was enough.  ‘Deliveries’ are always sent to the back he remembered.  What little information he had came at the cost of several men’s lives.  And many more will follow them if she’s not here tonight.

Nar Shaddaa was a new experience for Fynn – he’d spent the war behind enemy lines paving the way for the invasions of worlds, not silently observing their twisted cultures.  This moon over the Hutt’s homeworld was residence to every form of crime and vice that could turn a credit.  Gambling, smuggling, pirates, weapons dealers, slavers…

A long, black, expensive looking speeder finally pulled into the alley.  The dark tinting on the craft’s windows didn’t offer a view of the inside.  Never the less Fynn began to amble his way across the street, continuing to act the part of a drunk or random spice-addict. 

If they sent her here, this is my chance.  If they changed their plans, I’ve lost her.

Fynn shook the thought away.  He needed to focus.  He kept his line of sight tight against the entrance of the alleyway so as to keep himself mostly unseen by the armed guard who stepped out, but still in position to see who else left the vehicle.  The bulky Trandoshan merc stepped out of the craft confidently, the image of a creature who’d done this many times before and felt perfectly safe in his enterprise.  Fynn’s throat tightened as he saw the reptile’s scaled hand jerk back out, tightly gripping a thin feminine arm.  A frail woman stumbled from the craft to her feet.  She was wearing a cloak which hid her face. 

This is it.  He couldn’t confirm her identity, which made his stomach tighten further.  The most recent image he had of her was over two years old.  Combined with the fact he hadn’t seen her himself since she was six years old meant he probably couldn’t make an accurate assessment of her identity visually anyway.  But a good look at her face still would have helped.  The auction would begin within an hour though.  There wasn’t time to get inside and observe the sale, and once it was over there would be far too many possible targets to track.  He said she couldn’t get here before today, and there was an interested buyer for tonight’s auction.  This is the only drop since I arrived, and there’s only a few minutes left.  It’s got to be now.   

The drunken stagger in his walk suddenly vanished.  Fynn’s stride became long, his armored boots pounding into the pavement.  A slight jerk of his gloved hand snapped the threads holding the single button that had been keeping his tattered coat closed.  Now open, it whipped behind him slightly in the moist breeze and exposed the deep red flightsuit covered with black painted Mandalorian Crusader’s armor.  Fynn reached for his sawed-off repeater carbine that was strapped to his right leg as he stepped onto the curb in front of the alley.  The target was in clear view and unsuspecting, an easy shot for an expert.  Fynn slowed his breathing as he raised the weapon.   

Then there was a shot.

A red bolt of energy sizzled past Fynn’s head as it burned through the light rain.  Before the blast had reached the opposite wall, Fynn had already turned and fired.  His return shot struck home before Fynn could clearly see who his attacker even was: the Devaronian door-guard who’d gone inside earlier when the rain started.  Either he’d been told to get back out on the job, or a security holo-cam that Fynn had missed spotted him as he’d started across the street.  Doesn’t matter much now.

Looking back down the alley, he saw the Trandoshan merc still gripping the female by the arm with one hand has he groped under his coat for his shoulder holster.  At the same moment, the opposite door of the speeder swung open and a human stepped out.  Both the second merc and Fynn froze for an instant as their eyes met. 

“I killed you!” yelled Brak.  The voice of his former comrade was more foreign then ever; even his face seemed to be that of a total stranger.  All Fynn could see was the man who’d arranged for the enslavement of much of his Clan, the murderer of his wife, and now the deliverer of his daughter into the hands of these creatures.

“I told you we’d meet again you hut’uun.”

“One of these days you’re going to STAY DEAD!” yelled Brak as he reached for the blaster strapped to his hip.  Fynn leveled his weapon and fired again, striking Brak squarely in the chest.  The heavy thud sound from the shot’s impact wasn’t what Fynn was hoping to hear however.  Wearing your beskar’gam under that suit are you…  Damn.  The merc fell backward from the force of the blast to the pavement with a loud grunt, but quickly rolled under the vehicle to avoid several more shots from Fynn.  The Trandoshan meanwhile had finally fished out his own weapon and began firing. 

Fynn couldn’t risk a shot at the Trando’ while he was holding the girl, and Drak was under cover.  Moving back around the corner outside the alley, Fynn gritted his teeth as he reached around behind him for the mesh bag hanging from his belt.  Jerking it open, he pulled his helmet out and quickly fastened it on.  As his Heads-Up Display activated, he could ‘see’ that one of the hostiles was starting toward him from the alley.  In a single swift movement, Fynn crouched and swung himself around the corner with his weapon raised. 

It was the Trandoshan.  Before the creature had time to focus on his attacker, an energy bolt ripped through his knee.  With a roar of pain, the reptile dropped his pistol and hurled himself back toward the speeder as Brak kicked in the club’s back door, pulling Virda in with him.  It has to be her; he’s using her as a shield.  I’m coming for you baby…

The enhanced optics and sensors of his battle helmet were a welcome improvement over his naked senses.  Walking quickly toward the back door, he gauged Brak’s movement through the walls of the club.  Pressing his back to the wall before entering, he checked his carbine’s energy clip.  Before extracting it for a fresh one, he fired a bolt into the side of the building’s energy conduit.  A shower of sparks flared for a second as the building went mostly dark.  Turning his blaster downward, he sent a second shot through the open door of the speeder into its floor panels.  The blast pierced the craft’s repulsor drive, and like a rock it fell onto the Trandoshan who’d crawled under it for protection.  While the creature’s legs were still quivering, Fynn shouldered his weapon and turned into the doorway.

The receiving room was pitch black outside Fynn’s armor, but his helmet’s night vision highlighted the room in varied shades of gray.  Beyond, glowing translucent figures in pale blue darted across his HUD as his sensors tracked the movements of all traceable targets inside the building.  Simple bouncers and trained mercenaries rushing about trying to get an idea of the situation.  The main dance floor and its dozens of panicked patrons as they began to realize that something more then a simple power outage was happening.  Brak and Virda rushing up a stairway overhead.  The private rooms upstairs occupied by prostitutes and their customers, many of which didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong at all.  Fynn’s sensors even reached up to the third floor where the auction room was, with its luxurious private boxes for the bidder’s privacy and close view of the central showroom’s human livestock.  All the boxes seemed full, and a nearby holding room was crowded with waiting wives, concubines, whores, or whatever fate their soon to be masters planned for them.

Two of the light blue forms in Fynn’s display suddenly turned solid and red as a pair of mercs burst through the doorway he had been moving toward.  His vision blurred by the flash of light from the still illuminated hallway beyond, Fynn fired a quick shot from the hip before rolling to his left behind a stack of crates.  His half-aimed blast caught one of the attackers in the stomach; the heavy Mandalorian weapon’s bolt easily piercing the civilian grade body armor he wore under his suit.  Holding a compact repeater, the other merc squeezed the firing stud and sent a torrent of red energy bolts randomly across the storeroom.  Shots struck crates, powered down moving droids, and ricocheted off the duracrete floor.  Only a few short seconds passed before the weapon’s energy cartridge was spent.  For a moment, only the sizzle of smoldering derbies broke the silence as the merc stood watching amidst the smoky fumes rising from his weapon.

Fynn stood from behind his defense, his left arm extending fluidly with his upward motion to level the heavy pistol he’d pulled from his waist.  The single discharge of the massive piece sent the merc hurtling back out the doors from which he’d come.  Ones’ all you need if you put it in the right place di’kut.

Stepping through the doorway, Fynn’s night vision faded considerably as he entered the glow of the hall’s emergency lighting.  Looking up, he could still see Brak.  He seemed to be marshaling the ten or so bodyguards for a defense on the third floor.  Find all you can Brak; you’re going to need them…

With long deliberate strides, Fynn made his way to the stairwell.  One lost merc who burst in from a side door arrived just in time to have several of his teeth removed from a swift strike from Fynn’s carbine.  Moving up two steps at a time after finding the stairs, he quickly reached the second floor and the three-man ‘trap’ awaiting him.  The first, who was hiding behind the near corner of the stairwell waiting for Fynn to pass, never knew what hit him as the Mandalorian’s heavy blaster tore a hole through the wall and his skull.  The second was cut down while he was franticly trying to wipe away his comrade’s smoldering brain-matter from his face and shirt.  The third managed to run half way down the hall before Fynn sent a bolt through his back. 

Quickly reloading before facing the welcome that faced him on the third floor, he could see Drak shove Virda from the slave holding room into a turbo lift.  He’s headed for the roof…escape craft.  Need to move faster.

Rushing upstairs, Fynn gripped the pair of blasters in his hands a little tighter.  Stopping just before the last turn up to the third floor, the warrior pressed his back against the wall at the corner.  Taking a quick peek up the last flight attracted a wall of fire from the defenders.  Twelve.  Four right at the entrance, six holding back, and figure on an extra two at least who have some form of cloak to my sensors. 

Fynn took a slow breath.  When he was ready, he swung his arm up and pointed it up the stairway.  A pair of micro-rockets launched from his wrist gauntlet.  Fynn could see several mercs diving for cover off to the side, while others just ducked their heads and hoped to survive.  The first rocket struck the steps just below the exit from the stairwell, while the second burst on the back wall a second later. 

A couple of the mercs yelped from hot splinters that stung them in random locations; only one could seriously be called hurt.  The warheads on the rockets were small; they were primarily used against single heavily armored targets rather then for area effect.  In this situation they were simply loud, frightening, and left a lot of smoke…

Bursting through the fog-like cloud onto the third floor, Fynn was close enough to pistol-whip the first body-guard to notice he’d moved up among them.  The man twirled around from the impact, but before he could fall Fynn wrapped his arm around the merc’s neck and used him as a shield.  Three more were quickly felled as they tried to reorient themselves. 

Several blasts impacted Fynn’s human shield from the left.  The Mando’s aim instantly adjusted, and two more mercs were put down.  Another fired wild from around a far corner. With a steady aim, Fynn waited.  The moment the merc began to shift his head back out Fynn squeezed the firing stud, catching the other man neatly in the forehead.  Seven down.

Fynn let his shield drop to the floor and made his way to the center showroom.  Kicking in the door, he detected the slight scents that passed through his helmet filters of expensive perfumes mixed with cigar smoke.  He quickly took note that all the bidder’s boxes were now empty, while the holding room was packed. 

Pressing the release button, the door to the holding room slid open to a chorus of screams from the young girls and women inside as a pair of shooters fired wildly out at the intruder.  Fynn quickly cut down the first, but the second stood among some of the slaves.  Before he could make a clean shot, the merc put down a line of fire into Fynn’s shoulder plates.  Three well placed shots pressed Fynn back a step before he was able to swing his off-hand pistol up and squeeze a shot into the merc’s throat.  The heat of the blasts to his armor burned his bruising skin, but there was no serious damage.  That’s nine; where’s…

“I’ll kill her!  Get out of my way or I’ll kill her!”

…ten.  The last merc held a blaster to the temple of a scantly clad young human girl.  She could only have been about fifteen, no more then his own Virda.  This one’s hair was a nearly white blonde though.  Not Virda’s light brown. 

“Stand AWAY from the DOOR MANDO!”

With a flick of his wrist Fynn used his repeater to kneecap the merc with a single shot.  As he crouched in pain he nearly had his head removed by Fynn’s heavy blaster. 

Looking about him, there were over twenty barely dressed girls of varied ages and species huddled together on one side of the chamber.  On the other side were several wealthy looking men with even more frightened expressions on their faces then the girls. 

“All of you” he motioned to the females without looking away from the buyers, “get out of here… now.”  A few shifted, unsure if they’d been rescued or simply taken into an even worse situation.  Fynn looked back over his shoulder, a slight gleam reflecting from his visor striking his otherwise dark silhouette.  “Follow the bodies down to the street, and get as far from here as you can.  Now.”   One of the older girls finally nodded and began to move the others out.

When the passageway doors slid shut behind the last of the girls, Fynn turned to the buyers.  What little pride they may have had left melted as his black, emotionless visor turned toward them. 

“You should have stayed home…” was all Fynn whispered before bringing his left gauntlet up, its flamethrower going about its grim business.

He would have preferred to unsheathe the shortsword strapped to his belt and taken his time, but time was still running out.  As the turbolift doors closed around him, Fynn let the men’s screams steel him for the final confrontation to come.

Reaching the roof-top landing pad, Fynn stepped out in a quick motion, both blasters leveled.  The roar of a starship’s engines jerked his attention to his right.  A small assault transport lifted off into the Nar Shaddaa night sky.  Below it, on the edge of the building, was a frail form lying on the black surface.  Her cloak tugging with the breeze against her limp form.

Fynn’s weapons fell from his shaking hands.  He didn’t know what he screamed as he ripped his helmet off and ran toward her.  Dropping to his knees he slid next to her, and as gently as he knew how took her shoulders in his hands.  Tears streamed down his face and he turned her over. 

“I’m sorry Virda.  I’m…

As he lifted her up for a final embrace, he realized she was alive.  He could see her breathing.  A spark of hope lighted in his heart, when her cloak fell away, revealing her brilliant red hair. 

It was easy to see now.  She was too old – well into her twenties.  Despite her light, probably starved form, he could feel in his arms that she had the body of a fully formed young woman.  Not that of a fourteen year old child.

The woman opened her bright green eyes.  She had a slight trickle of blood running from her forehead where she’d been struck by a heavy blow, but nothing life threatening.  The questions in her eyes matched those of Fynn’s, until she began to look over his shoulder.

It’s a trap…

Brak’s boot swept from the right and caught Fynn just behind his jaw under his ear.

“I’ve waited a long time for this…” Brak rasped as he followed Fynn’s reeling body.  “You and that woman of yours that I killed have been a thorn in my side ever since your hut’uunla clan abandoned us in the war.  But not any more.”

Brak expertly swung his foot up again to catch Fynn in the jaw as the Crusader tried to rise.  Fynn was able to block most of the blow with a crossing of his arms, but the impact still whipped him over onto his back. 

“It all ends tonight, my Crusader friend.  I’ll send you to join your fathers in the empty void all cowards belong to.  And I’ll send your daughter along with you just as soon as we’re done.” 

She’s still alive…  The thought killed the pain in his body.  Fynn rolled away from Brak right up to the edge of the roof.  Coming to his feet he pulled the shortsword from his belt and slashed it across Brak’s chest.  The clang of Mandalorian iron rang out as the blade creased along Brak’s armor, but the edge also found his arm.  A flash of red flew from Brak’s sleeve before the Neo-Crusader could kick away the blade.  Fynn swung from the left and caught Brak squarely in the face, breaking his nose.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Fynn demanded as his backup blade sprang from his right gauntlet. 

Drak darted away and pulled a holdout blaster from his coat.  “That’s close enough!” 

Fynn froze.  The toy of a weapon had no chance of piercing his armor at any range, but his helmet was off.  “And you called me coward.”

“So I did” Brak spat.  His sneer widened as he extended the weapon.

From behind Fynn, a large dark shape rose up; its drive engines rumbling.  The black and red painted construct flexed its trainable gun-mounts as they zeroed in on Brak.  Its fearful clawed front legs dug into the surface of the rooftop.

Brak’s eyes went wide.  “That’s impossible!  All the Basilisks were ordered destroyed by the peace treaty!”

Fynn didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know his war mount was behind him.  He could feel the heat from its glowing red photoreceptors beating against the back of his neck, and could hear the tension in the massive droid’s joints as it waited for the slightest move of aggression from Brak.  It had been his trusted companion in countless battles, and now was his salvation in the most important mission of his life. 

“Not all of us forfeited our arms on the word of your conqueror.  Now where is my dau…”

With the suddenness of a heartbeat, Brak lurched forward with the sound of a shot.  His holdout blaster slipped and fell from his hands as he stepped into a strange embrace with the man he’d wronged. 

Fynn looked up and saw the blond haired girl he’d seen downstairs.  She held the his custom repeater quite steadily, much like the way Fynn had started to teach his own daughter so long ago…

“Father?” she whispered.

He could see it now.  The hair coloring they’d given her threw him off, and his night vision from before had obscured her features.  She had her mother’s face, and his own pale blue eyes. 

Brak’s lifeless body fell to the rooftop as Fynn rushed forward.  He held her as tightly as he dared, so relieved yet still afraid to hurt her.  She had grown so much…

“Dad, mother is…”

“Shhhhh…  I know” he whispered, his voice more choked then hers.  “Don’t think about it.” 

His tears flooded down.  Holstering his weapons, he picked her up in his arms and walked to the landing pad where the red headed woman was now standing. 

“Thank you for saving me, even though it wasn’t me you came for.  He told me about you” she whispered with a glance toward Brak’s body.  “Where will you go?”

“We’re going home.”  Sirens began to fill the air and flashing red lights reflected from the surrounding buildings. 

Kneeling to pick up his helmet while still holding Virda tightly to his chest, Fynn walked over to the massive war machine that was still anchored to the rooftop ledge.  “Ride with us.  You don’t have time to reach the street.”

The woman looked up fearfully at the mechanical behemoth behind Fynn and didn’t move.  The construct’s menacing form bristled with weapons, its forward mounted cannons flexing like the mandibles of some terrible insect as the droid scanned for threats.  But as Fynn approached, the droid lowered itself with the delicacy of a mother over its young.  Carefully placing his daughter in the front of the Basilisk war-droid’s saddle and then pulling himself up behind her, Fynn refastened his helmet.  As his HUD system aligned with the Basilisk’s sensors, he stretched out his hand for the woman. 

“Come” he whispered.

She hesitated for a moment, looking back toward the turbolift door.  But with a glance down into Brak’s wide, lifeless eyes, she pulled her cloak a little tighter and cautiously moved around the side of the war-droid.  Clasping hands, Fynn pulled her up.  He waited until she was firmly seated behind him and holding tightly around his waist before letting the massive war craft slowly rise into the damp air.  A screech of steel against duracrete sent shudders down the women around Fynn as the droid’s landing claws withdrew from the rooftop.  Floating back only a few meters, the droid opened its firing panels and unleashed its full arsenal into the building.

As the flames leapt high into the darkness, Fynn held Virda a little tighter.  “Hang on…”

The Basilisk’s thrusters exploded with a burst of energy, and disappeared into the urban night.

          
Dramatis Personae

Fynn Drakus – (fin) Brother of Daar Drakus.  Was one of the first members of the so-called Supercommandos: an elite group of warriors sent on the most dangerous missions deep into enemy territory under orders from Mandalore *supreme leader of the Mandalorian people* directly.  Was the leader of several ‘Prevention Operations,’ which were deep penetration missions to peaceful worlds deep in the Republic with the goal of creating terror among the civilian populace as well as the destruction of infrastructure.  Was on such an operation when he and his team’s starship was badly damaged.  Spent over a month lost in deep space before finally regaining contact with the outside galaxy.  Leaned the war had come to a sudden end at the battle of Malachor V, with the Mandalorian clans defeated.  Still possessing his heavy weapons, comrades, and ship, he and his fellows begin a quest to find their families.  Fynn learns of his brother’s decision to withdraw from the war effort over a year before, but was told Fynn had died when he tried to contact him.  Reaching his homeworld, he discovers that all of Clan Drakus has gone into exile after a slaver ring had attacked the Clan’s colony.  Fynn’s daughter Virda was taken in the raid, and he eventually learned that the raid was instigated by other Mandalorians who were trying to punish his Clan for withdrawing from the war.  His wife, thinking her husband was already dead, had tried to track down their daughter.  Fynn is able to follow word of her whereabouts to track both of them.  Just before he is able to catch up to her however, she is killed trying to free Virda.  He spends over a year relocating leads to what happened to her, until finally getting a tip that she’d been shipped to a auction house on Nar Shaddaa.
     
Virda Drakus – (vEEr-duh)  Daughter of Fynn Drakus.  Taken by slavers at the age of eleven, she was told from the beginning that her entire family was dead.  Later, her mother tried to saver her, but was killed before her eyes.  She endured over three years of constant drilling to serve her masters in every way.  Though she never gave up her cultural heritage, she was forced to bury it deep within her for survival.  At the age of fourteen, she left the slaver holding camp and was sent to Nar Shaddaa for sale to the highest bidder.

Brak Trogan – (brAk trOH-gAn) A die-hard Neo-Crusader Mandalorian and martial arts expert.  Under orders from an unknown superior he enthusiastically orchestrated the murder and enslavement of hundreds of Clan Drakus Mandalorians, mostly non-combatants, as reprisal for the Clan’s withdrawal from the war effort.  After the war, he was hired by the slavers he’d worked with as armed security and muscle.     

*Backstory Character*
Daar Drakus – (dAR drA-Kuhs) Leader *Alor* of the tarnished Clan Drakus.  Daar’s devotion to his archaic ‘Crusader Code’ forced him to turn his back on his leader and the Mandalorian Wars.  He felt the reigning Mandalore and his backers the Neo-Crusaders were no longer fighting with Honor, and that the war was based on greed and expansion.  He relinquished his role as a key general in the war effort, and decided to roam the Outer Rim of space until the Mandalorians returned to their former ways.  Most of his Clan accompanied him on this self imposed banishment.

A note to those who have enjoyed this, I marked this as The Mandalorian Saga III because that, if I can find the time and if there seems to be some fan-base for such a story, I am VERY seriously considering using this timeline and set of characters in a series of novels.  This piece would be incorporated as the conclusion to the third novel.  The first would be the begining of the Mandalorian Wars, the second the break between Mandalore and Clan Drakus, the third Fynn's saga to find his wife and daughter, and a fourth of him and Virda searching for the remnents of Clan Drakus in Wild Space.  So if you liked this story, PLEASE let me know.  And just as importantly, I'm very eager for critiques!  ANYTHING at ALL that you think is wrong with this piece, please let me know!  I havn't started working on any of the other parts to these stories yet other then basic plot lines in my head due to time constraints, but with the school semester almost over, or possibly for another Creative Writing project, I'm very interested in anything that has to do with this project right now. 

Thanks again to those who read this, and hope y'all can hit me back with some comments when you can   

---Ralin