A Young Girl's War Between the Stars
15
Commissioned by Atin.
Mandalore, Sundari, 42 BBY.
Looking out over the desert as I brought us in to land at one of the massive enclosed cities, I frowned at what I saw. Mandalore was a world with an environment devastated by war. From orbit, we had only seen a few large green and blue spots left in the wild—less than thirty percent of the planet. My research showed that once, the planet had been very Earth-like. Now, large tracts of it were desert. The majority of their habitation was in big cities built as cubes or domes to make an environment a bit more hospitable to life. Sundari was under one such dome.
"I hate deserts," Obi whined from the seat behind me, and I couldn't help but agree.
"Nothing quite tests an army's resolve, fortitude, and resourcefulness like a desert campaign," I murmured, shaking my head.
"Oh?" Master Dooku raised an eyebrow and I felt his desire to hear more in that one syllable.
"Almost anywhere else, you can find food, water, and other resources fairly easily. When waging war anywhere but a desert, you expect to be able to either establish trade or forcibly acquire certain goods and services from the locals because there typically tend to be locals to acquire them from, with their own infrastructure, manufacturing base, agriculture, and the like. In a desert, depending on the type of desert… There is no solid ground upon which to construct a building, if it's all sand. But you can work around that, with tents and other temporary structures. Except there are no building materials present locally. Little to no wood, and almost certainly no trees large enough to cut down to turn into building materials, so you have to bring your own with you. Water is also scarce and sometimes contaminated. There is little to no food, depending on where you are.
"A desert campaign depends almost entirely upon logistics and your ability to bring the things you need in, and keep bringing them in. A missed supply of perishables means your men go on half rations, which leaves them tired, hungry, and angry and reduces their ability to fight. A missed supply of ammunition and suddenly, they're left rationing that and trying to convince the enemy they have more than they do. Fighting power and morale are constantly on the decline, because of those factors, in addition to other environmental factors. It's hot during the day and cold at night. Sand and fecal dust get everywhere—"
"I'm sorry, what?" Obi demanded, and I felt disgust radiating off of her.
I grinned and nodded. "Oh yes. There are no restrooms, no toilets in the desert. You have to dig a latrine. That's just basic sanitation. We do it because we don't want to contaminate our camps. But you see, if there are any local populations, especially wandering tribal populations, then they don't always do that. In fact, most just cop a squat wherever the need takes them, sometimes even right in their own camps. During the day this dries out and over time, it breaks down under wind and sand, and becomes little more than dust mixed in with the sand." I smiled and turned to look at her over my shoulder. "Right until it hits something wet. Like your nostrils. Or your mouth. Or whatever water you're drinking. Then suddenly, the smell and taste are in everything."
Obi gagged and I saw Master Dooku's lips twitching as he fought down a smile of his own. I turned back to the instruments and continued. "It contaminates all of the water eventually, so you start having to decontaminate it. And the easiest, cheapest way to do so given your lack of resources is to filter and add alcohol just to be sure. Of course, with water being strictly rationed, personal hygiene isn't going to be what you're used to. Forget daily showers. You might get to take a sponge bath using about a gallon of water a night, if you're lucky. The stench of body odor becomes a thing you just become accustomed to. You stop really noticing it until it gets really bad. Then there are the bodies. Forget the enemy corpses, getting your own fallen men home is almost impossible, and many of them are simply consigned to the sand…"
Thinking back on that, I let out a quiet sigh as I followed the path we had been assigned and brought us into one of the big hangars. "I've fought in heat, cold, mud, rain, snow, ice, in the sky, mountains, forests, sea, and desert. In trenches, crawling through the mud, blood, and shit under artillery bombardment and sniper fire in the dead of night to cross the no man's land and advance our lines an inch at a time. I would rather fight anywhere else than another desert. Never again. I refuse. Send someone else."
The ship thumped down in our landing space and I hit the button for the engine shutdown sequence as Master Dooku stood. I followed him and Obi out of the cockpit back to my quarters and grabbed my bag. I was leaving most of my gear in the ship, since I wasn't expecting to need any of the wilderness survival equipment. Instead, I was just bringing a couple of changes of clothes. Everything important, I was leaving behind, just in case.
We were diplomats trying to broker some kind of deal between the Mandalorian factions and some people might not appreciate the idea of any sort of deal, or someone sticking their noses in where they felt they didn't belong. Killing a diplomatic envoy was a time honored tactic in war—sometimes even done as part of a false flag operation by the faction the diplomats were ostensibly supporting, simply as an excuse to point to them and rally supporters behind the idea that they were being persecuted or otherwise under attack. I wouldn't say I expected there to be an attack, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was. And since I knew we were staying in a hotel for the duration of our time on Mandalore, and the enemy knew that as well, I wasn't bringing anything from the ship that I wasn't willing to see destroyed if someone were to, say, hit the building with a rocket attack.
I would have worried more about the ship as well, but these were self-contained cities with very limited space and docking bays notoriously contained highly flammable, explosive, and toxic substances like fuel, not to mention whatever payload any given ship was carrying in the way of armament. There was a good chance that trying to blow up a ship would have unintended consequences that could be disastrous for the city as a whole, up to and including overwhelming the air filtration system with noxious fumes and smoke. No, no one would risk something that flashy in a docking bay. They might try to break into the ship, however. Personally, if I were going to do it, I'd plant remote explosives on an enemy ship, wait for them to leave the city, then have them detonate on a proximity timer when they got far enough away. That was just something we'd have to prepare for and plan around.
Masters Qui-Gon and Dyas joined us as we left the ships and locked them down and our group made our way out of the hangar, to an elevator. We were waved through what passed for customs with the Masters showing some sort of diplomatic identification and soon out onto street level. Looking around, I found myself fairly impressed by the architecture. Sure, it was just another city, but this one had buildings hanging from the ceiling. It seemed they had done everything they could not to waste space, while still leaving enough for it to feel relatively open and not claustrophobic.
We took a speeder to the inverted building near where the negotiations were being hosted and quickly settled into our rooms in a massive suite at the bottom of the tower—what would have been the top on a normal building. Obi and I shared one room, while the Masters each had their own separate room. Once we were settled in and freshened up, we left the hotel for the conference center where the summit was being hosted.
Once inside, we were directed into a large room with raised stadium seating, already starting to fill in with interested parties as, even if this wasn't open to the public, there were plenty of people supporting both sides: investors, political allies, and the like—not to mention all of the support staff running back and forth, some civilian, some clearly military. Already, there was shouting from several people gathered in the center—and in the middle of it all, an older human man and a younger human woman. In fact, looking around, I realized I was one of a very small number of people who were anything other than pure human.
The man looked to be in his fifties at a guess, but given the longer life expectancies in this universe and improved medical technology to improve looks and slow aging, he could be twice that. He had short black hair with a bit of gray in it and black stubble. He wore the same armor that I saw the more militarized Mandalorians wearing—the armor having been painted over gray with red accents, and a red half cape on his back.
I want armor like that. But it looks heavy and speed and agility are the key to a lot of a Jedi's physical techniques. I'd need to test. And even then, there's not much point to getting it now. Wait until I finish growing before investing in armor.
The woman was young, maybe twenty. Her blonde hair was short and wavy, and the bangs were kept out of her face by some kind of metal headpiece with a red jewel in the center—I hesitated to call it a tiara or crown just because of the lack of decoration or frills. She wore a dark red and gray dress that went down to mid thigh, knee high boots, and a red cape of her own.
Despite the man having a good head and a half of height on her, the woman stood her ground, matching him in escalating volume and gesturing. It was loud enough that we could hear them going at it from the door, but there was enough noise from other arguing parties that it was hard to pick out any one conversation.
A feeling I couldn't put a name to radiated off of Obi and I glanced over, seeing her utterly fixated on the blonde, having gone a bit starry eyed. It took a few steps, but I finally placed it as something like adoration, mixed with infatuation and more than a bit of lust. Mentally, I sighed.
Really? Now of all times, you discover your libido? I'm going to have to talk to her and make sure she focuses on the mission, aren't I? Assuming Master Qui-Gon doesn't beat me to it. Although… no. The man's very 'free spirited.' He may encourage it, as long as it doesn't interfere with what we're doing. You don't mix work with pleasure! Not on the job! That can come after. Or after hours, at the very least.
"It seems they've started without us," Master Qui-Gon chuckled.
Master Dyas shook his head. "I don't see this coming to a resolution any time soon."
"Let us take control of the situation first." So saying, Master Dooku hurried forward and the crowd of people parted to make way.
Spinning up a silencing formula, I set it to wide area and dropped it over the floor space ahead of us. I nearly sighed as blessed silence settled over the area. It took only a moment for everyone who wasn't us to notice they'd been forcibly shut up and start looking around in confusion. They spotted us and I dropped the formula.
Master Dooku smiled as sound returned to the room. "Greetings. I see you're all very lively this morning. That's good. Let us put that enthusiasm to work resolving the issues between your two factions. I am Jedi Master Dooku and these are Masters Sifo-Dyas and Qui-Gon Jinn, my padawan Tanya and Qui-Gon's padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi."
"Pleasure to meet you," Qui-Gon smiled, giving a small bow of greeting. He was echoed a moment later by Master Dyas. Obi silently bowed and I followed her example.
Keen, gray eyes took us in as the older man assessed us. "Jaster Mereel. Mand'alor of the Mandalorian clans," the man introduced himself, shaking hands with Masters Dooku, Qui-Gon, and Dyas in turn. "I lead the True Mandalorian faction."
"Duchess Satine Kryze. I am the leader of the New Mandalorian pacifist faction," the blonde smiled, bright green eyes sweeping over us as she radiated… hope and optimism. Those eyes lingered briefly on me in curiosity before shifting to Obi last and it was like a spark passed between them—a small but noticeable ripple in the Force. Her smile brightened just a bit before she turned her attention back to Dooku and the others, but I could feel the effect it had on Obi—the girl's heart practically started vibrating as she lit up.
And it's mutual. This is going to be a thing, isn't it?
It wasn't that the idea of those two having some kind of fling or relationship bothered me on a personal level. No, it bothered me on a professional level. The saying don't shit where you eat exists for good reason!
Putting it out of my mind for now, I refocused on what was going on. Jaster gestured off to the side and a younger man in green and red painted armor stepped up. "This is Jango Fett. He'll keep your girls busy while we work."
Jango Fett was a man in his twenties or so, perhaps a little older than Satine. He had ear length wavy dark hair that, combined with the military bearing, made the part of me that was Lt. Col. von Degurechaff want to find a pair of trimmers and buzz that shit down from the ladies' man look he had to a regulation haircut. He looked over me and Obi briefly before turning his attention back to Jaster, waiting for instructions.
"Actually," Obi spoke up, a sheepish grin on her face, "Master, is it alright if I stay? I'd like to listen in."
Qui-Gon turned an amused, knowing look on Obi-Wan, before nodding. "Very well, padawan. If that's what you want."
"It is," Obi agreed, nodding. Looking to me, she asked, "You don't mind, do you?"
I shook my head. "It's fine. I have a feeling this will take a while. I'd rather take the opportunity to train."
After all, I'd dealt with more than my fair share of politics—both corporate and military—between two lives. I had a general idea of how things were going to go, now that the mediators had arrived. Master Dooku would likely separate the leaders of both factions and assign one Master to each, so they could go over their side's views and just what exactly it was they wanted in more detail, without the other faction butting in. Since there were three of them, one Master—possibly Dooku himself, if he was taking the lead on this and wanted to look unbiased—would schmooze with the backers representing both sides.
That would likely take the full day just to get the initial quick and dirty rundown out of the way. We'd go back to the hotel, the Masters would share what they had learned and compare notes, then come up with an initial strategy. They might take several days to speak with Mereel and Kryze more in depth, perhaps do some touring and meet with their backers behind closed doors.
It would probably be at least a week, perhaps two, before both sides came together again—this time in a more controlled environment, with fewer people present. Preferably a closed door negotiation. Master Dooku, presumably, would then lay out what each side wanted, where they agreed, where they disagreed, and start working on what each was willing to concede on—where they were willing to give ground, meet in the middle, or what they were willing to trade. Kryze and Mereel would then take that back to their people, then come back with revised demands and concessions, and so on and so forth, until eventually a deal was struck.
That could take months. Which was time we really didn't have given the Serenno situation, so I had to assume that after the initial fact finding, Master Dooku would hand everything off to one of the other two Masters, then the rest of us would head to Serenno—plus the people we managed to hire for the job.
Either way, it was time I could be training with this universe's firearms. My inner military otaku was already salivating at the prospect of getting my hands on a blaster.
Besides, there was another reason for sending me away—one Master Dooku and I had discussed before landing. Out of sight, out of mind. The less time I spent under their scrutiny and in their presence, the less importance they would place on me. Which would give the Masters a chance to have me show up a few times during important negotiations for one reason or another and leverage my natural gifts as a Zeltron when they were needed. I could provide a relatively unbiased second opinion on all parties involved, that way.
"Then it's settled," Dooku nodded, sending me a smile before turning to Jango. "I leave my student in your hands."
"I'll take care of her," Jango agreed. When Jaster nodded, he turned for the exit we'd just come out of and gestured for me to follow. I fell into step with him as we left the conference hall or whatever function the structure served. Once we were out of the din of noise, he began speaking. "I've been instructed to evaluate where you stand and proceed from there at my discretion. Have you ever handled a blaster before?"
"I have not," I shook my head. "Only, what I believe you call slug throwers."
The man nodded, pulling his helmet off of his belt and sticking it over his head as we left the building and got into a speeder taxi. "So some experience with something similar. Alright. I'll run you through the rules on the way."
I had a feeling they were pretty similar to the rules of firearms I was familiar with from my training in the Imperial military, and I wasn't disappointed. Still, I listened diligently just in case there were some new points. The basics were all the same: don't point it at anything you don't intend to kill, always be sure of your target and what's around and behind it, treat it as if it's loaded unless you've verified it's unloaded. There were really only so many ways of trying to get across the point that they were dangerous and would kill someone if you weren't careful.
A few new rules included always removing the power pack from a blaster when it went into storage, because a faulty power pack by itself was relatively harmless, but a faulty power pack connected to a blaster could blow a hole in a space ship. Never fire inside a civilian ship, most of their hulls weren't rated to take the hit, and would rapidly vent into space. Perform regular maintenance before use, unless you had some desire to replace whatever hand you were using with a prosthetic.
By the time he finished, we had arrived at the hangar and Jango led me to a ship that wouldn't look terribly out of place on Earth. The basic design of what I recognized from my hobbyist research as an AIAT/i was that of an amphibious seaplane with very oversized engines and particularly stubby wings. Amphibious Interstellar Assault Transport/infantry. The name said it all: it was a gunship capable of interstellar travel and landing in either water or on land, whose purpose was to deliver infantry troops and provide close air support if needed.
The ship was a bit smaller than the ones we had traveled here in. More cramped, with not a lot in the way of personal space. Instead, a large section of the interior had been converted into weapons storage and a machine room to do weapon and gear maintenance. Making sure their gear was working and maintained was more important than creature comforts I supposed—especially if this ship was just one of many that accompanied a larger ship, where such facilities could be had and accommodate the crews of several such smaller vessels.
I followed Jango up to the cockpit, where he pulled off his helmet and thumped down into the pilot's seat. Turning on the computer, it briefly displayed the ship's designation as JAST07, before going to standby. "Do you know how to fly?"
"I do," I confirmed.
The man grinned and gestured at the controls for the co-pilot's seat. "Show me."
Nodding, I sat and looked over the controls, finding they were fairly standard and mostly what I was expecting, with a few additions. I began putting in the sequence to lift off and soon enough, I was guiding us out of the hangar and then out of the domed city. "Where to?"
Jango hummed, bringing up a map as I slowly climbed, circling the city. "North by northwest, bearing 120. One hundred and seventy miles, give or take. There's some large rock formations out in the desert. We can set down there in the shade. Plenty of space to do some weapons training and not damage anything important."
I turned the ship onto the proper bearing and throttled up. Once we were clear of local air traffic, I set the ship on auto pilot and leaned back in my seat, looking out the window at the barren landscape passing by beneath and around us.
For a time, I felt Jango's curiosity, before he finally asked, "Are you a Jedi foundling?"
"Hm?" I raised an eyebrow, turning to him with a questioning look.
"An orphan they found and took in," he explained.
Chuckling, I turned back to the window. "Yes and no. I was abandoned after birth and left in an orphanage. Life wasn't particularly hard on Zeltros. We had what we needed and the only real expectations on us as children were that we attend school and not cause trouble for the matron. I was looking into career options one day and happened to cross paths with Master Dooku. He took me in practically on the spot."
"Why bring a child to Mandalore during a civil war?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Would that stop someone like your own leader from bringing someone he was training?"
Jango chuckled. "Nah. It didn't. Just thought the Jedi would be more careful with their, what was it? Padawans?"
"Yes. Though I'm not officially one yet, it's all but a given at this point. As for why bring me, in spite of my age? I have something of a reputation in the temple and Master Dooku doesn't particularly enjoy being there too long at a time himself. There was also a request for aid from his home planet Serenno that he needed to deal with."
"What kind of reputation could a girl your age have?" The man radiated suspicion, doubt, and the beginnings of disgust—not at me, but I couldn't tell what those feelings might be directed at. I wondered what that was about for a moment, before he asked, "…Because you're a Zeltron?"
I let out a quiet groan and brought up a hand to my face. "No. Well, yes, but not for the reason you're thinking. It's specifically because I'm not like my peers and dislike what my planet and most of my people have been reduced to that I'm looked at as something of an oddity. The Zeltron who isn't a vapid, happy, mindless clown. If I were older, it'd also be because I wasn't a living party favor and sexual aid."
"That's it? Because you don't act how they expect?" he asked, most of those feelings fading, save for the skepticism.
"Well, it might have had something to do with the five kills on Dathomir," I murmured, shrugging. "It was self-defense. The council really shouldn't even worry about it. It was five against one where they decided to hunt me through a massive, downed space ship in the dark. It's not my fault that I was better at it than them. One could almost describe what happened as suicide by Jedi at that point, really."
Slowly, Jango turned from where he'd been watching out the front window, fixing his dark eyes on me. I turned, silver-blue eyes meeting his brown. I waited as he considered, evaluating me. After a few moments, he looked away. "You're blooded."
"Yes."
"I can see why that might bother a group of people who have been reduced from an order of warrior monks to glorified politicians, middlemen, and negotiators. Do they even teach you your own history at that temple?"
"I haven't seen any courses on history being taught to those in my age range." Frowning, I asked, "What history are you referring to?"
"Just that Mandalorians, Jedi, and Sith have a complex shared history. One of yours is directly responsible for why we were fractured into tribes and why we're even here today." Turning a confused look on me when I shook my head, he asked, "They haven't taught you about the Jedi Knight Revan? His support of Canderous Ordo?"
I shook my head again. "That's the first time I've heard those names."
Jango hummed, looking away as the console beeped, letting us know we were approaching our destination. "Would you like to learn?"
It would help me to understand the true underlying reasons for the conflict, if I understood why they split in the first place. If they simply assumed that the Jedi know, because this Revan was one of ours so of course we would teach about him as part of our own history, then not knowing would be a liability and lead to misunderstanding if not outright talking past one another. It would be like… The British wanting to negotiate with Japan on behalf of China and the person the British sent not only being unaware of Japan and China's history of animosity towards each other, but Britain's own hand in that given their interest in trade.
"Yes."
"Come with me this evening, after the negotiations. I'll take you to see Jaster. The old man tells it better and has probably forgotten more than I'll remember about it."
I nodded and took the controls, bringing us down and looking around for a shady spot to park. It only took a minute to find one and I brought the ship in for a nice, smooth landing on the sand beneath a large rocky crag jutting up out of the sand at an angle.
We headed to the back of the ship after shutting it off and Jango opened up the armory and machine room, where he began taking out weapons and laying them out on the table. "These are all spares, so no one's going to care if we borrow them, or if one or two go missing."
I watched as he worked for a few moments, picking out a selection of blasters from pistols to rifles, and even a heavier gun that looked like it could be mounted on a turret. Taking out a toolkit, he began placing tools on the table. "Let's start with maintenance. I'm going to teach you how to field strip everything on this table. Now, where should we start?"
"Verify that each weapon's power pack has been removed," I answered, and he nodded, gesturing me towards the table.
What followed was a process I was intimately familiar with from my last life, if modified for new weapons. Jango showed me how to break down and field strip every weapon, clean it, verify there were no issues, then put them back together. The entire process took a few hours given just how many guns he had selected, but I was fine with that. I knew I would be using them soon and I didn't mind cleaning and maintaining them if it meant I wouldn't accidentally blow my hands off.
Finally, we finished with maintenance and he collected a bunch of power packs, a can of spray paint, and a folding table, leaving me in charge of carrying the blasters outside. When I simply picked them and the table up using the Force, he chuckled and led me out of the ship, where we set up the table at the base of the ramp.
While I laid out the weapons and power packs, Jango moved over to a rock formation and painted a simple man-shaped target onto it before moving back to the table. "Alright, let's try out the pistols first," he instructed and pointed to the one furthest to the left—the smallest of the lot. "That's a holdout blaster. Aiming works pretty much the same as it does for a slug thrower. As it's a plasma weapon, there is less recoil, but there's still some. Go ahead and give it a try."
Nodding, I took up the weapon and slotted in the power pack. Verifying it was charged, I made sure it wasn't on safe and took aim, before firing. As he'd said, there was a very minor recoil—less even than I remembered there being with the 9mm Parabellum I was familiar with for Imperial sidearms. The blaster bolt hit pretty much exactly where I'd aimed and I hummed.
"Tell me," I began, spinning up a formula to start taking measurements and firing off a second round—measuring the gravity of the planet, rotation, magnetic field strength, and the rise, drop, and speed of the projectile, "are blaster bolts affected by a planet's gravity, magnetic field, wind, rain?"
"Gravity, only minutely. You won't really notice before the magnetic field holding the plasma in disintegrates at the end of its effective range. Magnetic fields are a yes, but they have to be really strong to affect a shot. The planet's magnetic field will cause a shot to start to drop, but again, it'll hit the end of its effective range before you need to worry about it unless you're using some big sniper. Unlike solid projectiles, windage isn't a problem to consider, outside of atmosphere reducing the range of your shot. Water will reduce it even further."
Nodding along as Jango explained, I turned away from the target and aimed out into the desert. I took three shots with the holdout blaster, measuring and noting each shot, before moving on to the next blaster on the table and doing the same. Then the next, and so on. After the fifth he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Math," I answered distractedly. "When you account for or eliminate all other variables, such as gravity, magnetic fields, the planet's rotation, wind, rain and you know your constants—that is your weapon's range and its projectile's speed—then the only variables left to account for are an enemy's current position, speed, range to target, concealment, cover, and armor rating… and I can detect and determine all of those. Being able to look up a weapon's specs on the network is nice, but those are in a controlled environment, not real world numbers. I have a very long list of those numbers written down and many of them memorized, but being able to compare published numbers to real world data allows me to determine how much variance there is between the two and adjust. I'll have to do it for every planet and even multiple environments and conditions on those planets for complete precision, but I'll settle for close enough."
Confused, Jango asked, "And then what?"
I turned a smile on him and, for some reason, the man's hand jerked towards his holster only to freeze halfway. "Imagine what you could do if you had the world's most accurate targeting computer in your head."
He considered it for a few moments before humming. "Prove it. We've got a target launcher we use for practicing against moving targets."
"Sounds fun~," I turned my attention back to the weapons and the man hurried away into the ship, very carefully controlling his body language so as to not show just how bothered he was.
I had no idea what set him off. I was having a great time!