John Cabot left the anteroom of the new Temple of Cay'lith in New London. His consuls Dha Piruna and Ranov'la Aran were awaiting him.
"Remind me again why I am doing this?" He asked, not impressed with the way things were going.
He had good reason. He was wearing traditional Mandalorian ceremonial dress. It could be best described as..
"..a bloody fur toga. You have me wearing a bearskin toga. This is a practical joke, right? The real clothing is on its way, right?"
He pulled a flask from the inside pocket of the "toga" and took a generous swig of whiskey, then another. Dha Piruna snatched the whiskey from the Mandalore's grasp.
"John, we don't want you TOO drunk. Think of your digni..."
His voice trailed off, as he took a closer look at the clothing the Mandalore was wearing. He shrugged, and handed the flask back.
Ranov couldn't take it any more. He ran to a broom closet, closed the door, and laughed so hard the other two thought he was going to urinate involuntarily, or vomit.
He returned in few minutes, wiping his eyes. "Seriously now, John, this is important. Our people are experiencing a cultural revivial, on account of the Cay'lith sighting." Other Ad'min had also been sighted, and the Mandalorians were now taking their ancient myths and traditions seriously.
"I know", sighed Cabot. "You seriously wore this stuff for promotion ceremonies?" He found himself wishing the Mandalorians were Scottish. He looked good in a kilt.
"Yeah", said Dha, "But we'll skip the human sacrifice part." He winked at John. "Ready?"
Cabot took a deep breath. "Ready."
They entered the main temple, the consuls behind the Mandalore. Cabot wasted no time getting to the rectory. He took his position behind the altar, and gestured that all should be seated. The Consuls stood behind him. Some of the Bretonians in the audience were clearly surpressing smiles. He tried to ignore them, and they were trying to look at anything other than John, for fear of losing control like Ranov had. John began.
"Mandalorians. Par'jila Verda, Vor entye Oyacyir!"
Triumphant warriors, thank you for your lives. Bad Bretonian accent, but what could you do.
From the crowd "Cuun Mandalore!" Our Mandalore.
John leaned forward, and began to speak a language he couldn't massacre; his own.
"I have gathered you here in celebration of the accomplishments of your brothers and sisters. We are here to promote those among you we feel able to command others."
John paused while the crowd burst out in a celebratory cheer (he had no idea what they said, but probably it was good), then continued.
"When the Mandalorians came to Bretonia, we adopted a Bretonian ranking system. That was a mistake, an unnecessary break from the past. There were no 'Admirals' or 'Commanders' among the Mandalorians. Just the Mandalore and Consuls, and their Warriors."
"We need another term for those who have proven they can lead men in battle. That term is Alor'ad; 'Captain', but more precisely, 'Leader of Men'"
The crowd was silent now, all trying to figure out where this was going.
"Dralshyar, and Amanda Woods, you are now Alor'ad, as befits your current rank." They respectfully nodded at the Mandalore. The Bretonian, Amanda, was smiling, likely because of his outfit, but it wasn't obvious. Deadly in a bomber, that girl, thought John. Better than I. He continued.
"The following are added to the rank of Alor'ad" He paused, and held up a list, and a number of rank insignia.
"Kyram Prudii. Anila Tor. Netra Taakur"
"Please come and recieve your rank from the consuls." He stepped back, and the consuls came forward. While the insignia were handed out, with bows and nods and thank yous, a priest came forward to chant some rites in Mandalorian. The only words John recognised were "Cyar'ika A'den Cay'lith" Sweet Merciless Cay'lith. He fought the temptation to grimace.
Once that was over, John came to the altar again.
"I have more sombre business now." He gestured for silence, and got it.
"As you know, Consul A'den Cote has not been seen since he left for a difficult mission in Liberty space, some time ago."
The crowd murmured, apprehensively. Did the Mandalore have news about what happened to A'den? Unfortunately, he had to disappoint them.
"We do not know his fate. We hope for the best, and the Dha'wherd are tasked with searching for him."
"But protocol demands a new Consul be appointed. And one of our most experienced men has just returned to us after a long mission."
John paused for effect, given melodramatic skills by the whiskey. Undoubtably a descendent of Winston Churchill, though brandy was not his choice of booze.
"Please come forward, Consul Kandosii!"
The crowd cheered. Kandosii was popular with the men, and was something of a religious leader now.
Kandosii came forward, and recieved the insignia of the Consul, then stood up with the other two Consuls, who nodded their congratulations.
John gestured for silence, then again received it. He continued now in a stern commanding voice which took those present aback:
"I have rewarded NO-ONE this day!!"
The crowd murmured a bit in confusion. He continued, trying to allay that confusion.
"The ranks come with no reward except authority. But they come with responsibilities. Specifically, the lives of the men and women under your command. The weight of this responsibility far outweighs whatever benefits of the position. Those of you promoted today have been given nothing but duty, and future heartache."
He paused and continued slowly, but forcefully.
"I have lost one hundred and seventy one warriors under my command since I began with the Mandalorians. I bear that weight. You must be able and willing to do the same."
All those newly promoted reacted differently. Mostly, they nodded in understanding. A couple, however, seemed taken aback.
The consuls looked at each other. They hadn't expected that morbid twist, but then again, it scored home a very important point.
The Mandalore completed the meeting with the usual formalities, his Mandalorian a bit better this time.
"Naas Ad'ika" Nothing More, my Children, loosely translated.
"Luubid, Mandalore" Enough for us, Mandalore, even more loosely.
The crowd took its leave into another section of the temple, where a hell of a feast was waiting. Some clients had paid very large bills recently, and the Consuls thought it should be spent on this event. John had agreed.
However, by this time, the Mandalore was quite sure he was allergic to bear fur. He'd have hives for a week.
John Cabot, Mandalore, burst into the New London hospital like a man on fire.
Too many Mandalorians spend too much time here, he thought, though that is the hazard of the job.
Also, better here than a morgue.
He saw the Consuls, Dha Piruna, Ranov'la Aran, and Kandosii at the front desk. Other Mandalorians, inluding several Alor'ad, and even Dha'Wherd, were in attendance, looking grim.
The Consuls looked the grimmest. Dha gestured for John to follow him, and the four head Mandalorians walked down the hallway rapidly.
"Where was he found, and by whom?" asked John.
"By Net'ra, in Kusari space. His pod was there for months. He was in a state of suspended animation."
Special option for escape pods. Costly, but well worth it. Especially in this case.
They rounded a corner, and looked through a glass panel into Intensive Care.
And there lay Luc McCloud. In a low-level coma.
Ranov went over to chat with a doctor, and returned shortly, looking relieved.
"They say he'll recover, and soon." said Ranov'la.
John just nodded, a smile forming on his face.
"You usually cause more trouble than you're worth, but its good to have you back, old friend.", he said in a low voice.
Dha smiled too, but asked, "Should I be prepared for our books to dip into the red, with more repair bills and the like?"
John laughed. "Money gets spent. That's life."
He turned to go to the other Mandalorians to give them the news, then paused to turn to face the Consuls, with one more sardonic laugh, "When he comes to, ask him to only start one war at a time, ok?"
"And dust off that one Blood Dragon bomber in the hanger. Get him in a ship soon. Earn his keep. Once you fall off the horse..."
Hmm. I drank all his best whisky, thought John. He'll be annoyed about that.
Well, "Thought you were dead." should be an acceptable excuse to drink a man's booze...
A Mandalorean barracks is a spartan place. And usually a quiet one at 5:00 AM, till tonight.
"WAKE UP YOU MAGGOTS!" Two members of the Mandalorian Guard strode into the room, weapons drawn. Slumbering pilots came to very quickly, and stood to at the end of their bunks.
"Clear out, the lot of ye!" This guard was a Molly. Now that the Bretonians were negotiating a ceasefire, having a Molly on guard detail made a lot more sense than it did even a few months ago. The pilots jumped to comply, and streamed out of the barracks double file.
"Except YOU, Carud'se Solegot!" The guard reached out, and barred one man from leaving. "Mandalore wants a word with you."
Warrior Solegot tensed, but said nothing. Once all the pilots were out, the Mandalore showed himself in the doorway, paused, then strode in and seated himself on a bunk. He looked at one of the guards;
"He armed?"
The guard responded in the negative. Cabot nodded, then gestured to Carud'se to sit across from him. The young man did so, with obvious reservation.
Cabot looked at the guard again, and commanded "Leave us." The Mandalore had sized up the young pilot, and knew he could kill him without a weapon in a few seconds. Knew it like he knew the sun would rise in half an hour. Not arrogance. Fact.
The guards exchanged a concerned glance, then left the room.
Cabot spoke tersely to the young man seated not 3 feet from him.
"Your real name isn't Solegut."
Carud'se's eyes widened, and he blanched. The young pilot knew that there were times in life when bluffing, and continuing to conceal something, could work. This was not one of those times.
He spoke, quietly, but without hesitation or faltering. "I am Carud'se Solus. My father is the Dha'wherd Solus."
The Mandalore nodded, then stood, took a few steps, then turned to face his pilot.
"I really wasn't that sure, but methods such as this bit of theatre tonight have a way of scaring the truth out of people."
He smiled a disarming smile, then stated matter-of-factly "Maybe you are my enemy. Not sure yet. Give me a reason not to kill you."
The pilot looked at the Mandalore in apparent alarm, then began to speak.
"My father became Dha'wherd when I was 16. He was inducted one night, because he demonstrated extreme proficiency while flying for a senior member."
The young pilot stood, then continued. "The night he was initiated, he changed forever. When they initiate you, you have to kill a stranger. Did you know that?" The Mandalore nodded. He knew what they were, and said so now.
"Murderers." he stated flatly.
Carud'se's snorted. "And we aren't? Are you quite sure the difference between us and them isn't one of degree, not kind?"
The Mandalore smiled. "Touche. But let's get to the point, shall we? You said "us" just now, and that is reassuring. But the fact remains that I essentially exiled your father and his entire bloody secret society. How can I trust your loyalt..."
The Mandalore's question was interrupted by his brain bouncing off the inside of his skull, which tends to play havoc with one's train of thought. The cause? A well placed hammer fist to the side of his head, put there by Carud'se. The Mandalore had actually had the chance to think "kid's fast" just after the man backspun and as the blow landed, but now the younger (and obviously very capable) fighter put him in an armbar, then drive a fatal punch to the the side of the Mandalore's neck.
Fatal, had it actually landed. It stopped a hair's breadth away from the neck. A punch designed to destroy the Carotid artery, had it gone one inch further. And Cabot knew it. Just couldn't do a damn thing about it.
Carud'se paused for effect, then dropped Cabot to the ground. He then sat and waited, smiling smugly while the Mandalore recovered himself, then the younger Solus spoke.
"Now you know I'm loyal. If I wasn't, you'd be dead." Solegut helped the dazed Mandalore to sit up.
"I saw you sizing me up, and intentionally slouched, and took other subtle measures to appear weak. My father taught me a great deal, Mandalore."
The Mandalore came to his feet and nodded. "You make your point effectively and brutally. Actually, I can think of no better way you could have satisfied my concerns."
John Cabot began to slowly pace, legs still a bit wobbly from the recent interruption of his central nervous system. His back was to the other man, but that seemed quite irrelevant now.
He turned to face Carud'se, eyes narrowed inquisitively. "Do you still speak with your father?"
Carud'se nodded. "On occasion sir. Perhaps once a month."
"Hmm." The Mandalore was thoughtful. "Dha'wherd Solus has been doing well for us against the Brotherhood, Benitez, and other Corsairs. He has brought us information that has made our hunting in Omicron Gamma easier. He has even contributed to the fighting, once it starts. In an Arrow, no less. Impressive."
Carud'se smiled. "Father is a hell of a pilot."
"So it seems." The Mandalore continued. "I need you to do something for me, and for the Mandalorians."
Solegut had an idea where this may be going. "Name it, Sir."
Cabot sat down again. Nice goose egg starting up on his head.
"I need to reconcile with the Dha'wherd, and I want to accomplish that through yourself and your father. I don't favour their methods, but I have no interest in destroying them. I need some reassurance that they will never attempt to destroy me."
Carud'se responded with satisfaction. "That assignment is something I gladly accept. My father actually wishes the same as you. He will help, this I know."
Cabot stood, then reached out to shake Carud'se's hand. That done, he said his parting words.
"Your identity will remain a secret. If it were known, well, you know the potential results."
Carud'se nodded. He knew, alright.
Cabot began to walk out, leaving with a final request. "Contact your father soon. Find out his general opinion on this arrangement, then report to me on the Goju Ryu."
As he left, the Mandalore reflected how unexpectedly well this had gone. He'd come here to sniff out a traitor, but now he had a mole in the Dha'wherd...
John Cabot had entered the Bridge of the Goju Ryu, and now had the crew's undivided attention.
"This old girl has work!!"
The crew looked alarmed. A destroyer running on custom made parts and duct tape should not see combat unless suicide was the goal. Spare parts for Kusari Destroyers were scarce in Bretonia, for stunningly obvious reasons.
Cabot responded to their alarm with a laugh. "Don't worry. It's not what you think. We won't actually be fighting anyone, at least, not really."
Now the crew just looked puzzled. The Mandalore was never really clear enough, soon enough.
"We have been retained by the Royal Fleet to help train their pilots in how to kill Kusari destroyers. But the combat will be simulated. The inertial dampeners will be modified, of course, to give the combat some realism, but the only casualties will be some upset stomachs."
"AND, some Bretonian egos!!" That got a cheer from the men.
"Our first student, the Queen Carina's Own vessel Exeter. A Bretonian Destroyer. Once the simulations are in place and the inertial dampeners modified, we will be facing her in mock combat just outside New London."
He turned to leave, via the lift, and said while departing, "Now lets be a bit gentle, shall we? Wouldn't want to scare the other pupils away." Another cheer, this one louder.
Cabot grinned broadly in the lift, to nobody in particular. This was going to be the best job yet. All combat, no casualties. No letters home to widows and orphans.
"Recruits"....."New recruits"...."The new guys"...."Recruits"....
"What the heck, I am sick of reading this word!.....That stupid bounty-boom; I wish it never happened."
The bounty-boom - the new cuss of the banker. Suddenly everybody was offering a bounty on someone else. You had even to be afraid of a bounty on your head if you looked at somebody the wrong way.
"The new Goldrush! - Great times has come." it was titled in the BHG-Weekly - what a stupid piece of junk anyways; the Mandalore only subscribed it for the page 4 girls - "Get rich with easy work! Only press the firebutton!"
Ha! Easy work was all those Bountyhunters could do. Dha Piruna could not really count the number of running or destroyed Bountyhunter-ships he has seen in the past months. No honor, no dignity. HIding behind their.....well, he zoned out again.
The recruits. They were coming. Rejected from the Bountyhunters because they were "too rude".
"Heh, "too skilled" would fit better." the mandalore once told him. Yes, he the mandalore accepted everyone in their ranks. He even saw a good pilot in a rat.
Actually those recruits really were some rats. They came there big mouthed and expected to get everything for free. "Where is mah money? I will shoot 20 corsairs! No, 30!"
And that stupid Mandalore believed them. He gave them everything for free. A housing, a ship, catering....but one thing they lacked of: Bounties.
If all the targets were not shot down because the hunters skill was greater, he just was overwhelmed by their sheer number. Confused by their own numbers those silly idiots sometimes shot themselves or - more tragically - innocent civilians.
That made the people rethink about all the bounties and most were recalled.
That silly bounty-boom was over before it really had begun and now the Mandalorians had a bunch of new pilots condemned to do nothing.
"No problem we have still a lot of money. No time, I got to go back to the pool...erm...boring work." the Mandalore called him from Curacao once.
But there was hope....
With all the Bountyhunters spread over Sirius and the QCRF fighting at the borders to Kusari, Bretonia was lacking of some lawful armed forces. The OPG used that and advanced into Bretonian space more and more. They were already seen above Planet New London. Good and easy money.
And there were the [censored]. Their offer towards the Madalorians was even better and the first diplomatic approaches were more than succesful.
Finally the recruits could show their skills in shhoting down 20 ships down at once. And finally "recruits" would be a nice word to read again.
(ooc: To the new recruits: Don't take this too serious. From what I've seen you are all at least decent pilots)
Ranov'la Aran, one of the three Consuls for the Mandalorian people in Sirius, approaches Dha Piruna's - the older one of the three - office. He notices the line of Warriors and Alo'ards at the door and frowns. Always a tense thing walking into a room, let alone a corridor, filled with your subordinates alone when you're a Mandalorian Consul. Everyone is always looking for a promotion opportunity.
Ranov'la made sure he faced each man as he ignored the line. He decided, if any one of them flinched the slightest at his gaze, the man would be dead. As he cleared the line, everyone had passed his test. He figured no one would be stupid enough to attempt on his life in front of everyone else, if he died there, the dispute for his job would turn into a bloody massacre.
He found Dha's door open and noticed Kandosii's life size hologram in front of the Consul's desk, "Kandosii here, though inactive."
"Negative, Kandosii. I want your ass right here, in front of my desk, this is very important. Take John out of the bar... meeting room and get to New London yesterday", Dha cut the link and Kandosii's figure retracted and disappeared from the office.
Ranov'la laughed to himself but made sure he locked the door behind him. One Consul in a corridor filled with other warriors is a missed opportunity, two Consuls alone in an office could prove to be too good a chance to let go. Even though he didn't consider most of the new warriors up to the challenge to face him, Dha, let alone both of them in a brawl, he wasn't in the mood for beating up his own people, he had better things to do.
"Providing John with security in Curacao during his 'diplomatic missions' is better categorized as inactivity alright", Ranov'la laughed to himself.
"You're just pissed because John pulled you off your regular 'duties' and decided this time he'd be the one enjoying our clients' hospitality", Dha countered.
Ranov'la tried his best to sound insulted, "I've never..." but gave it up. He wouldn't be able to hold that argument. Not against Dha, the "Banker Consul". All "extraordinary" expenses passed by his desk.
Dha raised an eyebrow in response to Ranov'la's pitiful attempt to protest.
Ranov'la looked around himself as if trying to locate something, "You know, Dha, you lack facilities similar to John's to properly 'entertain' your guests. Where is the liquor?"
Dha's face turned red for a second, "You know the bottle price of that stuff John pours as if it were Kavasa juice? We could buy ourselves a whole wing of..."
"Alright, alright, I get it," Ranov'la dismissed the details with a bored wave of his hand, "I'm too occupied making us money to worry about accounting for it. That's your job." He sat down as he had successfully changed subjects.
"Now, what's this all about. Why did you get me here?" He turned back to Dha, wrapping his arm around the couch and crossing his legs.
Dha picked up a pen, inspected the papers in front of him for a second and almost playfully said, "Roll call".
Ranov'la stood up in a jolt, "Wait! What, Dha? This is what you called me here for? I'm a bloody Consul, for Cay'lith's sake!" Dha calmly marked a little check sign after Ranov'la's name in his list ignoring the other Consul's outburst of anger.
"Thank you, Consul. Now go. As you've seen I've got a whole lot of people to process", it was Dha's turn to dismiss Ranov'la with a bored wave of his hand, disregarding the other Consul's protests.
"You know, I have better things to do than being dragged into your pranks, Consul Dha Piruna." Ranov'la emphasized the title as if to try and bring professionalism back to the conversation.
"How do you think our people would respect us if we exempted ourselves from solemn duty just because of our positions?" Dha countered.
It was Ranov'la's turn to raise his eyebrow.
"Wait, did you just call John back from Curacao for this?" Ranov'la asked switching from the angry tone to a mischievous one.
He didn't wait for an answer and clicked Dha's intercom, "Darasuum Ge'verd?"
"Yes, Consul?" the boxed voice replied.
"This is Consul Ranov'la Aran."
"Ah, sorry. Yes, Consul?"
Ranov'la stopped for a second not sure what to make of the sentence.
"I want to be informed as soon as the Mandalore's ship enters New London space."
"Yes, Consul."
Ranov'la frowned as he switched off the intercom.
Ranov'la got back to Dha, "we should appoint another secretary".
"I thought you said you had better things to do", Dha retorted.
"It is our...", Ranov'la frowned, "...what was it that you said just now?"
"Solemn duty?" Dha asked with a crooked smile.
"Yes! It is our solemn duty to properly receive the Mandalore back from his journey", Ranov'la said out loud, in a ludicrous tone, as he got out of Dha's office.
Billy Bishop, Mandalorian pilot, walked stiffly into the dingy New London flat he called home, and announced his presence loudly and characteristically;
Whos that I hear?
Immediately after the words were uttered, four pairs of small feet pounded the rough wooden floor in the flat, accompanied by a chorus of kids voices, yelling various greetings, requests for money, and permission to do things Mom wont let us do.
Billys wife Suzanne watched the chaos at the front door with a smirk, called her brood back to the supper table, then greeted her husband at the door with a hug, a kiss, and the brushing of dust from the simple black Mandalorian tunic. She then wiped some dried blood away from a nasty gash on his forehead, with a look of concern.
Hit my head on the cockpit interior. Bit of Corsair trouble. His tone was light, but his expression wasnt. It had been a close call, and his wife knew it. Serious disapproval showed on her face.
Dont start that. Said Billy, not realizing that by uttering the words, he had started it. But men are dumb that way.
What the HELL are those Mandalorian idiots doing raiding Gamma?!? she asked in a harsh angry whisper. Her accent was a highland one, and it came out strong when she was in a mood like this.
Billy shrugged. Moneys good. He said. Better than BAF-SF ever paid me.
Yes, but back then, you only fought the Kusari, and the Mollys, back when we was still shooting at each other. You know how to fight the noodle munchers. Against them, I can be sure youll come home. But the Corsairs? In Gamma, no less? What is the Mandalore thinking?
Billys jaw clenched, and his answer was cool. Not a tone that does any good in an argument with one's spouse, but again, men are dumb.
The Mandalore is thinking that his boys are good pilots, and the work is where it is.
He continued. And they take care of their own. If anything happens to me..."
His wife interrupted. "I'll have a dead husband." That made him pause. The kids were quiet now, listening. They knew the score. Children in wartime learned some things quickly. Daddy had a dangerous job. He killed people, and he could himself be killed. And Mom did not like it. At all.
Billy lowered his voice. "Listen, woman. This decision was made months ago. Flying and fighting is all I know. I can do it for the Bretonian Armed Forces, and get shot down by Kusari, and you would have some paltry widow's pension for you and the kids to survive on. Or, I can fight for the Mandalorians, get shot down by Corsairs, and you would have a small fortune waiting for you."
Billy took her hand. "I'm taking care of my family, the only way I can."
Suzanne shook her head, tears welling. "I'd rather have you around, and be poor, than be a rich widow." Voice breaking now..
Billy looked at her silently for a second. Then he spoke, even more quietly. "Sweetheart, the choice between a dangerous career in QCRF and a very dangerous career as a Mandalorian no longer exists. This is not generally known, and you aren't supposed to know this but.." he paused and bit his lip. "The Corsairs are here, now, in Bretonia, in force. Cambridge, and New London. Yesterday, a QCRF fleet was slaughtered by the OPG near the Cambridge jump gate."
His wife blanched, and he continued. "Bretonia is in serious trouble. I'm in the same danger, no matter which uniform I wear. I got this bump on my noggin in Cambridge, not in Gamma, while trying to drive the bastards off."
Suzanne just looked at him, aghast. She could say nothing. Everything was far worse than she had believed.
Billy's wristcom went off, and he briefly looked at it, then closed his eyes and sighed.
"Sweetheart, its a Broken Arrow. I must leave, now." Mandalorian and/or client in mortal danger. Scramble all craft.
He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed his jacket, turned and left. Didn't even get to take his boots off.
Suzanne stared at the door, trembling, feeling the same dread that millions of wives of millions of soldiers had felt across the ages.
She turned, and put on the same brave smile that her kids had seen dozens of times, and which had stopped fooling them years ago. She strode into the kitchen, and said to her four children, "Daddy will be back soon. Has another job to go to."
John Cabot and his Consul Dha Piruna were walking in New London, on their way from meeting a client, who had been deliquent in paying his bills. The Mandalorians had been very emphatic in the meeting about how important it was to the client that his liver remain in place, and strangely enough, a substantial cheque had been cut. So they were in a good mood. Relieved, like the client really, really was.
A man in the dark red tunic ran toward them. Like the colour one would imagine blood stained coal. The right colour, really. Dha'wherd.
Dha's hand reached towards his blaster. John motioned for him to relax.
"Its ok. It's E'tan. One of the better ones."
Dha kept his hand near the blaster anyway. The Dha'wherd were right at the top of his list of people he wanted gone. Could never trust them.
Dha'wherd E'tan ran right up to the Mandalorians, then stopped, wheezing, hands on his knees to catch his breath.
"Out with it, man." demanded Dha Piruna. "You didn't run all this way for pleasantries. Not one of you."
E'tan was still breathless, but he managed a response.
"Comm interception. Coalition officer. Stranded in Cortez."
John's eyes lit up. "Our turn to run, Dha. Keep up E'tan!" He broke into a fast jog, to retrace the Dha'wherd's path, back to the Mandalorian Communications Interception and Decryption Centre.
Piruna frowned, but kept up. "John, we don't have a bounty on any Coalition. Not now."
The Mandalore laughed. "Don't need one, Dha, but I want to capture him alive, anyway. Think about it. Dead, he's just meat. Alive...."
Dha got it, and finished the sentence. "...we could auction him off to the highest bidder. Any one of the four houses would pay good money for him, and the information between his ears." He was smiling now. Dha liked money.
Dha smiled even broader. Maybe the highest bidder would be the Coalition itself! That would be most amusing.
The thought of credits quickened the pace of all three men...
The tarmac of the New London spaceport was hot, and Dha Piruna was storming across it to the Goju Ryu like his feet were on fire. He had a very proper looking document in his hand, with seals and everything.
John Cabot was helping his Kusari crewmen load up the Goju Ryu with provisions. He turned and came down the gangplank to meet his incensed, recently-promoted Consul.
"Greetings, Mandalore Dha Piruna." said John, grinning like someone who had just farted in a crowded room, and gotten away with it.
"Mandalore my ass!" yelled Dha. He didn't lose his temper often, but when he did, he could get loud. "John, there is a ceremony for this, a very specific ritual. You don't just leave the role of Mandalore to someone via a bloody memo in his inbox!"
"Well, Dha, its not just a memo. I mean its got my, sorry, YOUR, seal on it, right there, and.." He stopped. Dha was not impressed.
John Cabot paused, then looked down at his boots, then looked back up again at his friend. His expression spoke volumes. Good thing too, since warriors were poor with words at times like this.
Dha Piruna looked at the Mandalore with new concern. "There is more going on here than just a transfer of power, isn't there?"
His eyes passed over the provisions being loaded, then asked, "Where are you going with the Goju? What gives, John?"
John sat on a barrel near the entrance to the gangplank. And started to speak, softly and deliberately.
"The Kusari are descended from the Japanese of Old Earth. This you know. What you may not have heard of is a ritual, called Hara-Kiri, which used to occasionally be performed by members of their military, once defeated. It was a suicide ritual, Dha. Nasty business, involving self disembowelment. But considered preferable to the dishonour of defeat."
Dha Piruna sat heavily on a crate across from John. He knew where this was going, and could not say a thing. John continued.
"Dha, the Bretonians are losing this war. It is only a matter of time. When that happens, what do you suppose the Kusari will do with the Goju's crewmen?"
"I'll tell you Dha. They will be captured, put to a humilating show trial, then executed as traitors."
John looked at his crewmen, who were now standing waiting at the gangplank, then looked back at Dha.
"I've been with this crew longer than I've been with the Mandalorians. They have told me that they have no desire to be humiliated, and would prefer an honourable death in combat to what awaits them when that defeat comes. In one year, maybe longer, who knows, the Bretonians will have to come to terms with the Kusari, and when that happens, it will be the Kusari setting the terms."
Dha Piruna looked angrily at John. "So you throw your life away too? I know you owe them, but do you really owe them that much?"
John smiled gently. "Dha, that's not really a problem for me. See, I've recently been told the reason for my recent weight loss. Seems that the love of the bottle can do quite a number on one's liver. First cirrosis, then cancer. And I'm well past the cirrosis stage."
Dha's shock was apparent. John continued.
"You'd have been Mandalore within a month anyway, my friend." John extended his hand. Dha took it and grasped it.
"Let's not overdo this, 'Mandalore'. Doesn't really suit Mandalorians, nor Bretonians." The handshake ended, then John spoke again.
"My last bit of advice to you. You will need a new consul. For political reasons, I suggest a Bretonian. That young pilot, William Bishop, will do nicely."
Dha nodded. He was a good choice.
John winked at the newly-minted Mandalore, turned and strode up the gangplank, and gestured to his crewmen to follow.
"Come on lads, we have a date with Admiral Sulu's boys!" The crew gave a cheer in Kusari, then ran up into the aged ship. Cabot gave another wink at Dha as the gangplank closed.
Mandalore Dha Piruna moved to a location behind the blast line, and watched as the Goju Ryu left New London spaceport for the last time. As the ship rose slowly into the sky, Ranov'la Aran approached him.
"Where's he taking that bucket of bolts?" asked Ranov'la. Dha nonchalantly showed Ranov'la the sealed document, and the Mandalore's signet ring on his finger. Ranov'la's eyes widened, and he exclaimed:
"Sweet Merciless Cay'lith. They're going to Kusari, aren't they?"
Dha nodded, then said softly. "One way trip."
Both men quietly watched the Goju Ryu disappear into the sky.
William Bishop was quiet entering the little New London flat. Way past the kids' bedtime.
Suzanne tiptoed to the door and gave her smelly Mandalorian husband a big hug. (Cockpits are sweaty places)
Billy held his wife by the hands, then gestured at his new shoulder patch. "We're going to need a larger place. Can't have a Consul's wife and kids living in second class digs..."
Suzanne surpressed a delighted squeal, then held her husband tight. He said quietly, "You'll be glad to know that 75% of a consul's job is paperwork. Boring, tedious, safe paperwork."
She gave a satisfied sigh, then froze as the unspoken implication of this promotion came into her mind like a glass of cold water. She looked up at her husband, and asked "Who?.."
Billy gave a shh sound, then said with no small amount of emotion, "John Cabot left in the Goju Ryu today to fight and die in Kusari. Dha Piruna is Mandalore now."
Suzanne sighed, then asked "Did the Mandalore have a woman? Kids?"
Billy shook his head. "No. He had a Kusari wife, a long time ago, I was told. Kids, well, I don't know. Guess not."
Suzanne nodded slowly, then returned her head to her husband's chest. "Dha will do well.", she said.
The Queen Carina's Regulars hanger # 14 was a bustle of activity, with technicians running around with parts, heavy weapons, ammunition, and tools that looked as deadly as the guns. The newly-minted Mandalorian Consul passed unnoticed in all the chaos.
"What lousy security." thought Billy. Nobody had even asked to see the pass he carried in his plain black Mandalorian tunic.
"William Bloody Avery Bloody Bishop!!!" A once very-familiar voice boomed out behind him. Billy spun around and easily recognised the source.
"Commander Kaiden!" Billy laughed. Other men in the room looked alarmed at the words and glanced over. Billy picked up the subtle hints, and corrected himself. "Excuse me sir, Commodore!"
Kaiden laughed. "No problem. Its been awhile since I had that rank. But then again, I haven't seen you in a while either. And I'll pay you back for demoting me by noticing you're getting bald."
"Heh, four kids will do that, Commodore."
Kaiden's eyes widened. "Four! Wow, Suzanne's been busy while you been in the cockpit, eh?"
Billy's eyes narrowed in a mock threatening look, but his grin gave him away. "Good one, ya bastid. Haven't heard a quick one like that since the SF days."
The staff around were amazed now, by this Mandalorian that could get away with calling the Commodore "bastid". One of the techies got into it and piped up, "SF. What did that stand for anyway? Semper Fi?"
The Commodore and Consul gave the poor dolt looks that would have withered Medusa, and the hapless mechanic muttered an apology under his breath and got really really into his work, all of a sudden.
Kaiden gestured to Bishop to follow him away from the main activity. Once out of earshot, Kaiden said, under his breath. "I heard about your promotion. Congratulations." He moved in closer.
"But this Mandalorian consul isn't here for a social call, is he?"
Billy said "No, I'm here on business." He handed a letter from the Ministry of Defence to the Commodore.
Kaiden read it, murmuring. "Mandalorians... authorised... surplus equipment.. contract with the Crown.. payment in kind.. until deemed inexpedient.."
Kaiden looked up. "Right. We have more ships than pilots, you have more pilots than ships. Straightforward enough. What do you want?"
Billy smiled. "I'm easy to please. Just wanna drive a Templar again. One that's broken in. Damn things have too many bugs in the first 10,000,000 kilometres."
Kaiden looked at Billy for a long while before answering. "You know, I think I have just the thing. Follow me."
The Commodore led Billy to one of the back corners of the hanger. A mechanic was working on an engine component back there, and Kaiden shooed him away. He stood back, arms folded, and gestured in the direction of an older model Templar in the corner.
"Check her out." Kaiden encouraged him.
Billy walked around the Templar. She was old, but very well maintained. Not many scars, really. A lot of little enemy ships were painted up near the cockpit. Wolfhounds, Titans, Praetorians, lots of Chimaeras, even some enemy gunboats.
"Man, this little baby has been around. Even got a couple of lunchbo..." Billy's voice had stopped dead in shock. There was a name by the cockpit.
Captain Isaac Brock.
Billy jumped back from the ship, then asked Kaiden, none too happily, nor quietly:
"How? This is a dead man's boat! I read the newspapers, for God's sakes!"
Kaiden interrupted him. "The old man had two. That way one was always ready for duty. This one..", Kaiden nodded at the little ship, "was his luckier one. Or so he once said to me. Man, was he ever right about that."
Kaiden continued. Billy needed a hell of a lot of convincing on this one. "Look, Bill, nobody here will drive it. Nobody. They just can't bring themselves to. So its sitting here gathering dust. When it should be out there fighting."
The Commodore sat on a bench. "Billy, you left the armed forces for the Mandalorians before Brock got transferred to QCR. None of our boys will drive this ship, period. You never knew Brock. No such baggage for you."
"And this bird should be used the way you Mandalorians do. Deep behind enemy lines. Getting Corsairs and Kusari out of their bunks, then killing the hell outta them. That, my old friend, is precisely what the old man would have wanted. All I ask is, keep those enemy birds painted on that hull. And add more of them too, cover the bloody wings with them. I remember how you fly. You can do that for her."
"Unless", added Kaiden in a mocking tone, eyebrows raised, "You've lost your touch, rather push paper.."
Billy smiled at the Commodore. "That was right transparent, you know.." He turned to look at the bird again, then circled her slowly.
After a while, Billy stopped, looked at Kaiden, and asked, "Well? We going to haggle on price now? I'm gonna have to be stingy. You don't know our banker."
Kaiden smiled, then gave that ancient, characteristic flat handed Bretonian salute,
"Yes sir, Consul, sir! I'll throw in extra tires and an oil change. I'll have to talk to my manager about a deal though.."
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