Oyu'baat

Konig didn't take any offense that the visitor didn't take off her own helmet right away. She was under no obligation to do so, culturally or otherwise. He did wonder what species she was, noticing that she didn't appear to be human, but pushed that idle notion to one side. Business first.

Unstuck in time. Kad, if she only knew.

Then the helmet came off and he saw the rest of her facial features. Before he could make a guess as to her origins, he got answers to his more pressing questions.

Konig drew his datapad and pointed it at the little astromech as if it were a blaster.

DRAW! He said, in a playful tone, making a serious face and squinting down the datapad as he thumbed the 'recieve' button. Transmission recieved, Konig flipped the datapad up, caught it and 'holstered' it, winking at he little droid.

Then his eyes took in the arm spike. Natural armament, very nice, he admired. Mandalorians didn't care what species you were, and a species that had built in spikes was something calculated to impress them as a useful evolutionary feature. He'd have been more impressed had he noted the poison.

He pondered her question, not being the smith his father was, Konig wasn't by any stretch an accomplished armourer. He could repair his own gear, of course, but producing it, or designing it, that was above his skill level. He could, however, organize some advice.

Durasteel is solid enough, but I think we can find you something that will do the job. Beskar is tougher, of course, and heavier to boot. Songsteel might work best, though you can get the best Mandalorian Steel very thin fairly easily.

He cocked his head to one side, looking at the arm, and considering the question.

I tell you what. He redrew his datapad and raised it. If you don't mind.

Quickly, he took a scan of the proffered forearm, and replaced the pad.

I've got your measurements. I'll take them to a smith, the word here is Goran, that owes me a favour. One day, two tops. He likes to drink.

Konig nodded his own appreciation. Thanks for the data dump. We'll call it even for the bracers, lek? And he took a long pull of the black ale.

Syren

Konig grinned.

Stang, I always do that. He went on to explain. When youre out on the rim and everyone speaks fifty different languages, some words slip through when youre back in civilization. Means 'don't you agree?' in plain basic.


No debt was required here as Konig saw it, just because she didn't realise the true value the information was to Konig and his aliit; his family. He wasn't going to leave such a debt with a stranger either.

Don't worry about it, we're even. No debt. He said, taking another pull of his ale.

It wasn't honourable to cheat people as he saw it, nor was it the way Konig approached things. He was unlike his siblings, with none of the extremes they went to, though that set him apart in its own way. He was practical and honourable, reserved but enjoyed combat. He took nothing to an extreme, preferring to work with balance, precision, and elegance.

Syren

Konig returned the gesture, clinking his ale against his new friend's.

She said something in a language he didn't recognize, but it sounded friendly enough; and he felt a gentle touch through the Force, a feeling of trust, or so it seemed to him. It occured to Konig just then that they hadn't exchanged names. That would probably be prudent.

I'm Konig of Clan Australis. If you don't find me here, you can leave a message with the bar staff. The Oyu'baat's operators made a good side business trading services as well as selling booze, and they would organize just about anything for you if you had the creds to pay for the service. There was a reason Mandalorians thought it was the best cantina in the Galaxy.

Syren

Konig nodded.

He saw what he thought might be a reaction to the family name, or might have been natural. He chose not to probe with the Force knowing that Syren was also a Forceful being, it wouldn't have been polite. Buir did have a reputation, one he made every effort to cultivate; he said it kept his hiring fees high. Konig found it to be more of an impediment in most polite circles, and often he went by his first and middle names; Konig Leor in areas where his Mandalorian heritage might cause issue with whatever business he might be on.

Syren. He said the name to imprint it on his memory. Good to meet you. For an aruetii, this one was fairly solid, Konig judged.

I'll be back in a couple days with the bracers. He smiled, finished off the last of the ale, returned his helmet to his head, and returned to where Amaranth and Vevut sat, pretending not to be waiting for him.

Syren

A side table in Oyu'baat, one among many, with four Mando'ade sitting, ale and tihaar before them, surrounded by noisy vode drinking, eating, and socializing. Kaine sat with his son Konig, his daugher Amaranth, and his comrade Bors. The other patrons didn't bother the four veteran warriors, and left them to their business. A surprise inspection tour of MandalArms had been the work of the day, and this evening, the four had gathered to discuss business, as well as what the future might hold. Kaine's mind, predictably, was busy worrying about the Yuuzhan Vong. The other three knew this, though not being veterans of that war themselves, they couldn't truly understand.

Myrkr. Said Kaine, though his eyes were distant. Konig misunderstood the meaning of the old boar's comment.

Myrkr's a death trap for anyone who attacks it, you saw to that, Buir. Kaine shook his head. Bors laid a warning hand on Konig's, but the question had already roused Kaine. The old man shook his head, trying to clear it. He saw the looks, and decided if he couldn't tell these three, he couldn't tell anyone.

Not now. Then. Immediately, they all understood. Combat memories, especially intense ones, could be funny, you could forget for a year or a decade, then recall minute details exactly. They had heard stories over the years of Kaine's experiences in the Yuuzhan Vong War, the Battles of Ithor and Rodia featuring prominently. He'd never once spoken of Myrkr, though they knew from records he'd been there. The official report listed him as the sole survivor of a New Republic force rescued from the planet after the destruction of the Worldship the Vongese called Baanu Raas; the location of their Voxyn breeding program. The three of them kept silent, while Bors refilled Kaine's tihaar. Kaine took a long sip, then began his story...

A thousand of us, men and women, guns, vehicles, enough mobile force to meet the Vong head on. They hit us with everything they had that first day, coralskippers, those shabla artillery beasts, hordes of mindless slave soldiers, and behind those, their chakaar warriors, the crab boys. We fought hard, and we killed five of them for every one we lost. Every one we lost couldn't be replaced. Typically, despite their losses, the Vongese came on, and by the end of the first week, we were dead on our feet, sleeping in our foxholes. Orders were to hold our position for a month. We held for nine weeks. No reinforcements, no resupply, not even a tickle on the damn comm.

Not seeming to even notice his rapt audience, Kaine took another pull on his tihaar, then continued.

We blew the base before we pulled out, took another whole horde of the scum in the explosion. More stuff there than we could carry, so we made best use of it. By that point there were less than a hundred of us left that could walk. A lot of the wounded volunteered to slow the Vongese with explosives. Brave, beautiful bastards all of them. They slowed the Vongese, and we moved off through the jungle. The scum kept after us, always on our heels. The vornskrs were a problem, but the kriffing Voxyn were worse. Three of them cost us half our number, mostly killed outright.

Now he was staring into the half glass of tihaar like it was the flame of a fire, seemingly entranced.

It was about another week before I ended up in charge of what was left, one other officer, and eighteen men and women. We'd been on the move constantly while the Vong hunted us through the forests and marshes. They came on night or day, didn't matter, they had the numbers, and they knew we were tired and alone. The first week of command, i don't think I slept more than an hour each day. We lost two or three people a day, mostly to the Vong, but also to accidents. Everyone was exhausted, and mistakes happen. Nobody quit. Nobody gave up. No one let the side down.

Kaine made the rest of his tihaar disappear. Bors refilled it without a word. The Oyu'baat around them had gone quiet, some of the other patrons noticing the old head telling a war story and respectfully keeping it down, or wanting to listen in.

About a week later, we were four. We'd split up the day before when there were eight of us, and my team heard the others get ambushed less than an hour after we separated, their screams telling us we were the last ones left. I don't know how far we made it that first night, but we ran all night until the sun came up. We all wanted to keep going, but we were starting to fall down from sheer exhaustion. There were some caves in the low hills near us, and we decided that this was our place for a stand. All four of us were wounded by this point, so we got the two most hurt into a pair of caves, while Sgt Pye and I took sentry. Pye was an explosives expert who had been the main reason anyone had made it this far.

More tihaar, Kaine moved robotically moving hand to glass and lifting it to his lips, as if his mind was elsewhere, which it was. He was reliving these memories for the first time in nearly five decades.

I learned vong weapons from watching the vongese, but I learned explosives from Pye. The man was a magician with anything that went boom. We hand built mines, tripwires, brought down ravines and set deadfall traps with grenades. We made the shabla Vong pay for every mile they came after us, but still the chakaare came. Pye and I mined the entrances to the caves where the others slept. Second night the explosives went off, the scum had gotten past us. They made it into the caves before we could get back and stop them. The only two left, we buried them along with their murderers in those caves, and moved off.

Kaine raised the tihaar to the ceiling in a salute and drained it.

We made it, the two of us, about another day. Pye bought it on the second evening, as we were moving up a ridge. Stepped on a vong mine, and disappeared, just like that. That was when I knew, they were in front of us, and I was surrounded, and I was the last one left. Well, I wasn't going to give up, so I went on. I don't know how many I killed, ten, a hundred, i didn't have time to count. I learned how to use an amphistaff and those damned throwing bugs though. No choice, no more ammo, and they were nice enough to keep bringing reloads.

He smiled for the first time.

Must have started to mess with their heads after a while, losing warriors to their own weapons. They never saw me, after that long in the jungle, i was made of mud and brush. I was sick, i was tired, but they weren't going to get anything for free. I made it to one of Pye's caches back near the caves, and picked up some toys. A few mines clustered together makes a nice big boom, and I wanted to make these bastards retreat. Sounds silly, but I was motivated by wanting a good night's sleep, and I saw that as the only way to get it. I reckon I was more than half mad by that point.

The smile faded, but the eyes remained distant. Bors moved to refill the glass, but Kaine held one hand up to decline. No one spoke.

If nothing else, they'd get a nasty surprise if they killed me, i was carrying enough explosives to bring down a spacescraper. They never got the chance. The first cluster of mines went off alright, took out one of their big beasts and a bunch of warriors. They were yelling and cursing, I couldn't understand a word, but they were mad as hell. Maybe because I was trying to listen in on them, I heard the engines whine before they did. A republic gunship came overhead and strafed the survivors with lasers and rockets. They were a scout flight and they'd seen the explosion. I thank Kad i had the brains left to pop a flare. They pulled me into the gunship, and I got my sleep.

No one spoke. Kaine looked up, around at the faces around him, and realized he'd been talking for a while. He was a little embarrassed, not having given it conscious thought, but not one to show it outwardly, he kept his face reserved. Then he grinned. He'd survived, and these young folk didn't have to know the horrors of a Yuuzhan Vong invasion because of those who had given their lives so long ago. They had all paid that ultimate price willingly so that future generations would not. Their sacrifice had not been in vain, and if the Vong came again, they would find the old boar of Myrkr still had a fire burning in his soul to remove them from a galaxy they did not belong in.