A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars
18
Mandalore, Sundari Outskirts, 42 BBY.
“I’m not fucking around here. I will kill her. Do not test me—”
There was a soft clink of metal breaking from the other end of the comm and suddenly, Tanya had the attention of everyone there as she pulled her hands out from behind her back and began rubbing her wrists and rolling her neck, visibly readying herself for what was sure to come next.
“They’re all going to die,” Sifo-Dyas murmured to Master Dooku as the comm unit lie forgotten by those on the other side.
“No,” the older man shook his head. “They were dead the moment they took her.”
Dooku had come to learn that his young apprentice was a bundle of barely contained violence waiting for an excuse. If she couldn’t find one, Tanya would make one if it suited her needs. In this case, eliminating a hostile force threatening negotiations. That she preferred to live peacefully and negotiate didn’t matter much when she seemed to keep finding herself in situations where her opponents chose violence. That was the life of a Jedi—they preferred peace and talk, but if the situation arose, they were ready to do violence if needed.
Tanya just seemed to have a knack for finding situations where violence was the only solution.
“I’ll go prep the ship,” Master Sifo-Dyas said, before hurrying from the room.
Dooku collected the transmitter and grabbed his things, watching with one eye as the battle started as he followed.
After only a few moments, the signal cut off, and he sighed. One way or another, he knew that they would arrive too late. Either the fight would be over and Tanya would be safe… Or he would be putting what was left of the Death Watch to the sword.
Part of his mind reminded him that this was why the Order forbade growing too close to someone.
The other refused to lose another padawan.
Dooku made his choice.
If it is to be vengeance, then so be it.
Bo-Katan looked up as the lightsabers she’d taken from her target ignited. The younger girl’s eyes glowed, the image of them and that smile burning itself into her mind.
A wave of something hit her and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding, fluttering so fast Bo-Katan felt faint. Her skin went clammy and cold, breaking out in a cold sweat.
Dimly, she realized it wasn’t fear she felt in that moment. Calling it fear was like calling a star a little warm.
No, what she felt was sheer, unadulterated, terror and the certainty not that she was going to die, but that she was already dead and her body had just caught onto that fact and clued her slow brain into it.
She might have pissed herself. Hell, she might have shit herself. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t have the presence of mind to even register it. All that mattered was being very, very still and not drawing those eyes back to her. And maybe, just maybe, if she was very quiet and very still, the little monster she had mistaken for a person might overlook her for another few seconds.
It seemed Bo-Katan wasn’t the only one feeling that way, as screams erupted around the camp, followed immediately by full-auto blaster fire from multiple sources. The fire was wild, only some of it directed at the girl—Tanya. Some people just sprayed blaster bolts into the crowd of their own people, desperately trying to get away from everyone else. That made those who were shot and weren’t killed immediately return fire, shooting in amongst their own—which was more than a few, considering their armor was largely either Beskar or Beskar-plated and resistant to blaster bolts and lightsabers alike.
That lasted perhaps a second, maybe two, before Tanya made her move. Those two lightsabers floating at her sides flew forward, spinning into the crowd—one going high, one going low. They targeted the joints of the armor, hitting elbows, wrists, knees, waists, and necks—severing hands, arms, legs, heads, and torsos alike. Bodies and chunks of bodies began dropping in a line through the crowd—a line that Tanya dashed into.
Raising her blaster—the one she’d jerked out of Bo-Katan’s hand—the girl fired, each shot punching through the throat or knees of one of her fellow Mandalorians, either killing them or leaving them vulnerable to a follow-up strike, though the ones she left alive, Bo-Katan was distantly aware that the girl had a habit of using as human shields, crouching behind people who fell to use their own bodies and armor to block blaster bolts, where she didn’t send them back at the person who’d shot them at her with a silver collapsible pole she’d pulled from her belt and deployed into a baton. Other times, she dropped into a slide under the line of fire, letting her enemies fire into their friends.
The girl’s lightsabers returned to her and went out again in two different directions, sweeping at knees and ankles and sending more people to the ground. Then, things got… strange.
The girl flickered for a moment, before turning and running down one of the lanes she’d made. A few people fired at her, only for the girl to shift and duck out of the way and those shots to hit their friends. The few shots that might have hit her just… passed through her body and hit whoever was on the other side of her somehow.
Then, from the other side of the path cut through the others, more full-auto blaster fire cut through the crowd—except this time, every one of those shots picked off someone who had been injured previously, or blasted out more joints or necks with unerring accuracy. When the lightsabers flew back through the crowd towards the source of the fire, the crowd spread out, revealing a Mandalorian woman who looked just like Bo-Katan, down to the markings on her armor.
People opened fire on her and those lightsabers snapped into her hands as she dropped the blaster cannon, which kept spraying into the crowd as it hovered beside her. The impostor’s body flickered and changed, dispelling like someone shut off a hologram as blaster bolts passed through where Bo-Katan’s chest and head would be—revealing Tanya standing in her place, those bolts having gone well over her head. That didn’t matter now though—she was revealed, and now the others had rallied, taking up firing positions as they now had the enemy clearly in their sights and out from in the middle of them.
The blaster cannon at Tanya’s side ran dry and she dropped it. Bo-Katan watched it fall in what felt like slow motion as the girl’s smile grew wider.
No, no! Don’t do it! Don’t—
They fired and she moved, rushing towards them. Hundreds of blaster bolts poured in—far too many for even a Jedi to deflect. The girl was dead, she just didn’t know it yet.
And yet…
She didn’t look scared. No, Tanya looked like she was having the time of her life.
Instead of taking cover, the girl leapt towards them head first, her profile narrowing and the lightsabers in her hands moving as a blur to protect a much smaller area as she closed with them—falling much further than her jump should have realistically carried her, before she hit the ground and rolled. Finally, blaster bolts poured in and hit—only to splash off of some sort of blue, hexagonal shields that popped up in the path of most of the bolts that would have hit, that she didn’t deflect as she abruptly shifted directions and ran for cover. A few of those bolts did manage to get through, but the few that did scored only superficial damage, scraping the outsides of her arms, legs, and occasionally torso as she dodged, weaved, ducked, and dipped through the fire to avoid what she could.
To her absolute horror, the little monster’s eyes went wider, her smile growing larger as she began to giggle. Apparently getting hurt didn’t actually hurt her—no, it just made her more excited! What kind of battle maniac was she?! She’d only seen that sort of reaction from the crazies, or the kind of nuts who popped combat stimulants before running into fire—but she hadn’t seen the girl dose herself, so that couldn’t be it.
This is a Jedi?! the thought penetrated Bo-Katan’s mind. Finally, signals made it from her brain to her body and she began moving, frantically scrambling away from what was quickly becoming a one-sided massacre. She looked around, finding the man she had joined the Death Watch for just standing there, his mouth hanging open as he watched his people die. That is, until he apparently remembered the holo-call still open behind him.
Tor turned to the call and screamed into the hologram, “Call her off!”
Master Dooku shook his head. “I can’t. Not anymore. You brought this on yourself.”
Tor slammed his hand on the comm, cutting it off. He looked around, spotted Tanya, and began storming towards her as he pulled something from his belt. Around him, men and women scattered, running for the nearby ships. A voice called from the scrum and Bo-Katan’s blood ran cold, feeling like it froze over in her veins. “And where do you think you’re going~? Don’t run~! You’ll just die tired~!”
One of those lightsabers came flying out of the crowd and for just a moment, Bo-Katan thought it would miss as one of the runners jumped over it—only for it to abruptly change course and catch his knee. He hit the ground and rolled onto his back, pulling both blaster pistols from his holsters and screaming in fury as he fired and the girl came flying out of what was left of the crowd—down to maybe half a dozen out of about forty—coming straight at him as she snatched up another blaster and opened fire, dumping rounds into more knees and necks, disabling or killing everyone trying to flee.
Bo-Katan scrambled, rolling over onto her belly, forcing herself to crawl on her hands and knees for the nearest ship. She wasn’t proud of herself, but survival trumped everything at the moment. She had to get away. Had to escape, while the girl was distracted.
The sound of a new lightsaber igniting caused the noise behind her to abruptly go silent as Bo-Katan reached a ship and stood, ran up the ramp, and took a moment to duck into cover inside it. She peeked around the ramp to see Tor standing amongst the dead, dying, and wounded, lifting a lightsaber above his head. The black blade of the Darksaber hummed ominously, drawing all eyes to it for a moment, including the crazed gaze of the white haired girl.
“I CHALLENGE YOU, JEDI!” Tor roared, loud in the sudden silence.
The girl turned fully, dropping one blaster to the ground and slipping the other into her belt. The two spinning blades of her lightsabers closed in on where she stood and abruptly shut off, before the hilts smacked into her hands. One of them, she slipped onto her belt, while she held onto the other.
For a moment, the madness seemed to clear, leaving behind just a deceptively calm little girl, staring at Tor with a calculating look. Finally, she chuckled. “Really? That’s your play? An honorable duel to the death?”
Tor shifted where he stood, taking up a fighting stance. Bo-Katan hadn’t been with the Death Watch for long, but she’d been with them long enough to have seen Tor fight and kill two challengers for the title of Secret Mandalore back to back. He knew how to use the sword in his hands.
The girl shifted into her own stance as the pair began to slowly move to a clear spot, away from bodies and… chunks of bodies. Bringing up her lightsaber with both hands on the grip, she ignited the blade at head level, standing side on to Tor. Tor faced her head on, the Darksaber held out in front of him straight up in both hands.
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They stood like that for a moment, waiting…
One of the surviving Death Watch members behind the girl raised his blaster rifle from where he lay on the ground, having had a leg amputated, and fired at the girl’s back. Tanya spun and Tor charged across the ground between them. The white-silver saber caught the blaster bolt, sending it back to the man who’d shot it, catching him in the lower region somewhere below where his armor stopped. The man howled and dropped the rifle, but he’d served his purpose.
Tor swung for the girl’s head, her back turned to him completely and her saber out of position to block…
Only for one of those hexagonal shields to spring up between them and catch the sword at the same time the girl jumped, using the energy of the blow to send her flying through the air several yards away, tucking into a spin as she landed and slid another couple of feet through the bloody mud. Then, she was flying at Tor, clearing the distance between them in a blur, white hair streaming out behind her like a banner. Tor caught her first sliding thrust, parrying it aside and coming back inside to strike at her torso, only for the girl to reach up and block the plasma blade with her hand— No, with another of those shields over her hand, as she slid to her left, bringing her saber back around for a low rising strike that would have taken Tor at the knees if he hadn’t jumped back out of her range.
The big man came back in, swinging in a big, overhead blow looking to split the girl down the middle. White-silver and black met, the blades crackling as she parried it to the right at the same time she took a step left and turned side-on, the Darksaber sliding just in front of her face. Tor brought his sword up diagonally on the return stroke and the girl leapt over it, her answering swing aimed at his neck, forcing Tor to duck and step back.
“Just,” he swung down hard, catching her blade as she landed, only to pull back and hammer at her again. “Fucking,” blades clashed again, driving the smaller girl to one knee as Tor caught her at an awkward angle. “DIE!!!” he roared, bringing his blade down for another crushing blow.
Tanya tolled out of the way and Bo-Katan’s stomach twisted as she saw that smile was back. The second hilt flew off of her belt and away, but Bo-Katan didn’t think Tor saw it as the girl jumped back to her feet, her saber launching into a flurry of blows that forced Tor back rapidly, frantically parrying and trying to stay just out of reach—because she didn’t need to overpower him when just a touch with that plasma blade would remove a limb, or a head from shoulders.
I have to do something, Bo-Katan realized as she saw the hilt glint in the firelight, coming back towards Tor. Looking around, she spotted one of the blaster rifles on a mount beside the door for quick access. Grabbing it, she flipped it on and took aim at the girl. She opened fire—
Tanya moved, shifting to her right and twisting her body out of the line of fire.
Tor’s eyes went wide as he saw the blaster bolt that, due to the angle between Bo-Katan and Tanya, would hit him just below his chest armor.
The man’s body began to move, throwing himself out of the path of the blaster bolt.
A white-silver blade thrummed to life behind Tor, spinning so quickly it looked like a solid circle. The circle angled slightly, adjusting for the angle of Tor’s body, before catching his neck.
Tor Vizsla’s head spun through the air, carried towards Tanya as her saber came to an abrupt stop floating beside her.
Tanya’s free hand snapped up, catching the helmeted head before it could hit the ground.
The Darksaber fell with Tor’s head, only to stop mid-fall, before floating over to Tanya, who let go of her saber to take up the Darksaber.
Bo-Katan threw her rifle to the ground and hit the button to close the ramp, running through the small ship to the cockpit. She sat down with an uncomfortable squish but ignored it, firing up the ship. She looked out the cockpit window at the scene below as the engines spooled up.
Tor lay dead, his body a headless corpse on the ground. In her hands, Tanya held his helmeted head and the Darksaber up and yelled something Bo-Katan couldn’t hear over the sound of the engines as she began to lift off. That is, until suddenly, the girl’s voice reached her like it was coming over a loudspeaker.
“Tor Vizsla is dead! I’ve killed your Mandalore and I claim his mask and his lightsaber for myself! That’s how this works, right?! The strong can just do what they want, kill who they want, and take what they want, right?! Those of you lucky enough to still have your lives, take them with you! But leave the limbs you’ve lost. Those belong to me~!”
Those eyes turned up, meeting Bo-Katan’s through the transparent steel of the cockpit glass. “Except you! Get back here!”
Tor’s head slipped out of the helmet and fell, and Tanya shifted and kicked it—sending the head spinning away… Bo-Katan flinched as it hit the cockpit window with a loud thump and bounced off, leaving a bloody smear behind. Her last sight of Tor Vizsla, the hero, was the sight of his head spinning away, long hair lank and greasy looking, eyes rolled up in his head, mouth open and tongue lolling out…
Before one of those white-silver lightsabers went through it, making Tor’s head explode like some rotten fruit, before it curved in the air towards Bo-Katan’s ship. She yelped and ducked, jerking back as the saber punched through the transparent steel—in one side of the cockpit, close enough to scrape her cheek as she turned her face away, and out the other side leaving behind a pair of glowing holes.
Then, the ship was pulling up and away, running away as she turned for one of the few cities on Mandalore that Death Watch all but controlled. She panted for a moment in her seat, before jerking off her helmet and flinging it at the transparent steel ahead of her, sending it bouncing off and flying further back into the ship. She caught a glimpse of it—of the gouge in her cheek that lightsaber had somehow caused, despite the helmet being made of beskar. Screaming and crying, Bo-Katan thrashed in her seat as everything seemed to hit all at once.
The man she had seen as a hero was dead. Bo-Katan wasn’t stupid enough to think he loved her back, she had loved him and that mattered, to her at least. Her friends and comrades had been slaughtered like animals. The cause she was fighting for had been dealt a crippling blow. And she herself was to blame—both for bringing the little monster into their camp, not killing her when she had the chance, and for running away like a coward even though she would have surely died had she not.
She had come so close to dying…
A vision of glowing silver-blue eyes and a too-wide, white smile flashed before her mind’s eye and she bit down on another scream as her body began to shake, trembling where she sat. “Kill you. I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you!”
It was all she wanted now. To wipe that smile off that little monster’s face if it was the last thing she did.
Have to regroup first. Warn the others. Let them know that Tor’s dead. They’ll want to appoint a new Mandalore. Then, then we can go after her. They have to. She killed our Mandalore. Can’t let that stand. Just need to make them understand.
The adrenaline and fear drained away, leaving her feeling weak and lightheaded where she sat. It was a struggle just to stay awake, so she programmed a course into the auto-pilot and allowed herself to drift off for a short nap.
“Tch. Missed,” I grunted as the ship carrying my captor flew off into the distance. Shutting my lightsabers off, and dismissing the mage blade I’d cast on the one I’d sent after the redhead, I slipped them back onto my belt. The new saber I’d claimed crackled a bit as I studied the blade and hilt. Strangely, the blade was shaped like what I’d expect from an actual physical sword, not a lightsaber. Shrugging, I shut it off and stuck it on my belt with the others, to study later.
Glaring down at the incomplete computation orb hanging uselessly on my washboard chest, a small lump barely visible beneath my blood, mud, and soot-covered robes, I shook my head. If I could fly, I’d have peeled her out of that thing like an overgrown beer can. Just pop the top and out she comes. Like a can of tuna. Mandalorian canned meat.
Something about that made me giggle and I quickly tamped down on the urge, strangling the sound as I looked around at the other Mandalorians—the few intact survivors dragging away their wounded. I felt suddenly thankful for my red skin hiding my blush as I remembered my little methe-fueled moment there at the end.
Maybe I went a little overboard…
Taking in the feelings of fear and defeat in the air and the way they were all eyeing me warily as they loaded up into a ship, utterly broken and unwilling to continue the fight, I hummed and reassessed. One escape. One untouched, wearing a medic patch. Six walking wounded. Eight that I’d left in various states of being disarmed—or dislegged—and the rest dead.
I giggled at my own joke, then forced it down again. My eyes were drawn to one of the Mandalorians picking over a corpse and I threw the hilt of one of my lightsabers at him. I waited until the last minute, then flicked the blade on and off again—just barely missing his wrist and making him jerk away from the corpse as I pulled the saber back to me. “That’s mine. All of it. Leave it. Take one ship and go.”
The man scrambled back and ran for the ship, hurrying inside. I watched it lift off and ignited both of my lightsabers while preparing to dodge, just in case they had the bright idea of using the ship’s guns on me. My danger sense was silent however and, after only a few moments, the ship lifted off and turned in the direction the redhead’s ship had fled.
As soon as it was out of sight, I heaved a sigh and lowered the output of the combat stimulant formula. I winced, my whole body aching as I moved towards where somehow, miraculously, the communicator Tor Vizsla had used was mostly intact. It was a good ache though and I intended to enjoy it for a while before I healed myself. The sharp little pains, on the other hand, I could do without. I slowly tallied them up as I moved.
Left thigh, outside, a deep gouge a third of the way up from my knee—not deep enough to tear the muscle or slow me down, but that one had hurt and now made my leg tremble when I walked on it, now that I wasn’t dosed to the gills with combat stimulants and painkillers. Right leg, calf, halfway down. It felt like a scratch, but it stung like a bitch every time I moved. Right hip, a bit deeper than the one on the calf, but not as bad as the one on the thigh. One just under my left tit—or where I’d have a left tit, if I weren’t entirely flat at the moment. I was pretty sure that once I grew up and filled in a bit, it’d be hiding under it. Three across my back, diagonally, closer together starting at my right hip and flaring out as they reached the left shoulder—the result of catching the edge of a burst of full-auto fire and having to choose between eating the entire spread in the lung, or letting a few graze me.
And they hadn’t left normal cuts. Oh, no. Being that they came from blaster fire, that is plasma weapons, every one of those was a burned out gouge in my flesh. I wasn’t even sure they would heal normally. I was less worried about scarring than I was about potential complications from the thigh and calf. I suppose the only thing for it was to try and see what happened.
In the meantime, I pushed those thoughts from my mind and righted the holo-comm and had it dial up the last comm it had called. A moment later, Master Dooku’s face appeared floating above it—moving through the city towards the hangar, I thought. “Tanya, are you hurt?”
“Minor injuries,” I shook my head. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“We’re coming to you,” Master Dyas called from off screen.
“Don’t bother. This site has been secured. I’ll be going to Jaster Mereel’s camp. I need to make a delivery.” Thinking back to what Vizsla had said, I asked, “Did you send Master Qui-Gon to Satine Kryze?”
“We did,” Master Dooku confirmed.
“Good. Then I’ll just… gather up some things and borrow a ship. I’ll see you soon.”
Disconnecting the call, I turned to look out over the camp that had become a battlefield. My lip curled in disgust at the stench and, as I started for my first target, I winced at the way my boots squished in the bloody mud. As it turns out, while lightsabers and blasters can and do cauterize wounds, that doesn’t mean they can’t open back up again and bleed all over.
Finding Tor Vizsla’s corpse, I used the Force to quickly and efficiently strip off his armor and weapons. I pulled his belt on over my robe and used his own knife to punch some new holes through it to resize it for my waist. I kept his blaster and holster on it and found a second holster for the blaster I’d taken from the redheaded Kryze girl. The armor, I lumped together and stuck his helmet on top of, before dumping it in the ship I’d be taking. Then I went over the battlefield, repeating the process—indulging in the time honored tradition of looting the dead.
The weapons I liked, I set aside for myself for later. I didn’t take much. Just a blaster rifle and a variety of grenades that I intended to keep a stock of in the future, along with all of the ammunition they had for my new blasters.
Unfortunately, a lot of it seemed to be fully integrated into the Mandalorian armor. Wrist mounted rockets of varying types. Flamethrowers. Some kind of line launchers. Back mounted missiles. Jetpacks—sorely tempting, because I wanted nothing more than to fly under my own power again.
They had my inner military otaku salivating, but I left them be. The armor was useless to me right now and probably would be in the future, seeing as much of it seemed to be at least partially fitted to the wearer.
Which was a shame, because whatever this stuff was made of was lighter than I was expecting. Still heavier than no armor at all, but tonight’s little scuffle had proven that enough firepower could overcome mobility and my shields—which had been the two biggest advantages I had. If I’d stopped for even an instant, they could have massed fire and forced me to hunker down, then just worn me down with continuous fire while part of their group split off to flank me. No, for as much damage as I’d taken, it was all relatively superficial—I’d had worse in the Empire—and I was still alive and mobile. But this incident convinced me of the need to add at least some armor to whatever I chose to use in the future. If I could get some of whatever this stuff was, since it could apparently just shrug off blaster bolts and even my lightsabers had just bounced off the few pieces they’d hit, when I missed aiming for joints and obvious gaps in the armor.
Of course, that didn’t mean I wasn’t keeping some souvenirs. No, Vizsla’s helmet was coming home with me. I was going to clean it up and polish it until it shined, then put it on my mantle, right above the swords I’d gotten from Dathomir. The black lightsaber would make a fine addition to my growing collection as well.
One thing was for certain though. I needed to practice more using the multi-saber techniques Ajunta Pall’s projection had been teaching me, in concert with my shields and other abilities. If I had picked one and stuck to it, or only used one flying saber, I would have had more mental bandwidth for more shields. The problem with that was, without the shock and awe of being able to intimidate them by projecting the feelings from my own memories of the Great War, along with taking out so many of their number so quickly with the extra swords combined with a blaster, they would have rallied and just worn me down.
So, while I worked on looting, I went over everything in my head and what I could have done differently. After all, the first person I had to justify my actions to in my after action report was myself, and I would always be my toughest critic, with the benefit of hindsight.
Perhaps I should have held off on the combat stimulants a while longer. However, the leg wound hurt like a bitch and would have slowed me down otherwise.
Perhaps I should have kept my blades in hand instead of opting to snipe throats and knees with a blaster pistol. If I had, there wouldn’t have been nearly as much disruption and chaos in their lines, and I would have been overwhelmed.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had a little moment of otaku glee at being challenged to a duel to the death and I should have taken a more practical approach… Yeah, okay, I might have messed up there. I should have just used the Force to throw him into the air and let him die like a chump from a broken neck or something. That was my mistake. But…
But it was so cool~!!!
Thankfully, no one was around to hear the squee that escaped my lips as I replayed the fight in my head.
If I were going to set it to a song, what would it be…?
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