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[b] A Mandalorian heart [/b]
[I] Every time in my live, when I got myself into trouble, it was caused by the same thing: someone asked for my help. Or worse: when I saw someone who needed help.. My greatest weakness ever has been that I was never able to turn my back on people in trouble. No matter how mad or dangerous the mission got: I did it and can proudly state that I never cursed one of the persons who got me in trouble. Does this make me a madmen, or just another trigger- happy adventurer of that kind that’s in mass supply ever since the great wars ended? I don’t really care. Sometimes in dark moments I may wish for something else, but live does not grant us all we wish.
(Cylar Mandragan, personal diaries)[/i]
The view from this window was just breathtaking, if one was able to overlook the spots of dirt, covering the transparisteel. Outside was an awesome landscape that got even more amazing as the night fell. Buildings so tall, that the name skyscrapers seemed out of place, rose in phantastic forms towards the dark sky, landings pads were hovering here and there, bridges crossed the gaps between the buildings, below fell what was called ‘streets’ down into a darkness, that resembeled the nightsky. Now, at night, millions of lights were flashing from windows, towers and doors, a sea of light, rivaling the stars up there. When the night fell the lights of starting and landing ships were casting long beams across the city, scattering the darkness for moments, and the was rain blurring everything just enough, that being slightly deranged was enough to believe one was looking at Coruscant, the galactic capital, the city of lights. But out of the dark alleys, from the dark depth below the city, emerges a smell, a deep characteristic stink, and the lights on shop windows announce arms dealers, information sellers, mercenary agencies, bounty hunter associations and so called paper traders, whose name derives from forging any kind of document, this wasn’t Courscant, this was Nar Shadaa.
Cylar Mandragan swallowed what remained in his nearly empty glass, setting it back on the table and turned his eyes to the huge Kovaki, the owner of the bar, who just had come over to him. The four arms of the Kovaki were either resting on the tables edge oder stemmed on his hips. Hrrashar owned this bar for a couple of years and had never forgotten that he owed his new life to Cylar. Now he just took the empty glass and fixed his three eyes on his guest. Cylar pointed towards the windows. “They could stand some cleaning now and then.” He pointed out.
The Kovaki’s big mouth formed an amused grin. “You love the sight of the city, or you wouldn’t come here.” He observed.
Cylar nodded. “All too true. It’s one of the advantages your cantina has, Hrrashar.“ Speaking this, he fully turned towards the Kovaki. Exposing his own face to the light. He knew that Hrrashar did not really mind. If he ever had realised that the scar that ran across Cylars face, parting the left eyebrow, running across the noses roots, and ending just below the right eye, disfigured Cylars hard but slightly handsome features, was unknown to the mercenary, who had stopped caring for his looks some time back.
Hrrashar stood silent for a moment, like weighting his responsibilities, then he spoke. “Perhaps you go early tonight, something nasty is bound to happen, tonight.” Hastily he turned and walked back to his work.
Cylar frowned shortly. This had sounded like Hrrashar fearing something. Leaning back again, he hid his face in shadows and took some time to study the cantina. If his old friend was in trouble of some sorts, than Cylar was not bound to leave.
***
It did not look like there was something to happen all too soon. Some people came and went, some complained but few did, Nar Shadaa wasn’t a place reknowned for his great range of services after all. Cylar sipped some of the water standing before him, and scanned closer on the customers that came the later the night went. He had seen the small assembly of Mandalorians in a corner on the other side of the cantina some time back. Not that he really minded them, in his line of work, he had been forced to ignore the presence of some Mandalorians more than once. Today he did not just ignore them, as he usually did, but studied them closer. They were seven of them, all wearing the typical Mandalorian assault armor, whose mere view was feared throughout the galaxy. This type of armour made them hard to ditinguish. Hard but not impossible. After some minutes of intense study, Cylar had worked out some marks, on them. One of them was slightly less tall then the rest among them, a second one was limping a little, the third of them was constantly playing with a throwing knife, while the fourth one stood like a pillar of stone, unmoving and uncaring, five and six where nearly identical but on closer look, Cylar detected that one of them had the habit of fingering the hilt of his vibroblade very often, a nervous habit of some sorts probably. The seventh one wore an armour slightly different from the rest and of silver color, in addion were his shoulders a little bit broader then the rest’s and he moved a little bit slower then them. He was older then them, Cylar concluded after another five minutes observing them. Having them figured out satisfactorily, he shifted his attention to some Toydarian who just started arguing with a Hutt over a game of Pazaak, when the noise broke out in the Mandalorian corner. It was not a simple argument, however violent, but an outright fight that errupted within moments. “It’s long time you are dead!!” The smaller Mandalorian roared, while leaping towards the older Mandalorian. The others moved along, uniting six against one fighter. The elder Mandalorian kicked the table against three of them, winning one moment, to take some hasty steps back, chosing his battlefield, so that he had the bar at his back. All six opponents attacked him at once, forming roughly a half circle around him.
[I] “So much for the famed Mandalorian honor![/I] Cylar commented inwardly, and wanted to turn away from what happened there. He did not care what became of a Mandalorian, or the whole bunch of them. But somehow he did not manage to look away.
The fight was a bitter one. The older Mandalorian defended himself well, no he fought back like a wounded lion! His opponents had no easy game here, even as he stood no chance in the long run. Cylar sighed inwardly, he did not want to care if some Mandalorians slew one of their own kind, but he could not just watch while one fighter was simply murdered by some cowards who had outnumbered him.
He rose, taking up his two Echani blades and sped across the cantina. Not a moment too late did he reach the battlefield. The older Mandalorian had been cornered, and the tallest among his enemies was just unleashing a last attack on him. Cylar took all his strength and jumped into an attack, that misdirected the deadly blow. The Mandalorian, unaware of any new adversary took a serious wound from the blow. . Cylor soon found himself not fighting one opponent but four of them. He broke free from his first adversary, spun arround and saw himself confronted with the smaller warrior, wearing the classical Mandalorian armour was slightly a disadvantage for the man, who could not move as deftly as Cylar did. He dodged the first attack, diving below the blade, and delivering a thrust upwards, that nearly broke through the armor. But a harsh blow, dealt out with the armoured fist, threw him backwards. He jolted, landing on his feet again. Inwarldy Cylar cursed the force, Sith and fate in one breath, he had no breath to spare for a loud curse. Why in the name of old demented Naga Sadow, had some Mandalorians the intention to slay one of they number in this dirty way, instead of duelling him to death?! Had they nothing better to do? Planning to conquer the galaxy perhaps? He set a hard snap kick against the warrior to his left, these Mandalorians rarley understood the art of unarmoured, fast fighting, and unleashed a whirlwind of attacks on the first one, who parried half of them, and suffered some damage from the rest. Caught in between these fighters Cylar had also received the first wounds, nothing really serious by now, but he knew he was not to last long if things went on this way. Again he spun delivering another snap catching one of his enemies off guard, he fell backwards, exposing one of the Mandalorians who still fought the older one. Cylar threw the short blade from his right hand immediately. The razor sharp blade was not likely to miss the target and the victim himself did not see it coming, it cut clear through the weak armor protecting the neck. Cylar had no time to see that Mandalorian fall, there were some others to go before this was over.
Six bodies were lying on the cantinas floor, blood stained the floor, the customers had fled long ago. Cylar looked around, and saw Hrrashar. The Kovaki came running towards them. ‘Them’ qualified for Cylar himself and the elder Mandalorian, leaning against the bar. “You have to run before their friends find out what happened here.” He shouted. “Some Duros are right on their way here!”
Cylar looked to the Mandalorian in his bloodstained silver armor. “We’ll have to go through the backdoor.”
***
The landing pat was old, battered and rarely used. Cylar had to bite his teeth not to collapse, when they reached it. His ship was standing there, untouched and ready for a quick launch. He looked towards that Mandalorian, who had taken there hasty run through Nar Shadaas nasty backalleys surprisingly well. Cylar pointed towards an old crate. “Sit down, I still have two medpacks, I’ll look after your wounds.” He said. The Mandalorian was too tired to argue. The way he sat down, betrayed, that he was on the verge of exhaustion. It took some time, before he had catched his breath. “I have to thank you. You saved my life back there.”
Cylar, who concentrated on the Kolto, to treat some of the deeper cuts, shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t thank me. Will you manage to reach your ship and get off planet?”
“We… we came onboard of the same vessel.” The Mandalorian replied. “But I’ll find some other way.”
Cylar sighed. This did not bode well. He could not leave this man to his fate, after saving him. “Why do they want to murder you?” he asked instead.
The silver helmet turned towards him. “Do you know who I am?” the question carried a sense of command, that Cylar did not really like. “Nope.” He replied. “You are a Mandalorian on the verge of getting murdered, that’s all I know.”
“I am Mandalore.”
“Mandalore? Like in… the Mandalore? Leader of all Mandalorians, chief warmonger of the galaxy and biggest troublemaker whatsoever?” Cylar groaned. “Just my luck. If I am to safe a Sithspit Mandalorian, it is an important one!” He relaxed a bit, swallowing his anger. “Well then. Here is what we do: We board my ship and make a quick run out of this dirthole. Later you can tell me were to set you down.”
“You don’t need to do this, if it deems you too dangerous.” Mandalore replied. “You did already enough, and I won’t forget it.”
Cylar rose. He felt the cuts and bruises he had received himself. “Listen, Mandalorian: I don’t care what happens to you, your warmongering nation or your clan, you can get eaten by a rancor for all I care, but I won’t leave you here knowing that you’ll be murdered. That’s what I call dishonorable. So board my ship and I’ll get us out of here.”
***
Cylar relaxed enough to accept his present situation, as he piloted the ‘Starblade’ into hyperspace. The transition went so smoothly as ever, and he had even managed to forget about the Mandalorian, who was occupying the co pilot’s chair and observing him. “You don’t like Mandalorians.” He statet, after Cylar activted the auto pilot.
“Right you are. I hate your bunch to be correct.” Cylar replied. “So don’t try to make friends or something.” He did not want to speak to the Mandalorian.
“Something happened to you, I assume.” Replied the warrior, not taken aback the least, by Cylars rude words. “What was it? Was your family slaughtered by Mandalorian raiders? Or was it perhaps your homeworld whiped out by Mandalorian forces? Perhaps your mother and sisters fell victim to some Mandalorians?”
Cylars eyes flashed. “You must be a lousy marksman. Zero out of three. But then Mandalorians are lousy, aren’t they?”
“My favorite weapons always were blades.” Mandalore answered. “What is it? Do you feel strong enough for a little sparring match?”
“Are you mad? I treated your injuries three hours ago, as well as mine. Even with Kolto to heal them quickly, you still must feel them. And I have the advantage of being younger and less injured.” Cylar replied irritated.
“I have the advantage of more experience. And a warrior must be able to fight, every moment of his life, or he’ll die before long. So what do you think? If you win, I’ll never ask a question about you again, if I win, you’ll tell me your story.”
“How do you know that there is room onboard this ship to have a sparring match?”
“I know freighters of this class. I know them very well. There is a cargohold on the starboardside, that should be suffice.”
Cylar was silent for a moment, musing. Than he nodded. “Very well. We’ll have a little sparring match. If you win, I’ll tell you why I hate Mandalorians. But if I win…” He hesitated, unsure how to explain his wish. “I… I want to see your face.”
Mandalores gaze fixed on him, even through the helmets visoreyes. “All right. Best me, and you shall see my face.”
Cylar had fought opponents all over the galaxy and was an apt fighter. He had known from the very beginning that this was going to be tough, but he had never imagined how tough. Mandalore seemed to be well up to the fast pace Cylar dictated and had unimaginable reflexes to parry fast and cunning attacks. First they had stood opposite of each other, blades touching at the tips, then Cylar broke free and the fight began. After the first few blows and parrys Cylar knew he stood against a master with the blade, a true master at that. Even his fastest and strongest attacks ran into perfect counters. Mandalore was more than a good fighter, his attacks were awsome, the defenses impenetrable and his technique amazing. Three parrys and two steps back more and Cylar knew for certain he was not likely to win. But this did not make him give in or cease, he fought with all the strength and concentration he was able to muster. Two times his blade left bloody marks on his opponents arms, then one at the shoulder, and the next moment it happened: Mandalore had committed that mistake delibaretly, luring Cylar into this attack, accepting the wound to break through Cylars cover, driving his blade into Cylars body. A burning pain errupted from Cylars chest, he tried a last counter attack, but his wounded body failed him, the blade missed the target and he fell.
Cylar knew he had not been unconcious for long. When the blackness slowly vanished, he found Mandalore kneeling beside him on the floor of the cargo hold. The Mandalorian was injecting something right into Cylars upper left arm, something warm seemed to be flooding through his veins. “That’s better. I never intended to hit you that hard.” Mandalores voice betrayed something like genuine concern.
“I never saw such an attack before.” Cylar replied, sitting up. The wound in his chest had already been treated with enough Kolto, to make it heal without problems.
“When I was younger I used to sparr with a Jedi quite regularly, there I learned that one.” Mandalore pointed out, rising again, offering Cylar a hand, to help him up again. Cylar accepted the help and rose fully. “I owe you a story, I suppose.”
“Not, if you aren’t up to it.” The Mandalorian said. “Sometimes it I too hard to open old wounds anew.”
“No. You won, if you really care to know, I can tell you.” Cylar was amazed by the Mandalorians words. He did not want to be in his debt in any way.
They both returned to the cockpit, Mandalore nodded shortly. “Well then. What happened to you, that you hate Mandalorians that much? Am I wrong, or do I hear a trace of Onderonian accent in your basic?”
Cylar nodded. “Right you are. I am from Onderon. And what happened… well, everything started with my mother, loving a Mandalorian. I know it sounds stupid, but it is where everything begins. The Mandalorians had conquered Onderon, their rule was harsh – but you know that part. My mother was a surgeon, she worked in a hospital. The Mandalorians just tolerated the hospital because it was usefull to them. Among all those Mandalorians she had to patch up again, my mother encountered a young Mandalorian commander who… well, he was interested in her. At first she went along, just to get a better standing with the Mandalorians. He was a commander and had some influence with the Mandalorian governement. She hoped to get some help in keeping the hospital in a working condition. Things worked out on that level, but she also got to know that Mandalorian better and got to like him. First a little, than a little more and in the end she genuinely cared for him. For nearly a year he was on Onderon, and was her… lover. Then he left for new conquests right into the heart of the republic. He never said goodbye, just left her. She was pregnant at that time. All Onderon considered her a whore, even as she had used what little influence she had to help others, she was a whore to them. After the Mandalorians were driven off Onderon, things became even worse. There was an official inverstigation wether my mother had collaborated with the Mandalorians or not, and even as they decided that she just had tried to help Onderon citizens by her doing, she still stayed an outlaw. To the people she was a trollop and I was… a bastard. My mother had to work as a nurse later on. She always kept track of the events in the war, and read all records she could get about Malachor V. The day she found some obskure Data, a list of prisoners with my father name on it, she was so glad. He had survived the battle of Malachor V, he would be free soon and perhaps he would return to her. But he never did. She waited and hoped for so many years, but he never came. The Jedi war broke out, and again she gained some hope, because my father must have been working as a mercenary for the republic that time. Perhaps, when the Jedi war was over he might come home. But again, she waited in vain. When I was about twelfe, I got myself into trouble. I defended some Ithorian boy against a bunch of Onderonian kids. All parents, including the Ithorians parents, concluded that there was too much of a Mandalorian in me. My mother tried to wave it off, but to them I was just a brat sired by some Mandalorian warmonger. They told her, to get me off planet, or suffer the consequences. She took what credits she had saved and send a holorecorded message to someone in the republic, whom she knew to have been in contact with my father during the Jedi civil war. I never knew what answer she got. The night that answer reached her, she commited suicide. She just heard that my father did not give a damn what became of her, I suppose.” Cylars eyes fixed on the Mandalorian beside him. “That’s about it. I hate your kind because you ruined my mothers life. I don’t mean only that guy who happens to be my father, but also your whole nation, that breeds this kind of uncaring, cold hearted warriors.”
Mandalore did not speak at once. He was intelligent enough to read between the lines of Cylars report. Slowly he placed his gloved hand on the younger mans shoulder. “It must have been hard, to live with all the hatred around you and have no one to care on the other side.” He spoke in a hushed voice. “Is it…. Is it possible that your father never knew your existence?”
Cylar was tempted to shrug off Mandalores concern. He did not want the Mandalorian to understand. He had hoped the Mandalorian would mock him, tell him that he had never truly suffered or something that would allow him to end this conversation and go on hating Mandalorians for the rest of his natural life. “May be. I don’t know. All I know is that he never came back, or cared enough to try to find out what had happened to us.” He rose from the pilots chair. “It’s still ten hours until we are in Dxun. I’ll get some sleep. As you know this kind of frighter, you’ll know where the portside quarters are, if you want to do the same.”
***
A touch on his shoulder woke Cylar from his slumber. He jolted, sitting up rather rapidly. “Calm down, you have nothing to fear.” He heard a voice, speaking in the well known Iziz accent. “You suffered some rather severe injuries.”
Cylar blinked, seeing no less than three armed men, soldiers, inside the starboard quarters. A fourth one, a military surgeon, was right beside him. They all were from Onderon militia, he realised, not from the feared red guard. “What happened? Where am I?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, you are on Onderon, the Mandalorian who commandeered your ship is in custody, so you have no cause to worry.” One of the soldiers replied. “He has given you a rough time, judging by your wounds.”
“The Mandalorian?” Cylar tried to piece things together. His ID still marked him as a citizen of Onderon, even as he had managed to change his name, when he had been seventeen.
“Did you suffer a headwound?” the soldier – was was Major as Cylar saw – asked. “Don’t you remember that old Mandalorian, styling himself as ‘Mandalore’ who captured your ship?”
Cylar nodded. “I remember quite well, Major. What… what happened to him?”
“He’s in custody and will be tried for his crimes of war. So don’t worry about him.” Was the answer. “Where did he enter your ship?”
Cylar realised fast enough what was going on. “Dantooine.” He replied. “He took me by surprise.” He had to get rid of these ‘helpful’ soldiers soon.
The major nodded. “This has happened to many a good man. Don’t be ashamed that he managed to take you by surprise, Mandalorians are very dangerous enemies.” His gaze shifted towards the physician. “Doctor, does the patient need time in a Kolto tank?”
The physician shook his head. “No, the wounds will heal without this.” He rose, nodding towards Cylar. “Try to rest for a day or two and you’ll be perfectly fine.”
The soldiers asked questions for another hour finding Cylar cooperative but without many answers. He claimed to have been unconciouss for most of the voyage. As soon as they left his ship, Cylar sat up in his bunk. He knew that a prisoner of Mandalores kind would be held in Planar Tower Prison, the most guarded place in Iziz. It would take more than skill and luck to break into the prison and to bail the Mandalorian out. For a moment he considered to leave Mandalore to Onderons judical system. He shook his head, knowing what his fellow Onderon citizens understood for justice, all too well. Suddenly he felt so tired. He never liked Mandalorians, and he hated Onderonians either, but to save the one he had to fight the latter. “I’ll have to save you a second time, Mandalore.” He said to the silence of the ship. “The universe just proves it’s weird sense of humour.” Rising be began to think of a plan.
***
Cylar jumped off the wall and silently landed in the dark, sloppy street. The guardian stood twenty meters away, down the street. He had not heard him. Silent as a cat Cylar glided behind him. Using his left arm, to grip the throat of the guardian rather hard to prevent a loud cry, while he stabbed his knife into his back. The vibroblade easily cut through the armour - breastplate as well as the shield the guard had used, the post sank back without a struggle. He was dead that instant. Cylar hastily took the corpse and dragged him deeper into the dark alley. Than he took a little moment to examine the body. The armoury was plain and simple, he had been a normal foot soldier of Onderon. No Red Guardian, not yet. But soon they would arrive here, when word got out what happened, and then the hunt would begin. He looked into the face of the dead man. He was quite young one, had surely been liable for military service, and hoped that he could fullfil his duty in times of peace, or what went for peace these days. Cylar felt a vague relief that this dead one was not someone he knew.
He shook his head and forced himself to forget about the fact that he might well run into people he knew from times back. He had a mission to accomplish. And he got better moving, before someone missed that miserable post. Carefully watching any move in the darkness he headed down the dark alley. On the other side of the place was a building, towering high over the whole city. Cylar smiled coldly into the darkness. Any person, who had never lived on this miserable planet would guess, that this was. This high tower, uilt back in times of the great beastriderwars was the feared Planar Tower Prison. The prison that was told about in so many dark and sinister stories, most of them more true, than the storietellers dared to guess.
Cylar glided silently through the darkness, until he reached a small and miserable alley behind the prison. He looked cautiously around. He knew all too well, that many watching eyes could be scanning the alley, though they were no guardians, and would not summon for the guards. Nevertheless when one of them recognised him, he may inform the Red Guardians, just to settle an old score. Hatred ran deep in these parts. But he saw nothing but the shadows of the darkness. He hurried and took his harpoon out of his backpack. Aiming up to the building, he had some difficulties to see clearly. Irritated he activated the infrared mask, and from one moment to the next anything was touched by a red, dark glow. He recognised his target by the dark gloom the was covering the higher levels of the prison. He fired the harpoon, it was flying straight up and hit the building a little bit too high, but it would do. He heard a noise in his back, turning round, he threw one of his knives on a shadow, that was jumping in his direction. A body fell with a dark thud into the dirt of the alley. Cylar headed back. He did not care to look, if the man was dead, he had never to threw a second knife. He dragged the corpse behind some rubbish tons, and removed the knife. He saw a dirt covered face, and needed some moments to remember, that he had known him once. It was Jondy, the rat. He shrugged his shoulders. Welcome Home.
Cylar had climbed the wall without problems, the thin cable hanging from the harpoon was all help he required and reached a dark window. It was secured by a modern energy field and rather old fashioned bars. Cylar secured himself with his right hand around the rope, while he touched the energy field with his left hand. Only his glooves protected him from being burned that instant. A wave of burning pain ran up his arm and into his shoulder. Cylar ignored the burning pain, and reached through the field. The pain became almost unbearable. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the contact, that was behind the field. As soon as he touched it, the energy field fell down. The pain vanished leaving cold and limb feeling in his arm. Cylar set his feet against the wall, it would be far easier to overcome these bars. Ten minutes later he was in the prison. He had cut off some of the energy circuits. Wich gave him exactly 30 minutes before the security droids would recognise the breach.
A long and dark floor, with some secured doors, right and left emerged before him. It was all silent in here. Only his steps echoing in the great silence. He had not raised the alarm. Not yet. He checked the numbers of the doors. He was on the right level. It had taken him considerable effort to get into Onderons high security data network to find out what he needed to know, but by the end of the day he had known everything he needed to know.
He stopped at a door, that was secured with less care, than some of the cells. It took only a moment to open it. In the darkness he saw not much of the storage room before him. Or better to say: his eyes did not see much, his hands did, nevertheless. They found what he was looking for in no time. The stuff was packed into a heavy bundle. The armorplates feld cold under his fingers. Without long hesitation he stuffed the whole bundle into his backpack and off he went.
He sneaked onwards No guardians were up here. Small wonder, no one was supposed to come so far inside Planar Prison Tower. He stopped, recognising the right door. It was locked with a code lock. Simple, but effective, against anyone. Cylar smiled darkly. After his mothers suicide he had earned his living by picking and stealing. He checked the type of the lock and started his work. It needed no three minutes and it opened up. The door opened too and Cylar looked into a small cell. On the ground sat a man he did not recognise at once. It was not the armorclad Mandalorian he knew. It was an old man, in some simple clothes. He was tall, still broadshouldered, his short hair was of an iron grey tone, like his eyes were too. There was a scar, running along his chin. The moment he saw Cylar he rose, the movement alone told the younger man, that his was Mandalore.
The sound of a dozen feets riped the silence of the prison apart. Inwardly Cylar cursed the Red Guardians. He took one of the explosives, throwing it down the stairs, where he heard the feet. An explosion shook the building, but the floor collapsed, and some of them were injured, to judge by the cries. “Come, time to get out of here.”
“But where to?” the question was dry and ironically. The man had not lost his nerves down here. He observed the situation as calm and coldly as only a very experienced warrior could. Cylar gestured the stairs up. “The roof.” He replied, handing one of his blades and a concussionblaster to Mandalore.
The ran up a long flight of stairs, while Cylar activated his Comlink. “Bird, that’s Wolf, we are heading for the roofs.”
He heard a well known beeping and humming, that just meant: ‘On my way.’
They had mounted the last flight of stairs, and reached the flat roof of Planar Tower Prison. A small point of light, falling from the dark sky came nearer and nearer. Cylar knew that T2V3 would land as fast as he could. The battered freighter set down on the roof, when a veil of laserfire from the neighboring roof hit them. Cylar fell down, and answered the fire, with his light gun. On the next roof was a whole bunch of the Red Guardians. They prepared to cross the rift between the roofs. Cylar threw to explosives, that shook them off, for the moment. He heard the ship landing. »Run for it, I’ll take them.« he threw another explosive. But he had underestimated the old Mandalorian warrior. He had knelt down, calmly, ignoring the fire around him, and started shooting back. Precise like a machine he took out one enemy after the other.
Cylar threw the last grenade on the remaining Red Guardians, when the ship set down right in their backs. Giving the other as much cover as possible they both retreated to the ramp. As soon as they were in the ship, Cylar sped towards the cockpit, while Mandalore manned the gun turret, they were to ask their way out of here, the hard way!
***
Eventually ‘Starblade’ had landed on Dxun. The ship was more battered than ever after escaping from Onderon. But the Onderon militia did not dare to attack Dxun, risking an outright war that way. Cylar saw Mandalore, who just had left the gun turret and joined him the cockpit. “We made it.”
Cylar grinned. “Yes we did, and we gave them, over there in Onderon, some new causes to hate both of us.” He added. Not that he really regretted this, or perhaps that’s what he wanted to think. The short moment after Mandalores imprisonment, when the soldiers had treated Cylar like a normal citizen, he had learned what it meant to belong somewhere. He rose from the pilots chair. “I think you should consider moving your base camp elsewhere.”
Mandalore shook his head. “This moon is Mandalorian territory and thus it will stay.” He spoke firmly, than his grey eyes tried to catch Cylars gaze. “I have to thank you again. You saved my life, twice in two days.” A self ironic smile touched his lips. “It’s what they call getting old, I suppose.”
When Cylar saw the old warrior, now not hiding behind the impenetrable armour of Mandalore, he could not see him with the same spite he had felt before. “For a man of your age you are the hell of a warrior.” He pointed out. He took up his backpack and took out what he had retrieved from the dark storeroom. An odd shaped silver helmet. He tossed it at Mandalore. “I think that’s yours.”
Mandalore caught the helm easily, than looked at Cylar, irritated. “You just give it back?” he asked, there was a strange tone in his voice this time. “You ripped it right out of the enemies clutches, you could claim it.”
Cylar shook his head. Some of his long blonde hair brushed his shoulders. “No. I sneaked it out of a dark cupboard. No glory concerning that one. And I am --- I am no Mandalorian. It is your’s by right, and if you managed to convince *me* of that, than it is saying something.” He could see that his words had left Mandalore not cold, and so he added. “We ought not to let your troops wait for too long.” He turned to leave the cockpit.
“Cylar, wait.” Mandalore had set the helmet aside and took a step towards Cylar. “Wait, please.”
Cylar turned towards him. “What is it. No, don’t thank me again, we are already through this. Let’s get you back to your loyal troops and the whole story is over.” He felt not really well saying this. He did not want to get used to this old warriors company. He did not want to like or respect him.
“Cylar… is there any chance that your mothers name…., that her name was Amelie Sefaar?” Mandalore asked in a tone, that came close to muffeled.
For a moment Cylar stood like a pillar of salt. “It was her name.” He replied slowly. “But if you know this, than you are…. Canderous Ordo.” The last words were nothing more than a whisper. Hastily he turned, hurrying down the corridor towards his quarters. He did not want to hear anything, no words, no accusations, no explainations. He felt cold inside. He had always known his fathers name, but this name had not been heard since the Jedi civil war had ended. Some time he had assumed he might run into his father on some mercenary mission and would perhaps get a chance to repay him for all he done to his mother. Perhaps this had been his true cause for staying a mercenary all those years. Cylar bent down on the cold floor of his quarters, for the first time in long years he wished he could cry, to somehow calm the pain that war pressing at his chest. Before his inner eye he could see his mother, as he had seen her, on that last day, all these years ago. How often had she told him, that he resembled his father? All too often.
Strong hands gripped his shoulders, someone bent down beside him. Cylar blinked, he new who this was. “Leave me alone, please.” He said, his voice more hoarse than he liked.
“Cylar, I can imagine that this is cruel, but please… hear me out.” Mandalores, Canderous voice was steady and firm, but friendly in some way.
Cylar had to muster some strenght to finde enoug countenance to look up. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear that you loved her, and never knew you had a son, or that you just used her, and secretly laughed at her feelings. Just don’t tell me, that will do.”
The hands that gripped his shoulders got more tight and the grey eyes became darker. “It’s more complicated than that.” Canderous replied. “It started easy. I was younger than, but not too old to have affairs in every second port I stayed for longer. I can’t honstetly claim to have loved your mother the same way she loved me. But I respected her. Among all these weak Onderonians, she was strong and true to herself. She was special, and I came to respect her, to value her company. I knew she had born a son, but I did not return because…” He took a slow breath. “She hated the Mandalorian way. She was a surgeon, determined to help and to heal, I believed she’s never wish I come back and make her son a warrior. I believed she’d be happier that way.” He let go of Cylar and rose. “But I was wrong. And in that, I failed. I failed her, and I failed you. I can’t make it up, or attone for it, and I know this. I can’t even say that I am proud of you – even as I am, because you are a great fighter – because it would mean to claim you as a son, what you couldn’t accept.” He turned to go and to leave Cylar alone, as he had asked him to.
Cylar swallowed hard. All his life he had insisted to know why his father had never returned, taking the worst causes for granted, so that he could hate his father as well. Knowing at last hurt. He closed his eyes, again he saw the image of his mother on that last day, like he had seen her for the last time, as a boy. A faint, sad smile on her lips. One day you’ll understand. And slowly he got her meaning. She had never wanted him to hate his father, or to avenge her.
He never knew how long he had knelt on the cabinfloor. He had been alone ever since Canderous left and it had taken time for Cylar to understand. Now, as he rose he felt calmer and a little better. Even as the sadness remained. When he slowly descended the ships ramp, he had to shield his eyes from the midday glare of the sun. A Mandalorian in a red armour walked towards him. “I am Kelborn. Mandalore told me to see if your ship needs some repairs or other help.” He said.
Cylar shook his head. “It doesn’t. But, perhaps you can help me otherwise. I don’t know much about Mandalorian customs, and need to know something.”
Kelborn relaxed into a fairly composed position. “Mandalore told me about what you did over there in Iziz. You must be a fine warrior, so you might ask.”
“It’s a simple question. I am half a Mandalorian by birth.” Cylar explained. “What am I to do, to be allowed to join a Mandalorian clan?”
Under his helmet Kelborn grinned. “Well, you need to prove yourself and you need a mentor to teach you the Mandalorian ways. Considering how you handeled yourself in Iziz you might find someone. Why don’t you come along, to the duelling circle and show me how good you are, while we talk this over?”
