AN: Double Release Today
Hovering above the broken train station was the capital ship that Wilhuff had disembarked from. Within the bridge of this military machine was the patriarch of the Tarkin family, Maxwell Tarkin.
Gritting his teeth so hard that they almost cracked, the bushy mustachioed noble gripped the armrest to his 'captain's' chair tightly. A vein visibly pulsed on his forehead as he had just played witness to all that had transpired.
The resources that had gone into reproducing the clone, armor, and neural network interface had cost him a small fortune. With the mold completed and costs going down, a dozen more were all set to be in production at a secret research facility on Coruscant, yet who would want to use the cloned brain of his beloved son now?!
Gasping heavily, Maxwell's blood pressure was spiking, and his eyes were practically glowing red with rage.
"Finished, my legacy, my son…" Maxwell said in despair, his words trailed off as he then felt a soothing light pulse through him, curing him of his hidden illnesses.
Taking a deep, refreshing breath, he stood up from his seat with a straightened spine. The aches and pains of old age had left him. Narrowing his wintery blue eyes, the old man watched a display monitor capture Revan's words.
He had to admit, the Jedi had performed a legendary feat. Exposing the failings of the Tarkins by playing his son, healing so many people. It disgusted him that he hadn't thought to rope the Jedi in, or at least to try and save a couple from the purge. If they could resurrect the dead, then perhaps his line could have prospered.
Regret pulsed through his veins as Maxwell realized he had miscalculated. Greed had been his undoing. He had wanted to eat all of Eriadu in one bite, and Palpatine had been the impetus for that long held Tarkin ambition. To dissolve the Quintad, and name themselves as the sole dictators of this, their beloved planet. Yet all that was swept away to the wayside.
Seeing that Revan appeared weak, and weary after such an intense fight, he would not squander this opportunity. A long road of rebellion was ahead of him, but by taking out the source, he would be saving himself future headaches.
'Surely, His Majesty would be pleased with this victory.' Maxwell consoled himself. 'If he can reproduce a full clone of my son…than there isn't anything I won't do!'
He was left with only one option now.
"Open fire." Maxwell ordered.
The bridge crew seemed to hesitate. They looked amongst themselves, and many of them seemed to be unwilling.
Stabbing his cane into the metal deck of the bridge, his voice took on a sinister, yet melodic tune as he walked past the men.
"The world is cruel, the world is wicked. It is I alone whom you can trust in this whole city. I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you, pay you, house you, raised you. It is I alone who look upon you without fear. How can I protect you boys, unless you obey me?
For generations, you have stood above the rabble. Shared in my fare, enjoyed the pleasures exclusive to but few. They would sooner stab you in the subway than shake your hand! What are you hesitating for? Do it!"
Upon completing his speech, the few men who were beginning to have wavering resolve, or were being swayed by Revan's siren-like speech squared their shoulders. Moving to follow out Maxwell's orders, the corporate soldiers aboard the ship began to carry out his orders.
Maxwell Tarkin stood to his full height. Looking down his hawkish nose, he allowed a small smile to grace his lips. This was the Tarkin way. Not some full frontal assault with mercenaries. No! It was about control! Own a man's heart, and you owned him, body & soul!
Just as the ship began to shudder and warm up as power coursed through her systems, when powerful turbolasers were about to beam that masked nuisance into oblivion, something went awry.
A light cruiser flying wobbily-as if a novice or drunkard were in control-came blasting by. Its guns tore into Maxwell's ship, and as soon as the big blast beam was about to drop down onto Revan's position, the light cruiser blocked the hit! Miraculously, it was still flying!
"Sir, the IFF indicates that ship is the Millennium Falcon, a vessel belonging to a high class Imperial Agent!" An officer exclaimed.
"Destroy it, Lieutenant. However, do not let that distract you from your duties. I want Revan dead, this is your priority."
"Yes my Lord!"
Just as the ship was going to go for another laser barrage, an explosive fireball erupted from one of the hangars! Then, the ship began to shake and tilt to one side as repeated explosives sent tremors through durasteel plated deck after deck.
Collapsing into his chair, Maxwell didn't allow himself to panic.
"Shields, full power!"
"Sir, the damage is internal! The shield generator isn't designed to cover those areas!" An officer replied in a panicked tone.
A second later, a screen flickered to life, and showed a group of Mandalorians causing havoc within the halls. No matter how many troopers tried to kill them, they were easily gunned down, lit on fire, or exploded into meat paste.
"What is the meaning of this? The ancient Mandalorian weapons cache was supposed to be used for research purposes. It merely served as bait to hire the mercenaries. Why has Clan Keldau been equipped with them, why are they betraying us?" Maxwell shook his head, a quizzical expression spread across his face.
"Sir! Lord Wilhuff ordered them to be equipped!...as for their betrayal, it's likely due to earlier reports of friendly fire!" The Lieutenant shouted over his shoulder as he directed fire teams to intercept the Mandalorians.
Maxwell was about to say something more, cursing the cloners for their rushed job on his son, when the door to the bridge was directly pried open. A pair of giant, mechanical, dog-like paws wrenched the durasteel plating apart like it was made of cardboard. Brute forcing its way into the command room, a Basilisk Wardroid emitted a sonic wave with its front mounted pulse cannons.
Maxwell-along with all the corporate troops-collapsed to the ground in pain.
Clawing at his command chair, Maxwell reached for his blaster pistol, only to have a vambrace launched vibrosaw cut into his wrist, and remove his hand from his body.
Gritting his teeth, Maxwell ignored the pain, and then pointed his cane at the armored Mandalorians. The tip of the weapon sharpened into a vibroblade at the press of a button.
A man wearing the most decorated suit of armor stepped forward, his 12 other cohorts fell a step behind, forming a semi circle. They began to gun down all the bridge crew, letting the two leaders speak to one another.
"Commander Vekk. You betrayed a contract. A follower of the old ways, how could scum such as yourselves pretend to be Mandalorian!" Maxwell taunted.
"You Tarkins betrayed the contract when you used my brothers as cannon fodder, and shot us in the back. This is your recompense." Vekk darkly muttered, then shot his blaster at Maxwell's kneecaps.
The old man-cured of his aches-moved with the grace of a seasoned duelist. A hero of the former age, Maxwell had dispatched thousands of pirates, and fought in dozens of conflicts. Flourishing his cane, he side stepped one shot, and blocked another.
Vekk dropped his gun, then drew a savage bowie-knife style vibroblade, and moved to engage the old man in melee.
Without saying another word, Maxwell leaned low, flicking his blade down as if he was going to stab into a gap of Vekk's armor. Then, twisting his body to evade the incoming knife, he smeared the blood from his wrist-where his severed hand once was-all over Vekk's visor.
The other Mandalorians tensed, yet all stood still as they witnessed this duel between warriors.
Vekk, unperturbed, caught the damaged wrist with his offhand, and as Maxwell tried to slip away, the old man was headbutted by a beskar reinforced helmet!
Maxwell tumbled backward, and used the momentum to twist. His cane sword came up at an unpredictable angle, and was aimed at a weak point at the neck.
Vekk was a seasoned warrior, and instead of pursuing for the kill, had pulled back, evading the close call.
As the old man collided with the hard durasteel deck, he tried to roll forward, only for a spool of rope wire to leave the Mandalorian's wrist attachment. Legs caught up like an insect trapped in a spider's cocoon, Maxwell moved to cut it, yet had his sword wielding hand stomped on.
The old man grit his teeth, refusing to cry out in pain. He struggled to wrench his hand free, yet Vekk reached down, then lifted Maxwell by his chin with one massive, gauntleted hand. He then slammed the old man's skull into the deck again and again until he moved no more.
"The blood debt has been settled!" Vekk declared, and raised a bloodied fist in triumph.
"Mand'alor! Manda'lor! Manda'lor!" The clansmen slowly chanted, and beat their fists upon their armor.
"Reee!" The Basilisk Wardroid screeched in happiness as its rider claimed victory, its simple-animalistic-programming made it view the men as a loyal hound would its master.
"Brothers. Brothers! I am undeserving!" Vekk held his hands up to stop the chants, yet he couldn't help but smile under his mask.
The gathered Mandalorians were unwilling, yet they reluctantly stopped.
"What next, Commander?" Osik-his Sergeant-asked.
Vekk looked down at one of the monitor screens, and saw the Jedi casually sitting on top of Tarkin's deceased cybersuit.
For a brief instant, his warrior blood and ancient culture sang out to him, demanding he strike down this masked man. Furthermore, as a devout historian and true believer of Mandalore, he recognized that mask, and what it meant. Truly, triumphing over such a splendid man would mark his name down amongst the greats. His ancestors would sing his name in the halls of the afterlife!
Some small part of him wanted to try his luck, and yet…glancing at the 12 other men standing hale and healthy by his side, Vekk looked deeply at their scorched, cracked, and in some cases, broken armor. Beskar was a powerful armor, almost impervious to all forms of damage. Almost. Yet what of the beings that occupied said armor? At the end of the day, they were made of flesh. When the beskar stood, a man buckled.
"There's another kind of blood debt that needs paying." Vekk solemnly stated.
Osik wisely kept his mouth shut, and bowed his head. The formerly deceased Mandalorians-who had been resurrected from within the hold of the ship-looked down in shame.
Vekk gritted his teeth at the sight. Kriff it all to hell! He'd duel the Jedi one on one! If he won, he would declare himself Manda'lor, sparing the Jedi on account of his blood debt…if he lost…well, he wouldn't lose! He had a perfect measure of Revan's moves & abilities.
"Come, sons of Mandalore. Let us show Revan the hospitality of Clan Keldau!"
The men hooted and holored, crying 'Manda'lor' until their throats ran raw.
This time, Vekk didn't stop them, and let their words buoy his spirits.
By the end of this day, Clan Keldau would rise like the Mythosaur!
"For Mandalore!"