Immigrant Song

[Dutch]

The hulking leviathan that was Par’jila dropped out of hyperspace outside Sleheyron, the massive capital ship positioned just within safe limits to avoid the enemy fleet. It would be noticed instantly by the blockade, their hodgepodge navy of crystalline and stolen ships quickly shifting and scrambling into defensive formations. Without pause the Mandalorian dreadnought began to assault the largest vessel, a Cartel cruiser crusted with fungal growth. The ion cannon; paired with volleys from both turbolasers quickly shredded enemy shields, while a swarm of anti-ship missiles followed, all of which slammed through the momentarily warped defenses. The following explosion from the cruiser was brilliant, and quickly rallied the defenders to attack back.

Only to meet with the entire Mandalorian Crusade Fleet which dropped from hyperspace all around Par’jila one after another. A throng of strike styled bes’uliike; their wingspan wider, more aerodynamic, and their riders heavily armored poured forth from the dreadnought’s bow-fixed hangar, followed by even more riders as they launched from the surrounding clan ships. Thousands of mounted war droids met with the enemy, and the horde swept into the enemy fighters while the other warships began to move into position around the spear that pushed for Sleheyron. All the Mandalorian ships formed up around Par’jila, their turbolasers and torpedoes focused together in an unstoppable auger through the blockade.

The majority of the Crusade Fleet hung back to secure a foothold within Sleheyron space, while Par’jila and her escort of bes’uliike shifted down to settle into orbit above a large Tibanna factory city and spaceport, just as the sun broke the horizon to rise. From behind the Crusade Fleet came dozens of rescue and relief ships from hyperspace, their smaller classes of ships easily slipping through the blockade’s gap to hang around Mandalore the Regulator’s flagship as it shifted so its bow faced the planet surface. Suspended and pointed directly at Sleheyron almost as if to charge it, a great horn suddenly sounded; loud, low, and powerful enough to shake the city and its denizens beneath.

Another horn sounded, and the sun rose higher over the horizon to cast light across Par’jila’s armored aft. Now emptied of its fleet of war droids, the lights within the great hangar revealed thousands of Mandalorian warriors, all armed and armored, and all facing the broad back of their sole ruler as he lead them into the bay. He would stand at the brink of the hangar bay, the glowing pressurization shield before him casting an eerie blue light which glistened over his golden carapace. A great length of white cloth would be draped around his neck and chest, hung like a scarf to wrap over the rest of his massive torso, but tied at his waist to hang from the left side of the armored fauld to the man’s knee.

His T-shaped visor fixed upon the spaceport beneath Par'jila, while careful eyes watched for any sign of movement- and there was plenty. It seemed some locals still struggled to hold the only way offworld near, what few ships still docked there unmoved and trapped by the blockade. The remains of several scuttled ships littered a volcanic tributary, which lead up to the port’s massive suspended docks. They appeared to have been gunned down from the surface, and Mandalore smiled from behind his mask as bes’uliike swarmed down upon the anti-aircraft turbolasers. Their claws and weaponry shredded any chance the surface had to fight back the Mandalorians, the riders soon turning their attentions to sweep the streets surrounding the spaceport. Mandalore would raise an arm, and flip open the panel to his mounted comm suite, and clicked a couple buttons. A moment, and a crackle of hacked holonet scratched over every available device across Sleheyron.

“Newly freed peoples of Sleheyron! This is Mandalore the Regulator. The Hutts were too weak to fight back those who would kill and take your loved ones, and the Empire and Republic have forsaken you! Do not fear! Do not despair! Any who wish for anything but death or desolation can earn it! Fight to Par’jila, where the Mandalorians will hold for those strong enough to fight for their freedom and future!”

With another crackle the message would be passed, and his personal comm switched to the channel shared with his people. “Drums.” He commanded simply, and that same channel used to deliver the Regulator’s message began to broadcast a song famous to Mandalorians the galaxy over; Da Werda Verda. The atmospheric shield of the hangar dropped, and both ends of the cloth which wrapped about Mandalore billowed in Sleheyronic winds. He turned his horned helm towards a young Mandalorian as he brought over an irresponsibly large, triple barreled gatling blaster- large enough that the lad did in fact need the hoverskid to move it. The feeorin hefted it- seemingly easily- directly overhead with a single golden gauntlet, and shifted to stride towards the vanguard of his army.

All hand picked or awarded requests to join, be it for glory or duty, and the first who would put boots to Sleheyron. Many began to beat their chests and the bes’uliike they sat astride to the rhythm of Da Werda Verda, and a ripple of restrained excitement took Mandalore’s chest. One war droid screamed as any beast anticipating blood would, and Mandalore smiled wide from behind his mask at the impressive host of warriors gathered. This will unite these clans…

“We crusade!” The Regulator boomed over their comms, shouting in unison with his people as they answered with a resounding ”OYA!”

“OYA MANDA!” He cried again and turned to face the hangar as the final shield dropped and his people answered again with ”OYA!”. The colossal Mandalorian shouldered his gatling blaster as any warrior would hold an ordinary rifle, and cradled it as he charged for the now open hangar bay- and Sleheyron below- before leaping athletically from the safety of his dreadnought into space.

[Ghostie]

The Par’jila was where Aren belonged.

It seemed that all of Aren’s life, he had searched for somewhere to belong. Running with others his age on Abregado-rae. The Republic Military. Mercenary groups across Hutt Space. Then the Mandalorians had come across him. Extended family members, and the Clan of Fett. They had all given him a purpose, had given him meaning. Aren had fought for them, bled for them, and they in turn had honored all he had done for them. And when they had needed him most, scattered and beaten during the Invasion of Onderon, he had stepped up to the plate and rallied them together for the final push through Iziz. Now as Clan Leader and Ori’ramikade, Aren knew that there was no place he’d rather be than just behind his Manda’lor as the Regulator led the Crusade against this new threat, these Archeri.

It was made all the more sweet, with Aren’s own son by his side.

Since Aren and Reeve had boarded the Par’jila days before, there had been a grin on the older man’s face. Small, but it was there. And no matter what had happened on their trip thus far, it persisted. Reeve had asked about it a few times. Since they had met, undoubtedly he hadn’t seen his father so elated. But it wasn’t glee on Aren’s face. Though the Mandalorian did relish the battle to come, it wasn’t to a point that it was more than any other warrior on the ship. Aren had been fighting a long time; for credits, for glory, for others. And all battles were the same, on some base level. No, the constant grin on Aren’s face was from being around his brothers and sisters in arms. From being in service to the people, to the culture that had given him everything. It was being from in his element, as he oversaw the final battle preparations for the Clan of Fett.

Aren had occupying a ready room just off of the main hangar of the Mandalorian Dreadnought, pouring over holomaps and plans with other elders from his clan as the massive ship had lurched from hyperspace. That was the one difference that Aren had brought to the Fetts; efficiency. Most of the Mandalorians were simply dropping onto Sleheyron, clearing out the hostiles and otherwise doing as told, or as they saw fit. Aren couldn’t think that way. With his military background, he needed plans. Strategies. Improvisation was crucial, of course, but not to start with. And no one could argue with how well such things had whipped Clan Fett into an efficient fighting machine. Nonetheless, as the massive turbolasers on the Par’jila started to chug in a rapid, rotating pattern, Aren called the last-minute meeting. After all, no one could hear themselves think in their ready room, anymore, over the weapons.

The last members of Clan Fett poured into the main hangar and took up their rightful positions just as Manda’lor was making his short, simple speech to the population of Sleheyron. The massive, golden being in all his glory laid out simply why his warriors were here; in a refugee effort. Anyone who could make it to the Par’jila was offered sanctuary. It was a different move for the Mandalorians, Aren had to admit, but nonetheless he could most definitely respect it. The Archeri, after all, were a different enemy. And the Empire and the Republic were doing so little to help defend these people. They only started to care once the Invasion had reached their own borders. And then their answer had been to talk about the issue, together.

But the time for talk was over.

“Want to be the third Mandalorian on the surface?” Finding Reeve mixed in with the rest of the Fett Clan, Aren tapped him on his armored shoulder, and offered up his simple question with a little grin. Pulling the young man aside, Aren led him to the front of the massive throng, to stand next to him as the jump was almost ready to commence. There was, in fact, nothing between the Father-Son pair and their Manda’lor, aside from the wide, flat surface of the hangar floor. Then the drums of war started to sound. Quickly throwing on his helmet, Aren attached the hoses it possessed, and then spoke through the mechanized, filtered voice once to Reeve. “Stay close to me once we hit the surface, Ad’ika… We might need your stuff in the spaceport.”

Reeve’s ‘stuff’ that Aren referred to was, of course, the young man’s brain, and knowledge of computers. The little ‘Ziggy’ interface that he carried on his arm all the time. But overall, that wasn’t the reason that Aren wanted Reeve close to him. Any door the Mandalorians came across, they could simply blast open. Any computer would wither under the repeated application of blasterfire. No, Aren’s request for Reeve to stay close was much more simple than that; it was a father worried for his son. This was Reeve’s first, real battle as a Mandalorian. And the young man have proven himself to be a proper Mandalorian, through and through by now. Worthy of the Fett name, to be sure. But a battle was far from the firefights and scrapes that they would usually get into. And these Archeri, they were no normal enemy, from what Aren knew. So the older Mandalorian would watch his Son’s back, and hoped that his Son would return the favor.

The ray shield on the side of the hangar dropped, and Manda’lor turned back to the clans, shouting in triumph of the crusade to come. Aren, for his part, answered back at the top of his lungs, once, and then once again. The massive, golden being turned and ran for the edge of the hangar, and Aren didn’t bother to wait for him to clear it before jumping into action. Giving Reeve a hard shove forward to jar any doubt loose that the young man might have about jumping out of a starship with only a jetpack at low orbit, Aren took off himself, Holding his blaster carbine to his chest as he overtook all overs on the massive race out to the planet below.

A few thunderous footfalls later, and Aren had reached the edge of the hangar. Jumping in perfect stride, he leapt from the Par’jila and dove for Sleheyron. Manda’lor was little more than a small, golden blur in front of him, heated from the burn of atmosphere upon reentry. It wasn’t long before Aren’s own crimson armor glowed orange as well, the tough, ancient plates resolute in their defense against nearly anything. Wing rushed against the beskar’gam, nearly deafening Aren from the echo. Basilisk War Droids started to swarm all around, but Aren only turned over to see if he could spot Reeve, and the rest of his clan. But the only thing he could see was the Par'jila, out of which came a swarm of armor and droids just behind him. Switching on a comm frequency for the rest of the Fett Clan, Aren spoke in nearly a yell.

“Remember, the spaceport is our goal! The soonest we take that tower, the soonest we have control of who leaves and who comes to the planet! Let the others take to the streets in fighting, and we will stay focused on what matters! For Manda’lor!”

Aren couldn’t hear the response, either for the deafening, resounding shout of his clan, or for the atmosphere beating against his beskar’gam.

[tenkalus]

Nerves coursed through him. This was the real thing. The moment Mandalorians were bred for. The moment they lived and died for. It was battle. And like nothing else he’d ever experienced before in his life, it called to him.

He’d been a full fledged Mandalorian for just over 6 months now. Aren had taught him now to soldier in that time, almost non-stop at his own behest. Reeve had wanted to learn what it meant to be a Fett. He wanted to feel like he was a part of something bigger than himself.

He felt it now.

After month two in training, he’d worked with the clan armorer and together they’d produced his very own set of beskar’gam. It was lighter than his father’s, more form fitting to allow higher mobility, with a stylish kama hanging from his waist as well. He’d painted the entire rig midnight black, with dark blood red accents. Two of those accents took the form of crimson streaks coursing down the extreme edges of his T-visor helmet, as though he were crying tears of blood.

Aren had told him about how colors were significant to the Mandalorian who bore them. Very few in the clan matched in this way, as it was a personal choice for what they stood for. Some had borrowed plates from fallen family members or friends, mixed in with their own set. Some had so many mismatched plates they looked almost comical, until you understood the meaning behind the thing. But each color had a purpose.

Black was for justice. And Reeve now had his own sense of right and wrong, and of justice. His first kill had been his former step father. A man who had tormented and abused him the majority of his life. And when the crimson bolt had plunged into the man’s chest, Reeve had suddenly felt dignified. It had been a good kill. If he hadn’t shot the man, his step father would have wrought havoc on someone else's life. He would have started over. What was worse, was that the man had been a dirty cop and was thus protected by a system meant to catch bad guys. Young Reeve Dyson had facilitated justice for him. Now, Reeve was out to spread that justice wherever he went.

And red? Red was to signify honor for a parent. This took the shape of both parents in Reeve’s case, though only one was still breathing.

But the Archeri… This was something beyond his wildest dreams. To meet a remorseless enemy on the field of battle. Following Manda’lor into combat to save lives. To march forward and bring the fight to the opposition when the Republic and Empire debated about who was more important in their committees.

This was something he had been born for.

So while he was nervous at his first full scale battle. The nerves were just beginners jitters. He was excited. He wanted to move. He wanted to fight. And he wanted more than anything to win.

“Want to be the third Mandalorian on the surface?” Came his father’s voice beside him. He felt the tap on his shoulder and he tuned back into reality as Aren steered him through the mass of warriors on the ship. A few nodded to him and Aren as they passed, some even slapped his shoulder plates and commented on his shiny armor, and how it better not stay shiny for long.

“Third?” he echoed with a cocky grin as he snatched up his helmet from under his arm. He slipped it on and watched as the internal systems powered up, courtesy of Ziggy. Then opened his mouth wide to alleviate the popping in his ears as the helmet sealed. “I’ll race you down!” came his reply through the helmet mic.

“Stay close to me once we hit the surface, Ad’ika… We might need your stuff in the spaceport.”

Reeve nodded his affirmation. “You’ll have an easier time shaking stink off a Gamorean.” He said idly as he tapped a few commands on his bracer. “I’ll be on your hip, old man.”

Then he descended into his helmet and flicked his eyes around his HUD. “Ziggy, run a diagnostic of internal systems.”

**Acknowledged**

He watched as his HUD lit up as various systems flared to life to make sure they were operational. A tiny gout of flame shot briefly from his jetpack as the systems whined to life, fired, and shut down. Unlike Aren in his pre-historic tank rig, or the soldiers riding basalisk droids through atmosphere, Reeve didn’t have enough protection to make it through lower atmo without being cooked. But unlike his father, Reeve packed enough tech to make up for the deficiency. He’d installed a personal kinetic shield that would activate on command and protect him from atmo until he broke through. It was a single use piece of gear, as it would eventually overload from the strain, but it was designed to do that.

**Flight assistance - Active**
**Weapon monitor - Active**
**Ammunition changer - Active**
**Fuel exchanger - Active**
**Atmospheric barrier - Active**
**GPS beacons - Active**
***Diagnostic complete. All systems nominal***

At the end of the run, his HUD flashed with a pulsing green message that he’d programmed in.

***THE LITTLE HAND SAYS IT’S TIME TO ROCK!!***

Reeve grinned at his own genius and sense of style. He checked his twin blaster pistols strapped to his hip and made sure they were secure for the jump down.

“Hey old man,” he began, digging into his belt and produced a small, nearly flat disk. “Put this in your belt. It’s a GPS tag. We get separated for any reason and it’ll sync with your HUD. Follow the marker and it’ll lead you to me. I got one too.”

After handing it over, Reeve took a deep breath.

“Ziggy,” he whispered. “Play ‘Dropzone’ playlist.”

**Acknowledged**

Manda’lor gave his final trumpet to victory and Reeve found himself joining in, raising a fist and a shout next to his father.

That’s when the music started in his helmet. He closed his eyes and let the rhythm sink into his core. Before he could really prep himself though, he felt a hand on his back and drove him forward. His eyes snapped back open and he rushed forward, falling into step with his father. He stayed a half step behind and to the right flank of the heavier man, to give them clearance when they jumped.

Both men led with their left foot on the edge of the bay and leapt at the same time, right at the climax of the song in Reeve’s helmet. And he went out into open air just as the lyrics boomed in his ears (Though it was cut off from the rest of the comm channel).

Excuseeee meeeee, while I kiss the sky!

Reeve cut his mic and whooped in excitement all the way down.

[Zarkan]

"The seals should hold." The ancient cyborg said taking one last careful look over the airtight seal in the warrior's shoulder. "Phelan the fleet is close to the drop off point." Ark gave the young warrior a light thump on the back before answering the chirp in his head. "Thank you, captain, I'll signal you once we have a landing zone secured." A quite electronic hum emanated from the dark form of the old Mandalorian rose to his full height and began walking towards the hanger entrance.

Ark ran his metallic hand quickly down the face of the broad chunk of metal and ceramic that served as his reentry shield."Vod Attention." His deep slightly distorted voice echoed out across the hanger over the head of the sixty-odd Ordo warriors gathered in the hold of the freighter. "We'll go over the plan one last time." Ark leaned lightly against the shield as he spoke. "First our objective is to seize the Air defense batteries surrounding the spaceport. Once we have those guns in our hands hopefully intact we'll join the other warriors securing the spaceport." The old Mandalorian scanned the crowd before him the seeming calm of the faceless warriors betrayed by the tense movements of their mounts. "The rest of the clan will join us by shuttle after we take the port after that most of you will have the honor of joining Mand'alore, but report any observations you can make about the plague back to Dr. Ibera." The truth of the matter was ark's personal goal was to find and squash the plague as quickly as possible he wasn't going to deny the gathered warriors a chance at glory for his decidedly less glorious crusade.

Arkanados snapped out of his momentary musing as the klaxons that announced the opening of the great hanger doors echoed above the heads of the assembled warriors. "Our battle has come!" he called glancing out at the luminous ball below them as the first Mandalorians began to streak from the Par'jila towards the planet. Turning his attention back to the assembled warriors he saw the last few stragglers settle on their bes'uliik "Vod fight well and with honor!" ark punctuated the statement by thrusting the top of his heat shield into the air. "Oya Manda!" his voice ricochet around the hanger as he turned and lept into the void.

[Bones]

It wasn’t nerves that Ayla felt as she sat in the staging area of the large ship that the Mandalore commanded, headed towards the planet that was under threat of the Archeri Chorus. Of course, she doubted that many of her compatriots would be feeling nerves, but she was aware of the fact that many other cultures wouldn’t understand. It was excitement that she felt, a sense of eagerness to get involved, and yet, above it all, a sense of calm. She was totally relaxed, even as she’d checked over her blaster rifle and pistol and beskar’gam, double checking it, as well as her minor survival gear and secondary tools and weapons. She’d donned the armour early, she was sure before many others, and had been seated off to the side with others from Clan Viszla as they waited, patiently, for their arrival, and for Mandalore’s command.

”We crusade! Oya! Oya Manda! Oya!” He’d roared, before leaping from the dreadnought to head towards the planet.

Ayla wasn’t one to be left behind. She’d taken a run to the hangar door, jumping behind to allow her body to be fall into the rush of bodies and basilisk droids dropping towards the planet. She’d initially been headed towards the centre of the city, where she was sure she’d find a vantage point, until she was buffeted by a basilisk – collided with and knocked off course. Her beskar’gam had, thankfully, taken the force from the impact, however she quickly found herself separated from her clan, and headed in a different direction. They were to be in the Mandalore’s vanguard, the majority of them, and they still would be. She, herself, could be utitlised elsewhere if she couldn’t find her way to her kinsmen.

Eyes scanning the view before herself, her HUD locked onto a familiar figure ahead of her – that of Aren Fett, the leader of the other clan. A quick burst from her jetpack had propelled her forwards, narrowing the space that he hand another had in front of her, before reaching to her wrist to her commlink controls. ”Space for one more in your merry band?” She almost shouted into the commlink, subconsciously adjusting for the loud roar of the atmosphere, even if she hoped Aren would hear him just fine.

[Dutch]

Mandalore the Regulator was a fiery streak of iron, armor aglow in atmospheric friction accentuated by the flame-resistant white fabric wrapped about and flapping in a tail behind him. Dral’tranyc, or ’Powerful Star-Burn’ in Basic, was every bit the avatar of his namesake as he streaked through Sleheyron’s morning sky. He could feel the heat buffered by plating through the grip of his body glove, and the following sweat which beaded over his skin. Jaw clenched tighter to steel himself, his horned head turned slightly both directions to crack his neck and grunt aggressively. But the sounds would be muted by the chorus of whooping, hollering and delighted screaming, his people at his heels each experiencing the drop their own unique way. A dragon hunt was exactly that, a hunt. A fantastical feat. While entertaining, lucrative and ultimately a pride stroking; it paled to a good crusade. Crusades were muses to Mandalorian bards, and nothing bonded their people like ballads of battle.  They were eager for this, to be apart of the song, ready to show their truest selves to those which mattered most. Kin, Clan, and the Manda.

Pale yellow eyes followed the blue holographic flight path across his HUD, the display updating in real-time with the shifts caused by a little acrobatic spin or flashy roll maneuver. Even Mandalore couldn’t resist a bit of grandstanding, his pulse racing as he activated the jets at his back and grieves for even greater acceleration. A maniacal round of laughter ripped itself from his chest, lungs as afire as his figure on entering atmosphere. What a great way to vent your drop jitters. A few sharp exhales later, and his gaze steeled to fix upon the port below as it rapidly approached. He could see what might be a band of survivors- be they spacers, slaves, or some combination of both Dral couldn’t say; but clearly Sleheyron hadn’t been taken just yet.

They rained fire with blasters from a balcony at their alien attackers, the majority of shots clearly unpracticed and clumsy; but it seemed enough to hold the horde of creatures at bay. Until a lightsaber ignited among the monsters, and a pike wielding adept began to turn the tide with exquisitely timed blocks. Nimble and skilled, the lithe warrior fought for the monsters as some twisted champion. The tainted champion’s purple lightsaber pike began to return the blocked bolts towards the survivor’s perch, their panic visible by even sloppier, more rapid fire, which was ultimately sent back to sender.

“Lock it down. We’re taking this spaceport.” The Regulator commanded in his rolling baritone, just before flipping a final time, and choosing his landing zone. That triple-barreled blaster of his would be aimed down between both golden sabatons, and his finger pulled down the trigger. It began with a ’plat-plat-plat' as the barrels spun up, and was followed by a lengthy solo of 'plat-plata-plat-LATATATATATATATATAT’. It lanced a stream of fiery orange bolts directly at the corrupted adept, who instantly fell back into a defense stance. His weapon spun in perfectly timed desperation, staving off Mandalore’s assault, but pinned in that one jetii stance, you know, the tick-tock one. He took the full brunt of Mandalore’s assault heroically, lightsaber whirling as rapidly as the gat. The form didn’t stand up as well to the full weight of the feeorin as the gold-clad giant landed directly upon him with an almighty 'CLANG!', and a splash of discolored blood painting the duracrete beneath him.

The blaster did not wind down, the Regulator's physique masterfully absorbing the drop's force- assisted by jets of blue fire roaring from his boots. Trigger still held tight by a firm grip, it drilled certain death into the enemy champion pinned beneath a quarter ton of Mandalorian. Once the adept's head, neck, chest and general torso area area were paste (which wasn't very long at all), The Regulator would heft his still singing weapon against his golden pauldron,  and swept fiery death into the growing horde of twisted invaders pushing for his claim.

[Ghostie]

“Space for one more in your merry band?”

The voice cutting in over Aren’s comms was not one he immediately recognised, yet it was just barely familiar at the same time to the Mandalorian. Female, younger. A slight edge to it, yet not wholly rough. The Clan Leader, while hesitant to take his eyes off of the lone golden suit of armor in front of him that was quickly burning into a fireball upon reentry to Sleheyron, turned to see the newcomer coming up fast and hard on his flank. The armor instantly jarred his memory, it’s unique camouflage pattern of blacks, greys, and yellows a dead giveaway to the woman underneath of it, as was the long blaster rifle she carried.

“Get separated from your own clan, Cyar’ika?” Aren answered back into the communication device in his helmet. His tone wasn’t chiding, or disapproving, but merely prodded at his comrade. After the train job on Nar Kaaga, he could trust Ayla Vizla on his flank. She was an expert marksman, a little blunt, forward, and hard-hitting. Considering what they were about to drop into, however, Aren was more than happy to welcome her to join into his group. “Stick close, if you want. We’re taking the spaceport while everyone else clears the area around.”

Turning back to Manda’lor, who was now fully engulfed in his own fireball, Aren braced himself as he led the rest of Clan Fett into the atmosphere surrounding the planet. This part, for him at least, was always the most gut-wrenching. The drop from low orbit, he could handle. The beskar’gam he wore was designed to withstand the impact of landing on the surface at terminal velocity, and designed to ensure his survival, with the help of his jetpack. The heat of reentry, however? The closest incarnation of a living fireball that the Mandalorian would ever safety portray? He would never tell the rest of his people, his clan, or his Manda’lor. He would never tell the Vizla woman next to him, Skylar back on Tatooine, or even his own son trailing not far behind him, but burning on reentry to any planet after an orbital jump was the one thing that Aren could not stomach on these invasions. All the dangers he had faced down over the years, all the hardships of his life, and this was the one thing he shied away from. He saw it through, nonetheless. It was his duty, and he was not one to be left behind when Manda’lor called a crusade. He knew he would be protected, more or less, from the flames and heat.

Still, Aren began sweating almost before the flames came. His vision obscured despite the blast-tinting his T-shaped visor immediately deployed as the heat came. The Mandalorian had every inclination to quietly close his eyes as the reentry process began, and to patiently wait out the flames. But that would be both reckless for ignoring his flight trajectory, and decidedly cowardly. And Aren wasn’t one to be called a coward, even if only he would know about the incident. Taking several deep breaths as his body went rigid and he began to profusely sweat, the curvature of Sleheyron soon disappeared, and reentry into its atmosphere was over almost as quickly as it began. Sound came back to the Mandalorian, no longer simply the rushing of air against his metal armor, or the crackling of heat ringing in his ears, but the sounds of battle below.

The Clan of Fett broke through the large clouds overshadowing the spaceport below as one, numerous, countless dots of various sizes against the orange-yellow tint of the early sunset. Once they were clear of the clouds, the Mandalorians ceased to let the planet’s natural gravity control their descent, and activated their various rockets and jets as they swarmed into the battle below. Unlike most of the other Mandalorians, however, who simply landed where they wanted in the general vicinity and started fighting against the alien monsters below, the Fett Clan was precise. They moved as one group, as if they were a swarm of insects descending upon their next meal, driven by a common goal. The few basilisk war droids that the clan had went to the hangar bays and landing pads of the spaceport, grounding ships and capturing what vessels they could, crippling those that resisted, and being careful to not outrightly destroy those that they save. The Mandalorians, in nothing but their armor and with nothing but their handheld weapons, landed all over the building. They were on the rooftops, in the courtyards. Just outside, fighting their way in. Clearing balconies as they came in with their jetpacks blazing.

The Clan’s Leader, for his part, dropped down feet first into the corner of a hangar bay just as a basilisk droid crawled on top of a freighter, and used it’s claws to rip away at the ventral turret mount. The gunnery station managed a few bursts of red lasers before it’s smashed barrels ended up across the bay, along with it’s operator only moment’s after, who landed with a hard, sickening thud and left behind only a stain of blood against the wall as the body disappeared. Aren wasted no time in watching the spectacle, however, and only stopped to dodge around the flying ships parts as he made his way for the exit into the larger building. The Mandalorians, however, were not the only ones occupying the building. A group of armed men, four or five in total, ran in the opposite direction of Aren. The Mandalorian’s only guess was they sought to leave on the now compromised freighter with the introduction of the Mandalorian’s into the fray.

“Turn around, and help us hold against the Archeri and the Hutts!” Aren spoke first, his voice loud, clear, and steady. “The Mandalorians are the only hope for Sleheyron, now, and anyone here you care about!” The group of men were armed, for the most part, with blasters of various degrees. They each looked to each other in turn, wondering what to do, and caught surprised, to be sure. On one side, they had the Archeri crawling up the outer walls of the spaceport. On the other a Mandalorian in heavy, crimson beskar’gam, armor more ancient and tough than all the men there, blocking their escape. There was no sudden moves for a few seconds, until a Mirialan in the back, a young man, raised his blaster rifle and pointed it towards Aren. Aren was more quick, through, and his his own carbine ready. And he didn’t wait for any words, or give the man a chance to act. Two shots later, and the green-skinned alien was on the floor.

The group looked at their fallen comrade, and then the whole situation exploded all at once. Aren saw blasters raise, and he fired down each of the would-be escapees one at a time. The group as a whole managed to get a few shots off, a few of which glanced off of the Mandalorian’s armor, though most went wide. In the span of a few eye blinks, the entire scene was over. Looking back to those following him, Aren spoke up.

“C’mon, we’ve got a spaceport to secure!”

[tenkalus]

Learning how to soldier was something that Reeve had taken to like a moth to flame. The lessons Aren had given were very easy to understand and implement, and one of those first lessons had been how to shoot. Aim small, miss small, was what he’d said. The idea being if you aimed for someone’s heart, you were likely to at the very least, hit them in the chest. If you aimed for the chest, you may miss altogether for shooting wide. Aim small, miss small.

Well it turns out Reeve wasn’t much of a marksman long range. He’d never be an accomplished sharpshooter, but he was pretty handy with a blaster or two. He could hit whatever he pointed at within 50 yards, and had further honed his aim with the addition of laser sights that would paint his target a little, and utilized them with blasters that had a rapid-fire functionality. The pistols (more like hand cannons) would fire a three bolt burst, so even if the first two shots missed, the kick of the pistols would inevitably shift the aim onto the target so long as he aimed low.

Absolutely none of this helped him in free fall however. It simply reminded him of the lesson when he realized that while free falling through the sky, he was the projectile, and he’d forgotten to aim small.

All of a sudden, he was searching his HUD for Aren and couldn’t see him. They had drifted apart in the descent. Reeve had been so wrapped up in his exuberance he’d forgotten to focus on the task at hand. Luckily, he had a jetpack.

Several hundred feet above the ground, he whipped his head left and right, searching for his father. At 500 feet, he located the ancient armor and the mass of clan Fett behind him. Reeve engaged his small jetpack and rocketted through the morning sky with a burst of speed and a rush of adrenaline like a bird shot from an artillery cannon.

He knew he wouldn’t make it in time to land directly with the rest, given how fast the ground was rushing toward them all. And the fact that the clan had all engaged their jetpacks and were heading away from him meant he wouldn’t be able to catch up immediately. A glance at his HUD told him that he would burn up his fuel before he reached them as well, and needed to save at least 30% of it to land without becoming a heavily armored pile of paste.

Well, he knew where the assembly area was, and he knew where the objective was. He could get there after touching down.

With a blink of his eye at a specific area of his HUD, Reeve opened his com back up.

“Sorry old man. I undershot! I’ll make my way to you soon as I hit the ground.”

Which was rapidly approaching. This was the part that Reeve wasn’t going to be fond of. He held his breath and at 100 feet, clamped his jaw tight and did a retro-burn from his jetpack to right himself and fight against the forces of gravity. The inertia slammed his heart into the front of his chest and his brain to his skull as the g-forces kicked in.

He was still coming down fast so he increased the output of his pack and grunted hard as the ground rushed to meet him. But the pack did its job and instead of landing straight, he altered his angle and instead skimmed the surface with his boot, heading directly to a disabled speeder with a Hutt soldier spewing death on a mounted gun. That gun was now pointed at the Mandalorians, instead of the Archeri some 200 years off.

Reeve howled at battle-cry and planted himself boot first into the chest of the soldier and launched him out of the gunner position and into the path of the oncoming aliens. For a moment, Reeve disappeared in the back of the speeder, now back down on the passenger seating and wiggling back and forth to fight back to his feet. Eventually he got his footing back under him and placed a triumphant boot on the edge of the speeder.

“Perfect landing.” he said to no one nonchalantly as he brushed himself off.

Gotta work on that landing…. he thought to himself.

He jerked the mounted gun back the other direction and tried to fire at the oncoming Archeri but found that the weapon was severely overheated. The former occupant of the position had been so frightened he’d forgotten trigger discipline.

“Idiot!” he called at the man now being overrun by Archeri.

All of a sudden, Reeve was alone and he realized it like a brick to the face.

Outnumbered a thousand to one and the nearest comrade too far away.

Put your back to the wall and make sure your enemy can’t get behind you, Aren had said.

Reeve hopped off the speeder and ran. He heard a clacking sound and a little pressure on his back as the automated system he’d installed ejected the spent fuel rod and swapped out power packs for his jets.

A swarm of Archeri were coming in rapidly, and he ripped his guns from his thighs and slammed his back into the golden wall he’d found.

Laser sights up, ammunition counters blinking on the bottom right and left of his HUD, Reeve leveled his blasters and pulled the triggers.

First the right, then the left barked fire with the bass-filled triple staccato and muzzle flash he’d come to find comfort in.

Blap-blap-blap! Blap-blap-blap!

One after the other, over and over again. The wall seemed to vibrate with the seismic impact of grenades all over the battlefield and Reeve pushed into it harder, fear and adrenaline pumping through his body like a narcotic. He grinned like a maniac behind his black helmet and took a few steps forward, holding the triggers down on both weapons and married their song together.

BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP-BLAP!!!, until they both ran dry.

His heart was pounding in his chest, but muscle memory had started to form in his training and he flicked his thumb to the power pack ejector switches on his guns. Both popped free and instead of grabbing another, he shoved both weapons back into their holsters and waited, hands still on their grips. Small mechanical manipulators unfolded from the bones of the holsters and slapped new power packs in them with another metallic clack. The counters on his HUD went back to full and he withdrew the pistols again, ready for battle once more.

Reeve backed up to the wall and nearly tripped when it was further back than he’d expected. He fell back into it with a clang and frowned as he straightened himself.

Clang? Duracrete walls don’t clang…

He turned and looked at his wall, and then pitched his helmet slowly upwards as he looked into a T-visor staring back down at him from two feet up above him.

It was Manda’lor.

Reeve let out a nervous chuckle and backed away. “Heh-heh-heh. You’rrreeee not my daddddd….” he said sardonically and looked around for effect. “Thisssss issssn’t my elllll zeeeeee(LZ).. it’s … over there..” he said pointing at the tower.

He bopped on his legs, moving backwards from the giant Manda’lor and shrugged then gestured with his pistols as he went. “I’m uhhh...I’m just gonna go meet with them…” The junior mando tapped the edge of his right blaster to the side of his helmet in a quick salute and was promptly tackled by a weequay fighting for the hutts. He let out a surprised “Wahh!?”

With a jerk of his shoulder, he broke the hold on him and rolled twice with the soldier, pressing both blasters and turning the enemies guts into ground beef, fluidly jerking back to his feet at the apex of the roll and engaged his jetpack, shooting him off at a diagonal and over toward the tower.

He landed a moment later on the walkway next to his father and pointed his blasters down at the people who had just tried to gun the man down. “Yeah! And stay dow- oh. Their dead.” he finished blandly.

“C’mon, we’ve got a spaceport to secure!”

Reeve was breathing heavily now, but he was grinning under his helmet. “OYA!” he shouted.

[Zarkan]

Not for the first time in his long half-life ark appreciated his inability to become nauseous as the world spun in a blur of dark ground and light sky. Jets of blue light punched out from around his body as the old cyborg stabilized and discard the remains his half slagged shield. The sky was filled by searing scarlet and sickeningly green plasma bolts burning a path through the swarm of dots that represented the Mandalorians hurtling towards the roaring laser cannons.

Ark landed with a spray of superheated gas and duracrete dust next to a squat bunker. He stood and pulled his blaster cannon from its magnetic mount on his back and casually strode to the reinforced bunker door ignoring the ineffectual sporadic pattering of blaster fire as it dug up chips of duracrete and sparked against his shields. A swift kick sent the door sailing into the bunker the medium laser cannon turret on the roof falling silent as the men inside desperately scrambled to grab at pistols and carbines. Most never got a chance to fire as the handheld anti-personal cannon in arks hands swept a lazy arc across the room the gun crew's cheap light plasteel armor barely even slowed the bolts as it evaporated leaving charred and ruined flesh in its place. Ark let his weapon hang limply from one hand as he mentally grimaced and stepped over the rapidly cooling corpses and ran his optics across the bunkers displays before deactivating the turret's auto-targeting.

The ground shuttered from the force of explosions ripping into reinforced structures to the west of his position. "Leads check-in" he barked over the comm channel to the two elements tasked with taking this battery as he broke out into a run towards the next bunker. "Krayt's down and have breached the western bunker, no casualties thus far these weaklings are barely worth our time." "Phelan, Echo's pinned down just outside the battery command our basilisk was knocked off course and this damn gun killed our heavy before we got down." Ark pivoted towards the tall structure in the center of the battery the quad heavy laser cannon turret on the tower now silent unlike the blaster canons rippling down from the tower and surrounding buildings. "Affirmative Echo, keep your heads down I'm on my way. Krayt sends a squad to take control of the eastern bunker."

[Dutch]

The pack of invaders eventually petered off, shifting their path and momentum towards a route that didn’t involve nearly three meters of golden, fury spitting Mandalorian. Mandalore didn’t even cut off his comms as he barked with victorious laughter, spraying more rounds into the retreating horde. Their trail of death lead into the city which lay to the east, the feeorin taking note of their direction as he turned. A sudden impact, and the familiar sound of beskar scraping beskar rang from his gilded plackart. His horned helm peered down at a friendly, his armor shiny except for the new scrape he’d just earned from colliding with the Regulator.

Unfamiliar to Mandalore, his T-visor remained fixed upon the apparent youth (by his voice, hard to age without knowing the lad's species) as he stammered awkwardly. Mandalore’s mask did not reveal the smirk which curled extrinsic lips, the only reaction given so far being him ejecting the spent power pack from his own massive blaster. It spun, red and still steaming in the morning air before ringing against the basalt earth beneath their feet. His free gauntlet pulled a fresh pack from his ammo belt, and slapped it in just as the weequay hit the youth. Still, the Regulator did not step in, but instead watched the young Mandalorian apply equal measures of training and instinct. With a burst of fire the lad took off, likely in search of his clan, and Mandalore huffed a laugh before muttering ’Kids’ to himself.

Now the rest of the Cartel gangsters arrived, clearly to take the port for themselves. Their skiffs banked and angled from the Mandalorian fire which had turned towards them, but still unloaded a makeshift militia of murderers. Fighting alongside the Mandalorians apparently wasn’t an option for the Cartel, and truth be told, Dral’tranyc was very glad they thought so. Even hundreds of years later, he could still feel a small sink in his gut at the sight of Cartel thugs. Could still feel their hands on him as they’d pull him from his birth brothers, their accompanying laughs as the three boys were forced to fight near to death. Until they actually did. Even then, they laughed.

But who laughed now?

“Ooo, come get some!” He growled as his gatling blaster angled their way, and a fresh stream of incinerating bolts were drilled into the nearest skiff. It was promptly spewing flames, and soon wreckage down upon the very army it had helped bring. And yes, Mandalore did laugh as they screamed in painful surprise. His spinning, spitting weapon swept down to take a few lives, then back up into the next nearest skiff. This one fired back, but while their bolts ricocheted harmlessly off the Regulator’s exquisitely crafted golden armor, his chewed up their aft-hanging engine until the damn thing dropped into the gangsters below.

Still, for every skiff he took down, several more began to drip out from the city, and towards the spaceport. The city was the only way in, as the entire compound was surrounded by the volcanic tributary which encircled the port. It looked like whatever remained of the local cartel were rallying towards the port, as a particularly large, armored barge doddered out from behind a megalithic domed palace, and with it an even larger swarm of thug-laden skiffs.

[Ghostie]

A small explosion ripped into the wall just up and above Aren, as that damned Transdoshan fired his portable launcher across the loading bay once again, a solid thump as the Mandalorian’s only warning before the explosive shell landed. Chunks of the building’s basalt stone showered Aren from behind as he ducked behind a large stack of load, plasteel crates, the bits of rock bouncing harmlessly against his beskar’gam, leaving nothing but a fresh batch of scratches in their wake. Blasterfire erupted from down the hall as small arms opened up, giving cover to the alien with the launcher as he reloaded.

This was getting ridiculous.

For the most part, the Fett Clan had swept through the spaceport, securing it quite easily. Those that put up a fight were simply armed workers trying to hold out against all invaders, whether they worked for the Hutts, wore beskar’gam, or spread a plague. Many had seen the suicide of trying to fight such a sizeable force of Mandalorians, especially after the warriors had cut down enough of their resistance. And when they realised that the new supposed invaders were trying to fight the Hutts and the Archeri, they turned their blasters to the Mandalorian’s side. Aren hadn’t lost a warrior under his command for most of the initial push, and that he considered a success all on it’s own, even if they hadn’t reached the flight tower yet.

“Hit ‘em again, Barak!”

Then this group had crawled out of the woodwork. Some of the spaceport workers explained that they were freighter captains and crewers, looking to try and leave Sleheyron. But the Mandalorians couldn’t let that happen, especially if they were carrying the Plague. Judging by the firepower they carried, Aren thought them to be freelance mercenaries or smugglers. Either way, they had the blasters and just enough experience to hold the Mandalorians from reaching the only turbolift to the flight tower. And that tower was key to controlling the spaceport. Now, three of the Fett Clan had fallen to this Transdoshan and his launcher, with shrapnel finding it’s way between the gaps in their armor plates, leaving them to be dragged away by their comrades.

There was another solid thump as another shell left the Transdoshan’s launcher. This one, however, went wide of the Mandalorians and sailed down the bay, erupting into a fireball against the doorway through which the warriors had entered. Once again, the rest of the holdouts opened up in in a hail of fire that bombarded itself against the Mandalorian’s cover as the Transdoshan reloaded.

“I’m getting karkin’ sick of this karkin’ lizard!” Aren shouted, to no one in particular. Tossing blaster carbine aside for the moment and letting it clatter to the floor as away, the Clan Leader quickly reloaded his wrist launcher with a series of rockets. Looking across the bay to a group of Mandalorians also taking cover from the explosives and blasters, Aren recognised the comforting sight of the new, black-and-red armor mixed in with the bunch. Reeve was still holding on, then. “You three!” He said, pointing to the group as he switched to his internal comms. “Give me some covering fire, but wait for that shabuir to fire again!”

As if on cue, there was a third solid thump from the launcher, and an impact above the group to whom Aren had just given direction. But the Mandalorian didn’t have the time to wait and see if his son emerged from the blast unscathed. Instead he turned, and bounded up the wall to his side. Kicking off of it with some assistance from his jetpack, Aren was hovering in the center of the loading bay before anyone could blink. The Mandalorian raised his wrist, and fired rocket after rocket down upon the group that had ambushed him and his Clan. With each explosion the blasterfire died down all the more, until there was little left to identify the resistance by aside from a few small craters and some scorch marks. Once his work was done, Aren shut off his jetpack and landed in the middle of the loading bay.

“Let’s keep moving, adate!” Aren shouted to the rest of the Mandalorians behind him, catching his blaster carbine from a passing warrior would had picked it up. Soon enough, Aren and more than a few of his warriors were packed into the turbolift at the otherside of the room, headed up to the administration level. They poured out into an empty lobby, finding only a blast door sealed in front of them. Aren leveled his carbine at the controls and fired twice into the panel, and the door slid open in a moment. The scene on the other side of was complete chaos, and air traffic controllers rushed back and forth, trying to coordinate with everything happening around them. The din of the chatter was so bad and they were so absorbed in their work that it took most of the beings inside a few moments before noticing the Mandalorians, but once they did, everyone froze.

The Mandalorians poured into the room like water breaking free of a damn, securing the entire area and putting down anyone who tried to fight back. Most of the controllers, it seemed though, were quite cooperative. That was a good sign. It wasn’t long before a Zabrak man of middle-age, with a stump of a horn on one side of his head and lacking hair, strode up to Aren. He carried himself with the air of someone in charge, and his grey jumpsuit of a uniform suggested as much.

“You’re the man in charge?”

“Sorta.”

“I’m Dragg Kolar, Director of Flight Operations out of this spaceport.” The Zabrak explained himself, as he folded his hands behind his back. “We’re willing to work with you Mandalorians, so long - ”

“Good.” Aren said, cutting the man off mid-sentence. “Then you better - ” But the Mandalorian’s eyes wandered away from their conversation, and he stopped in the middle of his words as he noticed movement just outside the tower. Not an expected movement, such as a speeder, or a basilisk war droid, but rather a skittering being. Several, countless skittering beings. Archeri, climbing up the side of the spaceport and just into view of the expansive tranpirasteel windows of the flight tower. “ - GET DOWN!” Aren finished as he shoved the Zabrak to the floor with one hand, and raised his blaster with the other. He started opening fire immediately, his red bolts piercing the glass and shattering it in places as the carbine ripped through the Archeri, but did little to slow their progress.

“Mandalorians, we’ve got company!”

[tenkalus]

There were a couple of new burns etched onto Reeve’s new beskar’gam. Assuming he survived the battle, he would definitely have a few bruises to show off tomorrow. The pirates had been a great irritant to their advance, which just went to show him how valuable certain terrain was on a battlefield. They’d blocked off the only turbolift up to the central tower with rocket fire, and even against a superior force of Mandalorians, they’d held until they’d met Aren Fett.

Reeve crammed into the lift with everyone else, popping out another set of power packs and letting his holsters reload. The ride up was a welcome respite that allowed him to catch his breath for a moment. This was the most excitement he’d ever experienced and his body was pumping adrenaline through his body so hard it made him a little heady. But where he found absolute solace, was when he realized that no matter how hard his blood and adrenaline were pounding through him, he had yet to freeze. He could still manipulate fine controls like keys on his arm tech. He wasn’t a jittering, shaking mess of armor.

It was giving him a kind of high, the likes he’d only heard stories of before.

In no time at all, the clan had secured the control center and Aren was talking to the ZIC (Zabrak in Charge). They’d done it. They’d taken the tower and only had two wounded. The chatter on the com sounded like they would be alright if they got attention relatively soon. But both men were stabilized for the time being.

Reeve was glancing around the room and was kind of amazed at how large it was. Transparisteel windows from floor to ceiling all around them, and a bullpen full of computer stations and various control systems spread out over a patch of about 50 feet in a giant hexagon. The ceiling was even vaulted, adding to the majesty of the room. Given that the sun was fully risen now, the room was gorgeous, what with letting natural light into the room in addition to the laser light show happening outside on the ground and from the air.

And then hell broke loose again. Aren was shouting and glass was shattering into a million shards. Suddenly, the Archeri had arrived.

Mandalorian’s took cover behind consoles and opened fire as crystal shards began raining down on them and exploded into green clouds. Someone was yelling in his ear to avoid the clouds, which was solid advice even with sealed armor and air filters.

Someone else was shouting orders to get the civilians back out of fire. Reeve could comply with that at the very least, he had two of them behind the console he was crouched by. And then one of the alien Archeri came crashing through the window closest to him and charged them. The civi’s screamed. Reeve growled and made a short hop over them, courtesy of his compact jetpack. He landed light on his feet and drew both blasters and poured death into the soldier coming at them. The alien dropped and slid to a halt at his feet and he kicked it in the face for good measure. “Stay behind-” he started, but realized that the two he’d protected were hacking their lungs out as a cloud of spores enveloped them.

Damnit! He swore to himself.

Then he realized that his father was standing in the center of the room pouring hell down on anyone getting close enough. But his back was exposed, covered only from the waist down from a console. Reeve took off like a bat out of hell, firing as he went. A few feet before the console separating them. He ignited another short burst from his pack and went sailing up and over the console, twisting in mid air and came down again back pressed to Aren’s with a thud. He hadn’t noticed, but he’d flown right through an Archeri spore cloud.

Something strange happened then. A kind of realization came over him, his blasters falling momentarily silent as he watched the green spores singe away from it’s center and leave a clear hole where he’d passed.

“Jayce, torch the cloud over your right shoulder!” he called to one of his clan mates near where he’d leapt. The Mando finished an enemy and pointed his wrist at the cloud and belched fire into it. When the fire retreated, the fire was gone. No trace of it having been there.

One of the biggest problems the galaxy was facing right now was that it couldn’t combat the Archeri Plague spreading. There was no counter measure for the spores and no cure for the disease as yet. But in that moment, Reeve blinked in surprise at the simplicity of it all. What was the one thing that had combatted disease and plague since the dawn of time?

“Ziggy! Open coms to all Mandalorian channels!” he commanded.

**Coms Open**

Then he said the words his father had taught him for emergency intel in combat. “FLASH-FLASH-FLASH!” he said eagerly into his comlink, breaking chatter over all channels. “This is Reeve-” He hesitated for a half of a second.

Reeve who? Dyson? Reeve Dyson had died today. He’d burned up in the atmosphere when the Mandalorian’s had fallen from the sky.

He was a Mandalorian now.

“-Fett.” he finished an instant later. “Burn the spores! We can’t help the plague carriers yet but we can stem the tide of it spreading right here! The spores react to fire. Won’t stop an Archeri in its tracks, but if you see a cloud, light it up! I repeat, light the bastards up! Don’t let them take another one of our people with their cheap ass poison!”

And then he cut his mic and went back to adding to the storm of death the Fetts were dishing out in the control center, littering the floor with alien bodies and filling the air with literal fire.

[Zarkan]

Shrapnel and concussion waves battered themselves impotently across the ancient Mandalorian's beskar plates as the grenade detonated feet in front of him. Ark didn't even slow a dismissive backhand sending the brave fool crashing to the ground with the crunch of armor and bone. As he rounded a nearby corner a ricocheting blaster bolt ripped through the air past his head as he caught sight of the blue beskar'gam clad leader of Echo squad off to his left behind a portion of the wall. Ark slowed to a walk and stopped next to the woman who lifted a hand to greeting as he approached. "What's the lay of the land?" he asked scanning around for other threats. "They've got a kill zone set up around the tower that wouldn't be a problem itself if it wasn't for the damn blaster cannon team on the balcony. Our sniper tried to get a shot on them and lost a pauldron for the effort that's when you called for an update." Ark risked a peek around the barrier getting only a momentary glance at the tower before a stream of heavy blaster cannon bolts started to stitch a furrow up to his position. "Where is the rest of your team?" The T-visored helm jerked back and two the right. "One the side of the tower we were getting ready to assault it when that cannon opened up."

A load drone roared overhead as nearly a dozen pirate skiffs slowly moved over the battery. "I think we're out of time for cleverness, go join your brothers I"ll draw their attention here once I have it I'll contact you to rush the tower." The woman gave a curt nod and sprinted off around the corner. Ark counted to twenty evenly in his head before hefting his baster cannon and gripping it as tightly as he dared in his armored hands. The shock of seeing the large Mandalorian step out from behind cover seemed to give the defenders some pause and ark got a good nine or ten paces before the first blaster fire sparked off his shields, but were quickly followed by the blaster cannon that quickly depleted his shield. Ark's cannon roared out in reply sending a stream of emerald bolts boiling through the air and into the cannon's position. The think alloy balcony and durasteel gunshield that had protected them from the blaster rifles and light repeaters of the Mandalorian squad turned to slag under the cyborg's fusillade of fire.

Ark neither knew nor cared whether the gun's crew were dead or had retreated into the tower as the gun fell silent. With his shields, down for the moment pits and divots began to form on his frontal plates. Still ark advanced, he trusted the beskar faced durasteel plates to hold and any particularly angry knot of fire could quickly be silenced by a stream of fire at their general position. As he continued his slow advance Ark activated his comm unit his deep calm voice at odds with the hurricane of fire around him. "I think it is safe to assume I have most of their attention. Attack the tower I'll meet you at the ground floor."

Ark shifted to a brisk walk whilst still laying down a hail of fire as the bright colors of the Mandalorian armor moved quickly across the open ground towards the tower. As he neared the base of the tower fire began to die out above him and the sound of a concussion grenade going off indicated that echo was most likely into the tower. Ark clipped his blaster cannon back onto his back while pulling his carbine with his right hand. Wielding the rifle like an oversized handgun the Mandalorian made his entrance to the tower with the sound of a shocked yelp of a security guard as scrambled back from the window. His mad scrambled only to be quickly ended by the loud retort of the blaster as it's superheated bolt ripped deep into the guard's torso. Exiting into the hall ark came face to face with what he presumed was echo's valiant sniper judging by the tattered and scorched remains of the man's right pauldron. "The rest of the team is waiting in the stairwell." Ark inclined his head to the man as a sign of acknowledgment and followed behind as he led him to the rest of Echo.

Advancing up the stairs was slow with the stairs groaning under every step as ark brought up the rear of the group occasionally firing over their heads at one idiot or another. Eventually, the group of armored mandalorians made it to the landing leading to the control deck. The remaining guards had barricaded themselves in the control room behind a heavy durasteel door. "Throw your concussion grenades in first, then follow me in." he told the younger warriors before a swift kick sent the door out of its frame and across the control room. The shock on the commander's face was quite amusing at least for the few seconds it existed before ark's rifle fire turned his face into a smoking wreck. The sound was just enough to shake the remaining men out of their stupor before three concussion grenades bounced past ark who was busy firing his gun into another guard. The thunderclap of the grenade detonation gave echo squad plenty of time to wipe out the remaining guards.

"Echo, get the guns spun up we need to clear the skies before we can deal with the Archeri." Several of the squad moved to consoles around him and before long a stream of fire was chasing up into the sky after the ragtag armada of ganger skiffs and barges. He watched on with satisfaction as the heavy laser cannon ripped the largest of the barges in half before activating his long-range comm unit. "Dral, Ordo's taken the batteries and have started clearing the skies." he said turning and beginning down the stairs. "I'm on my way to your position. Try not to let the vermin kill you before then."

[Ghostie]

The Archeri would be something to behold, if they didn’t pose such a great threat. A handful of feet taller than most beings and pale white, they possessed six arms, ending in pincers, and graspers in their abdomen. Their faces, though, were what disturbed Aren Fett the most. Their heads, for all intents and purposes, were faceless as far as normal extremities such as noses, eyes, and mouths went. Instead, where a being’s face normally would be was simply a mass of cavities, tangled together like the roots of a tree. They turned these cavities to whatever their focus was, like one would turn to face an enemy. But instead of looking into the eyes of a being you were about to blast, Aren found himself looking into nothing. For that reason, he was sure to put double the blaster bolts through the Archeri’s heads when he could, for safe measure of course.

The one advantage the Mandalorians had was that the beings, for as numerous as they were, were slow. The Archeri were lumbering hulks of bio-organic mass, only occasionally putting on a burst of speed when needed. But by the time they reached the Mandalorians as a whole, they were cut down by swaths of blaster fire, and replaced by more of their swarm. Aside from having to dodge clouds of mist produced by crystal-like projectiles, Aren was confident they could hold this flight tower, and cause the Archeri to retreat. If they knew what retreat was, for that matter. Either way, the Clan Leader knew that Manda’lor had chosen a worth enemy for them.

There was an ear-splitting screech from one of the Archeri, and it started to rush for Aren. The Mandalorian turned to face it, and poured fire from his carbine into’s the being’s lower torso and legs, slowing it down. Eventually, the blaster bolts caused the Archeri to fall and tumble over a computer console, but it still did not slow. It pulled itself up on it’s pincher-like arms, and kept for the singular Mandalorian. Gritting his teeth, Aren pulled his trigger on the Archeri again and again, until it was nothing more than a charred mass of blaster wounds, finally falling still at his feet.

“These things don’t wanna die!” He complained loudly to no one in particular as he swapped out blaster packs. It was at that point he heard a blast of a jetpack, and only a moment after felt someone butt up against his backside. Without having to turn to look, or ask for confirmation, Aren knew that Reeve was holding his flank.

They’d get through this, and they’d do it together.

“Jayce, torch the cloud over your right shoulder!”

Aren turned his head in time just to watch one of the warriors under his command lift his wrist and fire a spurt of flame into one of the green mists the Archeri’s crystals had produced. In and instant, the flame ate away at the center of the translucent cloud, dissolving it from the inside to the out quickly until nothing was left but a bit of smoke. Seeing this, Aren acted quickly. As Reeve informed the rest of the invading force, the older Mandalorian directed the men around him.

“Those of you with flamethrowers up front! Blaster fire over them! Protect the civvies from these vermin!” The warriors started to move in and instant, and before long the had formed a wall of beskar and flame around the hexagon of the flight tower, keeping the Archeri well enough at bay. Glancing behind him, Aren nodded in approval at his son. “Nice call, Ad’ika.”

“Wait, no! Don’t go out there!”

There was a yell from somewhere across the room, a voice that Aren recognised as that Zabrak who was supposedly in charge of this tower. His t-shaped visor turned to watch the scene unfold as Dragg lunged for a few of his crew running for the balcony wrapping around the outside of the tower. They saw an opening, and they were trying to take it, for whatever unknown freedom laid away from the Mandalorians and the Archeri. Unfortunately for those trying to run, though, they were trying to take the same path that the Archeri were finally using to retreat from their assault. The two groups were bound to run headlong into each other at a point. Aren, though, didn’t hesitate to act. If he could save these few, then the rest of the flight control crew was more than likely to cooperate with him. That was a cooperation the Mandalorians desperately needed.

“Hold here, Reeve!” He yelled as he fired his jetpack, shooting through the window he had busted via blaster fire at the beginning of the Archeri attack. He landed on the metal balcony with all the practice and skill he had, pausing for a moment to give those civilians a warning glance, all of whom stopped in their tracks. On Aren’s other side, a handful of Archeri screeched and roared, grinding their pincers against the metal walkway as they slowly moved forward. Aren poured precise blaster fire into them as they advanced, slowly their tide with a red stream for only a moment before a speeder, smoking and on fire, careened off course and came for the balcony.

After catching the sight out of the corner of his eye, everything went black for Aren Fett. The entire balcony collapsed in a twisting explosion of metal and flame, and everyone on the walkway, living beings and mindless swarm, went tumbling out of sight.

[tenkalus]

Reeve responded to his fathers’ order to hold with a crisp “Yes sir!” and stood stoically in the center of the control tower floor, sweeping his dual blasters from left to right as targets appeared, and hosed them down with a triple burst of death.

His blaster fire abruptly halted when he caught the balcony holding his father suddenly collapse out of the corner of his eye, and it took Aren Fett with it. There was no visual report of a jetpack flaring to life, just clanging and screeching of the Archeri as they went down with him.

Reeve took a startled step forward, eyes wide under his T-visor. “DAD!!!” He shouted.

He took off toward the now vacant opening and his guts wrenched as thick shutters slid down, separating him from the outside world. “What the-?”

“I got it!” came a triumphant shout from the control room. Reeve spun around and honed in on a civilian at a console. “I re-routed power to the emergency systems! The tower has entered lock down! Lets see those bastards get in here now!”

In the time it took to blink, Reeve was across the room and pushing the technician aside bodily. “Idiot! That means everyone else is locked out too! We’re here to save your sorry asses, not lock down and prepare for a siege!”

With a quick jerk of his wrists, he holstered his blasters. After a quick study of the console before him, his fingers started racing across the keys, trying to pull the shutters back up.

And then the power went out completely and the tower was plunged into darkness. Emergency flood lights clicked on a moment later, coating the dark tower in a hue of red. Reeve growled as the console turned off before he finished setting commands to raise it up so he could go after his father. “What now?!” he yelled in frustration.

“Just got reports from our forces downstairs, they’ve been pushed back by a group of hutt soldiers that got into the building. Platoon strength.” Another Fett reported. “They were seen heading for the basement.”

“The generator…” Reeve muttered and immediately made for the door. But before he got five steps, an armored hulk cut him off. One of the older soldiers in their clan, one Kalorn Fett. He was technically senior in Aren’s absence. “Come on, Kalorn. We need to get the power back on, get out of the way.” Reeve declared.

The older man held up a hand and shook his head. “We have orders to hold the tower. We can’t send soldiers into a potential ambush. You need to calm down and think, Reeve.”

"I am thinking old man. I'm thinking I need to help my Dad."

"We can't spare the warriors. We will need to hold this level."

Reeve shrugged and tried to move past. “Fine, I’ll go by myself.”

Kalorn stepped in his way again. “I know you’re hurting kid, but a good soldier follows-”

Reeve’s right blaster was in his hand so fast he didn’t even remember touching the pistol grip. In a flash of movement, the barrel clanked against Kalorn’s faceplate and Reeve finished for him, “- orders from the guy with a fucking gun in his face! My old man is out there, and he’s alone with a bunch of kriffing mushroom faced, plague spewing, scythe armed nightmare monsters and is cut off from support! And the only way I can help him is if I go downstairs, blast a couple of vermin in the basement and turn the goddamn lights back on! Now, I don’t care if you come with me, but I’m going. So get the hell out of my way before I test the kinetic threshold of that bucket at point blank range.”

The room tensed up and uncertain glances were traded.

To his credit, Kalorn didn’t make any sudden movements. He just slowly held his hands out to his sides to show he wasn’t a threat. “Easy kid. We don’t even know if he’s still alive, you’d be throwing your life away. And these men won’t follow you to die. Now put the weapon down, I’m going to count to five-”

Reeve’s blaster whined to life as he released the safety and gas began to bleed into the ignition cylinder, “Well I’m gonna count to three.” He retorted.

“You don’t stand a chance boy.” Kalorn was getting angry now.
“One.”
“There’s a forest of men between you and that generator…”
“Then I guess I’ve missed my calling, because I’m about to trim some family trees. Two.”
“...You don’t have the brass, son.” Kalorn finished darkly in challenge.

Reeve grinned behind his helmet. Wrong thing to say.

“…Thr-”

Kalorn stepped aside with a sigh and Reeve immediately dropped his blaster and strode forward, making sure to clip the bigger man on the shoulder with his own as he passed, knocking the bigger mandalorian off balance slightly. As he passed, Reeve looked over his shoulder and muttered, “If you’re only big and bad when you’ve got soldiers behind you, then you’re not worth shit...coward…”

The older mando took a step after Reeve and grabbed his forearm to spin him around, “You think you’re hard because someone gave you beskar, boy?!”

Reeve spun with the force of the pull, planted his feet and slammed his helmet into Kalorn’s. The bigger man flew backwards off of his feet, a surprised yelp escaping his helmet as he hit the ground with enough weight on his chest from his own armor to knock the wind from him. Reeve stood over him and looked down steadily. He pulled his helmet up onto his forehead and stared down at his “senior” gasping for air on the floor at his feet. Reeve had fire in his eyes.

“No. I’m Aren Fett’s son, douchebag. Being hard is a prerequisite to the armor...” He explained with an edge to his tone. With that, he slid the helmet back down and sealed it then strode from the room.

Two other clansmen peeled off from the group and followed him out, one was Jayce, from earlier. The other was a middle aged warrior who was fiercely loyal to Aren, named Teemo.

Reeve rolled his shoulder irritably and nodded to them in turn as they formed up on either side of him. He strode out to the stairwell to the turbolift, mind in flight. The turbolift would be down from lack of power and they were thirty stories up. There were too many stairs to cover in time to reach the basement access in time to help his father, and the windows on all floors would have those heavy shutters on them.

“Ziggy, pull up a floor plan of the building. I want the northeast stairwell.”

**Acknowledged. Floor plan generated**

Reeve looked down at his arm display and nodded in satisfaction.

When they reached the stairs he popped his head over the railing, and nearly got it blown off as dozens of blaster bolts screamed up from hutt forces below as they climbed higher to rush the central tower.

“What’s the plan ad’ika?!” Teemo yelled over the fire as he returned some of his own, mostly to keep the enemies heads down.

Battlefield logic sprinted through Reeve’s processor of a brain and he grabbed twin smoke grenades, one from either of his cohort’s belts. He activated the grenades and held them, cooking them off in his hands for a couple of seconds as he explained. “Floor plan says there is a ten foot gap between these rails, that’s more than enough for us. I’m tossing these into the center and then I’m jumping in. You two follow me after two seconds. Switch to IR on the way down and shoot any orange folks on the way. Ziggy, set jetpack thruster control to 80% retroburn at 20 feet from the floor, auto activate.”

**Acknowledged**

“Are you nuts?” Jayce asked suddenly.

Reeve tossed the grenades up into the air and ran up to the railing, planting a boot on it and jumped up after the two canisters.

“OYA, BITCHES!”

And then he stepped out into open air and began plummeting to the ground floor, feet first through a thick cloud of grey smoke as he ripped both blasters from his thighs and held the triggers down, catching as many orange silhouettes as he could.

[Zarkan]

Much of the spaceport that Ark moved through was abandoned only with the occasional fallen body and blaster scarring a lingering sign of activity. The old cyborg assumed most of the surviving guards had bunkered down in some fortified corner or joined with the Mandalorians when they realized they were pinned between the Archeri and the Hutt's gangsters and likely wouldn't be a problem for the near future. As Arkanados moved through the wide avenue's and tight alleys that slashed through the duracrete maze of buildings and hangers that made up the spaceport he switched his communication unit to a frequency up to the freighter he'd arrived on. "Kaz, get the shuttles loaded and ready I suspect we're going to need the manpower once we get these swamp scum cleaned out." The high pitched nasal voice of the ship's commander pierced through his comms in reply. "Copy, I'll get them ready for the order."

As ark passed through the arch into the main courtyard of the spaceport he approached the rear of a half dozen gangsters who he cut down with a burst of cannon fire. From his position, he could see flaming air skiff husks smashed across the open space with Hutt troops darting between the twisted bastions of protection. Ark slowed as he entered the maze of twisted durasteel and shattered duracrete relying on his armor to protect himself from the errant blaster bolts occasionally splashing through his shields. The Mandalorian had just sent a particularly brave or crazy Thrandosan who tried to stab an armored Mandalorian to death with a long blade soaring over the wrecks and into the next life when he finally caught sight of Mandalore's golden helm flashing through the smoke and chaos.

The old Mandalorian took the shortest root to Mandalore clambering over larger pieces of debris and knocking smaller pieces aside. Ark shouldered aside the remains of the bow of one of the Hutt's skiffs to see the gold armored Feeorin raining fire off to the left. "Dral," he started moving towards the Mandalorian as he checked their flanks. "I'm impressed you aren't dead yet." He said with a warm chuckle as he stopped next to Mandalore. "You're officially doing better than half the Mandalore's I've known."

[Dutch]

"I've been doing this for hundreds of years, Phelan." Mandalore replied with a small laugh as he caught a rogue human who tried a failed sneak-attack.

The human’s neck was quickly grabbed by a single, large gauntlet and lifted swiftly. It felt so fragile within Mandalore’s grip. Held high and quickly losing oxygen, the gangster’s vibroblade clanged uselessly against the arm which hoisted him. The following snap of his neck was barely heard over the cacophony that was a pack of Vizsla bes’uliike as they tore into the Cartel’s vanguard, swiftly taken down by the Mandalorian war machines. The body was tossed aside like any piece of used trash, and Mandalore turned his attention to the Hutt barge with its accompanying fleet. In an attempt to travel safer, the swarm of skiffs and it skated just over one of the rivers of lava which formed the volcanic tributary. It seemed they thought to circumvent the Regulator’s line altogether. They would think wrong.

Mandalore noted his warriors as they systematically broke the Cartel nearby, effective to the point where even his massive, golden presence was ultimately ignored for the more pressing matter of death-by-war droid. Instead of join in, the gilded warlord walked back to where a particularly thick Gamorrean lay, a triple-barreled gatling blaster shoved quite deeply into the dead pig’s throat. With one boot placed upon the Gamorrean’s gluttonous chest, Mandalore attempted to dislodge his weapon from the tangle of mangled flesh and teeth. It did come free, after the fourth tug, but would not spin as Dral pulled the trigger- too caked with gore to function. The Mandalorian cursed. He really liked that gun. Then his gaze noticed the now neglected shape of a war ax. With a quick stoop, the Gamorrean’s weapon would be lifted, and the weight tested by a couple taps into his free hand. While the species was crude, and barbaric- they did make a fine ax.

His comms would be filled with the various chatter and call-outs from his people, with few hailing his private channel outside Arkandos and the Fetts. The Feeorin would smile as the elder cyborg made his report, but would be short lived as reports from the spaceport began to get more frantic. The Archeri were starting their assault, and from the following explosion seemed they were pushing hard. Between them, and the incoming Cartel army, the port could easily be lost to sheer bloodshed and chaos. The Clans were strong alone, but it was time for their enemy to see them even stronger, together. Mandalore opened his channel to Ark, and began to walk towards the basalt boardwalk’s edge.

“Tell your people to keep the lanes to Par’jila free for refugee craft. Assign teams to hold those batteries, but take the rest of Ordo to the port. I’ll see you there, old friend.” The Regulator commanded, and turned his horned helm to the barge once more. His comm channels would then be switched to one open for all Mandalorians, and his deep baritone sang out.

“Mandalorians! Our true enemy has shown itself! They push to take our flesh for their fetid use! Rally! Secure the spaceport! Fight! Do not yield! And if you must die, make it worthy of song, of glory!” Cried out their warrior king, and held his free fist high as his surrounding people whooped and made for the port. But the Regulator did not move, not yet. Another comm channel would be opened, this one heavily encrypted by master Mandalorian slicers. One directly to Mandalore’s dreadnought.

“Par’jila, take the Hutts out.”

And Dral’tranyc watched as a pair of turbolaser rounds obliterated the barge literally in half in a one-two punch, and the resulting explosion knocked a majority of the skiffs into the river of lava below.

The following explosions and screams were very satisfying.