Harmony shot out of hyperspace with a rumble, Spike making a note to check her engines when he got a moment. She had taken them to and from Tython perfectly, he couldn’t have asked for more, and yet travelling through uncharted hyperlanes was always a perilous journey, and always taxing on hardware. If you pushed too hard, you could find yourself with a hole where your Hyperdrive had once been, and a whole heap of problems as simple physics caught up to you and tore you apart. Spike had heard horror stories of ships in similar situations, seen the remains of a vessel with walls coated in frozen jelly that had once been living creatures. He’d seen a lot. That still made him shudder.
Even as he lay in a course towards the village, something seemed wrong to Spike, his eyes narrowing as he tapped a few buttons, a magnification of the village appearing before him. Or at least, the area the village had been, now replaced with a huge crater gouged deep into the earth, scanners indicating about half a kilometer across at the widest point and deep, worryingly so.
“What could have caused that in so short a time?” Spike breathed, almost to himself, Moonstone looking on even as Spike began scanning the surrounding system, his mind racing.
Sith holdouts? Republic forces cleaning up the Mandalorian village? Something else entirely, some new threat that would drag Spike into yet another war and take something else from...
“Spike, there’s a ship approaching,” Moonstone pointed out, breaking Spike from his sudden worry, Spike turning all the sensors on the vessel.
It was a large ship, of a class Spike knew all too well; a Jehavey'ir-type assault ship, the staple of the Mandalorian fleets in the Mandalorian and Great Sith Wars. He had thought all of them had been destroyed at the disarmament treaties after Malachor, clearly he had been wrong.
“We’re getting out of here,” Spike muttered, his hands flying across the controls, bringing shields to full readiness as he drained the power from the weapons, diverting it to the engines. Harmony was a good ship, one of the best, but against a Battleship in a one-on-one duel, there were some things even she couldn’t survive.
“We’re being hailed,” Moonstone called again, Spike already seeing the flashing light to indicate as such, still turning the ship away even as he answered the call.
“Whoever you are, whatever you’ve done to Ordo, I swear...” he began.
“Stand down, Spike,” Canderous’s voice was firm as he appeared across the viewscreen. “Come about and prepare to come aboard, we have much to discuss.”
“Where the hell did that come from,” Spike demanded, though the tension that had built up in him was rapidly diminishing. “Where’s the village?”
“What, this?” Canderous asked with a small, ever-so slightly cocky smile. “This was one of our vessels during the Mandalorian Wars, we decommissioned it in the final year of the war due to engine troubles, thanks to you and the Republic we didn’t have the means to properly repair it, so instead we hid it. That ‘village’ you saw was a new one, built on top of our greatest asset.”
“You’ll attract a lot of attention flying that thing around,” Spike pointed out.
“Not as much as I will attract,” Canderous countered. “But enough of this. Come alongside my airlocks and come aboard. As I say, we have much to discuss and I would rather this be done in person than by holo-link.”
With that, the link went dead, Spike following his Alore’s instructions without further hesitation, Harmony soon sliding alongside the far larger vessel, an umbilical extending from Spike’s ship and clamping over one of the external airlocks of Canderous’s.
“Let’s see what he has in store for us then,” Moonstone laughed, Spike joining in as he grabbed his helmet, slipping it on and mag-locking his weapons to his belt, his lightsaber clinking softly against his axe.
In short order, Spike was onboard the larger vessel, walking down the corridors he had never been in, and yet bore a familiarity born out of a lifetimes worth of combat against those who had made the vessel. Mandalorian’s were a utilitarian people, their design-work tried and true, tested over countless eons to maximise efficacy for their own warriors, while hindering those of the enemy. No single straight path existed towards the bridge, the internals of the ship a veritable maze, and yet synced to a centralised system, all Mandalorians could navigate with ease, a holographic overlay imposing itself on Spike’s viewscreen automatically as he walked, tracing a line towards the bridge.
Spike passed very few in the way of crew members as he walked. At peak efficacy, nearly two hundred warriors would be required to man this vessel, but in a pinch, barely a fraction of that number would be able to fly the ship, three on the bridge, another in engineering, a final member in weapons. Of course, such a skeleton crew would barely be able to do more than fly the ship, in combat it would be woefully outclassed by far smaller vessels, and if anything went wrong, then repairs would take exponentially longer for even simple fixes, if they were possible at all. By the small number he past, Spike assumed they weren’t quite at that level, but the crew could not have been more than a few dozen at most, all nodding in greeting as he walked past before continuing about their allotted tasks.
Finally, Spike reached the bridge, the heavy blast door spiralling open with a faint grinding of metal on metal, barely having time to fully open before Spike stepped through and it closed once more. True to his predictions, the bridge was sparse, five Mandalorians sitting at the most important stations, helm, comms, weapons, shields and life support, overseeing the vital functions of the ship, all overseen by a familiar figure.
“Alore Canderous,” Spike inclined his head slightly.
“Spike,” Canderous turned to face the dragon, his helmed visor locking gazes with Spike’s own impassive helmet. “I am glad you arrived when you did, we were considering leaving a comms buoy behind with your next orders for when you finally returned. I trust your journey was productive?”
“It was,” Spike nodded, placing a hand against his new breastplate, feeling barely contained energy surge within the metal at his touch. “How goes the hunt?”
“On going,” Canderous replied, his words clipped and measured, putting Spike on edge. Something more was afoot here. “A dozen worlds have been searched, many more lie ahead. We had no way to narrow things down further.”
“Had,” Moonstone pointed out, picking up on the word instantly. “Past tense? What’s changed.”
“Something neither of you are going to like,” Canderous shrugged, before gesturing towards a small side room, Spike exchanging a quick look with Moonstone before walking through the door, Canderous close behind.
Passing through the door, Spike found himself in a small corridor, running parallel to the main entrance to the bridge before angling downwards towards what must have been the captain's quarters. In short order, he reached another door, his mood darkening and his hands moving to hover over his weapons as the door slid back to reveal the rooms occupant.
“It is good to see you as well, Spike,” Revan bowed deeply, noticing Spike’s move, his own hand twitching ever so slightly but remaining away from his lightsaber. “Or at least, I presume it is you under that armour, judging by Moonstone’s presence by your side. It is good to see you as well.”
“I would thank you not to use my name,” Moonstone shot back, her own voice icy and laiden with barely contained bile that Spike was feeling in bucketloads.
“I meant no...” Revan began, the ex-Jedi raising his hands in a placating gesture.
“We do not have time for this,” Canderous snapped as he entered the room, removing his helmet and bidding Spike to do the same with a curt signal, Spike growling but complying. “I did not ask you to come aboard to argue, Spike, and you, Revan, did not come aboard to antagonise my warriors. You said you have vital information for my clan and our kind, I would hear it. I am already behind schedule of where I would like to be, I won’t be held up by anyone, even you, old friend.”
“And this is why I have come. You search for the mask of the Mandalore,” It was a statement, not a question, Spike and Canderous exchanging a wary look. The search was meant to be a secret, there were a lot of parties in the galaxy who would wish for the mask to never be found.
“We are,” Canderous finally nodded, his voice careful and measured. “Your thoughts on the matter?”
“That you are looking in the wrong place,” Revan said bluntly. “The worlds you have looked upon are in the wrong direction entirely, it will be many years until you reach its true resting place at your current pace. I know precisely where the mask is, Canderous, that of Mandalore the Ultimate, and I would see you be the one to find it, to claim it, and the ancient title of mandalore along with it.”
The power behind the words was absolute, Spike and Canderous equally stunned by the proclamation.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Revan shook his head before sighing deeply. “You know I lost my memories, all of who I was as Revan before my fall. They are returning, some vividly and instantly, some as only a slowly growing haze, but they are returning nonetheless. Most are benign enough, or else are simple memories of acts during the Civil War...”
“Oh, is that all? Nothing major then,” Spike sniffed dismissively, Canderous snorting as Revan continued unabated.
“One is sticking out more than others however, just after the Mandalorian Wars, travelling into the unknown regions and finding...something, a darkness beyond anything seen in any of our lifetimes, and that includes you, Spike. Exar Kun, Mandalore the Ultimate, me, Malak, all pale in comparison. Someone needs to combat it...I need to fight it, but the galaxy needs to be ready. The Republic is...”
“Weak and crippled by your actions,” Spike finished.
“Apt and correct,” Revan conceded. “The Republic won’t recover for years, decades even, the senate will move slowly as it always does and the Jedi are too few to do much. Only one people can rebuild quick enough to stand against this threat, your people, Canderous, given hope by a new mandalore. I have seen your people fight, Canderous, the fact Spike stands with you now only furthers my belief in you. There is no one else I could come close to entrusting this task to.”
“If there is something that big...” Spike began, before Revan raised a hand.
“No one can come with me, Spike,” Revan shook his head. “This is something I must do alone, but I would not leave the galaxy defenceless. The Mandalorian Clans need to be reformed under a true leader, they need to be preserved under a Mandalore who wishes to see the galaxy strengthened. They need you, Canderous.”
As Revan finished speaking, he looked expectantly at Canderous, the Alore of Clan Ordo having remained silent throughout the exchange, his expression betraying the intense debate he was having with himself even now. Spike could imagine some of the content, the benefits of the Mask of the mandalore being found weighed against being aided by Revan, even the Mandalorians famed forgiveness of those that defeated them knowing some limit, Spike knowing that all too well. Likewise, whatever this darkness that Revan spoke of was clearly a threat, irrespective of where anyone stood in the galaxy, and for all his faults, Spike found no trace of a lie in Revans words, nor any insincerity in the urgency he sought to impart upon Canderous.
Finally, Canderous nodded, opening his mouth to give voice to carefully considered words.
“You are not a liked figure amongst my kind, Revan. But you also have...unique insight into the location of Mandalore’s Mask, and I would be a fool to pass that up. If you can lead us to it, then I will accept your assistance, but your identity cannot be known. Your face was unknown but your abilities and your saber,” he indicated the very distinctive lightsaber resting at Revan’s hip, “are known. The search is not just Clan Ordo anymore, and we will almost attract attention if we up sticks and move to a new world. So, no fancy Jedi tricks, that goes for you too, Spike. You may be Mandalorian but right now a lot of tension is separating our people, some may not hold to the old ways as much as we do. No tricks, no lightsabers, and no revealing who you are, understood? Once I have the mask, perhaps that changes, but until then, nothing.”
“Of course,” Revan nodded.
“As you will it,” Spike nodded as well.
“That settles it then,” Canderous smiled. “So, where are we headed? I will need to signal the clan to move out.”
“The Chorlian Sector,” Revan replied, tapping a few buttons on a vambrace display, a holo-map projecting upwards, highlighting a system on the very edge of the outer rim. Spike knew that system well, Canderous did too, Malachor located at its heart. As Revan continued to speak, the image zoomed in finally settling on a single world.
“This is Rekkiad, unassuming and covered in ice. The Republic has never set foot upon it, if they knew what was there, they likely would have destroyed it long ago. There are a pair of pillars, known as the Ice Spears and atop one, is a tomb, containing the mortal remains of...”
“Mandalore the Ultimate went to Rekkiad,” Canderous suddenly cut in, his brow furrowing, in a galaxy of tens of thousands of inhabited worlds, such could not be a coincidence, Revan sighing and nodding in agreement.
“He did, at the behest of an emissary of the darkness that I now sense. I don’t remember everything, but I know enough to understand the significance. About two years before he declared war on the Republic, the then Mandalore was approached by a man with skin the color of blood and eyes the colour of suns.”
“A sith?!” Spike all but roared. “A true blooded Sith? They were killed generations ago, all of them!”
“They weren’t,” Revan shook his head, Spike now understanding exactly why Revan was as worried as he was. If the true Sith were still out there...
“This sith came to mandalore, claiming to be an emissary of a powerful master, and he spoke of a tomb upon Rekkiad for a Sith Lord named Dramath the Second. His master was a descendant of the Sith Lord who had driven Dramath into exile, and the emissary convinced Mandalore to help him search for his enemy's tomb. I don’t know what passed between the pair, what bargains, if any, were struck. All I know is two years later, Mandalore the Ultimate declared war on the Republic, and everything changed forever.”
“Mandalore was changed in the years prior to the war,” Canderous murmured, “but what you suggest would indicate that he was under the thrall of...”
“A monster,” Revan finished for him. “This is what we stand against. The Republic will never believe it or move to stand against it properly, the Mandalorians are the only ones who can prepare for it if I fail.”
“It’s far more than that,” Canderous scowled. “If these Sith have been manipulating the Mandalorians for their own goals, then I will take great pleasure in tearing down their plans for the galaxy. Head to the helm, Revan, give my warriors Rekkiad’s coordinates. We’re going to find this damn mask, and we are going to make whoever is foolish enough to try and manipulate the Mandalorians understand exactly how bad of an idea that is.”