The Weaving Force: Chapter 24 (Patreon)

Chapter 24:

Alexandria

In the weeks that followed their deal with the Duchess, Alexandria poured much of her efforts into learning as much as she could - as fast as she could - about the galaxy they found themselves in: its peoples, cultures, planets, technology, and everything in between.

She delved deep into history, both recent and long past. Politics, military advancements, ecological advancements, hard and soft sciences, fiction, cultural benchmarks, species, corporations, governing bodies, individual politicians, and so much more.

Mandalore, itself, was a fascinating, albeit straightforward, mix of conflicts.

Politically, it was a hotbed. The unrest was hidden, but it was certainly there. A slow boiling rebellion lurking under the surface. Every passing day resentment grew as the younger generation was enthralled bit by bit into more radical ways of thinking through stories of the romanticized “glory days” of the Mandalorian people.

The first issue was Satine herself, a hardline idealogue, who by Alexandria’s estimate judged matters less on the political ramifications of her choices but rather a deep seeded trauma, likely sustained during the recent Mandalorian civil conflict that had claimed her father.

This ingrained response she held that everything even tangentially related to violence must be evil or hypocritical in some way, had been used to manipulate her frequently in recent times. Most likely through whispered words here and there by Tal Merrik or other double agent advisors. An easy way to foster resentment of her rule among the populace.

After all, it’s one thing to advocate for peace. It’s quite another to demand ancestral heirlooms like armor, weapons and mementos that had been in your family for countless generations be melted down because they didn’t “serve a purpose” to pacifists.

People tended to take that somewhat personally.

That’s not to say all of Satine’s initiatives were imbecilic. In fact, her reform of the clan system, which eliminated the rigid social structure that had likely hampered Mandalorian advancement for centuries, was… inspired.

And the political maneuvering it must’ve taken to weaken the clans who supported and opposed her in a single instant without them realizing it must’ve been a work of art in motion.

So clearly there were brains in the woman, but it was hampered by massive personal blindspots.

That brought her to the next issue. The clans themselves.

Vizla, Cadera, Ordo, Kryze, Kataan, Fett, Sparr, and a dozen others. They were the central backbone of Mandalorian culture. Beyond the armor, the warrior history, and the creeds, clan identity was paramount to the individual Mandalorians. Much like America during its own civil war, where citizens identified more as members of their States than as ‘Americans’, so, too, did many Mandalorians identify with their clans before their planet or people, fractious as they were.

That made things simple in a way. Depending on past grievances, it was easy to devise the most likely insurrectionist sympathizers and organizers.

It also complicated matters in the sense that pacifying the leadership might not pacify the actual members of the clan itself. And that mollifying one clan might insult another with whom they held an old rivalry.

Beyond Mandalore, the galactic scene was far more intricate and complex.

The Republic was the largest governing body, but it seemed, from her perusal over recent records, that it was more and more a bloated oligarchy rather than a representative democracy. The Hutts were another sizable power in the Outer Rim, but despite having a  centralized government in the Hutt Ruling Council, individual warlords and crime syndicates often handled their own affairs.

There were several hundred smaller, semi independent governments across the galaxy here and there, but the range of their power and influence varied wildly. Mandalore itself was a member of the Republic, but was seen as a major player by the storied legacy they held, rather than any true military or political muscle.

A paper tiger, if you will.

For now at least.

Learning the lay of the land absorbed much of her attention, but that wasn’t the only thing, of course. The other divisions of her time were devoted to Militia, Dennis, and - of course - Merrik.

Militia was easy to sort, Dennis even moreso. Militia had a task now, a duty. Protect the Duchess, bring the insurrectionists to justice. Simple.

Dennis, she stayed away from, much to the boy’s relief. Even more simple.

They seemed to cycle their responsibilities. Days where Militia spent protecting the Duchess, Dennis went tracking down leads and investigating. Days where Dennis spent with the Duchess, Militia followed up on those leads.

Rugess would go with whomever was in the most danger, likely to call for help if needed.

It was hardly a perfect system, but it was functioning for now. Alexandria, nominally, took on the role of the team’s leader, though she did very little of that in practice. It was more used as an excuse to be able to coordinate with Satine and Cadera, and that was an excuse to verify and examine the extent of their knowledge and resources.

Neither noticed that she was feigning greater understanding of Mandalore and galactic politics, nor how much they told her thinking that she already knew it, because she made herself useful, individually to each of them in other ways. Satine needed sound political advice, not whatever preyed on her traumatic triggers to convince her to take one step forward and two steps back on her path to supposed peace on Mandalore.

Cadera needed an outsider’s perspective to cover his blindspots where the Mandalorian insurrectionists might be getting their backing, specifically their illegal weaponry.

She could provide both of these things with ease.

But most… entertaining… was Merrik.

She hadn’t lied to Militia, when her protege had asked her if she wished to be… better.

She did want to be better. Perhaps closer to the ideals she once held.

But she wouldn’t be better at the expense of Militia herself.

Turning in Merrick was the “right” thing to do.

It was also the stupid thing to do, given the circumstances.

Merrik was a resource. A very valuable resource.

With him still active and under her control she could control the Mandalorian dissidents. And with Satine listening to her advice more and more she could maneuver both sides of the conflict to resolve the whole damn thing with minimal civil strife and long term instability.

Merrick had been doing the same thing, just with the opposite aim, and his own results spoke volumes to how effective it could be.

Alexandria was just beating him at his own game.

Was it the right thing? She wasn’t sure.

She wasn’t sure about a lot of things.

But effectiveness was, in the end, more objective and more evident in its results than moral high grounds. .

Such as now, for instance.

“Honestly, Satine, I understand your concern, but I’m as safe as I’m ever going to be. I truly must return.”

His voice was honey sweet, his smile practiced and charming.

She’d worked to keep him here, on Mandalore, keep him close, until she could extract all she needed from him and his operation. It was as easy as she had thought. He wasn’t nearly as careful or clever as he believed himself to be.

He had seven servants in the palace in his employ. Five were informants only. Three of those thought they were serving the Duchess. The other two of the seven were active combatants. Trained to fight. But not good at assassination. Which is why he hadn’t employed them yet. They were here as a last resort option.

He normally contacted his contacts by holo if he was off world, their equivalent to a phone. On Mandalore itself, he contacted them by dead drop. The two “rainy day” servants were the ones to pick them up and, depending on the sigil stamped on the good old fashioned paper they found, they would deliver it to one of the insurgent groups for their instructions.

So far she could confirm Merrik had ties with at least three groups. No names yet, but that would be easy enough to discover.

All she had to do was recreate the symbol, leave a dead drop of her own, and follow.

She’d also discovered why Merrik was being so careful in only targeting Satine in his attempts to kill her. After all, it would likely be easier, and far more “guaranteed”, if he simply programmed a droid to sabotage her ship in some way while she was in space.

In short, Merrik wanted the support of the clans. He was reasonably close to the throne of Mandalore to make a bid of his own, but that would only work if he had the clans backing him. If they discovered he killed some of their scions who were members of the Royal Guards and staff, well… his bid would be very short lived indeed.

Right now though, all Merrik wanted was an out. A way to escape her and her eyes and ears. He wanted room to act against her, to organize a way to assassinate her.

He didn’t know the extent of her invulnerability, something she would keep secret for as long as possible lest he devise a way that might actually harm her.

Beside her, Satine looked uncomfortable, almost pained at the thought that her old friend might get on a ship and find himself dead in short order in the wake of another attack, similar to her own father if Alexandria recalled correctly.

Keeping him here had been useful but it couldn’t last, nor should it. But neither should he think she didn’t have eyes on him regardless.

“Perhaps a compromise,” she suggested, her voice almost sweet. Merrik’s smile slipped into careful neutrality as Satine turned her attention towards her. Alexandria could see the snarl that was just begging to cut its way across his features, mastered only by his own supreme effort and the dedication to his act. “Why not send Merrik with a handful of your own Royal Guards? They can watch him and make certain that nothing untoward happens.”

The color drained ever so slightly from Merrik’s cheeks; his thoughts wandering all too quickly, wondering now if Cadera knew about his treachery.

Satine nodded. “That sounds like an excellent idea.” Turning to Cadera at her other side, she asked. “Captain?”

“It can be done,” the head of the guard answered with a nod. “It will do some of my men good to break the routine of the palace walls.”

Avenues closing quickly, Merrik tried to rally himself one last time. “S-Satine, please, this really isn’t-”

“It’s alright, Merrik,” she sighed, standing up and marching forward to take his hand in hers. “I know you don’t want to impose. But I have over two hundred Royal Guards. I’m fairly certain I can spare five of them for a few months while I make certain there will be no reprisals against you.”

Behind Satine, as Merrik darted his eyes to her, she allowed herself a smug, knowing smile.

She saw the conflict warring across Merrik’s face: fear, anger, impatience, annoyance, impotence, and everything in between before he forced the gentle smile to return.

She had to admit, he was a good actor if nothing else.

—

As Merrick slithered out of the room, tail firmly between his legs for now even as he quietly seethed, Alexandria waited beside the Duchess, who released a long suffering sigh.

She darted her eyes over to the woman, a crease between her brows, lips pursed. The lines of her face spoke of frustration, anger, guilt and anxiety.

“Why can’t they simply accept the new way?” the Duchess muttered to herself, so low Alexandria doubted it was intended to be heard.

She had an answer, but she held her tongue, for now. She was useful, but not quite so familiar that she would risk… upsetting Satine by informing her just how foolish her hardline pacifism was long term, and how she in large part was her own greatest detriment to actually achieving it in many ways.

Not yet at least.

But she had time. She hadn’t lied to Militia. She wanted a way home, even if it was just to meet her end beside David, Keith, and the others.

Ten minutes… Ten seconds. She would find her own vindication.

But neither had she lied about hoping those two could find their own place here. And if that necessitated Satine realizing her foolishness… well, that could be accomplished.

She knew better than anyone how time could… erode ideals.

“He will be alright,” she decided to say, then turned her attention to Captain Cadera on Satine’s other side. “How well are Militia and Dennis integrating as auxiliaries?”

The captain turned his head, looking at her. She couldn’t read him with his full faced helmet in place, something that irritated and worried her in equal parts. The man was one of the few presences in the palace she didn’t have quite a firm read on yet, beyond his obvious loyalty to Satine.

“Well enough…” he answered slowly. “While… Militia’s ability to transport heavy ordnance for emergencies is welcome, the boy’s skill is proving… rather unwieldy in most regards.”

She wanted to ask if it was unwieldy for them, or for Dennis. She recalled, distantly, that team commanders and squad lieutenants had made similar complaints when the boy was first recruited. Most likely Cadera wanted Dennis’ power to work around his teams and not the other way around.

But again, for now she held her tongue.

They had time.

“Listen to his input,” she said by way of suggestion. “It will likely simplify things; he knows his power well.”

He shrugged. “Regardless, now that we have some privacy, I’d like to discuss some recent findings regarding the Mytho-Hunters.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Another cell of insurgents?” It likely was, but she wished to make certain.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “We’ve recently discovered one of their safehouses.”

“Normally you deal with those immediately, Captain,” Satine observed, raising an eyebrow as she shifted in her seat. “What’s different?”

“I would like to conduct a trial run,” he said.

“Militia and Dennis,” Alexandria guessed immediately.

“Militia, for now. Dennis later. Then, if proven, both in tandem.”

“I don’t oppose the idea,” she shrugged. This was old hat for both Militia and Dennis and, frankly, after the tension suffusing them all, it might do them some good to think that they were doing good. Bringing peace and dragging lawbreakers to justice.

Cadera turned to look at her, and again she couldn’t read him. “You’d place them under my command just like that?”

His voice was odd, though she suspected disapproval at her callousness there.

She frowned. Had she missed some cultural cue? “You do know this planet better than we do. You have the men and the forces. The raid is under your command  as is. Militia and Dennis have both worked under different command structures before. They’ll comport themselves.”

“Hmm.”

“When will this operation take place?” Satine asked, cutting through the subtle tension.

“With the all clear to utilize Militia, once we brief her and run a few drills with the team, I’d like to have it done in four days or so.” Cadera answered.

Satine offered a single, sharp nod. “Do it.”

A breath through her nostrils, a hesitation and mild… unease? “Also, Alexandria, I was finally able to contact the Jedi-”

A lie. No, an obfuscation. She’d hesitated in contacting her contact within the Jedi. That, and not red tape, was the reason it had taken so long. There was history between her and her contact. Bad blood of some kind?

“Thank you, Duchess,” she answered diplomatically. “That’s good to hear.”

She nodded. “Obi-Wan informed me he was somewhat occupied with a new Padawan, but that he would indeed try to come as soon as possible.”

“That’s all we can ask,” she said, nodding.

(X)(X)(X)

Dennis:

He felt bad thinking it, but Dennis wasn’t sure he liked Mandalore.

He couldn’t tell exactly what his problem was. The people had been kind enough, if somewhat humorless. The palace they were staying in was definitely a step up from the hovels of Tatooine. Having a schedule, a job to do was… important. He had time now to practice learning Bith with Rugess, and learning about the wider galaxy.

Maybe it was the arid climate; Mandalore was a desert much like Tatooine, though its domed and shielded cities were far less harsh.

Maybe it was the training; Captain Cadera wanted him and Militia both brought “up to standard”, and while he did have hand to hand training, both in experience and… memory - especially after Skitter joined the Protectorate - he remembered that choice very distinctly. Mandalorian close range combat was quite a bit more brutal than the PRT’s CQC drills three times a week.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that Alexandria was “here,” now. And the reality of her and everything she represented was front and center every time he caught a glimpse of her.

He could ignore it on Tatooine. He could pretend it wasn’t there. He could believe he was wrong about everything he “knew” because he couldn’t be sure. Not while she was just Alexandria and not Chief Director Costa Brown.

But now… he couldn’t do those things. And as he caught sight of her in the halls, marching around the periphery of the training grounds, speaking with the Duchess, the servants, the guards, he felt his anger rise, felt that spike of disgust and disquiet simmer in his stomach.

Dennis never thought he could hate someone like this… but he did. And a part of him wasn’t sure he hated her so much as he hated everything her very existence made real to him.

Cauldron, the wholesale lie of the PRT that he’d dedicated much of his life to, Scion, his own death.

Dennis wasn’t someone who repressed things. He normally talked things out when they really bothered him, but there were only two damn people in the whole galaxy he could talk to about having memories of a past, non-existent life that wouldn’t toss him in the loony bin. One was the source of the issue and the other had so much on her plate right now that he felt guilty adding to it.

And, no, that wasn’t just some rationalization. He knew for a fact that Miss Militia was running herself a bit ragged.

She was training with the Mandalorians. She was running frequent power tests to gain access to new “not-Tinker” but still totally “Tinker-level” weapons and armaments. She was helping Cadera and his men investigate whenever she was called to do so. She was also trying to learn Rugess’ language, and guarded the Duchess when it was her “shift” to do so.

And, all the while, she kept trying to help both him and Alexandria, to mend that damn near burnt down bridge.

He could see it. And he could see it hurt her that he wasn’t interested in making nice or being the better man

Maybe one day. But not now. Not for a long while.

As far as he was concerned, he had the right to nurse a grudge.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Speak of the devil.

Dennis turned, letting a smile tug the corner of his mouth upwards.

Militia returned his smile. She had a pretty smile, honestly. It was too bad the mask hid it, leaving only her eyes to show the signs.

He offered a shrug.

“Just wondering if it’ll rain today.”

It never rained on Mandalore. At least not as far as he’d seen.

Militia’s eyes grew a twinge sad, recognizing the lie, but she let him have it. “I’m sure,” she smiled, stepping forward to lean on the railing beside him.

Down below, the Mandalorian guards were in the middle of their training. Exercise, CQC, conditioning, weapon and armor maintenance, the works.

The sands of the practice yard were a strange almost orange color- in the morning sun it looked like a burning field.

In short, it looked uncomfortably hot.

How some of these Mandalorians could be training in full armor was mind boggling to him.

“Militia.” A voice barked.

Both he and she turned their heads, looking to find one of the guards, Saxon, an absolute mountain of a Mandalorian, seven plus feet tall and bulky with muscle. With all his armor, Dennis wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him he weighed a metric ton.

“The yard later?” he asked. His voice had an accent, maybe back home it could be called… Swedish? German? He didn’t have an ear for accents.

Miss M. nodded “Of course. It was good practice last time,” she complimented.

Saxon nodded, turning and marching towards the armory.

Dennis smirked. “I think he’s got a crush on you.”

Militia rolled her eyes.

“No seriously,” he insisted. “I’m pretty sure challenging you to a spar is formal courtship for these guys.”

“I doubt it intensely,” she answered wryly. “Most of them are enjoying the novelty of fighting someone that can suddenly have any weapon on her,” she evaded.

Dennis gave her a deadpan look. “Even you don’t buy that,” he answered flatly.

She closed her eyes, seemingly gathering her patience as she shook her head. “We have better things to do.”

“We don’t live forever, Militia,” he said; then immediately winced as her eyes grew sad.

It was supposed to be an easy conversation. Light.

“Dennis-” she began before he cut her off.

“No…” he breathed, forcing down the shudders. “No, I…” he let out a slow breath through his nose. “I’m sorry but- just-... Be honest. You know it might not be possible for us to get home, right?”

She hesitated, but he saw the truth of it etched onto the lines of her face, even if she didn’t want to say it.

“Then why not try?” he asked. “It’s not wrong to try and be happy while we’re here, I think.”

“You’re not dying, Dennis.” There was steel in her voice, an oath.

“I hope so,” he agreed with a nod. “Doesn’t change what I’m saying though.”

She didn’t answer, keeping her silence for a moment before she leaned forward again on the railing, thinking.

“I’m not ready to give up on home,” she said after a long moment. “Not yet. Not so soon. If it’s beyond us… then yes. You’re right. But for now… I’m not ready,” she answered honestly.

He stared at her, letting his head fall in a barely there nod. “I… I get it.”

He did. Even if he himself wasn’t sure if he wanted to return home, return to destined death… a part of him wasn’t ready to give up on home either.

He shuddered as he breathed. “Ok… let’s talk about something else before I get weepy in front of all these macho Mandos.”

“I’ll kick their asses for you if any of them say anything,” she offered, smiling.

“Pretty sure that’s a marriage proposal in their language,” he laughed, the sound hiding a sob as he waggled his eyebrows, blinking away the tears.

She shoved at his shoulder. “Idiot.”

(X)(X)(X)

Like I said, Alexandria's thought process isn't as bad as it first seemed. She is acting out of genuine pragmatism and a desire to use the tools at her disposal to *minimize* conflict. 

Sure its still an "Ends justifies the means" mentality but hey, Baby-steps :D