Yeah. Seeing the guys' faces was priceless. I mean, imagine: you prepped the workbench, you're waiting to be asked for help—and then you're shown the finished product. Des went off to look for legends about wizards at that point, while Warren thoughtfully rubbed his head, trying to understand how it was even possible.
Since I didn't have any crystals on hand, I took the path of least resistance and simply merged the old armor with the new metals. As a result, I almost ruined my own armor, as the metals had a poor combination and the result was lower in quality than what we had purchased. But! That's in its raw form. I then ran it through a Force-tempering process, and in the end, the quality improved, and the armor was deemed viable. I shouldn't do such hackwork again, though; it's easier to find or buy Force crystals and perform the processing directly on the finished alloy than to contort things like this.
So I approached the workbench with the work already done; all that remained was to connect it all, resew it, and add the electronics. Since I'm a total novice with modern tech, Des had to come back and explain to the idiot what was what and why.
For instance, I learned about a Mandalorian trick. These bastards love to tuck electronics under the armor and output the data to an internal screen or a wrist computer. This way, they can monitor their own status and the armor's condition right in combat. Not that it's particularly original, but it's usually used in power armor, not in "light" suits like these.
Another trick was using a capacitor. This thing attached to the belt and accumulated an electrical charge. A shocker, wiring, an outlet—the source could be anything. Then the charge was transferred to the battery that powers the suit's electronics. This partially solved the energy consumption problem. Incidentally, it's one of the most in-demand issues, and I still have "few" gadgets. If I want to install a personal energy shield, for example, my current battery won't be able to handle such a load and would require an upgrade to a more serious model of the same size.
There were a few more subtleties through which I realized that Mandalorians really know what they're wearing and what they're shooting with. As work progressed, I turned the mask into a helmet, merging the two and adding the electronics. Now it's truly a helmet.
When everything was ready, I geared up and stood before the mirror. Huh… Unrecognizable. A sort of hybrid of ancient style with modern achievements and Mandalorian flair. Black armor, red patterns duplicating my skin pigments. A pistol on each hip, two swords on a belt behind my back. Retractable vibroknives hidden in the vambraces, plus a flamethrower in the left and a computer in the right.
"It suits you," Des noted.
"Thanks."
"Decided to keep the red and black?" Warren asked.
"Yeah, why?"
"In our culture, the color palette has specific meanings. Blue symbolizes reliability. Green—duty. Red—honoring a father or mother. Gray—mourning a lost love. Black—justice. Gold—vengeance. Orange—a lust for life."
"Well… both colors suit me. What now?"
"Come on, let's go practice flying and controls."
"I know how to fly."
"You sure?"
Glancing at the device on my back, I answered uncertainly:
"Well, in theory… All right, you convinced me, let's go."
As it turned out, I did need the practice. The packs used back then and the packs used now bear no comparison. These were lighter, more powerful, and the controls were different—especially since they were output to the helmet. Because of this, I had to get used to the device all over again.
Standing on the training grounds behind Warren's clan house, the Mandalorian explained the basics of jetpack operation…
"…the nozzles are adjustable for greater maneuverability; keep that in mind and set your thrust vector in advance. Power is regulated on both the wrist comm and the helmet; you can choose the configuration yourself. It can be set for voice commands or eye tracking; I personally use both. Des, for comparison, set it up differently, by body posture."
"Well, let's say I set it up like yours…" I commented, entering new data into the computer.
"Power is adjusted either by a slider or percentages."
"Set."
"Ready?"
"Yes."
"Take off."
I clicked a button on the computer—and the pack abruptly carried me up, then to the side.
"Splat!" The wall embraced me.
"Thud!" The floor accepted me.
"Heh-heh-heh, what power setting did you put?" Warren approached me, leaning over my mortal coil.
"Standard. Seventy percent."
"Set it to thirty."
"Got it now."
"Break anything?"
"Only my ego," I grumbled, getting up. The jolt was such that I couldn't even brace myself to land normally on the wall instead of kissing it. And how do you brace yourself when you're being pulled by the scruff of the neck like a kitten?
"Heh-heh."
Adjusting the settings, I repeated the takeoff. This time there was no jolt; the pack lifted me a few meters smoothly.
"Follow me," Warren rose toward me and shot upward. Smirking, I increased the power and flew after him.
In principle, compared to what I flew before, the difference isn't that great. Yes, more powerful. Yes, lighter and more maneuverable. But it's the same pack, so I mastered it quickly. And once I did, they began teaching me aerial combat.
Literal aerial combat. Inflatable targets launched by Des soared into the sky, while Warren simulated an attack on me. In the very first clash, I realized that an aerial fight lasts about three seconds at most. A short exchange of blows—and one of you is flying down while the other flies forward.
As hard as it was to admit, Warren was beating me. The rules I was used to didn't work in the air; the only things I could rely on were my swords and the Force. With those, victory was always mine, but without them… Warren would attach a dummy mine to me and push off, or strike the pack with a "knife," or go for the neck… A nightmare, in a word.
There was a moment when he tried to knock out my pack, but I parried. In the same second, I saw Warren's other hand attaching a dummy to me, but I parried that too. But when his right hand, holding a deactivated vibroknife that I was gripping, released a short burst of flame into my face, I missed that. Besides the flamethrower, he also has retractable, firing vibroblades there, which were pointed right at my head.
In his other hand, he had a portable rocket launcher he could use immediately after a failed first attack, like a "finishing move." And then there are the vibroknives hidden in the kneepads. Given all this, I'm not surprised at all that Mandalorians are the elite of the elite as mercenaries.
Gadgets are all well and good, but a Mandalorian's armor is also a weapon they know how to use. I was genuinely surprised when, standing on the ground, Warren asked me to activate my swords and fight him on my terms, but without using the Force. Surprised by this, I listened to the guy anyway, and I was stunned when he blocked the swords with his vambraces, then intercepted my arms, headbutted me, swept my leg, and put me on the floor.
"I thought you only had plated gloves," I said, shaking my head as I looked at the Mandalorian.
"Not just. I coated the vambraces too."
"Yeah, I noticed… Oof, that was very unexpected," I got up from the ground. "You beat me at my own game, Warren."
"No, you just didn't take me seriously, certain of your victory. And you didn't use your main weapon."
"True enough. Rematch?"
"Let's go."
The second time I didn't fool around, and it was the Mandalorian who ended up on the ground. Nevertheless, the danger Mandalorians posed even to me was obvious. These devils, bristling with weapons like a hedgehog with needles, were dangerous from all sides. And that's one Mandalorian. What about a group? Or an entire army? It's a nightmare! No, a nightmare is when it's a group; an army is a total goddamn disaster—specifically for whoever that army is going after.
Well, now it's clear why the Jedi panicked and delivered a preventive strike on Mandalore. One thing is certain: if I don't hold back and use the Force, none of the guys are a match for me. Но even then, it's not that simple!
It was experimentally proven that these guys are insulated and don't give a damn about Force Lightning. Pyrokinesis isn't a panacea either; even if I hit them point-blank, the armor might hold, and they won't even flinch from a normal open flame. Choking, crushing, tearing—that worked, but… Here my favorite and hated "but" appears.
Des had long been studying the ground because of me, looking into what the "Force" was, and he found something interesting. Certain lizards called "ysalamiri" could block Force abilities, creating a sort of sphere of negation. To say I was disappointed is an understatement. But this version needs to be checked in any case; it's interesting to see what kind of creatures they are. Later. Right now, we have work.
"Where to?" I asked Warren at the evening meeting.
"To Alderaan. Remember we sold your landing shuttle?"
"Yeah?"
"The collector who bought it wants to speak with us personally and even left a personal contract for it. His name is Rugess Nome; he's a Bith and, incidentally, an esteemed starship designer. No small figure on the planet, by the way. And apparently, our find has caught his interest very strongly."
"Heh-heh-heh, I'd want to talk to us too if I were him. Things like that don't just turn up anywhere."
"True. Shade, tell me. Do you really not know where else we could find relatively intact archaeological finds?"
"Well… In my day, I crashed a Rakatan battleship on Kashyyyk. I also know their homeworld—Lehon. Although… I know. We need to fly to Tython; I'm from there and I know some places that definitely should have survived… At least, I assume so."
"Shade…"
"Yes?"
"Do you know any places that are a bit simpler?"
"What's wrong?"
"Lehon is basically destroyed; we went looking for info on it first thing," Des answered.
"What do you mean 'destroyed'?!"
"Literally. To the state of an asteroid field."
"…"
"Tython is located where it's physically impossible to reach. Not a single hyperroute goes there. The most reasonable is Kashyyyk, but over thousands of years, it's been dug up inside and out. And that downed battleship—it's written right into their history, and once a year the furries celebrate 'Liberation Day'."
"Huh."
"I'll add right away that Tatooine, Malastare, Felucia, and Mustafar are also out; I've already checked. Unless you know of some special hidden ancient bunkers on them that could have been preserved to this day."
"No, I don't know…" I answered, lost. Boy, these guys are quick! "But about Tython, you're wrong. I can lead a ship there."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Then first we fly to Alderaan, then…" Warren looked at me, "to the Tython system."
That was the decision. So, finishing the armor, we went to bed.
***
"What kind of ship is it?" I asked Warren when they showed me their transport. Quite large, actually, especially compared to the Jedi ship.
"A Corellian research vessel, model YG-4210," the Mandalorian answered, being the first to board. The entrance was located slightly to the right of the nose-mounted cockpit. "An old machine with a long history, but we've brought it up to par. Two missile tubes, two heavy laser mounts in the center of the ship covering the upper and lower hemispheres. One twin turret with light guns slightly to the right of the ship's nose. Doubled deflector shields in the front and rear hemispheres; we stuck a particle shield in the center. Along the edges, where the docking ports traditional for Corellian ships are located, I placed special barriers. This allows for deploying troops right on the move—on the ground and in space."
"Got it."
Boarding the ship, we found ourselves in the galley, which was also the kitchen, dining room, living room, and main hall all in one. The main corridor led here; there was a passage to the cockpit, and passages to the medbay and a sort of CIC.
"Des, start her up. Come on, Shade, I'll give you a tour." Walking down the corridor, we stopped at two doors facing each other. "These are the ship's holds." The left door opened, and I was shown the interior. "Though we converted one of them into a workshop."
"It seems to me this workshop is at least as good as the one I saw in your house," I glanced at the Mandalorian.
"It is. We spend a lot of time in flight, so we need to be prepared. The second hold is used as intended. Come on."
Following further, we reached a junction.
"Behind this door is the engineering bay. There and there are the docking hatches, which also serve as troop exits," Warren pointed to opposite corners of the ship. "These doors are the cabins. Four cabins, three crew members each."
"A cabin for everyone?"
"Not at all. This ship used to belong to the clan I was born into—my father's, to be precise. Twelve Mandalorians lived and flew here; my father set up the workshop and performed many modifications. Now the ship belongs to me."
"And where is your father?"
"On Concord Dawn. He stayed as its defender on a permanent basis. These two cabins are empty; we use them if we need to transport some 'venerable' gentleman." Warren expressed everything he thought about those he had to ferry with his tone. "Des, Kaut, and Zeronis live in the first cabin; I'm in the second." He took a few steps toward the mentioned cabin. "Pick any one, but this one is mine."
"All right. Listen, I'm just curious… Since this is a research vessel, what's its autonomy?"
"Three months."
"And… how long is that?"
"One standard year is three hundred sixty-eight days, twenty-four hours each. That's Coruscant time, by the way. You know what a month is?"
"Yeah, I already learned. Thanks."
"Make yourself comfortable and join us in the cockpit."
With that, Warren left me to my own devices. Not bad here. Cozy and not cramped. There's even a private bathroom and shower. Stowing my few belongings, I remembered the mask and swords I left on the planet. I didn't dare take them with me—God forbid there's a crash or a serious fight; I might lose them. Better this way.
The cockpit had four seats. Two pilots and two auxiliary system operators who also control the weaponry.
"…warmed up, dispatch gave the okay, we're unclipped, so we can take off," Des finished.
"Great."
"Forgive me for interjecting, but why am I here?" I leaned against the seat Zeronis was in.
"You said you could lead us to the Tython system."
"And?"
"So you know how to fly?"
"Well, I did in my time."
"Then take the controls," Warren smirked, getting up from the pilot's seat.
"Hm… All right. But if I scratch the paint, it's your own fault."
Sitting next to Des, I looked over the instruments. A lot of new stuff, but some old things were recognizable too. Des demonstratively folded his arms across his chest.
"Engines warmed, formalities settled, the machine is ready for takeoff," he added, hinting it was time to lift off.
"Guys, I changed my mind. Maybe under your guidance?" I glanced at Des.
"Turn off the landing gear magnets, flip those three switches to the 'down' position, this…"
So, with Des's prompts, I lifted the ship into the sky and confidently steered the machine into space. The Force helped; I had some experience, and everything else was explained to me as we went.
Once the ship left the planet, the next step was bringing it onto a hyperspace corridor and preparing for the jump. Since such a thing didn't exist in my time, I carefully questioned Des. Essentially, there's nothing complicated here: if the hyperroute is stable and large, passing through it is no trouble at all. But after that, the art began. Dropping the ship at a specific point, leading it through a dangerous passage, navigating a nebula—it all required a certain skill from the pilot.
In some cases, the Force could compensate for all that. It simply warned of danger, so you could turn in time. That's how blind jumps were made, how hypercorridors were opened, and how I wanted to create a few "wormholes" for myself.
But first—I needed to feel the ship in hyperspace a few times. When I flew as a passenger, I studied the dimension I was in using the Force. I listened, assessed, tried to feel that very boundary separating this place from the real world. Because hyperspace is truly an entire separate world. At least it felt that way.
And now I was leading a ship through this place. A strange sensation, honestly; my Force-sight doesn't want to work properly here, and I feel like I've been stretched into a long, long piece of spaghetti. Maybe an analogy could be drawn to your legs running ahead while you dangle behind and try to level out, heh.
Leaving the ship on autopilot, we dispersed. Des stayed on watch, glued to his wrist computer; Kaut and Zeronis settled into the workshop; Warren is snacking; well, it's time for me to remember my meditations.
They found me sitting on the floor. And, naturally, they asked what I was doing.
"Meditating."
"And why?"
"It's necessary for working with the Force."
"Hm… Shade, what is the Force?"
"It's hard to explain to a non-sensitive," I opened my eyes and looked at the Mandalorian. "You could say it's energy that is everywhere, in each of us. But some can interact with it, and some cannot." Warren sat opposite me. "It's a dangerous energy that can both help and destroy. The ability to interact with it is both a gift and a curse, Warren."
"Why?"
"Because the Force is capable of changing the one who uses it beyond recognition. I've seen those who were ready to kill their own brother. I've seen those who look calmly at bloodshed, though before they'd faint from scratching a finger. The Force… it's a very dangerous energy."
"And what is a sensitive capable of?"
"A well-trained, prepared sensitive is capable of turning the tide of an entire battle alone."
"Is it that serious?"
"More than that, Warren. More than that. You can't kill one just like that, and it's not even about the armor. The Force, especially its dark side, won't let its adept die easily. I've personally checked how such creatures continue fighting even when cut in half."
"That's… serious. And the Jedi, they…"
"No, fortunately for us, they aren't capable of that. The Order has declined greatly over the last millennium; they use their weapon first, not the Force. They say 'The sword is your life.' Idiots…"
"And what advice can you give?"
"Fragmentation weapons are a great tool against a Jedi. Also, don't let them get close. And if you do, try to fight like you did against me. They rely on the sword; it will be their downfall. And, of course, it's best to face a Jedi in a group of ten or more."
"And artillery?"
"Artillery—of course. And the larger the caliber, the better; that's not even up for discussion," I nodded seriously.
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Can you handle a Jedi?"
"Easily. Compared to those who came before, modern Jedi only bring tears to my eyes. No, they're serious fighters, to an extent… But not against me. And they were stronger before…"
So we sat. I talked about sensitives, about the Force, then there were discussions on how such a person can be eliminated. Then the others joined in. During the discussion, we established that standard pushes and pulls won't work against a Mandalorian with a jetpack because they can stabilize themselves, activate the pack, and answer the Jedi with blaster or rocket fire.
Along the way, I recalled that in the Star Wars world there were portable shields; I immediately asked about them. Yes, there is such a wonder, but the damn thing costs a ridiculous amount (why am I not surprised?) and has an appetite to make a Hutt jealous, so it won't work for very long. Instead, hand-held shield projectors are much more popular. A small device built into a vambrace that, when activated, generates a circular or rectangular directed defense screen. Also popular were cruder, cheaper, but practical energy shields with a physical frame.
True, both were rare. Highly useful, but extremely situational, and the thing takes up space—though here, it's more about the specific user. Everyone arms themselves however they like.
On that note, regarding Mandalorian weaponry and tactics: since we were set to act together, the most relevant topic arose—how these guys work. Because since everyone has their own set of paints and brushes, building some reasonable work scheme out of this bouquet is quite problematic. And the more people there are, the harder it is. Usually, when Mandalorians gather in a group of more than twenty in these times, they split into small squads, and each acts independently but within the overall mass. The tactic of "Landing suddenly and hitting as hard as possible" is elevated to an Absolute here.
On one hand, it's good. Such groups can inflict phenomenal damage. On the other, making a unified army out of all this is, let's say, problematic. Warren only confirmed this when he told me to work as I was used to, with adjustments for the plan the group makes collectively depending on the gear and skills of each member of that group.
"Guys, tell me—how exactly do you work? Is there a general plan, a concept, a scheme?"
"No, Shade. For every mission we create a plan from scratch, depending on the task and conditions."
"In short—however it goes?"
"Something like that."
"Attention, Alderaan ahead," Des's voice crackled through the speakers.
"Oh! So fast?"
"Well, we're not flying on a liner," the ship's owner smirked.
***
Read the story months ahead of the public release — early chapters are available on my Patreon: patreon.com/Granulan