The Passing of Mandalore

Canderous awoke slowly, aware of a dull pain surrounding his chest. He was able to open his eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of his surroundings before feeling them being forced closed against his wishes. In that brief flash of awareness, he saw that he lay on the bed in his sparsely furnished quarters, his body hooked up to every life-supporting piece of equipment his men had managed to salvage. Normally his private room, it was no longer so private as he heard his soldiers moving in and out of the small space. His armor, recently mended after its last battle, sat in a far corner of the room, almost beckoning him to arise and don it once again.

A moment of realization permeated his thoughts. From the moment he took the helm of Mandalore, he had known the time would come when even the stims wouldn't be enough to keep him going.

Not that he feared death, by any stretch. He had cheated it far too many times over the previous seven decades to fear it. Death was best handled like one's Commander, with respect and obedience. A warrior who disrespected orders would not live long enough to fight again. Following orders would allow a warrior to continue his battles, to gain honor and crush his foes.

The same could be said of death. Foolish were the warriors who thought they could not die; indeed, Canderous had seen many of them be the first casualties in a fight. Conversely, a warrior who respected his own mortality could find ways to delay it, gaining considerable honor amongst his peers. One of the greatest honors for a Mandalorian was to be able to speak of his past experiences in battle to those warriors who followed him, allowing them to learn from his mistakes and become even more formidable than he.

Now, the time had come. He could no longer delay death, could no longer pump chemicals into his body to artificially sustain himself for a few more months. The damage he had sustained over the decades would have scrapped the Republic's best combat droids years ago, yet he always found a way to keep pushing on. Now, when he felt his desire to live at its highest, he was unable to find the strength to go on.

It took all of his will to force his eyes to open again, for the sedatives given to him for his pain also made his mind blur and his eyes heavy. Looking around his quarters, his tired gaze fell upon the trio of armor-clad soldiers who had just walked into the room. Zuka. Kex. Kelborn. He wanted to speak to them, to tell them he would recover and would lead them once again, but his voice had failed along with his strength. Feebly, he raised the fingers of his left hand in an attempt to attract their notice. It was a gesture that seemed to be in vain, for both Kelborn and Kex left the room as silently as they had entered, neither one looking toward the bed that held their leader.

Zuka, however, must have noticed, for he walked over to the side of the bed, working to adjust the controls for the medical equipment. Instantly, Canderous felt a rush of relief course through him, caused undoubtedly by another dose of sedatives. He coughed weakly, his attention focused on the other man.

'Z... Zuka...' his whisper was faltering, almost inaudible.

The technician looked at his leader. 'Stay quiet, Mandalore,' he advised. 'You're in bad shape. I'm adjusting the systems here to make you more comfortable.

Canderous struggled to speak, wanting to know how long he had been unconscious, but only one word escaped his lips. '... long...?'

'You've been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last three months,' Zuka replied. 'Spending more time out than in.'

Three months?! Canderous asked himself in a slight panic. I've been like this for three months? What about the clans? What about...?

As though sensing his leader's growing panic, Zuka turned away from the machinery he was tinkering with. 'Not to worry, Mandalore.' He said, his tone reassuring. 'Kelborn and Bralor have been doing a fine job keeping this place going.' Seeing Canderous begin to calm, he continued. 'Indeed, just the other day we had two new clans join with us... excellent news, I say.'

Canderous barely managed a nod as he watched Zuka return his attention to his task. It was excellent news, hearing of the care of his people in his absence. At least he knew that if he did not survive, the clans would be in good hands and under excellent leadership. Both Kelborn and Bralor had proven themselves time and time again, in both combat and non-combat situations.

He managed a shallow, shaky breath as he tried to remember what had happened to him that led to this. The sedatives, however, were blurring his mind even more severely than before, making coherent thought close to impossible. Gesturing to Zuka, he struggled to ask. '... happened... why... like...?'

Zuka quieted him by placing a breathing mask over his face, allowing him to breathe more easily than if he were trying on his own. 'You don't remember, Mandalore?' he asked in surprise. 'Must be the sedatives working already.' He paused briefly to make one last adjustment to the equipment keeping his leader alive. 'Maybe it's better if you don't try to remember that,' he continued as he picked up the few tools he had brought with him. 'After all, that ambush was a cowardly attack by our enemies.' Muttering to himself, Zuka left the small room, leaving Canderous alone once again.

Closing his eyes, Canderous struggled to push away the fog filling his mind, struggled to remember what had happened to him. Ambush? He asked himself. Were we ambushed here? No... it was far from the camp. But where?

Piece by piece, the memory began to return to him. He remembered Zuka's report of the shuttle crash near the tomb of Freedon Nadd. Remembered taking a squad of his best warriors to investigate the crash site. Remembered the Sith who materialized around them out of nowhere. Suddenly, the memories seem to be tumbling in his mind far too quickly, jumbling together the sounds of blaster fire and roaring beasts, the damp scent of the jungle around them, the sight of their enemies closing in around them, overwhelming him until he thought they would make him lose his mind.

Though his soldiers had fought with all the ferocity of a force ten times their size, none of them escaped serious injury, him included. The only solace he took from the encounter was that the Sith who had chosen such a cowardly means of fighting them had all been eradicated.

While the other injured warriors had recovered within a few days, he himself had still not fully healed by the time two weeks had passed. Perhaps it was age; after all it wasn't as though he was getting any younger. Whatever it was, he was not about to let it stop him. Refusing further treatment for his lingering wounds, he began using stims more heavily, injecting them every morning in order to counter the near-disabling pain he endured. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Sith discovered their Dxun base, and he wanted to ensure they would be ready so a repeat ambush would not occur. Giving in to the pain would give both it, and the Sith, victory.

In the end, however, the pain won, even if the Sith never did. He only barely remembered the incidents of that day, as they flickered in and out of his mind like a failing ion engine. He had been speaking to Kelborn and Zuka about replacing the perimeter sensors with more powerful ones. Suddenly, he felt himself drop to one knee, his chest heaving painfully as he struggled in vain to breathe. Almost immediately, he collapsed facedown into the dusty ground, only vaguely feeling the other two warriors lift him as the world turned dark around him.

He remembered next to nothing of any events that may have followed. The few times he might have awakened were but a brief flickering of consciousness, punctuated by the humming of machines he could not identify at the time. Even more rare were any memories of waking while any of his men were in the room. If there were any in his rapidly failing consciousness, they refused to materialize.

He struggled to open his eyes again as he heard footsteps entering the room. He knew his time was growing shorter, knew he was slowly weakening with every passing minute. Even now he began to feel the darkness hovering around his consciousness like a shyrack, waiting for its opportunity to close in on him. Using all his remaining strength, he fought to push back the darkness, keep it from taking him for a few precious minutes. He was not ready to go, damn it all! There were still things he needed to do!

It felt as though a weight were lifted from him as the darkness retreated. It was a temporary victory, as he could still feel it at the far edges of his mind, but it gave him time. Time to finish what he needed to finish before he moved on.

After what felt like an eternity, he was able to open his eyes. As he did, he heard footsteps approaching his bedside. An armored hand grasped his gently for a moment before retreating to remove the helmet of its owner.

'K... Kelborn.' Canderous was surprised at how weak his voice sounded. It was nothing like the powerful, commanding voice he had used to keep his troops in line.

Kelborn looked down at his leader, his expression a mixture of reverence and respect. Before he had come to Dxun, he had been little more than a thug, intimidating those weaker than he for credits. Now he knew he could be far more, make something significant of himself.

He brushed a lock of dark hair from his eyes with a slightly shaking hand. Normally one of the most collected of the warriors, he seemed unnerved by his leader's condition. 'Mandalore...' he replied softly. 'Zuka told me you were fading fast.'

Canderous nodded slightly. 'I... I am.' His voice seemed slightly stronger, as though the other soldier's presence was sustaining him, if only minimally. 'Not fair... failed to reunite... clans.' Breathing was becoming more painful, causing him to grit his teeth against the waves of agony that filled his chest. 'Need someone... continue... work.'

Kelborn nodded his understanding. 'Yes. The Mandalorians will rise again,' he said in agreement. 'Someone must lead them. Someone strong, determined...'

'You.'

'What?' Kelborn's expression betrayed his shock. Though the man who lay on the bed before him had spoken but one word, he was caught off-guard by that word. He was certain he had heard incorrectly; after all, Mandalore's voice was failing. He could have said something different...

Canderous laughed weakly as he studied the other man's face. 'No... wasn't a mistake.' He could feel the darkness closing around him once again, threatening to silence him before he could appoint his successor. 'Want... you... continue my work...'

Kelborn sobered, his expression calm and unreadable, as though he were hunting Bomas rather than watching his leader die. 'You want me to continue in your stead? As Mandalore?' he asked, still sounding a bit skeptical.

Deciding he preferred acceptance to skepticism, and no longer having the strength to speak, Canderous nodded.

Seeing his leader nod, Kelborn gave a small smile of mingled reassurance and determination. 'I promise I won't let you down,' he stated. 'I will unite the clans. The Mandalorians will return to the galaxy!'

Though Canderous could say nothing, as the darkness fell over him for the final time and he left his pain-wracked body, he knew he had left his people in capable hands.