Chapter Text
The Mandalorian Civil Wars remain the most protracted and destructive civil conflict in recorded Outer Rim history. A lengthy duration of over seven hundred standard years (and counting, I might argue), a massive scale spanning twenty-seven territories, across eight star systems. It is typically framed as a war of ideology, triggered by the efforts of disparate factions to reunite and rebuild the sector in the aftermath of the Excision. But, as we often observe in the Academy, ideology is rarely a sufficient condition for war. I believe this holds even for the historically bellicose Mandalorian race. What are the dimensions of the conflict obscured by ideological rhetoric? Until they are identified and addressed in truth, any declaration of a peaceful resolution should be interpreted, at best, as a temporary ceasefire.
To answer this question, we must turn our attention to the building block of Mandalorian society, through which all socio-political activities are organized: the Clan, or the aliit, as it is called in Mando’a. Members of the aliit are bound by blood, oath, and very often, a distinctive version of the Mandalorian mythos, passed down for generations. Traditionally, deviant members face severe sanctions and ostracism not only from their clan, but also Mandalorian society at large. Anthropologists speculate that the unusual rigidity of aliit norms is a holdout trait from the Second Galactic Era Crusades, in which a strict hierarchy provided military advantages.
Dr. Milara B. T. Yularen, Tarkin Chair Professor of Outer Rim Military History, Kuat Naval University.
Plenary lecture delivered at the 5th Imperial Conference of Military Historians at the First University of Coruscant. 7BBY.
MORO VISZLA: ‘Haat, ijaa, haa’it’, vod? No. No, I care nothing for truth or honor or vision when Isa’s dead eyes haunt my dreams every night. This is about avenging our dead!
Isbet Dorn, 219BBY. The Viszla Exile, Act IV.
Adapted, directed, and produced by Keldabe Playworks Co., Sundari City Theater, 25BBY.
There’s no need to mince words with me, [redacted]. Our ancestors were conquerors, insatiable for more. Then the galaxy turned on us, as it tends to do. So we turned our appetites on ourselves. You are polite to call it a ‘Civil War’. I just call it cannibalism. We lay in ruins, eating ourselves alive. With the Republic’s help, my movement can put an end to this before one of the warmongers win. Because then you’ll have a real problem on your hands, [redacted].”
S. Kryze to [redacted], 37BBY.
Transcript of a private audience between [redacted] and Lady Satine Kryze of Kalevala.
Unsealed archives of the Outer Rim Outreach Office, the Galactic Republic.
“Buh-baaah…?”
Grogu’s dark eyes widened at the long string of numbers on the holodisplay, his ears twitching quizzically. As if sensing his father’s dread, he tilted his little head up in concern. Grimly, Din rubbed his foundling’s three-fingered hand between his gloved thumb and forefinger.
“Yeah, I don’t think I can count that high either, buddy,” he muttered quietly to his son. He skimmed through the long list of itemized costs again before fixating on the bottom line, highlighted in enormous blue text:
New Keldabe Phase II & III
Total Budget Estimate: 1, 695, 000, 000 NRC
Din had always thought himself decent at managing credits. One had to be, as the guilded beroya for a covert of thirty-five, and then as a lone bounty hunter raising a very hungry foundling on the run. But these days, he’s spending a lot of time staring at the enormous chasm between beroya economics and the finances of planetary reconstruction. He resisted sighing out loud.
Judging by the long silence in the throne room, the other twelve participants - his Ruling Council and various advisors - were also struggling to take in the information. He glanced at Boba’s flickering blue hologram form on his left and recognized his similarly troubled expression. But on his right, Bo-Katan looked thoughtful yet unsurprised.
“Do we even have this much in all of our reserves?” Din finally asked, still feeling dumbfounded. He found himself quietly performing panicked arithmetic. The going rate for beskar had long been stable at around 42 credits per gram. A standard imperial beskar ingot is 445 grams. They’ve retrieved around three thousand of these and a bit more in non-standard ingots in the last couple of years, but at least a half-tonne has been deployed for armoring their forces. And more for other construction and infrastructure projects.
He blinked rapidly under his helm. Will we ever have that much in reserve?
“To be perfectly frank, Mand’alor, when budget numbers get this large on an infrastructure project, it’s more of an advisory on the order of magnitude than a meaningful cost estimate. There’s no real point in counting the credits and ingots left in our war chest,” Soniee explained patiently as she flipped up her datavizor. “What we need is a long-term financing strategy.”
Soniee Werda, the Throne’s Special Project Director, was appointed on the recommendation of House Kryze. Din only knew her as a capable hacker and splicer during the Restoration War, but Bo-Katan later mentioned something about Werda being a front-runner for Secretary of her Ruling Council before the Imperial occupation of Mandalore. A Sundari survivor in her late forties, she had also proven herself a skilled manager and administrator, to Din’s palpable relief.
The ‘Special Project’ she was tasked to handle? Figure out how to turn New Keldabe from a drab Mandalorian military base on top of a newly-discovered beskar vein into a liveable and (more or less) self-sustaining city to house approximately a quarter-million. With room for future expansion.
When they went to the New Republic last month with this proposal, the Chandrilan NR Treasury representative had very politely told them to kriff off and come back with a more sensible plan if they wanted an infrastructure loan approved. There were at least fifteen other perfectly habitable and underpopulated territories in their sector, Mister Kolma had carefully reasoned. In the Republic’s calculations, there was no justification for such an expense in light of the destruction left by the Empire throughout the rest of the galaxy. The New Republic shares in Mandalore’s pain and values their continued alliance with the Throne, the banker had assured them in his placid tone, unfortunately, they do not have credits to burn on rehabilitating a wasteland at the moment.
“It was worth a shot,” Boba had said with a shrug when he mentioned the short-lived negotiations in one of their virtual cu’bikad sessions. In the background off-holo, Din was pretty sure he heard Fennec’s voice muttering something about “crazy Mandos”.
Din knows how it must look from an outsider’s perspective. For a long time, even he wasn’t convinced that attempting to rehabilitate the ruined planet was wise. Privately, he was partial to rebuilding on Concordia instead of Mandalore proper. The moon was far more habitable and the extant infrastructure - as limited as it is - had suffered little damage in the wars.
And yet…
It was impossible to wipe the memory of the Awaud Clan elder on his knees in the ashes of old Keldabe, softly crying out, “Mar’e! Mar’e!” in a broken voice as he clutched a heavily damaged headstone. Or Vilna Eldar with her children, pointing out the limits of their historic seat from a vantage point. Din thought he saw even the hardened Bo-Katan Kryze blinking back tears during a quiet moment in the ruins of Sundari after they secured the planet. How could the Mand’alor deny any of them their ancestral homeworld?
Gideon was right about one thing: stories have power. When a new - active and flowing - beskar vein was discovered on the other side of the mountainous outskirts of the old Mandalorian capital, nearly every clan understood the discovery as a sign from the Manda that it was time to return to the planet. A new vein hadn’t been found in nearly a millennium, since the days of Tarre Vizsla. It was definitively understood as the divine mandate for his rule. There was no turning back from his accidental acquisition of the dark saber henceforth. Whispered doubts ended. The challenges stopped. They named him Mand’alor the Believer and beseeched that he lead the return to the Mandalorian homeworld. His goran was especially adamant that This is The Way.
This is also how they have ended up here, staring down a 1.7 billion credit bill.
“How much do we need to raise to comfortably proceed with Phase Two-Aurek this year, Director Werda?” he asked, hoping his apprehension wasn’t too obvious. 2A will cover the new beskar mine and contaminant capping for most of the planned city boundary.
“Without increasing current taxation rates in our territories or dipping excessively into the Throne’s reserves, two hundred million credits would be my conservative estimate, Mand’alor,” she responded.
The throne room grew tense with the mention of potential tax increases. At the protracted silence, Werda hesitantly added, “But we may be able to do with a little less.”
Kal Shysa, the governor of the Concord Dawn system, narrowed his sharp green eyes. “We agreed that there will be no extractive diversion of resources between the star systems, not even for New Keldabe,” he reminded frostily. “We’ve had enough of that for perpetuity.”
There was a murmur of agreement among clan leaders not based in the Mandalore system.
Don’t sigh, Din told himself sternly. Uncomfortable with the mounting worry in the room, Grogu’s large ears drooped, and the child started fiddling with his favorite silver knob. Din looked down at his son and scratched an ear gently before handing him over to IG-33, “This is going to be a long meeting, Grogu. Why don’t you go work on one of your Mando’a learning modules? I’ll come back before your nap time.”
“‘Eekh,” the child managed, dark eyes squinting in concentration.
“EL- eck. Ori’jate, Grog’ika!” Din praised. He couldn’t help but smile under his helm. “I’ll see you soon, kid.”
As the IG unit made its way back to his quarters with his son ensconced in his cradle, Din stood and descended from the dais of the throne to stand before his gathered advisors. Tension had dissipated a little as the gathered group quietly watched their leader see to his son’s needs.
“Are there any positive developments on our beskar reclamation operations?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Beskar had armored their warriors and funded their war efforts, but recovery of precious Mandalorian iron had slowed to a trickle since their victory. Understandably, none of the Imperial Remnants’ dealers and suppliers were willing to accept beskar as payment anymore. Beskar in circulation was drying up fast, and the prospective mine will take some time to become operational and profitable.
Bo-Katan raised an eyebrow at him as if he were being obtuse on purpose. “We should assume that whatever is left of the Imperial cache is no longer in play for now.”
“We could increase our efforts to trace the loot through underworld networks,” Boba offered, uncertainly.
“Unwise,” the Kryze Duchess barked. “That will spook them further, and they’ll take their stash even deeper underground.”
“Low yield to effort, anyway,” Boba conceded with a sigh, his brow furrowed in thought.
“We control the Rim stretches of the Hydian Way,“ Fenn Rau began slowly. “Is that potentially a source of extra revenue?”
Ursa Wren looked amused. “What are you thinking of, Rau? Taxes? Smuggling? Piracy? Protection fees?” She elbowed him, “Do we have another Concordian crime lord in the making?”
Boba let out a mirthful huff.
Rau shrugged. “It is the galaxy’s busiest trade route, and we’ve been providing the New Republic with almost free security in the Rimward reaches.” The former Mandalorian Protector crossed his arms and frowned as he leaned back in his seat. “I still don’t think we got a fair deal on that,” he groused.
“Freedom of trade and movement along the Hydian Way is a top priority of the New Republic. Any move will be heavily scrutinized and potentially met with retaliation,” Olga Kaust, one of his legal consultants, cautioned.
Din shook his head at Rau. “Leave the trade route be, for now. It’s a lynchpin of our agreement with the New Republic.”
“What do you recommend, Director Werda?” Bo-Katan asked.
“We need investors, my Lady.”
Investors? That sounded problematic, Din instinctively thought. “From where?”
“Other governments. Corporations. Private banks. Supremely wealthy individuals.” Werda paused before continuing with a glance at Boba, “Syndicates, even.”
“How was Sundari funded?” Perhaps there was something to be learned from that achievement, controversial as it might’ve been.
Wren made a derisive snort at his query. Bo-Katan’s expression darkened.
“Satine Kryze promised the former Republic a peaceful, reformed Mandalore,” the Krownest Countess spat ‘reformed’ as if the word were a curse. “She struck a deal with then-Chancellor Valorum. They funded and supported her New Mandalorian movement, and in return, she systematically cajoled and bribed and threatened and starved the clans into disarmament. Sundari was the showcase project of her betrayal.”
Soniee Werda’s eyes narrowed at Wren’s blatant contempt and her reply was icy, “Sundari was a testament to what Mandalorians can achieve when we aren’t busy killing ourselves.”
Din sighed audibly this time and raised a hand to prevent the conversation from getting off-track. “Facts only, please.”
”Generous loans and grants from Coruscant got things rolling,” Bo-Katan stated, her tone bland. “Satine was able to negotiate favorable contracts and trade deals with nearby systems, which moved things along more quickly. And then our technology sector took off in the early days of Sundari. MandalMotors and Concordian Crescent Tech became very reliable sources of revenue after they pivoted to civilian-centered products.”
With uncharacteristic hesitance, she continued, “If it is a useful reference, Director, you are welcome to look through her old study in Kalevala. There may be copies of those records. I remembered seeing architecture and engineering schematics, too.”
Werda's eyes widened, and she nodded in appreciation, “That would be an immense help, my Lady.”
“So what we’re missing is that first camtono and the rest should pay for itself, hm? Still no luck from the New Republic?” Boba asked gruffly.
Kaust looked thoughtful. “Knowing the NR Treasury department, they’d be more willing to approve an infrastructure loan if the quantum is being shared with other large lenders - risk pooling and all that. Does Mandalore have any relationship with the Muuns or the Corporate Sector?”
“CorpSec Authority is as dirty as any syndicate,” the flickering hologram form of Boba commented dryly.
“Yes,” Kaust smiled knowingly. “But they make it legal. And no entity is wealthier.”
“The Grand Vizier’s office served as the intermediary between House Kryze and the Banking Clan. Sundari relied on CorpSec contracts for durasteel, plastoid products, and certain foodstuffs. MandalMotors had a production facility in Cantonica, and an office in Bonadan focused on core-world consumer vehicles,” Werda replied as she rapidly keyed in search terms on her datapad. “No listed relationships for Concordian Crescent. All of their products were designed and manufactured in the Mandalore Sector.”
As if on cue, a short round of grousing about when WESTAR blasters will come into development and production again started at the mention of Concordian Tech. They were really nice blasters, Din had to admit when he was given the chance to try one of Kryze’s.
“So… shall we bring a proposal to Scipio? Muunilist? CorpSec?” Lannis Ordo, the youngest member of his Council, asked uncertainly.
Kaust shook her head. “Not if you want favorable loan terms. I suggest we feel some of them out first. Indirectly. Discreetly.”
“Fett?” Din turned hopefully to his left. Boba just grunted and nodded once. He’ll handle the scoping, then. Of them all, the Daimyo of Tatooine is probably the most well-connected to the wider galaxy.
The rest of the meeting went as well as he could hope. He only had to raise his voice three times to stop old arguments from escalating. It’s a win, he mentally patted himself on the back.
As the other participants got up to leave, Din glanced over at his secretarial droid’s notes to make sure all the actionable items had been captured. Clan leaders will examine the feasibility of increasing contributions to the Throne. Planetary governors will look to see if there might be excess fat to trim off from their budgets for the next three quarters. Fett will surreptitiously ask around to explore alternative financing arrangements with his underworld connections and extra-governmental connections. Kryze and the Wrens will work with the Saxons to see how they can expedite the acquisition and growth of MM and CCT. Finally, Werda will revise the budget and try to break down the costs further into more manageable phases, following a review of Sundari’s construction records at the Kryze morut in Kalevala.
Speaking of which…
“Lady Kryze,” he called out to the retreating figures of his Council.
Bo-Katan paused in her stride and turned to face the throne at his abrupt address. “Mand’alor?”
He walked over to stand directly in front of the Duchess. “May I visit with Director Werda? I would like to learn more about Sundari and the late Duchess. It seems like… a point of contention among the Clans.”
Din watched as some unreadable emotion flickered across Bo-Katan’s usually stern and aloof countenance. Then she sighed. “You don’t need to know everything, Djarin. That’s what your Council is here for.”
Din just looked at her impassively, waiting for her answer.
A moment later, she glanced back and relented. “You are welcome to come to Kalevala with Soniee, if you like. Satine was a prolific record keeper. And she maintained quite the library of Mandalorian works.”
“Thank you.”
“Mand’alor,” she nodded curtly, before swiftly exiting the throne room. The heavy doors shut automatically behind her. Hopefully, he hadn’t overstepped. Kryze had always been cagey whenever her family was brought up.
Alone at last, Din slumped down on the stairs to the throne to take a moment to recover before heading back to his quarters to see his son as promised. He removed his helmet to take a deep inhale of unfiltered air, setting it down on the throne’s seat. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he leaned back to look up at the high arched ceilings of the throne room and the elaborate carvings on structural walls between the massive kar’ta windows.
Din had fruitlessly resisted this particular expense in those early days after they captured Mandalore - he had no desire for ostentation, and he thought they could have put the credits and the goran ’s time to better use. But a year later, he had to grudgingly give it to Alrich Wren - Din could not have anticipated that decor would exert such a profound effect on clan behavior. There was something about seven great Mand’alors of yore looking down into the throne room that seemed to keep petty squabbling to the absolute minimum and focused everyone on the actual problems at hand.
He looked across to the entryway, above which stood Mand’alor the First, his spear embedded in the carcass of the last mythosaur.
On his left, Mand’alor the Great, with his grand army of crusaders behind him. For a fleeting moment, the known galaxy was Mandalorian.
The Destroyer, standing defiant in the ruins of Luon, surrounded by piles of her dead warriors.
The Preserver, as he swore his oath to end the Sith Empire in the jungles of Dxun.
The Avenger, grim and determined as she led leaderless Mandalorian factions to their first victory in a year during the Sith Wars.
The Protector, crisscrossing a bes’kad and the darksaber in front of his armored chest as a dozen clan leaders knelt before him.
The Uniter, issuing his call for the Return that would catapult Mandalore into a great regional power.
Mand’alors were forged in fire and death, Din knew. But when the great battles were won, their songs and stories also ended. Did the Mando’ade of their era get to live happily ever after, the way children easily assumed? Were their people as fractured and weary as his brethren? What does a good Mand’alor do, when there is no enemy left to fight?
No answer was forthcoming from the seven silent figures above.