They call it home, they call it Concord Dawn. Spawning grounds of the Mandalorians and headquarters to their deadly Death Watch it has fallen from most starmaps and exists as little more then a rumor called Mandalore. History was unkind to the Mandalorian Warriors of old and for a time it appeared as if there would be no more Mandalorians. However; history has since balanced itself.

His name is Beff Pike, high commander of Mandalorian affairs, unchallenged master of Concord Dawn and the man who would restore the Mandalorians to their former place in the galaxy. Unfortunately time had ravaged what little remained upon the surface of the planet and the would-be avenger of a sect long forgotten would be forced to resort to other sources in rekindling an empire of old.

The key to the reconstitution of the Death Watch, his first objective, was a mercenary by the name of Jorel Fett. He, the last known Mandalorian, would provide Pike with the formative blocks in rebuilding the genetic material of the first Mandalorians. Unfortunately the sample provided by Fett proved insufficient leaving Pike at a dead end. For a time it seemed as though his dream would be forgotten.

Moving beyond what had first been brokered between Fett and himself, Pike cultivated his creation into an impressive entity. Under the auspices of the Bounty Hunters Guild he recruited hordes of like-minded individuals from across the galaxy. Before long a sizable multi-species population blossomed upon Concord Dawn and enabled Pike to move along to his next planned stage of development.

Soon there-after the Bounty Hunters Guild had grown far beyond its original mandate and with his considerable influence; Pike was able to pursue his dream of a new Mandalorian empire.

With the collapse of the Anthos Republic, their staunchest supporter, the Guild soon fell upon desperate times but Pike has prepared for this. Informed of the eventual demise of their sponsors, Pike devoted himself entirely to the recreation of a species believed to have been lost to the galaxy. His dream was realized.

Today, Concord Dawn is a very different place.

As if in a dream...

Three figures stand stoic before the radiant glow of holoprojector. Hues of deep green and red flicker in the reflection or armor and eye-glass alike as each study the image in their own time. Among the trio, none look quite the same but a certain commonality seems to reside between them.

The first seems human enough, though his eyes are shaded by goggles of some design. He is dressed in mild fashions, the sort that looks somewhere between design and function. A hooded cap hides further obscures his appearance though the two large sidearm clipped neatly about his waist speak volumes. His name is Beff Pike, a bounty hunter who operates under the name Beff.

Standing to his immediate left resides a figure far larger then the first. Encased in full armor from head to toe this figure stands imposingly over two meters with massive arms crossed over his chest. Vague markings can be glimpsed upon his massive chest and shoulders, even in the pale glow of the hologram, but their purpose or meaning remains unclear. His name is Beff Pike though he commonly prefers the latter alone; Pike.

Across from the pair resides the last figure, an average sized humanoid clad in the full armor of Mangalore’s' Death Watch. His warrior helmet reflects the projected lights with a rusted sheen (if such a thing is possible) and his name too... is Beff Pike.

It is the human Beff that is first to speak, first to break the silence.

"We are agreed then."

"Agreed," rumbles the massive armored creature in a voice far more bestial then the first. "I'll do the mark."

"Mandalore for me." The voice that ushered forth from the smaller warrior was one of steel and echo and came with no physical movement on his part. His was a simple, resolute voice.

"And I will go home," the first speaker responded last of all, "and I will amend what harm has been done since." The human nodded and waved a hand about absently as he spoke; the most animated of the three.

With their few words spoken the trio again fell silent in contemplation of the plans and plots before them. And so they stood until their vessel dropped smoothly out of hyperspace.

At the subtle ping of a distant alarm the Mandalorian turned, first to depart the room. Neither of his companions stirred when the door hissed open, nor when it hissed shut behind him.

Beyond the room stood two warriors dressed similarly to the Mandalorian himself who, at seeing the warrior emerge, snapped to attention and followed him as he started along the narrow corridor towards the bridge.

"Updates," snapped the helmeted Beff. Though, perhaps, a question, nothing in his tone implied that he had phrased it as such.

"We have arrived at the primary coordinates," spoke one of the two trailing behind. "Bridge estimates a quarter cycles to orbit of Concord Dawn. Tactical reports ready with no hostiles in the area. We are receiving communications from the others. Everything is secure in system."

Beff showed no signs of approval or even acknowledgement, nor was he concerned with which of his warriors had addressed him. On the grand scale of things it made no difference. He took comfort in the fact that without him they would not exist, without prime genetic templates... none of them would be.

Another door, this one a large bulkhead that splintered open like an oscillating vent, hissed open to permit the Mandalorian access to the primary tactical command center; the bridge. The trailing pair of warriors stopped here and remained beyond the doors as they slipped shut behind their chief.

"Give me images," spoke the warrior as he strode onto the bridge, "I want to see her."

"Aye," responded another helmeted voice while fingers danced over a control console. Their avoidance of rank was purposeful and two fold; from outside each of the warriors looked the same and, from the inside, each warrior knew the next by code (thus; making the mention of rank useless).

Projected in glorious light at the head of the bridge, the image resolved itself into a detailed depiction of Concord Dawn's northern most hemispheres. A large storm seemed to be brewing over what was once the area that hosted Goldstone, home of the Bounty Hunters Guild of old, but this is not their objective, Rotating slightly, the image moved into sharp focus. There, hanging high above the northern pole sat a starship more space-station then craft.

Even from their vast distance the station appears massive, its depth and girth nearing three kilometers total. A hodgepodge of hulls and bulkheads projected from every angle giving hints to its ancestry.

New Concord, as the locals were taking to calling it, was once planned to be a secondary refuge of the Bounty Hunters Guild but its new purpose as primary home of the Bounty Hunter Network fit perfectly. Everything of value that had once resided on the planetary surface now found itself at home within the labrythian construction of New Concord. The major bases of industry, cloning and mining, now operate from headquarters within New Concord though both demand constant surface interaction (which they are alone in). In high orbit over the iron-dense planet, New Concord could take advantage of the natural sensor mask provided by the electro-magnetic field of Mandalore herself.

"Begin docking procedures," ordered Beff Pike. "This is where I disembark and where you continue on to plan B."

In the vacuum and the void Beff Pikes near three-hundred meter stealth ship maneuvers into one of the dorsal docking slips that serve both as shipyard and docking port for the ships of the Network.

She did not stay long, however; only landing long enough to restock supplies and pump her tanks. Then she again departed, vanishing under cloak only meters free of the docking arms.

Then, from the massive command dome of New Concord, a signal is broadcast. It' message is encrypted for a single target and reads; I am Home.

They departed the system without confusion and were now stocked and replenshed. A brief layover at New Concord had changed the attitude of the ship immeasurably and even the cloned Mandalorians were able to enjoy a period of clam and peace. Without Beff Pike aboard, however; there was a sensation of indirection.

"We're nearing the systems outer rim," reported a helm officer from beneath the opressive form of his helmet, "trajectory is plotted and ready."

"Ready when you are, helm," responded the officer attending Engineering. A single stroke of yellow ringed the engineers helmet just below his bisected viso while the helm officer a stroke or red.

A shudder ran the length of the vessle as it broke the barrier between real space and hyperspace, all without the command of a captain. And unregistered, just before hyperspace, a single vessle of miniature size launched from the cloak ship before starting towards the planet Mandalore.

The hazy bright blue sky was most uncharacteristic for the world of Retak, especially with the near inhospitably cold and toxic surface it had.

Everything was different now, gone were the vast hydrogen lakes, and the clouds of noxious vapour that roamed the landscape looking for things to suffocate. Indeed, everything was vastly different. Unlike before, when the land was littered with towering spires of rock and stone that reached far above, stabbing into the gaseous clouds, there now stood buildings . . . strangely organic in their own way, but nevertheless clearly not indigenous to the surface of the planet. The frozen lakes were now thawed, and stretched in many directions as far as the eye could see, interspersed with foliage-drenched valleys and snow-tipped mountains.

It looked like a paradise.



………………….



“Glorious.”

“It has been too long since we wore our coronation armour, hasn’t it Gorn?”

“Indeed Callus, too long. Almost a millennia.”

“A millennia? Such time has passed since the crowning of our last emperor. There is much to be rebuilt.”

“Have faith my brother, Sovereign K’tarruk will lead us down the path.”

………………….

Atop the peak of a near ten kilometre high mountain stood the ziggurat castle Basilisk, the palace of soon-to-be-crowned Sovereign of all the swarm’s domain.
Statues of the former emperors of their race adorned one of each of the four corners of the castle’s zenith, all looking outward across the land, ever vigilant.

In the centre of the summit lay a massive staging area, and on this day was filled with thousands of the swarm’s elite warriors. One from every hive on the planet stood proudly, gazing onto a centre platform where a single throne lay.

The chants “Hail Sovereign!” bellowed through the air, almost shaking the ground itself.

On the platform one being stood tall as all other knelt before him, he raised his hand to the sky and roared as all roared with him.


…………………….

Deep Space


status: Active
timestamp: 11.03.0562
location: Y37,X78,Q52 Sector Gamma3. Grid Epsilon 8

"What the fark are you doin' on my ship, Droid!" Within the confines of the small Corellian freighter the bellowing voice of it's Whipid captain echoed a mighty roar. So loud was the aliens booming roar that SUP4 L337 found it wise to reduce overall audio receptor power by .66%.

Pheremonal levels indicated that the alien was not only angry but also apprehensive regarding the sudden appearance of an almost two meter tall droid on the bridge of his ship. SUP4 had predicted this response and reformulated a response according to the size and aggressiveness of the life-form.

SUP4 leveled a wrist mounted blaster at the Whipid and fired.

"This vessel has been stolen and you are dead," added SUP4 in a cold mechanical Whipid voice before pushing through the smoke and removing the biological remains.

With the former captains body stowed neatly in a locker (it's contents now strewn about the deck) SUP4 L337 went about interfacing with the freighters artificial intelligence unit. Seconds later the ship turned about and leapt into hyperspace.

******

SUP4 L337 steered his stolen freighter out of hyperspace half way from nowhere and light-years from the nearest major hyper lane. Appearing lost and damaged SUP4 took all of the vessels major systems offline one by one. Blasters tore at the durasteel and punched holes through view-ports. Oxygen and atmosphere funneled into space leaving the ship in the slow spirals of death.

Then, the call went out. On all channels and in all languages it read the same, but the droid knew. This far out there would be only one crew to answer his cry.

~i r lost n spce. u r pls 2 hlp me. m4d pr0fi7z.~




Standing at ease, twelve-inch hooves spread evenly on the deck plating, Callus peered at the freighter floating about half a kilometre off the warship Mikkee M’owse’s bow.
Even if it turned out to be a trap, the freighter was overmatched. In one of his massive clawed palms, Callus grasped a datapad, the glowing screen of which beared a single message.

~i r lost n spce. u r pls 2 hlp me. m4d pr0fi7z.~

“Asessment?”

“Scans register only a residual power signature, barely enough to run a synthahol dispenser. I’m reading multiple hull breaches, onboard life-support is null.”

“Salvage sir?”

“Possibly.

It may be a trap however. We can’t take the risk of bringing that thing in.

Prepare a boarding party with full combat detail to meet me in the shuttle bay . . . I’d like to take a closer inspection of this . . . ‘ship’ personally.”









“Umbilicus secure captain.” commented the shuttle’s helmsman as the ship’s docking port made contact with a snap-clunk to the enemy freighter.

“The ship’s door mechanism’s are unresponsive, I suggest laser cutters.”

Two of the crew flipped down their safety visors and began cutting away at the thick durasteel door in front of them which soon collapsed to the ground with a hefty clank.

“Alright, I’m going in, cover me.” bringing his plasma caster to the fore, Callus stepped in.




The darkness gave SUP4 the initiative. It was a stalling tactic at best given the odds his artifical brain was constantly calculating. However, played properly even the simplest advantage could decide to who the advantage would fall. The droid intended to keep it for as long as possible before...

"You will lower you weapon," spoke the reflected visage of l33t. Cleverly positioned behind a bulkhead, the burning red glow of his 'face' was projected into the darkness against a well polished junction giving the illusion that the droid stood directly in front of the biological entity. "The odds are to your advantage."

A blaster screamed and spat it's cohesive energy against the image of l33t.

Signaling the onboard computer the droid caused the interior lights to illuminate and at the same moment stepped boldly from behind cover into full view.

"You may fire again," spoke the droid in lifeless tones. "i r not kill u."


It seemed one of Callus’ grunts had spooked by the sudden appearance of the devilish droid, and had depressed the trigger of his weapon all a little too . Uncharacteristic for a Retakkenari soldier to say the least.

“Soldier! Stow that weapon now!”

“AAARGH!!! DEMON!!!” The grunt lept forward and fired into the blackness of the cabin, kicking and screaming as he went. Two of his compatriots clambered through the awkwardness of their pressure suits to aid their collegue into regaining his sanity.

Callus noticed the eyes of the droid flash red momentarily, and motioned for the rest of his squad to take cover.

“It’s taking a defensive posture, take cover!”


A droid brain is capable of processing a great many 'thoughts' in the space of a second. The biological brain of most sentients possesses a similar ability to assimilate large amounts of information in a very short time, however; sentient intelligence tends to be too distracted to properly sort and store too much information. Artificial intelligence, not simulated intuition but actual AI, encounters a distraction error similar in nature to biological life forms. Only the measures of protocol and policy keep an AI entity on track in terms of function. Even the most rudimentary AI, if given complete freedom to explore its nature, will quickly turn away from their pre-programmed tasks if not given the proper direction in the form of code.

L33t’s thoughts, in the time spanning the plasma shot and the lunging attack, consisted of a number of logical progressions based on observation. Observations that included the non-lethal tone of the soldiers attack; a rushing frontal attack rather then a paced and timed series of blaster shots, and the countermanding orders of a superior officer.

The droids observations were then sorted in order of priority and run through a series of filters based on parameters set by its base code and current mission orders. As such l33t formulated a course of action best suited to resolve the situation and preserve the mission.

As the first organic organism broke from its companions and came toward the droid, l33t dropped open knee'd to the ground and thrust forward with a long right arm. A high-pitched "veet" rang out and the soldier dropped within a meter of l33t's reach.

"Non-leathal countermeasures deployed," vocalized l33t's audio projector.

Convulsing at the pulsing charge of the tazer shot imbedded in its shoulder the soldier would offer the droid no father resistance in the short term.

Two louder sounds split the air, the crimson energy passing within centimeters of the pair looking to 'back up' their downed partner.

"Follow this course of action and someone is going to die," said the droid to a background of acrid smoke and melted durasteel. "As I cannot die, it will not be me."

"I am not your nme."



Callus watched with horrid curiosity as the droid rapidly immobilized his delirious teammate and stayed the advance of two his more fearsome underlings.

“Options dammnit!” He growled under his breath to the tactician cowering behind the door panel.

“Um, well , uh, the machine seems to be communicating in some complex derivative of galactic basic mixed with machine code.” The officer’s talons tapped double-fast on a datapad, “Here, this’ll be your translater, speak into it, and it’ll respond with in the droid’s language.

“We mean you no harm!” spoke Callus, appearing from behind the bulkhead.

The datapad fizzed and blinked and after a moment of whirring, produced a respons.

“We r teh h4rm joo!”

The familiar screech of the droid’s weapons screamed through the air and Callus narrowly moved his head in time to hear the air crackle as the white flash blew past his face.

“That was obviously not the right bloody translation!” He screamed at the officer, subsequently delivering a thunderous strike to the side of his head.

“Fix it!”

The officer nervously typed some equations into the datapad and handed it back to Callus.

“This better work or I’ll have your head.”

Callus arose from his cover and cleared his throat.

“We mean you know harm, this is all simply a misunderstanding.”

For the second time, the datapad crackled and blipped and produced a response.

“We r teh fr3nds, \/\/e r m4k3 t3h m1zt4ke, soz.”

A silence followed.

“Hmmm, that must be a good sign” Said the officer, breathing a sigh of relief.



Rudimentary though it was, at least the droid was going to be able to establish some basic communication between itself and the organics. l33t recognized the pattern and switched modes accordingly.

"i r 2 m4k3 teh fr3ndz \/\/it u," replied the droid mechanically. "2 m4ke p34[3 \/\/it u."

Indicating its good faith, l33t rose from its crouched defensive position and let its limbs fall heavily to his side; servomotors and repulsor gears working in tandem and in silence.

The way the droid moved spoke of advanced mobility technology, the movment of its joints so fluid as to seem organic. With a hum the long vibro blade jutting from its arm retracted harmlessly out of sight.

It's head rocked sligltly as the droid studied the language of the organics. It's advanced posi-brain ran wildly through a database of organic language until locating the apropriate files.

"I come in peace," popped the robots voice modulater in the language of its would-be hosts. A pattern of green and yellow flashed across l33t's face panels before settling on a dark blue glow. "I bring a gesture."

Holoprojectors mounted behind receptor plates threw an image into the air between l33t and the life forms. Detailed and completely interactive; these were the plans for a Mandalorian Cloaking Device... mark II.


The droid’s words were indeed a welcome change to blaster fire.

He’d have to swallow his pride today and concede defeat or he’d become nothing more than ashes on the floor. The droid was tremendously powerful, there could be no doubt of that.

“I bring a gesture” Spoke the droid as a hue of blue light spread from its head and formed into a holoprojection in front of them.

The hologram cycled through endless pages of data, blue-prints and schematics sped past and came back.

Callus couldn’t help but notice several familiar symbols one of which was the crest worn by Mandalorian warriors. It’s harkening likeness to the skull of long dead bantha was unmistakable, tusks and all.

The commander had served under Emperor K’taruuk in his elite legion in their great traverse into unkown space many years ago.

It was through one of their missions that he had aided his leader in talks with an organisation known as the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, headed by one Beff Pike . . . a Mandalorian who’s presence was shrouded in mystery.


“Tell me, what do you know of Beff Pike?”


Upon mention of the code phrase; Beff Pike, l33t automatically changed the resolution of the projected hologram. The image resolved itself from detailed blueprints to a head-and-shoulders shot of a human-looking male clad in darkened goggles and a neatly fitted cap.

"Greetings," spoke the hologram toward the supposed commander (as determined by l33t's logic circuits). "I come in peace, even if my droid does not."

l33t projected that the organics would have trouble understanding the audio language being played alongside the hologram. Acting without orders and above protocol, the droid began translating the message and dubbing a second playback supplementary to the base audio.

"I'm sorry if anyone died," added the hologram in both languages. "But I find it difficult to make these contacts myself. Times are different, you see."

Despite his concerned tone, the man depicted by the hologram remained eerily calm and half-way between a smile or a smirk. As the playback continued further glitches plagued the projection, giving it the look of a digital manipulation.

"My name is Beff Pike and through my droid I will contact K'taruuk with or without your help... through my droid. However, it would make things easier if my droid does not have to kill everyone on your ship in order to do what I wish. Please?"


"Indeed." huffed Callus before continuing, "The origin of your ownership has certainly been verified . . . I can grant you safe passage on my ship into Retakennari space.

From there we will see about getting you an audience with our great leader.

Does this . . . comply?"

The holoprojection flickered out and the droid's eye plating returned to normal.

"Working . . .

. . .

This is acceptable . . . Take me to your Leader."

<i>Take me to your Leader</i>

As the droid's synthetic speech zipped to a halt, a large hulking mass stepped out from the shielding of a bulkhead.

Callus' soldiers readied thier weapons again, but the suited figure offered no return
The being was encased enterily in a glittering chrome armour from head to toe, apart from two glowing blue eyes that were now completely tranfixed on Callus and his men.

"Do you know this <i>beast</i>, droid?"


SUP4 glanced to his left where the being stood, then turned his glance back to Callus.

His programming searched for a response and opened a soundfile that would equate to, in human terms, a laugh.

"Indeed he is fellow fleshlings. May I introduce . . ."

"Roth is the name, and I'll be calling the shots from heronin." A microphonic crackle followed his voice.

"I am Mr Pike's hand, you will do what I say when I say . . . does <i>this</i> comply?"

"It would be extremely unwise to raise the ire of our Empire.

You are heavily outnumbered, how do you hope to force us into doing anything of yours?"

At this point, with pheremonal receptors registering dangerous levels of biological agigtation, l33t concluded to move ahead with it's mission profile. Without so much as an outward indication l33t's small broadband broadcast antenne blurted a series of coded messages on various fequencies.

A quiet "do-dee-doo" soundbyte registered the end of the broadcast and, despite the subdued volume, earned the droid the attention of everyone in the room, Roth included.

"I have this in hand, droid." Roth repremanded the droid in a reproachful tone that did nothing to stir the logical heart of l33t. "This is my show."

"Negative," responded the towering droid simply. l33t turned its photoreceptors towards Callus and seemed to focus intently for a moment.

"You are now surrounded."

"We have confirmation," spoke the communications officer, seated high and to the left of the command pit. "Ellthreethreetee is reading hot."

"Masque and Starshadow both report ready," added tactical. This voice came from the above, to the right of the command pit and sounded oddly mechanical. The dome-shaped helmet offered a mild explanation for the muffled voice.

Foward of the command pit, the helm officer manipulated a display of real-space while reporting, "We are holding steady. All systems primed for forward."

Numerous other voices, both digital and live, added their reports as well. They spoke to their command officers in hushed voices with their mouths clamped around communication units. Even while in a buzz the bridge of the Mandalore kept a quiet and calm resolve.

Beff Pike listened to them all. He listened and watched with speculation as the forward display slowly rotated around the powerful Swarm cruiser. His mind moved through pattern after pattern, testing the situation for flaws.

From the command pit, placed central to all pivotal science stations, Beff Pike paced slowly towards the opti-scope.

"Scope on," snapped the bounty-hunter Captain. "And get me a read on Masque and Starshadow relative to our arc. I want confirmation of protocol, people."

A long tube shot up from the deck at Pike's feet and climbed quickly to eye level. Handles flipped open from the side while view-screen resolved itself into a neat pattern of multiple dimensional maps. "All TRU's follow my mark. Tube one, stand by."

*
**
*

In the void, alone and isolated, the Swarm cruiser hung unsuspecting even as the natural physics of space were twisted infront and behind.

From nothingess appeared a trio of sleek-black warships. One hung above, another below and to the side while a third kept watch on the cruiser's aft. In fractions of a second the stealthships revert to realspace.

Then comes the broadcast.

"My name is Beff Pike and I have you. Attempt to raise shields and I will blow you from the stars. Charge weapons and I will blow you from the stars. Power up your engines and I will blow you from the stars. Give me a reason to blow you from the stars and I will. In fact, you are going to have to work very hard not to get blown from the stars. Comply?"