Tales of the Mandalorians

[Dieter Schprokets]

Dhawherd Solus poured his morning coffee, and sat down to drink it.

It was not precisely coffee.

What happened next was excruciating, but quick.

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The lithe Golden Chrysanthemum gathered her things from the small dark bedroom quietly. The small blaster fit neatly back in her purse.

Before she left, she turned and waved at a pallid figure on the floor.

Dhawherd Etad was in no condition to wave back.

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In the distant corners of Sirius, the assassins were being assassinated. Poisoned, shot, stabbed, electrocuted, blasted out of space. The means were as varied as the people carrying out the deed.

In an office in New London, a young woman sat at a desk. She picked up a phone, spoke into it briefly after hearing the man at the other end report, and hung it up with a smile.

Ranovla has heard what we have done to his men. He is fleeing New London spaceport as we speak. Shall we let him go?

The man opposite her, also smiling, nodded. His base was the Dhawherd. He cannot threaten you. He may even fly for us again, once hes over this. Business, not personal. Well request the signet ring. Hell know better than to try to keep it.

The woman thought briefly. Then spoke.

True enough. Now that it is over, I am going to continue to count on your support. I trust I have it? Do you seriously have no designs on the Chair, yourself?

The man laughed. I never expected to get this far. I do not harbour the same amount of ambition you do, Mandalore Blane. You, I think, are just getting started.

The woman looked carefully at her guest, trying to judge his sincerity. After a few seconds she relaxed.

Your support is appreciated, and will be well rewarded, Consul Bishop. You have spoken to the others?

He nodded. "Only just. They accept the new reality. Ranov'la's ties to the Dha'wherd had always made the others uncomfortable as well. What we have done, though brutal, will be popular with the rank and file."

She breathed a sigh of relief. William Bishop raised a glass of scotch and toasted the occasion.

"To the second Bretonian Mandalore."

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