#forceresistance

Plans were gone over, roles and details hashed out on datapads whirring next to barely-touched drinks. As far as my preparations were concerned we weren’t bothered directly, but I counted at least two individuals and a pocket-sized droid leaving the dining area in varying states of auditory distress, my oscillators putting in the good work. During a break in plans the leader whose faceplate I’d laughed into took me aside as preparations were made. “Please, you have to appease my misgivings. Our request was sent out to Mando’ade channels, yet the first reply in a good while was yours and yours alone. It could also be assumed that the transmission was blocked or deleted afterward. You obviously went through great lengths to be the ‘man for the mission.’ Why?” I take a breath to answer, but he holds his hand up to stall me “We cannot afford a personal vendetta clouding this mission. Our people have lost too many from the chaos of others’ broken hearts and ultimatums. Choose your words carefully.” he watches me closely, I can tell, and I understand I’m going to have to make more of a leap of faith than usual. “Fine. Do you have a more secure location?”

The band and I trekked to the hangar where their ship waited. It was big; sleek for Mando ships, but had the trappings of the culture that a practiced eye could pick up on, they said it was the most fortified space they had from being overheard. “I want it abundantly clear that coming clean about this isn’t easy, and it puts me in an incredible danger.” They incline their heads in understanding where they are comfortably lounging. I lean on a table and start in.  “I took the job because this guidance I’ve had wasn’t just from one former Jedi, and it was NEVER taught in safety.” I murmured regretfully, the secret long-held and dangerous. The Mandalorians’ stances shifted. This was a story told from a new perspective as far as they were concerned. The limited trust between most Mandalorians and Force-users was deep, so fears for either were rarely exchanged.

"I only learned what I needed to survive at first, sensing hostiles through the Force from masters I helped sneak onto refugee tankers or making danger ignore you from once-Jedi  who I found marooned broken-bodied on their more sacred planets after the Execution.” Each Mandalorian’s posture stiffened in discomfort. The Empire’s destruction of many cultures including Mando’a and now the Jedi as well was systematic and certainly NOT secretive. "For these former masters, fear may have been a well-known and much-avoided path to the Dark, but they all say they felt it intimately after the Execution.” The name still sends a shiver up my spine. “Each one who lived felt the pain of hundreds of their compatriots dying, and then felt a blaster on their own neck. We untrained others felt this massacre, but only some knew what it meant." I feel like they’re all studying me hard now, “They get found still, targeted to this day, and it’s a rare day where another Master’s voice doesn’t get silenced. I feel it stronger these days, the loss. I think knowing them deepens the ache.” "That’s why I wouldn’t sell you out on this. I know just as well as you do what living ‘free’ or not in their world means. I know what even one careless action yields. I learned what I could from them, and I  made up the rest as I went.” “And what about the Saber?” a roguish warrior asked from a shadowed corner. “Did you make off with one from your dead masters?”  his modulator somehow making the question sound wicked, threatening.