Raging Mother; Gifts for the Faithful

[Mishka Larraq]

Thick gray clouds churned overhead as a black column of smoke boiled forth from a distant mountain. Intermitted flashes of light illuminated clouds from within that were thick enough to block out the sun entirely. We're it not for the moderate red glow coming from the still-flowing rocky ground beneath her, the landscape would be blacker than night and beyond the ability of even Mishka's gifted sight to see.

A near constant roll of thunder rolled through the sky from seemingly all directions, a sound echoed by the still-trembling earth, coming quite clearly from the direction of the pyroclast-spewing mountain in the near distance.

Mishka stood upon a cargo skiff, extra strength thermal shielding retrofitted onto the craft so that it could survive the heat that billowed up from the ground and drew a heavy sweat from the young Mando'ad. Her body was wrapped in her customary suit of Beskar'gam, protecting her from the worst of the heat. Her head was exposed to it though, only a full-faced breathing mask protecting her from the toxic air. Nothing protected her skin and hair from the falling ash that was mixing with a heavy rain of acidic water to form a thick and disgusting torrent of toxic slime that rained from the tortured sky above.

This was Manda'yaim. Mishka's home.

Or what was left of it anyway. After Mand'alor Munin and his ilk had betrayed the Manda and raped the world for the resources that she hid from them.

A crime that had not gone unpunished.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Mishka closed her eyes, sealing her vision from the hellish landscape. The sounds assaulting her ears grew dim and distant. The sting of toxic water grew faint and numb. Her senses distanced themselves from her physical body and focused instead upon the golden Manda that still graced the world she knew as home. All around her the quaking world vibrated within the Manda. Fear and panic from those that had died echoed loudly from all directions. Deep beneath her feet, Mishka could have sworn she felt an echo of anger rise up from deep within Manda'yaim.

Ahead of her though, she felt a warm string that tugged upon her senses. The same faint string that she had ventured from the Homestead in search of. Opening her eyes and allowing her senses to return, Mishka pulled out a plastic-encased datapad and began scanning in the direction her instincts were leading her.

<Metal.> Mishka thought to herself as she read the display.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Mishka was Runi'verd. Forever connected to the Manda in a way usually reserved for the honored dead, Mishka was incapable of losing faith in Manda'yaim, mother and nurturer of the Mando'ade. If she called her to the hottest, darkest place from which she had unleashed her wrath upon her betraying children, then it was for a reason well beyond Mishka's place to question.

Obediently, Mishka returned the datapad to a folded pouch hanging upon her belt and took the controls of the cargo skiff once again. With blind faith, Mishka piloted the skiff towards the metal signature that called out to her in the Manda.

Scolding hot winds whipped at Mishka's acid scarred and slime encrusted hair while stinging toxins rolled down Mishka's exposed skin and splattered themselves upon her breathing mask, slowly eroding the thin protective layers that should have protected the fragile plastics. The mask wouldn't hold out for much longer. And though Mishka had a helmet that would protect her and her hair from these harsh elements, doing so would mute her connection to the Manda and prevent her from doing what she must do next.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Mishka slowed the skiff to a halt as she felt the beacon within the Manda slide underneath her. A flash of light and a crack of thunder marked the passing of a bolt of lightning that raced from the churning clouds to the molten earth. As the sound echoed across the landscape and blended in with the roaring of a distant volcano and the constant crackle of energy within the churning sky, Mishka again focused her attention not on her own organic senses, but on the awareness afforded to her by the connection she shared with the Manda. The faint sharpness of sulfur and acid that marked the failing of her breathing mask was a faint pinprick of reality on the edge of her awareness, so focused was she upon the mass that called to her from within the depths of molten Rock so many meters beneath her feet.

Mishka felt the metal with unnatural senses and knew instantly that it was Beskar. The weight and feel of the metal was as familiar to Mishka as her own flesh and bone. Absently, her mind still focused upon the mass of metal floating within the flowing lava, Mishka worked the control console that stood before her, her hands dancing across sticks and knobs and buttons as she absently locked onto a section of the mysterious Beskar or with the skiff's tractor beam and began hauling it from the liquid depths like a Fisher with his prize.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

The still-molten chunk of metal slid from the lava flow like a beast rising from the depths. As the mass lowered into the cargo bay of the skiff, Mishka's eyes opened. Turning from the controls, Mishka faced the open cargo hold and stared at the molten ore, a thin black crust of oxidizing metal already forming upon the surface. With the press of a button, environmental shields slid into place over the fresh cargo. Her mind still upon the metal, Mishka absently commanded the skiff to take her back to the Homestead, one of the very few remaining settlements on Mandalore.

A small hint of pride welled up within Mishka as she removed her corroded mask and replaced it with her helmet, sliding it quickly into place in spite of her wet, sticky hair and the sludge that ran down her skin. House Larraq was in desperate need of supplies and had run low on Beskar ore long before the cataclysm. But even in her death throws, as angry and betrayed as she is, Manda'yaim continues to provide for those who are faithful to the Manda. Or so Mishka thought during the hour-long ride back to her besieged home. A faint shimmer and a hulking shadow was all she saw at first. As she neared and the ash and rain thinned, Mishka could also make out the buildings of the Larraq Homestead, faintly illuminated by the floodlights on the belly of Rygel, the massive machine that stood guard over her home and made their tiny corner of Manda'yaim livable.

<This is home.>. Mishka thought to herself as she slowly slid the skiff through the shields and made her way towards the forge, easing the craft down barely twenty meters from the ancient building. There would be much work to do if they were to process the metal before it absorbed too many impurities.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Sparing only a brief moment to rinse the toxic sludge and acidic water from her face and hair, and another brief moment to quickly wash her face and hair with Bacta-infused soap, Mishka quickly made her way into the forge where her family members were already pouring the molten Beskar into deep, heated vats where ore was typically heated and purified. For this metal though, the Larraq family would need only to supply enough heat to maintain it's molten state. <A true gift.> Mishka thought, silently thanking Manda'yaim for her blessing.

Now though, came the hard part.

Mishka took a deep breath and removed the force-mask enhanced helmet she wore, placing it upon a nearby table. Instantly, Mishka's senses were assaulted by a flood of memory and emotion. Her lungs burned as hot, toxic air corroded her skin. She couldn't breath. Lava flowed over her. Heavy and sticky, it pressed her down as alarms screamed at her from her helmet. Her Beskar'gam growing hotter and hotter as she slowly cooked to death within the depths of a lava flow. She was a child, screaming and calling out to parents that never came, a wall of superheated smoke and debris enveloping the child, snuffing her life out in an instant. She was an old woman, watching from orbit as Mandalore's sky turned black. Tears ran down her face as static came from the nearby radio, the voices of her children and grandchildren silenced in a moment of pain and panic.

Mishka felt tears, real and wet, flow down her face as the tainted Beskar ore unleashed itself upon her. Thousands of lives flowed into her, crying out for their last moments to be shared. Memory and emotion, more intense than those she herself possessed. After years of working with Soul-Steel, it was a thing she was familiar with. But this... Hit her with much more intensity. Not just the quantity of metal she was being exposed to, but that it was the suffering of her people she was being exposed to.

Within the chaos. Within the innumerable voices of pain and panic. Within the legion of memories. A familiar voice called out to her.

"Brother?" Mishka whispered aloud as she tried to focus upon the familiar. Her own fear and sorrow welling up within her.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Mishka narrowed her senses, slowly blocking out the tears and screams of dead Mando'ade as she tried to focus on her brother's voice. The familiar pinprick of light and sound within the maelstrom of memories grew into a beacon, guiding her out of the storm and into a singular memory. She stood within a familiar room, before a familiar desk and with a familiar beast barking at her heels. The ground shook and alarms blared, but her voice carried over it all as her fingers danced across a keypad faster than ever before in her life. "Cancel all previous orders, abandon any resources or personnel not onboard, and make best speed for Mandalore. Priority alpha one mission, evacuate anyone and everyone you can find." She called out in a voice that was not her own, but was as familiar as rain. Her hands typed furiously, issuing separate orders from her mouth, moving almost independently as she assigned specific ships and resources do various cities, counties, and neighborhoods.

She... Her brother... Orchestrated the entirety of a vast corporate empire like it was an extension of her- his own body. Fleets of ships, civilian and military. Industrial and merchantile. Armies of droids, engineers, laborers, and soldiers... All to perform a singular task. Return home. Return and save as many lives as possible.

A holodisplay that took up an entire wall displayed Manda'yaim. Angry red dots radiated expanding pulses of red lines as cancerous black clouds spread over the world. Earthquakes ripped through the world, toppling sturdy buildings designed to withstand orbital bombardments. Superhets pyroclastic flows spread from long-dormant mountains, smothering the life from all it touched, mile by mile within seconds. Where no activity once existed, new fissures and volcanic shafts sprang to life to wrack havoc upon the Mando'ade. In the southern hemisphere, an entire continent was plunging beneath a tectonic plate, fresh rock and molten debris replacing once-fertile land.

Manda'yaim was dieing. And with every passing second, she was taking millions of mando'ade lives with her.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

A loud explosion and a sudden series of painful jerks shook the building harder than any broadside received in battle. Mishka- her brother, latched onto his desk with a single crushgaunt and mag-locked his boots to the floor. The desk jerked violently, a jagged crack ripped it's way across the wall to her- his left, and the bullet-proof glass window shattered. Power flickered for a moment before emergency generators restored life to the Mandal Hypernautics building. Through the now open window, Larraq saw death racing towards Sundari. At the horizon, desert sands dropped away into an angry, red inferno echoed by a wall of heat and black clouds, both racing towards his city.

"Frell." She said aloud, a cold pit rising in her stomach. She- her brother... He shook his head and pulled up a radar display for Sundari, a quick glance telling him what he already feared. They didn't have enough transports to evacuate the city. With the press of a button, every orbital shipyard he owned began dumping construction equipment into space, making room in their massive cargo bays to receive refugees. Cargo shuttles dumped packages worth millions of credits and made their way toward the dieing planet below. Anything with an air-tight cargo compartment was being sent down into the swirling, angry clouds that covered the planet.

Another button pressed pulled up the Hyperion Security tactical channel. His display filled with vector lines that tracked shuttles, dropships, gunships... Anything and everything that could hold an extra passenger was descending through the corrosive clouds and racing towards cities across the planet. Different vector lines tracked non-Hyperion vessels doing the same or leaving the planet. In some cases, entire Frigates and battleships were braving the wrath of the planet to take on evacuees directly. A comm request blared in his ear as his personal driver tried to contact him, a red blip showing his personal shuttle racing towards Mandal Hypernautics HQ. With a quick tap of commands, Mishka's brother ordered the shuttle to the base of the building. It would take on as many passengers as it could fit and still take off.

Her brother's eyes fluttered across the display, followed by a moment of despair as he crunched the numbers. "There has to be more." Her brother said aloud as he stared blankly at the screen, Mishka feeling every bit of sorrow and panic that tore at her brother's heart.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Fingers blurred over a keypad as Rygel Larraq zipped through file after file, Mishka riding along like a passenger in his body. Eyes danced and darted across the screen as he searched database after database, pouring over Intel files and public records. Every record that contained semi-recent data on a functional ship with enough room for even a single passenger, Rygel Larraq tabbed and pulled into a secondary program he had already written. Each source was pinged with automated requests for current status of ship and available crew with emergency prioritization. Every return message received an automated response. Rygel Larraq, on the authority of Alor Dem'adas was commandeering every available ship and pilot not already operating on emergency relief efforts. Those that refused, which were most of them, we're immediately bought outright. Ships were bought. Where those purchases were refused, entire companies were bought outright, pilots and all, and given orders to make immediate launch preparations and make for Mandalore where they would assist with evacuation and relief efforts. Those who refused we're immediately threatened with termination, confiscation of life savings, and even summery execution on planets where such things were legal.

Entire shipments of bulk produce and medical supplies were identified, tracked, purchased (ship, crew, and all), and redirected to Mandalore as Rygel Larraq's fingers danced across the keypad. On the left-hand side of the display screen, a large green number rapidly shrunk and then grew again in red. Emptying his personal finances, Larraq opened up the entire net worth of Mandal Hypernautics, issuing an emergency override as he began dipping into funds, and then selling assets outright to fund his continued purchase of nearly every ship in the sector.

The ground rumbled, the Mandal Hypernautics building shook violently, and a thousand alarms fought for his attention as stock holders and senior staff members demanded to know what the kark he was doing. Mishka's brother ignored them all and continued to try and save the people of Mandalore.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Every emotion that ripped through her brother's heart as he dedicated himself to the task at hand filled Mishka's chest and competed with her own sense of dread, sorrow, and pride as she watched what she innately understood to be her brother's final moments. There was fear, of course. What man wouldn't be afraid as their Homeworld died under their feet? What man wouldn't remember that he could order his personal evacuation with a single order? But what made Mishka proud was how her brother delt with these thoughts and feelings. She felt him force each wayward thought and second-guessed emotion down as he focused himself upon the task at hand. He was determined to save as many Mando'ade lives as possible and willing to pay any price to do so.

Another tremor shook Sundari and the floor beneath Rygel Larraq's feet gave way. Falling through two stories, Larraq and his desk smashed into one another in what was once a hallway. Mishka's heart skipped a beat and a small cry escaped her. Briefly, a flash of memory jumped through her brother's mind. The farm. Their parents. His sister's. A spike a fear raced through Rygel as he tapped at a digital keypad on his wrist, his broken desk pinning his legs to the floor. In his HUD, a display showed the current status of the Larraq Homestead from orbit, an approaching wall of storm and pyroclast, and the last three hours of air-traffic data for the area. Worry. Fear. Sadness. Each of these fought for control of Mishka's brother, but Mishka felt him fight down the panic and turn instead to action. His fingers danced upon the keypad as he searched for the nearest assets. For a long moment, he found nothing and a pit formed in his chest. And then a small smile graced his lips as a flicker of hope sparked within his chest. Another tear ran down Mishka's face as her brother gave what she understood to be his final order, commanding an old, retired Harvester to plod it's way towards Keldabe and save his family.

Larraq felt himself slip into freefall as a terrible roar filled the air. His assets sold and his fortune turned to debt, Larraq closed his eyes and felt at peace, knowing that he had done everything he could to save his people, his clan, and his family.

"The Captain goes down with the ship." Larraq said aloud, amusing himself with the corniness of it all. A moment later, a white flash of light snuffed out the memory as thousands of tons of debris ended his life.

 

[Mishka Larraq]

Tears rolled down Mishka's rosey cheeks, a tremble rippled through her chin, and her lips were pressed into a soft, tight smile. In her heart, Mishka's fear and sorrow had been filled with pride, love, and peace. Her brother had died, she now knew without question. But he had died a hero's death, earning his place in the manda. He had chosen to die, to give everything he had... To save Mando'ade lives. To save his Clansmen. And to save Mishka. Her brother's last thoughts had been of her. He wondered what she would do with her life. And Mishka couldn't help but to feel touched and inspired by it. Mishka wanted so badly to make her brother proud.

From deep within the churning mass of metal, Mishka felt an entirely different emotion, one devoid of memory. Gladness. Compassion. Comfort.

Curious and confused, Mishka sniffed back the dripping of her nose, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and focused her senses upon the source of the emotions. There in the rolling yellows and oranges of molten Beskar, Mishka saw hundreds of thousands of twinking stars. After a moment, Mishka's mind recognized the stars as crystals.

They sang to her. They welcomed her. And they asked how they could help her.

Mishka's smile grew as a thought within her head turned into a plan. Now she knew how to make her brother proud.