Chapter Text
Somewhere in space…
Gar Djarin almost swallows their tongue when they check the covert’s Guild account.
They check it twice. Three times. A fourth time after that. Alarmed by the number that refuses to recalculate to something more reasonable, they backtrack to find what bounty resulted in the payout. There’s only one Guild entry that they don’t recognize since the last time they checked it and it only explains a fraction of the obscene amounts involved.
A bounty in Coruscant, with—the Coruscant Security Force? Dank farrik, what madness is this? They send a hasty message to the other Guild members in the covert to check if one of them is responsible, both for the bounty and the enormous amount still unaccounted for. A job outside the guarantees of the Guild, perhaps? This is enough to pay for the assassination of a system ruler’s entire family, followed by the looting of a royal palace or six.
In the privacy of their ship, they stop to count their breathing for a few moments, worst case scenarios running rabid through their imagination. (A frame-up from the Hutts? A blackmail payout that will end up with the covert hunted down? An advance payment on something they and their fellow warriors are not equipped for?) Once they have finished breathing through their paranoia, they start backtracing the money.
They’ve gotten as far as a Coruscant bank account (Coruscant again! The moral and spiritual black hole of the galaxy) when Tre Marai comms back, a split second before Ysmani Bav does.
“Not my fault,” Tre says without preamble, pausing only long enough for Gar to connect Ysmani to a shared line. “Probably not Juddik’s, either. They would rather take an electromine to the face than have anything to do with Coruscant.”
“Not mine either,” Ysmani reports.
“Does the Tribe have a new Guild member?” Gar asks.
“No,” Tre says. “We just left there yesterday ago. The Armorer said nothing about one.”
“Then some independent has convinced the Guild to send their payouts to the Tribe,” Gar says grimly. It’s a bad sign. First, that the covert should be known of at all; second, that whoever it is should have the ability to convince the Guild of such an irregular practice without the appropriate authorization codes.
The various sector and system Guilds may be mostly independent, but their shared security and authentication are what keep them in business and make the fees worth paying. If someone has hacked into the covert’s finances—
“It’s a new Guild membership,” Tre reports, where they’re checking through the fund transfer records. Tre’s far better and faster at such things than Gar. “Made in Coruscant a few days ago.”
“Kih’dab?”
“No. Guild Office near the Senate. The name is— hah. Mando.”
Ysmani comes onto the holo viewer apparently just so they can bang their helmet with their fist in exasperation. “There is adopting a call name and then there is… that.”
“They are unpainted. They do not have any clan or house marks I recognize.” Tre does something and then a copy of the Guild ID is on Gar’s screen, a Mandalorian warrior in beskar’gam from the chest up. Unlike Tre, Gar has seen this armor before.
“This is the Chancellor of the Republic,” they say slowly, putting the pieces together.
Confusion falls between the three hunters like an overweight blurrg.
Finally, Tre says, “The Chancellor of the Republic is a Child of the Manda? I thought the Chancellor was an old outsider. Poopoo.”
“Palpatine from Naboo was the old Chancellor,” Gar corrects. The only reason they know this is because the news has been relentless and all-pervasive since the changeover. “There is a new one now. They killed the old one.”
“Ah,” Ysmani says in the tone of one who does not care and might not actually be listening. They do not like the Republic. “That was considerate of them.”
“The new Chancellor of the Republic put money into the covert’s accounts. It is possible the new Chancellor follows the Way.”
A pensive silence falls. After a moment, Tre says reluctantly, “Someone must tell the Armorer.”
“Hm. And someone must go to Coruscant to speak to this ‘Mando.’”
Gar, having brought the matter to the attention of their fellow hunters, decides that they have already contributed enough. They do not want to go to Coruscant or talk to the Armorer. Their parent is back at the covert and has strong opinions about their lack of children. Opinions they have been expressing to the Armorer.
They swiftly hold up their fist so their fellow warriors can see it. “Not it.”
The satisfaction they feel when both Ysmani and Tre start swearing at them is good. It is better than good. It feels righteous.
Yes, this is the way.