The prisoner was leaning against the cell wall, legs crossed like he owned the place, when Kurt walked in.
“You’re here, Kurt Vizsla.
Back to keep grilling me?” he asked, mocking.
Kurt’s temper snapped before he’d even decided to let it.
He kicked the man’s legs out from under him.
“Name.
Purpose.”
“Sarr Sharonsen.
I came here to kill you.
Nobody hired me.
Death Watch has nothing to do with any of this.” Sarr laughed from the floor.
Kurt took one look at him and decided the man was simply unhinged, and kicked him unconscious without another word.
“Sharonsen.
One of Clan Vizsla’s subordinate houses.” Kurt walked out of the cell, already opening a channel to the traditionalist Mandalorians.
“And the second he says ‘nothing to do with Death Watch,’ that’s exactly who it was.
Idiot.”
The channel connected.
“For bounty hunter services, please note that all contracts are temporarily suspended due to the ongoing Mandalorian civil war.
Please leave a message after the tone.”
Kurt stared at nothing for a second.
Bounty hunters have an answering service now?
“I’m looking for Jango Fett.
This is Kurt Vizsla, representing the New Mandalorians, regarding a negotiation with the traditionalist faction on how to deal with Death Watch.” He left the message after the tone, feeling faintly absurd about the whole exchange.
Not long after, a private transmission came through.
Kurt accepted the hologram and found exactly who he’d been looking for.
“Hello, Jango.
Kurt Vizsla.” Kurt spoke first.
“Vizsla.
You’re Perlis Vizsla’s son.
What do you want from us?” Jango got straight to it.
“A formal alliance.
We have no direct conflict of interest, and a shared enemy.
We’re prepared to let the Supercommando Codex circulate openly among the New Mandalorians — Tor Vizsla’s legacy.
We’ll press the offensive on Death Watch here in Sundari.
Your people strike them at Concord Dawn.”
“Not a bad offer.” Jango weighed it.
“But we’ll need more credits, or comparable resources, to actually sign onto this.
A decision this significant shouldn’t ride on a single conversation — that’s how you get burned.”
“Then come to Sundari.
Sign it in person, hammer out the terms.” Kurt didn’t blink.
“It’s good for your side too.
And I know you want Tor Vizsla dead as much as anyone.”
“You’ve got a better feel for politics than your father did.” A pause.
“We’ll be in Sundari in ten days.”
“We’ll be waiting.” Kurt closed the channel.
He needed every advantage he could stack up before that meeting — which meant bringing his own fleet into the picture.
Back in his quarters, he pinged the Hyperion’s AI officer.
“Officer.
How’s the mining going?”
“On schedule.
The ruin remains inaccessible to our mining mules, but current extraction is more than sufficient to begin development of new fighters.”
“Then start on the starport and the heavy industry facility.
We need both, urgently.”
On Vadiira, the mules kept working the veins, and the Hyperion’s modular construction systems, now given the order, had already broken ground — current mineral output was enough to fund both a starport and a heavy industrial complex, and modular construction moved fast, less than a day per module.
After that, slow but steady weapons production could begin.
“Construction will begin shortly, Commander.
New fighters or ground equipment will take a minimum of twenty days to complete.
Until then, current inventory is all that’s available.”
“That’s enough for now.
I’ll head over and bring the current equipment back with me.” Kurt decided he needed more cards to play before Jango arrived.
At the landing field, the scavengers were running test flights on the Viking, trying — with limited success — to trigger the mech transformation, which turned out to be brutally difficult to pull off deliberately.
Kurt arrived and walked them through the transformation sequence in detail, and told everyone more Vikings and new ships were coming.
The fighters cheered — more equipment meant a better shot at surviving whatever came next.
Even those who’d nominally joined the pacifist cause didn’t fully understand what pacifism actually meant; they were here to protect their families, nothing more abstract than that.
Satine heard the cheering and, confused, asked what it was about.
Someone explained.
Her brow furrowed — this ran counter to everything she believed pacifism stood for.
If this kept up, her own side would become a mirror of Death Watch.
But wartime made its own exceptions, and she let it go, unable to see another way through it.
Kurt spotted her and came over, filling her in on the tentative agreement with Jango Fett — ten days until the negotiation in Sundari — and told her he needed to secure more leverage before then to strengthen his position at the table.
“You mean retaking part of the district Death Watch currently holds.” Satine understood immediately.
“I’ll assign people to work with you.
On the ground, we only have six Saber-class combat tanks.
In the air, eighteen Kom’rk fighters — add your new equipment and that’s twenty total.
That’s everything currently available to deploy.”
“I know, Cousin.
But all I actually need is manpower and grenades.
We’re going to hit their armory quietly, cut their supply line, and let your people handle the frontal assault afterward.
Where’s Cousin Rejir, by the way?” Kurt only needed a fast, small team — and the thought of his other cousin surfaced suddenly.
“If that’s all, pick your own people — I’ll handle the rest.
Rejir’s stationed in another dome city right now.
Death Watch doesn’t have the numbers to press both Concord Dawn and anything outside Sundari at once, so he’s out there keeping the peace in the outlying cities.”
“Good.
I’ll launch the strike as soon as we’re ready.” Kurt began picking his team — first from his own crew, anyone fifteen or older, plus a few others known for quick hands and quicker feet, thirty total forming the strike squad.
He chose their loadout carefully: beskar knives for close work, sticky charges, timed explosives, and fragmentation grenades — everything needed to bring a building down properly.
Once everyone was geared up, Kurt pulled up a holographic map of the armory complex and walked the team through the plan — not a frontal assault, but a demolition run.
Each member had an assigned section to wire for destruction; once everyone finished planting their charges, they’d fall back and merge into the main assault force.
The moment the explosions went off, Satine’s forces would launch the real attack.
That was the plan going in.
After that, it was adapt as needed, protect your own life first, and get the job done as far as circumstances allowed.