| abstract
| - A whirling tunnel of light resolved itself into a glittering starfield as a small ship shot from hyperspace in a fluid motion accompanied by a brief emission of Cronau radiation. The crew of the ship took in the multicolored speckles of stars that matted the black of backdrop of space, one in particular. Setting a course towards a particular point of light, the relatively small speck gradually resolved itself into a slightly flattened spherical orb of dark greens, sharp blues, and more muted whites. As the small ship swooped towards the planet, her crew detected small settlements scattered across the surface of the pleasant-looking but frigid world. The inhabitants of the planet had yet to develop most of it, leaving the world a pristine appearance largely unmarked by what galactic society deemed “civilization.” There were no ungainly artificial space platforms floating in orbit around space, and the amount of white visible from orbit spoke to the largely frozen ground below. The vessel entered atmosphere gradually, activating its energy shields to dissipate the energy from reentry. The planet had an atmosphere hospitable to humans, but was considerably colder than most. A largely cloudless sky revealed expansive snow plains hundreds of thousands of meters below. The starship made for the equator, where there was a greater predominance of vegetation. Cruising over a valley covered in trees, largely evergreen, that was fed by a pair of small rivers, the craft made its way towards a mountain range at one end of the valley. Aside from a flock of startled avians, there was no response to the noisy arrival of the ship’s repulsorlifts. Coming to a hover over a clearing pock-marked by boulders at the far end of the valley, the ship lowered itself to the ground, its landing gear extended and its engines slowly winding down as it landed with a muffled thump. Sarth Kraen and Cassi Trealus emerged several minutes later, clad in insulated and lined clothing, over which they were wearing a pair of parkas. They both bore back-worn survival packs and their belt pouches were loaded with essentials. Sealing the door, the two glanced up at the snowy peaks towering above them and started climbing. The world of Tokmia was largely uninhabited. While a primitive sentient species of white-furred mammalians known as the Oku were known to live here, they were scattered and few in nature, having had no contact with outside society since the end of the mining colonies that had once thrived here centuries earlier. The planet had slowly warmed a few dozen degrees since then, so that the equatorial regions now sported a narrow band of forests, with some of the warmest regions marked by deciduous trees while the majority of the arboreal regions were filled with hardy evergreens. They saw a few small grazing beasts and the occasional avian creature soaring on a thermal high overhead, as well as a few smaller creatures, but none of the fauna seemed particularly hostile or even interested in them. Tokmia so far was altogether peaceful. The gravity being somewhat lighter than what one might find on Coruscant or Commenor, they found that making their way up into the foothills and then up into the rock and snow strewn slopes of the mountains was easier than they had expected, and their training had kept them in good physical condition. They talked intermittently as they climbed, though it seemed to them that speaking would disturb the almost tangible tranquility of the world. While they had brought gear for scaling mountains, so far the path had been fairly easy to follow and gently sloping upward rather than jagged cliffs, so they hadn’t used it. As the Tokmian day wore on, about eighteen hours by Sarth’s eyeballed measurement, the pair made their way into higher altitudes, having traveled a couple thousand meters upward relative of where they had landed the Hawk-bat but walked nearly five times that distance. Their guide was the Force. Its aura was faint in comparison with the saturation at Revan’s world, but discernible. The sky was clear and the air, though chilly, was breathable even at elevation. Soon, the scrub brush that had been their companion as they ascended gave way to mosses and lichens, which in turn gave way to rocks largely covered in snow drifts. By evening, they were walking entirely across a frozen crust of snow, the setting sun glinting off the drifts and sparkling like scattered diamonds in the conglomeration of purples, oranges, and scarlets in the sunset. That evening, Sarth and Cassi set up a small survival shelter that had been in one of their tents. Sarth used a collapsible digging tool to dig a hollow into the snow in a rocky hollow that served as a break for the brisk breeze that whipped and whistled through the mountains. Setting the shelter into the depression dug into the snow for added insulation, they ate a quick meal of survival rations before crawling into the shelter as the temperature rapidly dropped and night fell. Just before they withdrew, they both paused to take in the magnificent starfield of the Greater Javin and the dazzling nebulae that it contained, which were readily apparent through the unpolluted, cloudless atmosphere of Tokmia. Tired from their long hike, they activated the portable heater and placed it inside the shelter hanging from the curved pole that comprised the central frame. Then, they unrolled their blankets and wrapped them around themselves as they laid down to sleep, fully clothed to trap as much heat as possible and huddled together for warmth. Cassi fell asleep first, and Sarth followed suit a few minutes later, lulled into unconsciousness by the steady rhythm of her breathing. Morning came early, with the sun streaming in over the mountains, having risen in the west. They awoke to the sound of their chronos buzzing at them about six hours after they had lay down, and reversed their evening ritual as they ate and packed up their gear. Sarth and Cassi continued their march in the same stolid silence that had marked their journey the previous day, following the sensation in the Force that indicated the location of the Jal Shey recluses they had come to reach. The air was not as silent today, and the wind whipped louder today, bearing heavy clouds and eventually snow. By midday, a light hail of flurries was blowing through the mountains, which intensified to a full snowfall several hours later. Jackets fully sealed and visors and hoods pulled over their heads, they struggled on, trying to light their way with luminescent glowrods. Thankfully, they could still pick out a vague path along the mountains, and their carbon ropes, grappling hooks, and climbing axes, had insofar been unneeded. As they rounded a bend around a particularly wide spur of the seventh mountain of the day, Cassi noticed something that was obviously out of place with the landscape. “I think we’re getting close to the Jal Shey, Sarth,” she said. “Certainly. It’s easier to feel them in the Force,” he replied. “It’s not just that. Look over there.” Sarth looked in the direction she had pointed and noted that, less than a kilometer away, was a pair of faintly twinkling lights. Smiling, he turned to Cassi. “I agree, but let’s not jump to conclusions. It could be an Oku settlement.” “If it is, it’s an awfully Force-sensitive settlement.” Sarth shrugged. “If we keep standing here, it will be harder to answer that question.” “True,” she agreed. Clambering up the last stretch of snow field, the twinkling lights gradually resolved themselves into a pair of fires lit in metal braziers mounted on top of metal poles a few meters apart. In between them stood a sizable closed gate several meters tall and apparently forged of some type of metal. “What now?” Cassi asked. “I suggest we try knocking. If the Jal Shey are as Force-sensitive as we are, they have probably sensed us coming anyway.” Cassi nodded and reached forward to rap on the gate with her gloved hand. As she did so, a smaller door built into the gate and concealed from their view at first by the falling snow opened, revealing the face of an older-looking Whiphid wrapped in a cloak and bearing a glowing lantern lit with some sort of fire evident behind its cover. The stout alien, covered in long, shaggy fur and with the characteristic tusks protruding from its long muzzle, squinted its eyes at it them. “Welcome, travelers,” the Whiphid addressed them in Basic, his voice low, but welcoming. “What do you seek?” “Greetings,” Sarth said formally. “We seek the Jal Shey.” “Do you?” intoned the Whiphid not unkindly. “And who are you that the Jal Shey would be interested in what you to say?” “I am Sarth Kraen, and this is Cassi Trealus. We are representatives and bear tidings and a message for the Jal Shey.” “From whom?” asked the gatekeeper. “We come from the Jedi Order,” piped up Cassi, stretching the truth a little bit. “The Jedi Order? Mmm, interesting,” the Whiphid said, sniffing as if their scent would bear out the veracity of their statements. “Come in, then, Masters Jedi.” Opening the gate wider, the Whiphid led them into a small oblong valley nestled into the side of the mountain and enclosed by a pair of rocky spurs and the gate, and no more than two hundred meters long. Dwellings and other settlements were built into the bowl of mountain in several levels, stretching up a dozen meters or so and accessible by narrow snowy paths. The bottom of the bowl was largely bare, aside from a large dwelling at the far end, and a large roaring fire built inside a metal-enclosed pit in the center of the open area, covered with a metal arch. As they stepped in, Sarth and Cassi immediately noted that the wind had all but subsided inside the enclosed valley. The Whiphid shut the gate behind them with a metal clang, and led them forward, his lantern swinging gently as he walked. Leading them across the snowy ground, he guided them towards the large opening or dwelling which dominated the other end of the valley. Walking up to it, the furry alien opened the large metal door, covered with detailed inlay on its surface, which also sealed off this structure, admitting them into the interior. It appeared to be hewn out of the rock but well-lit, with skylights bored into the ceiling admitting light from outside to supplement glowing torches. They walked through a small antechamber, past several unoccupied desks, into a bowl-shaped chamber rising around them. In rising circular levels were three ring-shaped polished stone desks that encompassed the circumference of the room with empty chairs behind them, aside from two notches cut into them at regular intervals to accommodate rows of stairs that led up from the ground floor. The effect was such that one on the ground floor had the feeling of being stared down by all others, and it somewhat recalled the Senate chamber on Coruscant, yet paled in comparison with the solemn grandeur of that other edifice as a child’s drawing against a master artwork. The only other features on the bottom floor where Sarth, Cassi, and the Whiphid stood were a smaller desk and a speaker’s pedestal and lectern, slightly offset from the center. As with the rest of the settlement, Sarth and Cassi could not detect any technological devices adorning the room, which again was lit by a combination of skylights and torches. At the desk sat a single alien, a Muun, robed in officious looking garments and poring over a stack of writings on some sort of parchment and the Whiphid led them forward to address it. “Mentor Frelix, a moment of your time?” rumbled the Whiphid respectfully. “Mmyes, S’vollke?” replied the Muun, scarcely looking up, its significantly higher-pitched and reedier voice a stark contrast to the burly S’vollke. “I present two visitors: Sarth Kraen and Cassi Trealus, emissaries of the Jedi Order.” “The Jedi Order?” Frelix saod with the end of the statement flaring up in a question and finally looking up at them. “Yes,” answered Sarth somewhat uncertainly. “We are here to speak with the Jal Shey.” “And why is that?” replied Frelix. “The dark side of the Force is waxing full,” said Sarth, launching into his prepared statements. “It has already seen the fall of the Jedi Order, and the slaughter of thousands of Jedi these past few years. I bear a message from a survivor, Selu Kraen. He has foreseen that those who destroyed the Jedi will not be content with that victory. They will come here, and elsewhere, to destroy or recruit all those who are not under their banner. The Empire, and the Sith who lead them, are strong. Only by uniting together can the various disciplines of the Force be saved from destruction.” “We don’t want to change your way of life, or undermine your philosophies,” said Cassi. “But you can’t stand against the Empire alone.” “Well spoken, perhaps,” said Frelix, musing on their words. “For the moment, you have said quite enough, though. S’vollke will show you to a lodge where you can spend the night. I will consider the matter and see if it is worth placing before the Jal Shey. If it is, the meeting will be in two days. You may stay here until then.” Cassi started to say something, but Sarth laid an arm on her shoulder, forestalling any further discussion. Turning to follow S’vollke back out of the audience hall, through the antechamber, and once again into the freezing outside and the intensified snowfall, they said nothing as they walked, focused on their footing. S’vollke led them up a mountain slope, the path unfortunately slick from the recent snowfall and Cassi slid and fell on her knee before Sarth reached out and caught her, averting any further fall. “Be careful,” S’vollke said. They nodded as Sarth helped Cassi up, continuing to make their way through the blinding snow that covered the path and whipped cold stings across any exposed skin. Finally, S’vollke stopped in front of a short wooden door built into the slope. Retrieving a metal key from some hidden pocket of his cloak, he unlocked the door and ushered them in, handing Sarth the key as the human passed by. “You will find food and drink in the larder,” the Whiphid told them. “There is tinder in the hearth, and a flint on the mantle.” “Thank you,” Sarth replied. S’vollke closed the door behind them and they faintly heard the dull crunch of his boots as he walked back down the mountain. Flicking on her glowrod, Cassi swept the beam around the room, noting that it was built into the side of the mountain, with shelves lining three of the walls and a pair of simple chairs evident, but with no trace of modern technology or conveniences. A small closet apparently served as the refresher, but there were no computers or glowpanels anywhere in sight. All in all, it reminded her of a rustic camping trip she had taken while in school on Bakura. Sarth busied himself with tinder and flint with some difficulty, managing to get some sparks into a small pile of tinder after three strikes. The dry vegetation went up quickly, and soon Sarth added incrementally larger logs to feed a roaring fire while Cassi found food. It was nothing fancy—dried meat of indeterminable origin and some sort of hard bread, with water to drink—but it was filling. After eating, the two simply sat and watched the flickering tongues of fire for a while. “They’re not what I expected,” Cassi surmised. “Me neither,” Sarth agreed. “They’re . . . simpler.” “Or maybe they just appreciate the simpler things,” Cassi suggested. “It’s not that they reject technology. It’s that they don’t need it.” “Even the Jedi embraced some technology and lived in relative luxury,” Sarth pointed out. “They weren’t bound by it, but they certainly made use of it.” “Perhaps the Jal Shey find some value in living simply,” Cassi offered. “It could be useful in understanding them.” “Possibly. I only hope that persuading them proves as simple,” Sarth replied. “We won’t know for another two days,” Cassi said. “Until now, I’m happy to be like the Jal Shey and enjoy the simple things.” She snuggled up against him cozily and Sarth draped one arm around her. “I don’t know how we’re going to do this,” Sarth admitted. “It all seemed so easy back at Revan’s Tower, but now . . .” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “We’ll do it together,” Cassi told him. “We have two days to meet them and share our message.” “I know,” Sarth answered. They were silent for several minutes. “I hope we can enjoy simple things like this years from now,” Cassi told him suddenly. “Just sitting together on a cold night. Reminds me of living in the farmhouse back on Bakura when I was a little girl. It’s nice.” Sarth smiled, rubbing his thumb against her shoulder through the blanket. “Count on it,” he said. “Promise?” she asked, looking at up at him. Sarth smiled. “I promise,” he said, sealing the words with a kiss. Cassi gave no reply, but snuggled in closer contentedly. They sat wrapped in their blankets until weariness overcame them and they were lulled to sleep by the gentle warmth and soft glow of the embers. Darlyn Boda Milya was distinctly glad that Darlyn Boda was considered a less-than-law abiding place. Anywhere else, her rather distinctive Delta-7 starfighter and its faded Republic markings might have drawn more attention from the authorities, but here, a small bribe was all that it took to get the local customs officer to look the other way. Before she left the spaceport, she ensured that her vehicle was properly secured; there was no telling when she would be back to check on the fighter. There was no such thing as an honest enforcer of the law on Darlyn Boda, much less in the largest city which bore the same name. Thankfully, that meant her arrival had probably gone unnoticed by the Empire, though no doubt any number of criminal rings and gangs knew she was strolling out of the spaceport in the middle of the local night. She kept her hood pulled low over her face, but maintained a brisk pace, even as the brusque, foul stench of the city struck her. All in all, Darlyn Boda was not a pleasant place. The humidity soon had her clothes soaked with sweat, and the dank odors and muggy air did little to improve her temper. The streets were narrow and packed, and all Milya wanted to was to obtain information and supplies and get out of the city. As far as she was concerned, the sooner she reached the Matukai, the better. She had already nearly been accosted by several vendors hawkishly watching for passersby, and one unfortunate street urchin, perhaps about sixteen years of age, had tried to pick her pocket. However, the little brat had gotten more than he’d bargained for this time and, after Milya had ground the heel of her boot on his toes, the locals had given her more breathing room. Finally finding a cantina that more or less suited her needs, Milya walked in and was unsurprised to find it to be typical of the seedy establishments frequented by the scum that resided on Darlyn Boda. Ignoring the too-loud, off-key band claiming to be playing the hottest heavy isotope tunes this side of Bespin and its thumping, persistent bass line, she made her way through the dingy, kitschy décor and the unkempt customers to the bar, which was about the only thing that was well-lit in the entire place. “Get for you?” grunted the bartender, a sizable Brubb. “Gizer ale,” said Milya, just a bit louder than her normal speaking voice. Brubbs weren’t renowned for their exceptional hearing; the perpetually high winds on their homeworld meant that they were nearly deaf by human standards. The Brubb turned and a brought her back a glass mostly filled with a bluish-green liquid. Milya sniffed it tentatively and took a sip. Her mouth puckered and she realized that the tangy liquid was actually a Gralish liqueur, a much stronger drink that she had no taste for. No matter, she wasn’t here to imbibe the local intoxicants anyway. After a while of staring at her drink and sipping as little of the tart liqueur as possible, the heat of the crowded cantina eventually got to her, and she let her hood down slowly. The dimly lit place was not conducive to people identifying her anyway. Taking another taste of her Gralish, she shuddered as the liquid warmed her insides somewhat unpleasantly while staring ahead at the bar, waiting for the right moment to inquire about the Matukai. However, her introspection was rather rudely interrupted by a sharp tug on her arm. “Heya, human girl, you look lost,” said an unfriendly voice. Milya turned to see a pale Twi’lek male leering at her, his clawed hand grasping at her shoulder, and clearly more than a little tipsy. “It’s not good to be lost,” he told her. “Perhaps you should come with me. I’m sure I could help you out.” Milya gave him a look of disgust, and casually brushed his arm off of her shoulder. Why was that inebriated males acted the same no matter what planet? “No thanks,” she replied, forcing a bit of pleasantness into her voice. “Oh, but I know you like me already. All the fems do,” leered the Twi’lek, grabbing her arm again. “How’d you like to be a very lucky lady?” Though one part of her was reminding her of Selu’s Jedi lessons, Milya’s more independent and stubborn streak won out, the one that she rarely indulged in on missions. With a deft whipping motion, her hand withdrew her Echani vibrodagger from its concealed sheath and pressed it against her assailant’s throat while grabbing one of his lekku with her other hand. “How would you like to be the sad little Twi’lek with one lekku?” she asked coldly, all traces of sweetness banished from her voice. “I’ve had a long hard day, and I don’t have time for your stupidity.” “My-my apologies. I must have, uh, confused you for someone else I knew,” stammered the Twi’lek nervously as the blade bobbed up and down on his throat as he was temporarily broken out of his synthehol-induced stupor. “That’s what I thought. Why don’t you go back to your drink now?” “Yes, uh-right . . . my drink.” As Milya let him go, the Twi’lek clumsily made his way back to the table. Still glaring after him, she slowly slid the dagger back into its sheath. It was bad enough that she was in this cesspool by herself looking for a group of people who by all accounts didn’t want to be found. To have to put up with its denizens was worse. She had been on a few missions as a Sun Guard commando, depending on who the mercenaries had been hired to hit, but always as a backup role; never the one to actually make the kill or deal with the client. Luckily for her, operating on her own was hardly a new thing; a mongrel outcast wasn’t afforded the luxury of friends. Once she’d made her escape from the Sun Guards, there had been several months of wheedling her way onboard ships or simply stowing away, so she was familiar with this type of den. The best thing to scare off the local scum was to show them that she wasn’t to be trifled with, and the vibrodagger usually did the trick. She sat there for a few more minutes, thought about asking the bartender for information on the Matukai, reconsidered, and then got up to leave. Plunging back out into the night, Milya wandered through the dimly lit streets of Darlyn Boda, trying to ignore the smell and wondering if such a thing as decent accommodations existed here. Selu had given her credits and while she’d slept in the street more times than she cared to remember, it wasn’t an experience she was anxious to repeat, particularly here. Given the humidity and local biology, a fresh blumfruit was likely to decay going from hand to mouth. She stopped by several other shops and cantinas, but as she didn’t feel like drinking anything, her requests for information went largely unheard. The one Rodian shopowner who paid her any heed had simply shrugged his shoulders, a gesture absorbed from humans no doubt, when asked about the Matukai. As much as she desired to find the Matukai, Milya knew better than to not be subtle about inquiring for information. A place like this had to have dozens of people willing to sell anything about anybody to anybody else, provided it was done properly and with enough cash. Given that Darlyn Boda was an Imperial world, she could be in a world of hurt if people found out who she was and passed it on to the Empire. No, it wasn’t yet time to start knocking on every door, but with local midnight approaching, Milya was hoping to at least find a place to pass the rest of the night. Flying for twenty hours straight—small naps in hyperspace aside—had exhausted her, and her four hours picking through Darlyn Boda hadn’t helped any. As she made her way through yet another trackless alley, stepping over a pair of drunks passed out on the moss and fungus-encrusted permacrete barely visible underneath the grime, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Years of fending off mobs of wrathful girls with combat training and her more recent experience with the Force warned her that something was wrong. Her hand slid into her belt to grasp the hilt of her vibrodagger, but it was too late. “Let go of da blade, girly,” growled a voice from behind her. Milya froze. Risking a glance over her shoulder, Milya saw the old, but sizable blaster in the hands of a man so dirty and bedraggled he almost blended into the soiled alley. He was standing five meters away—far enough that jumping him would be a little tricky, but close enough so that he could scarcely miss her if he fired. Except that he didn’t know what she was capable of; were all the idiots here following her? Tensing her legs to spring backwards into a somersault, she was so distracted that she didn’t notice the clawed hand that shot out from the shadows and grabbed her arm, hauling her slender frame across the alley. Surprised, Milya found herself staring back at the Twi’lek from the first cantina she had walked into and this time he had a blaster pressed against her stomach. “Remember me?” he asked with that same uncomfortable smile. “No, never seen you before,” she managed smoothly. “Please let me go?” “Ha, not so fast, offworlder!” he snorted, jerking her until she was pressed up against him. “You gave me a bad time back at Bledsole’s.” “Did I? My apologies?” Milya said, her mind whirling with possible contingency plans. More disturbingly, her Force senses detected more thugs standing behind her; a mixed group of humans and Twi’leks, all male, all malevolent, and probably all armed. There were at least six of them. Milya grimaced, and not just at the pungent smell of the Twi’lek’s breath. Less than a day into her search and she’d already been trapped by a bunch of drunken thugs. Hardly a promising way to start her career as a Jedi. Selu would be angry. Spectre would be disappointed, and Cassi would probably be worried, she concluded—assuming she got out of this mess first, which wasn’t looking very likely at the moment. “Sorry’s not good enough. You gave me a bad time; now I’m gonna give you a bad time, girly. Me and my friends are gonna have a bit of fun with you!” He tightened his grip as he cackled, and Milya wondered how much damage she could do to the slimeball before his buddies shot her down. If only she could get to her lightsaber, but that was concealed inside her cloak, and with her arm pinned as it was, she couldn’t reach it without being obvious. Were she Selu, she simply would have knocked all of them into the alley walls at once with the Force, but her telekinetic skills were modest at best. “Open ‘er robe,” jeered one of the two humans behind her. “Let’s have a look at her without her clothes on!” “First off, it’s very poor Basic to end a sentence with a preposition. Second, the lady doesn’t look like she likes the idea of that. I suggest you let her go.” The last voice was different, Milya noted. Unlike the others, it was cultured, and while pleasant enough, there was definitely an edge to the words. She craned her neck to see a hooded figure casually leaning on a staff standing at the edge of the alley. “Or you’ll do what? Get outta here,” barked the Twi’lek still roughly holding onto her with one arm. “Or we’ll deal with you, too.” “Is that so?” replied the figure with just a hint of regret. “Well, you were warned.” With all of the thugs’ attention on the strange figure confronting them, Milya had taken the opportunity to subtly slide her fingers into her cloak until they were resting on the hilt of the lightsaber. While the vibrodagger might be more subtle, a lightsaber was a surer defense against the blasters that some of the thugs would inevitably be packing. As the gang prepared to attack her benefactor, she drove a hard elbow into the Twi’lek’s stomach even as she pulled the weapon out and lit one of the blades with a satisfying snap-hiss—it was too close for both blades. The silver-white blade lit up the alley, making her an instant target for two of the thugs. They spun and opened up with the blasters she had predicted, but a twirl of her lightsaber batted their bolts away, and a quick lunge and stab dispatched them both. Another Twi’lek, coming up behind her with a vibroblade in an overhand stab, was quite surprised when she brought the hilt of her blade back towards him and activated the other end. The blade pierced his chest and he collapsed in a gurgle. In her time, Milya had become rather dispassionate about killing when it needed to be done. Guided by the Force, she whirled, ready to face any other danger, but the other two thugs were already on the ground and the hooded figure was standing casually over them, his staff still in hand, but now it was reversed, with the bottom up, and Milya could see the curiously-shaped blade that graced the head of the shaft. A design that was somehow familiar. Deactivating her lightsaber but keeping it in her hand, she walked up to her benefactor. “Are you a Matukai?” she blurted. The other snorted. “Hardly a way to thank me for saving your life,” he replied flippantly. “Oh.” Caught off guard, Milya fumbled over her words. “Sorry. I mean—thank you, thank you very much.” “You’re quite welcome. Oh, and while that lightsaber of yours is very handy at times, it’s a bit conspicuous. Best not to show that around.” “Good point,” Milya replied, holding the weapon closer to her. “Back to my earlier question. You’re Matukai, aren’t you? You are carrying one of their weapons.” “Oh, indeed,” he said. “Jahlel Almani, Matukai Adept, at your service.” Throwing off his hood, which she had thought was black but was actually a faded dark gray, he revealed himself to be an Arkanian by his long white hair, tied loosely behind his head, and pearlescent eyes. His forehead was marked by a tattoo in the same style as the bladework on his weapon, and Milya guessed that it was some device significant to the Matukai. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, extending a hand to her. “Milya Tayrce. I suppose you might say that I’m from the Jedi Order.” “I see. Just what is a Jedi doing asking around a place like this for the Matukai? It’s hardly safe for either of us.” “I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t important. So you knew I was here?” “We have our ways,” Jahlel said, smiling enigmatically. “But let’s find a more comfortable place to talk, shall we? Under the circumstances, I suggest you accompany me back to our settlement. This isn’t a safe place, as you might have noticed.” “Agreed.” “Very well. I’m heading back now, so if you’ll follow me.” Milya nodded and followed Jahlel through the indistinguishable alleys of the city until they reached the outskirts of Darlyn Boda. By the time they were passing through the shanty town at the edge of the city, the sun was peeping over the horizon, coloring the wispy clouds ochre and crimson. Milya rapidly noticed the lack of distinct boundary between the city and swamp; the vegetation simply encroached upon the ramshackle buildings more than it did in the main city, and the smells, while different, could hardly be called an improvement. Trading the raucous sounds of a seedy nightlife for the croaking and chirping of the local wildlife did at least keep her from having to hear the same tune played with much gusto and little skill. “We’re going through the swamp now,” Jahlel informed her. “It’s a good hike, so I hope you Jedi are up to this sort of thing.” “Fine by me,” she said lightly. Jahlel turned and began setting a brisk pace as they slogged through the swamp, following some seemingly invisible path. The journey wore on through the day, and Milya was soon covered head to foot in mud and grime, while Jahlel contrived to stay considerably cleaner than her. Some impressive emissary from the Jedi Order she was turning out to be, Milya reflected disgustedly. She’d already needed Matukai rescue and now looked like a bedraggled gutter waif. For the large part, Jahlel maintained silence as they hiked and Milya was inclined to return the favor. Being considerably food and sleep deprived, while not a new experience for her, generally provoked irritation in her, as she knew all too well, and she had no desire to instigate the Matukai through a hasty outburst of emotion. Furthermore, keeping her footing was proving to be quite a challenge in and of itself. He made it look so easy, Milya thought with not a little envy as she nearly slipped and fell into a sizable puddle of brackish for the twentieth or something time. By evening, tired and sore, in addition to bearing fresh scratches from a particularly tenacious specimen of thornvines, Milya was ready to reach the Matukai settlement, or any settlement for that matter. She and Jahlel had been hiking all day with few breaks and her legs ached. Sure, she was in excellent shape and training with Spectre and Selu had only served to maintain her conditioning, but an all-day hike through muddy terrain that weighed down her boots and clung to her clothing was not in her usual fitness routine. Jahlel stepped as lightly as ever, and Milya noted that his boots seemed to repel the mud, affording him with considerably more mobility than her own feet seemed to do. Eventually, Milya consigned herself to plodding along in his wake. Finally, Jahlel pushed through a thicket of tall swampstalks to reveal a small settlement, built on elevated platforms in the swamp over a mist-covered lake. The construction was modern enough, with permacrete pillars supporting duraplast walkways and buildings, but it was evident that it had been there for some time, as numerous trees, lichens, and vines were encrusted and entangled with the structures. To aid in the camouflage, everything was colored in dark greens and browns, making the structures virtually blend into the swamp. The mist and vegetation, as well as the failing light, obscure her vision, but she estimated there were between ten and fifteen round-walled buildings in the complex, connected by the same walkways and lit by burning braziers on the apex of the same pillars that supported the walkways and structures. “Welcome to our little home in the swamp, Jedi Tayrce,” said Jahlel. “Follow me, and I will take you to meet Templar Bolfwé Grysloth, the head of our order.” “Right now?” she asked. “I’m not exactly looking my best.” “Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “Templar Grysloth isn’t exactly keen on big appearances.” “Still, the chance to rest would be appreciated.” “I know you’re tired,” he answered kindly. “But trust me, Templar Grysloth would insist on speaking with you anyway. He likes to keep abreast of visitors, so there’s no use putting it off. Come on.” With little other option, Milya slogged along behind Jahlel down into the settlement’s entrance, passing through a pair of sentries clad in a similar manner to Jahlel and bearing that same tattoo on their foreheads. At a nod and softly-spoken word of greeting from Jahlel, the polearm-equipped guards, both human, let them pass into the settlement. As she walked, she was almost painfully conscious of her sodden and stained jumpsuit, covered in mud and grime from the day’s hike, as well as her soaked hair hanging in loose strands with no semblance of order. Jahlel led her to one of the nondescript, rounded-roof buildings and stopped in front of it. The hollow sound of his fist knocking on the door reverberated through the air, mingling with the nightlife of the swamp. The door opened to reveal a sizable alien standing at the door. Milya noted the sheer size of the reptavian standing before her. He easily stood higher than the top of the fairly tall Jahlel’s head, and he completely dwarfed her slight frame. His pale green skin, covered in scales, matched the green, gray, and white robes he was wearing, but his face and neck were covered with some sort of silvery down, perhaps akin to feathers. Conspicuous on his forehead was the same tattoo as Jahlel, and Milya noted that his belt buckle and collar clasp bore the same inscription. “What can I do for you, Jahlel?” Grysloth asked, his voice deep and resonant. “Who is this?” Milya was surprised to see that while Grysloth’s jaw was akin to a wickedly hooked beak, his mouth contained teeth and an exposed tongue, probably heritage from his reptilian side. “Templar Grysloth, this is Milya Tayrce, of the Jedi Order,” Jahlel replied. “Jedi? What brings a Jedi to Darlyn Boda?” Grysloth asked, regarding the unkempt human female standing before him for the first time. Mustering up her courage, Milya managed to find her voice. “I’ve brought a message from a Jedi named Selusda Kraen that concerns both the Jedi and the Matukai.” “Kraen? Never heard of him. Is young Master Yoda no longer alive?” asked Grysloth, his eyes seeming to pierce straight through her. Milya sensed the Force running strong through Grysloth, and to a lesser extent through Jahlel. It was Grysloth who captivated her attention for the moment though. Just looking at those intense eyes spoke volumes of wisdom and insight. His sheer bulk, combined with his ability in the Force and decades of experiences, would make him an unpleasant opponent if crossed. “I-I don’t know,” she admitted. “As far as we know, my companions and I are the last of the Jedi. All the rest are dead, hunted down by the Empire.” “Yes, the Empire,” growled Grysloth. “That’s an entirely different matter indeed, but it doesn’t explain your message, or your mission.” “Selu has received a vision through the Force, a terrible warning that if you, and those like you on other worlds, don’t join together, permanent destruction will come to all of you. We request you consider our offer, and seek the will of the Force for the Matukai, but your fates may well be joined with that of the Jedi Order now.” “Is that so? Let me tell you, Jedi Tayrce, that this is not the first time that the Jedi have approached us, seeking an alliance, though such occurrences were never frequent. My instinct is to reject this offer; the Jedi were ever seeking to spread their influence.” “That’s not true. As I said before, there’s only a handful of Jedi left. As far as I know, there might be as few as five left. The Empire destroyed all the others, and they will destroy you too. Judging by how many people you have here, we couldn’t influence or manipulate you if we wanted to. All I ask is that you consider our offer.” Grysloth stood silent for a moment, regarding her with those keen eyes, and Milya feared she might have overstepped her boundaries. Would he have her thrown out, or would he choose the more direct route and just bodily toss her off the walkway? “Tell me, Jedi Tayrce, are you willing to learn?” “Uh—yes,” she said, taken aback by his sudden change of topic. “Very well. I will consider your offer, but only if you are willing to spend time living as one of us, learning the ways of the Matukai.” Thinking of Selu and Revan and how much this meant to them, Milya nodded. “I’m willing,” she replied. “Then we have an agreement,” Grysloth told her. He made it sound so simple, too. No lengthy meetings, no endless sessions of questioning, just requirement to study a different Force tradition for a while. How hard could it be? Commenor Annita walked up to the door of Jorge’s apartment, hand-in-hand with her fiancé. Their wedding was so close, within a month, and she was brimming full of excitement, scarcely able to believe it. There were still so many preparations to be made, but the day was finally approaching when she and Jorge would be joined together in front of her friends and loved ones. For now, they were enjoying a brief lull in the frenzy of wedding activities, spending an afternoon together. The weather had been pleasant and the rain of earlier that week had moved on to reveal sunny skies typical of spring in Commenor. Jorge had already taken her to a local xenobotanical garden, and they had packed a lunch to eat in between strolls through the exotic plants. All in all, traversing paths filled with resplendent, exquisite bushes, vines, flowers, grasses, and trees from across the galaxy had been relaxing. The sweet smell of the Ithorian roses still lingered in her nostrils, and she vividly recalled the delight she had felt upon walking through an archway of violet arallutes imported of Alderaan. Jorge had told her that the flowers held special significance to Alderaanians and were seen as signs of good luck if found growing near the homes of newlyweds, and it had made her wistful, longing for her own wedding. Jorge unlocked the door and led the way into the interior of his characteristically unkempt apartment. It was cozy, built for a single inhabitant and composed of an adjoining kitchen and common area with a refresher and single bedroom in the back. A pair of closets completed the floor plan, but Jorge had made the most of his restricted space. Living on Commenor for two years had yet to cure him of all his spacer habits, and while he had improved, his apartment was habitually somewhat strewn with various things. It had been one of the little things that Annita and Jorge had had to work through, and it rarely bothered her now. While not the most pleasant experience of their relationship, she knew that overcoming difficulties had made them stronger, and wasn’t naïve enough to believe that more such differences wouldn’t surface during their marriage. After they were married, they had already decided to live in Annita’s more spacious apartment, but thankfully some of Jorge’s friends had promised to move his things over while they were honeymooning. “Wait a minute,” said Jorge. “Something’s wrong here.” “What do you mean?” asked Annita. “These pants. They were lying on the floor of the main closet, not across this chair,” said Jorge, picking up a pair of dark pants from a piece of furniture. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure,” said Jorge. “And the holo of Captain R’hask has been moved from the low table.” Annita walked over to a small color holo image of Jorge’s former partner and captain of the Hawk-bat, which had been placed in the center of a low duraplast table occupying a prominent position in the common area between a couch and a chair. Sure enough, it had been moved, a faint circle of relatively dust-free duraplast evidence that someone had moved it. Her mind immediately shifted into her professional mode. “Don’t touch anything,” she said. All of her instincts, honed by years in the Investigators, were telling her that she was standing in a crime scene, or something like it. Everything in the apartment was now evidence to her mind and her hazel eyes were darting back and forth from point to point, taking in all the details. “What? Oh, okay, Nita,” Jorge said, calling her by a pet name as he realized that she was analyzing the room. “You’re right—something’s definitely wrong. The place was searched, and whoever did it was trying to be subtle about it. Well, they didn’t do a very good job.” “Searched? But why? And wouldn’t you know about it if it was done? I thought the Investigators were supposed to have warrants to do that.” “I don’t know to the first question. To the second, I should know about it—if it was the Investigators who did the search. I haven’t heard about it in the office, so I either wasn’t supposed to know, or it wasn’t us.” “Look, love, I know I’ve told you about my past, but there’s nobody after my head, and I don’t owe anyone money, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Annita snorted. “That’s obvious. If it was an angry gambling partner, there’d be someone here with a blaster waiting for you. No, bounty hunters generally don’t bother with searching the homes of their victims. They’d case the apartment, sure, but wouldn’t actually enter unless they were setting up a trap; it might set off their quarry.” “Well, that’s comforting. So if it wasn’t Investigators, and it wasn’t criminals, who was it?” “I have a hunch, but I’m not sure.” “I know your hunches, and they’re usually right. Why don’t you tell me?” “Remember how I told you that Captain Norres has been making sidelong attempts to ferret information out of me about the old Mistryl case?” “I recall how mad it made you.” “Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it past him to—Jorge, do you remember the old spacer’s rule when entering a new cantina?” “Uh, sure. Drink what the locals are drinking. If they’re not drinking, leave out the back door before the fight beings.” “Yes, that one. I think your spacer past may have messed with your mind, and I might be overly paranoid. Anyway, when did you first hear that?” Annita carefully began searching the floors, furnishings, and walls of Jorge’s apartment as they talked, casually chatting about spacer slang and customs. It was sort of a code between them. Annita’s search didn’t take long, though, and she soon found three listening devices—one in a corner of a glowpanel housing, one in the conservator in the kitchen, and one implanted on the underside of Jorge’s couch. Without betraying her discoveries, Annita held up the three devices and Jorge’s eyes widened. “Jorge, I think I cut myself on some thorn bushes while walking in the gardens,” Annita said. “And there’s mud in my shoes. Do you mind if I wash it off?” “Oh really? A cut? I don’t remember that.” Then Jorge caught the look in her eyes and played along. “Ah, right, how could I forget? Sure, go ahead—let me get the medpac and the antiseptic out of the closet.” Annita replaced the bugs while Jorge grabbed the medpac. Then they walked back into the refresher, and Annita turned on the water flow in the sanisteam and closed the door. “There,” she said softly. “The running water should mask our voices, but keep it down.” “This is definitely not good,” Jorge murmured. “No, it’s not. Now that I’ve found the bugs, I’m sure it’s Norres. He’s not onto us yet, Jorge, but he will be soon.” “Annita, love . . . should we cancel the wedding? Are we in danger?” “No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “But we have to be careful. Jorge, if he finds out about our old friend, then I can’t say what will happen to us. The Empire has been pushing its jurisdiction, and Norres has virtually free reign in the matters of Imperial security.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying that people have disappeared into the night before. Not on Munto, but in other cities. People who were caught collaborating with Jedi or rebels.” “I see,” Jorge said, fully understanding what she meant by disappearing into the night. That meant that the body might or might not turn up in an alleyway weeks later, partially destroyed and showing evidence of torture. The cause of death was usually a blaster bolt to the head, and some criminal gang was inevitably blamed, despite the fact that it had Imperial Security Bureau’s noseprints all over it. Not that any sane being would ever voice that opinion in public. The ISB was reputed to have a long reach and was unaccountable to local officials, who could only look the other way or face scrutiny themselves. “Nita, I know how much this day means to you, and if you say we’ll be fine, then I believe you, but I want us to be safe and free on our wedding day, not looking over our shoulders or in Imperial custody.” “No, we’ll be fine,” Annita insisted. “Norres doesn’t have anything on us yet, and this bug job means that he’s getting desperate. I thought he had given up this line of investigation months ago, but apparently something has gotten him interested in me again.” “So what do we do?” “We’ll have to be careful. We can’t say anything loosely in this apartment, and we can’t get rid of the bugs, or he’ll know that we’re onto his plan.” “In your place too. Ten credits says that it’s been bugged too.” Annita sighed and ran a hand through her long brown hair. Usually she pulled it up for work, but she had worn it down today since she was off-duty. “You’re right. And that means that Jorge’s Folly is being watched, too.” “It’s not going to be pleasant until they stop watching us,” Jorge said. “I know what you’re thinking, and we can’t just leave,” Annita told him. “Not only will it make us look guilty, but then the Kraens will get into trouble also.” “It was easier when you could just jump port and make space,” Jorge groused. “Well, it’s not that simple, dear.” “Here’s what we should do then—we carry on with the wedding plans as before. However, I think it’s time for a few contingency plans in case our dear Captain Norres doesn’t get bored,” Jorge said with a twinkle in his eye. “What kind of contingency plans?” Annita asked, a note of suspicion entering her voice. “Oh, probably better you don’t know yet,” Jorg answered roguishly. “The less you know, the less you can arrest me for.” “Like I would arrest you.” “Are you sure about that?” Annita paused and reconsidered. “Depends on what the reward for your head is.” “I’ll make sure that it’s worth the credits.” “I’m sure you will.” “I try. Oh, and there’s one other little thing.” “What?” “Need to contact Sarth and the Hawk-bat. They need to know what’s going on, see if they have any ideas.” Annita rolled her eyes. “Good luck with that,” she told him. “What about the elder Kraens?” “Can’t risk a visit. If we’re being watched, then so are they. I’ll try to pass on a message quietly.” “I’m concerned about Sarth, Jorge. He hasn’t sent a message in months.” “I wouldn’t worry too much, Nita. Spacers tend to disappear for a while if they’re involved in certain activities.” Jorge left it unsaid exactly what those activities would be. It was one of the several subjects they had mutually agreed not to broach so as to not place Annita in a position that might compromise her integrity. “But for months, Jorge? That’s unlike them.” “They’re probably looking for an appropriate wedding gift for you.” “I hope you’re right, and they’re not in trouble or anything.” “Sarth can take care of himself, and so can the others. Besides, they’ll turn up for the wedding. Sarth would never be able to show his face around here again if he did.” Annita chuckled at his joke in spite of herself, her attempt to glare and look annoyed at Jorge utterly failing. “Well, I think we have about one more minute before whoever is on the other end of those bugs starts wondering about what we’re doing.” “Let them wonder,” said Jorge. “We’re young, irresponsible, and engaged. We’re supposed to do strange things.” “I love you,” Annita said as she leaned in for a kiss. “Mmm, I love you too,” said Jorge after they broke for air. He was quite content to hold her in his arms. “I can’t wait until our wedding,” she said. “Me neither,” he replied, holding her for several minutes longer. Finally, realizing the absurdity of sitting in the refresher with the sanisteam’s water flow activated, Jorge and Annita broke off their embrace and returned to their earlier planned activities, sitting down in the common room to look at decorators for their reception. They both tried to relax back into the casual manner of an engaged couple planning their wedding, chatting light-heartedly about the virtues of one decorator versus another, or a particular favorite vintage of wine served by one establishment. However, neither of them could shake the feeling that they were being observed and, to one who knew them, they seemed visibly ill at ease. When Annita left the apartment several hours later, she headed back to her own apartment, but frequently checked to see if she was being followed. Several times she thought that a non-descript speeder was following hers, but she couldn’t be certain. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling with gooseflesh, though, and her instructor at the Investigator Academy had assured her that was an indication that she was being watched. She hadn’t fully believed the old man at the time, but experience had washed away her doubts, and she was scared as she had been since the Mistryl experience. What if Norres really was onto her and Jorge? Would she even have the chance to flee with him or would they disappear, never to be seen again? A new storm cloud of uncertainty had fallen over her future, and she remained troubled for the rest of day.
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