The Force Always Says Yes [Star Wars]

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 57: Spring The trap​

The streets of Boonta were by far the most chaotic he had ever been on. There was no clear distinction between a street for speeders and a sidewalk for pedestrians, and few aliens bothered to step out of the way of any traffic that didn't look immediately dangerous.

He expected poverty, and there were indeed many on the streets who were impoverished—but the type of poverty he had expected was scrap hoarders, livestock tenders, and so on. That wasn't the case, at least not in this city. Moreso, they simply didn't seem to have any place at all. A few set up stalls, but many seemed to wander almost aimlessly. He supposed the setting was too urban, and the lower rung jobs filled too thoroughly by slaves.

Looking down at the bowl of noodles he had bought, he was fairly certain the discoloration was not due to mold, but rather various plastics that had at some point made their way into the man-sized pot that the Mon Calamari chef seemed to use to cook everything on the menu simultaneously. Nerim frowned at it.

"Told you," Tetha said unapologetically.

"It...It still smells good," Nerim weakly defended the dish, moreso trying to convince himself.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Tetha slowly shook her head.

"...Me too," Nerim admitted with a sigh. Then he blinked in confusion. "Or, wait. Not this. Do you get the sense that—"

His communicator chirped to life. "Good news, student!" Arwain's voice came through. "I've figured out what happened to Jianno!"

"What?!" Nerim frantically fished for the communicator, and pressed the button. "What happened?"

"She was taken captive by the Hutts!" Arwain said cheerfully. As she did so, in the background he could hear a woman's gruff voice shout out in Huttese "Hey, get that thing away from her!"

"Master, how did you figure this out?" Nerim asked calmly, feeling like ice water had just been dumped down the back of his shirt.

"I am also being taken captive by—" Arwain's voice cut off.

Nerim and Tetha sat in silence, staring at each other, as the bowl of noodles steamed in their faces.

He was the first to speak. "Well, now they definitely expect us to stage a rescue attempt."

"What do we do?" Tetha asked.

"Stage a rescue attempt."

Tetha placed her fingers to her temples and rubbed them, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in through her nose. "Okay," she finally said. "First question is how they even found Jianno and Arwain in the first place. Can they find us the same way?"

He thought for a moment. "If they're actively looking for us, I have a hard time imagining they found my Master and a trained Mandalorian guerrilla, but not us. I imagine Jianno must have gone looking for a fight, and Arwain slipped up in attempting to rescue her."

"This is so embarrassing," Tetha said, pulling her hands down her face. "The agreement was to confront the Dark Jedi first, Hutts second. The Saarkanians are going to get cold feet."

Nerim sighed. "Yeah. Okay, we have to just...fix this before the Saarkanians figure out it's going wrong. We'll have to get Arwain and Jianno out ourselves, and regroup."

Tetha nodded, and stood off the stool. "Let's go."

Nerim grimaced down at his untouched bowl of noodles. "Sooner rather than later," he said, also standing and leaving with her.

"Luckily, the Hutts won't be so hard to find," Tetha said, pointing to the structures on the horizon.

The Hutt Palace on Boonta was enormous, and very distinctive. Rising from the skyline of the cityscape and glinting in the afternoon light, a grand conical structure of glass and mustard-yellow durasteel stood almost like a rounded pyramid. It was a bizarre mix of a cathedral and some sort of snail shell, which a particularly uncharitable psychoanalyst might use to evidence some form of overcompensation for the slug-like Hutts.

Despite being one of the most storied seats of Hutt power, it was a far cry from the claustrophobic, organic architecture Hutts tended to prefer in their current homeworld's environment, or the worlds which they terraformed to match its swampy morass. The Palace of Boonta was all transparasteel and glamour, letting in the full breadth of sunlight across its hallowed halls and party decks. Legend had it that the entire structure could lift from the ground and cruise the deserts like a barge, but hadn't since the times of Boonta The Hutt himself, for various contradictory reasons.

At this particular moment, the Palace was occupied by two Hutts, a father and daughter named Skissa and Yenchara respectively, of the Desilijic clan. According to Arwain, the clan was infamous in Hutt Space for being, in the opinion of other Hutts, a particularly degenerate and perverted clan, as well as impotent and tactless, which explained their consistent exile to just outside of 'proper' Hutt Space. According to Jianno, they were ruthless and violent, had no shortage of bloody disputes with other Hutts, and Skissa in particular was infamous for his use of Mandalorian slaves.

Oddly, though, Desilijic was one of the least xenophobic of the Hutt clans by a wide margin, and it was that quality that probably gave them the lion's share of their negative reputation, both within Hutt Space and outside of it. Most Hutts simply stayed in their throneworlds and blasted any foreign ships that got close, leaving them with little reputation outside their borders beyond mystery and danger. The Desilijics, on the other hand, got quite personal with the outside Galaxy, and cared little what species served them so long as they were served. Because of this, and their penchant for hosting near-endless parties and grand sporting events, Nerim hoped it wouldn't be too hard to worm their way into the building.

When the two exited their rickshaw and approached from across a rocky plaza of uneven bitumen cobblestones, he felt almost worryingly vindicated. The snaking glass tube walkways which served as the entrances to the palace were surrounded with crowds and slowly consuming them, distant specks of sentients making their way through the tubes as if they were being digested by the monstrous building.

Nerim turned to Tetha. "Do you think...we could just walk in?"

"Us? Well..." Tetha shook her head. "Look at what those people are wearing. They look wealthy, most of them. The ones who don't...they look tough."

"Are we not tough?" Nerim asked, his fluffy hair getting in his eyes.

She glanced at him and smiled. "I'm guessing you have to actually be in their employ to get in, and have a good reputation with them at that. But I could get us in. Let's just take a look at the door guards before we try anything."

They cautiously moved forward, staying on the edge of the crowds. Oddly enough, there were two separate entrances to the Palace, one leading to the right and the other to the left. Only the outer layers of the Palace were ensconced in transparasteel, but there was a clear divide in the two halves. More than that, there seemed to be a divide in the people who went through either; every member of the crowd seemed to be rather consciously attempting to go through one particular entrance, even if there was an opening in the line to the other. But beyond that, there was no apparent similarity in the partygoers from one side to the other, as far as he could tell.

Nerim tilted his head. "Do you think that each entrance symbolizes some sort of...allegiance?"

"To one Hutt or the other, maybe," Tetha concurred.

Nerim put a hand to his chin in thought. "Skissa is the one that enslaved the Mandalorians. Look," he said, pointing to the guard at the left entrance, who was clad in a dull and scratched red-and-green suit of armor. "Using a Mando in full beskar as a door guard. What a waste. He has to be doing it as a statement."

"Skissa is probably the one who has Arwain and Jianno. But I don't wanna mess with that guard. Look to the right," she nodded in the direction of the other door guard, a vicious reptilian alien with needle-like teeth and sunken, yellow eyes. "Is that a...Trandoshan?"

"It's a Barabel," Nerim replied. "I recognize them from my historical studies at the Temple. They're a primitive species from out of Republic space that worship Jedi as gods."

Tetha raised an eyebrow. "And the Order's reaction to that information is...?"

Nerim cast his eyes up in recollection. "The Jedi want to be respected, but they worry Knights that spend a lot of time around Barabels might get a big head about the whole thing."

"Great, but what do they think about Barabel society itself?" She insisted.

"Be careful, their hides are blaster resistant," Nerim shrugged.

"Self-centered little..." Tetha sighed and shook her head. "Alright. But they're not resistant to mind tricks?"

Nerim shook his head, and she gestured for him to follow as they shuffled into the crowd, which clinked and bristled with jewelry. They waited for some of the tougher looking ones to go through, and then cut in front of the wealthier ones, to the sound of loud complaining.

The Barabel glared down at the two of them, his lipless mouth crisscrossed with teeth like barbed wire. The fact that there were wealthy patrons directly behind them was probably the only reason he didn't immediately respond with violence. "What, you urchins think you belong here or something? Scram, before—"

"We're going in," Tetha said firmly, her hand raised to him.

The Barabel blinked. "You're...I...You're going in?" He said, clearly unsure of his own words.

"Yes, we are," Tetha replied, with enough force to make the Barabel step aside. The two of them walked in, and then Tetha turned and gave Nerim a small grin of triumph.

"That ability is quite useful, if disturbing," Nerim said uneasily. "But I'm glad we got in here without much trouble. Now we have to make it to Skissa's half, and find where prisoners—did you realize that everyone here is unarmed?"

Tetha looked closely at the other attendants as they walked swiftly through the tube and into a grand entrance area, its large and rounded shape leaving it almost like a crescent. The wall to the right was entirely made of transparasteel, where the low sun shone in with orange-golden light, while the wall to the left was solid and glittered in the light. All of the inhabitants—even the people who were obviously guards, had no obvious weapons.

"...What?" Tetha's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I've never heard of a Hutt without armed guards—"

Her words were suddenly drowned out by cheering, as two grand sliding doors opened from the left wall. Several hulking aliens carried a palanquin on their shoulders, atop which was a Hutt who had her arms up in the air, with a satisfied smirk and rippling yellow eyes that seemed to stare directly through anything she looked at. She was only a little larger than a human, obviously not that old by Hutt standards.

Flanking either side of her palanquin were guards, still curiously unarmed, all female. They wore strange clothes which Nerim realized were somehow similar to the An'omarr Monks, with black and yellow ponchos that hung over their bodies and obscured their silhouettes, but as they moved it was clear they wore tighter outfits underneath which would allow for freedom of movement. It was impossible to tell if they had blaster pistols underneath, but they clearly weren't wearing rifles. They were comprised of two Twi'leks, as well as a Zabrak and a Human, and each scanned the crowd with alertness as they exited.

A scampering Dug scuttled in front and shouted with impressive volume over the crowd. "Presenting the Almighty One, Yenchara Desilijic!" His voice echoed from the walls, to continued and only slightly forced applause.

"Hahaah!" The Hutt laughed and gestured for the cheers to continue. Then she closed her fist in gesture for the cheers to stop, and they did. "Welcome, welcome!" She shouted to the crowd, her voice magnified through speakers on her palanquin. "We are gathered here today in remembrance of Boonta the Great, Boonta the God of protection and swift victory! With Boonta's Eve nearly upon us, we have much to look forward to!"

Tetha leaned in distractingly close to speak quietly in Nerim's ear. "Think we could sneak in through the door they left open?"

Nerim shook his head as the Hutt continued bloviating. "Got a weird feeling about that. Think we sh—" Suddenly he felt electricity run up his spine, and felt a need to move. He grabbed Tetha's hand and began striding forward, and she didn't object, obviously having the same intuition. He turned his head behind himself and saw one of the black-clad guards move through the clearing they had just made, a curious expression on her face.

The Hutt's voice caught his attention again. "But enough of tomorrow! Speak now of the victories of today! I have acquired a most sumptuous prize! See here, what my honor guard have brought me!"

Nerim and Tetha pushed further towards the front, making a concerted effort to duck into areas with taller aliens that might hide them better. Suddenly, as they were close enough to make out what the movement around the Hutt was, they saw what she was referring to.

Two more of the black-clad guards dragged a figure out from behind the palanquin, which Nerim swiftly realized was Arwain, who was frog-marched forward between the two. Her elegant dress was hardly ruffled, and her expression was one of moderate enthusiasm, curiously looking around the room and smiling at the large chandelier above them. All in all, she looked rather unperturbed by her captivity.

"Fantastic," Nerim said, somehow both sarcastically and not at the same time.

"She may not look like much," Yenchara chuckled, "But that is due to the prowess of my Syaniids!"

One of the aliens beside Nerim, a bug-like Verpine, leaned in to speak to another. "Don't you think this is a little unbecoming of her? Who ever heard of a Hutt praising their servants so openly?"

"It's a brag, that she has the 'most powerful' servants around," the other Verpine reasoned. "She's doing it to compete with Skissa's Mandalorians in the public eye."

"I don't know," the first one chittered. "It looks more like they have undue influence on her."

The Hutt continued. "The catch you see before you...is a Jedi Knight!"

One of the black-clad guards, apparently a Syaniid, stepped forward. She raised in her hand Arwain's lightsaber, and activated it, to the sudden gasps, oohs, and aahs of the crowd. Nerim's eyes traveled down from the lightsaber towards the face of the woman holding it, and his eyes widened. Vena Riila was the woman holding it.

The Togruta deactivated the blade, and then handed it to Yenchara, who raised it and activated it with a giddy laugh, waving it in the air and listening to it hum.

Arwain craned her head around and grinned at the Hutt. "Be careful with that thing, I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Hah!" Yenchara tilted her head back, impressed with her catch, in the way a fisher would be. "A true Jedi spirit, that's for sure."

Nerim turned to Tetha, her face having adopted her impenetrable neutral expression. "You know," he whispered, "I don't think we properly planned for a scenario in which the Dark Jedi and the Hutts were working together."

"Yeah. No." Tetha shook her head.

He tilted his head. "Still doesn't explain where Jianno is."

"No. Yeah." Tetha nodded.

"You think we get out of this alive if it goes loud?"

"Maybe."

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 58: The Jedi Arts​

A particularly rotund, well-dressed, and apparently quite confident Neimoidian from the crowd spoke up. "Jedi always come in twos! Is the other one dead?"

Yenchara continued to laugh. "That's the best part! We have no idea where her youngling is!" The Hutt exclaimed gleefully. The prospect of a hunt obviously delighted her. "One million wupiupi to the one who presents it to me! Halve that if it's dead!"

The mangling of Jedi terminology filtered through imprecise Huttese aside, Nerim was unsettled by the rather lighthearted cheers and applause he heard. He would have understood howling of anger, or silence of terror, or even chants of bloodthirst, but instead, the crowd responded as if celebrating the opening ceremony of a sports game. Briefly, for just a moment, Arwain's eyes traveled through the crowd and met Nerim's. She winked, and the message he received was clear. We are in no rush, remain calm, remain undercover.

"Jedi!" The Hutt bellowed, waving the golden lightsaber vaguely in Arwain's direction and using her other hand to gesture to the guards. The Syaniids released Arwain's arms and took half-steps back. "Entertain me! Perform a Jedi trick!"

Arwain stared at her blankly for a moment, and then did a backflip.

The crowd erupted in cheers and the Hutt sloshed back and forth in hysterical laughter. Nerim politely clapped, and Tetha grimaced. "This is humiliating," she mumbled far below the shouting of the crowds.

"Humility is a virtue," Nerim responded, gently grabbing her hand and leading her away from the bulk of the crowd. "She wants us to wait, so we'll wait. Come on, let's get a drink."

He lead her to the bar, which was flowing like a waterfall with all variety of drinks meant for the varied physiologies of the patrons. The bartender was a Xexto, a four-armed and prehensile-footed species from a distant arboreal world, who served drinks with all six limbs, his black featureless eyes looking in every direction simultaneously. Less than a minute after leaning against the bar, two drinks were slid the way of Nerim and Tetha. The bartender did not appear to speak Basic, or even Huttese, but he correctly identified every species that approached and slung them an appropriate drink—barring Tetha, who he apparently mistook for Human, and slid her some sort of normal alcoholic beverage.

Tetha carefully observed the movements of the staff, what doors they disappeared to and when or if they popped back out. There was a large obvious hallway which lead to the other hemisphere of the building, for guests meandering between the Hutts, but there were many more small staff doors, some of which lead to closets or kitchens, or apparent passageways deeper into the building.

While Tetha was carefully plotting out a map of their surroundings, Nerim closed his eyes and focused on listening to the conversations around them, picking out concepts and voices in the myriad of languages and hundreds of individuals in the room. There were gloats and concerns and a background static of gossip regarding individuals he didn't know or care about, but he found his attention tugged towards a few interesting pieces of information.

First was that Yenchara had apparently also been the one to capture Jianno. This was leading to speculation that Yenchara and Skissa would soon be arguing, as Jianno technically was Skissa's slave, but Yenchara's captive, and they would no doubt squabble over who now owned her.

Second was that, like with every gathering, the Hutts were auctioning seats at the private dining table where they would feast later in the night. These seats were already being bid at for thousands of wupiupi, as it was transparently obvious the amount of opportunity, sway, and intelligence gathering that could be obtained from such a close audience with the Hutts.

He leaned in to whisper to Tetha. "Do you see any good ways to sneak in?"

"Nothing easy. The whole place is crawling." She shook her head, sipping at her drink, which thankfully did nothing to her given her Zelosian genes.

"I overheard people saying one could bid for a seat in the inner sanctum feast. It's out of our price range, though," Nerim said, downing his own drink absentmindedly. "It occurs to me you could turn me in and then use the prize money to buy a seat, but that's probably not the optimal..." He stopped himself. He felt...attention.

Tetha didn't look at him, continuing to stare aimlessly through the party. "Yeah, I feel it too. The Syaniids have been sniffing us ever since we came in here. What do we do?"

Nerim ordered another drink and sipped on it in thought. "Well, they don't know about you. And apparently they haven't figured out who I am yet. So I guess we stay undercover like she wanted. If—"

He was interrupted as a suave Human man slid past the partygoers and leaned against the bar on Tetha's opposite side, wearing a highly visible and somewhat ostentatious red outfit with coattails and a regrettably art nouveau pattern that seemed desperate to appear like coreward high society. He ran a hand through his slicked back hair and smiled with unnaturally white teeth. "Hey there, hair buns. Haven't seen you here before."

Tetha's normally neutral expression adopted a very slight grimace and she pointedly looked in another direction. "Back off, sleemo."

"Hey, I'm just talking," the Human laughed it off smoothly. "Come on, what'd I do to deserve that?

Tetha thought for a moment, and her impassive gaze sliced back towards him. "You have one of the seats at the private feast tonight?"

"Pff, look, I'm rich, but not that rich," he shrugged affably.

"Then kriff off."

"How dreadfully mercenary," the man sighed with a smile. "But that explains how you got in here so young. So what do you do? Cat burglary? You look like the cat burglar type."

Tetha's grimace grew, and she shuffled to the side and reached beneath Nerim's elbow, linking her arm around his. "I'm here with my boyfriend, who isn't ten years older than me."

The man's gray eyes moved to meet Nerim's, and his smirk grew a little. "This guy?" He asked, glancing to Tetha, before looking back at Nerim. "You a...Mirialan?"

"Did all the tattoos give it away?" Nerim asked, bare-faced as ever. The man laughed at that, and Nerim stretched over the bar and signaled for another two drinks, for himself and the man. As they came sliding in, Nerim continued. "You think Yenchara can actually hold a Jedi? Does she have a special cell or something?"

"Wha—Buddy," the man graciously picked up the glass and took a sip, "Furthest thing from my mind right now. What are you doing here? What's your job?"

"I kill people."

"Oooh! Scary!" The man said sarcastically. "Pretty good manners, for a murderer."

"It's not murder. I'm actually very adept at creating self defense situations," Nerim said nonchalantly, taking another swig. His stomach was starting to feel pleasantly warm.

The man's smirk became noticeably more forced. "You're also pretty polite to a taller, wealthier guy who might just take your girlfriend."

"Take?" Tetha glared at him with fiery intensity. "The only thing you're gonna take is those words back before I—"

"Go easy on him," Nerim nudged Tetha slightly. "We're guests here," he said. Stay undercover. Just let him burn out and move on.

She grumbled and crossed her arms, leaning on him.

The man smirked again. "How can you stand being with an alien that's so...passive?"

"I'm not a Human either, laserbrain." The man blinked in confusion, and Tetha continued. "Take your peedunky outfit and your bad haircut somewhere else before you end up as a scorchmark one of these poor Dugs has to squeegee off the big windows."

"Whore," the Human sneered, tossing the contents of his drink at her. The liquid mostly splashed off her jacket, which like most Saarkanian clothing was highly water resistant, and flecks of it bounced back on him.

The corner of Tetha's mouth twitched upwards. "Nice try, jack—"

Nerim slammed his free hand on the table. "Okay. Now we have to fight," he said, pushing himself back from the bar and shoving a Zabrak out of the way.

The man stood up to his full height, a foot taller than Nerim. "Hey you little—"

Nerim hooked his foot around a nearby barstool and pulled it front of himself, and then kicked it forward, sending it clattering into the man's legs. The stool's legs wrapped around man's own and he stumbled trying to maintain his balance without tripping over the stool, and then Nerim hopped upwards and performed a high kick, the sole of his boot slamming against the side of the man's face. The Human snapped backwards, one of his legs still caught up in the stool, and he tripped over backwards, hitting his shoulder blade on the bar.

The patrons quickly cleared out with spilled drinks and excited shouts. Nerim continued approaching as the Human stood up and stumbled backwards, a visible print of Nerim's boot across his cheek. "I'll flay you alive!" He shouted.

Nerim finished downing his drink, and then tossed the glass to the side, letting it shatter on the floor. "All you have to do is apologize to make this stop," he said evenly, pointing at the man and stumbling forward somewhat drunkenly. He saw the man's eyes focus somewhere over his shoulder, and sensed a hostile presence approaching behind him, but stopped himself from reacting in any way.

Tetha stepped behind him and intercepted the presence, another Human who had come to the man's defense. She aimed and kicked her heel into the side of the Human's knee, sending him clattering to the floor, and then spun and planted her heel in his side, sending him rolling.

Only a few seconds after the brawl had started, several black-clad figures weaved into the crowd, grabbing any potential troublemakers. Two Syaniids approached Tetha and Nerim, and the pair both stepped back and entered a ready stance, back-to-back with each other and facing their respective Syaniid counterpart.

The four took stock of each other for only a moment, which was all the time it took for Yenchara's voice to bellow over the din. "Wait! WAAAIT!" She gurgled, and all of the crowd, including the Syaniids froze. The palanquin unsteadily rocked and shifted as the Hutt was carried towards their end of the room, where the slug's eyes scoured the scene.

"Oh-hoooh!" She clapped her fat hands together. "Continue!"

The Syaniids stepped back in one uniform motion, and pushed the Human in red back towards Nerim while the crowd cheered. "Wait!" The man said. "Wait, wait—"

Nerim glanced around the room. He had only begun this because he was sure that acting passively while a man assaulted his partner would raise more suspicion than just starting a fight. Now, though, he supposed he was in the position of impressing a Hutt. He shrugged, and began to approach the man.

"Oh—That's it!" The man shouted, tearing off his coat and raising his fists. He shuffled in his stance, switching from orthodox to south paw as Nerim walked forward. "You wanna go, let's go!"

The Human threw a large roundhouse punch, and Nerim ducked under it, spinning and sweeping the man's legs out from under him. To his credit, the Human caught himself with his arms on the fall, at which point Nerim grabbed both of the Human's ankles and raised them up, making him support his weight on his hands like a wheelbarrow. Nerim then balanced on one leg and used his other to kick the helpless man repeatedly in the chest and chin while the Hutt laughed.

After a few kicks, the Human thought to let himself fall, retracting his arms and letting Nerim attempt to counteract the weight of a falling man. While that happened, he grabbed Nerim's ankle and pulled, dragging the both of them to the ground. Nerim pivoted as he fell, freeing his ankle and fluidly rolling back into a standing position, while the Human scrambled up as well.

With calculated clumsiness, Nerim drunkenly stumbled towards the man and they exchanged a series of swings, each blocked or missing the other, until the man, using his height advantage, reached forward and grabbed a handful of Nerim's thick hair, holding his head in place as he swung for another punch.

Nerim grabbed the man's hand and held it tightly to his own scalp, preventing any tugging of his hair, and then dropped, causing the punch to go wide as their bodies were tugged with the motion. Then Nerim spun 180 degrees and stood back up, twisting the man's wrist in the process. The Human's wrist and elbow began to pop with the strain, and he yelped and let go, allowing Nerim to roll the arm around in front of him and grab the elbow.

He locked the joint so the arm was straight out and then used it to push the man away, causing the man to reflexively push back—just as he did so, Nerim pulled with the momentum, making him place all his weight on one foot, and then Nerim swept that foot out from under him, causing him to fall to the ground hard and the wind to be knocked out of his lungs. Then Nerim rolled him onto his stomach, placed his knee down into the spine of the man, and continued twisting the arm.

"I am going to break things until you apologize," Nerim said.

"Stars! I'm karkin' sorry, man! Let go of me!"

"Not me, space ape," Nerim rolled his eyes, using his other arm to grab the man's hair and pull his head up towards Tetha, who was just in the process of smashing a stool against her opponent's face. The wood shattered and the other man fell to the ground, where she began stomping on him repeatedly until he curled up and stopped trying to stand back up. "You apologize to her."

She turned towards the two of them, and the man Nerim had pinned began babbling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She crossed her arms and grinned. "Huh? Me no speak Huttese."

"I'm sorry!" The man shouted in Basic.

"Hm. Know any more languages to say that in?"

"Alright, that's enough," Nerim smirked, pulling the Human back to his feet and pushing him towards the crowd, where he stumbled and looked around disorientated.

The crowd cheered, and Yenchara laughed. "Not bad!" The Hutt spoke. "Could be prize fighters! Except..." Her tone and expression changed to an icy glare. "I've never seen either of you in my life."

The crowd suddenly went quiet. Tetha glanced to Nerim with concern.

Nerim turned around back to the bar. "Bartender! Another!" He said happily. Without a second's delay, the Xexto poured and slid a drink towards him.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 59: Very Grumpy​

Nerim sipped at his drink and cast a quick glance across the black-clad Syaniids. Vena Riila was nowhere to be seen, and he had a feeling that she was stuck on duty guarding Arwain, perhaps still unaware of his immediate presence. The Syaniids before him were a mix of individuals, one a Mirialan woman, another a Kaleesh with heavy scars across her face, a third Rodian who's fingers twitched in anticipation under the folds of her poncho. It was shocking to him to see so many Force Sensitives in one place outside of the Temple.

He slowly began to notice all of their eyes were settled on Tetha. He could almost see currents in the Force, like sonar pings directed towards her. They were most certainly becoming aware of her Force Sensitivity. Although according to his plan of deception, none seemed to study him for more than a few moments.

Yenchara scratched her side and stared down coldly at the two of them. "In whose employ are you?"

"Jobless, your omnipotence," Tetha said quickly with a light curtsy. "That's actually why we're here."

The Hutt scoffed. "So you're not in the employ of Skissa?"

Tetha silently nodded, maintaining a stony, blank expression.

"Then how did you get in?" Yenchara asked, making a sound somewhere between a gurgle and a growl.

"I'm...something of a cat burglar," Tetha replied.

Yenchara stared at her quietly for a tense, long moment, tilting her head side to side as transparent membranes flicked over her eyes. During the silence, one of the Syaniids, a woman climbed up the side of the palanquin and whispered in Yenchara's ear. She was of the Sephi race, a near-human species mostly noted for their pointed ears and strangely long fingers. Then Yenchara turned and raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. "You think this is the youngling?"

"No, Almighty One," the Sephi said deferentially with a slight bow, "She is not trained in the Jedi arts."

"Hhrrng..." Yenchara's eyes slid towards Nerim, and she gestured at him. "And that one? It's a Mirialan."

The Syaniids turned towards him almost with confusion, remembering that he was also present. He stood up from the bar and shuffled over beside Tetha, drink still in hand, shrugging in an expression of relaxed confusion.

"Just an associate of hers, Almighty One," the Syaniid said. "He is not strong with the Force."

"Strong with his legs," Yenchara laughed, casting another glance in the direction of the Human who was frustratedly smoothing out his red coat.

Nerim smirked and raised his glass. "Magic powers and silly superstitions tend to go out the window when you taste boot."

"Hah, like the spirit on that one," Yenchara chuckled deeply. The Sephi tightly frowned. He sensed some amount of tension between them—Opposite to the fears he heard expressed in the crowd earlier, it seemed Yenchara was not overly influenced by the Syaniids. Rather, the Syaniids seemed somewhat frustrated with her dismissal of their advice. Yenchara maintained a stare of suspicion on Nerim, but then spoke to Tetha. "Breaking into my party? I should have a collar put on you. Or feed you to the Killiks!"

A Killik in the crowd—a decidedly sentient if inhuman bug species—gulped nervously.

Tetha bowed deeply. "Slavery to a Hutt such as yourself is salvation compared to the alternative," she said flatteringly.

"Oooh!" Yenchara lit up. "What fine manners, yes..."

"Almighty One..." The Sephi spoke quietly, enough that Nerim had to focus to hear. "In regards to our deal on recruiting..."

The Hutt glanced sideways at the Syaniid for a moment, alien calculations happening behind her eyes. Instead of answering, she looked back at Nerim. "Where are you from, boy? Where's your tattoos?"

"I'm from Coruscant," he answered truthfully. "I don't have any tattoos because I haven't accomplished anything of note."

"Oh? And yet so confident," she countered. Nerim shrugged. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but those were Echani martial arts, weren't they?"

She was wrong, but only slightly. Technically they were Jedi martial arts, but much of the curriculum had been copied from Echani knowledge, and he was careful to use only the oldest moves, and nothing uniquely Jedi. He nodded anyways. "I've picked up some things. Can I ask why you're so interested in the martial arts?"

It was a bold thing, to ask a question to a Hutt like that, but at this point he felt weakness would only have their cover fold before her. And also he was a little overconfident from the alcohol. Regardless, Yenchara smiled. "What better way to confront an enemy immune to conventional weapons?"

He blinked. That was it. None of her guards were armed with blasters because blasters wouldn't do much to a Mandalorian in full beskar. Even in the Jedi Order, he had been taught that if by some incredible happenstance he find himself facing an armored Mandalorian, one good strategy would be to go for joint locks and throws to break limbs and cause concussions, rather than attempt to swing at small gaps in the armor with his lightsaber. The Syaniids were meant to pose a threat to the force Skissa had amassed that was otherwise without challenge.

He noticed the growing impatience in the black-clad Sephi, who was awaiting an answer from Yenchara. The Hutt looked over to her and then rolled her eyes in an exaggerated expression. "Hnnn. As I recall, our agreement was that you got the first pick of Force Sensitives we found. This one found us. I think that makes her mine," the Hutt said smugly. The Sephi visibly held herself back from disagreeing.

There was a definite murmur in the crowd. The teetering balance of their perceived power shifted slightly—although it seemed to Nerim that the Syaniids were more concerned with the loss of a potential recruit than the loss of face, while Yenchara's mind was on the opposite.

The Syaniid nodded towards Nerim. "Should we get rid of her street rat then, Almighty One?"

"No!" The Hutt grinned snakishly. "I have a good feeling about this one. He goes to the pit."

The Syaniid woman stared at the Hutt for a short moment, and then bowed stiffly. He sensed both a sort of resignation and anticipation in her, as if she had fully accepted the optimal solution was gone, but that she could still salvage the situation. That was perhaps the most worrying emotion that he could imagine sensing at that moment.

He glanced to Tetha, who gave him the same worried expression. But seeing as the only other option was to enter an open firefight in the middle of the atrium, they had no real choice. Two Syaniids approached him on either side and gestured for him to walk forward, with the clear implication that they would make him if they didn't. He avoided eye contact with either of them, continuing to hold Tetha's eyes.

"I'll see you soon," he said with a reassuring smile.

"I love you," she replied, returning a slightly wary smile.

Nerim wasn't able to reply before the Syaniid shoved him hard in the back, and he began staggering forward in a decidedly more drunken manner than he actually felt. The Hutt laughed and commented about how she loved a good tragic romance as the crowd cleared out before them, and soon they moved through a staff door and into a compact gray hallway which was dreadfully empty and where the footsteps echoed.

The two that were escorting him were both powerful in build, one being the Kaleesh, a warlike tusked and bat-faced species which normally lived primitive lives in the distant regions of Wild Space, beyond even the Outer Rim. She was powerful and focused, mentally and physically, and he could feel the Force radiating from her like it did with particularly talented students at the Temple, but as often was the case, she saw nothing of particular value in Nerim. She walked to the right and slightly in front of him, eyes forward.

The other was a lithe Mirialan woman with her face half-tattooed, and he could feel her curiously staring at the back of his head. She seemed much weaker in the Force, and newer among the Syaniids, or at least less practiced in their mannerisms. She spoke, although Nerim did not recognize the language. "Who is this one?"

The Kaleesh shrugged.

"Where are his tattoos?" The Mirialan woman insisted.

The Kaleesh shook her head. "Who cares?"

The Mirialan woman grabbed Nerim's shoulder and turned him around, as he looked at her with a puzzled, uncomprehending expression. "Where are your tattoos?" She asked in Huttese.

Nerim had been told by Arwain that if and when he met another Mirialan in the stars, they would be very confused and likely somewhat upset at his bare face. Apparently it was considered a sign of deep untrustworthiness among 'his' people. One was supposed to use them to brag about their accomplishments and list their skills and affiliations. To go without tattoos implied some sort of drifter or outcast who was secretive and without honor. He shrugged. "What do you want from me? I was an orphan raised by rats and all I know how to do is fight. Like I said, there's nothing of note."

She glared at him suspiciously, and then tilted her head and turned to the Kaleesh, who was impatiently tapping her foot. The Mirialan spoke again in that language he didn't know. "Didn't the Mistress warn us that the Padawan of that Jedi woman might be a Mirialan?"

The Kaleesh stared at her, unimpressed. "Should I be suspicious of you, too?"

"There's something about him," she insisted.

"He's not strong with the Force. He's drunk and starts fights. He's romantically entangled with that girl, and she is strong in the Dark. I think it's safe to say he's not a Jedi."

She pursed her lips and looked him up and down. "I don't know. I just feel like he's a Jedi."

Nerim's eyes narrowed in recognition, and he pointed between the two of them. "You keep using that word. Jedi. You doing some sorta Jedi stuff here?"

The Kaleesh grabbed his shoulder with an impressive grip and swung his body forwards, marching him down the hallway. "Move."

The Mirialan woman frowned and sped up to walk on his other side, looking towards the Kaleesh. "I just think—"

"You think too much, Kiali," the Kaleesh cut her off. "You're paranoid. If you want to advance in the Force, you must conquer your fear, not heed it."

Kiali's frown deepened, but she dropped the matter. Not long after, they came to a rusty door that screeched a little as it opened, and the Kaleesh shoved him inside.

The room was a large round chamber with a beam of dim twilight filtering through a skylight, with a set of exercise equipment and training mats littered around the center. Along the right wall were prison cells fashioned out of repurposed animal cages, some empty, some with single occupants of a myriad of species. On the opposite wall, a reptilian alien of some species Nerim did not recognize with a large jaw and jowls hanging from his face along with large magnifying goggles over his eyes, turned to look at him from a table covered in datapads and small gadgets.

Nerim frowned. "Wait, am I employed, or a slave?"

"These are more fluid categories than you realize," the Kaleesh smirked. He was brought forward and to an open cage, where he was pushed towards the entrance.

That feeling of cold slime traveling up his viscera occurred, and he concentrated hard on not reacting. He had a bad feeling about this, but without that electricity, without that immediacy, he knew the Force wasn't telling him to resist. Only to prepare.

He stumbled into the cage, and the door behind him shuddered into place.

The locking mechanism was fully inaccessible, the latch having no way to be operated from the cage itself. The Kaleesh nodded to the reptilian alien at the desk, and he moved to a computer tucked away on the side of the desk and tapped on it. Nerim closed his eyes and drunkenly lulled to the side a little, resting on the bars while focusing on the sound of the buttons as they were pressed. The cage door shuddered as a bolt locked into place, apparently operated from the machine.

Satisfied that the cage was locked, the Kaleesh turned and began walking towards the exit, not offering an explanation as to what was happening. However, the Mirialan lingered a moment, staring at Nerim. Kiali's light pink eyes stared into Nerim's amber ones, and after a few seconds she spoke. "What's your name?"

Nerim blinked slowly and rested his forehead on the bars, staring back at her, his face half-obscured by the durasteel. "Lady, walk away. I think it's best if our paths don't meet."

Her brow furrowed in thought, but the Kaleesh reached the exit and as the door screeched open, she turned to shout in that unknown language, "Let's go!"

Kiali turned and left. Nerim took a moment to take a deep breath, and then sat down on the floor of his cage, letting the feeling of his head slowly spinning fade as he focused his internal energies and began to sober up. Before he could get too far, a familiar voice cut through the air in Basic.

"Great, we're both prisoners now."

He turned. The cage to his immediate right held a large musclebound Trandoshan with a prominent black eye, whose gaze flicked nervously between Nerim and the cage to his right, which held a scowling Human woman in a tattered red undershirt and trousers with her wrists cuffed together and strung up to the top of her cage. It was only the second time Nerim had seen Jianno without a scrap of armor on.

"So we have to rely on Arwain, now?" Jianno asked sarcastically.

"Oh, no, she was taken prisoner like three hours ago," Nerim replied.

"Fantastic."

Nerim let a moment of silence linger.

"I hate you two," Jianno continued. Then she took a deep breath, and groaned it out in frustration. "Sorry."

Nerim smiled.

"This place is crawling with Dark Jedi," Jianno growled. "Before you go blaming me, I didn't go looking for trouble. I was doing my mission. I didn't even get within a mile of the palace, they found me."

"I don't blame you," Nerim said. He was unsure if he actually believed her story or not, but he internally acknowledged that it wouldn't make any difference whether she was or wasn't. "These Syaniids are the real deal. At least, as far as Dark Jedi go."

"Yeah. They're organized," Jianno said, struggling against her handcuffs. "They have some sort of code language they speak to each other. As far as I can tell, no one's ever heard it before. Makes you wonder just how long they've been around."

"That explains it," Nerim sighed. "Well, what are we doing in here?"

Jianno huffed and pulled hard, lifting herself up. She wrapped her legs around the bars atop the cage to hang upside down, letting her arms rest from carrying her weight. "The Hutts use slaves for gladiatorial matches. Only, usually the bet isn't who will win. It's how long they'll stay alive."

"So we have to get out of here before—"

"Hey!" The shrill voice of the reptilian alien carried across the room as he gestured angrily at Jianno. "Get down from there!"

"Ne shab'rud'ni," Jianno growled, glaring at him as her short black hair hung down.

The reptilian slammed his hand down on a button, and a metallic humming noise emanated from Jianno's cage. A few sparks jumped from her handcuffs to her body or to the bars she was hanging on. She didn't react. The alien looked down at its shock remote, bewildered.

"So how do we break out?" Nerim asked.

"You got a plan?" Jianno grunted through the pain as the alien kept pressing the shock button, unsure if it was working.

"I'm missing some details," Nerim admitted. "But I've got it mostly worked out." He turned to the Trandoshan. "Do you have a plan?"

The Trandoshan raised his hands up defensively and shook his head vigorously. "Noo, mee, noo, noo," he said with a heavy accent, scooting to the back of his cage.

Jianno snorted. "Almost forgot he was there." She looked to Nerim. "So, what's your plan, shrimp?"

"Well, it's a little slapdash, but..." Nerim reached into his coat, pulled out his blaster pistol, and fired it at the alien behind the desk. The green bolt shot right through the alien's chest, and the reptilian looked down at the wound and then back up at Nerim in shock, and then fell off his seat.

Jianno stared in furious disbelief at Nerim, a vein in her forehead becoming quite prominent. "They didn't check you for god-damned weapons?" She choked out through grit teeth, her face turning bright red, though whether it was from anger, pain, or just because she was upside down, Nerim couldn't tell.

He smiled and shrugged. "It seems the Light Side is just as good at clouding the vision of Dark Siders as vice versa. Now I—" Nerim suddenly stopped, looking back towards the dead alien and noticing that the shock remote had fallen to the ground upside down, the button pinned down. He looked back to Jianno, seeing sparks flying from her body. "Oh my—I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! " Nerim apologized quickly as he reached his arm out of the cage and attempted to focus on the remote.

Still, he wasn't sure if Jianno even noticed the shocking. Her eyes slowly became bloodshot as she glared at him. "They didn't check you for weapons?!" She repeated, louder. "These are the shabuir that the Force produces?! I hate you!" She shouted, her cage shuddering from side to side with her struggling.

"Hold on—let me just—I'm sorry!" Nerim babbled, attempting and failing to recenter himself as he reached out with the Force. The remote slightly jiggled as his slippery grasp on the Force struggled to lift it.

The musclebound Trandoshan whined and curled up, resting his chin on his knees.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 60: To A Dark Place​

Once Nerim managed to flip the shock remote, he focused on the computer, and used the Force to tap the sequence of keys that opened his cage. The door slid to the side, and he quickly exited and rushed to the alien to search its body for keys.

He momentarily stopped, his hand hovering over the corpse, still warm with life. He could sense the gut flora and skin cells still performing metabolism in the body, though the brain had already almost entirely decayed. He pursed his lips and breathed out, trying not to smell the burnt ozone. No time to get squeamish, he reminded himself.

He found a code cylinder and rotated the control ring until it extended the small conductor that served as a key, and then took aim and tossed it across the room into Jianno's cage. He then stood and began tapping at the computer, and by the time he had found how to unlock her cage, Jianno had already freed herself from her bindings.

The entire time, the other cages howled with chatter and pleas and demands to let them out. He considered the situation, and decided he had to ignore them. They would immediately blow whatever cover the two of them had, and they needed every millisecond to make this work.

Jianno approached, and Nerim nodded to her. "Where's your gear?"

"Don't know. Probably put in Yenchara's personal vault. No getting it now," she said coarsely.

He balked. "You can't be serious...You're giving up on your arm—"

"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam," She said stoically. A warrior is more than her armor. "If we free my people, it's a trivial cost. We have to focus first and foremost on that."

Nerim took another breath—trying to avoid the smell—and nodded. "Okay. First step, disable their slave bombs. What's the plan?"

She looked down and lightly kicked the corpse of the reptilian alien. "Find this wormfood's counterpart. The only way to stop the bomb signal is to set up a strong jammer signal to block it out, and the jammer I brought is still on the Lucky Worm. It'd take most the night to lug it here. Skissa's quartermaster should have one, though."

"Right," Nerim nodded. "We'll have to be careful. If we get caught..."

"Yeah," Jianno sighed. "And the bombs will go off after an hour without a check in to his detonation remote regardless, so we'll need to exfil fast."

Nerim looked up and pointed towards where the wall and ceiling met, where a ventilation shaft was located. "This building is split down the middle, so their pit should be on the opposite side, no? Maybe the quartermaster is there."

Jianno looked at the vent for a second, and then shook her head. "No. It's not symmetrical, and their pit is too small to store all of Skissa's hardware anyways. But that's a good place to get started. Come on," she said, shoving a box towards the wall. The various prisoners continued shouting in escalating desperation or anger, but the room was soundproofed, so Nerim figured they were safe until someone wandered in. When that would be, though, he didn't know.

They climbed the box and then Jianno held out her hands together for Nerim to step on, and then pulled and tossed him upwards just enough to get his fingers on a ledge. He climbed up and found himself face to face with the vent. Closing his eyes and focusing, he felt the screws inside loosen, and then the panel fell off. By that time, Jianno had grabbed a cable from one of the archaic exercise machines and tossed it up to him, and he hoisted it for her to climb up.

It occurred to him that they were working quite well together, despite being unable to communicate their intents through the Force. He smiled as she clambered up into the cramped vent behind him. "I'm glad to get to work together with you for a change. Usually you're lone wolf, or off with Arwain."

"I wouldn't call what me and Arwain do 'working together'," Jianno scoffed.

"Still," Nerim laughed, crawling forward through the vent.

"How is she doing, by the way?" Jianno asked with uncharacteristic sincerity.

"When I last saw her, she was doing backflips for the Hutt. Now..." Nerim stopped, closed his eyes, and focused on...nothing. The Force around him was cloudy, stirred into turbulence. He frowned. "Hm. I cannot sense her." He tried to change his focus, but it didn't help. "Or Tetha. Or much of anything, actually..."

He had sort of lost track of Arwain after he lost sight of her, come to think of it. The only scraps of information he had gotten were of the people immediately around him. Perhaps this place was clouded more than he realized, or maybe his grasp on the Force still wasn't solid. Regardless, Jianno prodded his calf impatiently. "Alright, all the more reason to move quickly. And quietly."

The vents were circuitous and cramped, and though Jianno remembered the palace layout from her childhood to some extent, navigation was still difficult. They spent nearly half an hour scuttling around, scoping out rooms and finding dead ends, until they had mapped out everything they could. In many rooms, exit was not viable. The vents were too high up, too public, in rooms guarded with Mandalorians or mercenaries or cameras. From this segment, none actually lead to the room they were looking for, but after exiting into a pantry, a relatively quick run down a hallway with a prayer that it would remain empty was all that stood between them.

While they stood in the pantry, Nerim offered his blaster pistol to Jianno. "You're a better shot," he said.

She looked down at it, and slowly nodded. There was something rather intimate in her clan's culture about sharing your sidearm; rifles and weapons of utility like grenades and vehicles were to be freely distributed among whomever was the most capable at that particular moment, but a Mando's holdout weapon was for them alone, and only trusted to their closest family members. It wasn't lost on Nerim; that was what he was offering. She took the blaster gratefully, and then they moved down the hall swiftly and silently.

A rather imposing and musclebound Gamorrean stood at the door to the vault; a well-placed blaster shot to the skull dropped him before he even registered that intruders were approaching. Nerim quickly reached down to the Gamorrean's belt, ripped out his code cylinder, and placed it into the panel next to the armory door. The panel blinked green and then asked for a code to finish the unlocking process.

"Spast," Jianno cursed. "A code, now? The cylinder used to be enough. Spast, spast, what now...?" she grit her teeth.

Nerim looked at the panel, his hand hovering over it. He knew what he had to do. He had never done it before, but the longer he spent in exile from the Order, the more he let his old nature slip away, the easier powers seemed to flow from him. He still wasn't particularly strong, but he knew he could bypass the mental blocks he experienced, if only he had the will to do it.

He reached out. The Force around him was faltering and treacherous, and the waters he was wading out into were unfamiliar and cold, and unsettling things touched him as he lowered his guard and dived in. He fully let down his Force Immunity and allowed the currents to take him and the unseen slimy things hidden in those currents to bump up against him. There were creatures in these depths that he had not yet even conceived of. Not bad, he reminded himself. Scary, but not bad. Dangerous, but not bad.

He propelled his aura into the device, and felt the currents of the Force beginning to mingle with the currents of electricity, wrapping around the circuits and grasping the transistors. Arwain had told him the theory before. Success was already built into the machine; like all computers, it had a win-state, and it merely wanted him to jump through hoops to get to it. Like a pair of scissors cutting against time, he simply willed himself to skip that process, and land at the place where victory was already assured.

A long minute passed, and then another, and then suddenly his eyes opened and he gasped for breath, having realized again that he was holding it. The panel beeped in the affirmative, and the door rapidly slid open. He didn't have an instant to celebrate or even recognize his victory. He and Jianno rushed inside.

In the room, which was lined with various arms, armor, and gadgets trapped behind glowing walls of energy, there were two individuals. One was a wrinkly and blue-skinned Twi'lek man in what seemed to be his 70's, with spectacles balanced on his nose and a rather dignified and flowing outfit and much jewelry, sat behind a desk with his feet kicked up on its surface in clean boots. The other was a Mandalorian, a Nautolan man half-again Nerim's height, half-finished putting on his armor, yet to have been distributed a weapon.

In the same instant, Jianno leveled the gun at the Twi'lek, who himself raised up a remote and pointed it towards the Nautolan. The Twi'lek quartermaster's face was one of mild fear, pursed lips and widened eyes half-obscured by the glasses low on his nose, but controlled enough to show some sort of intent beyond incoherent terror. Jianno didn't pull the trigger, and the Twi'lek didn't press the button.

The Nautolan's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Little Grenna?" He asked in Mandalorian.

Nerim whipped his head around. Grenna?!

Jianno's face twitched, the myriad of emotions playing out in her soul instantly quashed with iron discipline. "Put down the remote."

The Twi'lek's eyes stayed locked to Jianno's. "Mr. Ji'tanii," he addressed the other Mandalorian, "Remember, this remote is not just keyed to you, but your wife and child as well. Think deeply on this matter before acting rashly."

The Nautolan, Ji'tanii, looked between the three of them, conflict playing out across his features. Somehow, Nerim could tell right away that this man was willing to die for Jianno. But he wasn't willing to sacrifice his family.

Jianno kept the gun leveled at the Twi'lek's head, and slowly stepped sideways to the corner of the room. "Put down the remote," she repeated, harsher.

"Mr. Ji'tanii..." The Twi'lek beckoned. Ji'tanii began to step forward, but Nerim stepped inbetween him and Jianno.

"Don't try it," Nerim warned him, adopting a martial stance. He spoke to the Twi'lek, keeping his eyes on Ji'tanii. "The only reason we haven't shot you yet is that the bombs would make the alarm go off. You blow him up, we have no reason not to kill you," he said, the lie of omission coming easily to him. "You blow him up, you die."

The Twi'lek took his other hand and slowly pushed his glasses up. "If I don't make you leave, you'll kill me. So it seems we're at an impasse."

"The way I see it, you have about one and a half ways out of this," Nerim reasoned. "If this Mandalorian can beat me and disarm her, then you get to live for sure. If I beat him, then we might let you live. If you blow him up, you definitely die. So why don't you give him a chance to beat me, and then work it out later?"

There was a short silence, as the individuals in the room considered their options. Except for Nerim, who had already decided. He examined his opponent. Ji'tanii had already donned a breastplate and the upper thigh guards, but had yet to put on gauntlets, boots, or shin guards, among other things. Hits to his body wouldn't work, but Nerim at least wasn't at risk of being squished with a crushgaunt, or fried with a flamethrower.

The Twi'lek made his choice. "You're definitely not letting me live either way. Ji'tanii, kill them. If you fail, I'm pressing the button."

Without a moment's delay, the Nautolan charged towards Nerim.

Nerim moved forward into his charge, cutting his foot low and attempting to kick out the Mandalorian's ankle. The Mandalorian swiftly changed stances, and they began a series of swings, attempted grapples, and kicks. Nerim wrapped his leg around the back of the Mandalorian's, pushing both his arms against the Mando's upper chest to trip him backwards hard. Ji'tanii caught on and clung onto Nerim, pulling him down into a rolling fall and sticking his other foot in Nerim's stomach. When Nerim rolled down with him, Ji'tanii pushed hard and let go, sending Nerim flying with the momentum into one of the energy walls.

Nerim landed against the field feet first and pushed off, rolling back towards his opponent with no wasted motion. Ji'tanii had begun getting up and moving towards Jianno, but Nerim used all his momentum and kicked hard at the back of Ji'tanii's knees, knocking his legs out from under him and causing him to fall back. Nerim skipped to a stop on the burning soles of his boots in front of him, placing himself beside Jianno, and returned back to his natural fighting stance, open-palmed and his legs wide and low to the ground. The Nautolan looked up to him with shock on his face, and recognition. "Jedi?!" He asked in bewildered Mando'a.

Nerim didn't respond, and kicked again, aiming for the Nautolan's head. He didn't even manage to catch his tentacles as Ji'tanii spun on the floor, a series of limbs lashing out in a well-practiced motion and intercepting Nerim's own.

It wasn't even quite clear when Ji'tanii had returned to a standing position, but a swift punch to Nerim's face sent his head snapping backwards and blood rushing down from his nose. Ji'tanii went in for the next strike, but in a sudden unexpected motion, Nerim spun with the momentum. His left heel was suddenly striking from the upper right, and slammed into the side of the Mandalorian's face. Ji'tanii tried to raise his guard, only for Nerim to grab his arm, throw both of them to the side, and then wrench the Mandalorian over his shoulders and send him sprawling out on the floor towards the far side of the room.

They both rose, Ji'tanii returning to his stance with heavy breathing and a baffled expression. Nerim slowly stood up, patting his knees and causing a small cloud of sand and dust to fall from him. He smiled and pointed to the Mandalorian, and spoke in Huttese. "You use hawk-bat form," he grinned, blood running down his face. "Old Mandalorian style. Very scary. To Jedi." His grin fell and was replaced with an expression of determination, and he planted his feet in the ground standing on his toes, and arranged his arms in front of him, fingers splayed and curled slightly inwards, in the form Aesha had taught him. "Not Cathar."

The Twi'lek risked a glance away from Jianno towards the Nautolan, a bead of sweat beginning to trail down his brow. "Ji'tanii," he warned.

Ji'tanii rushed forward and met Nerim with a flurry of blows, Nerim's clawing narrowly missing Ji'tanii's eyes, and Ji'tanii's crushing blows narrowly missing Nerim's jaw. The Mandalorian went for an uppercut and Nerim intercepted it, Ji'tanii followed it up with an attempted headbutt and Nerim leaned back and maintained balance by hooking a foot around his opponent's calf, and then jumped off his remaining foot. With one behind the Nautolan's calf and the other kicking into his knee, Nerim pushed and pulled with opposite legs, and the Mandalorian's knee cracked with an awful noise and he cried in pain, and both fell to the ground.

Nerim rolled back to his feet and kept his guard up just long enough to be sure that Ji'tanii couldn't stand back up—and the Nautolan did try, scrambling to his feet and then falling a few times. They caught each other's eyes, and Nerim winked with the eye that the Twi'lek couldn't see. Then, Nerim hopped forward and spun his whole body, whipping his foot around as fast as he possibly could, and his boot brushed the Mandalorian's head. Nerim shouted a loud kiai with the blow, masking the lack of a meaty thud one would expect from a solid hit.

Ji'tanii apparently caught the message, and fell to the floor like a corpse, limp and faking agonal breathing, as if the blow had landed perfectly and scrambled his brain on the spot.

Then Nerim turned to the Twi'lek, who Jianno was still holding at gunpoint, and crossed his arms. "Nice prize fighter. Now that you're down to two options, would you like to reconsider their differences?"

The Twi'lek looked between them, more than one bead of sweat dripping down his brow. Then he heaved a sigh and lowered his arm down, and slid the remote along the floor towards them. "Alright. I'm too old for this. You win. Kill me or don't, whatever."

Jianno gestured with her pistol, still not lowering it. "Turn off the containment fields."

"Sure, whatever, I'll give you a backrub if that makes you feel better," the quartermaster grumbled, standing up and tapping a long, arduous code into the panel on the wall. All of the fields went down, and the weapons and armor were now easily accessible.

Nerim let out a sigh of relief. "Now we—"

Jianno pulled the trigger and the Twi'lek fell with a green shriek of energy and the bubbling of flesh.

Nerim suddenly froze. His arms fell to his side along with his heart into his stomach, and his face paled. Suddenly something was deeply wrong—or, was it that he just remembered something? There were some sort of words being repeated from his memory, but his self didn't hear it. His lips were hot with the blood running down them. He stared at the body on the floor, and after a moment of ringing in his ears, he realized Jianno was trying to talk to him.

"Nerim? Nerim!" She snapped her fingers near his ear. She was on the other side of him now, moving towards Ji'tanii.

"He surrendered," Nerim replied dumbly.

"What?" Jianno tilted her head in confusion, helping Ji'tanii into a sitting position against the wall.

"He wasn't...I mean, you could have stunned him," he said meekly.

Jianno stared at him blankly for a moment, and then shook her head and shrugged. "Who cares? He's a slaver."

"I—I just think you could have stunned him is all."

"And he could have woken up and pressed the alarm—or worse, he could have—you killed the other quatermaster!" She raised her hands palms-up in frustration.

"Well, it's just, that one was in the process of enslaving me, but this guy had already..." Nerim's voice sounded weak and faltering, even to him. The words coming out of his mouth felt almost alien—or was it that he felt alien to himself? They were words, but he didn't know where they went, what they were getting at. But some part of him desperately wished he did know where they were going, and how to follow them there.

Ji'tanii groaned in pain and propped himself up. "Who is this?" He asked in Mandalorian

"Ugh, sorry. He's just a Jedi, it's how they are," she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not...I'm not a Jedi," he said quietly. Quietly enough that they didn't hear.

"Little Grenna," the Nautolan laughed despite the severity of his wounds. "By Ha'ran, I didn't think I'd ever get to see you again. I had hoped not!"

She grinned at him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's so good to see you."

Nerim looked between them, and then to that awful corpse again, and had to look away. The words kept circling around in his head. He had surrendered. You can't kill someone after they surrender in good faith. You can't? Jedi can't. But he wasn't a Jedi; he wasn't bound to their use of force continuum. Or was it a religious law that applied to all? Was there even such a thing? Nobody was ever specific when teaching him this, because the only Force Users they ever considered during his studies were members of the Jedi Order. Everything was so muddled together in his head; were some rules just because that's what you had to do to be a good officer of the Republic, or to be a good person? Why didn't Fae or Arwain clarify any of this?!

"Nerim!" Jianno called out. Then she turned to Ji'tanii. "His name is Nerim, by the way."

"Thank you, Nerim," he said in Huttese.

"You're welcome," Nerim replied in Mando'a, his insides still crawling.

Ji'tanii blinked in surprise. "You know our tongue?"

"Uhh," Jianno averted her gaze, apparently embarrassed. "Look, we have to move quickly. I'm going to get a jammer set up. By nature, that'll block our call to the Saarkanians. You've gotta get them in on this plan, Nerim."

"Right," Nerim took a deep breath. "Right. Hold on," he said, fishing for the communicator in his pocket. He pulled it out, and opened the line. "Vseyav, are you there?"

Only a moment of static. "Yes," came the Saarkanian governor's voice. "Do you have the Dark Jedi?"

"Sort of. We're going to have to move the timeline up," Nerim said flatly. "The Dark Jedi are inside the Hutt palace. You're going to have to send in the strike team to extract the Mandalorians and the Dark Jedi at the same time."

"What?!" Vseyav shouted in outrage, his voice shrouded in static as the communicator normalized the volume. "Are you joking? This is not the plan! This is not the deal—"

"The deal's changed, Vseyav!" Nerim shouted back. He glanced to the corpse, and then glanced away again. "And we just—we just have to hope it doesn't change any more than this."

There was silence on Vseyav's end. No doubt he was considering if he could do anything about the situation. But Nerim knew it was out of the question. Backing down after all of these maneuvers would be political suicide for him. His voice came back across, icy and smooth. "Okay. What's the new plan?"

Nerim looked up and around at the room. It was encased in tenacidium, an alloy of durasteel that heavily resisted various energies, presumably to protect the equipment within—or the rest of the palace from an accident with the munitions. "We're going to get all of the Mandalorians into the safe room in the southwest quadrant of the palace, as planned. Then you're going to invade and extract us, as planned. Only difference is that there's gonna be a Dark Jedi with us."

"Okay. We can work with that. When is it happening?"

Nerim turned to Ji'tanii. "When's the best time to gather them up?"

Ji'tanii swallowed his pain. "Right when the feast begins, everyone's going to be shuffled around on guard duty, to follow the Hutts. Best time to make movements with some delays on the rest of security noticing. That's in..." He looked at the cracked chronometer on his wrist. "About fifteen minutes. Give or take."

Nerim took a deep breath, looked at his own timekeeper, and spoke into the communicator. "Forty minutes from now. 11:38 Standard Coruscant Time. On the dot. Not a moment earlier, you hear me?"

"Understood," Vseyav said coldly. "We will be precise."

"In a few minutes, we are going to set up a communications jammer. We'll be going dark when that happens. Good luck," Nerim said.

"You will need it more than me," Vseyav admitted with an audible shrug.

The room was then silent, and after a moment, Nerim turned to Jianno. "This is going to be tough. How are we gonna fight our way through this?"

Jianno met his eyes with resolve, and said two simple words.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 61: Like Animals​

For roughly half an hour Nerim and Jianno split ways and crept around the palace, subtly informing the various enslaved Mandalorians of the plan. Jianno went to the creche where they kept their young, and Nerim wandered the halls for any guards on duty.

It wasn't too hard for him to wander in Skissa's half of the palace, as there were no Syaniids to recognize him as an escaped prisoner—another sign of the distrust between the Hutts, seeing as Skissa wasn't informed in the first place. Those few gossiping partiers who knew that Nerim had been taken by the Syaniids simply assumed he was working on behalf of Yenchara.

When Nerim began the leg of the mission, he felt anxiety that he wouldn't have enough time. It didn't take long for that to turn into a desperate, pressing need for time to run out. Every time he checked the clock was pure agony, amplified by the clouding of his senses in the Force.

His communicator buzzed, and he opened the channel. Jianno's voice came through. "You wrapped up yet?"

"Yeah," Nerim said. "I've canvassed my entire section, going to look for the others now."

"Good. I've located Arwain in the south vista room, I'm going to try and get her now. No clue where Tetha is."

Nerim frowned, deeply troubled by that. "If she's not in your section or mine..."

"One of the no-go zones," Jianno agreed, referencing the areas high in Syaniid security and without Mandalorians, which they had thus far ignored. "But I don't know what secret chamber they're hidden in. Either way, things are getting risky, we need to turn on the jammer."

"Yeah. See you in the armory," Nerim replied curtly, and turned off his communicator. He looked out one of the omnipresent floor-to-ceiling windows. The world had gone dark as the sun fell and all twilight faded away. They had planned on doing a night raid anyways.

Time was slipping quickly, and the palace would soon begin buzzing when they realized they were being jammed—which wouldn't take long. He had no good plans for locating the Syaniids, or Tetha. But he did have a bad one, and a bad plan vigorously executed was better than hesitation.

He strode up to one of the large Hutt-sized elevators which would lead to the higher level observation decks, where the Hutts private sanctums were, along with the feasting room, and other sections less clear to outsiders. The guards, two Mandalorians he had already informed, nodded to him and let him pass, while quickly abandoning their post and jogging towards the armory. Then the elevator began slowly sliding upwards in a way not too dissimilar to reversed video footage of a Hutt drooling.

"Are you kidding me? I almost wish I was back in the High Council elevator..." Nerim muttered to himself, tapping his foot impatiently.

Finally, it reached its destination. The wide doors slid open, and he was greeted with a hallway that spanned almost the length of the entire palace, with one very obvious open set of doors casting light and echoing with Huttese, laughter, and the ever-unsettling sounds of consumption that Hutts insisted on making.

He trundled down the hallway, making no attempt to muffle his footsteps or creep in the shadows. When he reached the doorway, he swung around the doorframe and entered nonchalantly. The feasting room was comprised of a large, oddly shaped table somewhere between a trapezoid and an oval, with Skissa at one end, Yenchara at the other, and a smattering of guests inbetween. Two Mandalorians stood guard, as did two Syaniids, who both startled at his sudden appearance.

Nerim froze, staring blankly at the crowd, and then gave an embarrassed smile. "Um, sorry, I was told I could find my friend here."

"Hmm!" Yenchara hummed, eyes widened. She nodded, impressed. "Quick recovery time after your surgery!"

He resisted the urge to frown at that. So he was about to get a slaver bomb too.

"Aaaugh, this one of your new toys?" Skissa gurgled. He was much larger than Yenchara. His hide was a warty, dark brownish-green, as opposed to the lighter orangish-green of Yenchara's. He wore a necklace made of what Nerim soon realized were slave remotes, all electrum-plated. He looked much less impressed than Yenchara. "This one a Force User, too?"

"No," Yenchara grinned. "Much more useful. I figure he might actually understand orders!"

Nerim saw the two Syaniids, both Human women, look between each other in bewilderment. While Yenchara was apparently under the impression that it was okay for Nerim to be walking around, the Syaniids definitely thought he shouldn't have been. Apparently they had different ideas of what was supposed to happen to him in that pit.

Skissa rolled his giant, dimly purple eyes. "You take on new talent too fast, invest in them too quickly and give them too much freedom. End up stuck with losers. Look at them," he said, gesturing vaguely to the Syaniids. "Useless."

"Hah! They're a hell of a lot more perceptive than your apes," she rebuked. "Four catches in a row. Including one of your little escapees. That's what Force Users are good for."

"One of these days, one of your catches will come back to bite you," he said, eyes narrowed.

"I'm betting they'll bite you first," she grinned like a viper.

"Yeah so uh, where's my girlfriend?" Nerim asked bluntly, again committing the heinous faux-pas of interrupting a Hutt—except this time much worse, given it was two talking to each other.

Still, he had the sense that Yenchara was a different kind of Hutt. One who's desire to look like she was in control would lead her to go along with disruptions, act as if things were going to her will. She smiled and performed a gesture to shoo him away. "Syaniids, dears, take our little gladiator to his little friend, would you? It'll be good motivation for his fight tomorrow."

Without objection, the Syaniids moved forward in unison and grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him out of the room. The Mandalorians gave him one last worried glance as he exited, and he heard Skissa begin lecturing his daughter on how to properly whip the help when they were insubordinate. He was shoved into the hallway and bid to walk forwards, towards a more central part of the palace.

One of the Syaniids looked to the other, and spoke in that strange language he couldn't identify. "How did a boy this stupid end up with a woman of her abilities?"

"I don't know, but he's obviously holding her back," the other said. Then they briefly stopped and she banged on the door of a smaller room, which almost instantly opened, revealing something that Nerim found uncomfortably similar to a Jedi meditation chamber. Sitting in the center was the Kaleesh woman who threw him in earlier, who opened her eyes and raised her head to them.

Nerim frowned. "That's not my girlfriend. Are you guys confused or something?"

"This thing got loose," One of the humans holding him by the collar said. "Do we just move up the timetable or...?"

The Kaleesh sighed heavily, and stood up. "Normally, but I think the Mistress has other plans for Meetra."

"Oh," he raised an eyebrow, noticing Tetha's codename. "I heard her name in there. Can't get that past me. Where is she?"

"Quiet," the Kaleesh growled in Huttese.

"He is remarkably dull," one of the others agreed, pushing him forward deeper into the chamber, towards the far corner of the room.

Then without warning, that Sephi who spoke in Yenchara's ear in the grand hall entered the room. Without delay, the two Humans stood to either side of her and tilted their heads down deferentially in respect, while the Kaleesh stood tall and at attention almost as if she were in the military, placing one guarding hand on Nerim's shoulder. The Sephi woman had dull, gray eyes, and gaunt cheeks. Her face was slightly wrinkled with age, which given the Sephi's 200 year lifespan meant she was likely quite a bit older.

Nerim was keeping himself distanced from the Force, to prevent his own detection, but he still easily felt her aura radiating. It was like that of one of the Jedi Masters in a way, focused and well-honed. But where the Masters acted almost like signposts for the Force, scattering it in many ways around them, she acted like a sinkhole, welling up and coalescing the Force around and within her. She stared at him for a moment, narrowed her eyes, and glanced to the Kaleesh. "What is he doing here?"

Nerim looked down at his time piece. 11:36. He looked back up, and as the Kaleesh was about to respond, he spoke over her. "Can we speed this up?"

"Quiet!" The Kaleesh shouted, placing a hand to the back of his neck and forcing his head down. Then she spoke in the Syaniid language. "He somehow convinced the quartermaster to let him loose. Do we kill him?"

The Sephi shook her head slowly. "Meetra is too attached to him. She has to be the one to do it. She'll have to go through the surgery first, however."

"You said her name again," Nerim spoke coldly, keeping his head down, his expression hardening. His heart began pumping quickly. Why did he split up with her? What was happening? "Tell me where she is."

"She's being inducted into our Order, and that means out of your life," the Sephi said callously. "You have little idea how lucky you are to be alive, and you should spend your last moments praying."

Nerim's heart was pounding in his ears now. What happened to her while he was gone? He just left her to the Syaniids? What was he thinking? Memories began flashing behind his eyes. He was trying to save Jianno. And Arwain. And Vena Riila. How in the hell was he supposed to save all of them at once? And why the hell were these people trying to hurt everyone he loved?

He looked back up and glared into her eyes. "I want to see her."

One of the Humans let loose a short laugh. "I told you, he's dumb as duracrete."

"This is exactly the reason why romantic contact is forbidden," the other Human shook her head in disgust. "You end up tied to idiots like this."

"Stop gossiping and tell me where she is," Nerim grit his teeth. 11:37.

The Kaleesh's grip on his neck tightened. She smacked him across the face with her other hand, causing fresh blood to begin running down from his nose, and then reached beneath her shoulder and grabbed for something. A vibroblade came out, a short tanto, and began ringing. "You use that tongue one more time and you're going to lose it," she hissed, pulling his head back to look up at her.

"I've never done a thing to you," Nerim said icily. Arwain was in chains. Jianno was unarmored. Tetha was...Nerim's heart beat faster even as his mind instinctively recoiled from the thought. All for what? What could these savages possibly do to justify this?

"You don't have to. In fact, that's the goal. We would prefer you didn't," the Mistress said, slowly smiling at him. She turned to one of the Humans and nodded. "Let's cripple him a little, make it easier for Meetra when her time comes."

The Human who was showing disgust nodded, and then reared back and punched Nerim in the gut, causing him to double over and grunt in pain. Blood dripped from his face to the floor. That animal in his head woke up again; that same one that stirred within him when he fought Chey-Linn.

The Kaleesh then pulled him back up and held up her vibroblade to his face. "Open your mouth, or I'll just cut through the lips and teeth," she warned.

Nerim stared up at her, veins bulging in his forehead, eyes bloodshot and intense. "I do not like being bullied," he said in the Syaniid language.

Everyone in the room froze. The Kaleesh's jaw dropped, and her pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

11:38. The entire building groaned as a wave of ion beams showered it from the Saarkanian warship above. The lights sparked and exploded, bathing the room in darkness, and the vibroblade went still as its battery died.

Nerim bit down on the now-stilled blade, holding it between his teeth tightly, and then kicked as hard as he could into the Kaleesh's knee and elbowed her in the ribs. It broke both bones, and she let go of both him and the blade, falling with a cry of pain. Both of the Humans charged him in the darkness, and Nerim let out two swift strikes, one kick between the legs that dropped one to her knees, and a straight punch to the throat of the other, collapsing her windpipe and causing her to fall to the ground choking. Nerim pulled the knife from his teeth and slashed the throat of the Human on her knees.

The Sephi brought up the great well of Force around her and cast it forward in a wave of telekinetic power; Nerim threw himself into Force Immunity, and it passed through him, leaving him unharmed and cracking the wall behind him. He lunged forward and brought the tanto down like an icepick, driving it through the Mistress' forehead. He withdrew the blade and she fell to the ground, and then he turned and tossed the tanto at the Kaleesh in the dark. He was a little off target, and it landed in her shoulder, and she screamed. He then exited the room, as the building began to shake.

He dropped his Force Immunity again and reached out, grabbing the Force and demanding Tetha's location. It obliged, and she wasn't far. He ran down the halls in the opposite direction from the Hutts, hearing distant explosions and fire being exchanged.

That small voice that had been objecting, that had been reminding him of his Jedi duties, he threw into a dark corner and locked it away. It had gotten him into trouble—the people he loved into trouble—and maybe more than that, more than anything else, he was sick and tired of constantly worrying about it in the face of unjustifiable evil.

The dark halls were surprisingly large and echoed with every step. He passed by gigantic windows, seeing the flashes of blasterfire and the flickering of lights as the city around the palace was struck by the ionic cannons as collateral. The ion cannons fired again, and the blasterfire stopped. The ship above them disgorged two smaller ships, elongated atmospheric vessels, which dropped like rocks and fired rockets at the last second to avoid crashing into the ground. Saarkanian soldiers began disembarking, and with all of the blasters rendered inoperable, they opened up with their slugthrowers, lighting the plaza up with gunfire.

Saarkanians, after all, were able to see in the dark quite easily without help, and lagged behind in technology quite notably. A battle in the dark without any electronics or flashlights, let alone blasters, favored them. It was a method to drag enemies down to their level, and beat them with experience.

Nerim saw a Zabrak Syaniid emerge, confused, from a doorway. He used all the momentum of his sprint to perform a flying kick into her stomach, knocking her back against the wall. He punched four more times, disorienting her and distracting her with pain, and then pulled back and performed a high kick, smashing her head into the wall. She fell, concussed, possibly hemorrhaging. It felt good to finally engage with them on a level playing field.

Rushing through the open door and towards a more central location, he felt Tetha's aura close in. She was awake—maybe even...?

He reached the sliding metal door and held his arm out, grabbing the object in the Force and throwing it open. Stepping in, saw what he was looking for; Tetha, unharmed. She still had her jacket on, and the place had obviously not been used yet. She must have managed to delay the procedure long enough for him to arrive. The slaver bomb was sitting on a desk nearby, unused.

She was sitting on the far end of the room on an operating table, which made it apparent this was an infirmary of some sort. By her side was Vena Riila, the Togruta he had come to save, and Kiali, that Mirialan who had brought him to the pit in the first place.

He breathed out, and the animal in his head lowered its hackles. "Thank the Force."

Tetha, though surprised, blinked and let out her own breath of relief. "Oh my stars, you're so good at timing," she said, reaching beneath her jacket. Kiali jumped back into a corner in fear, and Tetha retrieved her lightsaber. "Alright, Vena—"

Vena Riila drew a tanto and stabbed it into Tetha's stomach, tossing her back off the operating table. Tetha tried to activate her lightsaber, but it too had been disabled by the ion barrage. She fell to the floor with a pained gasp, and out of Nerim's sight. He screamed. "No!"

Vena turned to Nerim, hatred in her eyes. "It's time to settle this, Jedi."

The moment the shock wore off, the animal raised back to its feet, barely constrained by the last little ounce of that small voice in his head, telling him that he simply did not understand the situation, that he needed to receive more information before acting rashly. "Why?! Why did you do that?!" He shouted at her, fists clenched, knuckles cracking with the stress.

"You made me into a failure. You killed my best friend," she glared at him. "You're endangering my Order. I will have my revenge, my honor, and my—"

He heard enough, and the animal broke free. Nerim thrust his arm forward, with no intent but the instinctive hate he felt, the intent to let that animal loose. His arm shook, the room lit up a bright blue, and lightning flew from his fingertips. It crossed the distance in an instant, digging into her flesh and burning her. She screamed in pain and fell to one knee, blue arcs of electricity crossing her face and leaving scorch marks, her clothing sparking first blue then red, catching small fires.

"You bitch!" He snarled, moving forward as stray bolts of electricity flew from him and into medical equipment and furniture, causing scalpels to jump from the table and gauze to unravel and roll across the ground. The slave bomb on the desk cooked off, exploding and showering the room in heat and sizzling sparks, and the viridite beads on his arm clacked together and jumped with energy as he continued the flow. "I risked everything for you!"

Vena couldn't respond, dropping her knife and bringing her hands up around her head, trying to bring up whatever defensive walls she could, as her body spasmed and burnt in agony.

"I could have ended you!" He continued, raising his other arm, streams of electricity flowing from both. "I chose to let you live—I chose to be good! Why can't you?!" He screwed his eyes shut in pain, feeling hot tears well up, and an iron taste as blood ran down his lips. "Why do you god-damned animals never choose to be good?!"

Vena stopped making noise. She could no longer open her lungs to get in any air, and she was caught in a silent scream, falling to her side on the floor and seizing. He could see her flesh starting to pop and boil, and then the lightning found its way into her slave bomb. She exploded from the gut and spine, pouring orange-hot viscera and liquid metal onto the ground in either direction.

The lightning briefly stopped, and he heaved ragged breaths, and looked to see Kiali in the corner. The Mirialan girl raised her hands up in terror and surrender. "P-please, don't kill m—"

Nerim felt his arm thrust towards her and lightning spilled out, pushing her further into the corner and cutting her off with her own screams and the thundering of energy. "Why not?!" He screamed in rage. It felt like the animal was trying to tear its way out of him, like he was being torn and chewed from the inside. He was caught in an overwhelming current, but it was more than what he felt on Cathar.

That small voice, the one he had grown to hate, told him to stop. That she had surrendered. That even if she may betray him later, it was his job to be the one person who could be relied upon to do good, that it was his role to be the one light in the darkness. The animal howled over it, telling him that there was nothing wrong with eliminating people who were trying to enslave him less than an hour ago, and if there was, then right and wrong had no meaning.

Kiali focused all of her meager power in the Force on diverting the lightning away from the slave bomb implanted in her spine, letting it burn the rest of her. She grit her teeth, and tears began pouring down her cheeks, steaming off of her face from the bolts of lightning.

That small voice suddenly got louder, finding its courage in the face of the animal. She was a slave, too. She wronged him, but she was a slave. If she couldn't rely on a Jedi like him, who could she ever rely on? Did he want to live in the kind of universe where there were slaves that were correct to be utterly without hope?

The animal thrashed in his mind and gnashed its teeth. He wasn't a Jedi. He was exiled. It wasn't his responsibility to be the sole source of justice in the universe. It wasn't reasonable for this to all be on him. Why did he constantly have to fight alone against the current others had made?

Suddenly, he saw Tetha's face, as she crawled around the table, a hand pressed to the bleeding wound in her stomach. She looked up at him with wide eyes, uncharacteristic emotion plain on her face. "Nerim..." She gasped. She looked at him with terror, but not of him. For him. And for herself. For every hope she had that the Dark Side could be conquered in her life.

For just a moment, he instinctively recoiled from the act, and attempted to pull back, to stop the flow of lightning. But it coursed through him regardless. He was caught in the rapids.

He felt that grand flow of the Force through him. It wasn't entirely his own. It wasn't just the animal in his mind; the Force agreed with his animal. The Force wanted the Syaniids to suffer, for each to be boiled alive. They were evil. They were a cancer on the Force and they needed to be excised. Kiali's tears were nothing compared to the overwhelming weight of the Force. The Dark Side, for the first time, spoke to him with terrible clarity. It told him to listen and do its will, and if he didn't, it would continue to flow through him regardless.

Kiali sobbed and curled up, wanting to drop her guard and let herself die to stop the pain, but she feared death too strongly. Nerim made his choice. He threw himself into that small voice, and it grew loud and steely, and spoke back to the Force. No, he said. You listen.

Those splayed fingertips of his that spat lightning curled inwards, clawing into the flow of the Force that was rushing through him, digging into the stream of the Dark Side. He gripped it, holding the lightning in his hands, and then he pulled it back. The Force struggled in his grasp, attempting to lash out regardless. The lightning shifted and danced wildly, the blue light flickering in the air.

You may be the Force, he spoke to the Dark Side in his mind with iron resolve, but I am the Jedi here. I am the crystal of your blade, and you will not use me like this.

The lightning curled and shifted, and then when he solidified his grip on the Force, it suddenly changed. The blue turned to green, and the lightning straightened, rushing back into Kiali's body. She locked up, but suddenly her eyes fluttered back open, and she was no longer in pain. The electricity coursed into her, locking her muscles, but it was cool and soft, not searing and sharp.

He approached, keeping the Emerald Lightning up with one hand, and retrieving from his belt the magnacuffs he had taken from the armory. He stopped the flow just long enough to toss her onto her stomach, still stunned, and cuffed her.

That done, he looked up to Tetha, to see her crawling towards him. His face fell into a horrified grimace, and deep guilt sparkled within his eyes as tears fell down his cheeks. "Tetha, are you oka—"

She threw her arms around him and kissed him. "I love you."

"I—I know," he said awkwardly in a shaky voice pulling her back and placing pressure on her wound. "But you're hurt!"

Tetha smiled sadly at him, both pain and pride written on her face. "You're a hero," she said.

 

[Hyenanon]

Chapter 62: The Jedi Way​

After bandaging Tetha's wound as best they could with the supplies in the medical room, Nerim dragged Kiali to her feet with one arm and helped steady Tetha with his other, and began moving as fast as they safely could towards the armory. After all the screaming had stopped, the halls were deathly quiet, interspersed with ungodly loud gunshots echoing from below. The Hutt's feasting hall was empty, but a slight trail of slime made Nerim aware they were walking in the same direction.

As they walked, Kiali carefully limped in front, her shoulder firmly in Nerim's grasp. She looked at the Zabrak Nerim had killed, and shuddered. "W-where is the Mistress?"

"The Sephi?" Nerim replied dully. "Dead."

Kiali let out a huge breath of relief at that, curiously.

"Why?" Nerim asked.

"She's the one that controls our bombs. Not Yenchara. Sometimes she hands out bomb controls to higher ranks for missions away from home, like Vena."

Nerim's brow furrowed. "You mean to say you're implanting bombs in yourselves?"

Kiali looked down. "They said it was the only way to ensure we'd stay loyal to each other. The coven would allow no men, no love, and no escape."

"Barbaric," Tetha said in a raspy voice.

"How long until it goes off on its own after losing signal?" He asked.

"Couple hours" Kiali turned around slightly, still walking forward at Nerim's behest. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the Republic. You're under arrest for accessory to the murder of Fae Coven."

She didn't respond to that—barely even reacted. Just looked down and kept walking. It occurred to Nerim that he technically didn't have the authority to arrest her, anyways. Although, he was in Boonta right now. Everything went in this jurisdiction.

He boarded the elevator which, surprisingly, was working. He supposed the Hutts heavily reinforced that system, seeing how difficult stairs and ladders were for them. They began to slowly crawl downwards. The gunfire got louder as they did so, and Nerim took Tetha and Kiali to the side, away from where the door would open. When it opened, he was glad he did.

A handful of stray shrapnel shot in as the doors parted, and the gunfire became unbearably loud. In front of them were the two Hutts, twitching and crawling down the grand hall with uncharacteristic urgency. They were skirting behind some of the bars and platforms where musicians played. Throughout the rest of the hall, though it was nearly pitch-black, Nerim could make out the glinting of beskar, dodging Syaniids, and something...else.

A smaller Mandalorian drew his blaster and fired, lighting up the room for a brief moment; it had survived on account of having been in the reinforced armory when the ion cannons went off. The Syaniid, a Zeltron, deftly dodged around it and moved in to the Mandalorian. She jumped atop him, tumbling them both to the ground, and then wrapped around his leg and twisted, dislocating it from the hip.

Suddenly one of the shadows raised a rifle and fired. Deafening noise and blinding yellow light lit up the room as the Syaniid was washed in a hail of slugs. The bullets that missed her poured onto the Mandalorian, breaking and bouncing off of his armor, creating yet more shrapnel that bounced back up at her. "Up, up!" The vague outline of shadow yelled in Saarkanian, as brass casings sprinkled along the floor. Suddenly the shadow disappeared again—a speaker from the music set crashed into the space where the Saarkanian just was as if it had just been tossed by a tornado.

"Filthy little slaves!" Skissa roared, picking up a wroshyr wood table and slinging it like it was made of packing paper. It spun and landed on a corner next to the Mandalorian, and the extremely durable wood didn't even scratch, bouncing off the floor and into a wall, where it continued ricocheting around the hall. "I'll have you all fed to the Sarlacc for a thousand years!"

Another shadow reappeared, and then another. A hail of gunfire pelted him, mostly bouncing or stopping and tumbling off his Hutt hide. The few that punctured seemed to have little more effect on him than a cactus needle to a Gamorrean as he roared incoherently.

Yenchara slid behind him, much more composed, and happily using him as a distraction. In her hand, he sensed something...and he pulled. He held his hand out, and Arwain's lightsaber ripped away from hers, flying through the room and into his grip. She turned her head, looked at him, and her eyes sharpened with sudden surprise and recognition. Then, she smiled, and slid behind a doorway, slamming her fist into an emergency panel and pulling the lever. The large blast doors slid shut, and she sealed herself in the safe room.

Skissa turned his head just in time to see it lock, and then screamed again in frustration. Nerim offered his shoulder to Tetha and grabbed the crook of Kiali's elbow and then began leading them forward, towards the middle of the room where the Mandalorian lay. "K'atini!" Nerim said, kneeling down to the Mandalorian.

"Can't walk," came the voice from under the helmet, undeniably that of a frightened teenaged boy.

Nerim grit his teeth. "Onto me, c'mon," he offered. The boy grabbed onto his shoulders, lifting himself up in something halfway to a piggyback ride, one foot still on the ground. As he did so, a number of other Mandalorians and Saarkanians entered the room, beginning to unload every weapon they had into the Hutt. Nerim called upon the Force and pushed forward, leading the group through the door into Skissa's staff halls. It didn't take too long from there to reach the armory.

The halls around the armory were packed, walls of beskar in the form of Mandalorians in firing lines blocked the path while short Saarkanian operatives in ultrablack armor moved like living silhouettes beneath them. They parted for Nerim as he carried the three others towards the line, and then he saw Jianno, angrily shaking a Saarkanian by the shoulders and screaming at him.

She turned to see Nerim and Tetha just as another Mandalorian grabbed the teenager off of his back and a Saarkanian operative took hold of Kiali, and Jianno's face broke for just a moment with a tightening of her upper lip. Then she rushed towards them and placed a hand on each of their cheeks, looking each in the eyes with pure gratitude. "Burc'yase. Vor entye. Vor entye."

Nerim was unable to say anything. Tetha weakly smiled, despite not understanding the words. "Where's Arwain?" She asked.

Jianno frowned. "In the armory room. We're about to extract. C'mon, we'll get you medics."

Nerim moved with her towards the room, which had been entirely emptied of equipment, and now housed only wounded Mandalorians and Saarkanians. Arwain laid flat on her back, eyes closed, almost reminding him of the way Fae slept. A large scorch mark in her upper torso made it obvious she had been shot.

"We were escorting the creche and after she got shot she...She went quiet," Jianno said in a choked voice, fists clenched. "It's a bad one."

Nerim knelt down and looked her over, and nodded slowly, raising his head back to Jianno. "She's entered a Force trance, to stop her body from degrading. She should be okay...after a couple months of healing. She can't wake up though, or else it'll get worse—"

He felt a hand grasp his wrist, and he looked down. Arwain had one eye opened, just barely, and squeezed his wrist. "Good job, Apprentice."

Nerim grabbed her hand and ripped it off of his wrist, and scowled at her. "Get back in your trance!"

She laughed weakly, and then cringed in pain. "It's important to support your students," she mumbled, her eyes closing.

As she went still and fell into the Force again, he stared at her motionless form for a few moments. His throat tightened. He was still holding her hand in his. Sweat dripped into his eyes, or something, and he closed them and focused on breathing.

"Alright, everyone!" A Saarkanian's voice rang out in Huttese. "Wounded first, we are leaving!"

It only took a few minutes of mad rushing and the arrival of Saarkanian paramedics to place Arwain on a stretcher and get her, along with the rest of them, onto one of the two dropships. He felt a lurch as they raised into the air, and then once they entered the hangars of the warship, it quickly jet out of the atmosphere. The warship docked in orbit with a medical aid ship that had been procured for the capacity to remove as many slaver bombs as possible within the less-than-an-hour timespan they had to do so, but the best of the Republic was on it. Jianno left with the rest of her kin onto that ship.

Tetha and Arwain meanwhile were shuffled away to the operating rooms on the warship infirmary itself, seeing as they were much lower priority and didn't have bombs to dispose of. Nerim wasn't allowed to follow behind. The military ship apparently had strict procedures about that.

Eventually he was left practically alone in the hangar bay, beyond a few Saarkanians running around performing their duties. He stood in still, awkward silence for a minute, and then decided to sit down. He placed his back against an ammunition crate and rested his head against it, and his eyes grew heavy. He breathed out and felt as if something that was gripping him let go. Like he was allowed to relax now, finally.

"Master Jedi!" A Saarkanian's voice startled him. He jumped in place and stood up quickly.

"Huh, what?" He answered, unsure if he had fallen asleep or not, or how much time had passed. He looked down at his chronometer. Not 20 seconds had passed. He sighed, and rubbed his forehead, looking at the officer that had approached him. "What...? Also, I'm not a Je—"

The officer placed a metal disc on the floor, and a hologram appeared above it. The Governor stood hunched over a desk, thumbing through datapads and documents. The hologram was strange, picking up on everything in his room, leaving a blank space where his body would be, save his eyes. Noticing the call had connected, Vseyav lifted his head. "Nerim?" He raised an eyebrow. "Where's the rest?"

"I'm what you got," he shrugged, face still covered in blood and hair wet with sweat.

"I see..." He placed a hand to his chin, his fur rippling with color, though the monochrome hologram did not depict exactly which. "Well, I wanted to say first, good job. I've been monitoring the situation. We received word that the Dark Jedi has been taken prisoner, and the Mandalorians have made it out."

"Thanks."

"There is something I wanted to alert you to, however..."

"Okay."

Nerim stared impassively at the hologram as Vseyav tested the waters. Finding no recourse, the Governor sighed. "The deal has changed a little. Again."

Nerim's brow furrowed. "How so? We already got everyone."

"That's the problem, now," Vseyav sat on his desk, popping out his canteen and drinking from it. "Gotta figure out what to do with them."

"...Take them to Saarkane?" Nerim asked, bewildered. "You were going to house them as refugees."

"Can't," he said, unapologetically but also without spite. "Our legislative and judicial branches have aligned against me. My hands are practically tied, now. I can still direct the warship you're on, since I have a private contract with the Gran Protectorate for that. But consider Saarkane to be an unsafe location for you until the end of the proceedings."

"...The..."

"The impeachment proceedings," he took another swig.

"Ah."

The two men stared at each other, and then Vseyav stood up. "Look, kid, I don't have any pull outside my borders. Especially not now. I can't get you anywhere to house them. But if by some unholy miracle you know any other spagozda who's willing to take in a couple hundred Mandalorian refugees, I can get you there. So if there's even a snowball's chance in hell, I need you to take the shot, because I really don't want my last official act to be dispersing hundreds of Mandalorian slaves without citizenship randomly throughout Republic space."

Vseyav looked at him with forlorn hope. "I'll make a call," Nerim said tiredly. Vseyav did a half-hearted salute, and closed the call. The officer waited expectantly, ready to dial in. Nerim provided him the address, and after a few minutes, the hologram sparked to life again.

Aesha and her father, Jarroa, took up the nook of the hangar he had nestled in. They looked rather confused—even Jarroa, who spoke first. "Hello, Saarkanian vessel? Why are you calling my dau—Nerim?"

Nerim looked up at them, dried blood caked around his mouth and wet sand caked against his cheeks, dark bags under his eyes and hair matted with sweat. The collar of his coat was ripped and he was standing in front of an ancient box labeled ammunition. "Elder Jarroa," he greeted.

"Where is Master Arwain?"

"I'm what you got."

Jarroa was quiet for a moment, and Aesha spoke up, stepping closer to the center. He could see her robotic legs, now. "What's wrong, Nerim? Are you in trouble?"

"Yeah," he admitted, not quite able to say anything else just yet.

Aesha's expression grew determined, and she held a fist over her heart. "Absolutely anything you need, you just tell me."

Jarroa nodded. "You saved my daughter's life. You are a Jedi friend to Cathar, and we owe you a greater debt than I can express."

"Yeah," Nerim repeated, staring at the immaterial hologram before him, his face reflecting the pale blue light. He looked down. "Well, first off, I'm not...I'm not a Jedi anymore."

The room was silent again. When he looked back up, he saw Aesha's aghast face, and Jarroa's pursed lips. Aesha was the first to speak. "Those—those bastards! They exiled you?!"

"Yeah."

"For saving my life?!"

Jarroa's face was stoic, but his jaw was clenched in contained anger. "What about Chey-Linn?"

Nerim was still and expressionless, beyond that visage of fatigue. It was so, so hard for him to speak right now. Every word took everything he had left in him.

Jarroa slowly nodded and looked down. "I see. I see how it is. Before the trial even got underway, they've already made their decision..." He was still for a moment, and then smashed his fist against the wall. He looked back to Nerim. "Consider it Cathar's position that you are a truer Knight than the Coruscant Order's own," he growled, dangerously invoking schismatic language that Nerim was trained to avoid. "Now, what can we do for you?"

"Anything, Nerim!" Aesha echoed.

Nerim stared quietly at them for a few seconds, his lips turning downward. In his heart, he had already accepted defeat. "Don't make a promise you can't keep."

"I would go to war over this!" She shouted, pounding her fist and palm together.

"Calm yourself, princess," Jarroa tempered her.

"I'm not going to ask you to go to war. Or hurt anybody at all," Nerim clarified softly. "I don't want you to stand against anyone. I just need help. But it's a lot. I'll understand if you say no."

Jarroa and Aesha both nodded. "Master Nerim, we would never refuse to grant you aid," Jarroa replied. "Cathar isn't a rich world, but what we have, we will share."

Nerim reached up and wiped his nose, taking a breath. "Long story short, I'm currently responsible for around six hundred Mandalorian refugees from outside of the Republic. They've recently been freed from slavery, and I need somewhere to house them."

He looked up at the Cathar, unsure of what to expect. Both had tensed up. But right away, Aesha nodded. "Okay," she affirmed.

Jarroa was slower. He looked down, deep contemplation in his features.

"Elder Jarroa?" Nerim asked.

The large Cathar looked back up to him, as if interrupted in thought by an inconsequential question. "Of course. We said anything. I will begin setting up a place for habitation."

Nerim's shoulders sagged down, and his eyes burnt again. After everything that had happened that night, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be told yes.


________________________________________

Spoiler: A/N

Aaand that wraps up Arc 6: Boonta! Sorry this one had such a staggered release and took a while, things have gotten much busier in my life. This has been a very transformative arc for Nerim and the other characters in the cast, and the transformations will come to fruition in Arc 7: [REDACTED]. I already have a plan for the final arc, and have started writing it. Of course, this arc, having ended, is now owed a vignette, and it will be a very special vignette indeed...The wordcount kinda ballooned on me...

While the Arc 6 vignette will come out tomorrow, I am thinking about going back and properly finishing the Utapau and Cathar vignettes before the while of Arc 7. We'll see. They've both been kind of difficult for me to write to a point that I'm happy with, due to stylistic shifts I was attempting. Might just have to rewrite them entirely. But I'll ignore them if it ends up giving me writer's block when I could be working on the story proper.

 

[Hyenanon]

End Of Arc 6 Vignette: And I Got Caught Right In The Middle Of It​

She knew it was going to be difficult.

After seeing the youngling win the Initiate Tournament like that, she knew it would be difficult. Younglings weren't supposed to fight like that. In her opinion, they weren't really supposed to fight at all, although the Council that she was always on tense terms with disagreed on that matter. But if not her, then who? Who was going to take that Padawan? Not a Jedi on Coruscant wanted to deal with that kind of trouble. If she wasn't going to be the Master, then who?

Besides, they had a lot in common. After all, if not that Padawan, who would fit her better?

So, she knew it would be difficult, and she kept a brave face and pretended as if it was easy, because no child wants to be told that they're a problem child. Well, she thought she knew, at least. Then, she thought she knew how bad it was going to be when her Padawan came back from Ilum, being studiously avoided by the other Padawans, who gossiped in hushed tones and shut up quickly whenever an adult attempted to listen in.

She only actually knew how much trouble she was in when she heard the Grand Master mutter that she wouldn't trust any Master but her to raise such a problem child. And she still didn't know why everyone was so cagey about the Gathering on Ilum.

So she carefully rushed into the Room of a Thousand Fountains without looking like she was rushing, and searched for her Padawan without looking like she was searching. Finally, and somewhat ungracefully, she poked her head through a bush and saw her student sitting in a clearing.

"Welcome back to the Temple, Fae," said Fay.

Fae cracked one eye open. She was sitting in a perfect meditative seiza, with a beatific smile and an aura of pride about her. Her white hair and rat-like features occasionally made her seem almost like an old lady, despite being at the tender age of 4 and a half, roughly the Jenet equivalent of 15 to a Human, or 35 to a near-Sephi like herself. So too, did Fae's aura make her feel old. The Force flowed through her with not just the strength, but the control of an old Jedi Master. It was unlike anything they had seen.

"Thank you, Master Fay," she said, trying not to show how excited she was. Apparently, she was quite happy with whatever was making everyone else nervous around her. That made things more difficult.

"How did the trip go?" Fay asked cautiously, entering the clearing and sitting across from her student.

"It went well," Fae said with extremely forced humility. "My lightsaber is completed. I cannot wait to begin training with it! It feels so...different from the training sabers. We're so much more connected."

Fay smiled gently at her. "That's great. Good job, student." Fae beamed at that. "Did you get along well with the other Padawans?"

Fae seemed genuinely puzzled at that question. "Uh, yes. Of course. I mean it went fine," she replied, shrugging. "We spoke and trained together on the way there, but everyone was busy on the way back with their own lightsabers."

So she was still, somehow, unaware of her pariah status. But something must have happened during the Gathering to make people avoid her. "We spoke before you left on the Gathering, and how it's often a mentally and spiritually difficult process, unique to every Jedi. How did it go, for you?" Fay carefully probed.

Fae grinned again. "It was wonderful! I was given a vision!"

Fay stared blankly at her. She had a wonderful vision? The Force gave out positive visions? "Is that so?"

"Yes!" She bounced in place.

They held eye contact for a moment. Fae was obviously waiting for Fay to ask what she saw in the vision.

Fay placed her fingers together and spread them out. "Listen, Fae. I know that it's very exciting to get your first lightsaber. It really is a magical moment, and it is a sign that the Force has invested much trust into you. But I have to question. Do you know what the purpose of a lightsaber is?"

"To defend the weak!" Fae answered instantly.

"And what is the purpose of a Jedi?"

"The selfsame!" She replied confidently. "The Jedi, the Blade, and the Force are one."

"No," Fay said.

Fae blinked. "...No? What do you mean, no?"

"The purpose of the Jedi is to make the Galaxy a better place."

Fae's eyes narrowed. "That's synonymous with defending the weak."

"Not necessarily," Fay said softly. "There will be times where the evil and the weak are one in the same. There will be times where there are no innocents to defend, yet evil must still be confronted. And there will be times in your life where there are no evils to slash at. There will be times where you must not defend, but provide, or listen, or fade into the background radiation all together."

"Okay..." Fae acknowledged cautiously. "...But...say we were in involved in a large Galaxy-spanning war, between a liberal democratic Republic fighting for peace and justice, and a loose band of Sith Warlords constituting a tyrannical and genocidal superstate. In that case, my role in making the Galaxy a better place would be to defend the weak."

Fay's expression became more stern. She didn't like how often her student brought up the ongoing war. "It's important to retain a clear sense of priorities, Padawan."

Fae bristled at the way she said the word Padawan. "It seems clear to me."

"When you clear your mind, when you are free of emotion and disquiet, does the Force really call you to war and violence?" The Master asked rhetorically.

"Yes," Fae said simply, and Fay knew she was telling the truth.

"...Yes? What do you mean, yes?" Fay's eyes widened, and her lips tightened. "Fae...what did you see in your vision?"

"Perhaps you wouldn't understand," Fae stood up resentfully, turning and walking away. "You don't even carry a lightsaber. What would you know about it? How can I learn anything about this from you?"

"Fae!" Her Master barked sharply, and Fae froze, slowly turning back around. Fay stood up, and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. "If you think lightsabers are the best—or only—way to defend yourself, then I fear you haven't been paying attention." Fay slowly and smoothly widened her stance, holding her arms in a ready position, palms facing outwards. "If you are so eager to learn lightsaber dueling, then prove to me that your opponents will even need a lightsaber to defeat you."

The Force whipped into a whirlwind around Fay, and leaves swirled around her on the breeze. She could feel the sudden attention of two dozen Jedi throughout the garden snap to her. She did not like fighting, and so she did not carry a blade, whose only use was battle. But she was, after all, the most powerful Jedi alive in this dark age, much moreso than the Grand Master on Coruscant. If she were to fight, she would win.

Fae stared at her, entirely unafraid. She unhooked her lightsaber hilt and held it above her head in both hands, smoothly sliding her foot across the grass and entering her own ready stance. There was a shift in pressure, and the Force whipped around her, spinning opposite to Fay's own flow. "You underestimate me, Master," she said with a steely glare.

"We'll see," Fay replied, similarly unimpressed.

Then Fae activated her lightsaber, and the glade was bathed in Republic Red.

Now, Fay knew how much trouble she was in.



___________________________________________________________________________________



To Fay, the passage of time was far different than it was to Fae. Her race was already naturally inclined to take their time. Fay was 30 before she became a Padawan. She outlived her Master before she made Knighthood. Twice. At age 90 she was Knighted, and at age 146 she was recognized as a Master. And all of this was before she unlocked the secrets of agelessness.

To her, a Coruscant year was a trivial thing. It was made all the more glacial by the nearly thousand years of war the Galaxy had been consumed by; though the seasons came and went, and the front lines shifted and warped, nothing ever seemed to change even on the scale of centuries.

The last 4 years she had spent training Fae had been the longest, most grueling process of her life. She felt as though it had already been half of her lifespan.

For Fae, it actually had been half of her lifespan. Fay couldn't imagine how long it felt for her.

When Fay entered her mid-sixties, she felt an all-consuming sort of shame and embarrassment. Everyone in the Order then had treated her as if she were...disabled, in some sense. She was older than many of them would ever live to be, and yet, she felt like an unsafe and unaware child. She had the skills, the devotion, the will; she had passed great tests of her spirit and body. She just...wasn't ready. She was a child.

Fae, in a mirrored way, faced the exact same and opposite problem. It was her 8th birthday, and she was just about convinced that she deserved to be on the Council by now. She wasn't entirely wrong.

So, Fay decided, it was important to celebrate whatever milestones they actually could. She was determined to at least make Fae feel appreciated in some way, and she always knew the exact way to cheer Fae up.

Fae smiled happily and kicked her legs on the high stool at the ice cream bar, enjoying a mouthful of what might be every flavor on the menu simultaneously. She turned 8 today, but Jenet development wasn't exactly like Human or Sephi; they stayed in their prime for the majority of their lives, so physically she was perhaps the equivalent of an early-20's Human, same as Fay now. Despite that, Fae always seemed like she was born as a little old lady, and any display of her actual age seemed uncharacteristically silly. Fay smiled and tried not to laugh at the dollop of ice cream on Fae's cheek.

"H-hey," Fay heard to her side. She turned her head, and saw an obviously quite nervous Zeltron, a young man with a head of messy hair. "M-my name's Zaalan," he said, trying hard to smile in a charismatic way.

Fay glanced to the side of the room, where his friends were obviously silently cheering him on. She smiled slightly, and then looked back at him. "Hello, Zaalan. I know what you're going for, but I'm sorry, it wouldn't be appropriate," she said. He frowned, and then she telekinetically lifted her spoon into the air.

"A—a Jedi!" He laughed in astonishment. "Oh my stars, I'm sorry. Sheesh, no wonder you're so...Um...Have a nice day!" He said, scampering off.

She turned back, chuckling under her breath. Ever since she hit her mid 90's, she was approached pretty much every time she went out. She had it on good authority she was considered ridiculously attractive by near-Human standards, although she never really had any feelings of the sort, so it was hard for her to judge.

Fay looked back to Fae, who was now glowering.

"Student, it's unbecoming to be so jealous," she warned smugly. She didn't exactly get it, but she knew it made Fae jealous, and there were precious few things that could do that nowadays.

"I have to deal with this every time we go anywhere," the Jenet growled. "I've had to deal with it at home! You're the only Jedi I've ever known to be propositioned in the Temple!"

Fay shrugged humbly. "I don't entirely understand it myself."

"Neither do I!" Fae pouted. "I don't get why anyone would be into an old hag like you."

"Watch it," Fay's eye twitched.

The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Fae spoke again. "Master, about my progression in the Order..."

Fay wilted a little. "Student, you were doing so well. It's been months since you last asked when you would take your Knighthood trials."

Fae wrinkled her nose. "Because I realized it's silly. It's silly to pretend I should be held back to Knight, let alone Padawan. I should be recognized as a Master."

Fay sighed. "You are so impatient. You still have so much to learn."

"Like what?"

"You have to study the legal code, for examp—"

"Master, I read the entire code last week," Fae scowled. Being a Jenet, she had perfect photographic memory. It didn't guarantee understanding, but an instant recall of all pertinent information let her at least fake it convincingly. Fay literally couldn't come up with enough material for her to study before she had finished the last assignment.

"I...see," Fay looked askance nervously and took another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. "Well, beyond that, you should also know that raw power can't substitute—"

Fae turned on her seat and faced her Master. "I think it's time we start seriously considering if I'm the Chosen One."

Fay nearly spit out her ice cream. "What?! We've all acknowledged that you're gifted, but—"

"I beat the Battlemaster in a duel yesterday. Three times in a row."

"Well—the Coruscant Battlemaster..." Fay weakly protested. "The Dantooine Battlemaster is, you know, way stronger."

Fae stared at her, annoyed. "I have lifted all six of the Muntuur Stones. No one but you can do that. Most Grand Masters can't manage three."

"That's—Well, the prophecy says that the Chosen One will be born of the Force. We found you with your parents as part of a litter," Fay argued on a technicality.

"It's all the Force," Fae crossed her arms.

"Tch! Do you think the ancients used the term 'born of the Force' for no reason?" Fay countered.

A vein bulged on Fae's forehead. "Maybe they meant borne of the Force, y'know, in the same way your body has borne many STDs you fat old crone—!"

"You insolent little ankle-biter!" Fay shouted, grabbing her by the collar.

"Hag!"

"Brat!"

Zaalan watched with concern as the girl he had asked out got into a fist-fight with a little old woman, and both of them used the wrong insults.



___________________________________________________________________________________



When Fay heard the news that Master Skere Kaan had gathered a league of Jedi Knights, proclaimed a Schism due to the Order's ineffectiveness in fighting the Sith, and lead an exodus to crusade against them, her heart jumped into her throat. She sprinted through the Temple towards Fae's room like a madwoman, first thinking it was inevitable, then impossible, then inevitable again...

She skid to a stop and punched the control panel, causing the door to shoot open, and saw that Fae Coven...wasn't there. She looked desperately, and saw that despite her absence...all of her belongings were there.

An Ithorian Knight poked his head in through the door. "Master Fay? Is everything alright?"

Fay whipped around. "Where's Fae?!"

"She's in the nursery," he answered calmly.

Fay didn't even respond, unable to believe it. She just ran. Impossible. Inevitable? Impossible...?

She burst through the doorway into the nursery and saw her loyal Padawan happily cooing over one of the babies, while another tugged on her hair. Fay exhaled with so much relief she nearly dropped to her knees. "Student...! Oh my bright student, thank you," she said wearily, walking over to Fae and throwing her arms around her.

Fae raised an eyebrow. "What? Did you think I was going to join Kaan's little army?"

"Yes! No! Kind of," Fay admitted with struggle. After all, every year that passed, Fae's quite justifiable assumption that she was being held back became even more justifiable. Fae was a 30 year old woman, now. Half her species' lifespan.

"I would've," Fae easily admitted, "Only, I hate his guts."

That made sense. Kaan was a mere boy, a Human of 20-something years old. Around the time of Fae's birth, several other children with exceptional strength in the Force began to appear. None nearly as quickly developing as her, but young Jedi such as Skere Kaan or Hoth grew unnaturally powerful. And they were universally Guardians, masters of combat. It seemed almost as if the Force had grown tired with the thousand-year-war. A new Chosen One candidate appeared every few years, in a way that seemed less and less like gifts to the Order, and more and more like tomatoes being thrown at a bad act on stage. Some had started informally referring to them as the Titans.

Only, since nobody knew how to deal with any of them, they all were treated completely differently. Opposite to Fae Coven, Skere Kaan was granted practically every liberty and accolade he asked for. The Council even gave him Mastery and a seat on the Council to try and placate him. Many Jedi knew it was a stupid idea, but Fay knew all too well the worst aspect of it was not the corruption of the Order or the spoiling of Skere Kaan; it was to invoke feelings of injustice in Fae.

But, blessedly, Fae had inherited at least one thing from her Master; a deep antipathy for the Council. It seemed like by the time she was 10, Fae had actually stopped caring altogether about her rank. In the same way she rejected Knighthood for how silly it would be, she soon came to feel as though it would be nothing but a comical burden to sit in on Council meetings. So, like Fay, she sort of just...avoided the limelight when times of promotion came. In the same way Fay could have been a Grand Master but studiously avoided it, Fae seemed to have become completely comfortable with existing as a Padawan forever. She never wrote down a thing she accomplished.

The cagey Council seemed relieved at the lack of pressure, and never brought it up themselves. So Fae remained an unremarkable Padawan, accomplishing nothing on the books but some volunteer work with the younglings. Of course, everyone actually in the know was well aware of her. Everyone just pretended they didn't know where she was whenever a Sith Warlord attempted to make an incursion into the Inner Rim, where the Republic's borders stood. Or why the warlord disappeared.

Another old Master came by, and Fae handed off the baby to her. The two Fays began to walk through the halls. "I must admit," Fay smiled weakly, "I had such a bad feeling about this. I worry for you, student."

Fae scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You should. This is intolerable. Every year the Republic's borders shrink, and we do nothing about it."

Fay frowned. "We have been building up strength. I know it is difficult, but we are a democracy, and we have been in a war of attrition for a thousand years. Everyone is tired of fighting. There's not a constituency out there that wants to go on a war of revanchism."

"Of course there are," Fae scowled. "They consist of all of the constituencies we abandoned. Just because they can't formally vote anymore—due to occupation—doesn't mean the people of the Mid Rim don't want help."

Fay sighed. "I understand. And I agree," she looked down. "But the Jedi need the Republic. A schism will only lead to more warlords."

"I am beginning to think some warlords are better than others," Fae replied with a warning tone. "The Supreme Chancellor is a Jedi, for goodness' sake. Why can't we just push forward? My only possible conclusion is that the Jedi are not all that interested in defending the Galaxy."

"We still need senatorial support—"

"Fae!" A man's voice shouted through the halls.

Both women's heads whipped around. "Which one?" They both asked with practiced annoyance.

Master Hoth, another of the dangerous generation, approached. He was flanked on either side by several other Knights, and his face was deadly serious. "The younger," he nodded to Fae.

Fae turned and gave Fay a grin wider and smugger than she had seen on most Hutts. Fay's eye twitched.

"You have heard of Skere Kaan's exodus?" He asked. He stood tall and powerful, much moreso than the average Human—more comparable to a Wookiee, in some ways. He was quite hairy as well, his face covered in his long locks of hair and thick beard. Despite his somewhat unkempt appearance, he was surrounded with a radiant shell of Light, a constant vergence in the Force. Even with his back to the window of Coruscant's skyline, his own light outshone that of the sky's. It was impossible to mistake him for anything but one of the Titans in the playground that was the Temple.

"Nope, I don't keep up with the news," Fae responded flatly and facetiously.

"You have sensed the Darkness in him," Hoth said sternly, ignoring her prods. "I was certain he would have approached you to join him, but I am glad to see you did not."

"I told him to kick rocks," Fae replied, hands clasped together behind her back. "I get the feeling I'm going to have to tell you the same thing in a few minutes."

He shook his head, and gestured broadly. "Look at this place. This Temple. This Council. They have yet to even formally exile him from the Order, despite causing a Schism! They still pretend he is just a wandering Master."

"They're a bunch of idiots," Fae rolled her eyes. "You should have never let them rope you into their ranks."

"I am beginning to think you were correct on that," he said pensively, looking down to the grand red carpet on the floor. Then he looked back up to her. "That is why I am asking for your help. I, and some of my closest compatriots, have decided to go on an expedition to return him to the Temple."

Fae slowly blinked. "Are you stupid or something? You're going to get yourself killed. You aren't strong enough to watch my back."

Hoth pursed his lips. It was difficult, near impossible really, to offend him. But he took the words of those he respected seriously. "Fae, I have always admired your strength and the wisdom with which you use it. I know we are not nearly so far apart as our ranks would suggest. But I am the Battlemaster now. I scarcely know what more I could do to earn your respect."

"Oh, the Battlemaster, eh?" She smirked, her eyes narrowed to a thin slice. "Big deal. I lost all respect for that title when I was eight."

"The Battlemaster of your youth was wise, but suffered from his age and a lack of experience," Hoth reasoned. "I am in my prime, and I have tested all of my Forms against real, live Sith. I have displayed a mastery of Shii-Cho, Makashi, Soresu, Ataru, Djem-So, Niman, and even Juyo. I have dominated battlefields with the sub-Forms, Jar'kai, Sokan, Dun Möch—"

Fae's eyes shot open. "Wait! What was that last one?"

"Dun Möch?" Hoth raised an eyebrow.

"The one before that."

"Soka—"

"Sokan this," Fae said, raising her hand. With a thundering roar and an audible snap of wind, Hoth was sent crashing through the grand window behind him, tumbling into the open air of Coruscant. The Knights that had gathered scattered, some running to the window to watch his controlled descent, others diving to the ground near the walls.

Fae repressed a laugh, placed her hands behind her back, and turned around and kept walking with closed eyes and a beatific smile.

It wasn't an entirely unusual incident in those days. Fae wasn't always on top. They were always trading blows. They toyed with each other in ways that would destroy the average Jedi. That was just how the Titans were.

___________________________________________________________________________________



"I'm done, Fay."

"But—" Fay tried to protest, knowing it was useless.

"I'm done!" Fae hissed, packing the small satchel she would keep all of her belongings in. "There's a Brotherhood of Darkness, an Army of Light—everyone from my generation except me is gone!" She stopped packing to point at herself. "They've all left the Order, and carry out wars and genocides completely unhindered in the Mid Rim! And the Council won't even recognize them as Fallen!"

"I..." Fay began to reach out, but then retracted her arm. It was true. Fae had spent the last six hours arguing with the Council that the Jedi Order should at least disavow Skere Kaan, who was now styling himself 'Dark Lord of the Sith'. They refused.

The reports were too scattered and unreliable, they said. And it was true that the holonet was down, and it took months for couriers to arrive with news of the Outer Rim, and the most reliable reports were that Skere Kaan and his crusade spent most of their time targeting Sith Warlords, and they argued that Kaan was savable, and that matters were not helped by Hoth and his Army of Light declaring war upon them and forcing another Schism, and that it would be unbearably shameful to have to acknowledge another Lost Master, and that putting up a statue of Kaan in the archives would be very inconvenient.

Halfway through a sentence, Fae turned on her heel and began walking out. She quite literally and quite visibly lost all hope of changing the Jedi Order from within mid-word, and decided to leave.

"Are you joining the Army of Light?" Fay asked, scared of an affirmative, but more scared of any alternative.

Fae snorted. "If they want, they can join me." She slung the satchel over her shoulder, and abandoned her childhood room like it was a table at a diner. "The Brotherhood is staging across the Mid Rim, for an invasion into the Expansion Region. The only Republic world out that far is Kashyyyk, and it's a meager exclave. If the Sith manage to surround it and cut off communications, they'll be able to conquer it before the Republic even realizes it's gone, and then everyone is just going to vote to declare them a lost cause instead of fighting back over it."

"How do you plan on stopping them?"

"I'm going to go to its neighbor worlds, and I am going to kill Sith, and I am going to keep killing Sith until they realize it's a bad idea," Fae said coldly, striding through the hallway with purpose.

"Padawan, I..." Fay pleaded quietly.

Fae stopped and turned to her, face contorted in anger. "Spit it out, Master."

"I know for a fact that you are not the Chosen One."

Fae's expression dropped, replaced with an absolute stillness, bereft of any emotional content.

Fay brushed her hair aside, a nervous tic that Fae was quite aware of. "Several years ago, when Kaan and Hoth both set out, I went into deep meditation. I wanted to know what your role was in all of this. I pleaded with the Force to tell me, I begged and begged until it showed me."

"Fay...What did you see in your vision?" Fae asked evenly.

"You will not wipe out the Sith. You might damage them, but somehow, one day, they will kill you. I've seen it," Fay shuddered, the memory replaying in her head. "Everything was blurry. But I know that if you go to war, you will die. You were like a candle that was...snuffed out. It is my worst nightmare."

Fae stared at her Master for a long moment, and then her shoulders relaxed, and a smile broke out on her face. The Force, so tangled and tattered as it was in those days, suddenly seemed full, and whole, and tranquil around her. "Thank you, Master," she said genuinely.

"...What?" Fay's brow furrowed.

"Even in your worst nightmares, I don't fall to the Dark," she smiled beatifically. "It means the world, to have someone believe in me like that."

Fay blinked in shock, and then Fae turned and continued walking away. She began to jog after her. "Fae! I cannot follow you!"

"If you want to help me," Fae said without turning, "Take actions to change the Republic, as drastic as I am taking to change the Rim."

Fay stopped, and stared. Her precious Padawan might have still been walking in front of her, but she was long gone.

Goodness, Fay thought to herself, fighting back tears. When did she get older than me?



___________________________________________________________________________________



The War of Light and Darkness was over. The Sith were all dead. So was Lord Hoth, according to the reports. No one knew if any of the Titans survived. Things had changed so much, so rapidly, that there was scarcely a Jedi who even remembered the terminology. But Fay still did.

When the Army of Light returned to Coruscant, many people expected a grand parade fleet, with tens of thousands of capital ships each housing hundreds of Jedi. What they got was a single shuttle which popped out of hyperspace and then immediately broke down in orbit, with a handful of battered and wounded Knights arriving as couriers with the last reports on Lord Hoth's final battle. The report could simply be summarized as: Everyone is dead.

Then, there was nothing. Nothing at all, for three months.

Fay mourned. And she worked through her mourning. She did everything in her power to remove the Jedi from the Senate, and with help, the new secular leadership began to institute a vast number of reforms. The Council was practically dissolved. The entire leadership structure had fallen apart, and almost all of the responsibilities and departments they had taken on were requisitioned by the Republic government. Even the High Council itself was commandeered to some extent, with a seat reserved for an observer from the Senate. By the end of the war, all of the Grand Masters had died. So began a great meeting of all of the Masters of the Order, to determine what the new direction of the Order would be.

Slowly, it became apparent that the Army Of Light was not completely destroyed. There were, in fact, hundreds of Jedi Lords, who still ruled over fiefdoms and lordships throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. Most of them simply hadn't bothered to return to the Republic, or to the Order, which had more or less shifted from a policy of not acknowledging their exodus, to actively enforcing the distance between them. That is, except for a few Jedi Lords, who would return to pledge loyalty to the New Republic.

Over time, Fay realized a strange commonality. Almost all of these Jedi Lords and their lands could be plotted like a line on the Galactic map, as if a force was going from world to world and enforcing their obedience. A line that could be traced back to...Saarkane. A small inconsequential world near Kashyyyk, which was mostly notable during the war for being a particularly horrible grind for the Brotherhood of Darkness, owing to the local Jedi Lord, Fae Coven.

The legend spread until, with great anticipation, a beautiful ship known as the Wellspring arrived in the skies of Coruscant, trailed by several dozen Jedi Lords, as if Fae was personally dragging them by the ear back home. She barely had time to land before the great political crisis of the Ruusan Reformations had an obvious solution placed in front of the Senate and Order both; just pin it all on Fae Coven, the last Titan left standing.

Fay didn't get to see much of her beloved student for quite some time. Fae was always busy with some business of enormous proportions or another, and she didn't particularly like talking about it, or the war, or much of anything that had happened since they split, really. She mostly just wanted to eat ice cream and bicker about their age, or whine that she still wanted children, or laugh about the fact that she was still technically just a Padawan, seeing as nobody ever Knighted her. The Council of First Knowledge decided to just pretend she was Knighted before she left the Order to crusade for record-keeping's sake.

Over time, Fay realized, things had really, truly changed. For the first time in her life, things had changed.

Fay still felt like she was barely an adult. That century and a half she had spent being alive might as well have been nothing but the few years she spent with Fae. She had been frozen by that war. Everyone had. It was a thousand years of winter on the Galaxy. And now, Fae Coven promised a thousand years of spring to make up for it.

But every now and then, Fay could tell, the new Grand Master cast her gaze out upon the Galaxy. She was once the renegade, the untrustworthy student with an irresponsible Master, who chafed against the Order's strictures, attempted to change it for the better, and then gave up on it entirely. Now that everyone had realized how deeply they needed her, their dependency formed a far stronger leash on her than their discipline once had. But she still felt trapped, from time to time.

After everything that transpired, Fay finally knew how her student felt, also. She had grown so tired of Coruscant. And there was so much more she could be doing elsewhere, now that it was no longer a war zone.

So, one night, Fay packed her satchel, while Fae watched with concern in her posture and grief in her eyes.

"You're really leaving, then?" Fae asked.

"I leave for missions all the time," Fay replied.

"We both know this is different."

Fay smiled. "You kept telling me about how much the Republic was struggling to project law and order in the Outer Rim. I figure this is the least I could do to help, given how much weight is on your shoulders."

"You could always join me. I never said that there could only be one Grand Master at a time," Fae offered.

The Master laughed. "I've come to understand I'm something of an irresponsible sort. Political power is not for me."

The Grand Master smiled ruefully. "What, you think I can do any better?"

Fay looked down at her precious student, and smiled sadly. She leaned down and wrapped her arms around the Jenet, hugging her tightly. "You're so much better than you know. You always have been, even at your most arrogant," she laughed. "You're a much wiser Jedi than me. That's why...I can't do this. Don't think this is sanctimony. For me, the principles of non-attachment are not a virtue. They're a protective shield. I...I can't bear to hold onto something for so long. I'm just not as strong as you. I have to abandon and wander, or I will die."

Fae looked up at her Master with sorrowful, but understanding eyes. "I love you, Master."

Fay felt the warmth of that thousand year spring flow through her, and squeezed Fae tighter. "I love you, my Padawan," she said, and kissed Fae's forehead. "And I promise, I will love the Outer Rim, just as much as you love the Republic."

Fae sniffled, and punched her lightly in the arm. "Don't get too comfortable, hag. I'm gonna get the Republic out there too, sooner or later. You're not gonna be able to avoid me forever."

Fay grinned. "It's a big Galaxy."

"And I'm kind of a big deal," Fae countered, trying to keep her lip from wobbling. "Are you not going to take a Padawan with you? There are many younglings who could use a good Master..."

Fae was incessant about convincing every Knight and Master in the Order to take on a Padawan. All the moreso to her in particular, since Fay swore not to. But Fay just smiled and ruffled the little old woman's hair. "That's forbidden. You can only have one Padawan at a time. Maybe one day, if you become a Knight. But you're a little young for that."