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.