Author's note: Eight hundred years before Anakin's birth. The Jedi are at their height, the Sith are believed destroyed and, most importantly, I can write something in the SW universe without being tempted to use canon characters and completely derail them.
Well, if you want to get technical, Yoda's about. But he's not the wise master you see in the films - and without centuries of backstory, all we're left with is "little green guy who talks funny", which is boring. So he won't be appearing either.

Rated M for some relatively grown-up themes (though nothing explicit, I hate writing that sort of thing) and general unpleasantness. I mean, it starts off with our ex-Jedi trying to work out how someone died. Some violence, sure, but it's Star Wars violence. Not exactly messy.


There are no coincidences, young one. The will of the Force governs all things.
- Jedi Master Lai K'nri

The restroom stank to high heaven. Gamorrean urine, Wookiee vomit, Gand discharge – you name it, somewhere on Nar Shaddaa there's a cantina bathroom that reeks of it.

Today's stink of the day: dead Zabrak.

It was a common enough occurrence on the smuggler's moon. There weren't any formal laws to speak of – short of "don't cross the Hutts", at least – so every now and again, a body would turn up and put people off their dinner. Most tended to ignore something like that unless they knew the corpse in question. Or, as in the case of the Rodian stood wringing his hands in the doorway behind me, the death had happened on their premises.

"So are you just gonna stand there, or…"
I glanced back, feeling ripples of anxiety emanating from the bar's owner. Probably desperately hoping this Zabrak hadn't been an enforcer for some Hutt or other.
"You don't have to watch, Roonis," I replied, stepping further into the room, "just make sure nobody else comes in before I've had a look."
Roonis didn't need to be told twice. He disappeared almost instantly, soon replaced by the back of Juntr the bouncer.

The Zabrak lay face down in the refresher. Iridonian, going by the horns, roughly two metres tall and powerfully built. It would have taken some strength to have kept his mouth and nose underwater for long enough to drown him – unless he'd been knocked out beforehand, of course. The bathroom showed no signs of struggle, save for a dent in the neighbouring cubicle wall, too far away. No bruising either, at least on the back.

With some effort, I dragged the man's body out of the 'fresher and turned him over. It wasn't a pretty sight; eyes wide, tendons still visible around the neck, lips pulled tight across the teeth in a rictus of pain, or fear. Possibly both.
Hmm.
A drowned person's face would normally be relaxed, relatively speaking, particularly if the victim had been unconscious first. A precise blow aimed at his solar plexus confirmed my suspicions – no water was driven out of the Iridonian's lungs by my little thump, just what little air remained.

So, how did he die?
The tension in his face suggested something painful, though the lack of any blood or external injuries served to discount stabbing, bludgeoning or shooting. Overdose wouldn't have left his face like that.
Poison, then. Something fast-acting, probably slipped into his drink, any of the usual froth around the mouth would have been washed away by the refresher.
Clever. But why even bother making it look like a drowning?

A search of the man's pockets didn't turn up much, just some credits and an ID card identifying him as Noldum Dreay, a member of the Card Sharp pazaak club. Fancy place, owned by a particularly snobby Hutt named Yurro. So just what the hell had a high-roller like Noldum been doing in a dive like Roonis'?
There was only one thing left to do. My least favourite part.
Resting a hand on Dreay's chest, I closed my eyes – and opened my mind to the Force.

From the body, traces of fear and surprise – and behind that, before the pain, a measure of satisfaction. Pleasure.
From the doorway, vestiges of worry from Roonis and boredom from Juntr.
From nearby, beside the sinks, another impression. Someone else. Feelings of shock, revulsion, terrified realisation and… relief?

I opened my eyes as my perceptions withdrew. This had been no contracted murder; whoever Noldum's killer had been, they'd wanted to be rid of him for a long time.


"All done," I muttered to the bouncer, who stepped aside with a grunt. Roonis rejoined me seconds later, almost hopping on the spot with agitation.
"So what's the score? Who'm I gonna have to bribe?"
I shrugged. "So far, nobody. Unless the name Noldum Dreay means something to you. He come here often?"
"Dreay? Never heard the name. As for… wait, yeah. Every week, same time, he'd come in drunker than a Duros grunt on shore leave, 'bout half an hour before Zaleena started dancin'."
I glanced over to the stage, where an amber Twi'lek – older than most of her fellow dancers, though no less limber – gyrated around a pole to general hoots and catcalls, doing her best to ignore both her audience and my gaze. Even from across the cantina, I could feel her jitters as if she'd been wearing a neon sign saying "Freakout Imminent".
"Aye, that's her," Roonis said with a leer, "y'want a private sesh, that's 50 creds."
I answered with a glare. "Ten, Roonis. Best offer you'll get from me."
"Fifteen and I'll throw in a double juma."
"That's a double for the both of us?"
"Aye."
"Done."

The private booth was, somehow, worse than the bathroom with its dead Zabrak. So much lust and disgust had been poured into this space over the years that it may as well had been oozing out of the walls. It was a simple enough matter to block these impressions out, but I still couldn't help but shudder as I put up my mental walls.
About ten minutes after our session had been meant to start, Zaleena swayed in wearing a fixed smile.
"Tell me your desire, pretty thing," she breathed, hiding the tremor in her voice under a line she'd practised for years, "and Zaleena will provide."
"I desire nothing more than a little chat," I smiIed, gesturing toward a spot at least a metre from where I sat, "and a drink, if you'd like."
Zaleena blinked, the apprehension I'd felt from her earlier coming back in full force. She lowered herself down slowly, as if she feared the seat would swallow her alive, then reached for the drink and gulped almost half of it down in one go.
"Have you ever met a man called Noldum Dreay?" I asked, keeping my expression as placid as I could.
"No," she answered at once, lying through her teeth.
"Are you sure? He always came to watch you dance."
"Doesn't ring a bell. Dray, was it? Sounds human. We get a lot of humans here. All the time, every day, humans."
Babble, babble. Like listening to a child make excuses for their missing homework.
"He's dead now," I continued evenly. "How does that make you feel?"
Relief, coupled with intensifying terror, washed through the dancer as her skin blanched in response.
"Nothing," she lied again, "I feel nothing."
Time to change tack.
"Is this your only job?"
"No, I dance in other places."
"Anywhere in particular?"
"Other places. Lots of them."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes, choosing instead to gaze into hers.
"Ever dance at Card Sharp?"
"Card Sharp?" she repeated, unable to suppress a twitch under her right eye. "What is that, some kind of sabacc den?"
"Something like that," I sighed, rising from my seat, "I'd best be off. Help yourself to what's left of my drink if you like."
Without waiting for a reply, I strode out of the booth and straight toward Roonis, who was wiping the same glass now as he had been before.
"Might want to send her home. She's not feeling great."
Roonis nodded, and motioned to Juntr as I turned on my heel and left.


Card Sharp was one of those clubs you saw at least three of in every spaceport from Coruscant to Corellia. Old-fashioned glowlamps and swing doors, in stark contrast to the usual gun-metal grey of Nar Shaddaa's walls. Three Mandalorians in matching uniforms stood blocking the entrance, glaring at passersby as though daring them to come within striking distance – into which I merrily strode, earning a vice-grip on each shoulder.
"Password?" grunted the bouncer left in front of me.
"No idea," I admitted, trying for an amicable smile. Bad idea.
"Five hundred credits for entry."
"I don't have that—look, I just need to speak to- ow!"
I winced as the bouncer to my left dug his fingers under my ribs, dangerously close to one of my favourite lungs.
"No password, no entry fee, no go."
Well, this was going nowhere.
"There's something," I intoned heavily, locking eyes with the central Mandalorian and focusing hard, "in my pocket you need to see."
The Mandalorian blinked. Twice. Three times. Four-
"…There's something in your pocket I need to see."
"That's right. I'll get it out for you."
The bouncer nodded at his fellows, who released my arms.
That's going to hurt tomorrow.
As swiftly as I could, I reached inside my jacket and produced Dreay's membership card.
"Noldum Dreay," the lead bouncer read out, squinting at the small print, "that ain't you. Where'd you get this?"
"He was found dead yesterday. Poisoned, by the looks of him."
Quick as a flash, the bouncers flanking me had me by the arms again, nearly lifting me off the ground.
"You kill 'im, human?"
I almost laughed in his face. "If I killed him, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to come round here and rub your noses in it? I'm just trying to find out who did it."
"Hrmmm," replied Bouncer #1, cogs turning in that big muscly head, "fine. Boss'll want a word with ya either way. Boys?"
The other two grunted, and began frog-marching me through the doors and toward a staircase.

"Ouch. Thanks for that, lads."
In typical Mandalorian fashion, I was thrust through the door to Yurro's chamber and unceremoniously dumped on the floor before him. As flabby and pungent as any Hutt one usually met, Yurro was curled up next to a bowl of… something, some of which he would periodically grab and stuff into his gaping mouth. Beside him stood a Twi'lek man, presumably there to translate – or, at least, he didn't seem armed. This was fair enough, given most sentients tended not to speak more than one or two languages, and no Hutt worth his salt would ever stoop to attempting anything other than Huttese.
Of course, anyone who'd been educated the way I had could both understand and make themselves understood more or less anywhere.
"Another human, for frack's sake," Yurro boomed, "what does this one want?"
The Twi'lek's translation was rather more tactful.
"My master would like to know why you have come before us."
"Noldum Dreay is dead," I replied, presenting the deceased's card, "I'm looking into the matter."
"Dreay," Yurro muttered, "which one was that? The Weequay with the limp?"
"I believe it was the Iridonian, master,"
corrected his aide.
"With the face like a smacked ronto?"
"Yes, master. I believe you had just taken him on as a debt collector."
"I remember now. Tough one, not easy to take down. Gamorreans, maybe?"

"Poison, actually," I interrupted, smirking ever so slightly at the surprise on Yurro's face.
"Well, well. The human can understand civilised speech. Can it do tricks, as well?"
"I'd like to ask around, see what I can find out," I went on, ignoring the insult, "does that work for you?"
"It does. Oh, and human?"
"Yes?"
"Word gets out that Yurro can't protect his staff, my stock drops faster than bantha crap down a Jawa's throat."
I nodded, trying desperately to force that image from my head.
"You find out who killed our man, bring him to me. Alive. You'll be compensated."
Another nod.
"Go, then. We're done here."

Not a minute after I'd exited the chamber, I sensed a flash of somewhat-familiar blind panic from the direction of the stage and turned just in time to see a pair of amber head-tendrils whipping around the corner of the "private" doorway.
Damn. Probably a back door around there too.
Without going so far as to break into a run, I made my way quickly out of the front door and around the nearby corner – too late, it would seem, as all that awaited me was a closing backdoor and an empty alley. Still, all wasn't lost; I simply had to once again make use of some rather special talent.


Understatement of the year: Nar Shaddaa's a busy place. So many packed into so small a space, all with their own hopes, dreams and feelings, served as a kind of interference when trying to sense any one person through the Force. That said, I wasn't exactly flying blind; Zaleena's intense terror lit her presence up like an overclocked ion engine, strong enough even to leave traces on her surroundings. A trail for me to follow, clear as footprints through mud.

Left, right, left again. Down one alley, across a crowded street and into an even busier market full of people. Lots of Force presences masking the dancer's wake. Damn it.
I picked my way through as quickly as I could, ignoring the series of elbows in my ribs and marketeers trying to catch my eye, stretching out my perceptions to the crowd's edges to try and catch her nipping off to the side, but nothing tipped me off. By the time I finally made it to the other side, I'd lost the dancer entirely.
Nothing for it but to go for one of my seedier contacts, see if I could find out where else Zaleena worked. Probably either Kaldak or Vett, though Kaldak was slimier than a Vjuni slugworm and Vett wouldn't even tell you the time if there wasn't something in it for her.
Tomorrow, though. Sleep now.


An hour later, I was just drifting off when I was jolted awake by a certain flash of relief. The same relief I'd felt the shadow of when I was investigating the toilet where Noldum was killed.
A kilometre away at most. Two or three towers over from where I was.
The words "will of the Force" echoed in the back of my mind as I rose and dressed to leave, but I chose to ignore them.

After eight hundred metres, two young urchins failing to pick my pocket and six offers of possibly lethal off-brand deathsticks, I arrived at the tower in question. Zaleena's little signal was fading fast, but there was… something else. Another presence, radiating energy, a nova among glowlamps.
A Force-sensitive? Here?
Whoever this was, they had some power. Enough to drown out Zaleena, had I not been concentrating on her; even so, it was like trying to translate Trandoshan script while someone poked you with a stun-rod.
As I ascended, I could tell this Force-sensitive wasn't far from Zaleena herself.
Same floor, certainly.
Pretty damn close, actually.
Same room, maybe… definitely.
It wasn't Zaleena, of that I was certain. If she was as strong in the Force as this other person was, she wouldn't have been able to hide it from me. However, given her age, it wasn't impossible that she might have had a child sometime in the last fifteen years. A powerful one, probably even Jedi material.
Complications. Just what I needed.

As I neared Zaleena's apartment, I began to hear voices. Two different females, both speaking Twi'leki.
"Mom?"
"Not now, sweetheart, not now, we need to—"
"Mom!"
"What? What is it?"
"Someone's coming…"
I froze just outside the door as a wave of someone else's terror once again washed across me. The girl had sensed my approach.
"…Persistent schutta. Hide!"
The door opened, and I found myself staring down the barrel of an old blaster pistol. Not a fantastic piece, probably at least a one-in-ten chance of it malfunctioning whenever someone pulled the trigger… but then again, the quality of the weapon generally doesn't matter after you've been shot in the face with it.

Slowly, deliberately, I raised my empty palms.
"Don't be afraid, Zaleena. I'm unarmed."
"Who are you, human? Why won't you leave me alone?"
I spread my fingers slightly, trying to offer calming energies through the Force.
"My name is Janis. I just want to talk."
"Liar," she hissed, tightening her grip on the pistol, "I saw you talking to Roonis. To Yurro. You're here to kill me."
"I'm not here to kill anyone. Please, if you'll just let me come in—"
"Don't you move! I'll shoot you, I will!"
"All right, then. Go for it."
The blaster shook in the Twi'lek's hand, just a little.
"What did you say?"
"Shoot me, if that's what you want."
I leaned forward, pressing my forehead on the gun's barrel. It shook again.
"You're crazy, human. You want me to kill you?"
"No," I admitted, staring up into her eyes. "I don't want you to kill me… and neither do you."
A second passed. Two. Five. Ten. Twenty. With each passing instant, Zaleena's hand shook more and more, until finally it dropped.
"Damn you, human, you're right. Come in, but try anything—"
"You'll shoot me, and I'll deserve it. Thank you."
Words couldn't express just how glad I was that gamble had paid off.


She still hadn't let go of the gun, but at least we were both sat down now. Zaleena's daughter still hadn't emerged from the bathroom, so I chose not to reveal my knowledge of her presence.
"So, why did you kill Noldum Dreay?"
A ripple of shock from the bathroom at the word "kill". Seems Zaleena hadn't quite got around to mentioning it.
"Self-defence."
I gave a small smile. "Poisoning someone in self-defence? Try again."
"Fine," Zaleena sighed, reaching for her cosmetics and handing something to me.
"Lip gloss?"
"Rylothi Sunset. It's got garvain extract in it – no danger to you or me, but other races can have reactions. Bith get a rash, Quarren scales flake off…"
"…and Zabrak die."
"Yes."
"So, what, you kissed Dreay to death?"
"He'd been bothering me. Stalking. Started off buying me drinks, talking about how what I did was beneath me, how he could take me away from all of it. Not the first time that's happened."
Unconsciously, Zaleena's eyes flitted toward the bathroom door where her daughter was undoubtedly listening in.
"This carried on for weeks. More insistent, more forceful, wouldn't take no for an answer. He started following me after work; usually I'd lose him going through the market, like I tried with you."
"Usually?"
"Last week, he managed to follow me here. Waited until the place was empty, then broke in and left this."
She handed me a small picture, a proud display of a certain part of Zabrak anatomy I'd really have preferred not to see.
"So, you had evidence of harassment. Why not go to Roonis? He's not a bad guy, he would have at least tried to do something."
"Roonis couldn't have done anything except bar Noldum from his club. Yurro could've done more, but he doesn't care what happens to the girls. And I'm pretty sure Noldum was on Yurro's payroll."
I shook my head. "Roonis would have come to me. Like he did when they found Dreay."
Zaleena locked eyes with me. "And what could you have done?"
"You'd be surprised."
Zaleena lapsed into a thoughtful silence, briefly tensing up at a noise from the bathroom then relaxing when I didn't react to it.
"So what happened then?"
"He came to see me before I started yesterday. Started making threats, said he'd sell me on the slave market if I kept on refusing him. Me… and my Shaari."
"And then you said yes. Pretended to give in, and kissed him with those glossy lips."
Zaleena didn't respond. She didn't have to.
"Listen to me," I began, gently taking her hand, "you need to leave. Go to another planet, if you can. Somewhere closer to the Core, if not Coruscant itself."
Zaleena nodded. "I plan to. Need to check shuttle schedules, pack…"
"No you don't. Head for the spaceport now – take only essentials. Money. Whatever ID you have. Anything else can be replaced once you've resettled."
"I can't just…"
"Yes you can," I insisted, rising to my feet. "I'm going home for a minute, to grab a couple of weapons. Once I come back, we leave."
"But… but why? I can't pay you, we'll need everything we have for the shuttle fare…"
"Don't worry about that. Just get your stuff together."
Before Zaleena could lament further, I strode toward the exit, a flick of my mind opening the door.
And, of course, it was at that exact moment that one of the Mandalorian goons I'd met earlier decided to bang on the door – and rather than the steel door it was expecting, his fist met my face.

My first thought was that stars shouldn't really be popping up on duracrete walls unannounced.
Then, I really hoped my jaw hadn't just split in two.
Thirdly, the owner of that fist had just said something.
"…I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of my cheekbones swapping places."
"Funny," he grunted, poking me with the barrel of a pistol rather more imposing than Zaleena's dinky little thing. "I said get down on your knees before we shoot 'em out."
We? I glanced over the chief-goon's shoulder and, sure enough, there were his two friends.
"Ah. I see the gang's all here."
"On your kriffin' knees, human. We've got some business to settle with your little friend."
A convulsion behind me indicated just how much Zaleena was looking forward to this business-settling.
On the bright side, I had a plan. On the not-so-bright side, as plans go, it was fairly terrible. It was also going to hurt quite a bit. Suddenly, I was keenly aware of the fact that less than a kilometre away there sat a lockbox containing a rather elegant weapon which would have come in really useful right about now.
"Why?" I asked, trying to sound obliviously innocent. "What's she done?"
"Don't play dumb, meat. You led us right to the whore who took out our boy, an' Yurro hates it when the girlies get uppity."
The big fella leered at the woman behind me, patting his gun's stock with his free hand.
"I might have a bit of a problem with that," I replied, drawing my right leg back.

As the lead Mandalorian turned to give me another whack on the noggin, my knee shot up and drove itself into his gut. Before he could straighten back up, my elbow had found the base of his neck – down he went, though probably not out.
The other two reacted quickly – one aimed a shot at me, missing by at least half a metre, the other at Zaleena. Fortunately for her, my left arm had found its way between the Twi'lek and her attacker, earning itself a lovely burn-mark just below the wrist.
Ow.
I propelled myself forward, boosting myself forward with a burst of Force power, collided with the second grunt and flung an arm out to give the third a little push into the door-frame. Both hit the floor hard and lay still. Satisfied that I wouldn't have to worry about them for the time being, I turned to deal with the head honcho – who had just once again raised his pistol, pointing at Zaleena, who had frozen in terror.
I reached out with my uninjured arm, summoning my will to try and pull the man's arm toward me and away from the woman… seconds too late.
A shot rang out, and the dancer breathed no more.

The fight was over in seconds. As I was still scrambling to my feet, the bathroom door burst open revealing Shaari, Zaleena's daughter – fifteen at most – orange eyes wide and wild, piercing the air between herself and her mother's murderer.
A blood-curdling scream, a wave of force strong enough to dent a starship's hull, and the Mandalorian sprawled across the floor, limbs sticking out at odd angles, unmistakably dead.


Two days later

"We commend you to the heavens, fair Zaleena. May another star shine this night."
The small number congregated bowed their heads as a small cylinder was loaded onto a skyshot jumper, which swiftly departed to spread its contents across the starways. One by one, we stepped away from the Launchpad to allow young Shaari to bid her mother farewell in peace.
"Don't beat yourself up, pal," said Roonis as reassuringly as he could, catching the look on my face as he came to stand beside me. "There wasn't anything else you could have done – hell, if you weren't there then they'd have done for Shaari too."
"I know," I sighed. "I'll accept it eventually."
Patting my shoulder, the Rodian left to comfort one of Zaleena's fellow dancers who was sobbing into her hands.

After a couple of minutes, I approached the teenage Twi'lek.
"You know, the Jedi say that nobody really dies. It's part of their code: there is no death, there is the Force. We'll see her again, eventually."
Shaari looked up at me. "You're a Jedi?"
"No, not… not any more."
"What happened?"
Despite the girl's grief and pain, underneath it all I could sense a spark of curiosity. Empathy, even. Enough to bring a small smile to my face.
"It's not a pleasant story, certainly not something I'd like to think about today. Maybe someday I'll want to talk about it, just… not after what's happened."
Shaari nodded, and took my hand. "Home?"
"Home."