AMNESTY
by ardavenport
- - - Part 1
"Master."
Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes snapped open, his light sleep vanishing. It was dark, no lights, only faint white, pink and orange reflections on the walls and vaulted ceiling. The hand on his cheek withdrew. He rolled over on the padded bench and rise up on one elbow. The dark outline of his nineteen year-old Padawan was close, behind him the delicately carved whorls and figures of an outer wall beyond the entry archway of the observatory, pale reddish-pink in the nebula light from the night sky outside.
"Someone's coming."
Qui-Gon rolled all the way off, his boots hitting the floor. In a few steps he passed Obi-Wan out to the veranda. It was too early to be the end of Obi-Wan's watch. There was no lightening of the sky from the planet's star, just the bright swirls and stars of the K'koosh Nebula that filled more than half the night sky. Ducking into the shadow of the pillars and statues, he still had a full view of the canyon below. At the base of the stairs leading up to the observatory a lone figure climbed up toward them with a faint scrape and clink of armor and weapons. Qui-Gon's hand went to his lightsaber and he backed up a pace.
"Did the sentries warn you?" It was too early for anyone to come. But not too early for an ambush.
"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan whispered back. "None of them were disabled or attacked. They read no energy sources."
"Is there just the one?"
"Yes, Master. He seems to be alone; no ship, no droids. And no other large lifeforms."
If it was an ambush, it was a very bad one. Or one so destructive that it had no need of stealth.
"What shall we do?" Obi-Wan whispered.
Qui-Gon glanced back at his young apprentice, face pale in the pinkish stellar light.
"He obviously wishes to meet us. So, we will meet him."
Qui-Gon moved to the entry arch, standing in plain view, his dark robe pushed back from his sides, the lightsaber clipped to his belt exposed; his Padawan positioned himself at his side and a step behind.
Less than halfway up, their visitor paused. He looked humanoid, medium height, male body-type. He wore black armor over his upper and lower torso with dark vertical ridges accented silver. There were black boots, gauntlets and arm guards, shiny enough to mirror the stellar brilliance above. His thighs and upper arms were dark and dull. An eye visor cut a shiny black horizontal gash across the silvered vertical helmet ridges that formed a crown of sensor tips over the head. There was a heavy blaster rifle sticking up from behind his shoulders and a blaster holster below each hip. He lowered his head and resumed climbing.
The air was warm and still, smelling of stone, dust and the huge tufts of flowering dry grass growing among the rocks. Over the low hum of the observatory's shield generator, a reptile bird cawed; another answered from far way. Large, hairy insects scurried away from their warm, comfortable spots on the stone steps as the man in armor approached. Qui-Gon remained completely still, the Force, an aura of life coming into clearer focus around him.
Step, step, step. Coming closer, higher.
A tiny lizard snapped up a glittering, drifting bubble insect.
Step, clink-creak, step, clink-creak. He reached a landing, crossed it without breaking stride and climbed up the next section of stairs.
Obi-Wan inhaled deeply, his anticipation finally stilling.
Step, clink-creak, step, clink-creak.
The person stopped at the final landing less than two body-lengths below them. The helmet tilted up again. Qui-Gon sensed . . . . nothing. Only an armored man standing on bare stone. No hostility but some satisfaction. And there was a hint of anticipation from Obi-Wan next to him. Qui-Gon would speak to him about it at their next meditation. But for now, they had this moment to attend to.
Their visitor's armor was fairly distinctive; he was known as hired muscle, a mercenary, sometimes assassin, Voklarooz.
The gauntleted hands came up slowly, palms toward them, fingers spread, rising up to his shoulders, then the base of his helmet. He took it off. Voklarooz had white hair, cut short at the base, but combed upward in straight spikes, somewhat like his helmet, which clunked and rolled on the landing as he tossed it away. The face was lined, but un-scarred, the eyes dark and scowling.
Bringing his hands together, the fingers of one of them pulled at the other. First one gauntlet came off and was tossed aside, then the other. His hands free, he quickly undid the fasteners of his arm guards, leg armor, shoulders, chest. He dropped it all on the landing in growing piles on either side of him. His cold, dark eyes cast upward, he unfastened his pack and rifle and let them drop behind him. He flipped up the tabs on his shirt, ripping it apart and off his shoulders. He was lean and wiry, with faded scars crisx-crossing his well-defined muscles. He bent down and tapped the closures on the sides of his black boots and stepped out of them.
Qui-Gon caught a motion at his side and he exchanged a look with a very surprised Obi-Wan as the man pulled down his pants, stepped out of them and dropped them in a pile. No less surprised, Qui-Gon kept his features neutral.
Stripped down to a minimal gray covering on his lower torso, Vaklarooz ascended, his bare feet slapping the stones. When he was five steps away, Qui-Gon raised his hand for him to stop. Vaklarooz kept coming. Qui-Gon's lightsaber flew off his belt into his hand and activated, a fraction of a second before Obi-Wan's ignited as well.
Vaklarooz kept coming, the green and pale blue glow from the lightsabers growing on him, overwhelming the pinks, reds and oranges of the sky. Two steps away, he forced Qui-Gon to turn the tip of his saber aside or he would have run into it. One step below, Vaklarooz stopped before two Jedi lightsabers, his feet shoulder-width apart like a soldier at ready-rest.
"Amnesty," he rasped, his voice low and rough with age.
Qui-Gon frowned down at him. "You're early. The amnesty is only from sunup to sundown."
"I need more than amnesty."
"Indeed." Qui-Gon spared him no sympathy, waiting for further explanation.
"I need your clothes. Well," he amended, "His clothes." He jerked his head toward Obi-Wan. "Yours are probably too big."
Eyebrows raised, Qui-Gon finally let his surprise show. "Really? And why should we give them to you?"
"You know who I am."
Qui-Gon gave him only the slightest affirmative motion of head and eyes.
"I've been paid by Yivis Raan to kill you, both of you, take your place and when Sheszir Tumekulac shows herself here for the amnesty, I'll kill her, too."
Glancing at the man's bare feet, bare legs, bare chest, Qui-Gon tilted his head. "Not a very good start in your plan so far," he commented.
"I'm claiming amnesty for myself instead." Vaklarooz growled back at the Jedi's sarcasm. "And I am telling you that this site is being watched by Raan herself and her people. They've got distance-viewer droids out past your shields and sensors. They're waiting for me to go in with you. And then after I've killed you, I'm to take your place, appear here, so they can see me."
"And how are you expected to accomplish this?"
"I told Raan that I concealed weapons here and then once I had your guard down, I'd kill you and take your place."
"There are no weapons here, not even disassembled ones," Obi-Wan denied.
"Of course there aren't," Vaklarooz snapped back at him. "This place has been sealed off since before the Fedrate negotiations started. But Raan is a bit too trusting in my reputation." He leered. "I have killed Jedi before."
"Three, in fact." Qui-Gon had not known any of them very well, but he had met them at various times in the past. He backed up; Obi-Wan did as well. Gesturing a dangerous welcome with his lightsaber, Qui-Gon inclined his head to the man. "Enter."
They followed him past the elaborately carved and engraved outer walls and only deactivated their weapons when they were inside. Clipping his lightsaber back to his belt, Qui-Gon waved his hand and the interior lights came up on the circular room of pale walls and columns of carved, curling scroll-work, the filigree going all the way up to encircle the skylights. He folded his arms before him.
"And what will happen if we simply have you wait down below with the other refugees?"
"Raan will assume that you killed me. She'll go to her fallback plan."
"And that is?"
"Don't know. She said if I didn't kill you, I'd be dead and I didn't need to know. But she talked tough about her clan having weapons stashed on this planet that haven't been found since it was . . . gentrified." he added, his disapproving eyes on the beautifully decorated interior of the observatory. "Don't know what she might have; could be anything from broken down attack droids and blasters to mega-bombs."
"What would an attack accomplish?" Obi-Wan demanded, taking a step forward. "Even mega-bombs couldn't get past the shields. If she has them."
"Delay. She puts on a big enough show at sunup and hides; they'll have to cancel the amnesty and try to figure out who did it. It'll give her enough time to think of another way of getting to Tumekulac. After the amnesty, anyone who takes it trades their old life for a new one and gets shipped off to quieter parts of the galaxy. It'll be near impossible for Raan to find Tumekulac then."
"And why would she not assume that you had claimed amnesty for yourself?" Qui-Gon asked.
"She refused to believe that you wouldn't just kill me once you found out who I was. Her world just works that way." He leered. "But I know better."
"How does Raan know that Tumekulac is even coming here?" Obi-Wan paced a step as he spoke, as if to physically challenge the man as well. "There are five other amnesty sites on this world that the Jedi are overseeing. Tumekulac could go to any one of them."
The mercenary shook his head. "I don't ask Raan where she gets her intelligence, but she seemed pretty confident that it was going to be here. And with the amnesty this'll probably be her last chance. She wants revenge and she doesn't care if she brings the Federates down on her to do it; I've never seen anyone hate another being as much as Raan hates Tumekulac. I don't ask why. Not my job."
"And Raan would prefer that you kill us and then kill Tumekulac when she arrives," Qui-Gon concluded. "After you complete your job, how are you supposed to escape? Your reputation, such as it is, does not include suicide attacks."
Vaklarooz gestured toward the entryway. "I've got a disguise in my pack. I'm supposed to wear it when I take your place. As soon as Tumekulac and a couple of her top lieutenants are dead, I take it off and leave. Then we go for our own amnesty at one of the other sites."
Folding his arms before him, Qui-Gon sensed not a bit of sympathy for the people Raan would kill, or for the hard-won peace that the amnesty would purchase for that whole sector of space. But there was also not a trace of untruth in the man's words, either.
"You are aware that it is likely that not all of your crimes would be absolved by claiming amnesty here, especially those deemed to be crimes against the Galactic Republic and independent of the Federate-Koshurii conflict agreement?"
Radiating confidence, one end of his lip curling in a sneer, Vaklarooz shrugged. "I'll take my chances."
Qui-Gon waited a few beats, but there was no more to be gained. He backed up, Obi-Wan with him, and they went to the other side of the entry room between a pair support pillars, their surfaces decorated with complicated swirls of pale green and white polished stone.
"Master, we cannot cooperate with him. He can't be trusted," Obi-Wan argued. "He's not telling us everything.
Qui-Gon nodded. "I agree that he is not trustworthy, but for this . . . I sense that he is not lying. And what he does not know is by design." The easiest way in the galaxy to lie, even to a Jedi, was to be deliberately ignorant.
A little reluctant nod from Obi-Wan confirmed his observation. Qui-Gon lowered his eyes; his top priority was the orderly and peaceful execution of the amnesty. Making his decision, he strode back to Vaklarooz and stopped, hands on his hips, appraising the mercenary.
"Obi-Wan, give him your clothes."
"Master!" His Padawan's voice rose in a high-pitched objection.
"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon's head snapped to the side, his voice and expression demanding nothing less than complete obedience from his young apprentice. Obi-Wan's mouth hung open for only a second before he closed it and minimally bowed his head. Another second later, his robe hit the floor in Valkarooz's general direction. Qui-Gon ignored the sullen glare as he turned back.
"We will stay concealed in here. You," he pointed, "will be visible on the outside," he pointed to the archway, "to greet any refugees arriving. In any case, they must reach this observatory without our assistance to claim amnesty. But you will stay within our sight at all time for the entire day."
Obi-Wan's belt and tabbards landed on the robe on the floor.
"Tell me more about Raan's plans."
Valkarooz shrugged. "I've told you most of what I know. She's hiding in the mountains to the east with a small fleet of armored speeders, but no heavy guns. That's all I saw."
Obi-Wan's tunic and undertunic joined the other clothes on the floor.
"And what if you do not come out of here after Tumekulac comes in?"
The mercenary shrugged. "Not sure Raan's got a backup plan for that. If I'm the only one in here with a weapon, and I've just killed two Jedi, how could I miss?"
Qui-Gon nodded thoughtfully. Someone would have to come out and take Vaklarooz's place. He glanced at his Padawan, tugging his foot out of a white pants leg before tossing them aside. Bending to pick his lightsaber up, he wore only a beige loincloth, front and back, held in place by a wide elastic strap cinched low on his hips.
"You will have to take his place, Obi-Wan, but only after Tumekulac and her party arrive."
With a curt nod, Obi-Wan did not voice his objection this time.
"Our first priority is this amnesty. It must take place with no violence. Raan will have to disarm to claim amnesty and you will be wearing Vaklarooz's armor, so they won't know it's you. We can let the authorities sort them out after sundown." He frowned at the nearly naked man and then gestured toward the pile of clothes. Vaklarooz took his cue, snatched up the pants and put a foot into one pants leg.
"Obi-Wan, go below and report our situation to Master Fakmeer," he ordered without looking away from the mercenary. A receding 'Yes, Master' answered him.
- - - End Part 1