Title: The Resurrected
Author: Merlynne
Catagory: Old Republic
Keywords: Clone
Spoilers: Jedi Apprentice Series
Rating: R for language and violence
Summary: Obi-Wan is sent to Bonadan to assist in negotiations between the wealthy native slavers and offworld abolitionists, and inadvertantly becomes entangled in the affairs of the local Jedi Healers. Qui-Gon soon follows, and together they stumble upon a sinister conspiracy that far exceeds the slavery dilemma.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd. No money is being made and no infringement is intended. ;)
Author's Note: It's a long one, but hang in there. I hope the end is redemptive.
+++++THE RESURRECTED+++++
+++++PROLOGUE+++++
The man with the raven robe gathered his things quickly when the high rise began to sway again. "Those idiots", the Bondani political leader whispered to himself as he glanced down to the bright flash of an explosion below. He had to admit, things were out of his control now, and the best he could do was to flee. He had held onto this planet for as long as he possibly could, and now he had to think about himself. The two Republican representatives along with the Jedi, had just left his offices also seeking transport off planet.
But now, it seemed there was another presence lurking in the inky shadows of his office.
Ceasing all movement, the shuffle of his silken robe draped along his broad shoulders hung still for a moment as he listened. An unexpected draft ruffled the ornamental feathers that fanned out from his 15th century high arched collar. He spun around; the double doors must have been left open when his uninvited guests abandoned him.
Wasting no more time on anxious thoughts, he strode to his desk and sat down, giving one last look to the office he would leave behind.
But there was something different. A small potted plant balanced on the edge of his desk. He plucked the card from the tropical foliage, one eye suspiciously scanning the blue hues of the room as he read.
The color instantly drained from his face and he sunk back into his plush leather chair. Perfectly still, his eyes followed the shadow that crept from the corner of the room.
This is for the Simmians, was all she said before the Governor slumped over, a trail of blood drizzling from the corner of his mouth.
+++++PREFACE+++++
The Republic was reaching its last years of hegemony in the galaxy. Divided over the ethical parameters of slavery, the Senate struggled to maintain its authority as systems threaten secession. As protectorates of the peace, the Jedi were interspersed throughout the galaxy to facilitate negotiations between opposing parties as well a maintain order throughout the chaotic era.
+++++CHAPTER 1+++++
A Noble Cause
+++++Walkar, Bonadan
The Governor's Palace
Two Months Earlier+++++
The governor let his eyes wander over Walkar from the comfort of his office spanning the penthouse parlor and the three floors below. The long traditional black robe exemplified his stature and among his twenty-five long years here he'd grown used to its weight.
Allowing his mind to wander, he thought back to the time when Walkar was an inland sea to be dried up over centuries, leaving no mark of itself except the salty barren emptiness. His eyes paused momentarily on the craggy mountains far out in the distant east, jutting out like a broken bone over miles of smooth plains. Pock marked and ugly from the surface, beneath lied a treasure trove of undepleting splendor. The mines brought continuous wealth to this planet, but its bounty would never had been discovered if it weren't for that mass of earth cracking open with ripeness for the taking. His line of Bondani had known since then how best to harness the many treasures this land had to offer.
His own impression on the land, however, was far more beautiful and fruitful than the sooty depths of the mines.
'Look at Walkar flourish.' His chin lifted a little as a sense of pride tingled throughout his veins seeing the dozens of formidable high rises blossom from every corner of the metropolis. Tlaska, Quism, Link, Montague, Relvaire. He grew where none could, and they dare tell him that it isn't right? The Simmians, native to this planet, were conquered, and just like any other conquered race, they were forced into submission, vanquished. Others may annihilate, but Bondani preserved and their people had lived together in peace for centuries.
Outsiders were usually welcomed here, often bringing profitable business, and while the Republic had, up to this point, benefited from Bonadan's economic wealth, they would not be welcome here any longer.
Governor M'ztka, Senator Din on Coruscant is waiting on view screen A. The assistant had slithered in unnoticed and awaited orders to connect the transmission, but found the governor unresponding, distracted by the momentary rush of pink in the usually bleak overcast sky. After a short lapse, the sky melded back into a deep gray and the skyline began to buzz with illumination as the city prepared for the oncoming of night.
The Bondani will not surrender, he whispered under his breath.
Senator Din is right. Svil, proceed as planned. The Senate means only to crush that which we have struggled to preserve.
+++++Walkar, Bonadan
Centrally Sponsored Clinic+++++
The white clad healer trudged back the two mile journey from the Lepkaum housing facility having failed her task. Instead, a honey colored beveled jewel fogged over in the warm moisture of her palm, the chain half crumpled and dangling.
Reviewing the events of the last few hours, she missed the post that designated the outskirts of Walkar as time had buried it amidst the long yellowish grasses of the moors.
*****
Nu-shutka ki'ki cot, Marta. The words of sympathy could not ease the mother's pain as her third child passed away in less than a month. The explosion in the manufacturing district of Walkar claimed thousands of laborer's lives when the aluminum fluoride chamber sprung a leak, emitting the corrosive gas which then mixed with the air in the ventilating system. While the adults were able to somewhat withstand the tissue damage, the children's still developing lungs burned to the core.
She'd traveled all this way, and yet Marta would not accept her daughter's few belongings. Hollow, the Simmian slave resounded, The other children need me... and head drooping, the mother shuffled out.
The Healer watched her go, powerless against their powerlessness, drained to the point of apathy. For a long while, she made no effort to move until a guard ordered her out.
*****
The healer rubbed her shoulder where the Gammorean Boar jabbed the end of his gaffer stick. The clinic finally came into sight and she hastened her pace to end the monotonous, wasted trip. Slugging up the couple of steps to the clinic's main entrance, she shuffled her loosely laced boots across the dirty welcome mat. Glancing aside, she happened to notice the purple and orange azaleas in the two large pots flanking the entrance were looking a little droopy. Making a mental note to give them some care, she tapped in the entrance code and the door whooshed open.
The check-in counter was abandoned as usual, but as she crossed the short reception hall, the patient residence came into sight. The chronically ill mostly slept, awakening every now and then for treatment, and all looked peaceful from behind the plexiglass sheeting. Bisected by the fresher facility, the children's ward extended beyond the other half.
Slipping in, she summoned up her last ounce of sincerity to smile at Li'Tala, a six year old whose nimble fingers ornamented fine crystal.
Has my father... come asking for me... today? she wheezed with a smile.
Yes, he came while you were asleep and left you something. Eyes widened, and the Healer pulled a crystal amulet from behind the little Simmian girl's inverted ear.
Kissing the rock, her glassy eyes sparkled as the Healer stole away, a thief.
+++++Coruscant
Senate Building+++++
Chancellor Vallorum's right hand man restated the motion. A proposal has been made to allocate $200 billion credits for the development of cloning technology. Please respond now.
Senator Mon Mothma absent-mindedly punched in her e-vote for Chandrila, distracted in her preparation of today's formal address. With clammy hands, she diligently reviewed her detailed notes. Rolling her head from the side to side to ease the tension, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
Motion passed. Next on the agenda. Senator Mon Mothma speaks on behalf of the OASR.
Your up, Senator, her assistant interrupted.
The hover base floated to the center of the hall as gentle as a breeze. Gathering herself, she felt the eager eyes of the many systems that had chosen her to forefront this heated movement.
As many of you know, the Republic has a unperiled legal system which entails specific laws regarding slavery. However, many planets are allowed to subsist reaping the many benefits of the Republic's bounty, and yet refuse to abide by the guidelines set forth by the initial charter....
*
Qui-Gon listened serenely from the box seats at the top of the arena as Mon Mothma went on arguing for the abolition of slavery. As the issue was swept under the table by powerful corporations who needed the free labor, Mon Mothma, and many other core system worlds, founded the Organization for the Abolition of Slavery in the Republic or the OASR. Qui-Gon had been instructed to shadow the popular Senator and assist in creating a peaceful solution to the crisis at hand. Encouraged by Mon Mothma's wholesome leadership, Qui-Gon felt assured she would do all her in power to find a realistic and positive alternative to slavery. However, he also realized that the fear of change often led men to drastic measures, and while he hoped for a tidy resolution, he could not fathom such. The characters involved in this fight are too stubborn, he sighed inwardly and turned his attention back to the address.
+++++Coruscant
Jedi Temple+++++
Obi-Wan Kenobi rewound the video archive to log 28B71X. Through viper like accusations, Din, Senator of Bonadan, threatened the whole of the Senate with secession should they attempt to enforce the anti-slavery laws. We already pay the highest tariffs imposed on any system! Our goods form the base of your economies. Your systems cannot afford to drop us from the chain. The Senate rumbled with supporters and opposition like a maddened crowd.
The dark skinned Mace Windu paused the holo and explained, Although the Jedi Council detests slavery, Bonadan cannot be allowed to secede. The Republic would crumble from the inside and many people would suffer from the economic collapse. The Senate has begun negotiations and has requested official mediation. Qui-Gon will design a proposal with the OASR on Alderaan while you go to Bonadan. He will then regroup with you in a couple weeks to make the offer.
Exhibit caution, Obi-Wan, this may be the beginning of the end for peace in the Republic, Ki Adi Mundi advised soberly.
This note, though, Yoda held up one of his three green fingers. Dictates the Code that cannot we support or oppose any measure not ratified by the majority of the Senate. Delay secession you must, and that is all.
Bowing, Mace sent Obi-Wan out saying, May the Force be with you.
+++++Bonadan
Clinic+++++
O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon gainst self slaughter.
Elia exhaled from her depths, a long exaggerated sigh.
Be thankful you still feel .... that you haven't become numb to it all.
Close friends, Thaum and Elia had been plucked from their few short years at the Facility for Healer Enhancement to tend to the people of Bonadan, a planet profiting from the exploitation of the slave trade. Both having been hidden away on small isolated systems, each had recognized their strange gifts and abandoned family and home to fulfill whatever design the universe had planned for them. Arriving much older than the other candidates who had been selected among the Temple's elite Jedi, the two instantly connected and freely shared their knowledge and unique abilities.
The long lashed blue eyes of the pale skinned Filipian intended to calm, but when his companion looked into them, she only saw the weepy image of herself. I gave away Marta's daughter's crystal amulet, she confessed.
The truth revealed, Thaum gave his friend time to vent.
And Li'Tala asked again today if her papa would visit. I couldn't tell her no yet again. So I lied and told her he had left the amulet for her.
Reaching out his milky hand, he comforted her, empathetic to her situation.
Thankful for the calm accepting, she continued to verbalize her feelings as justification to herself that the action was more humane than the reality. Some of these parents don't even bother; they may as well be dead. But the children always have hope, believing in their parents when they don't even believe in themselves.
Marta's daughter believed in the amulet as if it held some magical property, though all Marta could see was the sick product of child labor. Breathing deeply, she sought to calm the overflowing resentment for the system that allowed the continuation of this kind of lifestyle. We've been here six years now, and I thought I could assimilate.
We are not meant to sacrifice our spirits. Our healing gifts preserve through the manifestation of hope. He rose, kissing her gently on the forehead. Believe, Elia. We cannot afford to be like them- broken. Let's go.
Plopping her heavy feet back onto the corded floor, they slipped down the healer's private residence hall to the conference room in the common area.
As the rest of the team of six Healers took their place around the semi circular table, the Angel, Ruebyn, the appointed Council Liaison, began. Jedi Master Li'sarrow, our devoted teacher, would like to make an announcement. The solemnity in her voice spurned apprehension, but the Jedi Healers exhibited patience as was taught.
A fuzzy blue figure materialized in the center of the half moon table dressed in a lengthy white tunic and simple drawstring pants- classic Healer attire. As if each held a special place in her heart, the Master Healer acknowledged each student. Thank you, Ruebyn.
My Tetre, not so long since I've seen you last on Coruscant. My Meerpa, you're not pestering poor Tetre too much now, are you? My Thaum, I'd like to hear how your garden is coming along. My Amelia, no need to brood. My Kiana, focus.
Each student smiled, briefly missing the comfort of her guidance, and when she asked Ruebyn how things were progressing on Bonadan, each would have liked to have given their own opinion, but Ruebyn answered as positively as could be allowed.
Master Li'sarrow, the factories are careless with their machinery and workers. Tragedy is frequent. We feel for the Simmians.
All the more reason to remain alert. I know our position limits our involvement to effectively alter existing social systems, but you must remain patient.
You are aware of the Anti-Slavery Movement headed by the Core Worlds Alderaan and Chandrila?
Nodding excitedly, the listener's ears suddenly perked up and eyes widened with hope. Would the Senate finally impose the anti-slavery laws?
+++++Coruscant
Jedi Temple+++++
Paying a final visit to Qui-Gon before his departure to Bonadan, Obi-Wan whizzed up and about the familiar halls within the Jedi Temple. Double checking the contents of his duffel, Qui-Gon paused momentarily to advise his long time apprentice. Times are desperate, leaving men to do what otherwise they would not. This is an enormous challenge Yoda entrusts you with, yet one man alone cannot hold the galaxy in balance as some may believe. The master firmly squeezed the shoulder of his padawan imploring him to be cautious of the danger awaiting. Sincerity beaming in his master's touch, Obi-Wan sensed this mission would be far more precarious than he had originally predicted. Drawing in the Force, he mentally prepared himself for whatever may come. I will be wary, Master.
Mmm. Make contact when you reach your destination. Agreeing, they went their separate ways.
+++++Walkar, Bonadan
The Governor's Palace+++++
Fearing Bonadan's secession from the Republic, the Senate took renewed interest in their state of affairs, postponing the vote to enforce the anti-slavery laws already in effect in the majority of member worlds. Thus, a committee was appointed by the Chancellor to explore the options for compromise.
Welcome once again to Bonadan. My staff and I are pleased you'll be staying with us. Let me introduce myself. I am M'ztka, governor of this region. He bowed formally at the two guests who returned the gesture. As he stood, the black feathers that darted outwards from a fanning collar, bounced lightly from the movement. He was an older gentleman, dignified and wrinkled, and yet distinctly Bondani. Humanoids, native Bondani were completely covered in a short iridescent fuzz that required constant grooming. The face, the only region that remained free of this feature, maintained an oily shine that reflected light in a translucent glow. The chiaroscuro effect created by these definitive high contrast colors lent M'ztka an austere yet prepossessing mien.
Handing off their bags to the concierge, Kiltma, the Chancellor's hand picked representative for negotiations, offered his gratitude while his counterpart, Chlak, nodded eagerly. The Chancellor extends his greetings. I know we will be able to resolve this issue in a manner such that all parties are satisfied....
M'ztka hardly listened as Vallorum's messenger spat out formal frivolities. Summing up the two new adversaries, he compared them to a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, incompetent, ineffectual sycophants who were too pretentious to see how easily manipulated they were. Annoyance rose in the governor that Chancellor Vallorum should send such idiots merely to pacify him. It was obvious these two minor inconveniences would eventually have to be eliminated but in the meantime and for the sake of his investors, he would have to tolerate their presence.
Kiltma smoothed down his lapels and fidgeted with his dimpled hands, kneading them over and over as he blundered on. Occasionally, pink cheeked Chlak would throw in a comment or two, but it was patent who the leader of this pair was. Kiltma had a pig like nose and a belly to match that nearly made him as wide as tall. Two bulbous masses like fleshy horns parted the center of his head, yielding a heart shaped silhouette. Only recently had he been promoted to this special assignment working directly under the Chancellor- or very nearly to anyway. Palpatine, Senator of Naboo, was his direct superior, but that was inconsequential.
Kiltma was proud the Chancellor had noticed his keen skills with people and had only to wait patiently for the day his wisdom would be recognized throughout the Republic. Each interaction was crucial, he understood, and therefore poured out his gratitude to his new client, hoping a little flattery would break down any initial barriers.
Stretching out a smile with some degree of effort, M'ztka's tolerance grew thin and politely holding up his hand, he interrupted, You are far too kind, gentle sir. We are assured your stay here will be a pleasant one and have therefore planned an exquisite tour of our dazzling city. We have only a few more moments to wait for our two other honored guests to arrive. In the meanwhile, please settle into your rooms and let my people know if there is anything we can do to best serve you.
Bowing out, M'ztka exited nobly, heels clicking and robes flying as two assistants flanked him and followed him out. True royalty, Kiltma sighed enviously, but quickly corrected himself at his good fortune as four assistants greeted them.
+++++Alderaan
Folklorum+++++
After weeks of debating, the motion to enforce the slavery laws was put on hold due to the unexpected reaction of a prosperous mining and manufacturing planet called Bonadan. As expected, the furious supporters of the OASR convened to plan a counterattack, and Qui-Gon was there to make certain their plan was peaceful, yet viable.
Senator Mon Mothma stood before the group in her formal attire commanding the attention of the crowd with each word. Chancellor Vallorum has created a committee to address our situation, headed by Senator Palpatine, who has recently dispatched two representatives to discuss our options, one being our peer, Chlak, from Sullust. The other, Kiltma, comes highly recommended from the Senator.
And how did Palpatine earn this honor? A member spoke up, obviously dissatisfied with the popular senator's involvement.
Unlike many others, he volunteered, and the Chancellor agreed, Mon Mothma answered rather accusatorially.
The speaker slumped in his seat and tapped out a nervous rhythm with a pen, sulking.
Moving on, Mon Mothma returned her attention to the thirty-some members that formed the core of the OASR. One week from now, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn will journey to Bonadan to offer a proposal for alternatives. As we speak, his apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi is meeting with M'ztka, the planetary governor, in attempt to reach compromise. Since it is obvious we cannot sway our peers on moral grounds, we therefore must be able to offer them a profitable alternative.
Glancing over to another member of the crowd, she announced, Senator Cato Antilles and I would like to fund a project to replace slaves with droids. It will be costly endeavor to us, but if larger systems like Chukl and Huab agree to charter the initiative, smaller systems may fall into line.
Why not Chandrila or Alderaan?
Palpatine believes suspicion may be aroused if an OASR world charters the initiative. Therefore we've offered to pay for the transition to take place on other planets.
Senator Cato Antilles of Alderaan now stood, his bulk intimidating and voice booming. We'll need support though, more than we've got now... And as he began to lay out the plan in detail, Qui-Gon reflected on how this news would be received by the slaving systems and just how profitable it would have to be to convince companies to convert. However, it was certainly more realistic than fitting an embargo on the hundreds of systems that still used slavery as their primary labor force. The economy would buckle, and the OASR would soon lose all their funding and support, for no one could afford to lose the business. It was a grim prospect, he realized, and yet he felt compelled to support the OASR nevertheless. The contradictions within the Republic had long irked him, but a compromise seemed a long way off. He hoped his apprentice en route to Bonadan fared better than he.
+++++Walkar, Bonadan
The Governor's Palace+++++
What time is it? Trafalgar demanded as he stepped into the luxury shuttle. Uninterested in the answer, he relaxed into a comfortable recline, resolving the notable entrance would be best for the first meeting anyhow. The young man ran his fingers through his loose, light brown hair and sunk back into the leather, spreading his knees out comfortably.
The Governor had requested his father's presence at the negotiations, who had then pawned the job off onto him. If there had been an option to decline, he would have, but his father insisted, It is critical to protect our investments. And besides, he added, you spend most of your time in Walkar anyway, gambling away the nights and womanizing. It's about time you took some interest in the family business.
His father had not complained much since he'd taken a penthouse parlor in the prestigious Celia district and thought he owed it to him to do this minute favor- considering the company was supporting his lifestyle.
And now he was on his way to the Governor's Palace.
As he neared the landing platform, he noticed a small entourage waiting for him. The unfamiliar eyes summed him up as he stepped from the luxury shuttle and greeted the group. M'ztka smiled pleasantly and threw his arm around him as if they were old time pals. Whispering harshly at his tardiness, he presented his esteemed guest. This is our Corporate Sector representative. His family owns Tlaska, a multitiered engineering firm, and certainly one of our finest. Trafalgar, meet Kiltma and Chlak, honored guests commissioned by the Chancellor himself, and of course, here comes Jedi Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Escorted by two assistants, the Jedi had been rushed to the meeting directly from the spaceport without time to refresh from his long journey. Instead, they had taken away his bags and lead him here. His brown robe fluttered in the rush of air traffic, but he seldom noticed it as his concentration was fixed on the men before him. All were professionally clad, except the youngest, who appeared to have no officiating title by the look of his trendy clothing.
Inconspicuously feeling each other out, the group made introductions once again, then ambled up the ramp to the Governor's waiting shuttle.
A droid was immediately called to offer drinks. Now, plagued with the obligation of small talk, the members circulated amongst themselves commenting briskly on the fair weather or regal accommodations.
Trafalgar, the unlikely politician, immediately opted for an isolated seat near a long window. After quickly dosing himself with a drink or two, he visibly loosened up and called over to Obi-Wan with a, and casual flip of the wrist.
Obi-Wan arched his eyebrow and slowly ambled over, none too quick after such a tactless call. Examining the foreign features of the lanky humanoid, the Jedi studied the weblike diamonds etched along his widow's peak. He summed up that they were simply a mark of pretension and whimsy of wealth.
Towering over the boy slumped in the oval chair, Obi-Wan peered down at him with an intimidating glare, arms folded across his chest. Unfettered, Trafalgar nodded to the matching chair next to him and swallowed another shot. Obi-Wan glanced over to the seat and paused, unsure of whether or not it was a very good idea to bother with this obviously ludicrous character. But when he glimpsed back at the Governor, Kiltma, and Chlak flashing those ridiculously fabricated smiles, he settled for the lesser of the two evils. At this one was honest about who he is, he thought to himself. He found the oversized cushion far too broad to sit in comfortably, and so kept to the edge of his seat maintaining an erect posture just to shake a finger at Trafalgar's slovenly demeanor.
So what are your stakes in this game? the young man finally said, sitting up out of his slump and running his fingers through his unruly hair. The Jedi found the style odd, but fitting. The tanned Mandalorian's unkempt hair hung no lower than his hairline, but the top was long and feminine, and he swept it back with a little too much grace, Obi-Wan noticed. It was a combination of these mannerisms that led him to believe Trafalgar came from inherited money, as opposed to the kind that is actually earned.
Humoring his counterpart, Obi-Wan took his time in answering the idiotic question.
I do not consider this situation a game.
The lad replied with a and pulled out a cigar. Probably laced with Kesselian spice, Obi-Wan surmised, appalled by the parody of it all. Although Trafalgar neared him in age, he immediately recognized the gap in maturity. The humanoid's expensive ornate jewelry and opulent fabrics revealed him to be no stranger to wealth. In fact, it seemed to Obi-Wan that members of the upper echelons of society, like Trafalgar, were so used to getting their own way, compromise did not phase their vocabulary. Peace talks, he predicted, would be long and drawn out. He wondered, though, why this one in particular had been chosen to participate in the talks for he certainly did not seem to have much enthusiasm for his presence here.
When there was no response, Obi-Wan mimicked the question back. So what's to be won on your part from this GAME?
That would be the question of the hour, wouldn't it? Trafalgar sat back in his chair, chewing the end of his cigar enigmatically. Clenching his fists, Obi-Wan refused to be angered by the spoiled stranger.
When the serving droid made his rounds again, Trafalgar, knowing little of the Jedi other than their holistic inclinations, made it a point to tempt the peer. You know it's impolite not to accept a drink when offered.
Obi-Wan had only been here for an hour and someone was already unbearably under his skin.
Water, please.
Although he snickered, Trafalgar unexpectedly extended his arm in a gesture of peace. Obi-Wan tapped the top of his hand as he had been instructed to do in his briefing before departure. Ironically, the handsome, defined jaw of the Mandalorian broke into a smile.
Blessedly, the governor broke in here. Tonight we dine and make merry.
Leading them out of the shuttle, the five characters tumbled out onto a red carpet runway that led to a bustling restaurant. Obi-Wan worried that M'ztka had invited the entirety of his planet to this social gathering when the team of Mandalorian body guards had to push back a crowd of incensed citizens. He was unable to hear what they were shouting however, as they were efficiently shuffled into the building. Greeted by a professional maitre'd, they were lead to a private floor overlooking a gilded stage.
Obi-Wan fell rigidly into his plush chair, annoyed by the wandering hands of the servants that buzzed about. Pressing his lips together tightly, he shifted in his seat trying to achieve some degree of comfort, but none was forthcoming. On the other hand, Kiltma and Chlak, dazzled by the show, settled in nicely and kept the conversation generated with admiration for such frivolities. While the others chuckled amongst themselves, Obi-Wan did little to divert his hard, disapproving gaze, nor mitigate the edge on his curt comments when asked if the accommodations were satisfactory.
Trafalgar, although seemingly comfortable in any environment, picked up on Obi-Wan's irritation and sympathized with the peer. Speaking to him softly as the other three rambled on, he explained the unique social phenomenon with intriguing insight. You see this is what they do.... feel each other out as the brew takes them. M'ztka wants to know how much its going to cost him...
A Simmian woman eased up on Trafalgar with a case of rolled cigars and he took his time in choosing one, interested in more than just the cigars. Obi-Wan looked away, putting his hand up to his lips. If this was the heart of diplomacy, he wondered how long it would take before it died of debauchery and disease. How he withstood such missions baffled him; and he sorely missed Qui-Gon who could shape any banal situation into an interesting lesson of the Force.
....and by the looks of it, it is going to be expensive. Once again assuming the stance of voyeur, Trafalgar picked up where he left off, lighting his cigar and motioning to the three who had just ordered another round of delicacies.
Another band of scantily clad women strolled in and presented a course of hors d'ourves and drinks. Their gluttonous eyes twinkled with delight, their eagerness twitching at their fingertips at the sight of such treats. M'ztka's efforts, though completely inappropriate, almost seemed logical as Obi-Wan worked through the man's reasoning whilst Trafalgar narrated.
Just wait. He'll have them talking in no time. That underhanded son of a bitch is quite skillful. Look at him. Over the period of a couple hours, Obi-Wan noticed the initial whispered astonishment increase in volume and politely restrained limbs loosened to broad sweeping gestures. Faces now flushed with pink, they tugged at their collars and told ridiculous tales that, to them, must have seemed hysterical for they were quite entertained by the whole event. Even Trafalgar found some entertainment in this part, occasionally stifling a giggle.
The point of this absurd revelry, Obi-Wan concluded, was intended not simply as an icebreaker, but an effort to extract any slip of the tongue from the all too comfortable antagonists. Yet when his brooding scowl seemed permanently transfixed on his face, the theater lights dimmed and the curtain mercily rose.
+++++Walkar
Governor's Palace+++++
Even before Obi-Wan had bothered to unpack his opened duffel strewn on the bed before him, he contacted Qui-Gon who had reached Alderaan two days ago to report his initial reactions. Exploring the spacious two bedroom suite, Obi-Wan made himself comfortable in the personal com room where a life-sized view screen and overstuffed couch accommodated his only current needs.
We've wasted over five hours together and not one single word about slavery.
This is where the Governor will get a feel for you; he's testing each of you to ascertain where your true commitments lie. How are the Chancellor's ambassador's working out?
The two fellows, Kiltma and Chlak, are clumsy, verging on idiocy; I wonder how much experience they have dealing with characters such as these. There's another one though, one of Walkar's corporate investors that I am most concerned about. I am uncertain as to just why he in particular was selected to participate, as he doesn't seem to either enjoy being there nor be in good standing with the Governor.
Keep tabs on him; he may pose a problem later. What of the others?
Tomorrow we meet with the rest of the investors. I must say I haven't seen much support for the abolitionists....
No, on a planet like Bonadan you wouldn't. Slaves are not permitted a voice, regardless that their race dominates all the others by more than 60%. Those who might otherwise support the anti-slavery movement are most probably considered dissenters and unpatriotic, and therefore say nothing.
It is a difficult task with which you are entrusted. Remain objective, padawan. Do not let your personal feelings interfere.
Nodding in acquiescence, he reminded himself how critical this was, no matter what he thought, and made a firm decision not to judge prematurely.
What news have you from Alderaan?
They underestimate the value of money and are quick to presume a solution will be achieved soon and peacefully. There are many systems who have high stakes in this game and I fear hasty judgments may backfire.
I will be out in a short while. In the meantime, remain attentive and do not allow the situation to escalate. You know where to reach me if you need me. The image faded out of the screen. Obi-Wan remained seated for a few moments before rising to unpack the mess.
+++++Walkar
Clinic+++++
The healers finished up their weekly communication with Master Li'sarrow, when she asked specifically to speak with Amelia. Healer Elia, there is a matter in which I would like to address with you privately, Li'sarrow closed as the others filed out. Ruebyn, however, did not leave but looked down, shifting around piles of holodisks. Amelia swallowed drily and glanced up at her departing compatriots who purposely avoided her gaze and saved their comments until they reached the door. Unhitching her hands from the sides of her seat, she stumbled to a closer chair.
So what's the verdict? Amelia inquired, forcing herself to raise her chin and meet her mentor's gaze head on even though her clammy hands steamed against the cold polished table.
Li'sarrow's eyes studied her gravely, and while the learner attempted to return the intensity, she found herself unable to do so. Blinking towards Ruebyn, then past the blue holo image, her thoughts became consumed in the events of last week and how she should justify herself and her actions in light of the final, unexpected outcome.
You did what you had to do, she spoke softly, her tone suddenly changing. Elia's eyes closed momentarily and a heavy sigh escaped her soul.
Li'sarrow went on, you must be prepared to accept the consequences. Ruebyn transmitted the recording that ran on the holonet, and Relvaire's lawyers have already been in contact with us. Currently losing her breath, chills ran down her spine as if she were ten years old and caught stealing; fear washed over her, lumping in her throat. Li'sarrow knew her too well to believe the holonet, but did she understand the truth? Perhaps the truth was inconsequential in light of the accusations.
You will redeem yourself and be light to the Simmians.
Although her chin remained up, Elia's eyes darted down into the reflection on the glassy onyx table, confused by Li'sarrow's enigmatic statement. Jaws clenched, she expected her Master to say more or at least clarify, but the issue was abandoned.
Without a formal closing, Li'sarrow turned to Ruebyn releasing Amelia from the holding gaze. After an infinite pause, Elia understood the reprimand was over and made to leave the room.
Expectantly, the healer hurried back to the miniature holo. Bowing stiffly, she clenched her hands out at her sides and commanded herself to cease chewing her bottom lip.
Practice the exercises I taught you when you go.
Elia whipped air into her lungs in surprise; Li'sarrow had this mysterious habit of verbalizing her thoughts before she even had a chance to think them. Internalizing her annoyance at her master's innate understanding, she bowed out and exited the common area.
Ruebyn, go to M'ztka and tell him you are sending one of ours.
+++++ Bonadan, the moors outside Walkar
An hour later... +++++
Amelia shouldered a tightly packed bag and buckled the straps. Slipping out the back door, she entered the night intent on plowing through. Her demons trailed behind in little mirages of last week's episode, constantly pestering her along the journey.
Tonight she would hunt.
What does M'Li'sarrow mean I will be light to the Simmians? she thought aloud. I am the bringer of death! And what good is light to a people who live in the dark underground? Her soul grumbled along the way until thoughts finally gave way to nothing but feelings.
The Dathomirian native kept a steady pace over the slight variations in the grass covered wasteland, pounding the earth in her path. Two hours out and the familiar trail forked left or right. Without hesitation or consideration, she moved straight through the seam.
Focus shifting, she directed the acuity of her senses to the land. The ever-present cloud cover diluted the four moons light into an odd glow, sufficient for her purposes, yet demanding her keen attention. Penetrating the bleakness, her rhythm throbbed easily with the Force and the mental exercises Li'sarrow instructed were achieved effortlessly.
But just as she was upon the threshold of balance, she sensed her game; a pack of eight canine hunters, Selves, closed in on her. Their pelts made for warm clothing, and the meat was well worth the fight, but these reasons did not justify the hunt.
When Elia found herself in a tight spot, it was simpler to revert to her roots. The Living Force beckoned her into its grasp, perhaps to reveal some long forgotten message to bring back to humanity or more simply, to help her find peace. Mostly undeveloped forests and mountains, Dathomir remained close to her heart, and although she knew she would never live there again, she missed its native unfabricated health. Unlike Bonadan, literally exploited to the very core, her home planet taught her to revere nature in its duality of both beauty and horror.
Leonora, her foster mother, taught her the traditional ways of a people who had thrived alongside nature, as opposed to conquering it. While it did have its share of metropolises, strict laws protected the planet from outside influence, closing its doors to Over thousands of generations, the witches of Dathomir as they were called, became an isolated society of Force sensitive women upon which many speculated due to their mysterious habits and traditions.
The hunt was a tradition she'd never allow to be diluted, for, at it most basic, it linked her to the very core of life itself. And when she no longer felt as if life was worth the pursuit, the hunt would remind her that such was not a choice, but an honor of duty to fulfill one's role in the grand scheme of it all- sweet or bloody.
The Selves remained distant, their tanny beige coats blending with the moonlit landscape like ghosts. Spreading out across the expanse, they shaped a loose ring around her, and once in a while she would see a silhouette pop up over the horizon on a small slope before it ducked back down. They did not howl or make any sound, but crept along beside her for some time testing her stamina, or perhaps waiting for her to falter. But the deeper into the expanse she traveled, the more focused she became, as if somewhere back a few miles, she lost those guilt guiding demons and the burden of their weight had disappeared into the night. Her Force senses, primal and essentially simplistic, lead her on fearlessly and patiently, preparing her for the imminent attack by the Selves.
Night swept the moors with its long black broom, polishing the horizon with a shimmering reflection of apparitions. Too late to recall the sun's evening shades, all hope of morning was diminished when five wolves closed in on their prey. They eased from the illusion slowly, as if informing the girl of their intentions.
Keeping her pace, she changed direction. It was critical she attacked the right one: the leader, the female. The others would cower if their leader faulted. The Dathomirian honed her acquired senses, listening to the movement surround her.
Taken off guard, the pack ceased their advance and returned to tracking, careful to remain an equal distance away. The leader, she knew, would be the first to make an aggressive move, so she watched closely which among the five would move in first.
Ten minutes later, a specked female crawled forward, her bulk leaning forward as if to show off her size. Creeping towards Elia, who continued moving onward despite the show, the Selve leader motioned the others to do the same.
Before they could get any closer, Elia dropped her sack and broke into a run towards the leader, elongating the distance between the her and the others. Instantaneously, the leader stretched out her limbs in long efficient strides eager to take her kill.
+++++This is my first fic, so please be nice! Constructive criticism welcome.+++++
