Hi, and welcome to my first story to ever venture the obscure realms of Fan Fiction; thus I must say that I am hoping for a large amount of reviews. This is a story that I devised around an RP I was once in. The quick background is this:
Three years after the events of Star War Ep. III, Jedi Master Yoda begins secretly bringing force sensitive individuals to Degobah where he begins to train them. Former Jedi learn of this happening and come to join him, new Jedi are trained, and soon enough it looks as if the Jedi may very well survive again. Our story jumps ahead fifteen years from this point. The New Jedi Order has allied with the newly born rebellion, and, in a stroke tactical genius, they have killed Palpatine and pushed the Empire back to the farthest regions of the galaxy. Darth Vader, injured in the battle, now leads the Imperial Remnant. Jedi Master Yoda, killed in the battle against Palpatine, has been succeeded by Jedi Master Dante Cross. The galaxy looks as if it is going to return to democracy and freedom as the Jedi once again spread slowly through the galaxy, their efforts to help and stabilize bringing them much respect from the galaxy's denizens... and much fear from others. On a routine mission a Cathar Jedi master and his newly chosen Zabrak padawan stumble into the intricate web of assassination, becoming the pawns of a sick hunt. Their lives are now in the crosshairs of a devious and cunning mastermind, and they are pursued by a group who not only does not fear Jedi... they seem completely capable of killing even the strongest of the order.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, that magical honor belongs to George Lucas and I thank him for his brilliance... however, the history and the characters appearing in this story (aside from well known figures such as Yoda, Palpatine, Darth Vader... ect) are all of my mind. I do not own the rights to Star Wars, and any creatures, species, planets and other wonders belonging to George Lucas are his. If I had the rights I would not be here... I'd swim in the money daily.
I hope you all enjoy reading this story as I enjoy working on it. I plan to update with a new chapter (equivalent of 15 pages in Microsoft Word) every two weeks. My comments about the story, reviews, thoughts, ect. will be placed at the beginning of each chapter. I would greatly appreciate criticism and reviews. Tell me who you like, please tell me who you don't like. I love to hear my style and form criticized, and please tell me if you spot errors. This is an exercise to increase not only my storytelling abilities but also to perfect my writing skills. Thank you all ahead of time!
~Sarai~
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"Tell me why we are here again, Master," the young Zabrak looked up to her companion. Her master was a Cathar, tall and lean, who insisted upon the traditionalism of the Jedi way. He wore the less comfortable brown, woven cloth robes of the Jedi and his hood was up… he didn't want the humans of Abregado-rae to be put off by his cat like features or his ears.
"Patience L'loria," the older Jedi purred softly, his slow metered step causing him to glide gracefully through the crowd. Though he was not walking quickly, it was difficult for the padawan to keep up without running into the masses of pedestrian traffic. "Remember that this mission is as much about your training as it is to find a peaceful solution between the Trader's and Merchant's guilds."
L'loria grunted as she side-stepped quickly to avoid a rather large Gamorrean. She was glad to not be wearing the typical Jedi robes. Those bulky and hindering garments wouldn't only be tripping her at the moment; they'd be uncomfortably hot and irritatingly itchy. The young white skinned Zabrak preferred to wear a Jal Shey neophyte set, tailored to fit her small build and size. It was black and lilac all over with silver trim and she felt that it not only made her appear more flattering to people around her, but that she would feel better about herself. She was suddenly picked up without warning, just in time to miss a lethal looking Trandoshan. "Your thoughts are introverted when they should be on the task at hand…"
"I know, master, keep my mind on the present. You've only quoted Master's Qui-gon Jinn, Obi-wan Kenobi and Yoda to me like… a thousand times!" she was embarrassed at having to be picked up like a child. True she had only been a padawan for about three months, but just because she was young—that didn't make her useless. The Cathar master paused for a moment and then asked her, "Do you feel that I am useless, L'loria?"
The question caught the padawan off guard, "Of course not master! I wouldn't have anyone else train me!" This was true… L'loria had specifically wished every day that Sylir Vack would come and pick her out of the multitude of padawans and train her. So many of the padawans that were in her class had dreams that great Jedi such as Dante Cross or Cole the Politician would come and train them, but L'loria believed what the old holocrons taught: greatness was born of a pure and good heart, not deeds and not war. The Force had told her that Sylir was the master she not only wanted, but needed.
Smiling, the Cathar Jedi master's sharp white teeth were visible from beneath the shadows of his hood, "Well then don't worry about this mission. They not only sent you here, but they sent me as well. This is as much a learning exercise for you as it is for me—and we are going to have many years together my youngling… don't be hoping for death defying missions so early on in the relationship." Her gave her and affectionate rub on the head, which was a sign of care among the Cathar. L'loria was like his cub. In the Jedi order, though changed from the traditional, not many knights enjoyed a family—and Sylir agreed with the old ways… some things a Jedi gave up in their quest to protect the galaxy. The padawan master relationship was like that of a parent and child: you trained the child, you came to love them and know them… and then you had to let them go and live their own life. They would train their own children and the cycle repeated itself. The master padawan relationship was as much a learning experience for the master as it was for the student.
Embarrassed and blushing, the young Zabrak shied away to hide the red tint coming to her pale white cheeks. She was a child of her species… on four horns on her head growing in perfect symmetry, two on each side of her forehead and the ones closer to the top larger than the others. Her horns were jet black while her hair was a light silver color… it was a very unnatural, natural hair color to have. Most of her species either had black or brown hair, a few with blond… but there were very seldom cases of a light color such as hers. Sylir said that it was a sign that she was much older than her years, as if when she was born the Force knew she was too old for infancy… L'loria was just glad that her oddity had caught the Jedi Master's eye.
"Very well, master," she smiled, "I promise not to put you endanger until next mission!"
"Next mission? Did you not notice the size of that Trandoshan? If you had bumped into him…" Sylir let comment die as his apprentice started laughing, "What?"
L'loria beamed up at him, "As if a Trandoshan could put you in danger, master. You and I both know that you could have picked him up easily… even if you're puny!"
The Cathar pretended to be offended, "Puny! I beg your pardon!" He picked the girl up by the back of her collar and brought her to eye level, "Who's puny?" As a species the Cathar were hunters, predators… very animalistic creatures who knew their own instincts better than anything else. Cathar had a long history of great Jedi because of those natural instincts. Many researchers believed that those instincts came from a species' natural affinity to the Force. Most had pale tan or dark brown fur, but Sylir had pure white with splotches of black over his eyes. This had caused his tribe to label him as a mixed breed, or a genetic mishap… but that was just dogmatic and ancient prejudice. Sylir was one hundred percent Cathar, if not more, and his fur color was a genetic recessive trait attached to his mother's genes… but he had long been forgotten by his people and he had never known his parents—they were all to happy to be rid of the freak baby. The Master and the padawan shared this affinity, which is perhaps why the Force had placed them together… the galaxy as a whole was afraid of what it didn't understand. L'loria's parents wanted her, but they were afraid that with her hair color she wouldn't live long; that was a future they could not live with. When the Jedi said they wanted her… the two Zabrak were more than willing to give the girl to a life that would treat her better than they could.
L'loria stifled a laugh, and Sylir asked again, "Who's puny?" Even though he had a thin frame, sinewy and taut with muscle… Sylir wasn't puny and he had physical strength you wouldn't believe possible, anything but puny. Still—the little Zabrak and he never hesitated to poke fun at the things which made them different from others, it was a way of appreciating their differences. "Not anyone here, Master!" she said with a grin of pure glee.
"I thought so," Sylir puffed his chest out with mock pompousness. He set the girl down and they continued walking through the crowd. "Now I suggest taking a moment to focus on the task at hand: we are about to meet with two factions of a very delicate dispute. The Trader's guild wants to charge the Merchant's guild an extra fee for ferrying cargo and supplies to Abregado-rae. The Merchant's guild feels cheated because they already pay taxes, tariffs and the Trader's fee for the cargo to begin with."
"Well that's just greedy! The Merchants would have to charge more for their goods if they have to pay another tax," L'loria muttered to herself. She was actually glad that, as a Jedi, she didn't have to deal with finances. Money was a thing she wanted nothing to do with… ever.
Sylir nodded, "Unfortunately you'll learn that greed is a very large part of this galaxy… it's made it prey to many outside forces in the past, as well as those within."
"You're talking about the Empire, right, master?" the young Zabrak had to crane her neck upwards to try and look under the hood. "Among other things," the old Cathar said, evading the topic. Sylir had only been a young padawan himself when the Jedi order was faced with the invasion of Nova Corp. So many people barely remembered it, most of the other Jedi had chosen to ignore it, but Sylir always remembered. He saw daily how the galaxy was willing to trade its soul for profit… how easily Nova Corp had come, vanished and returned again—only to vanish from public eye without a trace. It was a lesson in itself that made Sylir the obvious choice for this mission. He'd studied economics, trade routes, taxation and intra-galactic trade all in the hopes of someday noticing if someone were to try Nova Corp tactics again. He might not be able to stop them, because such movements were legal, but he could make sure they were ready.
"So what are we going to do?"
"We will help them to negotiate;" the Cathar said calmly, "The Merchant's guild has made a big step by reaching out to the Jedi. They have shown they want this to be fair and proper… we will help them to reach an accord." Under his hood, the Cathar's ears twitched as a high pitched whine broke through the cacophonic symphony of the crowded pedestrians. The Force warned him a second in advance and he leaned quickly sideways, while at the same time, throwing an arm out to knock L'loria out of the way—just as a high powered blast of plasma streaked through the air. It burned a line across the arm of Sylir's sleeve before erupting into the chest of a Gand who had been walking towards them. The small insectoid looking alien crumpled to the ground as the crown scattered in screams, yells, and a drawing of various weapons—all eyes turned to the rooftops scouring for the sniper, just as another blast came whistling its high pitched turn for the Cathar.
Sylir leapt high, avoiding the blast as it exploded into permacrete, and landed on top of the building behind him and his padawan. L'loria had been smart and ducked into an ally, and while her lightsaber wasn't ignited the Jedi master could sense through their developing bond that she had drawn it and all her senses were alerted. Pedestrians were firing their weapons at the surrounding rooftops, several even taking aim at the Jedi on the roof above them but he ducked behind the ledge of the roof and out of sight just as another high frequency plasma blast exploded on the steel of the building where he had taken shelter. The sniper was good, and Sylir still hadn't been able to see where the assailant was perched. "I see him, master!" L'loria's thoughts yelled at him, "Two roof tops to your right and up four levels!"
The Cathar stayed crouched and moved quickly, not showing anything over the ledge he was hiding behind and as he got to the end of the roof he prepared to look for the attacker… just as a thought occurred to him, "Get back, L'loria! If you can see him, he can see you!" As luck would have it, the girl ducked back into the alleyway just as a plasma bolt struck the wall, whining through the air where her head had just been. Sylir took the advantage and leapt, using the image he'd received from their link, he sailed through the air. The Cathar's lightsaber ignited, the golden yellow blade slashing out to bat aside the sniper bolt that came screeching through the air, washing his robes in a faint light. The blade illuminated the shadows under his hood as the Cathar landed beside the sniper. The white fur looked golden as with one smooth swipe, Sylir cleaved the sniper's weapon in two and landed a gash along the man's leg so that he couldn't escape quickly.
With a howl, the attacker fell to the rooftop floor, clutching his leg and glaring up at the Jedi through a dark pair of goggles. He was obviously human, and obviously a bounty hunter of some sort. "Who are you? Who hired you?" the Cathar said calmly, the blade of his lightsaber held to keep the man on the floor.
"I ain't tell you nothing, Jedi!" the man obviously didn't speak basic as a first language, but his mind said enough. He was more frightened of his employer than he was of the Jedi… a fact made clear by the large weapon he was willing to shoot at them with. At this moment, L'loria landed on the building next to her master. The padawan had her silver lightsaber ignited and she was in a wary stance. That was good, Sylir had seen too many padawans get cocky when their master had done the work… many of those padawans became dead padawans. "Did he say anything, master?"
"Nothing yet," the Cathar kept his eyes on the man, watching for any movement, "the security force should be here shortly. Did the Trader's guild hire you?"
"Sure, Jedi. They hire me! Now you stop asking?" The man was lying, which was also troubling. The man's pronunciation of words left much to be desired, but the meaning was clear as before: he wasn't hired by anyone on this world. The man, while not willing to say much, was a clear broadcaster. Sylir doubted if he even knew it, but his mind said so much more than his mouth was willing.
There were sirens off in the distance. The Jedi master risked a quick look in the direction they were headed, and that was one look too many. The sniper pulled a pill out of his left glove and bit down on it. The effects were instantaneous: he began to convulse, blood pouring from his nose, and he was dead in seconds. Sylir deactivated his lightsaber and looked down at his padawan. The Jedi couldn't save the man, but he did the one thing he could: he saved his padawan from witnessing that gruesome and pointless loss of life. "Deactivate your weapon, L'loria, there is no longer a need for it…"
"He… he killed himself," she whispered, "There wasn't supposed to be anything like this…" She had wanted something more exciting than a diplomatic mission, the Force had seen fit to grant her desires with more gusto than she would have liked. At least she hadn't seen the man die; feeling it in the Force was bad enough. Thankfully L'loria had a master who cared more about people than getting desired results. The padawan had not been ready to witness someone commit suicide, and she was glad that she had not witnessed her Master kill the man. L'loria didn't know how she would have handled that.
The Cathar moved them to the edge of the roof, and with ease he picked the small Zabrak up and leapt down to the street. He carried her effortlessly and set her down gently. She didn't even feel the falling. "Death is a natural part of life, padawan… even when caused unnaturally by others. Were you listening to him?"
L'loria took a moment to consider this. "Yes…" she said finally, "I couldn't pick up much, but he was afraid of something."
"Or someone," Sylir said, certain that what he picked up was fear of a name—though what name he could only guess at. Someone had hired a gun to take out a pair of Jedi, someone who didn't care if that gun succeeded. This person also knew that even if the sniper failed, he wouldn't give up the name… and the sniper had known beyond a shadow of a doubt: that person was watching the whole thing. The Jedi master gave the street a cursory glance, neither the ground nor the rooftops showed anyone suspicious. He placed a hand on L'loria's shoulder and urged her down the road towards the security task force. They'd have some questions to answer, and then it would be best if they got to the Merchant's guild.
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Allara Denali stood at her window watching the scene below. Frightened pedestrians were hurrying around the security people and keeping a wide berth around the Jedi. She had to admit herself impressed. The Master was good. She remembered him of course, barely, he was a shadow in the back of her mind—perhaps that is why she had picked him for this test subject? It was sad about Corra, though he hadn't been an actual member of the Toran'ak, she would have liked to see him kill the Jedi. It would have meant his application wasn't a waste of time to review. Rather… he'd been bested and then he'd killed himself.
"What a waste," she muttered to herself, turning away from the window. Her copper and bronze hair flipped and wafted in the motion, falling all over her shoulders as she walked back inside.
"Don' worry yourself, sir," A gruff voice answered, "He wasn't worth the effort, but he did get us useful information. We're better prepared and the men will benefit from Corra's loss." Brejec was sitting at the table in the food processor room. They had opted for space, not luxury, and the food processor would feed anyone not willing to go and dine out. Allara preferred them acting like tourists, it made the Toran'ak blend better and as of right now… no one on Abregado-rae had any idea that an elite squad of more than a score of priority bounty hunters was inside the city with one goal: eliminate the Jedi quickly, quietly, and efficiently. "I know…" Allara smiled, "I know…"
This was the first test… and everything was going smoothly.
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"I must admit, Master Jedi," the portly man wiped his brow with a silk kerchief, "This is a most disturbing occurrence. One civilian dead, property damage, and no one to answer for it or pay reparations—this whole debacle stinks of trouble. If I'd known that hiring Jedi would have brought this kind of attention to delegations, I wouldn't have bothered." The master of the Merchant's guild was a short, squat, fat, little fellow with a receding hairline of faint red hair and a long pointy mustache under his button nose. He wore thick purple clothes that resembled a traveler's suit, but with a thick black belt wrapped around his sizeable stomach: business must be good for him.
Sylir bowed politely before speaking, "With all due respect, Guild master Charleston, you did not hire us. The Jedi responded to a call of distress, no strings attached. The fact that we were attacked when we are peace keepers, that doesn't sit well with me. Had I known your mission would have put my padawan in danger...? I wouldn't have bothered." The Cathar had removed his hood and his ears were now free and standing straight up, listening intently to more than just the conversation at hand. Sylir's hair was white and short, unlike most of his kin who let their hair grow from birth with little but required maintenance, such as cutting dead ends. The Jedi master felt that it was inhibiting and potentially detrimental in a battle. He opted for a close cut that caused his hair to lay smooth with his scale, giving him more of a cat-like appearance than most Cathar. The black fur around his green eyes caused them to stand out, and it looked as if he were staring through you rather than at you… another reason to keep the hood up a majority of the time.
"Now see here, Jedi!" Charleston blustered, "There's no need for this to get out of hand! I was just speaking too hastily. It obvious that Jedi cause a bit of a fluster, what with your glowing swords and your jumping all over the place!"
The Cathar male was by no means tall for his species, barely reaching five foot eight, but he still was able to tower over the guild merchant. Sylir's emerald orbs burned into the brown eyes of the loud fool and instantly silenced him, "There is no need for yelling or insults. Nothing can be done about the past except to learn from it. My padawan and I will stay within your walls and draw no further attention, we will uphold our agreement and mediate the negotiations between your guild and that of the Trader's… and then we shall leave. Do you find the terms acceptable?"
Charleston stood with his mouth open, making as if he were going to say something but nothing came out. The small man was stunned, but recognition slowly drained into his thick skull and he nodded, "Yes… yes, of course. I apologize for my rudeness, Master Jedi." He motioned to a droid that had been standing in the corner. The shiny, silver, Cee model, protocol droid shuffled forward. "Will you and your padawan require separate quarters?" Charleston asked.
"No, that will not be necessary," Sylir moved to stand beside the droid. L'loria, who'd been silent and leaning against the wall out of sight, pushed off from the wall and moved to shadow her master. The Guild Master nodded, and without another question, ordered the droid to show them where they would be staying. It was a silent walk through the guild compound, and though it did not take an extraordinary length of time—it seemed much longer with the two Jedi were deep in thought.
L'loria was contemplating just what could drive a person to kill themselves or to try and kill others without apparent motives. The glum thoughts caused the padawan to crease her brow in frustration. The young Zabrak could still remember the feeling in the Force as the sniper's life energy seemingly ebbed away, like water in a broken glass. She also wondered what it would take to make her want to kill another sentient being. She had no family, no enemies… perhaps if the sniper had killed her master? She may have been hurt and angry enough to lash out; but she doubted if that would be the case. The padawan felt such sadness in her heart at the thought; she knew deep down that if such a thing were to ever happen—she wouldn't have the strength to keep moving, much less try and harm the person who had done the heinous act.
On the other side of the hall, the droid between them, Sylir was busying trying to work out who may have hired the assassin. This small trade dispute was not large enough to risk bringing about the repercussions of killing a Jedi… and it was quite obvious that the Jedi Master and his padawan had been the targets. This troubled the Cathar. He'd been close to death many times, and though his fur easily covered them, he had the scars to prove it. Someone had a grudge? That occurrence could be possible. Whoever was behind it, they were powerful enough to gain autonomy… and they had been watching. That meant they did not fear the Jedi or the repercussions of killing a Jedi—and that was even more troubling. Sylir had wanted to keep L'loria out of harms way long enough to get a better feel for her abilities. True, the girl was smart; perhaps smarter than most in her class… and it wasn't from knowledge of holocrons but from a deeply rooted sense of self. The young Zabrak knew to trust her instincts just as a Cathar would know from birth. She didn't doubt herself, didn't hesitate to look inward—but was she ready for something as harsh as this?
"Here you go, sentients," the droid's vocabulator blurted out with a harsh monotone, "You are to sleep here." It didn't bother with any pleasantries or formalities; as soon as its task was completed it turned to shuffle away, the silver chassis gleaming in the artificial light.
With a swipe of his palm, Sylir opened the door which vanished with a hiss of hydraulics. He allowed L'loria to enter first, then took a quick survey of those in the hallway, and then vanished inside as the door closed. They remained in silence for a long while, the padawan sitting on the bed and the Jedi Master staring at the wall as if trying to discover something unseen in the brown stone. Sylir learned every contour of the wall, from the rough surface patches and the covered patch jobs—to even the intricate cracking in the far corner, until he could learn no more. Restlessness set up on him and he removed his outer robes, folding them and placing them on the table by the door. The wood was unpolished, a natural dark brown, and carved with the intricate symbols of the Elomin; it made this piece unusually rare. Elom was a cold planet with a harsh climate; very few trees grew there… which made any Elomin carpentry pricey and unique. The Cathar stood in his cool inner robes, the coarse white material clinging to his muscular frame, removed his lightsaber from his belt and placed it on top of the folded outer robes.
"Master…?" L'loria asked quietly, seeing if it was acceptable for them to speak. When Sylir nodded in recognition the youth continued speaking, "Are we truly keepers of the peace?"
The Cathar raised an eyebrow. He knew that by taking on such a self aware student such questions were bound to arise, "What brings about this question?" She would have to work out the answers for herself, which was how he believed the best teaching was done. You could lecture for hours and still not get the point across. It was only by self realization that one truly learned anything.
"Well… it just seems like whomever that shooter was… he was aiming for us. That Gand in the crowd, the one who died, he died because we are trained to not be hit by blasters and other weapons… and then he killed himself because he didn't want us to know who hired him because that person was obviously more frightening that we are. If we are peacekeepers, shouldn't people be happy when we are around, not fearful?" L'loria looked guiltily at her Master.
"Did we start our trip here by attacking anyone?" Sylir asked simply.
"No, Master."
"Did we attempt any confrontation?"
"No."
"Did we come looking to arrest, kill, or accost anyone?"
"No! Of course we didn't!"
"Did you ever meet that man in your life?"
"I've hardly met anyone outside of the temple…"
"Then how were you doing anything other than keeping the peace, like any ordinary citizen?" The Jedi master asked her quietly.
"Well… we were here to help the guilds negotiate," the Zabrak protested.
Sylir smiled warmly and walked over to the girl, placing his hand affectionately on her head, "Then I would say you were doing a very good job at trying to keep the peace. We, as Jedi, cannot police the actions of others. If they decide to be violent, that is their choice… it is not for us to control them, only to dissuade them from doing so again." He sat down beside her and sighed, "He took his own life out of fear. It was a harsh and cowardly thing to do, but it was his choice. Look at me L'loria," His voice wasn't harsh but it carried weight and uncompromising tone, "There is nothing wrong with defending your life against someone who does wrong. Who knows how many other people were saved because we stopped that man? What I do know is this: we mourn the loss of life, because it is a loss of the Force… but we do not look upon ourselves harshly because we did a right deed. Neither you nor I wanted that man to die, but his was taken out of our hands by his own choosing, it is lamentable but we also did nothing wrong."
The youngling took a moment to process everything. L'loria was never one for hasty action, and had often been ridiculed for not moving at all… but she felt it best to absorb as much information as possible, which perhaps often led to sensory overload. Finally she nodded slowly, her pale hair bobbing as she moved, "You're right, Master. We did well, didn't we?"
Beaming down at the young Zabrak, Sylir was glad to see her in better spirits, "That we did, Padawan. That we did. Now get cleaned up and we'll see what can be done about feeding you. The Force knows you can eat more than I." The Cathar chuckled as L'loria jumped up, grinning as she ran to the fresher. She was young, but she was so old for her age that he was glad to see her acting youthful—even if they were rare occasions. Food was definitely one of them.
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"They are currently residing within the Merchant's guild compound, sir, and I don't see any sign that they will leave before morning."
Allara nodded for her own benefit, as the man on the other end of the comlink had no hope of seeing the motioned, "Very good, Lovast. Maintain surveillance through the night… I want bi-hourly reports."
"Understood, I'll see you back at the house."
With a sharp flick of her thumb, the woman turned off the device in her hands. It was turning dark quickly and the nights on this planet lasted longer than most. They were in a holding pattern. Her men were in position, but she did not want to move while the Jedi were in Merchant Hall… too much a chance of extraneous casualties. Corra had already mad that mistake, Allara and her men would not.
She walked to the window that overlooked the street, watching as the shadows stretched out over the buildings to slowly become twilight… and then settle into the calm darkness of night. Allara's dark golden eyes looked but did not see the phenomenon. Her mind was elsewhere, planning to make the most effective strike. She'd placed large amounts of effort into the Toran'ak; even more money had gone into her own appearance. Nothing would go wrong. The Jedi would complete their mission… and she would begin her own.
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"The Merchant's guild will agree to pay for the increased fuel costs for transport to Abregado-rae, and the Trader's Guild will sign assuring the second party that no other fines will be levied… that all trade negotiations are fair and acceptable," Sylir had his hood down for the mediations, better to maintain crowd control… and when he locked eyes with the heads of both guilds—all attention was on the Jedi, "Do both parties agree?"
"Aye," Guild master Charleston nodded. The portly man was decked out in deep purple velvet clothes with gold embroidery. He was being overly flamboyant in the Jedi's opinion, but it was not for the Cathar to say so. The merchant had been exceedingly worried as the negotiations went on, especially when he noticed that the Jedi was not going to dictate terms, rather that Sylir and his apprentice were merely here to keep them from killing each other.
"I am in accordance," The Master of the Trader's Guild nodded. She was a Nautolan with light, cerulean blue skin and the largest onyx eyes that Sylir had ever seen… the Nautolan female had great style, having her head-tresses adorned with straps of silver cloth and white beads, and she wore a flattering gray flight suit with a black jacket. She could take care of herself and she didn't like the formalities. The Force was rippling around her in irritation and impatience, not because she was that kind of person, but that she had deeply rooted beliefs that such things did not need mediators and contracts… she was a traditionalist. Her word was her bond and she was more in accordance this moment with putting a blaster bolt through the contract than allow these merchants to whine for another minute—which is why she was agreeing. Sylir still had to smirk as a thought trickled through the Force: an image of the Nautolan drawing the silver Nubian blaster at her side and setting the contract aflame. L'loria gave her master a sideways glance, and he raised an eyebrow as if silently asking her, "What?" The little Zabrak shook her head; Sylir chuckled to himself.
"Well mistress Cai," Charleston stood up and offered a hand, "It's been pleasure working this little disagreement out."
The Nautolan Cai, a name Sylir decided he would have to remember, looked at the human as if he'd offered her a pile of waste rather than his hand. With a short snort of contempt, she signed her name to the document and jerked her head towards the few people who had come to the meeting with her: spacers, pilots and other rogues who could get a shipment of cargo from one point of the galaxy to another, "Pack it up boyos… we're done here." She gave a curt nod to both Jedi and led her procession out of the negotiation hall.
"My word…!" Charleston floundered, "What horrible business skills!"
"Any better than complaining about lost profits?" L'loria asked under her breath, but Sylir could tell that the Guild master had heard the comment. "It is not our concern, padawan," He scolded before exchanging formalities with Charleston. Pretty soon they had said their farewells, collected their things, and were on their way to the spaceport.
"The Trader's guild wasn't really trying to cheat the Merchants were they, Master?"
Sylir shook his white furred head, his ears catching the whistling sounds of the wind and ringing slightly, "No… they were merely trying to cover increasing costs of space travel. With all the wars, with the collapse of the Empire… it has been increasingly difficult for many. Fuel prices have increased because greedy bureaucrats and tycoons are taking advantage of the public, and it hurts other enterprises as an effect."
L'loria's brow deepened, a sign that she was thinking heavily about something… soon enough, she proved the Jedi Master right when she spoke, "Then why haven't the Jedi tried to do something about it? If it's making it difficult for people, and causing problems like this, wouldn't it be our jobs as peacekeepers to fix this crisis."
The Cathar chuckled, "Ah… young one, if only life were so simple."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Because people own those businesses," Sylir explained, "Just because they do not operate them fairly; we cannot make them to do business the way we see fit… we would be no better than the Empire. The Jedi have been lucky to be accepted back into the galaxy. There are many who still believe the Emperor's lies—those who were alive to see the public executions of Jedi who tried to fight back… the thought of us still frightens many a decent being."
"So if we were to fix this problem…" the realization dawned on the Zabrak and her face fell, "We'd only scare people rather than help them." Sylir nodded… some things did not need to be reasserted. The two Jedi walked along the crowded street in silence, both wrapped contently within their own thoughts.
L'loria was saddened by the fact her family, for that's what the Jedi were, could not help the innocent in a more proactive manner. It made her angry that people were so selfish that they would take advantage of a crisis just to line their own pockets, and she wasn't to keen about the idea that people could be so easily fooled by a madman like Palpatine. While it was true that L'loria had barely been an infant when the Emperor was defeated… she'd seen and heard enough about his regime to know that it was a time of darkness and horror, mixed with the overshadowing darkness presented by Darth Virtra. The Zabrak shuddered; Virtra was the scary bedtime story for all padawans. "Be careful to meditate and stay close to the light side… or Virtra will come for you." Ok, so it wasn't quite that cheesy, but every padawan knew they were very lucky that Virtra had vanished from the galaxy. No one truly knew what had happened, but they knew she was gone… as were her Sith. Palpatine was defeated, but his apprentice Vader was still very much in control of the Imperial Remnant. This train of thought troubled the padawan and brought her broodings around in a complete circle.
The Jedi Master's thoughts, however, were on an entirely different track; he was thinking of an individual who had struck him as… well he didn't exactly know how the Trader's Guild master had struck him, but Sylir knew that for some reason… Cai had stood out among the others in that room. This perplexing thought had a majority hold on the Cathar's thoughts, and, though he did not want to admit it to himself, it could be for entirely un-Jedi like reasons. He took a deep breath, which didn't seem to pull his padawan from her musings, and decided that he would put these thoughts off to a later date. What he wasn't prepared for was to find that their transport had been impounded in the hangar.
Sylir stood looking blandly at the squad of security men swarming around the standard gray Corellian transport that the Jedi used for most missions these days. He was shaking his head when the lead security officer approached him. "Master Jedi," the middle aged, human male nodded politely, "I'm detective Jennings. We've received an anonymous tip that their may have been large quantities of explosives onboard your ship…"
"You don't seriously believe we'd bring—"
"Of course not, sir," The detective held his hands up defensively, "You passage was paid for by the Merchant and Trader guilds… we are just afraid this may have been a poorly crafted assassination attempt."
"Or an attempt to keep us grounded," Sylir's voice was a low growl as he looked over at the ship, "You don't have any leads, Detective Jennings?"
The black haired man shook his head, "We would have placed this under the hands of your attacker yesterday, but the finger prints around your ship don't match the deceased."
"You have found explosives then?"
"Yes," the detective didn't look worried, "It was not as large a quantity as we were led to believe, but it would sufficiently cripple your ship."
"That doesn't sound like a very effective assassination plot," L'loria chimed in from behind her master.
The detective was about to counter her argument, when it would seem that fate saw fit to honor her words. There was a bright flash of light, followed by the screeching sound of ripping metal, as an explosion from their ship knocked all the people in the hangar off their feet. The security people close enough to the blast were either incinerated to set ablaze… several running around, flailing as if their feeding the fire more air would make it stop. Sylir was the first back onto his feet, his lightsaber already in his hand, and he was quickly flanked by L'loria both scanning the hangar for a potential attack while covering the other's back.
Detective Jennings was struggling to his feet when the first blaster bolt screamed through the open hangar doors. The red bolt was headed straight for the tenured security officer, and would have opened a flaming hole in his chest if not for L'loria's quick action. The Zabrak girl leapt forward, her lightsaber batting the deadly beam away as if it were a child's ball in one of the temple games she and the other younglings used to play.
Sylir could see the potential danger better than his padawan, and the Jedi master lunged to grab both the detective and L'loria just as a fury of crimson blaster rounds tore through the air. The investigating security task force was peppered with blaster fire and cut down before they could recover. As Sylir hunkered down behind a stack of crates in the hangar bay, he could see the smoking bodies of the once living sentients.
"Blasted hell, Jedi!" Jennings swore, drawing his blaster but not daring to peek his head around the crates, "What in Gothlan's ghost is going on here?!"
Sylir had his lightsaber already in his hand, prepared to ignite it at a moment's notice, as he surveyed their potential escape routes, "It would seem that our attacker from yesterday was not alone… either that or there is something going on beyond my knowledge." Finally he decided upon an escape route and focused his attention upon his student, "L'loria… listen to me carefully. You're going to cover Detective Jennings and make for the back engineer's entrance to the southern wall. It's farthest away from the entrance."
"What are you going to do, master?" the padawan was rightfully shaken, but thank the Force she was not panicking. "I'm going to cover your escape and follow…" Sylir paused, "and hopefully I'll catch a glimpse of what we're up against. Are you ready?" Both L'loria and the human detective nodded, "Then… go. Now!"
Sylir leapt over the crates, instinct calling his lightsaber to life as he drew the attention of their attackers. He could see three of them walking through the hangar's main entrance. A tall human with a shaved head and dull, golden, body armor wielded a heavy blaster in two hands; a helmeted Twi'lek with red skin and impressive looking black, battle armor and two shoulder mounted cannons; she was flanked by a tall Trandoshan warrior who carried a wrist-mounted energy shield and a blaster rifle in one hand. They were being cautious and there were undoubtedly more behind this initial party by the way they were scouting the area. They caught sight of the Jedi almost immediately, bringing their weapons to bear with such skill that Sylir could tell these were trained professionals, far more skilled than the sniper he'd faced the other day.
Holding his lightsaber in one hand, the Jedi master furiously and frantically knocked away the blaster bolts he couldn't dodge… while he summoned the Force to fling the mountain of crates at the entrance to the hangar. The three commandos, Sylir didn't know if they were military or bounty hunters, scattered… but they were still able to cover one another as they dodged the rain of heavy, metallic, crushing death.
The Twi'lek female threw herself forward, sliding on her stomach with her hands held up to keep her blaster from misfiring. Sylir thought it was an opening, but it would seem that her shoulder mounted cannons were wired to a neural interface. They immediately swiveled upwards to cover her fall, and the Jedi had to flip out of the way to avoid the deadly blasts, knocking away the rapid shower of blaster bolts that retaliated from the Trandoshan's rifle.
Risking a look towards the back corner as he danced away from the three attackers, twirling and batting blaster rounds with finesse, Sylir saw L'loria slip out the door behind Jennings and he knew it was time to beat a hasty retreat. The Force warned him that others were about to enter the hangar. With great effort Sylir focused on the burning wreckage that used to be the Jedi Transport, and he pulled with the Force--covering the floor between him and the attackers with burning metal and starship fuel. Pushing several barrels into the inferno, the Jedi master was able to make a suitable escape… but some cold prick in the Force caused him to stop and look around just as he reached the door.
Through the blazing wall of flames, the Cathar was able to see the daunting figure that walked into the hangar at the head of at least eight other heavily armed figures… an assortment of skilled killers to be certain, but their details were marred by the heat warping the air… but around this individual everything seemed to be cold. The person wore crimson Mandalorian armor with black underclothing, the black T-visor lock onto him with cold precision and the sentient drew a blaster with faster reaction time than the Jedi could see… Warned only by the Force, Sylir ducked through the door as a heavy plasma round ripped into the permacrete wall and melted it into slag.
"Mandalorians?" Sylir wondered to himself, "Surely they wouldn't take out a hit on Jedi… not with Dante's connections to Mandalore and their culture…" He couldn't be certain what this group was, but they were skilled at keeping Jedi on their toes, and the red armored individual was definitely deadly—and definitely in charge.
"Master! You're alright," L'loria breathed out relief as Sylir rounded the corner. The Cathar had his ears pressed flat against his skull, which the Zabrak knew all to well… it was a sign that he was thinking deep and complex thoughts and it unsettled her just a bit.
Detective Jennings did not waste time; however, jumping straight into the most pressing concern, he moved around the padawan and confronted the Jedi, "Just what the hell happened back there?!"
Sylir's green eyes looked through the man and down the hall as he spoke, "Apparently there is a highly trained and heavily armed group of denizens that wish to kill someone. Seeing as how they've aimed at me with great accuracy and vigor… I'd say they are out to kill Jedi." The Cathar moved around Jennings and motioned for his padawan to follow, the man could make up his own mind.
Jennings fell right into step with the Jedi. The older human had many thoughts going through his head, they were a swirling mass of speculation and theory… most of it founded by years of experience in the field. The first thing that Detective Jennings knew was that both attacks on the Jedi had been initially executed with a precision that lent credence to prior forethought. While the first attack had failed, this second attack was not only more effective, but the individuals were more heavily armed and capable of fending off a Jedi… without dying. The Cathar had not mentioned anything about thinning their ranks. Secondly, and this was the thought which had the detective worried, he thought that if he were coordinating an attack on Jedi—he'd have all the exits covered.