Yes, I know. It's been forever. But the second chapter is finally here. This chapter is Spiker heavy, filled with my own personal take (well, one of them) on the Spiker-Jedi theory. So...without further ado (or whatever)...

Chapter Two

"Hurry up, kid," Zeb shouted.

"I'm hurrying," Ezra shouted back, trying to scrape the eopie poop off of his boot. "This's so disgusting."

"I told ya ta watch yer step." The Lasat grinned, saying to himself, "Besides, better you than me."

Chopper started to laugh and mock the teen.

Ezra shot him a nasty look. "I'm this close to scraping this crap off on you, bolt brain."

The droid zapped him.

"Ow."

Chopper laughed…again.

"So…where exactly are we gonna get these parts?" Ezra said, starting to fight with Chopper, pulling on the droid's arms.

"The bartender in the cantina said there was a shop down here that would have the parts we need."

"Ow. Quit trying ta poke me in the eye."

The astromech warbled grouchily.

Zeb sighed, rolling his eyes. "Why do I always end up with them?"

Ezra grinned—while continuing to fight with Chopper—and said, "Because yer a glutton for punishment."

The Lasat groaned. "Come on."

As they neared the parts shop they heard—what at first sounded unintelligible—shouting. Drawing closer, they realized the shouting was in Huttese.

"No chuba da wanga, da wanga!"

They stepped into the shop to see the same two men they had seen at the cantina.

"Kava?" the Chiss asked the shop owner.

"Twentee creeda."

Ezra looked around, disinterested in the exchange between the Chiss and the Er'Kit shop owner. At least he tried to look disinterested. Chopper warbled to no one in particular and then zapped something off in the corner. There was a high-pitched squeal and a small rodent darted across the ground in front of them and out the open doorway. The droid laughed. Zeb was perusing the merchandise while he, Ezra, was trying his best not to touch anything.

"Va foppa gee wontahumpa?" he heard the Chiss say. The big—really big—guy that was with him laughed, causing the shop owner to grumble.

The teenager raised an eyebrow at a grinning Zeb. "What are you grinning for?"

"Nothin'."

"What're they goin' on about?"

"Just haggling. Nothin' important." The Lasat grinned. "Funny. But not important."

Ezra began to poke at objects on a large shelf near the backdoor. "What exactly are we looking for, anyway?"

"Chopper has the list."

The young Padawan looked at the dilapidated droid. Chopper was having a little too much fun zapping the rodents that were scurrying about. He let out a short sigh and turned his attention back to the hagglers. Whatever they were going on about was apparently finished.

The Chiss held up a small object as if he were examining it further. Then he looked at the shop keeper and said in Basic, "Nice doin' business with ya."

The Er'Kit grumbled and then sighed.

Zeb stepped up to him with Kanan's list in hand and began speaking to him. Ezra decided he had nothing to do with any of it and set his attention to the exiting Chiss and whatever the other guy was. The Chiss glanced his way and the two, once again, briefly locked gazes. When the other two men were out of the shop, Ezra shook his head.

"Man, this's getting weird."

He looked back at Zeb. The shop keeper was showing him the parts they apparently needed. And Chopper was still zapping rodents. Ezra sighed heavily. And annoyingly. Chopper whirled around, zapping him. And then laughed. "Bolt brain," Ezra said to himself, rubbing his leg. He turned to the Lasat. "Are you done yet?"

Zeb rolled his eyes and waved him off.

Ezra folded his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes. "This is gonna be a long day."

The blowing sand whipped against the walls of the small Adobe-esque building near the outskirts of Mos Eisley. Although it did not blend completely into its sandy surroundings, it still was not easily spotted from far off. The two-story building was only a shade darker than the sand that beat against it and would be easily overlooked if one wasn't explicitly looking for it. And it was just the way the spiked-haired Chiss liked it. He also liked the fact that it was all his. Sure, it was a little big for one person, but it was perfectly fine with him. It was his home and he could be exactly who he was without prying eyes scrutinizing his every move. Here, alone, there was no show for him to put on. No fake laughter. No idiotic comments. And he didn't have to hear it, either.

The desert world had molded him into much of what he now was. Sometimes he preferred it to his own species ideology. Sometimes he wished he was far away from both. Fourteen years he had been on his own on this giant sand trap; fourteen years was his age when he was left alone for the second time. Only vague memories of his early life remained; if they really were memories. He had been found by a man named Kullen Ryder at the age of three wandering the streets of Mos Entha and holding a small box containing pictures of himself at an even younger age. Ryder took him to his home where he raised the young Chiss until the man's death eleven years later. It was through Ryder that Spiker learned about his own species. He was never very impressed by the information and often rolled his eyes, telling Ryder he was much happier being on Tatooine with the human that he would be on Csilla with his own people. Even so he often wondered what it would've been like to meet another Chiss. They probably would've bored him to death.

From all he had learned about the Chiss, it was clear that he was not a good – or accurate – representation of the blue-skinned people with the glowing red eyes. Yes, he did share many of the common (and sometimes notorious) traits of his people. Though none sounded like they had any kind of personality. Not even a horrible one. When he was a kid, he often imagined that their heads would explode if they ever smiled. Thinking about it now made him grin.

He peered out the window of his living area to the growing sandstorm. Chiss were known for their diplomacy. Or so he had heard. He was not much of a diplomat. Unless, intimidation was a form of diplomacy. He could be arrogant, but most the time he could back it up. Most of the time.

A blast of sand if the window, making him jerk his head back slightly. "Why do I do that?"

Stepping into his small kitchen, he began thinking about that group of newbies. They were definitely from the ship he saw. He sat down at the table and picked up the glass of Hutt ale he had poured for himself as soon as he had arrived home. There was something odd about that human male – Kanan, was it? – that he heard the Twi'lek say. And that kid he had the pleasure of running into twice already. The whole crew was odd. Three humans, a Twi'lek, a Lasat. A Lasat; a species he hadn't seen in years. Then there was that droid. He grinned. From the little he saw of that rust-bucket, he really got a kick out of him. Probably drove the rest of them nuts. He couldn't blame the droid.

A loud roar broke through the noise of the sandstorm. Spiker walked back to the window. He couldn't see anything, but he knew a canyon krayt was nearby. It was the one he had been after for the past two months; he knew its cry.

"I will get you," he said to himself. "One way or another you will be mine."

Ezra lay on the floor of the living room – living area? living quarters? – eh, whatever; his brain was to fried to care about correct terms. Staring at the ceiling – roof? – of the Ghost, he made the timely decision that he had finally taken root.

Chopper rolled up next to him and warbled out "move."

"Can't," the teenager replied. "I've taken root."

The droid zapped him. There wasn't so much as a blink (okay, maybe a blink) from the kid. Chopper started him for a moment, and then left, rolling past Kanan as the Jedi walked in. He chortled, "Nice new rug," to Kanan as he rolled by.

Stopping beside the teenager, Kanan raised an eyebrow and repeated, "Nice new rug?"

"I've taken root."

"So I see." Kanan sat down on the couch and stared at his Padawan. "How long have you been laying there?"

Ezra turned his head, slightly. "An hour, maybe."

"Is that a question or statement?"

"Not sure." They were both quite from moment. "Chiss have glowing red eyes."

Kanan raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"How can you tell if a Chiss is rolling his eyes at you?"

"By the expression on his face."

"What if he's wearing a mask?"

Kanan opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short, thinking more about it. "I… Don't know." He looked down at his Padawan. "What made you think about that?"

"That Chiss-dude was in the shop when me and Zeb got the stuff for the ship." He paused. "Well, Zeb got the stuff. I just stood around watching Chopper zap rodents."

"Mm-hmm."

Ezra set up. "There's just something off about that guy. Like he's not what everyone thinks he is. I can feel it."

Kanan leaned back into the couch. "So can I."

There wasn't too much to his home. A living area, kitchen/dining area, bedroom, bathroom, two spare rooms – one rather small – a few hidden areas, and an enclosed port where he kept his bike and a few other things. There wasn't much to it, it was a good size, and it suited him just fine. As for the few hidden areas, they were just small places to keep anything truly valuable. But there was one hidden area, a special room that no one knew about, a room that no visitor – welcomed or not – would find.

Spiker set his glass in the sink and headed to the back of his home and into the smaller of the two spare rooms. To the left, as he entered, sat a table with a drawer that had strange markings on it. He slid the table to the right along the wall and then, standing where the table had previously stood, pressed his hand against the wall. A narrow portion folded in on itself, creating an opening just big enough for the Chiss to step through. And so he did.

The stairwell always stayed dark. When he first realized he had above-average night vision, he made a game out of walking throughout his home in the dark. However, he quickly discovered that running through the house in pitch darkness, despite his night vision, was not the best idea. He was positive that was what led to his slight obsession with death-defying stunts. Or probably just stupidity. Either way, it was fun. He stepped off the final step and tapped the panel on the wall. The paneled lights on the ceiling came to life, emitting a dim glow. But that was all he needed in his rather spacious underground room. It was the place where he could be who he really was. No pretending, no lying.

There was very little in the way of furniture in the room. At the south end set a chair, a small table, and a trunk. On the table set a computer. Two shelves were attached to the east wall at the same end. On the second shelf set a short but long metal box. It was plain, simple, a type of box that would garner no attention.

He stared at the box for a moment, as if debating over whether or not it should be opened.

It had been a while since he opened it last; awhile since he had practiced, studied, trained. Not that he would forget anything that he had learned; anything that his mentor had taught him. He had been taught the ways of a Sentinel.

Now holding the contents of a box in his hand, he returned to its place on the shelf.

Time had quickly passed by since the last time he had held the dual-bladed lightsaber. At one time there had been two such sabers; one belonging to him and the other to his master.

With a gentle push of a button and then another, the saber hummed to life. From a panel on the east wall, he activated a heavily modified droideka. It was a training tool he had built from a pile of dismantled droidekas that he had traded for with the Jawas. He readied himself for a little practice in the Soresu form.

Each half of the dual-bladed lightsaber that he now possessed had once belonged to two different sabers. One half had belonged to his old lightsaber; the other half of that old saber been crushed in a compactor on a planet he couldn't remember the name of just before the Purge. His master had been none-too-pleased with him. The second half of his current saber had belonged to his master's dual-bladed lightsaber; the other half of it had been crushed by a Jawa crawler shortly after the two of them returned to Tatooine from the planet half of his saber had been crushed on. Seeing part of his master's saber being crushed not long after he had been lectured on the very subject sent the young Padawan into hysterical laughter. His master was far less amused. Not to say he had given, at least, a small smile.

He closed his eyes, as he continued to deflect the shots fired from the droid, reflecting on the memory. It would be among the last of his memories of the Jedi Sentinel. Less than a month later Kullen Ryder would be gone and he, once again, would be left alone. He was only fourteen at the time; but he was far more self-sufficient than most teenagers, even those older than him. It wasn't long after that he began working for Jabba – and joined Gizman's swoop gang. But he never forgot his Jedi heritage. It was the only thing that had kept him alive for the past fourteen years. Even though he had never wavered in his own training, despite putting on the façade he now wore, he never thought for a moment that he would come across another Jedi. Especially not this one.

The droideka ceased firing. He dropped his saber to his side, walking back and forth in front of the dormant machine, waiting. Mere seconds had passed when the droid reactivated, firing laser blasts at a rapid pace; the imposing Chiss Jedi deflected the blasts just as quickly, moving ever closer. The droid suddenly stopped, shutting down as the tip of the first blade of Spiker's lightsaber came to rest centimeters from a flickering hologram of the Jedi he had seen at the cantina.

"It's been a long time… Caleb Dume."

Star Wars Rebels

And there you have it. Anybody expect that chapter close?