Peace is a lie, there is only passion. The first line of the Qotsisajak ran through Obi-wan's mind again and again and again as he took several deep breaths. As much he wished to follow the code, he knew he had to swallow down his own anger for the moment. His master stood ready to finish off their trandoshan companion, and despite the apprentice's distaste for the sentient, he knew he was valuable and thus stepped in to save the poor thing.
"Master?" he rather quietly called. After all, he was not in too much of a rush. "I understand your frustration with Mr. Bissk, but now that he has the...item he sought from the smuggler Ohnaka, he can now take us to this Huntmaster. And from there we may begin coordinating a resistance movement. As is our new objective, yes?"
Darth Niisen did not respond for several moments, but eventually he nodded his head, arm dropping to his side. Jar-jar, having turned a strange shade of deep orange as he suffocated, fell onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath after so long with his throat constricted by the Force. "I suppose you are correct, apprentice," he stated, teeth clenched. The armored man grabbed the reptilian by the shoulder roughly, pulling him up. "Now you shall take us to your leader. And wrap up that head! The blood is getting everywhere. By the Force, I would rather battle Corellian wolves upon the plains of Hoth with nothing by broken bottles than d—"
The irate Sith suddenly stopped, clutching his chest. Obi-wan had done much the same, neither feeling pain, but instead feeling a sudden burst of energy, somewhere far off. A great pain, radiating darkness into the Bogan like a fresh wound seeping blood into water. The two force sensitives looked at one another before rushing off in the same direction. Their alien companion looked confused, having scrambled to wrap the head as commanded. He finished, using cloth from a corpse, before running after the Sith; he was better off with them, as compared to the Alderaanians.
The trio did not stop, the Sith because of their connection to the Force, and Jar-jar because he feared what would happen if he lagged too far behind. Obi-wan admitted to himself that, as the source of the emotion came into view, he wasn't entirely surprised. Before them stood the massive Hall of Mandalore, the de facto palace of the planet, wherein Mandalore the Stabilizer and much his Clan resided. Ironically enough it had been built only a few short generations ago, a beacon of stability now crumbling from foreign invasion.
Both Chevaliers ignited their lightsabers with a snap-hiss, expecting a legion of Alderaanians troops as they bee-lined for the throne room. Instead, all they found were corpses. Some had died of wounds minutes prior, others died upon being hit. The carnage then, was not one of accuracy, but of a pitched, brutal fight, and many of the soldiers had died facing one another.
"From the looks of these bodies, it would seem this was infighting, not an attack. At least for most of them," Darth Niisen observed, unfazed by the sight.
Obi-wan, in contrast, tried to avert his gaze, and was thankful for his helmet's filtration; the scent of defecated corpses was something he couldn't tolerate, and always, always, regardless of friend or foe, he felt a sadness when he saw the faces of the dead. It made them real, made them not dead soldiers, but dead people, with husbands and wives and sons and daughters and mothers and fathers. With family. With friends. He latched onto these emotions, despite his shame, and used the power to rather ironically steel his resolve. "An attempted coup? Conflicts over rank? Desertion?" he pondered.
"No, look there, several of these shots are self-inflicted," Niisen said, pointing at a cluster of bodies.
"Self-inflicted? Why?"
"You are young, apprentice. This is not uncommon, especially with Alderaanians. I was deployed in the House Wars. I fought with House Antilles-Thul against the Organas for a time; never dealt with politics, I was there to ensure the safety of civilians as to gain the Commonwealth more support. Alderaan has been a critic of policy since Darth Nox signed the Charter. But regardless, while there I saw this plenty: one soldier cracks, feels like a monster, kills someone or two and then kills himself. War and its atrocities...Alderaanians have a code, or had a code, of conduct and manners. Going against it, tossing it aside, it makes soldiers feel like they're the embodiment of all their people were raised to condemn. Others crack, feel he was right, begin killing. Then the opportunists see a time to kill off officers they don't like, and then the panicked begin going after anyone who gets too close. A bloody violence where everyone is an enemy, although usually a few survivors are left, suicidals who are out of ammo most commonly, or a one of the panicked that was a decent shot. I'm unsure of the likelihood of everyone dying," the older Sith explained, the trio wandering through the battlefield.
"I killed the rest," came a mumble, tired and weary.
The Sith whipped towards the sound, lightsabers at the ready, only to find a girl, not yet a woman, sitting on a piece of rubble, a blaster held with a death grip in her lap. Her grime and her placid appearance had made her easy to ignore, but a quick tapping into the Force let the two warriors see that she was the source of the darkness swirling in the place.
Cautiously stepping forward, Darth Niisen lowered his lightsaber, but kept it ignited. "Who are you?" he asks.
"I...I am a Mandalorian," the girl responded, sounding almost in a trance. She was obviously shell-shocked and it took her a moment to breath and lessen, but not lose, the haunted look in her eyes. "I mean…" she tried to say, shaking her head and standing, snapping a salute. "Padmé, ward of Clan Fett, my lords," she says with a steeled determination, "...Last of Clan Fett," she adds, a bitter anger tainting the words.
Obi-wan, seeing the girl's pain and honesty, deactivated his lightsaber. "The last?" he asked carefully, hoping not to cause her further grief. "Are you, then, Mandalore for the moment?" A young girl, Mandalore! These people truly are doomed, he thought to himself.
"Tor Vizsla has gone to lead our people," she responded, an uncomfortable look passing over her.
Darth Niisen nodded, deactivating his own blade, noting with curiosity how she answered. "I've heard of the man. Strong, tough. Mandalore will be in good hands until we come back."
"Come back?" asked both Obi-wan and Padmé in unison, who then looked at each other before back at the Sith Lord.
"What about the Huntmaster?" Jar-jar piped up, the being having caught up, and having chosen to remain quiet, still frightened of Darth Niisen.
"Organizing a rebellion will be useful, yes, but a proper condemnation by the Delegation will have far more power, and will allow us to rally other systems to come push the Alderaanians out," he explained, and then points to Padmé. "You are the last of Mandalore's ruling Clan. Vizsla will lead the resistance here for now, while we go to Coruscant. You will testify, petition for aid, and then, pass or fail, we shall return and go to the Trandoshans to gain their aid and cooperation."
After a moment, Obi-wan nods, seeing the sense. "Yes, my master," he responds, before turning to a still obviously torn Padmé. "If we are to gain the Delegation's support, we must leave while we can and as soon as possible. Best to go now and fail to gain their pledge than to wait and gain it when it is too late for it to do any good."
She remains silent, but after a few baited breaths, she nods. "Let's go."
|-o-|
The Clone I was a bit of a shaky vessel, in Obi-wan's opinion. According to their royal guest it was a replica of the late Jango Fett's prized vessel the Slave I. The change in name was supposedly because Mandalore the Stabilizer never felt the ship had been the same. Regardless, it flew, and the Sith apprentice accepted that there was little other choice. Their evasion through the blockade was thanks to the ship's own stealth systems, and the journey had gone onwards with little trouble. They were going to have to make jumps through the Outer Rim to avoid any incoming Alderaanian vessels flagging them, and Obi-wan was content in nothing exciting occurring. But much like every other outing he had ever gone on with his master, he was going to end with quite a few more early grey hairs.
"I thought you said this ship was undetectable!" he snarled, pulling on the controls as they swerved to the left, narrowly dodging a rather large barrage of torpedoes. The vessel rattled a bit, and the Sith ripped off his helmet to get a better view of the battlefield; there were at least fifteen raider ships, all attempting to take down their vessel. A live capture and wreckage scavenging was nearly the same in the eyes of a raider.
"It is, when kriffing fools aren't flying right past a raider fleet in full optical view!" Padmé snapped back over the comm, unleashing another round of fire in retaliation. A blast clipped the wing of one of the raiders, who quickly began to spin out of control before he smashed into a compatriot, both ships exploding into one tangled wreckage.
"We can argue over whose fault this is after we survive!" the voice of Darth Niisen roared. He stood in the engine room, using the Force to maintain the integrity of the hyperdrive with great difficulty. "Apprentice! Take us down to the closest planet! There may not be a planetary defense fleet, but criminals respect the claims of other criminals; they'll break away if we enter another gang's scavenging territory." He took a moment to wipe sweat from his brow, his hood having fallen back from his head, before adding lastly, "And make it a clean landing!"
Clean is subjective, Obi-wan thought to himself, before hearing No it isn't! shouted into his skull by his master across their bond. Shrugging, the Sith apprentice locked trajectory for the closest inhabited planet, a so called Tatooine. The Clone I was forced to go as fast as possible, weaving and dodging as the raiders increased their volleys, desperate to hit the ship before it entered claimed space. Padmé, on her part, maintained fire as the ship moved more and more erratically, taking out another three raiders. And then suddenly, the remaining ten or so fighters broke off, right as Obi-wan saw his screen fill with Huttese. "Master?" he commed down the engine room, "How much do we have in our mission account?"
"600,000 specie. Why?"
"Er, what about in smugglers' notes?"
"...We have 15 notes. It's a Hutt world isn't it? How much is the entry toll?"
"10 notes, master."
"10?! That's 400,000 specie! Oh, Bogan's balls! Bah, pay them in specie; they'll prefer notes planetside," the Sith Lord growled back, clearly displeased.
The apprentice confirmed the transfer of funds, and was greeted by an animated icon of a dancing baby Hutt in thanks. At that point, Obi-wan kept the ship on course, ignoring the light indicating damaged landing gear and smoking engine as the droplet-shaped vessel descended into the atmosphere at speed far too fast. Attempting to stabilize, he let the vehicle shift into landing position, cringing as they hit the ground a few moments later, scraping along for a solid two minutes coming to a halt. "Another happy landing," he breathed out, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets as he slowly released his grip on the controls.
Padmé barged into the cockpit at that moment, anger across her face. "What did you do to my ship?" she demanded, hands on her hips.
Darth Niisen came in a second later, anger in his eyes. "I said a clean landing, apprentice!" he shouted. As the Sith's hand rose, Obi-wan felt a pressure on his neck.
"Mas...ter! I did...my..best!" he choked out. Padmé's eyes widened as she realized what was occuring, her own anger fading in an instant, and now uncertainty replacing it as she debated stepping in. Luckily, Qui-gon Jinn was a reasonable man, if demanding, and not prone to needless murder. The Force Choke was ended, Darth Niisen shaking his head in a disappointed gesture.
"You could have deccelerated earlier, made our descent easier. You didn't, more focused on evading the raiders that we knew would depart when we entered claimed space. It seems you still have much to learn, my apprentice." With that, the Sith Lord took his leave, and after a long moment, Obi-wan slowly rose to follow.
"Is that...common?" Padmé asked quietly as she trailed behind.
"It is a common punishment, yes. An apprentice must always remember that their masters are stronger than them. A Force Choke drives that message home. One might call it tradition," he responded in an equally quiet tone. Padmé made no further comment, but she did visibly grow far more uncomfortable. They traversed the ship, and eventually came to the entry ramp, which had only been able to partially open, the missing landing gear leaving the ship lopsided. Darth Niisen stood waiting for them, arms crossed, Jar-jar next to him, still nervous around the Sith.
"Apprentice, you will stay here and guard the ship. I will be honest, as necessary as it is to keep the ship safe, this is also your punishment for your recklessness. Miss Fett, Bissk, and I will go into town and try to procure a new hyperdrive. Stick close, don't wander, don't trust anyone. Are we all clear on the plan?" After the nods from everyone, the trio departed as Obi-wan closed the ramp.
After nearly a half hour's journey, they arrived in town. In Padmé's honest opinion, Mos Eisley was one of the filthiest, strangest, dangerous ports she had ever seen in the known galaxy. Thus, she was thoroughly enjoying herself. The angry customers, smug vendors, the hustle and bustle as they made their way through the town. It reminded her of Mandalore, before the Alderaanian vessels had hovered in their skies, before the fear and the anticipation of the end of their world. So absorbed in simply enjoying the place, that she very nearly bumped into her Sith Lord companion.
"...dulla Besadii Diori. She has first rights to all scrap and salvage. For somethin' as valuable as a 'drive, she's your best bet. Won't be cheap though," the Rodian vendor finished, and Darth Niisen gave him a nod in thanks before walking away. Padmé followed, but paused as she turned around to find Jar-jar moments from trying to steal a rather impressive looking weapon. And by steal, it seemed his plan was to grab it and run, considering the owner of the stand was most definitely looking directly at him. The girl rolled her eyes and snapped at the trandoshan before motioning for him to get moving. Filthy creature, she thought to herself, thoroughly unimpressed by the lizard folk who were supposed to be her planet's back-up plan.
They moved through the town for a while longer before arriving at a large structure that Padmé supposed was a palace. It was rusty, dented, and bloodstains that had dried ages ago were still present. The guards looked down upon the group with suspicion, but they were allowed to enter unmolested.
|-o-|
Anakin didn't mind working in the scrap shop. It was one of the preferable assignments, as it often looked bad to beat slaves in front of customers to Gardulla's personal salvage, as such high-payers usually came from the Commonwealth or other wealthy places that liked to pretend to have the moral high ground. His eyes quickly snapped up as three sentients were led inside.
The first was a man, a man whose presence seemed to make the room darken, and whose sulphuric yellow eyes made Anakin both want to run and hide, and ask him about all the many things he has seen. Following him was a simple trandoshan, one that Anakin could already tell was trouble. And finally...finally there came a girl; she was older than he was, perhaps by four or five years, and he could not say that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen (Gardulla had brought in plenty of attractive slaves to satiate her customers in the past) but something about her just seemed right. It was not a pureness, for in her eyes he saw a haunted soul, saw a creature ready to kill, but even then he felt drawn to her, and he could not help but stare. She must have felt his eyes on her, for she looked at him, and their gazes locked before the twi'ilek leading the group shouted at him.
"Boy! Show these customers a hyperdrive! Now!" the man roared, and Anakin was quick to nod, waiting only for the trio to get closer before leading them into the labyrinth of shelves and parts he had memorized over the years. They walked on in silence, the group unconcerned with speaking to a slave who obviously cared little for why they had come, although both the man and the girl had seemed to look at him with an interest. As they passed a rather precariously stacked pile of parts, the trandoshan stepped ahead of the group and reached enthusiastically for a particular component. As he pulled on it, the pile began to topple, and as the girl let out a shout, Anakin whipped around, raising his hands.
"NO!" he shouted, and in that instant, just as the heap would have fallen, crushing the girl and her friends, it froze. Literally. Each piece of metal floated in the air unmoving, as if held up by an invisible force. Anakin gaped but did not move, instinct telling him that indeed he was the cause of the miracle. The three strangers slowly, dazed and shocked, stepped out of the pile's shadow, and once they had Anakin dropped his arms, the metal falling with a large, loud, clang.
No one spoke. No one moved. The first to break the silence was the man, who looked on the slave in wonder. "Do you have a name, my friend?"
Anakin was taken aback; He was still unsure of how he had stopped the pile, and thus he remained frozen, and took a good deal of time before he turned around and responded. "...Anakin. My name is Anakin."
