"That's Endor," said the Bith humanoid, looking up at Mataki from the ship's window.
She peered out eagerly, with her hand pressed up against the plastic glass. She saw smatterings of thin clouds pasted along Endor's atmosphere, and in between, varying shades of green. "That's Endor..." she repeated quietly.
"Not the best place to perform – so you can see we flew out of our way to get you here," reminded the Bith for the umpteenth time.
Elori Mataki smiled. The Bith were not known for charitable acts – especially ones who were well known in the music industry. And the Bith she had temporarily hooked up with was indeed something of an icon, especially back on Coruscant. She had met Flet'ar when the freighter had docked at one of the Upper Cities of Taris. Wanting to stretch her legs outside the large yet cramped frieghter, Mataki had strolled into an obscure cantina, where Flet'ar, was performing. He was a one-man band at that moment, and had taken to frequenting humble cantinas to see what the public would think of him without his back-up crew. Perhaps he saw a kindred spirit in her, or perhaps he just needed a listening ear...but whatever the case, he had taken to Mataki, and struck up a conversation with her.
She was deliberately vague about her origins, determined to focus on the now. And presently, she had explained, she was traveling. On vacation, he had asked her? Something like that, she had answered. Flet'ar had said that he would like nothing better than to take a holiday from his own life. The pressures of fame sometimes counterbalanced the benefits. Especially if you found that something you believed you wanted so badly wasn't all it was cracked out to be.
"Tell me about it," she had said.
Flet'ar had taken a swig of the brightly coloured fruit punch, and continued. "I've wanted to enter the world of music with a bang. I wanted to hit it big," he'd gulped down another portion. "So I worked hard. Made it to every single practice session, had the best teachers...there were some nights I didn't go to sleep for days on end – especially if that ever-elusive tune appeared to be within reach."
"But your perseverance paid off, obviously. So why the wallowing in cheap bars and their equally horrid fruit cocktails?" Mataki had said with amusement in her eyes and her chin in her hands.
The Bith leaned forward, his large head swaying slightly from the effects of the cocktail. "It's not what I want." He'd sighed. "I mean, can you imagine a greater irony than that? I've completed all parts of the equation to arrive at the answer. The hard work's in. So's the talent. Years and years of climbing, overcoming failures, obstacles, to reach the summit." He'd stood up suddenly, nearly knocking his stool over. He splayed out his hands, "And now I'm at the summit...and I don't like it. Not one bit."
She didn't bat an eye. "Sounds familiar."
The Bith's face had creased in speculation. "What do you mean?"
She'd laughed dismissively. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Anyhow, we're talking about your career here – let's focus on that. And do sit down, before you do yourself an injury."
Flet'ar had sat, his interest aroused.
She wrung her hands in thought. "Do you ever wonder, why you feel the way you do?"
He'd let out a bored whistle. "Look here, if I wanted to see a psychologist, I could have the best in town –"
"No, just answer my question."
"Why?" he'd scratched his head. "I suppose I was better suited to a career in...agriculture. Or mechanics. Or Kolto processing." He was getting impatient. "Is this going somewhere?"
"That depends on you. Obviously, I can't answer on your behalf. But I can tell you a thing or two that might help steer you onto the right path. Maybe you did something along the way, something you aren't proud of. And perhaps, subconsciously, you're punishing yourself for it."
"That's insulting! And...and what's more, I won't stand for it!" he'd shouted. So he'd gotten up from his stool and swaggered off. A minute later he had returned, and sat back down. "You're right you know. Heh, if I had your pale complexion I would be blushing right now. It's only 'cause I'm drunk that I'm admitting anything. But yes. I turned away from people – people I once cared for. People who helped me get where I am now. I shunned them. So, my now-realized ambition is no longer as sweet – it has a bitter flavour to it. But I don't know what happened to me, Elori, I have no idea. I lost me along the way. And somehow, this new person took my place, and I've hated him ever since." And suddenly, with a deep intake of breath, the Bith had begun to bawl. Tears sprang from his lidless eyes, and collected in a small puddle on the bar-stand.
Mataki held her hand up to her forehead, unsure of what to do. "Then we're alike – you and I." she had blurted out.
Flet'ar had looked up, still hiccupping from his remaining sobs. "You're in the music game too?"
She'd shook her head. "Not exactly. But I may know how you feel. I have...strayed somewhat from the person I had wanted to become. And I paid, no, I'm paying, the price for that mistake." And then on seeing his dismayed expression, hurriedly continued on. "But that's not to say you can't find forgiveness. You can."
"How?"
"These people you care for, are they still alive?"
"I don't know, I imagine they should be."
"Then go to them. Don't hesitate."
"But I have things to finish up here –"
Mataki held her hand up. "If you acknowledge your mistake, then your sorrow will be sincere. And if there is time yet to see them, to hold them again, mercy is still on your side. From experience, I'm telling you to go now, before more regrets catch up with you."
He'd appeared to be sobering up as he pushed his drink aside. "What exactly did you do?"
"If I told you, you'll promise to go see them? And you will promise never to speak of what I told you again?"
The Bith nodded. "My word."
She'd pulled her drink towards her. "Murder."
Nothing further was discussed about each other's own histories. Perhaps their conversation had cancelled out any prejudices they would have had against each other. In any case, he was insistent that he take her to Endor on his private ship, the Starway. It was the least he could do to repay her for actually listening to his wretched tale, he had said.
Mataki had wondered why the Bith hadn't pressed her for more details, or maybe asked her for her full name even, but came to no solid conclusion other than that of mutual understanding. There were names he was reluctant to say out loud, and relationships that pained him to speak of. She felt the same way.
Hix. Bao-Dur.
Do not speak the names of the dead.
Was that her new philosophy?
The empty hollow inside tugged at her heart to let go and give up. End it now, it had pleaded. Our only redemption lies in death. Hope lies in a world beyond this one. Shut up, she cried! If it was weakness that had caused me to stray, then it is weakness that seeks to take me now. And I can't let that happen.
But you have taken more than you can ever hope to give back.
There is still hope, she told herself. A fool's hope, perhaps, but a hope nonetheless.
She turned her attention to the now. Here. With this strange companion.
And so they sat, looking out the window, two acquaintances who would undoubtedly never forget each other as they journeyed their separate ways.
The landing was a little rougher than she anticipated. Every minute or so, she found herself clutching the arms of her seat as the ship lurched downwards, causing her stomach to fall sickeningly with it.
"Endor's atmosphere is conducive to change," explained Flet'ar.
"But there were hardly any clouds in the sky!" protested Elori, referring to their earlier view of the planet.
Flat'ar shrugged. "Like I said. Conducive to change equals sunshine one minute and storms the next. But don't worry, this usually happens once per standard year. I think the natives here call it the Turnover season."
"You know something," the ship dropped a couple meters and her head was thrown forward slightly, "...you know something about the natives?"
"Nothing more than what I read in a travel guide. And Endor's not on the big hit list. From what I recall...there are some primitive tribes – Ewoks – omnivorous creatures."
"Are they dangerous?" asked Mataki.
The Bith shook his head. "I couldn't say. And I've never seen one either. Basically, you're in forest terrain – and unfamiliar at that. I'd be careful even these animals were veggie-vorous. You have any weap –" he stopped himself, "...of course you do."
She gave him a knowing smile.
A few seconds later, the ship had stopped moving altogether, and the pair unbuckled themselves from the safety of their seats and made their way to the exit.
The rain was coming down in sheets now, and Elori stared through it from the safety of the covered ramp. What a homecoming, she thought. And with that contemplation in mind, she wondered about how she would make her way across the planet. She had no map. No scanner. Just a few Republic credits at hand and the clothes on her back. Ever the well-prepared traveler, eh?
"Looks like you'll have quite the hike to make!" shouted Flet'ar, over the roar of the rain.
Mataki looked back at him, her face expressionless.
"Lucky for you I'm Bith, my friend!" he tapped the side of his over-sized head. "I'm picking up a signal about north-east of here." Flet-ar pointed, using his long finger. "They're electro-field signals, repetitive patterns. I'm guessing droids. However, I doubt that Ewoks employ droids..."
For the first time in a long while, a flicker of hope crossed Mataki's face. "North-East, you say? I'll head that way and cross my fingers that I walk in a straight line!"
The Bith laughed. "I don't think you'll veer off the path this time." He looked behind him and then back at Mataki. "You're good then?"
She stepped off the ramp and into the rain. "I'm good, Flet'ar. How about you?"
"Getting better now." He gave a mocking yet friendly bow, "I thank you for your illuminating words. Travel well!"
Elori grinned and walked a few feet away from the ship, watching it take off in the midst of the rain. She blinked away the constant barrage of raindrops until the ship was out of sight and walked into the forest.
She wasn't aware of how long she had been walking. There was no transaction to make, no assignment to complete. Time, for the first occasion in a long while, was on her side.
As she hiked on, Mataki was hoping that the Turnover season would turn over again and that the overcast sky would relent and let some sunshine through. But she looked up and saw no chance of that happening anytime soon. Of course, it could have been much worse. What if it hailed down chunks of sharp ice? Or there could be strong winds, or forest fires –
"Halt!" cried out a voice.
Mataki nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Lay down your weapons!" it cried out again.
Damn this, why couldn't she sense this individual? "I have no weapons," she lied, fervently hoping that her person would not be searched. And if it was, she hoped that they could not identify a lightsaber.
"Where is the rest of your party?" it asked.
Buddy, I'm it, she said to herself. "It's just me!" she yelled out instead.
He apparently couldn't hear her over the rain and asked her again, louder and with more warning this time.
"There is nobody else! I'm alone!" she shouted. Let's throw our hands up for good measure, she thought. She raised her hands up slowly and placed them behind her head.
The gesture of surrender induced the stranger to come out from hiding. He jumped down from a branch hidden within foliage and came forward with a rusty blaster in his hand.
Mataki tried not to grin. The blaster the man held was a plaything at best. The laser fire – when the setting was on high – could do no more injury than to singe her skin slightly. She was tempted to draw out her lightsaber and teach the fellow a little lesson when she reminded herself; we're on his territory, old girl. His land, his soil. First off, let's be respectful. Secondly, it's a good bet that he knows this environment better than you do. And if there was anything that gives you the upper hand in a one-on-one confrontation, it was being aware of your surroundings.
As he stepped into better light, she was about to say something further, something to appease his fears about her, when she saw his face.
There was nothing remarkable about his features – but he appealed to her – though not in the romantic sense of the word. His facial structure was that of a man's but possessed a slight feminine quality to it, almost as if he had only just reached manhood and retained the fragments of his boyhood through memory and not by choice. And his eyes...she was unaware of how she long she was staring at them. Familiar eyes. I have seen those eyes.
Who are you?
"Hey, I'm talking to you!" said the man, jabbing the barrel of his weapon into her shoulder. "Who're you?"
Jolted out of her own thoughts, she managed to stammer out, "No one. Just came here to Endor to...um...visit."
The man laughed in disbelief. "Yeah, that's the best one yet. Why don't you take your starport visa to the tourist office in our city and we'll book you a room in the meantime?"
She closed her eyes. "Alright. So I'm not a tourist. But I have no hostile purposes here." Mataki opened her eyes again. "I've just come here to find out a few things."
"Really? Like what?"
"I had a friend, who fought in the Mandalorian wars. She was Jedi, and she was born here. I need to...I need to see if her family still lives."
The man lowered his gun, his stance changing from tension to surprise. "There was a kid here, taken from one of the neighbouring villages. But that was when I was...I don't know, around three I think. I'm not even sure I got the entire story straight. But there was something going on between some different tribes or a larger battle, and somehow, her parents got caught in between. A Jedi happened to be here, and he took the child. He didn't help save anyone. He didn't revive her parents."
Elori looked at him speechless.
The man snorted. "Looks like your trip has been a waste of time, doesn't it?" He tucked his gun into a holster by his side, deciding that she was no longer a threat. And then on seeing her stunned expression, "Hey, don't look so shocked eh? That's what Jedi do. They add more Force-sensitives to their collection. They have no sense responsibility for any repercussions they may cause. Feeling is something they lack. I heard it's even in the Jedi Code – they don't have emotion." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not Jedi, are you?"
She wasn't listening to him anymore. She came somewhat prepared for the fact that her family may be dead or gone. But she wasn't ready to hear that she had been taken from them without their permission. This wasn't possible. No, he was wrong. He had to be.
Finally acknowledging him, she spoke. "How do you know all of this?"
"There aren't many people here on Endor, Miss. And nothing much exciting happens – the only gossip we get here is whether the neighbouring tribe uses guava juice in their stew pots instead of water. Not exactly headline news, if you catch my drift. These deaths, and the stories about them – they're bound to stay in the memories of many generations to come."
"Then they're stories then...just theories built up from rumours...?" she asked with desperate hope in her voice.
"No. They're fact. My uncle was there when it happened."
The trek back to his village was a blur. Every tree, clearing or stream they passed could have been one and the same for all she cared. A knot of impatience grew, and there was one sole purpose in her being here. Answers. She wanted them now. But as always, circumstance was not forthcoming, and her needs were forced to wait.
The rain did not relent and neither did her questions that went through her mind in an inflexible circle. Okay. So they were dead – her family. Alright. Deal with it. You never knew 'em, so you can't really mourn 'em. But how did they die? Who was responsible for it? Could it be that the Jedi...? No, no. They wouldn't. They couldn't have done so. So it was some other outsider who should be held accountable. But that gave no right for the Jedi to take her from them! Where did free will and choice come into all this? Their preachy words and sermonizing didn't echo their actions.
That's it, get angry. Rage.
I can't. I'm too tired.
But they forced you to live a life you didn't want to!
I don't know the entire truth.
Liars. Every single one of them. Especially that Atris. And don't you notice how convenient their absence is? Where are they when the consequences of their actions arise? Where were they when children were being slaughtered at the hands of Mandalorians? They're not here now, that's for sure. They avoid accountability...so that you have to face it. Deceivers and cheats and falsifiers. They should pay.
My mother and father are dead. Many Mandalorians have been killed. Hix is dead and Bao-Dur...he's gone too. What makes you think more vengeance will bring me peace?
There is no peace. There is only retribution.
"You alright?" asked the man.
Did she look that disturbed, pondered Mataki? If there was anything she was good at, it was masking her emotions. How could he know? "Yes, I'm alright. I'm just a little taken aback at how sudden all of this is."
"Was she a close friend?"
"Ah...yes. We were very close."
"I'm sorry for your loss," he said. His manner had changed somewhat from when he had first encountered her. Mataki had managed to convince him that she was no Jedi – a truth, from a certain point of view – and that she was intent in having some questions answered. Hence, the need for this long journey. He had wondered why she hadn't asked him his name, and left the reason to her being rather shocked at the news. After all, the people she had come to find were no longer here, changing the purpose of her visit to a certain extent. "How did she die, if you don't mind me asking?"
Mataki had no difficulty in circumventing the truth. "Ghoul's disease. It affects the heart."
"But she was a Jedi – a coronary malady isn't something I see Jedi succumbing to." he replied, slightly befuddled.
How to explain this with brevity, she asked herself? "It appears that the Mandalorian Wars had taken their toll on her."
"Oh," He wasn't quite satisfied with that answer, she could tell. "But how –"
"How much further to your village?" she interrupted.
"We're here, actually."
Mataki looked around and saw nothing save for the thick trunks of trees and the tall ferns that grew below. She looked back at him questioningly.
The man smiled. "Maybe you should look up,"
Her eyes followed the tree trunks upwards to see large wooden platforms spanning across neighbouring trees. The walkways – that was the only term she could come up with – appeared to be sturdy because they held up not only people, but houses, or huts...at least three or four between each tree. It was much like a scaled down version of Wookiee habitat she had once observed on Kashyyyk. Some people had gathered to peer down at her and some women could be seen stepping away from their chores to take a look at the newcomer.
"Ah," she said finally. "So how do we get up?"
As they climbed up a rope ladder that had been lowered, her companion spoke. "Everyone hasn't been living this way forever, you must understand. We've only taken to building our homes up in the trees about seventy years ago."
"What made you do it?" Mataki asked, as she got her left foot entwined in a portion of the ladder, and wrenched it free with a jerk.
"Wolfebeests."
A shiver ran through her along with an inexplicable fear. She recognized the fact that it was almost childish, like some infantile bogeyman tale, nonetheless her fear did not dissipate. She quickened her pace up the ladder to get away from the ground.
"They're fewer in numbers now. We've formed a sort of alliance with the Ewoks down south of here, and have tried to drive these creatures of out of existence." He snorted. "But even though there's less of 'em, they're still quite dangerous. Normally, if the Wolfebeests were indigenous to Endor, we could find some way to co-exist with them, I suppose. But they aren't. There's a lot of speculation as to how they came to be here."
"Have a lot of people died?"
"No, not many at all. Not one person has been killed for the past five years. We think they may have localized their breeding grounds to someplace far from here. Or maybe it's because we live upside – and we're less of a target these days."
When they reached the top, Mataki dusted her hands on her trousers and looked at her companion. "Who do you think introduced them to Endor?"
He shrugged. "We're not an army. We have watchmen, but no one really looks to the skies. If anyone wanted to conduct business down here, they could very well do so without our knowledge or consent."
Elori cocked her head to one side, studying him. "You know, for one being so overly-cautious, you've become very forthcoming with information lately."
The man looked away, simultaneously embarrassed and guilty.
Another voice, older, raspier, spoke out from behind them. "That's because we're not a breed of warriors. And we don't stem from a culture of spies."
She stepped to a side to gaze on this new stranger and caught sight of a man who looked younger than he sounded. Only his brow was creased with lines while the rest of features remained free from the effects of anxiety. His temples were graying, however, like silver rivers beginning to seep into a sea of black. His brown eyes were alert and mistrustful, and this caused Mataki to be on her guard, reciprocating such caution.
So you imply I'm Republic Intelligence, do you, she thought in amusement?
The younger man turned to his elder and spoke before Mataki did. "Uncle, this is a friend of the Jedi child that was taken. The one you told us about..."
The man rolled his eyes in frustration. "For pity's sake, must you broadcast this news all over?"
Neighbours with overly-anxious ears stepped forward on cue, their curiousity piqued even more.
"Come, the both of you, let's go to my home where we shall be safe from the consequences of idle tongues." With that, he grabbed his nephew by the arm, and nodded for Mataki to follow him.
Twilight had set itself upon Endor, and together with the diminishing sunlight and the lamps that lit up the walkways, the hut was enveloped in a sense of warmth and comfort. The old man had furnished his frugal but cheerful home with an array of ferns – some hanging down from beams supporting the ceiling and some adorning the corners of the three rooms that made up his house. His lamps were all powered without the use of any gasoline. Gasoline was an unnecessary danger, he had explained, given all the wood surrounding them. Setting fire to his entire village was not how he would like to be remembered.
He had instructed his nephew to make their guest welcome, and sent the younger man into an adjoining room to prepare something for an evening meal. Elori felt the scent of something quite palatable waft her way and politely asked the senior as to its origins.
"Rogash bulb in tomato sauce." he'd answered to the point. "Nothing spectacular and easy to make."
She nodded not quite knowing what to say next. She had many questions, and though she tried holding them back, she was unsure as to how long she could do so. It wouldn't be long before the dam would give way.
"You look like you do with a good bite to eat." he threw in.
"Smells good," she agreed, but her stomach churned in refusal. Her appetite waned with each passing minute.
"Then let's eat." said the man, rising up from his seat.
Mataki remained seated and finally blurted out, "Sir, I'm – I really can't stomach anything at the moment." She studied his face; it was expressionless. "It's not your food, it's just that I have traveled a long way. And I need to know so much."
"I'm sure you do," said the man, staring at Mataki in a way that she could not decipher.
"My name is Regan," she began uncertain as to whether she needed an alias, but proceeded anyway. "And Elori Mataki was a dear friend of mine, who passed recently. Your nephew here has been kind enough to tell me some of what had happened to her parents...but I fear that I don't know the entire story."
The elder raised his eyebrows. "And what makes you think I do...?"
He was testing her, she realized suddenly. He knows, said a voice. But how much...? Two can play at this game.
Her politeness began to dissipate slowly. "Gut instinct."
"Ah. You rely heavily on it, do you?" he asked.
"You could say that."
"I knew a family once. They did the same. And so did their offspring. But you could say it was their downfall."
Mataki narrowed her eyes. "The children or this...instinct?"
"Both."
With that, he turned to where his nephew had been cooking. He called out to him. "Javin, why don't you run out to Helena's and prepare us some fresh fireweed?" He directed his attention back to Mataki. "Fireweed's a delicacy confined to our village only. Perhaps you would like to savour it?"
"How long does it take to prepare?"
"Hours."
Elori smiled knowingly, "Then it'll do just fine."
They spoke had spoken well into the night – with Javin still away, preoccupied with his task. His uncle, Jodis Kepp, had sat himself on the floor alongside Mataki, and had begun by asking her questions. He had told her that he was no fool, and was aware that her name was not Regan, but there was no need for her to reveal much information in the form of questions. He would find out what he needed through her own.
She had started out with many, the first of which dealing with the identity of the elder man. Mataki was surprised in the fact that he willingly answered much that was asked. She attributed this to the possibility that he could not say much in the presence of his nephew or perhaps he just hadn't had the opportunity to speak with an outsider for a long while. She had asked him if this was so.
"Yes and no. I have spoken with some foreigners – but that was many years ago. And no, that's not why I've morphed into a blabbermouth all of a sudden." He saw her smile and continued on, "You could say that I'm getting eccentric in my old age. Heh. Speaking of idiosyncrasies, you came here with a bucket load of questions about your...friend, and you've danced around that topic ever since. I find it unlikely to believe that I'm the sole object of your attention."
Mataki chuckled and then grew serious. "Let's just attribute this to nervousness, shall we?"
"You're nervous on behalf of your "friend"?" He snorted. "Or does this place hold more of a past for you than it does for her?"
"She's dead." said Elori, with more truth in those words than ever before. Whoever she was before the wars and the battles and the deaths, that was not now who she carried with her. "So, in a sense, yes."
"Then let's cut to the chase, shall we?" The sentence was less of a question than a statement. "This rhetorical nonsense is starting to get to me."
Elori held up her hand, "Wait...I'm here. Do I want to do this?" she asked out loud to no one in particular.
"Of course you do! You need to keep moving in life! You can't hit one obstacle and wallow in it for the remainder of your years!"
"But I could take a different path." she objected.
"Look. You'll just repeat the pattern if you do so. You have regrets, I assume? Yes, we all do. Don't add this on to your list."
"Then tell me. Tell me everything." said Elori determinedly. She couldn't stand on the line and unable to choose a side for much longer.
He was detectably surprised that she had been so easily convinced. Perhaps this lay in the fact that he was somewhat reluctant to recite the tale. "Ah. Well. Alright."
Her parents were not natives of Endor, he had said. They were fleeing from a world they didn't care to discuss, and despite the curiousity of neighbours, they did not breathe a word of their histories. Eventually, talk about the newcomers had died down and everyone settled into the routines of everyday life. Mataki had asked him for their names. Did it make that much difference now, he had asked? She had said that it did to her.
She pressed as to what they looked like, starving for something she could ascribe to her origins, to some family likeness, to feel like she belonged to someone. Kepp had told her that she looked very much like her father, and still carried some the weight that he once did. She had nothing in phenotypic likeness to her mother save for her hair perhaps. Did he have any pictures of them? Kepp had shaken his head, no. She appeared satisfied and then continued on with her questions.
Two years after her parents had settled here, some unrest began in the skies above Endor. It was a space battle, and it was truly a grand thing to behold. But it wasn't long before casualties of the sky war fell down to the ground. Some entered Endor's atmosphere like burning meteors and some had managed to deftly maneuver their crafts to land safely. Who these newcomers were, worried them greatly, said Kepp. They sent out a small group of villagers – no more than seven people, and poorly armed – to investigate. Only three returned.
They had been overwhelmed by the foreigners, whose species they were unable to identify. Kepp had thought that they were either mercs or space pirates. The entire village had scattered, hiding amongst the trees, waiting for the impending danger.
Mataki's parents – perhaps having gone through what they had before coming Endor – were dismayed with this new turn in events. They wanted to leave badly, and had begged Kepp's mother, who knew the forest well, to lead them away from the village and to some place safe. She had taken pity on them, and had decided to let them have the last remaining flyer – something she and her husband had built together – to leave Endor for good.
"But they obviously didn't make it. My mother led them as far as she deemed safe, and gave them directions to the flyer. It was dark, and tensions ran high...so I suppose it was understandable that she was reluctant to go with them. She was worried about us – my father and I," explained Kepp, feeling slightly guilty on behalf of his mother. "But she didn't leave them immediately. She followed them a little ways without them knowing. Your parents stumbled into an ambush. Whoever those thugs were...no matter how injured or hurt they were, they were damned proper soldiers. They'd hidden their craft very well. And they had stealth field generators that enabled them to camouflage themselves with the forest – I've never heard of anything like 'em. They'd apparently taken up positions; strategic positions. They...took your father out first."
He watched Elori wince and then continued. "Your mother they tied up and they laid her children before her."
Elori's lips parted, and Kepp looked at her indicating that he could not be interrupted now. "My mother saw this all, you know. It haunted her till the day she died. And it haunts me still, even though I've heard this only once. She couldn't do anything, no weapons, nothing. I think part of her wanted to go back for help, but a larger part of her needed to be close at hand. In case she was given the opportunity to save someone. She stayed hidden for what seemed like a long time, watching those men eat. Your mother was still tied up. One of them picked up the baby by the leg – like it was a dirty rag – and tossed it towards the bushes. Near my mother. She picked it up later, you know, and was terrified that she would be holding a corpse in her hands. But she wasn't. The infant was still alive – unconscious but still alive." He paused and shifted his legs into a more comfortable position.
"What happened..." breathed Elori.
"This isn't an easy story to tell, I can say that much," muttered Kepp. "What happened next was a blur of confusion from my mother's perspective. Another individual was baited into this damned trap, but unlike your parents, he held his own. Perhaps because of who he was."
"Jedi,"
Kepp nodded. "I don't what happened in that battle above, and neither did my mother, but she knew she wasn't just dealing with space pirates anymore. Whatever was going on was of greater importance that any of us could fathom, and it had somehow managed to grace...or curse, in this instance, Endor with its touch. This Jedi was alone, yet he took on his opponents easily – and there were about ten of them. But he wasn't fast enough...I think, yes, this is how my mother told it. One individual was smart enough to see the Jedi for what he was. Protector, defender. He held a blaster to your mother's right temple, and told the Jedi to back off. The Jedi had the other child in his arms by then, but couldn't make it to your mother in time. And he knew it. He felled his opponent closest to him, and watched as the trigger was pulled. He cut the rest of them down mercilessly – and no, don't get me wrong, the devils deserved it – much like they had done to your father."
She couldn't quite find any words.
"I don't know what caused him not to hesitate though...I thought he would have at least tried to prevent your mother's death. Negotiated or something. But I suppose he saw the situation in a different light and did what he considered best. After killing his remaining enemies, he ran. With you in his arms." finished Kepp.
Mataki let out a breath slowly. "What of the other child?"
"My mother took him in. She and my father raised him."
"No, no..." spoke Elori impatiently. "Where is the child now?"
Kepp looked down at the bare wooden floor.
"Javin," she said suddenly, understanding.
Kepp said nothing in response.
Jaq sat on the cold bench in the equally chilly corridor, staring at the exit, longing to leave. It was funny how this place – this building – could contrast so much with the environment outside. He'd hated Korriban the minute he had laid his eyes on it, and he'd hated this new construction even more. Uthar Wynn had assembled this new section of the Academy only recently, and was extremely proud of his work. Which was more than he could say about his own, thought Jaq.
The two Jedi were in the room at the end of the corridor now. And he could hear them scream. No, screaming wasn't the adjective he'd use. Yelling. Shouting. Groaning. Wailing.
Feel something, dammit, said a voice.
Save them. There's still time for redemption.
"Oh shut the hell up." he said, aloud, as he chucked his already empty water flask to a side.
"Conversing with some daemons, Jaq?" spoke a violet-hued Twi'lek from the darkness.
Jaq said nothing.
"Oh don't feel so bad, we all face it at one point or another. It's inevitable in the life we face."
He hated her voice. Soothing, conciliatory, but oh-so-fake. "Yeah, well."
"You know something," she spoke, sidling up to him and placing a cold hand on his shoulder. "Tryson in there...he's not doing so great a job." She nodded towards the room at the end of the corridor. "Give him a few more hours and those two Jedi'll be dead. And all your brilliant, hard work will be for nothing."
"As long as I get paid..." started Jaq.
"If it's credits you want, then it's credits you get. You know how well we keep our ends of the bargain."
Boy, did he ever. His ship, his carefree lifestyle, was evidence of it. "Well then, just credit my account and I'll get going."
Her mouth curled into a grin. "Would you like a bonus?"
He gazed back at her, unblinkingly.
"Fifty thousand credits extra." she paused for effect. "And for doing something you'll love, no less. My boy in there – Tryson – I'm going to retire him soon. He's ineffective. You, however, are not. Need I say more?"
Jaq looked at her for a few more seconds and then turned to look at the large door behind which lay his task. He closed his eyes and then opened them.
"Make sure the money's in my account by tomorrow morning." he said before walking down the corridor and away from the exit.
