Chapter 11

Hess extended her hand to knock. Losing her nerve, she turned her back and retreated down the hallway. Stopping again, she returned and tapped on the door.

It was a long time before Yawn answered, looking down at her and giving an annoyed, "What?" Today, the Kaleesh was barefoot with a pair of khaki shorts. His upper body was covered in a black tank top, with a bandana tied around his bicep to hide the tattoo.

"What?" he asked again.

Hess wanted nothing more than to run back to her room and hide under her bed for the rest of the week. Instead, she said, "I was wondering, if you could teach me how to fight?"

"I can't teach you how to fight," he said. "I can teach you how to kill."

Hess occupied her attention with drawing a circle in the floor with her toe. "It's just that, I couldn't do anything when the Whipid had me. And I couldn't do anything when the Hutt had me. I don't want to be a burden."

Yawn stepped to the side of the door. Confused at first, she soon scurried into his room.

Yawn lowered to all fours, reaching under his bed and retrieving several tumbling mats, which he spread out. "The longer a fight lasts, the more chances you have to be hurt," he explained. "So you end a fight in as few moves as possible. Similarly, if you're fighting three people, and you kill one, you've only got two to worry about. Best place to target is the neck. It's hard to concentrate when someone is choking the life out of you, and a broken neck will put most sentients down for good. You do it for good: you kill them. Cause if you think you can show them a little mercy, they will shoot you in the back."

The Kaleesh came behind Hess, wrapping his arm around her throat in a rear naked choke. "How would you get out of this?"

"I don't know," she squeaked.

"Turn to your side and put your hands on my shoulder. Now put your leg out and try to trip me."

Hess was amazed at how easy it was to put Yawn, of superior height and weight, on the floor.

"That was good," he complimented. He took hold of her arms and brought her to the ground. His legs fell on her face and chest, keeping her pinned, and he pulled and twisted her arm, causing a decent amount of pain.

Fearful instinct caused her to bite at the leg near her mouth. Her teeth caught on the fabric of his pants, but it must have caused enough pain for Yawn to release the hold.

"I'm so sorry," she pleaded.

But Yawn waved a hand for her to stop. "You did exactly as you should have done. I didn't even have to tell you to bite me. You're ever in a fight: bite, scratch, claw. Just survive.

"But what if you're fighting someone, let's say a Shistavanen, and he moves in for a bite, what should you do?"

Hess shrugged.

"Clench you fist together and smash it into his mouth. When your jaw is closed, you can keep it tight. You open your mouth, and your teeth are a lot easier to knock out.

"You're pretty small and quick. You ever have to fight, keep moving. Circle your foe, bob and weave, duck and dodge."

"Okay." Smiling at the corners of her mouth, she asked, "Should I call you master or something?"

"I'm no master. My father was a master. He could kill anyone with anything. I'm a novice compared to him."

Yawn thought to himself for a breath. "Most important thing to remember: know your limits. It's not impossible to take on a dozen people at once. It's just extremely hard. Throwing you life away isn't bravery, its stupidity.

"Now, let me show you how to get out of a bear hug."

---

When plagued with fear or doubt, Sable could usually meditate to clear her mind of such troubling emotions. Today, she would have no such reprieve.

"I sense something troubles you, padawan."

The voice belonged to Teh-Ron Roff, and was as kind and soothing as any Jedi Knight's should be.

"It is nothing Master," Sable breathed.

"Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. While lying isn't on the list, its still frowned upon by the council."

"Master," she started but bite her tongue. Finally, she said, "I fear that what I feel is unbecoming of a Jedi."

Roff's eyes were calm and accepting, and willed Sable's words forward. "I never knew my parents."

"As none of us have."

"But sometimes when I sleep, I dream of a family. I think I had a father and a mother, and brothers and sisters. And, and sometimes I feel an emptiness. And it doesn't go away, no matter what. It gets stronger and stronger."

"The path that we walk is a hard one. It was wrought with difficult decisions and few rewards. It is our destiny to be alone, always plagued with the lure of family. But it is our duty to suffer. We suffer so that others may live and prosper, for that is the greatest honor we can have."

"Yes master. Of course master."

"Prepare yourself padawan, we will be traveling soon."

---

The ship floated slowly through the depths of space.

Blixem lined the sights of his KYD-21 pistol and squeezed the trigger, shooting the empty can that was ten meters forward. "We can't just keep killing the Jedi. Eventually our luck will run out. Blixem has always followed you, and if Blixem has to, Blixem will follow to you to death. But Blixem would rather not."

Yawn shrugged. "You're right of course. But what can we do? The Jedi won't just stop. It's not like there was one who sent the order, and I can kill him and be done with it. There's hundreds of them, kill one and two more will take his place.

"What I don't understand is, why now? I've been executing contracts for nearly a decade. Why are the Jedi all of a sudden interested in me?"

"We both know the Jedi aren't effective, or even good, at what they do. Remember Uda-Khalid. How many did he kill before the Jedi finally decided to do something? A hundred? A thousand? They get around to everyone, eventually."

"There had to be something I did to piss them off this bad. Chosun ordered things worse than I could ever do, and they gave him full immunity. There had to be something I did that pushed them over the edge."

"Chosun never pulled the trigger. You pull the trigger, so you're a more evil being to bring to justice." He thought to himself. "The only way you may get them off your trail, is to give them something they want better and negotiate a deal."

"And that means Cornelius."

---

His name was Petre von Cornelius, though it was not the name he was born with. The name he was born with was Winstone Romo. Cornelius, rather, was his business name.

A Ryn, his skin was almost black, but upon careful observation, one would notice it was actually a deep, dark blue. His hair and fur was a creamy, glowing white. Nomadic by nature and suspicious due to his business, he moved around quit a bit. Never the less, he now found himself in the company of a familiar Kaleesh and Gand.

"I am happy to see you both again," Cornelius said. "But I have to wonder why you are carrying so many weapons. Is that an RPG on your back?"

"I've been having a really bad month," Yawn muttered, clenching his carbine a little tighter.

"What trouble are you in?"

"Jedi trouble," Blixem said. He was cradling his shotgun as a mother would a child. A dozen explosives were strapped to his vest.

"I need information: why the Jedi are after me, what I did to piss them off so bad. Maybe something I can give them to appease them."

Cornelius thought to himself. "I haven't heard much. The Jedi aren't ones to talk about their affairs. However, some of my contacts within the Federation have been most informative. Some of the higher political ranks have taken an interest in you."

"Why?" he demanded, not expecting an answer but just releasing his anger. "Why now." He sighed, catching his breathe. "Is there anyone they are more interested in? Anyone I can give them to get them away from me? Anything?"

"If the Federation wants something, they will send in their Jedi lapdogs. They don't require you to get it for them."

"Then I'm fucked," Yawn realized.

Cornelius typed at his computer. "Yes you are," he agreed. "Considering the Jedi are here."