CHAPTER 21
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Bastila nervously chewed on a fingernail as she stared out the viewport. Outside, a host of Mandalorian ships floated in space around the asteroid mining facility, like Firaxin sharks circling a wounded fish.
Only, the wounded fish was about to become her own ship, if things went downhill any further.
"Admiral, we've got a transmission!"
Bastila whipped her head towards the comm officer. "Is it the ambassador?"
Admiral Dodonna shot her a sharp glance at her minor usurpation. The woman had transferred at about the same time as Bastila, her loose grip over the Ravager's fleet-which was really Revan's-relinquished shortly after her promotion to Fleet Admiral. Bastila speculated that her transfer was more than voluntary. The woman had a difficult time hiding her disdain for Revan's swagger ever since Kashyyyk. Malak's latest daredevil antics at Dxun had whittled down any remaining respect she held for either Jedi. Now, she had oversight over multiple fleets, and over the most sensitive territories along the invisible demarcation line. The only thing she lacked was proper Jedi Mercy Corp representation, but that's where Bastila entered.
And was resented.
"Sorry," Bastila muttered.
The Admiral ignored her. "Patch it through."
A large screen lit up, revealing an armored monstrosity. Whether there was a man beneath the demonic helm and the sooty armor was the question trillions of children in the Republic asked their parents every night during story time. The warrior clutched a large rag doll in his gauntleted claws, holding a vibroblade to its throat.
The rag doll sobbed, its colorful head tails convulsing in terror.
"Ambassador Disra!" Bastila gasped under her breath, pity swelling in her chest.
"This," the helmed demon said, "is what you send me? This...this...spineless spawn of a Hutt?"
Admiral Dodonna steeled her voice. "General Ordo, this is an act of war. You have thirty seconds to release Ambassador Disra, or I will open fire on your ship."
"No," the man hissed. "It is this ambassador who commits an act of war. I will not tolerate his insult to my honor." The man's vibroblade tightened against the Tortugran ambassador's skin, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Weps, power the proton torpedoes."
"Aye, aye."
"Then your ambassador is dead, and you will follow," Canderous Ordo proclaimed, his spine straightening further, as if relishing the thought of spilling blood.
"Fire on my mark."
Ordo's grip on the vibroblade hilt tightened, readying to slit his victim's throat.
"Wait!" Bastila shouted, stepping between Admiral Dodonna and the screen, and revealing her presence to the comm camera for the first time.
All parties froze, but only for a moment. Admiral Dodonna defrosted first.
"Disregard that order," she said.
"Wait, please!" Bastila faced Dodonna, her eyes pleading. "Allow me to negotiate. You have nothing to lose."
The Admiral's eyes narrowed. At last, she gave a quick nod.
Bastila turned to the screen. "General Ordo, I'm sure you remember me." Her heart hammered in her chest, and it was all she could do to keep her voice from shaking.
The armored nightmare made no sign of acknowledgment.
Bastila held out her hands. "Please, allow me the chance to hear you out. I assure you whatever insult we have paid to your honor is entirely unintentional. I want the chance to right a wrong."
The Mandalorian General slowly nodded, his grip on the vibroblade loosening ever so slightly.
"This spawn of a Hutt," he spat, "thought he could pay Mandalore for the rights to the asteroid mine. You cannot buy our honor, Jedi."
"All right, I understand. I assure you, I had no idea the ambassador would propose such an offer. Please, let us negotiate."
"With this slug? I should slit his throat and flush his sorry corpse out the airlock."
"Then release him, and negotiate with me."
"General Shan," Admiral Dodonna said, "you don't represent the Republic."
"But I can bring back to Coruscant whatever tentative agreement we decide upon. Please, General, isn't a battle won without bloodshed the highest honor?"
The warrior on the screen snorted. "You've read our poetry." He paused, his helm tilting to the side slightly. "But it is only poetry. Reality is that we have little to negotiate. No Mandalorian will sell his honor. This asteroid mine was ours long before the war began. Just because it drifts across an invisible demarcation line into Republic space does not make it any less ours."
"I apologize for the confusion, but both Czerka and the Republic Exploration Commission have spent millions establishing their mining facility. All they ask is to somehow be allowed to continue." She swallowed hard. "And for the miners to be released."
"Do you really think that just because our mine seems abandoned that you have the right to claim what is ours? If it is abandoned, it is because we went to wage war."
Bastila shook her head. "No, not at all. Our intent in these negotiations was to maintain the ceasefire and recompense you fairly for our unintentional injury against you."
"There is no recompense you can give for what is ours. Withdraw from our mine, and we will release your miners. That is the only deal you will get."
Out of the corner of her eye, Bastila caught a stern glare from Dodonna. The Republic did not wish to back down on this. Too many credits had been invested in this venture, and too many Senators' pockets had been lined. The lawyers had already justified Czerka's actions, arguing that the asteroid was now technically in Republic territory. They had no problem with happily toasting to their brilliant legal minds while a ceasefire fell apart.
An idea formed in her mind, coalescing from a cloudy mist into a solid shape. "Then let us settle this honorably."
"Withdraw."
"I have a better proposal."
"And what would that be?"
"A duel."
The Mandalorian General froze, before suddenly dropping the shaking ambassador to the ground.
"Do you challenge me, Jedi?"
Bastila nodded hurriedly. "If I win, the mine is ours. If you win, it is yours. We only ask that the miners be released into our custody. In recompense, the new Czerka mining facility will be yours."
Dodonna yanked Bastila's shoulder. "You don't have the authority to propose any of this!"
"Would you rather the war resume?" Bastila snapped. She turned back to the screen. "Ambassador, I know you're the only one here who has been granted the full authority of the Senate. Do you agree to this proposal?"
The Tortugra whimpered what sounded to be an affirmation.
"Then I challenge you for the rights to the asteroid mine, Canderous Ordo."
The Mandalorian paused for a moment. "To the death?"
The entire bridge ceased inhaling air, Bastila included.
"It is our way," Ordo said.
And Bastila knew it was the only way. Resigned, she nodded. "To the death."
Even as the entire bridge murmured in worry, Canderous Ordo chuckled merrily through his helm. "You've got fire, Jedi. Very well." He dropped the ambassador, a hard thump and a whimper resounding over the connection. "Come aboard my ship, alone, and I will release this filth in exchange."
Bastila raised an eyebrow. "Alone? I want a witness to my victory."
"Don't you mean my victory?" he said with a light chuckle. "But no, I will not risk your troops opening fire aboard my ship. Come alone, or no deal."
"No!" Dodonna hissed. "Don't do this!" Bastila glanced at her to see the first traces of worry in her eyes.
But Bastila's mind was set. It was the only way to avoid bloodshed. "Agreed," she said with a brisk nod.
Dodonna interjected, obviously not ready to give up on Bastila so quickly. "What guarantee do we have that you won't take General Shan hostage, or simply kill her?"
"My word, and my honor. If that is not enough for you, then we might as well join in battle now and be done with it. But I would have already fired at your fleet if it were a battle I wanted."
"Nevertheless, we would prefer a neutral location," Dodonna said.
"The nearest neutral system is days out, and my patience with your politicians runs thin. We settle this today. Come alone. You have twenty minutes."
The screen went black.
"What were you thinking?"
Bastila kept her eyes focused down the corridor as she marched, enduring Admiral Dodonna's reprimand. "That I should never have allowed the ambassador to go alone. He is my charge. I have to get him back."
"What he did was his own choice. You did your duty. What you're doing now is going to get you killed."
"Don't be such a pessimist," Bastila said. "I might win."
"That still doesn't mean you'll come back alive, or won't yourself become a hostage. These Mandalorians are brutes. You're far too valuable an asset to risk your life so foolishly. I won't be held responsible for your demise."
"Then don't be."
A shrill beep whistled beside Bastila. She glanced down to see that T3 had followed her all the way from the bridge.
"Don't you start, too."
The droid shook its head as it rolled alongside her. They reached the hangar, personnel rushing her to the awaiting shuttle. The Jedi marched up the boarding ramp, adjusting her wrist guards yet again-the little bit of armor she chose to wear.
"General Shan," Dodonna called out.
Bastila paused, and turned to face her.
"Be careful."
"Don't worry. I promise not to say the wrong thing or give away entire planets to them."
The admiral shook her head. "That's not what I... Just don't trust any of them. They are masters of deception. And I'm not speaking about their words. The way they fight..."
Bastila pursed her lips, and nodded.
"By the stars, you're as reckless as Revan."
The young woman snickered under her breath.
"I'd even say you're getting as crazy as Malak."
Bastila smiled. "Must be a highly contagious disease, then."
"I should quarantine you, Master Jedi. May the Force be with you."
"Thank you."
The admiral turned away, marching back to the hangar bay entrance. T3 began to roll up the ramp.
"No, T3. He said to come alone."
The little droid shook his head almost violently.
"Revan programmed you to protect me?"
The dance the droid made affirmed her question.
"Well, you can't protect me from this, I'm afraid. Wait for me to come back, all right?"
The droid let out a sad dwoop.
Bastila made to turn away, but stopped. "T3, if I don't come back... I never did tell him..." She drew in a deep breath, and let it out. "Never mind. I'm sure he knows."
With that, she vanished into the shadows of the shuttle's belly, and found the pilot's seat. With a few flicks of her wrist, the engines rumbled to life, and the craft lifted, launching out of the hangar.
Bastila swallowed her stomach contents. What had she been thinking? Yes, it was her assignment to escort the ambassador and ensure his safety, but Admiral Dodonna was right-she wasn't responsible if he was an idiot.
How had such a simple assignment gone so terribly wrong?
And she had never told him. In four months, nothing. Not a word from him. Here and there a task order for a joint fleet exercise, but she was only one cog in the machine. Nothing was ever directed at her. Not from him. Her twentieth birthday had come and gone, and he had not so much as sent her a note, nor had she ever dared contact him.
And she had never told him.
No, no, she couldn't afford to think like that. Not ever. Such thoughts would cloud her judgment. She had to keep her head clear for the upcoming fight.
Fortunately, she didn't have much longer to muse over her regrets in life. The Mandalorian battleship loomed closer, obscuring the entire viewport, and swallowing her tiny shuttle whole. She let the autopilot take over, and the craft decelerated, touching down smoothly. Hurriedly, she unbuckled her safety belt and made her way to the back of the craft. Her hand hovered over the controls for the ramp. She paused, inhaling deeply and trying desperately to steady her shaking hand.
Just get it over with.
She punched the controls, and and stepped out as soon as the ramp lowered.
Canderous Ordo waited at the bottom, along with a contingent of warriors. Ambassador Disra stood trembling beside them.
"Welcome," Ordo said, spreading his hands widely, almost magnanimously.
"He is free to go?" Bastila asked, nodding toward the ambassador.
"Of course, of course." The Mandalorians nudged the poor man forward. He shakily walked up the ramp, even as Bastila descended. In a brief moment, their eyes made contact. He mouthed his thanks silently.
Bastila took her last step off the ramp, even as its hydrolics hissed to close it behind her.
"Come, Master Jedi," Ordo said, and Bastila could almost feel his grin beneath his dark helm. "I have prepared a room for our fight."
She wordlessly followed him. Her eyes darted about the hangar as she walked. It was so very different from Republic vessels. Where the Republic favored a bright interior with creamy walls, the Mandalorians spent no effort to hide their Spartan lifestyle. Cold duristeel entombed these warriors in space even in life. Everything in her surroundings was harsh, but efficient. She had no doubt the duel would be the same.
As she stepped through the hangar bay doors, she heard her shuttle's engines rumble as the craft lifted, its autopilot ushering the ambassador to safety even as it stranded her in what might very well be her own tomb.
Bastila held her saber staff with a death grip. It felt uncomfortable in her hand. She still hadn't quite smoothed out the grip on her new lightsaber, and now of all times she was missing her old one.
The room was likely the most decorated place on the ship, it being a shrine of the Mandalorians' warrior ways. The largest weapon rack of vibroblades she had ever seen lined one side. The floors were of woven grass mats surrounding a circular pool of sand-the center of the dueling circle. Ancient shields, weapons, and banners graced the walls amid tapestries depicting epic victories from an era long past. But what caught her eye were the disturbing images of their ancient gods depicted on one of the tapestries. Perhaps the creatures were merely meant to be covered in blood, but it was the yellow eyes that arrested Bastila's breathing.
A great crowd of Mandalorians gathered around her and their general. On the other side of the room, Canderous Ordo was strangely stripping himself of his heavy armor, exchanging it for lighter leathers and wrist guards, and not because he wanted a fair fight. No, there were no rules in a Mandalorian challenge, except to win at all costs. Fights weren't fair, just as warfare wasn't. It was a test of strength and wits to best one's opponent by whatever means necessary.
In other words, Canderous could very well throw a thermal detonator at her and still claim a valid victory in his eyes. At least she could take comfort in the high probability that the Mandalorian general would not want to risk a hull breach.
But why would he remove his armor? What advantage did that give him? Or was he purposely giving her the advantage? No, it didn't make any sense.
Unless beneath that armor was an old man, too slow to move beneath the clunky mass of metal, especially against a young Jedi.
Her eyes widened with sudden understanding as she took in the grizzled warrior. Old scars lined his face. His short-cropped hair was graying. He was likely old enough to be her father. Years of experience were knit into his muscles, but those same years must surely have worn away his bones. He would try to be as light on his feet as she was, at the expense of protection. He likely would also have a few toys up his sleeves, behind his back under his clothes, or clipped to his belt. Yes, even as she watched, he was discreetly tucking something under his leather shirt.
But she, too, had something up her sleeve-or rather, in her boot. The cold, slender cylinder restricted her movement, but she knew it was a necessity.
Her anxiety mounted as she watched her opponent clasp an oversized device on his wrist. Was it a flamethrower, or a harpoon, perhaps? Absentmindedly, she fidgeted inside her robe pocket, pausing when she found something soft. Another loose end she had left with Revan. She gave the soft object a gentle squeeze, and at last removed her hand. Her adrenaline already racing, she shed her robe and folded it, laying it down on the grass mat.
"Are you ready?" Bastila asked, her anxiety wearing on her already thin patience. Every pulse of her heart wanted this ordeal to be over.
Canderous turned to her with a smirk. "So eager to die, Jedi?"
"Maybe I have an appointment to keep."
"Unless it's with Death, I'd cancel it if I were you." He strode forward into the dueling circle, unsheathing a well polished vibroblade. He had not bothered with the weapons rack. No, he was bringing a tried and true weapon into battle, one that had seen years of combat. Bastila wondered how many Jedi this one man had slain in his time with that very blade, and if her blood would be added to its tally.
The young Jedi stepped into the soft sand, drawing her lightsaber. It hissed angrily as she lit both ends, more than making up for her silence to his barb. Ordo bowed with his fist clenched to his heart, and Bastila hesitantly mimicked him. Wordlessly, the two opponents began to circle one another.
Canderous was the first to strike. The blow nearly toppled her as she blocked it, the old man's strength making her eyes widen in surprise. Their blades locked for a brief moment, and Bastila could see the feral glint in Canderous' eyes. He relished this fight.
Their blades separated as Canderous backed away. The two duelists circled each other warily. Bastila knew he had just gaged her strength with his first move. She could feel fear's icy talons grope her heart and clench her throat.
She could almost hear his voice. Don't ever show them fear. They'll feed off of it. They'll watch your eyes, stare you down. You must do likewise.
Steeling herself, she shifted her eyes from his blade to his blood-thirsty gaze. From her peripheral vision, she could see his blade shift ever so slightly, and she was tempted to look.
Don't let your eyes drift away, and don't look where you'll attack, or you'll give away your next move. Make your mind an impenetrable fortress. Don't ever let them in. Use your peripheral vision.
Canderous struck again, but Bastila's gaze never shifted. Her blade parried his blows. He drove her back, clearly wanting to finish the fight quickly.
She Force pushed him away.
A mistake.
A cable snapped out of the device on his wrist, snagged her arm, and pulled her into him even as he fell backwards-straight into his blade.
She narrowly avoided her own impalement with a swift parry and a pivot of her foot. A leg swept through hers, and she fell into the grainy sand, tangled in the cable. But she wasn't about to go alone. With a Force pull, she dragged him down with her. They rolled.
Dizzily, she scrambled to her feet, and loosened her arm from the cable's grip, only to see Canderous fling his fist toward her face, and then release a powder from his fingers. No, it was sand. It stung her eyes. Tears blurred her vision. Time slowed.
But don't ever solely rely on your vision. They will go for the eyes first. Every Padawan relies too much on their eyes, and they know it. Always see with the Force. Use your instincts. Now stop griping and put the blindfold on.
She ignored the burning sensation in her eyes, and focused on where she had last sensed Canderous, felt the blade slice through the air. She parried, and delivered a series of blows in return, as though she had never lost her vision. Canderous' mild surprise radiated from his faltering blocks and parries.
A boot met her stomach, and she staggered back into the sand, rolling away from the blade that was descending onto her neck, and into Ordo's legs. He tripped over her, and she wasted no time in gaining her feet. Her opponent did likewise, and they circled each other once more.
Canderous' feet shuffled in the sand. He was already tiring. But something wasn't right. Bastila felt light-headed, as though all the blood was draining out of her body. She blinked away the sand in her eyes, studying Canderous intently as her blurry vision began to focus. The grin he wore shook her.
His eyes. Follow his eyes.
They were glancing between her leg and her arm.
Cautiously, never keeping her focus away from his position, she glanced at her leg. Blood. When had he cut her? She eyed her arm, and saw the same. He was targeting her major veins. Even though he had missed them, he had drawn a substantial amount of blood. She met his feral gaze, and realized he would continue to cut her until she went into shock, if she were not near it already. The old general had leveled the playing field against his young opponent.
She didn't have much time.
Her own adrenaline was the only thing keeping her standing and from feeling the pain of her wounds. She needed to finish this quickly if she were to win. Her jaw tightened.
A voice she had long missed returned to her. Jedi are not the only ones vulnerable to muddling the senses. Fight against them with their own weapons. Confuse them.
With a mere thought, wind rushed from behind Canderous, like the sound of a blade slicing the air. His head twitched ever so slightly, his ears confused, distracted. It was enough. She took her opening, and charged him, swinging her double blades. His own blade lifted to block her, but he was too slow. Canderous winced with a pained grunt, the scent of burnt flesh encroaching upon Bastila's nostrils.
Their blades collided. Only, now she had no blade. Neither did he. There was no time to scramble for her lightsaber. She caught the glint of cold steel as he pulled the long dagger from his back, and stepped in close to her body. Instinct drove her into him, his arm stretching past her as she elbowed him in the ribs, and reached for her boot.
Time stilled. Their eyes met, both breathing hard. Bastila could feel the dagger at her throat, so close to breaking her delicate skin. Sweat beaded on Canderous' neck, Revan's blue lightsaber hovering dangerously close, singing the man's stubble.
They stood like that for several moments, sizing up the situation, recovering their breaths in steady gasps. The soldiers around them had ceased to breath.
Canderous spoke first. "Interesting."
Bastila gasped for another breath. "Now what happens?" she rasped. "We both die and nobody gets what they want?"
A wicked grin played along the man's face. "Fine with me, Jedi. We'll still get what we want, even if we have to take it by force."
"There's still hope for an agreement," Bastila said, her voice and breathing more steady.
"Oh? Two out of three?"
She ignored his jest. "Why don't we both lower our blades, and discuss terms? I will bring our proposal to Ambassador Disra."
The old warrior seemed to ponder this idea for a moment. At last, he nodded, careful not to move his neck any closer to her blade.
The two opponents slowly lowered their weapons, neither willing to break eye contact. Cautiously, ready for any trickery, Bastila extinguished her lightsaber. To her relief, Ordo discarded his blade in the sand.
"Leave the room, all of you!" Canderous bellowed.
His men wasted no time in leaving. The stomp of their boots faded into the corridor outside.
"Come. Sit," the Mandalorian general said, sitting on his knees and patting the sand before him.
Bastila limped toward him, her leg and arm both beginning to throb as the adrenaline drained from her body. She willed herself to sit across from him without wincing, mimicking his posture in case it was some sort of sacred Mandalorian tradition. A tired breath left her lips, her mind spinning with the loss of blood.
Her host's eyes swept over her, obviously gauging the seriousness of her injuries, and he silently unzipped a pouch on his belt and tossed her a plastic sack-a kolto pack. Mouthing her thanks, Bastila tore the sack open with her teeth and squeezed the gel on her leg and arm, pressing a hand into each wound to stifle the flow of blood. Canderous, however, did not not so much as flinch at his own flesh wound-his stomach, Bastila noted-though she could still smell the burnt flesh and charred cloth from his shirt.
He folded his hands as she finished wiping her own gelled and bloodied hands on her pants, and she did likewise, again mirroring his posture.
"So we have a draw," he said. "I'm impressed. You're not the spoiled Jedi Princess I thought you were."
Bastila felt her cheeks flush with heat. "Spoiled?"
"You have been protected from the horrors of war. I hope you didn't chip a nail."
"My protection is a necessity." It was all she could do to keep her voice steady. Jedi Princess, indeed!
"And yet here you are."
"Also a necessity."
"So it would seem. Now, what is your proposal?"
Bastila gathered herself. "The way I see it, a draw in a duel means a draw for the mine."
Canderous nodded. "A sound conclusion."
"If the Republic Navy were to withdraw, would you consider releasing the miners now and withdraw as well?"
The Mandalorian rubbed his stubbled chin with a weathered hand. "No one gets the mine?"
"For now. We can table it for future discussions as part of drafting the treaty." Pausing, she noted the slightest frown crease his face. "Unless I am mistaken, you don't require immediate use of the mine."
"No," he admitted. "But I do not trust your politicians to negotiate fairly." He rubbed his chin with one last swipe, and nodded. "I will agree to these terms."
Bastila released her held breath.
"If..."
She raised an eyebrow.
"If you are involved in these negotiations. We would all prefer to work with the Jedi Revanchists over politicians."
Bastila nodded. "I will relay these terms, then, though I cannot choose my assignments."
"As long as you are willing, Mandalore will ensure this request for your involvement is relayed to your politicians."
"Then I'm sure they will comply."
"Excellent!" he said, rising to his feet. "Now come. I will send for a shuttle to pick you up."
He held out his hand, which Bastila took, and lifted her to her feet.
They had taken only two paces across the sand when Bastila spoke. "May I ask you one thing?"
"It depends," Canderous replied, halting.
"That tapestry on the wall," Bastila said, pointing. "What is the story behind it?"
Canderous gave her the first genuine smile she had seen from him, obviously pleased that she showed some interest in his culture. "Interesting you should choose this tapestry to inquire of, Jedi." He walked toward the wall, beckoning her to follow him.
"Our art tells of our history, as I'm sure you've already guessed," he said. "Many of our ships and our homes have rooms such as these to remind us of things past. They are attempts at capturing our oral traditions. Some of the stories, of course, are mere legend or mythology. Others come closer to the truth of things."
"And which one is this?" Bastila asked.
"I will tell you the story, and you can decide for yourself, Jedi." He gestured at the tapestry. "Millennia ago, our people were scattered, mere tribes littered across several systems. We worshiped many different gods, and some of our clans waged war against each other." His hand pointed to the red creatures. "Then one day, evil gods came, conquering us. Some would say it was they who first united the clans. Rather, they were the cause. We served them for many years. We prayed to our idols, but they did not hear us to save us from the evil gods who had enslaved us. Eventually, we forsook our former gods, and turned to our own strength. A leader arose among us, and united the clans. Together, we fought against the evil gods."
"And you won?" Bastila asked.
"No. We lost."
"Then how...?"
"Let me finish, Jedi. We lost our chance at freedom, but we gained something we did not have before-honor. Amused, the evil gods allowed our leader to live, and trained our united armies in their warrior ways, feeding us as fodder to their enemies as punishment for our rebellion. But our leader, the first Mandalore, vowed to always fight with honor, even though he fought on behalf of his overlords. In time, the great enemy of our overlords, the Jedi, overpowered their empire, and it was no more. We were at last free men, and thenceforth ceased to worship these tyrannical false gods."
An old history lesson burst from an ember into a flame as Bastila studied the tapestry. "The Great Hyperspace War," she gasped, her eyes widening.
Canderous shrugged. "Perhaps. It is our mythology, and nothing more. The tale also has many forms. In some versions, for example, the evil gods were utterly destroyed by the Jedi. In others, the evil gods fled, vowing to return and exact their vengeance."
Bastila's breathing stopped. She looked at him. "And which version do you believe?"
He shrugged again. "It is only a story. Still, many Mandalorians look for the return of the overlords. During the last war, years ago, I remember our then Mandalore hailing the fallen Jedi Exar Kun as their herald."
"But he wasn't."
"No."
"But why would your people want the overlords to return if they enslaved you?"
Canderous shrugged. "Confusing, isn't it? We both love and hate them. They taught us our warrior ways, and in a sense, we learned honor by fighting against them, and failing. Perhaps we want the opportunity to rebel again." He paused, brushing his fingers against the tapestry. "Or perhaps," he muttered, "we fear them more than we cherish our honor." He shook his head. "Nevertheless, the ending is not without hope. The legend foretells of a great warrior who will rise against them should they return."
"And does he win?"
"That depends what version of the story you believe," he said, and turned away.
His words sent a shiver through her heart.
Bastila stared at the comm device, paralyzed. At last aboard her ship, she had treaty terms to personally deliver. It was the perfect excuse to contact him. Of course she could contact virtually anyone in the Defense Ministry, but she wanted it to be him. Because she had left something unsaid.
She entered the channel number hastily before she could change her mind. He probably wouldn't answer anyway. She watched the progress bar as it connected, heard the click of someone answering. Her throat tightened.
She panicked.
Her finger crushed the disconnect button before the voice on the other end could speak. Frustrated, she buried her face in a hands but a moment, before composing herself.
She was a Jedi, and some things were best left unsaid.
"Davik, I thought I told you not to contact me so directly."
Senator Merias patted her hair, not enjoying the interruption on her holocomm.
Davik Kang's image stilled, made her wait for a response, a contest of who was in control. "I trust your office comm unit is secure?"
"Of course it is. But really, I expect more tactfulness next time. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm quite busy at the moment."
"This is worth your time."
He didn't give her time to respond, once again asserting his control. She hated anyone who wrestled for dominance. His image disappeared, and she tapped her well-manicured nails on her desk as she waited. At last, an image reappeared, but it was not that of Davik Kang. A face hidden behind a helm peered at her, the body shielded behind armor-Mandalorian armor.
"What is the meaning of this?" Merias hissed.
"Greetings, Senator," the man's voice spoke. "Please, do not be alarmed. I wish to negotiate terms of peace."
Merias composed herself, folding her hands. "By all means, your offer is welcome. However, our ambassadors are better equipped to negotiate the treaty's terms with you."
"I have a different sort of treaty in mind. One between you and me."
She leaned back in her cushioned chair. "I am afraid I am not authorized to make any agreements."
"It is not your authorization I require. It is your position. And I promise you that your position will be elevated in return for your services."
"I am truly sorry, but I'm afraid this must be the end of our conversation." Merias lifted a hand to disconnect.
But the image never flinched, and the voice never wavered, almost lazily delivering its message. "The overlords wish to collect on your debt to them."
Merias' hand froze over the disconnect button.