I live! LOL contrary to popular opinion, this story did not kill me off. ;) Here's a fresh installment, courtesy of being sick with bronchitis and needing something to entertain myself while resting on the couch. LOL J Enjoy!
TWENTY-ONE
"Ah, yes, milord." The being known as Nucha Kri was roughly human. Roughly, considering his ancestry also included something alien, decidedly exotic, from the tiny finlike protrusions on his ears and the small ridges running the length of his cheekbones. The rest of him looked as human as his visitor, lending him a sort of malformed appearance that was amply compensated by an overconfident demeanor, but for all of his swagger, even Nucha Kri could be made to be nervous.
The quiet, stately, imposing figure at his side observing the work made him very nervous.
"Your progress is not quite what was expected." No matter how cultured the voice's timbre, the frosty overtones could not be—were not meant to be—missed. Nucha Kri resisted the impulse to cringe; instead he motioned expansively toward the particular workgroup before them.
"But it is good, the work is good. We are on schedule, milord Tyranus."
"That is your assessment, but it is not my Master's." Eyes colder than the depths of space in which Kri labored bored into the exotic foreman, and despite his natural inclination to defend his workmanship, the foreman dropped his own gaze under the fierce examination. "The ancillary weapons systems are not completed as previously…discussed."
A discussion, Nucha reflected; that had been extremely one-sided.
"There's not enough anzite." Somewhat shorter than the stately Sith at his side, the foreman was compelled to look up to those cold irises. "If we're going to build those systems to specs, we need more of it. A lot more of it."
"I am in…possession of a planet that has great promise as a source of weapons-grade anzite." Tyranus replied disdainfully, as if nothing the foreman could say would be of great import to him. "You will have your materials and you will come under deadline. My Master wills it."
Tyranus motioned loosely for the foreman to leave him to his inspection. Nucha Kri bowed shortly and hurried away to attend to his new deadline. Because if there was anything the exotic half-breed knew, it was that he did not want to meet this master Lord Tyranus spoke of; he had the desire to enjoy the credits he was being paid for this job. Staying alive was an inherent prerequisite for such enjoyment to actually take place. Truly, the war that was being waged, for which this weapon was being created to augment and to ensure victory, mattered very little to him. Whether Republic or their opposition, survival was all the same no matter who hired him.
Still, when he had been recruited to spearhead this project he had not expected to be working hand in hand with a Sith. There were almost as many rumors about them circulating on backwater worlds and in old tales to frighten children as there were about the Jedi. And if the Jedi were to be feared, he didn't really want to know what he should be thinking of his alliance with a Sith Lord such as Tyranus.
Busying himself while the Sith occupied himself elsewhere, Nucha Kri decided that the best thing to do…
…was to not think of it at all.
++++++
Departing the Silver Sunrise like a wraith in the night, a lone robed figure crossed the open area of the docking bay and slipped into the waiting embrace of shadows, steps purposeful and senses alert. Solitary footsteps quickened, set the hem of the robe swaying in cadence to the sliding from one shadowy nook to another, byways and alleys between the ramshackle buildings the preferred means of travel. It wouldn't be far; not enough time had passed and the odds were favorable. After all, the southern portion of the tattered mining colony was not that large. What the other two Jedi had been doing there was indeed something of a puzzle.
Darting quickly along, the soft rapid footsteps were halted in mid-stride as a pair of hands grabbed and pulled and—
"Padmé!"
The hands that had pulled her aside belonged to Anakin, the young Jedi having double-backed upon realizing he was being followed and by whom he was being followed.
"You didn't really think I was going to let you go by yourself, did you?" Her tone was earnest, but lightly accusing. "Remember what I told you on Coruscant. I came here to help you, not sit around and wait for you."
"I don't know what I'm going to find, Padmé, but whatever it is, it got Master Thaile and her apprentice killed. I don't want the same thing to happen to you. Go back to the ship." Anakin entreated, but as he might have expected it fell on deaf ears. Padmé pushed past him to continue, and the tall apprentice moved quickly to catch up. "Just…stay close, all right?"
"I'm not a fragile piece of glass, Ani." She protested quietly but determinedly. Anakin hesitated a moment, swallowing a little, before gathering her hand briefly in his own. I'm not made of glass, Anakin. Master Obi-Wan had said much the same thing…was it really only days ago? And now…he could be dead already, although Anakin refused the thought outright. His life is mine to save.
"Maybe not, but you're my heart." Anakin said softly. "Be careful out here." With that, he released her soft fingers and moved ahead, motioning for Padmé to follow along. Stealth was something of an art for a Jedi; the Force could be molded to such a task, but it was trickier with a non-sensitive needing to be hidden as well, so as often as a shadowy passage proved safe, it was Anakin's first choice above trying to conceal them both.
Even so, the two reached their destination in fairly short order, well before the mid-eve hour although for the astonishing lack of activity it might as well have been much later. This section of "town" was as cobbled together as much of the rest of it, mostly temporary dwellings scraped together in rows, few amenities visible among them. Sliding along under the cover of darkness, Anakin stretched out through the Force, seeking guidance in the absence of visible clues.
"Hey, you! Over there…come here!" A shout, a little distance away, startled Padmé enough to elicit a small gasp.
"This way." Anakin whispered, making a small quieting motion. Silently, they advanced on the origins of the shout and as they drew closer they could hear more voices and the shuffled sound of activity. Cautiously, senses casting out through the Force all around them, Anakin led Padmé to tall stack of duraplas crating and hunched down next to her, peering through the small gaps in the upper and lower rack of containers.
The area they had stumbled upon was a makeshift landing bay of sorts, mostly just a rough clearing on the outskirts of the dilapidated dwellings of the miners. A ship of a type Anakin was unfamiliar with was settled in the center of the area and there appeared to be various crew loading the cargo bay from the stacks all around. A disquieting sensation swept over Anakin, a large nudge that he had learned to recognize over the years as a warning of the Force through his instincts, and he glanced around sharply, his hand straying unconsciously toward his 'saber.
"What is it?" Padmé whispered as she pulled aside the roughened cloak to reveal the blaster holstered at her side, compliments of Sabé's quick thinking back on Coruscant.
"I don't know, I…"
"C'mon, kid, get movin'!" The shout interrupted Anakin's reply, drawing both their attentions back to the odd little ship. The "kid" in question was a slender youth bending over a dropped crate and for the moment the young face was turned away, but as the figure straightened once again with the load, Padmé inched closer to Anakin.
"That's him." She breathed. "That's the boy from the bar, Josep Two."
Anakin watched as the youth labored beneath what was obviously a burden too heavy for his slender shoulders and as the duraplas container fell heavily from his grasp a second time, the shouter, a burly foreman-type, strode over. A sharp shove dropped the slender boy to his knees. It is then that Anakin saw the piece that put together a large portion of the puzzle for him.
"Look." He said breathily, directing his wife's attention. "A neural collar. That's why they asked Master Varou to help them, Padmé. They're slaves!"
++++++
A soft, faint sound caught Jeriya's attention long before she realized what it was; the anti-grav nodules that heralded the presence of Master Yoda's hoverchair. The most honored of the Jedi entered the room slowly and deliberately; it seemed, Jeriya thought, a sadder look upon his face than she ever remembered seeing before. Inclining her head respectfully, she paused a moment before looking back up.
"Son of the Force is he." Yoda's statement was poignant against the reality of Obi-Wan's senselessness to the living current all around them, and for a moment all Jeriya could do was gape at the diminutive Jedi master in astonishment. "Doubt that, do you?" He challenged her, and waited as the young healer groped for words.
"No, but…just…he can't even feel the Force, Master Yoda. How could…how could it just…" Jeriya bit her lip a moment, hesitant in the presence of the respected teacher. "…abandon him like that, midichlorians or not? Master Kenobi…doesn't even know you're here, let alone the Force."
"So sure of that, are you?" Yoda said gently, but firmly. He could sense the young healer's heart within her; upset by the bitter pain Obi-Wan was made to endure at the hands of hatred, she spoke not from true doubt but from true compassion. The small Jedi motioned to Jeriya, and she moved aside obediently. Coming to hover at Obi-Wan's side, Yoda gazed down quietly at the silent face, blinking patiently after his own peculiar manner. For a long moment there was nothing save the soft sound of rhythmic breathing. Then…a deeper inhalation…a flicker of eyelashes… "Not abandoned. Ahh, much suffering there is…but never forsaken will he be."
Jeriya looked down in some surprise at the hazy blue-grey gaze being directed toward the tiny Master. There had not been any discernable effort made by Yoda to reach Obi-Wan, not that she could sense anyway, but now as the stricken Jedi struggled to focus his physical eyes on his visitor, she could feel the agonizing effort Kenobi was making to concentrate. A slow pair of blinks…for a moment Jeriya thought they would lose him again to the semi-conscious state he had been in for the last several hours. Obi-Wan drew in another deeper, deliberate breath; it seemed to gather his attention, attach him to the moment.
"Master…Yoda…" The voice was weak and the words whispered, but it was his own effort, his own voice. His own eyes were looking at the Jedi Master next to him, despite the dizzy feeling that swept through him momentarily from trying to focus his blurred vision.
"Easy, Master Kenobi." Jeriya reached a hand toward him. "Go slow." A small green hand at her wrist suddenly stayed her motion, and she glanced toward Yoda.
"Help him with this, you must not." Yoda pronounced quietly but not unkindly. "Do this himself he should."
Hesitantly Jeriya withdrew her hand, her attention going back to Obi-Wan, a silent apology in her eyes.
"It's…all right." Obi-Wan reassured her. "He's…he's…right."
"Alone now you will leave us." Yoda instructed the healer, raising his gaze to look at her squarely. "Call you I will when finished we are." Again Jeriya hesitated before she nodded deferentially and hurried from the room. The sooner the purposes of this visitation were accomplished, the sooner she could return to Obi-Wan's care. Yoda's perceptive, wise gaze returned to the pallid features of the Knight lying before him. "Hmm…dreaming you have been, Obi-Wan."
"Yes…" Kenobi's answer, while whispered, was hardly surprised.
"Sensed your distress I have. Tell me this dream you must." The request was not such an odd one coming from the aged Jedi Master, even now as Death hovered so close, hunting its prey. Obi-Wan closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself together the best he could to respond to Yoda's curious inquiry.
The subject of Obi-Wan's dreams had been a frequent one between them when he'd been a young Initiate. Many of them had been insightful in nature, an odd way for the Force to guide; visions of that sort were rare enough during waking hours in one so young, let alone showing up in the realm of sleep, apart from conscious effort. The dreams had faded as Kenobi had been taken as an apprentice, and the long discussions about them had gradually ceased. His gentle admonition to Anakin that such dreaming passes away with time had been spoken out of his own experiences although he had not admitted that to his apprentice. Perhaps a mistake on my part. He thought fleetingly.
"It's…there's…" Obi-Wan struggled to define the unsettling dream that had been plaguing him during the past few hours of disjointed consciousness. "A cold…place…I'm hiding…must be…unseen." Obi-Wan continued determinedly. "It is…dark where I am…it's consumed…by…by…the Dark Side."
"Hmm…yes, powerful it is. Wants something, it does." Yoda agreed, his own mild impressions of Obi-Wan's vision—for that is what the Jedi Master knew it to be—in the forefront of his mind. "What else do you see, Obi-Wan?" He prompted, a sudden gentleness in his tone, knowing perhaps better than most how difficult this was becoming for the poisoned Knight.
"Waiting…it's waiting for..." Obi-Wan's disjointed explanation was interrupted by a soft, agonized gasp. There was no disguising the pain radiating through him; Yoda knew it as clearly as if he were the one suffering.
"Hold on you must, Obi-Wan for the messenger you have become." Yoda's injunction was, as ever, cryptic but compassionate. A moment later a small green hand rested lightly against his chest, and Obi-Wan sucked in another breath, startled, as the warmth of the Force gathered comfortingly around him as it had not in days now. Pain diminished, his body relaxed, and his eyes gained a clearer focus than had been granted to them in quite some time. For a long moment the aged Jedi remained so, sharing with Obi-Wan this measure of strength and relief. Only when a soft, easy sigh passed through the younger Knight's lips did Yoda speak again. "Tell me the rest now you can." Obi-Wan drew in another steadying breath, grateful for the bit of release that had been afforded him, and he fixed his attention once more upon the small green-skinned Master.
"He is…waiting for me." A little more strength was evidenced in the softly murmured words, and Kenobi's expression became one of thoughtful attention. The gnarled hand that still laid upon him now moved to curl around his wrist, the contact unusual but hardly questioned; the pulse that beat between them through the Force was to Obi-Wan, as wondrous and amazing as the very first time this very same master taught his crèche clan to 'stretch out with your feelings, you must.' The brief kiss of memory touched them both, and even as a faint smile crossed Obi-Wan's pale features, a matching spark of amusement showed up in Yoda's eyes.
"Remember well I do when first I knew you, yes." Yoda's voice reflected a quiet care that was unmistakable, something that few in the Order had ever understood, that even Obi-Wan himself was mostly unaware of. From the time of Kenobi's induction into the Order, to this very moment, he'd been dubbed by those few Jedi as "The Beloved." The one the Force—and Master Yoda—had folded to its bosom and graced with something singularly apart from anyone else among the Jedi ranks. For what purpose, no one really knew or even really speculated about. But even as Obi-Wan's own master had been somewhat lacking in understanding of this rare affection of the Force—or any other affection, for that matter—a unique sort of guardianship had sprung up between this placid, ancient Jedi master and the insatiably curious ginger-headed youth. "In much mischief you could be. Followed you, trouble often did."
"Trouble..." Obi-Wan echoed, scattered thoughts returning to the dream, and he blinked slowly, tiredly. "There is…death. Feel...death every…where…he…waits for me."
"See him now, do you? Waiting for you who is?" Yoda would not argue it now, the issue that Obi-Wan was dear to his heart; he would admit it without question before anyone who cared to ask, and the burden of having foreseen Kenobi's death was sadly painful. And now he must press this suffering soul for things that he himself had no answers for and that no one but the two of them had felt in the night, not even Mace Windu.
"Don't know." Obi-Wan answered weakly, the reserve granted to him beginning to drain. "Hidden…can't see…waits to…to kill…me." The blue-grey eyes closed; a ragged breath as pain pressed in once more, cutting into already fragmented images. "Pain…so much…pain. No one…to help. No choice…"
"Be still, now, Obi-Wan." Yoda calmed, his hand yet encircling Kenobi's wrist.
"Master!" Obi-Wan gasped a little, the dream's memory still unfolding as he searched his thoughts. "Master…Qui-Gon…calling…"
"Asked too much of you I have, no more do I require. Be easy now you must."
"I don't…I don't under…stand." Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, confusion apparent in the gaze that was gradually becoming unfocused once again. "Can't…use…the Force to…sense you, Master Yoda but…it sends me…its…dreams?"
"Simple, the understanding of this is." Yoda said, matter-of-factly and yet kindly as well. "Sung to you always the Force has, from the day when brought to the Temple you were. Hear that melody no one does, but few, Obi-Wan. Sings to you still, the Force does. Only…" Yoda paused compassionately, a slightly tighter grip at the young Knight's wrist. "Only more difficult to hear, has it become."
"Sings..." Obi-Wan echoed whisperingly, wonderingly. The Force sings? Was that what they had called it when as a young Padawan he once hummed non-stop for three days, the same few bars of notes seeming to haunt his steps from the moment he rose to the moment he slept? With Master Qui-Gon looking at first bemused and then somewhat annoyed by the time the melody released him from its grip? Even now, he remembered the tune…
Quietly, somberly, Yoda closed his eyes and bowed his head. For coming from the lips of the weakened, dying Jedi before him was a soft, broken humming, the ingrained song of the Force, even as the moment of concentration faded away from the ashen face. The small gnarled green hand moved now from its place at Obi-Wan's wrist, to lie gently upon his forehead.
"Kept you near to us, this song has, Obi-Wan." Yoda murmured, not quite loudly enough for the ill Jedi to truly hear, but almost as a blessing of sorts. "Even when felt it you have not. Cradle you to the end it will, and doubt it you must not; ever a son of light will you be."
++++++
"That's it…?"
Adi Gallia's disgusted exclamation was accompanied by a similarly irritated snort from Mace Windu, something that in other circumstances might have made her laugh, but this certainly was not other circumstances.
"Hey! Look, lady…Master Jedi…whatever…" Adi's would-be paramour raised both hands and backed up several paces, unwilling to prompt another display of that exquisite laser sword. "Like I said, I don't lift 'em, I just deal in stock parts."
Before the two Jedi and their reluctant guide, on a rather abused looking workbench, lay the partially disassembled transceiver component of Anakin Skywalker's speeder.
"Were there any other…stock parts that came along with this particular piece?" Adi snapped, reaching down to pick up the largest part of the unit, the part that still functioned and had returned their signal; the outer casing appeared to be in the process of being cleaned up and was scattered in several sections on the workbench.
"Uhh…lemme see here…I aah…" The short human sputtered a bit as he rummaged around the area, looking through a battered container of various mechanical leavings. Adi tapped a pair of fingernails idly against the hilt of her 'saber.
Their guide rummaged faster.
"You don't by any small miracle remember the name of the person who gave you such a good deal on this junk, do you?" Mace's tone was about as patient as he was going to get under these circumstances and Adi did smother a smile at that, glancing studiously at the transceiver module in her hand. Mace glanced up. "What?"
Adi merely arched an eyebrow at him before turning her gaze back toward their purveyor of stock parts.
"My friend's not exactly a polished motivational speaker." She removed her lightsaber from the clip at her side and casually inspected the smooth haft before pinning the petty thief with another piercingly blue gaze. "But then again, neither am I so I suppose you'd better answer his question. Who sold you these parts?"
"Okay! Okay, I'm receiving, loud and clear." The man backed away from the workbench and the scattered pieces of equipment across it. "His name's Rumo. Real laser-brain, okay? Runs with the speedrats above." Above, in this instance, simply meaning a few layers of stale ruins higher than the one they were standing in. "Time to time, he comes down this way and we do business."
"There now…" Adi said smoothly as she reattached her 'saber to its place on her belt. "That wasn't so difficult now, was it?"
"Speedrats?" Mace inquired, coming a few paces nearer to Adi and crossing his arms over his chest in a manner that said the other man had better not hedge this time about answering him.
"Yeah, he's a speedrat. Races everything…nyms, swoops, modified speeders, you name it. Anything he can get a rush out of, he's riding. His people maintain their own rides but sometimes they come down here to barter for some of the harder to find…accessories." The mechanic rubbed his hands together nervously, glancing from one Jedi to the other. "Rumo's good for making a credit or two betting, except when that kid's down here…pod-jock from the outer rim somewhere, they said. I believe it too, the way that kid races. I lose every time when he's down to play." One didn't need to be Force-sensitive to catch the raising of eyebrows and curious glances traded between the two Jedi. The anxiousness faded for just a moment and the hand-rubbing stopped. "Hey…you're looking for that kid, aren't you?"
"You don't need to be concerned about that."
Adi's hand was raised slightly, the inflection in her voice curiously magnetic.
"I…uh…don't need to be concerned about that."
"You can tell us where to find Rumo now."
"Hey, Master Jedi…look I can tell you where to find that speedrat Rumo."
++++++
"What are you going to do?"
To Anakin, Padmé's whisper seemed like a shout into the void of a suspended moment of time. The distance between himself and the slave Josep Two tunneled down into a singular line of concentration, when Anakin realized suddenly that his artificial hand was clenching the haft of his 'saber tightly enough to imprint the upper grip with a small indentation. Nine years of ownership had been poured into that moment, the ever shifting desert sands of Tatooine almost a gritty taste in his mouth as he watched the boy struggle once more with the container.
"We can't just leave them here." Anakin's own reply seemed hushed and solemn, a contract with himself that perhaps no one else could fully understand.
"Uleare's withdrawn their senator." Ever the politician, Padmé's training came to the fore. "The anti-slavery laws don't apply here any longer."
"What are you talking about? Uleare is a part of armed opposition to the Republic." Anakin shot back, his whisper a tight hiss in the night. "We'd be freeing prisoners of war."
"I don't know if the Senate would agree with you." Padmé glanced up briefly into an expression of taut resolve. "The way some have been pushing for the Order to be dissolved, this could just as easily be looked upon as a war crime."
The look that Anakin turned on her now was almost that of a wounded child, the blue eyes haunted by things she wasn't sure she wanted to know about, things that had been impressed upon his young psyche as a slave-boy on Tatooine and permanently burned into his memory.
"How can it be a crime to save people from being treated like property?" He asked her steadily, keeping his gaze on her for the moment. "Was it wrong for Master Jinn to free me from Watto?"
"No, of course not! Don't put words in my mouth, Ani." A slight flush rose to Padmé's cheeks. "I'm not talking about issues of right and wrong here. I'm talking about influential members of the Senate with an active dislike of the Jedi, twisting your actions against the Order. Whatever we do here cannot be allowed to be a flashpoint for more destruction against the Jedi."
"As a Jedi, Padmé, I'm sworn to help them. The Order isn't interested in self-preservation over allegiance to the Code. Not at the hands of the Senate, anyway. Besides…" Anakin returned his attention to Josep, who had enlisted the help of a companion under the watchful gaze of the foreman. "…no one should have to be a slave."
++++++
From her position above the roughshod landing area, she watched intently as the bright presence below ignited the blade that stabbed the night with blue brilliance. And with the lighting of the 'saber blade came an ever-so-slight darkening of the presence that wielded it, like a dimmer switch being applied to a set of glow-rods.
Such a pity; bright souls of his kind were so rare in this life. In these perilous days they were rarer still. That she was being asked to corrupt still further a heart that desired the right things for the wrong reasons weighed on her only slightly however; this boy would not be the first to have been under her hand for a time. And while she had been asked to take special interest in this one Jedi apprentice, she knew that she did so only because she chose to do so.
She would not be owned.
Never having sworn any sort of allegiance to Lord Sidious, or having been trained in her disciplines by either Light or Dark, she served her own purposes. It was often merely a matter of principle that drew her to the special cases, like this one. She had agreed to the instructions she had been given concerning Anakin Skywalker simply as a point of survival, acting on the knowledge that the power taking custody of the galaxy was not one she wished to have as an enemy. Turning the boy's heart a little further into Sidious' grasp might have been her only bargaining tool, for even the dark lord himself would not be able to make use of the apprentice's pain as she would.
The confrontation below would be short-lived even if the apprentice did not give in to the anger that prompted him to strike; there were few who would choose to defy that blade whether it was made use of or not, herself included although her talents could be classified as neither Jedi nor Sith.
All of this was considered in the span of a breath, before the young Jedi below had emerged from his hiding place to confront the slavers. Inhaling slowly, his observer slowly reached out a hand, spun a thin message into the air between herself and the young apprentice. The children will wait. We must speak, Jedi, if you are to save your master.
Below there was a pause, hesitation on the part of the apprentice, 'saber glowing eerily in the dark; any moment now someone was going to notice that strange aura coming from the stacks and go to investigate. It had nothing to do with being weak or strong minded; what she did now was not a mind-trick so much as it was pure mental communication. You wish to save Kenobi's life, do you not, young one? The question hung between them for a long moment like an inverted blade ready to fall.
Suddenly the lightsaber was deactivated, for a time obscuring her view as the inky darkness of night concealed the apprentice once more. Only slightly—for he would have struck on behalf of the slaves—his presence brightened again, his hand stayed from doing the right thing in the wrong way and for the wrong reasons. Revenge for his own childhood of bondage, however unconscious, would serve the purpose of freeing these beings only marginally; they would be free to go where they pleased but his own pain would remain, untouched and augmented by killing born of anger. The one thing she had learned was that the Force, Light or Dark, was extremely jealous and possessive of its charges. It was never a small thing to pledge oneself to its mastery.
The reply, however small, however momentary, was enough to both surprise her with its determination—and with its power.
Yes.
++++++
The directions they'd been given were precise enough to put them within a few paces of the hangar's poorly concealed "hidden" entryway, their passage marked by the scuffling of feet desperate to get away and hushed near-whispers from darkened shadows; the smell of fear almost as strong as the stench of decay.
Fortunately none of their hidden pursuers were bold enough to attempt an attack against two Jedi, and even now as Mace and Adi looked around them there was a sudden skittering of feet and other various appendages as the beings scrambled to get away. Curiosity didn't always pay down here.
Adi reached out a hand, concentrating…directing. A sudden loud screech of metal against metal could be heard and the entire false front of the hangar began to twist apart from its moorings, and with a sudden jerk, was pulled completely free to leave the entire bay open and vulnerable. The shriek of metal was joined by the shrill shouts of voices, both human and otherwise, among the speedrats scattered throughout the structure, but neither Jedi paid the din much heed as Adi cast aside the torn, abused doorway with the Force and they both stepped in.
Speedrats, techs and parts fairly scattered in all directions, the yelling becoming increasingly more frantic as they realized that it was not the local security forces storming in for a raid but actual Jedi Knights—in the flesh and looking singularly perturbed and yet rather…restrained, almost. Not, to anyone's way of thinking, a particularly good combination. Restraint, after all, like all other things could only be maintained for so long.
When some of the racket had died down and Mace had fused some of the side doors shut with his lightsaber to ensure a captive audience, Master Gallia stepped forward, her blade ignited and her robes swaying with her graceful movements.
"We're looking for a speedrat." She called out authoritatively. "And we're pretty sure we've come to the right place. Where is Rumo?"
Nervous glances, shuffled feet, hushed and anxious whispers followed.
"The lady asked a question." Mace interjected in his most no-nonsense tone. "Very politely, I think." Casually the purple blade swung lightly, hummed languidly, its tip chopping effortlessly through a bit of metallic casing, turning it into brightly glowing slag. "I'd repeat it but I'm not as polite as she is."
More frantic shuffles now, a couple of the rats pushing forward one of their own, amidst some vocal protest and scuffles indicating some resistance, and both Mace and Adi turn to observe the tall, gangly uncoordinated youth being propelled toward them with some haste.
"Ru…Ru...Rumo." One of them squeaks by way of introduction, earning him a hard glare from their tall charge.
"Sshh! Spice-brains!"
"Pleased to meet you, Rumo." Adi moved closer now, her own 'saber still ignited, and like Mace, she handled it offhandedly, casually, the threat implied but not overtly so. "We've come to have a talk…we hear you do some stock trade in jacked parts for your racers."
"Ah, ah…who told you that?" Rumo asked belligerently, trying his best to stand up to the Jedi scrutiny—doubled Jedi scrutiny at that—in his own youthful, rebellious way. "Ah. I run my races clean." He announced boldly, to which Adi merely raised an eyebrow. "Well. Ah. The races aren't authorized, ah. But I don't lift, no not Rumo. Scavenge, yes, ah. Steal, forget it."
"And that's how you came up with these spare parts…scavenging?" Mace dumped out the few other pieces, odds and ends really, of the Jedi speeder that had come to be in the possession of the unsavory duo some levels below.
"That ah…yes. Ah, Jedi Master. Rumo plays it clean…no lifted parts on my machines."
Adi and Mace exchanged glances; Adi merely shrugged. Whether it was the truth or not, it was more than obvious that parts from Anakin's speeder had seen this boy's hands before those of the black-marketers earlier.
"So you don't…happen to know what happened to the driver of that speeder, do you?" Adi asked as casually as before, giving the gangly youth that piercingly blue gaze that provided her with willing answers, often.
"Oh well…yeah, sure. Ah…Ah that is Kimshe. Races with the rats, he does. Comes from somewhere on the Rim they say." Rumo was more than willing to talk now; to his way of thinking for the two Jedi to be asking about someone else meant they weren't truly looking for him or to punish him, and therefore he was more than happy to provide any information that might shift attention to someone else if it meant keeping him out of a Sector detention cell.
"'Kimshe'?" Adi echoed curiously, inclining her head a little. The young speedrat nodded vigorously in affirmation.
"Ah, ah, Jedi Master, Kimshe never tells Rumo of his name, oh no. Ah…Kimshe is a…what do you say…nickname. Means…ah…wind-devil in my native speech." The boy grinned; the challenge of racing the pod-jock from the Outer Rim had been an enjoyable one indeed. "So sad to see him leave, ah…flies like the wind itself."
"Leave? Just where did…'Kimshe' go? And just what made you think you could get away with…'scavenging' his speeder?" Mace was somewhere between curiosity and dread; this would be the answer, he knew, upon which everything hinged. Rumo fidgeted anxiously a moment, eyeing the ignited purple blade briefly before replying.
"Ah…He came dressed like you." A brief motion toward their Jedi robes. "And seeing he was looking for…ah…ah…quiet passage away, Rumo knew he wouldn't…ah…require back the speeder. It was good parts." He shrugged a bit.
Adi disengaged her 'saber and looked to Mace, disappointment registering in her eyes.
"There's only one reason he would look for a pilot and not try to charter transport and fly himself." She said softly, not wanting to believe it, but finally having to admit to herself that Mace had been right all along.
"Showed Kimshe where to find what he was looking for." The nervous speedrat offered; anything to draw the heat away from him and the illegal races he ran. "Ah, ah…I could direct you, ah, Jedi, to the place."
"That won't be necessary." Mace replied shortly, deactivating his own weapon and clipping it to his side in a single, practiced motion. "We're done here."