Armistice
Scene 36
The shabby spaceport cantina's Trandoshan barkeep was jaded or perspicacious enough to shoo away his handful of already soused late-morning (standard time, of course, not that it mattered out here in orbit) regulars the moment the dark-haired Jedi stormed into his place of business.
The newcomer had – besides a thunderhead brewing invisibly over his tousled head – a couple surly-looking teens in tow. Funny, because a second glance would inform the casual observer that the Jedi himself had technically barely surpassed the surly adolescent phase himself: he was just a couple years past snot-nosed wet-behind-the-ears rookiedom. On the other hand, a third glance would reveal that he was also the kind of guy you no way in hells wanted to kriff with, so that little detail didn't really matter too much.
And a closer look at the snarling olive-skinned kid the Jedi had in hand also confirmed that the smoldering little delinquent was a dangerous piece of chisszzk in his own right. The barkeep prudently opted, therefore, to focus the obligatory invocation of Galactic underage drinking statutes on the only remaining member of the party, a buxom little Togruta wench packing two lightsabers, a synth-leather cocktail waitress dress not unlike those worn by the disillusioned lasses that worked the late-shift and happy hour tables - and tight enough to reveal the well toned physique of a professional assassin - and a sassamafrass attitude to match the whole ensemble. He would have avoided her like the plague too, if her explicit danger signals weren't eclipsed by those of her two companions.
But he had to address somebody. "You got ID?" he demanded of the Togruta as she sauntered past, montrals pertly swinging. "No minors allowed inside."
"She's with me," the Jedi fellow snarled, not even looking over one shoulder as he shoved the leering human kid onto a stool and slid in next to him at the greasy bar. "But she won't be drinking."
At this point the she in question made a sarcastic little moue and sullenly took up position on the other side of their presumptive prisoner, the young man clad in military grey fatigues, Republic standard issue. For a second, the barkeep wondered what exactly the relationship between the Jedi and the girl might be, and whether rumors of Jedi asceticism regarding indulgence of the base passions might not be wildly off-mark, but he swiftly dismissed the idle query as something likelier to get him killed than to get him an answer.
"Fine," he hissed, amicably enough, forked tongue lashing sibilantly over those missing teeth he'd lost in a brawl five years ago. "What'll it be, then?"
The scowling lad in the middle had the balls-out effrontery to order first, and on behalf of his captor. "Iyake, straight up, for me and him," he growled in a voice just past the awkward cracking stage. There was a coarseness to his accent, not typical Outer Rim bumpkin- something more exotic… maybe Mand'oa?
"And a bubbly muja juice for me, please," the Togruta added, all facetious effervescence. She shot another killing glance at the dark-clad Jedi and got no response for her troubles.
"Riiiiight." Too smart to venture any further remark, especially when the Jedi slid a fat Republic credit chit across the smooth countertop, the proprietor busied himself making drinks and avidly eavesdropping.
"All right, Fett," the Jedi was saying. "Start talking."
This latter was addressed to the sallow-faced youth. The Trandoshan measured out two generous glasses of iyake – both doubles plus a bit, and perked his aural openings.
"So I was rotting in that farking detention center," the one called Fett answered, defiantly. "No thanks to you Jedi. I woulda found my own way out sooner or later –"
The Jedi snorted dismissively.
"-but I got a break earlier than I thought. So this clone detail comes in, all high and mighty, and says I'm being impounded by the Kaminoan government."
"What?" The Togruta didn't even notice when the bubbly flute was shoved beneath her nose. Those enormous predatorial eyes had widened in indignation. "You can't impound a person!"
Fett released a curdled laugh, one as cynical as the perpetual orbital day was long. "Yeah, well, apparently I'm not a person. I'm property of the Kaminoan Soveriegnty – when my father was murdered on Geonosis, I legally reverted to the ownership of the lab. Kriff that!"
"So that's why you ran," the Jedi mused.
"Kriff you, Jedi. Yeah, I ran. I'm nobody's property!"
"I didn't say you were," the dark-haired man answered, and now there was an undercurrent of such deadly cold in his voice that the barkeep flicked his tongue over his nostrils a couple times, sensing a shift in the weather so to speak. "Tell me more."
The young prisoner must have sensed that he suddenly had the Jedi's sympathy, too, for he continued in a more conspiratorial vein. "Yeah, well. So they sent these cadets to fetch me outta the cell, Kamino-bound. They had rifles and binders and all – but I know a thing or two. My father let me in on some secrets. Everything he knew about those farking clones – that was our bread and butter, okay? But he told me never to forget who was the original and who was the copy."
There was a silence, as the iyake went sliding down two throats.
"There are secret orders – "
"Sixty five of 'em. I know," the Jedi interrupted. "But nobody's supposed to know what they are but the supreme chancellor."
Fett laughed harshly. "Yeah, and the barves who programmed 'em in. My father had that whole laboratory cased. He taught me the orders too. Forty-three is exchange places with commanding officer. So when those noobs came to take me, I just gave the word and swapped out with one of them. We all look alike, after all. Convenient, huh?"
There was such bitterness in his voice that the iyake must have tasted sweet by comparison.
"And what happened to that cadet?" the Togruta interjected.
The youngster shrugged. "Hauled him off to Kamino for genetic templating – those stupid bug-eyed pizzmahs musta been frazzed when they figured out he was just a clone." He chuckled, enjoying the imagined expression on his erstwhile creators' blank faces. "Kriff the lot of em. I been hanging around the training center since, seeing what there is to see. Until you showed up and almost blew the whole operation."
"What operation?" the Jedi demanded, voice dropping an octave in implied threat.