Reformation Year 981.05.06
Ylesia
If Nal Hutta was the armpit of the galaxy, Feemor decided, Ylesia was somewhere rather lower down. The moment he stepped off the transport, the hot, humid air slapped him in the face like a soaked towel. The simple civilian clothes he wore - a long tunic, longer vest, and loose trousers tucked into low boots - were already clinging to his skin, and the loose strands of his hair hung limp and sticky around his face. The air stank of rotting vegetable matter and swamp gas, and he struggled to maintain the aspect of a wide-eyed pilgrim.
The Hutts can see in spectrums beyond human range, and the t'landa Til are highly empathic. WHY could they not have sent a Shadow here instead? It was possible to use the Force to regulate body temperature and mood, but most Jedi had no need to develop such skills beyond theoretical knowledge. Feemor had spent the entire trip attempting to refine what he knew, but the Master of Shadows had apparently been of the opinion that having a more natural reaction would raise less suspicion.
She had also provided a comm code for a Shadow contact whom he could call for help. Feemor had memorised it and tucked it away in the back of his mind, because Hautha had been deadly serious about the commune absconding with everything the 'pilgrims' brought with them. Feemor was confident he could steal a comm from one of the staff, if it came to that.
Before Feemor could get far past the hangar exit, a twi'lek woman with pale yellow skin wearing simple robes hurried over. "Salutations and welcome to Colony One!" she gushed. "You have the look of one who seeks answers."
You have no idea. Feemor bowed, making it less coordinated than he usually would. "Yeah, I…. Things have just been so overwhelming lately, and one of my friends told me they heard of this place, and…. Well, I just need a break, you know? Time to figure myself out." He let himself babble nervously as the woman slipped her arm through his, nodding sagely.
"Many of our pilgrims have such difficulties. You're in good company here! I am Pilgrim 489, and it is my duty and privilege to welcome all new arrivals."
She led him through what might have been generously called a city if you tilted it sideways and squinted. The streets were packed earth, and the plaster-walled buildings rarely cleared more than two storeys under their tall domed roofs, which Feemor hoped were intended to regulate the interior temperature. There were no stairs, just long ramps that curved around the outsides to upper-level balconies - designed for Hutts, he realised, as he saw several on ornate hoversleds, and many more moving around under their own power. There were a number of t'landa Til as well - massive quadrupeds that resembled Hutts with thick, stocky legs and a long horn growing from their foreheads. The males had an abundance of loose flesh hanging like a wattle below their throats, which wobbled and puffed as they spoke to each other. Hutts and t'landa Til all had small entourages of humanoid guards and some servants wearing robes similar to what Feemor's twi'lek guide wore.
"How long has the colony been here? I never heard of it before Keela mentioned it," Feemor asked.
"Eight Standard years. High Priest Teroenza had a holy vision and abandoned his lucrative position on Nal Hutta to dedicate his life to spreading the peace of The One And The All," his guide gushed, the capital letters audible as she uttered them with reverence.
Feemor found himself recoiling mentally from referring to her by the number she'd given. "I want to know more." He loaded as much earnest curiosity as he could muster into the request, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.
"Wonderful! I promise you won't regret it."
Feemor regretted it enough already, but the feeling redoubled when the pilgrims' Registrar dubbed him Pilgrim 229, handed him a set of robes and a pair of sandals identical to those worn by his guide, and then took away everything he'd brought with him. It didn't matter that the contents of the pack - toiletries, a few sets of clothes, and a personal datapad storing nothing but a few novels, a couple holos, and some stills that had been crafted by the Order's best holoartists of Feemor with people who could have been friends or family - wasn't strictly his. It was the principle of what they were doing: removing all connections to a newcomer's identity and isolating them from their existing support. Registering a person as a number rather than the name they arrived with would make it next to impossible to trace new arrivals past that point. It was insidious and quite transparent to someone who knew what to look for.
He looked at his guide as she led him towards the pilgrims' barracks, feigning interest. "Why is my number lower than yours? Are they assigned at random?"
"Oh, no." She seemed delighted to be able to explain more to him. "But in order to commune with The One And The All, we must release as much of our worldly possessions as possible, including our names. The numbers are merely for identification. The last 229 must have ascended recently."
"Ascended?" He really hoped that didn't mean what he feared it meant.
His guide nodded cheerfully. "It's the goal all pilgrims have: to attain oneness with The One And The All. The High Priest can see into our hearts and souls, and those who have achieved oneness are sent on to a temple he's established elsewhere." She leaned close, dropping her voice a little. "The location is a closely guarded secret, but only because some fear the High Priest's truth. The Jedi, especially, would force us to stop. They cannot accept that others may access oneness in a way that's different from theirs."
The Force. That's what they're talking about, and why it hasn't caught our attention before now. Shoving down the sudden dread that welled up within him, Feemor simply followed quietly to his bunk assignment - there was a small drawer beneath the uncomfortable-looking cot which held another set of robes and nothing else - already plotting to acquire a comm at the soonest convenience. A rogue Force user selling their skills to coerce people into slavery was well beyond Feemor's level.
Daalang Waystation
Zohli had not been happy at being left behind on Mandalore, but two of her courses had exams coming up in the next week and Obi-Wan had no idea if this short trip would turn into something longer. Jango had offered to take Zohli and some of the older adë on a climbing trip to soften the disappointment, and Obi-Wan had expressed his gratitude passionately the night before he, Feid, and Pulkka had left.
"If you think I wouldn't jump at the chance to take a bunch of people into the hills for a couple days…" Jango had answered with a grin.
"That's not the point. You're not just offering that to Zoh, you're offering it to my clan," Obi-Wan had reminded him. Jango's grin had faded a little as recognition crept in behind his eyes; it was possible he hadn't even considered the greater meaning of spending time taking a bunch of cin vhetin under his figurative wing. Nobody in Keldabe had been ignorant, certainly, not from the comments Obi-Wan had overheard.
What fascinated him was how intensely quiet the local media had been about it: despite Neve's warning, the news had focused more on Pre Vizsla's misfortune and the responses from the greater body of the Kyr'tsad. Aliit Bastra had been left in peace and unnamed but for a traditional announcement of its founding. Hopefully things would remain that quiet; his people weren't yet prepared for the kind of trouble Kyr'tsad could bring. And without him there….
It wasn't the first time he had gone off on a job without members of his family, but now there were a lot more of them. Obi-Wan had thought worrying about Phel and Zoh had been bad, but this was on an entirely different level of concern.
Nym had shot Obi-Wan a short text message while he'd been packing, telling him to bring the 'Mando digs'. Obi-Wan had some misgivings about going into things so quickly without any real time to acclimate to the beskar'gam's mass, but the Feeorin pirate usually had good reasons for his suggestions.
Kole met them at the docking port; the Chadra-Fan eyed Obi-Wan in his new armour and nodded. [[Looks a little too shiny, but you walk like you're used to it. Good, good.]]
Obi-Wan frowned and folded his arms. "What's this about, Kole?"
[[I'll fill you in on the way,]] Kole chirped and motioned for him to follow. [[Put the helmet on before going out in public here, it's a rough station.]]
"You're planning something."
Kole's enormous ears flicked in confirmation. [[No way Nym's taking those people back to where they came from, but he wants to know what's going on. Ylesia is a Hutt planet - it's kind of a resort world for them - and the only way to get information from the Hutts without paying a fortune and a few vital organs is to get on their staff. Mandalorians are a hot commodity for the underworld, thanks to the reputation for ruthlessness; Hutts love being able to parade around with Mando bodyguards.]]
"Why does Nym care enough about what's going on there to investigate?" They skirted a raucous group of mercenaries spilling out of a cantina before Kole replied.
[[The Trade Federation is using them as a source of cheap labour. You know how it is: we can't catch every colonizer ship coming into Karthakk, but we can cut off their supply, either with blasters, or with politics. And you're better with politics.]] He shrugged and palmed open the docking bay door. [[The last thing we need is the Hutts putting bounties on all of us, so politics is the optimal choice.]]
"Politics, or a very well-prepared con," Obi-Wan agreed.
[[Same thing, really. Go on in, he's in the lounge.]]
Nym was pacing, his features set in a heavy scowl which only lightened by a fraction when Obi-Wan set his helmet on the table beside a stripped blaster rifle. Nym always did resort to gun work when he was bothered by something. "There you are. You're better with people than I am. Please convince these folks to let a medic look at them."
He led Obi-Wan down the corridor to the guest bunkroom, which was usually a secondary cargo hold when the eight bunks weren't folded down on their wall brackets. "We got them to eat, at least, just broth, ration bars, and water. They're picky - religiously picky - and I know some species aren't getting the right nutrients from it. The Bothan especially looks like he needs several days on a vitamin drip. Can't get 'em to accept it. At least they'll shower, and they haven't tried to make trouble. Spend most of their time prayin' or something."
The room wasn't really large enough for the number of people there - Obi-Wan lost count at fourteen individuals seated on the floor and murmuring some sort of chant - and the bunks had been left folded up. "Nym, what-"
"They refused to use 'em," Nym muttered, gesturing to the mismatched array of secondhand bedrolls spread across the floor. "We had to improvise. I've never met people who were so obsessed with refusing anything comfortable."
Obi-Wan took a couple steps into the room; a few of them glanced over before going back to their murmured chant. The sense in the Force suggested that they were hoping he and Nym would become impatient and leave, and that this tactic had a dual intent, an attempt to keep themselves 'pure' until they could be returned to Ylesia.
The silent treatment wasn't new to him. Obi-Wan took a seat in half-lotus on the floor and settled into a light meditation. He caught growing irritation from Nym's guests, and the moment when they started the chant over again; it was now a matter of whose patience would crack first.
"What are you doing?"
Obi-Wan didn't bother opening his eyes. "Waiting for you. My people meditate, as well; it would be rude to interrupt."
The person grunted as the implication that they had interrupted him struck home. "You pirates all ask the same questions, make the same demands. We must return to Ylesia, and medical care by any but the faithful would taint us."
"Even a medical droid?" Obi-Wan asked.
"We have taken vows of purity; medical droids have orders to inject substances without seeking permission, substances which would disrupt our communion with The One And The All."
It sounded like an excuse to prevent them from being subjected to standard blood testing, which would uncover the presence of spice or other narcotics in their systems. He kept that opinion to himself. "Can you tell me about The One And The All? I'm interested to learn more."
One of them scoffed as the chant finally fell apart. "You're not worthy to know more; you haven't given your life over to it willingly," someone else sniped with a haughty sniff. "The One And The All only accepts those who have sacrificed our former lives and all materialistic needs to dedicate ourselves to its service."
It was clever, and insidious, and as Obi-Wan gently filtered through the minds in the room, he was horrified at the state of them. Every being had some form of natural mental shielding; some were stronger than others, purely through upbringing and occasionally the nature of their species. These people's minds looked like their shields had been carved away from the outside, violently; they were crumbling in places and perforated like rusted metal. Every sentient in the room had been subjected to the psychic equivalent of repeated acid baths.
It was difficult to keep his reaction from his face, but he managed. Obi-Wan rose and nodded to them politely before joining Nym in the corridor outside.
The big Feeorin was leaning against the wall, arms folded. "See what I meant? Someone's done a hell of a job on them."
Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his temples. "So, here's the dilemma. Yes, they've been brainwashed. It's how cults maintain their control over people: they strip them of free will and then become their only support network. If we refuse their request and take them to someone I know who can get them treatment, we are, technically, also refusing to grant them free will. Even though, if we granted their request, they would likely end up in slavery again, or worse."
"Yeah, you can see where I'm stuck, here."
"I hate to say it, but it might be for the best to refuse to take them back to Ylesia. At least immediately. I can put in a call to my friend-" Bail Organa would definitely know which services could help- "and your people can see them safely off while the two of us go investigate what's really going on."
"You can't just mind trick 'em into wanting to go?" Nym sounded disappointed. "You shoulda heard the wailing before we agreed to come this far. They think we've only stopped temporarily for repairs."
Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at Nym and dropped his voice. "There are limits to what I will do to people, Nym," he hissed. "Using the Force to convince them to accept medical attention is one thing. Using it to make them think leaving the cult is their idea, is something else entirely. Not only that, but it would cause more long term harm than turning them over to a treatment facility."
Nym grumbled something under his breath. "Fine. You got an angle to work?"
"The Bothan is headed for blindness and possible renal failure; they need immediate attention. I'll lean on that and talk the others around once the droid is in the room." The thought of coercing people this way made Obi-Wan grimace, but what were their other options?
His friend looked up the hall to where one of his crew had a wall panel open, checking the atmospheric condensers. "Ch'yme, go get one of the med droids down here. J-3, if it's available."
The Twi'lek woman glanced from Nym to Obi-Wan to the closed door, and a prickle of recognition ran down the back of Obi-Wan's neck. Part of one of her lekku was missing, with heavy scarring indicating she'd been caught in some sort of explosion. "Just J-3, sir?"
"Fer now." Nym gestured to Obi-Wan. "This is Bastra, he has a way with people."
"Sometimes," he demurred.
Ch'yme returned with the droid within five minutes, and Obi-Wan gave it a few strict orders; J-3 didn't protest. Getting the pilgrims' attention this time was easier: they stopped their chanting and glared at him.
"Now what do you want?" an older human woman growled.
Obi-Wan gestured to the Bothan pilgrim. "Your friend is malnourished and their life is in danger. I can tell from the condition of their fur and the yellow tint to their eyes. We recognise that you have strict dietary limitations, but is it truly humble to refuse the basic nutrients one needs to survive?"
Everyone glanced at the pilgrim in question, and then someone said quietly, "It's true, 531, we've noticed that you're struggling, your eyesight has gotten worse. Maybe-"
"It's a trick!" one of the others insisted.
"No trick." Obi-Wan hated lying like this, but the Bothan pilgrim was going to die without care. "We have a medical droid. It has been ordered not to do anything without obtaining your explicit consent. If you refuse treatment, it won't insist."
After a moment, the Bothan pilgrim sighed; they were likely already in extreme discomfort and trying not to show it. "Very well."
J-3 was a newer model, the kind with an actual bedside manner programmed in, and it handled the first pilgrim with the same care it might offer an anxious child, taking temperature and eventually a blood sample with gentle efficiency. "The assessment of malnutrition is correct, sentient. I would recommend you accept vitamin supplements with each meal in the long term. In the short term, I would offer you a nutrient injection. Would you like to know the source of the nutrients and vitamins before making a decision?"
"Where'd you get the droid from?" Obi-Wan asked Nym quietly.
"Another of those slave transports, 'bout a year ago," he replied. "It's been great for dealing with 'em."
"So I see." He stretched out through the Force, finding the pilgrims who were responding the most positively to the droid's presence, and gave them just the slightest mental nudge towards asking for examinations, themselves. It barely required any effort at all, and within a few hours the droid had blood samples from all of them and had found five others who needed dietary supplements as well.
Once they were in the privacy of Nym's office, Obi-Wan extracted the testing results from the droid's onboard memory. It would take a while, but they could use the results to locate the pilgrims' identities and send updates to any open Missing Persons reports. While the algorithm chewed through the data, he commed Feid.
She was not thrilled at the news. "Ylesia? Human, I will follow you into the nine Corellian hells and back, but not there."
Nym frowned at her holo from the other side of the desk. "Okay, I get that it's a Hutt world, but what else is wrong with it?"
"It's a tropical swamp, for one thing; take your antibiotics. For another, it's a spice world. If it's not being processed on Nar Shaddaa, it's being processed on Ylesia."
Obi-Wan frowned. "Feid… Krayn had full control of Nar Shaddaa's spice processing. Who's in charge of it now?"
Her eyes widened and she glanced to the side. "I don't know…. Shit. Did we make things worse when we took Krayn out?"
"Aga Culpa showed a little backbone and threw some weight around after you cleared out," Nym said. "They're still processing spice on Nar Shaddaa, but it's an 'employment program' for the homeless and unemployed that the King is using to reassure the Republic. No idea if the workers were press-ganged or volunteered, but we know they're being paid, and the slave barracks were opened up and repurposed into housing for the workers. But their production numbers aren't up to even half of what they used to be. I wonder how long this cult of The One has been around for?"
"I guess you'll be finding out. But be careful. On Ylesia, if you're not already employed by the t'landa Til, you'll quickly end up owned by them. Things are expensive for any non-affiliated sentients, and if you end up in debt - and they'll try to get you there by adding surcharges and fees to everything - good luck ever getting offworld again," Feid said grimly. "There's enough personal accounts that sound more like horror stories."
Obi-Wan drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. "Alright, then here's the plan. Nym's crew can get these pilgrims to… wherever my friend says to go, I need to comm him. Feid: we'll be taking the Sunflare as far as Nar Shaddaa, and then Nym and I will get a shuttle to Ylesia, make ourselves look like easy marks. You, Pulkka, and Dee will just have to sit tight on Nar Shaddaa, and come extract us if things go badly. Maybe take some small jobs on the side for appearance's sake."
"Zoh's gonna kill you for taking risks like this, you know. Never mind your boyfriend."
Sighing, he ignored Feid's snipe about Jango. "Hopefully it won't be that much of a risk."
"Now, hang on, I wanna hear more about this boyfriend," Nym interrupted, a gleeful grin splitting his face. "Who's the unlucky bastard?"
"Oh, no, I'm not gonna give him a reason to shoot me. Ask Bastra."
Obi-Wan gave Nym a flat glare that would likely only deter him temporarily. "My… partner," he admitted reluctantly, "knows me well enough that this wouldn't shock him."
Feid laughed. "Keep telling yourself that."
He narrowed his eyes at Feid. "You only mentioned this to lighten the mood."
She grinned back, unrepentant. "Is it working?"
"No."
"Yeah."
Obi-Wan glared at Nym. "If you taunt him about it, he will find a way to shoot you."
Nym wiggled his fingers at Obi-Wan in a come-hither gesture. "Just tell me, dammit."
"Jango Fett."
The grin melted off Nym's face. "That's not something people joke about, Bastra."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
"He's really not joking," Feid put in. "They're disgustingly adorable together."
"I never thought I would hear Fett ever being referred to as adorable." Nym shook his head. "That's almost terrifying."
"Don't go thinking he's gone soft. Mandalorians with family to protect are even more dangerous." Obi-Wan looked back at Feid. "Are you alright playing emergency pickup for us?"
"Yeah. Nar Shaddaa is a good place to blend in. Give us a comm once you and Nym are on your way back."
She closed the channel, and Obi-Wan checked the time and then typed in the code for Senator Organa's personal comm. The Senator didn't take long to respond.
"Captain Bastra, good morning to you." The Senator seemed happy to see him. "What can I do for you?"
Obi-Wan put on a wry smile. "We need a recommendation for a repatriation facility that specialises in people who have been under the influence of a cult. They're going to be most displeased that we're not taking them back, but we cannot do so in good conscience."
The Senator sobered immediately. "How bad is it?"
Obi-Wan glanced at Nym, who gestured for him to do the talking. "Their cult sold them to the Trade Federation as slaves. They're convinced it's all a mistake. We're afraid that if we take them back, they'll be sold off again."
"A reasonable concern. Let me see…." Organa reached out of the holo field to presumably enter information into his computer. "What's your current location?"
Nym answered. "Daalang. If there's something within a day's travel, that would work best."
"In that case, the Jedi Temple on Chalacta is your best option."
Nym glanced at Obi-Wan, who kept his expression carefully neutral. The Feeorin pirate arched a brow at the Senator. "The Jedi, really?"
Organa shrugged. "The Chalactan Order in particular specialises in deep psychological therapy and recovery techniques. The only alternative is a therapeutic practice on Manaan."
"That's a bit closer." Nym leaned back in his chair and looked to Obi-Wan for his opinion.
He sighed. "I think the Manaan group would be a better fit, given how suspicious the pilgrims got when I started meditating to wait them out."
"Manaan it is. Give me a few minutes to arrange a confirmation code. Am I correct in assuming you'll be investigating this cult in the meantime?"
Obi-Wan grinned at him. "You know me so well."
Organa's answering smile was sly. "It seems like the sort of thing you might do. Please let me know what you discover, and be careful? You're a valuable resource, you know."
"And for a moment there I almost thought you cared," Obi-Wan teased. "I have a family to think of now; no unnecessary risks."
"Indeed!" Organa openly studied the beskar'gam Obi-Wan now wore. "I want to hear that story! But later. Next time you visit? Or shall we visit you? The Queen has expressed desire to spend a few days off Alderaan and away from work."
The thought of the refined Alderaanian politicians on the vhett was intensely amusing. He chuckled. "It's a farm on Mandalore, Senator. I'm not sure what your standards are-"
"The Queen is also a schoolteacher by trade, one she continues despite the demands of governing a planet," Organa reminded him with an arched eyebrow. "If you're in charge, I'm sure it's lovely."
"We can arrange something once this business is resolved, then."
Nym snorted. "Sure your boyfriend won't get jealous?"
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes; Nym was going to be insufferable about this. He'd have to find a suitable way to 'thank' Feid. "If some minor diplomacy upsets him, we have bigger issues to worry about."
"If he's dating you, I'm sure he's a good man," Organa offered cheerfully.
"He's a mercenary, Senator, the same as me," Obi-Wan reminded him. Jango was kind with those he cared for, but had little time for people who existed beyond that sphere; he could be civil, and handled more fragile individuals with due care, but he was also ruthless and entirely willing to kill if necessary. Traits which Obi-Wan knew he was also developing; his own priority list was undergoing a dramatic shift that had little to do with Mandalore or Jango. "You don't find many good people in our line of work."
"Allow me to put it another way," the Senator said. "In the time I've known you, you have always struck me as being a good judge of character-"
"Present company excluded, of course," Obi-Wan said with a pointed stare at Nym, who smirked back.
Organa gave them an indulgent smile. "Well, yes, of course. But I highly doubt you would grow so close to someone whose ideals don't align well with your own. I'll run the idea of a visit by Breha; I'm sure she'd enjoy it."
With a start, Obi-Wan realised that introducing Bail Organa - an acquaintance who had become a friend by sheer dint of the man's genuine affability - and Queen Breha to Jango would effectively constitute a meeting of heads of state. Alderaan and Mandalore were wildly different from each other, culturally; but despite being pacifists, Alderaanians were also scrappy when pushed, and would shove back with a smile, refusing to be walked over. They might find some common ground somewhere in there.
The thought of getting them in a room together made Obi-Wan grin. "You know, that might not be a bad idea. Let me know what your schedule is like and we'll work a visit in."
They signed off and Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair. Before Nym could voice whatever thought was making his lips curl mischievously, Obi-Wan said, "You've got some new faces among your crew."
"Oh, Ch'yme? She's good people. Showed up with a nice tip-off and accepted a job when I offered." Nym arched a heavy brow at Obi-Wan. "Why? Bad vibes?"
"No." He shook his head. "Just a strong feeling I've seen her somewhere before."
"You can always ask her. Jus' be nice about it, yeah? No scaring the new blood."
Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I'll leave her be. I doubt it's important." The Force hadn't felt any threat from the woman, although she seemed familiar there, too. He'd have to check the HUD memory files he'd copied over to his buy'ce later.
Dinaas'kan, Jedi Shadow, hadn't even had her new identity as Ch'yme - a disillusioned former Trade Federation employee with a grudge - for even two months, and she may have already been found out. There was something about that Mandalorian Nym had invited onboard - treated like he was a close friend, even - that raised her hackles. And then there was that conversation they'd had in the corridor that she'd eavesdropped on whilst pretending to run a maintenance check.
"There are limits to what I will do to people, Nym. Using the Force to convince them to accept medical attention is one thing. Using it to make them think leaving the cult is their idea, is something else entirely."
The Mandalorian knew the Force and how to use it - and use it well, too, she'd barely felt him manipulating the pilgrims into accepting help. It wasn't a particularly Jedi-like thing to do, but neither was it Dark; it simply was, and she had to admit that she'd been tempted to do the same more than once out of sheer frustration since they'd picked up their guests.
She sought out Kole. "Who's that Mando Nym just let onboard?"
The first mate frowned at her. [[If you got a problem with Mandalorians-]]
It was as good an excuse as any; she folded her arms. "I don't trust 'em."
[[Yeah, well, Bastra's worked with us a bit. He wasn't Mando until recently, so maybe cut some slack.]]
She scowled hard, as if that was worse. "What, did he marry one or something?"
The Chadra-Fan grumbled and set his datapad down before glaring up at her. [[You can always ask him, kid. He's decent. Good actor, makes him good at getting information from people. Nym wants him along to help find out what's going down on Ylesia.]]
Good actor? Kole had the weirdest standards for decency. "What do we need him for, anyway?"
Kole rolled his eyes. [[You're new here, you wouldn't know. Bastra used to be a Jedi. He'll say he wasn't much of one, just an apprentice or whatever they call 'em. But he can still use the Force to find out things nobody else can, talk people into cooperating nicely, and to sneak around without being spotted. That's what we need him for.]]
Dinaas'kan blinked at him. That explained a lot, but it also opened up a lot more questions. Who was he really? Why had he left the Order? And more importantly, did the Master of Shadows know about him? "You're serious? I thought Mandos hated Jedi."
[[You'd have to ask him about that, too.]] The first mate glared at her. [[Are you done? Any more problems we should know about?]]
Gritting her teeth, she replied, "No, no problems," and left.
Yes, all the problems. She'd been dropping her guard a bit too much around Nym's crew of very much not Force-sensitive pirates, but with Bastra around she'd have to lock it down as tight as she had on Coruscant-
Coruscant. Former Jedi. Bastra was about the same build, and had a long, unmistakable scar over his left eye. His hair was the wrong colour, but dye existed….
It was a huge galaxy, though. The odds that he could also be Davine were astronomical.
Reformation Year 981.05.07
Mandalore
What had started as a plan to entertain Zohli during her buir's absence had somehow become a Thing. Jango had underestimated how interested Aliit Bastra's teenagers were in going climbing; he'd needed to enlist Ruuli in helping maintain order and remind the kids that a single adult couldn't teach them all at once. Never mind that there wasn't nearly enough room in his ship to carry all of them. Eventually they narrowed it down to Zoh and two other verd'ikë, Viisho and Ghala, who had a little experience already.
They were in the main hall, just finishing packing their kit for the next morning, when the distinct hum of an approaching ship brought everyone's heads up. It was too high-pitched to be the Sunflare.
One of Qiiun's sisters hurried out of the dedicated comms room onto the ground-level balcony, searching out Zohli among the group. [[There's a ship approaching, the pilot says they're a friend of Scogar's.]]
Jango looked to the teenager; she was biting her lower lip and frowning, but didn't seem confused that her authority was being requested.
"Let them land, I'll go see what they want."
"Want some backup?" he asked quietly.
She gave him a relieved look. "Yes, please. We don't know if Kyr'tsad would try locate us, but still…."
Zoh ended up with an honour guard of Jango and four others. Nobody was wearing armour - it would have taken too long to put on - but they all carried blasters on their hips and personal shield projectors strapped to their off hands. The devices were commonly carried by Mandalorians doing farm-work, because nobody wanted to be digging and planting whilst wearing full beskar; the field they projected covered a metre-wide circle in front of the user, sufficient for protection against blasterfire until the user could find better cover.
When the ship finally came into view over the treeline, Jango frowned. It was an Aka'jor-class shuttle, common as dirt on Mandalore, but the colours it was painted with suggested it hadn't come from Keldabe. The ship set down gently on the platform as their group reached the edge of the crater valley, and Zoh signalled to wait for the pilot to join them.
The human woman who emerged from the lift was perhaps a bit shorter than Jango, mitigated by the heels on her boots. She had a distinctly Northern cast to her features - dark brown skin, curly hair a shade lighter and redder - but wore Sundari colours that made Jango grind his teeth.
Zohli stepped forward, a bit warily, and said, "Su cuy'gar. Me'copaani?" It was a little brusque - there were more diplomatic ways to ask after the woman's business - but understandable, given her nerves.
The woman took in the welcoming party with a hit of amusement, and her eyes seemed to linger for just a moment on Jango before she turned her attention back to Zoh. "Su'cuy! Ni burc'ya be Scogar." She swapped to Basic with a smile. "I was hoping he'd be here, but given I don't see Feid or Pulkka looming behind you, I'm guessing he's on a job?"
From his position just behind and to Zoh's left, Jango couldn't see her expression, but her ears flicked. "You know my aunts too?"
The woman's eyebrows shot up. "You're his verd'ika?" When Zohli nodded, the woman grinned. "Then I'm so happy to meet you! I'm Tovari Matsuuri; I worked with your dad and aunts on the Eidolon Hazard a few years back. I probably should have commed ahead to see if they'd be here, but I wanted to surprise them. Sorry about that."
Matsuuri. The name distracted Jango from Zohli's introduction: he remembered a bonded couple who hadn't survived the clusterfuck that had been Korda VI, leaving a child behind, already in the care of her mother's sister because the couple had chosen to answer the Mand'alor's call to fight the Kyr'tsad. He'd only been fourteen Standard at the time, and the memory of making every personal comm to notify family members had haunted him for years, even though it hadn't been his orders they'd been following.
"Kaavhyn and Chana's ad," Jango blurted without really thinking. Matsuuri blinked at him and nodded, and he sighed. "I'm sorry. They were good people."
Her answering smile was lopsided. "From what I understand, you effectively avenged my loss and yours at the same time. Gar naasad jor'entye."
"That doesn't mean I can't regret their loss." It struck him then that Matsuuri knew exactly who he was, but wasn't asking for confirmation or introduction. He'd kept up enough on Sundari politics to know that Ethyne was Kryze's chief of security; it seemed likely that Tovari was also involved in the government. If she wasn't told his name, she could deny that she had seen him there.
Zoh tilted her head at Matsuuri and, oh, Jango recognised that particular tilt to her ears. She was up to something. "Well anyway, I don't know when At'tha will be back - it should be a short trip, but you know how things can escalate when you're not expecting it. Would you like a tour of the vhett while you're here?"
Matsuuri's eyes lit up. "I would love a tour. This place is amazing."
The teenager gestured for her guards to stand down; most of them turned with a sigh of relief and started making their way back to the compound. Jango and a Twi'lek woman named Tinti stayed behind by unspoken agreement; Tinti had expressed some desire to actively repay Scogar, and protecting Zohli while he was away seemed to be part of it.
For his part, Jango really wanted to ask Matsuuri about Scogar's early days away from the Jedi. He was certain there'd be plenty of material to tease his partner with once he got back.
Ylesia
The plan was simple: Obi-Wan would keep his helmet on, play grim, mysterious, and mostly silent, and Nym would call him 'Mando'. The shielding afforded by the armour would keep the Hutts and their cousin species, the t'landa Til, from reading his biological responses to whatever he sensed there.
Nym hadn't yet decided if he cared enough to try to shut the operation down, or merely try to turn them against their Trade Federation partners; Obi-Wan was already leaning on the side of shutting it down, but they'd need to do it in such a way that it couldn't start again somewhere else. Either way, they needed intel.
They stepped off the shuttle and Obi-Wan watched the external humidity gauge in his HUD tick up towards a sticky ninety-three percent. A quick glance towards Nym proved that his aquatic biology was doing him a lot of favours: his green skin, normally fairly dull in shipboard atmospherics, was turning glossy as Obi-Wan watched, bringing out subtle patterns of blue and orange. Nym stretched, luxuriating in the swampy air, and breathed deeply. His expression immediately screwed up like he'd eaten an expired ration bar; smacking his tongue, Nym grumbled, "The weather's great, but it tastes like a compost heap in summer. I'm almost jealous of that helmet of yours, Mando."
Obi-Wan laughed. "Can't have it all."
They followed instructions to a cantina where the climate control was laboring noisily to maintain a comfortable balance; Nym took an easy pose leaning against the bar while Obi-Wan merely rested his elbow on it.
"Chut-chut! Hi chuba da naga?" The bartender was a scantily dressed Twi'lek woman whose smile didn't reach her eyes; her greeting at least attempted to sound perky, but there was no real feeling behind it.
Nym ordered a drink; Obi-Wan shook his head slightly when the woman looked at him.
"Nee bukiye bosko de murishani bargon? O wo bosko de... pateesa?" she asked as she poured Nym's drink.
Obi-Wan wondered how many people would actually flee to a planet like this to evade a bounty. "Work," he replied shortly, crushing his Core accent down into something rougher.
"Kee taska bulo. Incha wallaskee toh, maskalia din-chu," she said with a shrug. She met Nym's eyes, then Obi-Wan's, as if gauging their potential interest in her - specifically. Nym slid the payment for the drink across the bar and deliberately turned away; Obi-Wan just met her stare with his blank buy'ce until she flushed and busied herself rearranging glasses.
They scanned the place casually, Nym by eye and Obi-Wan via the Force. Despite the effort they had both made to look like they knew their business, Obi-Wan and Nym weren't the most intimidating people in the cantina; nobody in the room was a stranger to mercenary work, and the intimidation prize went to a massively built grey-furred Togorian who was at least a head taller than Nym. She finished her drink, slammed the glass on the table, and rose like a leviathan from the sea, stalking over to loom directly over Obi-Wan.
"Tough little mercenary man. You think to be next big guard? Break you like stick. Fancy metal won't save you."
He remained standing the way he was, one elbow still resting on the bar. Togorians were a Wookiee-sized felinoid species, and just as dangerous in close quarters. Her claws would absolutely shred his kute and possibly go through the durasteel.
The Force was in tumult and whispered of caution; Obi-Wan wanted to be more circumspect, but it wouldn't fit with the persona he'd adopted for this. "Big words from someone who chose to pick on the little guy," he replied in a tone that would cut through the background rumble of conversation.
The taunt hit where he intended. The Togorian bristled - literally - and seized him by the throat; the armour held, preventing him from being choked, but she still had enough purchase to lift him off the floor. Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist with his left hand to support himself and drove his other fist forward, the vibro-shiv he'd palmed in a reverse grip stopping just far enough from her neck to trim the fur; Nym's blaster primed loudly in the sudden silence, the barrel pressed to the soft spot in the Togorian's skull in front of her ear.
"I'd advise you to put my partner down, lady."
She chuffed, ice-blue eyes glinting at Obi-Wan in the dim cantina light. "Real Mando don't need support. You prove real Mando. We fight."
"Why does it matter to you?" he gritted; holding himself up with the slightest boost from the Force was simple, but he couldn't let anyone know he wasn't struggling.
The Togorian bared an impressive set of fangs at him. Now that he had a moment to really study her, it was apparent that she was middle-aged for her species, the fur paling around her eyes and muzzle. An old shrapnel scar, the corded flesh mostly hidden by her fur, crawled up the right side of her face; several of those fangs had been replaced with metallic prosthetics. "Little mercenary want to be Mando? No Mandos left. Prove worthy of that beskar'gam."
Ah. That could be a problem. But trying to reason would get him nowhere while the woman's temper was high. "Fine, lady," Obi-Wan said. "Let's take this outside."
She turned and flung him bodily out the door.
Obi-Wan barely controlled his landing; he regained his feet only to roll to the side as the Togorian charged out, claws extended.
The bes'kad strapped to his back was too long to be of any use here; Obi-Wan drew his left-hand shiv, the second in the pair, and started to circle. Backing away would get him killed: he needed to get in under her guard and hopefully subdue her. Somehow. The Temple's combat lessons had been thorough on species biology but inadequate for a street brawl.
She lunged, long arms swinging for his chest, and Obi-Wan dodged left, one shiv screeching as it nicked the armour on the side of her thigh. Her elbow whipped back and caught him across the face. Without the buy'ce his nose would have been shattered; with it, the blow still dazed him. Obi-Wan staggered; the Force shrilled in his ear, and he rolled forward over his right shoulder, sparks still dancing in his vision. They cleared in time to see his opponent throw herself at him again; he spotted his opening an instant before it cleared. Instead of rolling again, Obi-Wan ducked her claws and charged into her stomach, tackling her with all the power he had. They went down in a tumble and a cloud of dust; Obi-Wan forewent the knife in his hand and just punched her in the chin with an armoured fist.
It barely had an effect, other than possibly making her angrier. He didn't have the mass or leverage to pin her; the tussle ended with Obi-Wan on the bottom, which was a bad place to be when your opponent's limbs all ended in blades. He coiled up, protecting his abdomen, and hooked a leg over her shoulder as she drew her arm back for a strike, pressing his knee in against the side of her throat. If he was wrong about where the carotid artery was, this fight was going to be over fast.
His opponent froze, shock and recognition rippling through the Force as her eyes went wide. She slapped his shoulder, tapping out as if they'd been having nothing more than a friendly spar, all tension bleeding out as if it had never been there. Cautiously, Obi-Wan released her, and she dragged him to his feet. The cantina patrons who'd followed them out grumbled in disappointment that the fight was over so shortly; most turned to go back to their drinking.
The Togorian studied him; sandy dust coated her fur and armour, and she slapped at it carelessly. "That move. Who teach you?"
Gasping for air, Obi-Wan shook his head a little; it was still ringing from the blow. Where had he picked up that particular chokehold? Oh, right. "Fett," he wheezed, and the Togorian leaned back.
"He lives?"
Nym's gleeful voice came from behind her. "You just threw his boytoy ten metres out the door."
She squinted at Obi-Wan. "That true?"
He laughed breathlessly, barely remembering to flatten his accent again as he put his knives away. "It'd be a dangerous thing to lie about, don't you think?"
"Hrm," she grunted. "That Jaster's move." Her massive hand closed on Obi-Wan's shoulder - claws sheathed - and tugged him back towards the cantina. "Took shrapnel to face fighting Death Watch. Miss Galidraan. Hey! Cheeka!" she roared at the bartender. "Open private room! Bring three tihaar!"
The bartender paled and scurried towards the back; the Togorian followed, practically dragging Obi-Wan while Nym trailed behind. Obi-Wan's friend was far too amused at his expense.
"You're not Mandalorian," Obi-Wan said, once they were settled around a table that was far too small for the mass of both the Togorian woman and Nym.
"No. Good friend. Owe Jaster for freedom; was gladiator on Nar Kreeta." She bared her fangs at the bartender as the terrified woman dropped off three glasses and a bottle of tihaar and fled. "Nice. Put on tab, cheeka. After Galidraan, do mercenary thing. You strict Mando?"
Obi-Wan hesitated, but the turmoil in the Force had settled. "No. But it's convenient." He removed his buy'ce and pushed a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. "You must have been out of touch for years. Jango's re-forming the True Mandalorians, under Jaster's codex."
"Good." She handed him a glass of the clear spirit. "Name Karrrkal. You?"
"Bastra. This is my work partner, Nym."
Nym accepted his glass with an off-handed, "Cheers."
They knocked their drinks back as one and Karrrkal poured again. "Why come Ylesia? Me, good for Hutt bodyguard. You, not so much. Work better elsewhere."
Obi-Wan could practically hear Nym's brain ticking over. "You know what they do here, with the cult?" Nym asked quietly.
Karrrkal bared her teeth. "Yes. Slaves who don't know. You here to mess with them?"
"Maybe," Obi-Wan replied. "Depends if we think we need backup."
She was quiet for a moment, processing that. "Hrm. Tough job. Hutt security good, loyal. Lot of credits, yes? But. Know who High Priest is. I get you introduction, maybe you get better intel, yes?"
Obi-Wan exchanged a look with Nym, who shrugged. "It's faster than working our way up the chain," Nym admitted.
"Excellent. I tell them you hard Mando, good fighter," she chuckled.
Nym snickered and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."
The Feeorin bared his teeth at him. "I just saw you punch someone who acted like it was a mosquito bite. I'm having the time of my life."
Karrrkal patted Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You good fighter. Good right cross. Feel that tomorrow."
"You can't even keep a straight face saying that," he accused, and she released the laugh she'd been holding back.
"Togorian jaw like rock. Next time, hit nose."
.
Mando'a Translations:
Su cuy'gar. Me'copaani? - Hello. What do you want?
Su'cuy! Ni burc'ya be Scogar. - Hi! I'm a friend of Scogar's.
Gar naasad jor'entye. - "You carry no debt", much more formal than "n'entye"
Huttese Translations:
Chut-chut! Hi chuba da naga? - Greetings! What can I get you?
Nee bukiye bosko de murishani bargon? O wo bosko de... pateesa? - Are you boys looking for mercenary work? Or just looking for a... 'friend'?
Kee taska bulo. Incha wallaskee toh, maskalia din-chu. - You picked the right cantina for that. Stick around a while, someone will bite.