DragonReader18(thank you for the review and follow by the way) has brought to my attention one detail of this story that is quite confusing if no one knows about my original works, and that is the fact this story is a sequel to The Son of Dooku, which technically isn't/is finished.
As you may or may not know, The Son of Dooku, is rewrite of one of my first works, Son of Dooku. Son of Dooku is completed and had a sequel released(Coquer's Daughter). A poorly written one, but a sequel nonetheless. To match with the new tempo/atmosphere of the rewrite(The Son of Dooku), I decided to give Coquer's Daughter the same treatment.
It is still very confusing, and I do apologize for that. I hope this little announcement alleviate some of that confusion. If any of you have questions at all about this, or anything in general about my works, just PM and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities.
Big thanks to my betas, FruitfulMelonCauli and Elnarya. The difference between this and the original was night and day due to their help.
Families Comes In Different Sizes
Garel City was truly a nice settlement. Since the formation of the Empire, it was growing by the day, and getting ever bustling at night. It had truly earned the recently added title of 'city' in its name.
On the surface, one could say the arrival of the Empire at this far corner of the Outer Rim was a true blessing. Jobs of all kinds were hiring. The economy was booming and skyrocketing to new heights, and more importantly, the citizens were happy—proud to be members of the Empire.
But only fools judged a situation based on surface values. And Spectre-Six was far from a fool.
She was in the far edges of the city, traversing through downtown, or as the Imperials elegantly call it, the Sewer. It was where the original inhabitants dwelt, now that the Empire pushed them out of the capital to make room for future Imperials. When Spectre-Six first heard of the nickname for this part of the city, she thought it was because of the smell—which, she would have to admit, was quite terrible—but no.
The appellation of the Sewer was all due to the Imperials dumping their "waste" at what once was a gorgeous section of the capital. Their "waste" was not the typical type, however. No, their waste was people, though the Imperials wouldn't deem to call them such. Slaves that were too broken to work. Individuals who stuck their nose where it didn't belong. Citizens that tried to stand up against the oppression and were effectively squashed by Stormtroopers.
Garel City was truly a nice settlement. That is, if one were a human Imperial.
Aliens like Spectre-Six were a credit a dozen in the Sewer. Imperials liked to keep them all in one spot so as to keep an eye on them. Thus it was easy for her to slip into the area unnoticed from the numerous patrols. Her cut right lek just sold the image even further.
Her mother once told her it hadn't always been like this. Like many of the other species that made up the ever expanding galaxy, Togrutas like herself used to be seen as equals to the humans of the old Republic. But then the Clone Wars happened, and overnight camaraderie and friendship turned to hate and prejudice. Such was the way of war.
She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some comforting heat to combat the chill night air. Her teeth chattered, eliciting a frown. The jacket she borrowed from Spectre-Five was doing little against the cold. Perhaps she should've elected to wear warmer clothing instead of her usual outfit of slacks and a tunic.
Spectre-Six sneezed as a breeze swept by. She was definitely going to catch a cold after this hand-off. That would show her for not listening to Spectre-Two's advice.
She turned and entered an alleyway. A single street light dimly illuminated the long passage. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as her eyes landed on the garbage littering the area. Of all the places to meet up, why did her contact choose this one?
Spectre-Six sighed. There was no point in arguing about it now. The rendezvous was decided by him.
She quickly took a deep breath, quelling the anger before it heated to a boil. He was still a sore subject for Spectre-Six. After nearly thirteen years, she still hadn't forgiven him for abandoning her and her mother for that floozy and their bastard born.
To think she used to see that man as a father, and that bastard as a brother. If she ever saw either of them, or Force forbids that damn harlot again, Spectre-Six would make them pay for the hardship her and her mother had to suffer. And she would make sure they would pay interest.
She closed her tawny colored eyes, remembering the words her mother drilled into her head.
"Remember, there is no emotion, there is peace. Never let your anger consume you."
Spectre-Six took another deep breath. Her mother had tried quite hard to pacify her so-called anger issues. She liked to think she didn't have such problems with her emotions, at least not anymore. She was no longer that hormonal teenager who rebelled against dear old mommy.
A sudden chill crawled down her spine. Her senses flared as the Force warned her of danger.
She quickly turned around, a hand hovering over the lightsaber attached to the back of her hip. A lone figure wearing a black hooded cloak appeared before her. Her eyes narrowed at the mysterious individual.
Spectre-Six hadn't sensed nor heard the cloaked person approach at all. Only her mother and he-who-shall-not-be-named could possibly sneak up on her without her noticing. Very few could creep on a Force-wielder. Unless…
She reached out through the Force.
Hatred. Sadness. Annoyance. She sensed it all from the stranger. There was something else there too. Something buried underneath the wave of negative emotions. Something familiar.
Jealousy.
It finally clicked for Spectre-Six, eliciting a growl. Anger that was barely a simmer was now boiling, ready to burst. She unlatched her lightsaber from her belt, preparing to activate it, but her trusty weapon was ripped out of her hand and into her enemy's hand.
She snarled like a caged animal, her eyes burning with rage. Out of anyone he could have sent, why her?
"I do wonder, young one," the cloaked woman drawled.
How Spectre-Six hated that condescending voice of hers.
She removed her hood, revealing a pale face framed with short silver-blond hair. "What would your father say if he heard you raising a hand against your mother, hmm?"
Spectre-Six's face twisted in disgust, feeling her lunch attempting to travel out where it entered. She would rather die than to refer to her as such a title. "He is no longer a father of mine, and you are definitely no mother to me."
The woman smirked, seeming almost pleased by how much of an effect she had on her. A smirk that made Spectre-Six wish to wipe that smug grin off her face.
"Trust me, the feeling is mutual," she admitted as she inspected Spectre-Six's lightsaber. "Your brother sends his regards."
"He's not my brother," Spectre-Six said darkly.
"Trust me, I wish Ky wasn't either." A grin teased her lips, sadistic in its nature. "Though I guess I should count my blessings since he has my and your father's blood running through his veins. He could have ended up like you, carrying the ichor of a Togruta whore."
Something snapped. Burst. Crumbled. Whatever words could be used to describe how she felt, Spectre-Six didn't care. The only thing she cared about was making the bitch regret her words.
She charged straight at the cloaked woman with a roar. She called upon the Force, snatching her lightsaber out of the harpy's hands and into hers. The weapon sprung to life, emitting a gray-white hue that filled the alley.
The homewrecker looked pleased, ecstatic even, staring at the face of her death barreling at her. She reached inside her cloaked and produced two lightsabers, activating them.
They clashed blades. Red and gray fought for supremacy. Spectre-Six snarled, and the witch cackled in response.
"I thought you were well-tempered, like your whore of a mother."
She pushed Spectre-Six off and unleashed a flurry of strikes. Spectre-Six clenched her teeth, desperately blocking each of the woman's attacks. The witch flicked her wrist, launching Spectre-Six away, creating space between the two.
"If I knew it would be this easy to provoke you, Zaniah," she relaxed her stance, a smirk gracing her face. "I would have done it ages ago."
Spectre-Six—Zaniah growled. The homewrecker was playing with her. She didn't take Zaniah seriously, but oh, she would change that.
"Funny, Ventress."
With a twirl of her lightsaber, the two ends extended, becoming a lightsaber pike. Zaniah gripped it with both hands, slipping into a fighting stance.
"Mother used to say the same thing about you."
That wiped the smirk off of Ventress's face. Zaniah could feel the anger oozing out of the witch. The scowl she now wore further defined the wrinkles that came with age. "Why you little bitch—"
Zaniah darted forward, using the Force to further quicken her step. Ventress looked shocked, taking a step back in a poor attempt to defend herself. She wouldn't get a chance. The witch would die today.
Zaniah zoned in on the harpy's heart, thrusting her pike at it.
"Spectre-Six, are you finished with your informant?"
She stopped. The tip of her blade hovered Ventress's chest. Zaniah tightened her grip with clenched teeth, actively holding herself back. She was so close.
Damn it, Hera.
Ventress chuckled. Zaniah stared at her, scowling. Her look of fear and shock was replaced with bemusement, smiling like someone told her the joke of the year. Oh, how she despised her vexing grin.
"Well, Spectre-Six, are we finished here? Or..."
Ventress lifted one of her blades, placing it against Zaniah's neck. She could hear the hypnotic hum of the blade, and felt the searing heat it generated.
"Are we just getting started? I do hope it is the latter, bastard child."
Brows furrowed. Anger warped into rage. Red filled Zaniah's vision.
"Spectre-Six, respond immediately. What is your status? Is the informant there?"
The witch deserved to die for splitting her family up. And...what was holding her back to seal the deal? She and her friends could handle the op without Ventress's intel. They were resourceful—survivors in these troubling times.
Zaniah should kill her, then next would be the black sheep, Ky. Her so-called father would be the last to fall by her blade, so that he too could wallow in the pain of a loved one being taken by another. To feel the same pain as she when he left with the witch.
She felt a biting cold crawling its way into her heart, taking a gentle hold of it. Pressure was slowly applied as the temperature dropped.
Her eyes narrowed at the woman, glowering. A single thrust was all Zaniah needed to start her revenge.
"Remember, there is no emotion, there is peace. Never let your anger consume you."
Zaniah blinked, snapping out of her hate induced trance. She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose then exhaling out her mouth.
The biting chill subsided with her next breath. "There is no emotion, there is peace," Zaniah whispered, opening her eyes.
She retracted her blade from Ventress's chest, deactivating it. The pike turned back into its single-handed form before she latched it onto her belt.
Zaniah picked her comlink off of her belt and placed it close to her mouth. "Spectre-Six here. Wrapping up the meeting now. Be back at the rendezvous in ten."
She heard a breath of relief on the other end. "Roger. Spectre-Two out."
Zaniah placed her comlink away. She looked at Ventress with an impassive expression, folding her hands behind her back. "What do you have for me, Ventress?"
"Oh, we are being civil now, I see—using names too nonetheless," Ventress mocked with a teasing grin, but didn't remove her lightsaber from Zaniah's neck. "But, what is stopping me from striking you down, hmm? I want nothing more than to have one less of hers in the galaxy."
Zaniah blinked, unfazed from the threat. "If you wanted to kill me, you would've done it by now. Stop wasting both of our time."
Ventress's grin only grew wider. "And you wanted to—no, would've killed me if it weren't for your friend's pesky interference. I saw it in your eyes and felt it in the Force." She chuckled, putting her weapon away. "I wonder what your whore of a mother would've thought if she saw such things. To see you willingly give yourself to the—"
"Intel. Now," Zaniah demanded with a barely contained growl.
Patience was something she had a lot of. Unfortunately, Ventress knew how to wear it all out.
Ventress reached inside her cloak, producing a datachip. She dropped it into Zaniah's hand.
"That's all the info you need for your employer." Ventress draped her hood over her head. "You can thank Ky for the information."
"Give him my thanks," she grumbled. "Do I owe the bounty hunter for this intel?"
"You have to contact him to find out, but I highly doubt it." Ventress turned around. "For reasons beyond me, he views you like a sister, unlike me, who sees you as what you really are—a mistake."
She started making her way out of the alleyway, that infernal smirk still playing across her lips.
"Oh, before I forget." Ventress stopped, turning her head over her shoulder. "Your father sends his love."
With those parting words, Ventress left her alone in the alley. Zaniah's nostrils flared, and her grip on the datachip tightened, threatening to crush it.
She thrust her empty hand out and clasped it shut. The single street light shattered, blanketing Zaniah in the darkness of night.
Zaniah could still remember her life before the incident. Before Ventress took her father from her and her mother. Everything was so much simpler back then.
"...why her, Dad..."
When Hera told her to wait for Zaniah's return in the cargo bay, Sabine thought she was being her usual mama-bear self. Just because the twenty year-old didn't respond immediately to her hailing, didn't mean something bad had happened. And even if something did, she believed in Zaniah enough to come back victorious.
And indeed, Zaniah had returned to the Ghost no worse than she was when she departed, but she looked far from being triumphant.
Sabine met Zaniah half-way, matching her stride. Her worry-filled eyes quickly scanned her friend's body for any injuries.
"What happened? Are you okay, Zan?" she asked
"I'm fine," Zaniah all but spat as she removed her coat and shoved it into Sabine's hands. She quickened her pace. "I'm going to meditate. The intel about the shipment is in the coat."
"Wait."
Sabine grabbed her by the shoulder, stopping her. She didn't know what happened in the two hours Zaniah had been gone to meet with her contact, but she could tell it was affecting her deeply.
Zaniah liked to think she was a master of hiding her emotions, but she was quite poor at the facade. At least, in Sabine's eyes. Perks of being roommates for two years—three in a few months.
Ignoring the telltale sign of Zaniah going to meditate right after a mission—something she did when a mission really aggravated her—her face was filled with a coded narrative that only a good friend could even begin to decipher.
"Zaniah..." Sabine's voice was soft, kind. Compassion was laced with each word she spoke. "What happened?"
Zaniah let out a heavy sigh through her nose. "Nothing, Sabine. Just—" She sighed again. It sounded a bit like a growl. "Annoyed."
Annoyed? Usually only she could erect such emotions. Sometimes Chopper too when it was Zaniah and the astromech's turn to do maintenance for the Phantom.
"Well, tell me about it." Sabine let go of her, crossing her arms and cocking her hip to the side. Zaniah finally turned to look her in the eye. "You know when Hera sees you sulking to your not-so-secret meditation spot, she is going to drill ya for answers."
Zaniah arched an eyebrow. "How do you know where I meditate?"
She chuckled. "It's a small ship, Zan. Not a lot of places you could hide out at." Sabine's voice took a gentler tone. "Now, what happened with your contact?"
Sabine thought of Zaniah as a good companion, a close second to Hera on her list of best friends. While they may get on each other's nerves at times and their taste of art was quite contrasting to one another, it didn't deter the young Mandalorian in the slightest in persevering what was precious to her—family.
"Sorry, Sabine, but I can't." Sabine frowned at Zaniah's words. "It involves my contact's personal history." At least she gave an apologetic smile. "You know how the game is."
Sabine huffed, uncrossing her arms. "Yeah, I do." But that didn't mean she enjoyed it.
She hated secrets. Liars too. Not like Zaniah was one or keeping any shocking revelation from her, or ever would, if she knew what was good for her, but still. That was why she was an open book about everything. Her history, feelings, fears—all known to her family onboard the Ghost.
"Well, if there's nothing else to say, then I gotta go." Sabine walked past Zaniah. "I suddenly have an urge to paint."
She started making her way out of the cargo bay. If Zaniah wasn't going to speak about what happened then she was just wasting her breath. Zaniah always bottled up what she felt like she was a damn monk. Why did the Togruta have to be so frustrating?!
"Sabine." She stopped at the sound of her name, turning to face Zaniah.
Zaniah's eyes were focused on the floor. She bit her bottom lip—a tick of hers when she was about to admit something embarrassing.
"...Thanks, Sabine..." She looked up, staring at Sabine. "For the jacket. Hera...was right about the weather."
A corner of Sabine's mouth curved up into a cheeky grin. She received the message loud and clear—thanks for worrying about me and I'm sorry I'm such an ass. Well, maybe she projected the last bit. Zaniah could be such an ass at times.
Sabine draped the jacket over her shoulder. "Anytime, Zan. What are friends for?"
The Phantom—Zaniah's apparently not-so-secretive meditation space. Most members of the crew usually don't visit the shuttle unless they have a chore to accomplish. She liked the small spacecraft. The hum of the Ghost's engine was practically mute at this part of the vessel and it was far from the living quarters. How Sabine found her loud rambunctious music therapeutic as she painted was beyond her.
She inhaled through her nose, counted to five, then exhaled.
Zaniah was grateful that Sabine had not pursued the cause of her foul mood. The nineteen year-old always had a habitat of being nosy when she felt like she was being left in the dark.
Zaniah couldn't really blame her, though. After what she had been through, being inquisitive was quite justified. She wondered how Sabine would react if she found out that she had been lying to her for the past two—going on three—years.
She inhaled through her nose, counted to five, then exhaled.
After meditating for the past two or so hours, her temper had officially been put out. She was usually better at keeping her emotions in check. Getting riled up by such easy bait was unlike her. It was Ventress who goaded her, though. The witch was a walking reminder of what happened.
"Your father sends his love."
Zaniah's grip on her slacks tightened. Her face scrunched in frustration as she frowned.
Did her father know how she treated his only daughter, or did the witch commit such acts behind his back?
He probably encouraged such behavior. Why else had he not contacted her mother or his own bloody daughter for—
"There is no emotion, there is peace," Zaniah recited the mantra in a whisper.
She inhaled through her nose, counted to five, then exhaled.
Zaniah was getting distracted. To quell the raging tempest within was not the only reason why she was meditating.
The intel that Ventress had procured for her was of a shipment of Imperial blasters that would be on the planet Lothal. The same planet where her old friend hopefully still laid. Her best friend from childhood, Ezra Bridger.
"I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me," Zaniah murmured. "I'm one with the Force, and the Force is with me."
He was the reason why she was part of the Ghost crew. When word of him being alive finally reached her mother's ears, she immediately sent Zaniah on a mission to retrieve him. Sadly, she hadn't had much luck since the mission started. She either just missed him, or he was nowhere in the vicinity where the Ghost conducted their operations.
It didn't really increase her chances of finding him if no one but Hera knew of her mission, but orders were orders, no matter how restricting it may be.
She inhaled through her nose. "I'm one with the Force." She exhaled out her mouth. "And the Force is with me."
She felt goosebumps on her skin. The Force swelled up inside, warming up her core. She felt something—saw something approaching.
Zaniah gasped, her eyes flying wide open.
The terrifying mighty army of the Empire clashed against an imposing force composed of droids—old models judging from their appearance. The pristine white armor of Stormtroopers gathered dirt and ash as they fought tooth and nail to gain territory from the machines. Even when the droid lost their limbs, losing their capabilities to walk or carry their blasters, they continued to fight against the Empire.
Just before a Stormtrooper executed a droid that was gripping on their ankle, the scenery changed. Lurching forward, a Togruta wielding a red lightsaber was sprinting up a long flight of stairs. Irritation was clear on the woman's face as she cut down those that dared get in her way. At the top of the stairs kneeled a battered Togruta adult, head proudly held towards the sky. They held a gentle, almost motherly smile as they gazed upon the other Togruta.
"...I love you, Zaniah…" they whispered before a lightsaber pierced their chest from behind.
Zaniah snapped out of her trance, gasping for air. Her heart was beating a klick a minute as beads of sweat rolled down her forehead.
That...was not what she was expecting. She was hoping for a vision, but one involving Ezra, not...whatever that was.
What even was that?
Was that a warning of what was to come? Or about something that already occurred, or even occurring as she spoke. And that Togruta who said she loved her before they were struck down sounded so much like her…
Zaniah shook her head at the thought before it could take root. Her mother said she shouldn't take these visions too seriously. Too many Jedi have fallen from grace for humoring the apparition, her mother warned during her training.
The hatch to the Phantom opened with a creak. She flinched, her nerves still wrecked from the disturbing vision. Hera climbed in the shuttle, sending a concerned gaze upon her.
"Sorry if I was interrupting, but you weren't answering your comlink."
They were calling for her? How deep was she in her trance? "Sorry, Hera. I was…"
"It's okay, Zaniah." Hera walked to her and took a seat next to her on the floor. "Are you okay? You looked pretty spooked."
Her voice was gentle and warm. It was like Zaniah was speaking to her mother again.
"I am." Zaniah exhaled slowly as she straightened her spine. "I just experienced an intense vision, is all."
"Was it about Ezra?"
Zaniah shook her head. How she wished it was. At least she could have made sense of that.
Hera must've sensed her negative thoughts because she wrapped an arm around her and brought her in close.
"It's going to be okay, Zaniah. We'll find him."
She melted into Hera's sisterly embrace. "I hope..."
They stayed in their current position for a minute longer, basking in the comfortable silence. Zaniah was glad Hera was the one who was sent to fetch her. Unlike the others onboard, she didn't need to lie to the pilot.
Hera already knew her story, or rather the parts her mother allowed her to be privy of.
Hera released Zaniah from her hug, but still kept a hand on her shoulder. "Are you ready for the mission briefing, or do you need more time? We'll be arriving around sunset, so you still have a couple of hours."
"I'm fine," Zaniah answered with a smile. Hera let go as the two stood up. "Did Kanan sense me while I meditated?"
Hera shook her head. "If he did, he didn't show it. I think your secret is still safe."
"Good."
Her mother had warned her that if anyone other than Hera discovered her connection, she would have to abandon the mission to bring Ezra to them and return to her immediately. Zaniah was not entirely sure why, but she guessed it was because of what happened to her when she was a child.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Hera asked, her eyes directed at Zaniah's left hand.
"Hmm?"
Zaniah followed Hera's gaze, glancing at her own hand. She was shaking. She felt her old wound stinging, like it always did when she thought of that day.
I'm not that scared child anymore. I can defend myself. I don't need him to save me.
She closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose, counted to five, then exhaled.
Her trembling ceased, and the dull sting no longer pulsated through her right lek.
Zaniah opened her eyes. "I'm fine. Let's go to Lothal."
Author's Note: Just like with The Son of Dooku, I hope to explore the characters' motivations more clearly. One thing that wasn't clear in the original than I made sure to make clear this time, is the ages of the characters. Everyone is a couple years older than in canon, mostly due to this story's timeline of events and future plot points.
Till Next Time