Chapter Four: Walking Ghosts
It came like the great winds off Mount Reiki bringing with it a terrible chill to the small village of Djochish at the base of the mountain. As the quiet Buhka villagers pulled their coats close and sealed their doors and windows against the impending storm, word spread that the elders had been right.
The religious caste, collectively referred to as the Zabra, had warned the ruling and working castes that a change lingered in the air.
Their words had gone all but ignored by the imperious Selé but the industrious Buhka had taken the warning with great heed. Even as dark clouds built in the purple hued sky above, there was silent, tenuous rejoicing.
For over a thousand years, a break off sect of Zabrak colonists had thrived on the bucolic world known as Selenoor Buhka. Religious differences united and tore the global colony apart dividing it into three tightly governed groups: the Imperial, the Worker and the Religious castes.
That was not the only division from the Zabrak settlers the modern day Senebrak had. In the generations of exposure to the Barim Acid rich soil, it had altered the colonists by draining the rich brown pigments from their flesh leaving their skin an ashen white with silvery hair along their horn encrusted heads.
So it came with great notice, a figure bearing warm pink skin and ginger locks. The laborers of the working caste, pushed to the sides of the country village, shock glittering in their gray eyes as they made room for the brown-cloaked stranger.
At the sight of the bearded human, merchants and shoppers were quick to avert their gaze, drawing as little direct attention toward the Jedi as possible. The outsider heralded the great change the clerics had spoken of and it frightened the peaceful Buhka. Engrained in them were the memories of wars past and suffering that had befallen their people at the hands of the victorious Selé.
After generations of bloodshed nothing ever changed for the Buhka. Many whispered their question of why they should care now. They were still just the working caste. Scorned, trampled upon, taxed and in servitude to the powerful Selé.
The only protection against the complete tyranny of the ruling caste was their ability to grow the Taedir, a healing herb. Without the Republic's demand for it, the Selé would have driven them from their homes onto reservations or murdered them en masse while they ravaged the Barim-rich soil in their hunt for riches in Paelcite deposits that for a mere cubic centimeter of stone outweighed an entire field of the herb.
These days, the Republic had little power over Nural Lord Tanchim's lust for wealth. House Tanchim had already begun its assault on the southern continent, driving the surviving members of the working caste into refugee camps while their homes and lands were strip mined for the precious stone.
Even now the inhabitants of Djochish had watched helplessly as the Selé Imperial Guards–the Chinoumi–in their blood red uniforms marched through the market. The soldiers had forced the locals to support their housing needs, moving into the finer homes, feeding themselves from the plates of the villagers and making an already burdened life more difficult. They knew that this was the first stage in driving them from their homes.
The outsider with his pale blue gaze scanned the rows of vendors, but showed no concern that he was so visible in the marketplace. He walked in the open, through the busy village in a confident strut that dared anyone to interfere with his journey.
As such, the Buhka went out of their way to avoid him. The elders glance away as the young and the strong watched with wary eyes.
Over the silence of the now stilled farmer's market, a child's voice whispered none to softly, "Hasakai Jedi!"
A tall woman with frightened eyes placed her hand over the youngling's mouth, silencing any more outbursts. She whispered in the Tann–an evolved Zabrak tongue–in a soothing tone.
The Jedi though paid them no attention, never slowing his trek.
Just on the outskirts of the market, the journey came to an abrupt stop just as two Chinoumi soldiers stumbled out of a small tavern into the bright afternoon. Bleary eyes struggled to adjust to the lighting as the leaned into each other for support laughing with every step. The younger of the two eyed a young Buhka woman and a called out a suggestive remark in the native tongue followed by a physical display of his intentions with the motion of a rough hand. The woman turned away in horror.
Their pale faces were marked with the thin lines of blood red tattoos in a manner similar to their more subdued Zabrak ancestors. Their crimson uniforms were stark against the village and its inhabitants as use of the color red was forbidden to the lower class.
Their long straight hair was tousled from a wild previous excursion, missing the simple material straps that tamed the silver locks. Even in stupor, the two men's eyes were keen enough to spot the outsider before them. The young men laughed and mockingly pretended to wave a lightsaber before them.
When the Jedi did not respond to their taunts, the bold younger man pulled away from his comrade and walked toward the Jedi, quickly sobering as he closed the distance. Harsh eyes glared at the outsider as he spat crude epithets in a cultured Tann voice. His cruel words inspired laughter from the other as he to quickly recovered from their celebrations in the tavern and moved behind the quiet Jedi.
The forward young soldier continued to spew insults at the Jedi as he neared. A pale hand reached out and jabbed the outsider hard in the chest as he growled another string of insults.
Very calmly, the Jedi reached up and took the young man by his wrist and twisted until something snapped.
The Chinoumi soldier howled and sank to his knees as tears flowed down his face, nearly immobilized by the light grip still on his wrist.
The Jedi returned the favor and barked a warning in a Core accented Tann.
The Senebrak behind him rushed forward to aid his friend but the slightest shift and the Jedi reached with his free hand and sent the soldier flying backward with a powerful Force shove.
The now cowed soldier kneeling before him was weeping as the Jedi snapped another warning but not directed at either of the young men. He twisted sharply to see a third Chinoumi soldier that had quietly appeared during the small incident.
He was formally dressed in a neatly cut red uniform, his rank reflected in the pins across his chest and the fearsome red tattoos on his face. He was tall, even for a Senebrak and was the true embodiment of the imperial Selé caste. Adopting a formal pose, as if inspecting the troops, the officer looked over the drunken soldier that lay face down on the street where he had been pushed then his gray eyes sought out the other one whimpering pitifully, his shattered wrist still held by the Jedi. Disgust radiated in his expression. "Do not lower yourself speaking the working caste's tongue," he said in an equally cultured Core accented Basic. "The Selé pride themselves on speaking the true language of the Republic."
"Lord Akum," the pained man gasped, his eyes widening in terror.
Releasing the soldier's wrist, the Jedi turned to the tall officer. "And this barbaric behavior, do the Selé pride themselves on such rudeness?"
"Drunken men act like fools," the officer replied.
"Indeed."
Maintaining his distance from the Jedi, Akum paced back and forth. His finely polished boots kicking up the chalky white dust on the street. After a moment, he stopped and returned his sharp gaze to the outsider. "I must ask though, why a Jedi is so far from the crown city? We do not allow outsiders to sully themselves among the working caste."
The Jedi straightened, adopting a relaxed stance. The reddish-brown of his cloak fell open to reveal the soft creams of his tunic and the lightsaber hilt at his hip. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, envoy of the Galactic Senate, special investigator under the authority of the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and Nural Lord Tanchim. I am investigating the whereabouts of the Lady Anjah and her daughter, Temue. You and your men will not interfere."
Akum narrowed his gaze. "We could be quite helpful."
"Your presence makes things more difficult."
Studying Obi-Wan, Akum walked straight up to the Jedi. "What information you learn on the false Hasakai, you are required to divulge."
"My investigation–"
"These pathetic Buhka," Akum interrupted quite loudly so the villagers who were pretending not to listen could hear, "think they can emulate the Hasakai. The knights of the old Order are long dead, driven to extinction by the Chinoumi." He glanced around making sure he had garnered everyone's attention, "Hasakai were men of honor, these rebels attack and kidnap defenseless women and children. They are nothing but criminals and should not be protected."
Obi-Wan's calm mask revealed nothing of his emotions toward the officer's outburst. Folding his hands into the billowing sleeves of his cloak, he nodded to Akum then casually returned to his journey through the village.