On a Mission
Mission Vao had decided to cheer up the crew. She had kept her self busy all morning with the task flitting from one part of the Hawk to the other like a happy blue hurricane. She sang for Jolee, made Zaalbar a sandwich, and braided Juhani's hair. She labored over a friendship band for Pol that she crafted from wiring that she'd stripped from some spare parts. She had even spent an hour telling Carth her best jokes, though he had claimed that he didn't want to hear them, until he smiled. Now it was the Mandalorian's turn.
She found him studying a galaxy map in the communications room. His broad shoulders slumped a little and his grey head cocked in interest at the interstellar systems he examined. Canderous shifted his weight slightly as she entered the room, he had heard her passage down the hall, but was surprised, and alarmed, that she been coming to see him. Blue, hmm now what does she want with me?
"Hey C-note, I can touch my nose with my tongue! Wanna see?"
His firm reply was a resounding negative. "No." He said evenly, not bothering to look.
"I can turn my eyelids inside out too!" Mission fiddled with her eyelids for a moment and turned to face him, "see?" she said capering into his line of sight.
He caught a glimpse of the extraordinary feat and turned his head away with a revolted scowl, "Blue that's disgusting!" He exclaimed barely containing his amusement, as he waved her away.
……..
Pol switched on her stealth unit and slunk into the room. The Mission Vao show was in full flight. I love you Mission, she said silently and reached for Canderous's boot knife.
He knew she was there, and even contemplated letting her succeed. If she takes the damn thing it could save me a world of trouble and heartache. Her fingers touched the leather of his boot and he thought better of it. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing Pol."
"Huh?" Mission looked about the room crazily, her lekku flipping over her shoulders as she twirled about. She reordered her eyelids and laughed as Pol's stealth field collapsed and she buzzed into view.
"Ah crap. I'm never going to get this thing am I?" Pol asked with a pout.
The Mandalorian viewed her anxiously; like so many times before, she formed the shaky bridge between his heart and his head. "You will." Just not like that, you noisy wench.
"So who wants to lose some credits?" Mission asked merrily. "By the way I beat HK and now you owe me 10 credits and a pack of Yumbang Pol."
"I told you she cheats; you can't beat a droid without cheating!" Canderous accused angrily pointing to the amoral teen Twi'lek.
"Cheating is a sign of true mastery when it comes to Pazaak." Pol explained as she twirled her new bracelet, "You are supposed to cheat, if you play it right."
"So you weren't cheating when you played me C-note?" Mission's eyes went wide. Well that explains a lot.
"No, of course not, cheating is dishonorable." He frowned and resumed his study of the navigational charts.
"Pazaak is dishonorable!" Mission and Pol exclaimed together.
He looked at the pair and frowned at himself. I'm too old to be so easily distracted by pretty young things. "I'm trying to think; both of you out." He pointed to the door and waited for the girls to comply.
"C'mon lets go be dishonorable somewhere else, leave the Chief to his pithy thoughts." Pol linked arms with her young friend and they headed off in search of a space to deal cards in.
Canderous turned to watch them go, and then highlighted the Korriban system. He had calculated the duration of their flight to the desolate Sith world, they had about one day to go. After a while the Mandalorian shut down the galactic map as he did out of nowhere he got the distinct impression that something was amiss. What now?
The feeling grew, and he looked for the source of the disquiet. The sound of the computer behind him was momentarily muffled, a sign that someone stood between it and him, but it was the pale fragrance of her perfume that gave her away. "Pol," he growled as he bent low, roughly clamping a hand over hers.
"Oh frack it, I give up!" She moaned, extracting her hand from his weighty grip.
He smiled and laughed, "Don't give up. Just don't be so obvious," and patted her heartily on the back.
"Am I that loud?" She whined pitifully.
"No, Pol you are doing great, the background noise was louder than you that time. It's just the little things that let you down. Don't sweat it Champ."
Med Bay
"Joleeee," Mission simpered dramatically.
The ex Jedi looked up from his task at the teenager in the med bay. "Yes Mission?"
Mission picked up a bandage and began unraveling it, "Whatchoo doin'?" she asked rhetorically with a pearly grin.
"Oh stop it," he chided merrily rescuing the wrap and re-rolling it, "I'm busy kiddo. Making med packs, I want to make thirty before we land in Dreshdae. Got a feeling we will be needing them." Seeing the young girl's face he softened. "Oh all right!" He looked at the clock and said, "You got 50 seconds to antagonize me. Whatchoo waiting for… a count down? Go!"
Mission giggled impishly. She was aware, proud even, of the reputation she had fostered with her antics aboard the Hawk in the past months. "Actually Pops," she confided, "I just wanted to tell you; you got Kolto in your beard." She gave him a cheeky wink.
"Oh ho," he laughed, "I thought you youngsters prided yourselves on being abreast of the fashions?" He looked at her questioningly, awaiting the time-honoured teen defence of popular culture.
Mission snickered, "Fashion? Is that what it is?" With a little spring she hoisted herself up and took a seat on the lab bench tapping the heels of her boots against the cupboard doors with metrical precision.
Jolee went wide eyed with fake sincerity, "Oh yeah!" he assured her. He looked extraordinary to Mission; this balding, solemn man in Jedi robes… with sparkly blue goo in his beard. "Its tha latest dontcha know?"
Mission cracked up laughing at his expression until she snorted. She covered her mouth in shame flushing violet at the unintentional and unladylike sniffle.
Jolee smiled at the Twi'lek. He put his hand thoughtfully to his goatee and with a pretentious pout struck a model pose, "See now old people can be hip." He insisted breaking into a bright smile once more. Mission lost control of herself at the archaic term and the med bay rang with laughter from both sides of the generational divide.
……..
Juhani approached the pilot cautiously, "Carth are you certain you wish to assist Pol with this assignment? If you do not feel up to it I can go in your stead," she offered, in dulcet tones.
"Thanks Ju, but I want to, Pol needs me. Besides three Jedi would draw too much attention at the academy; and Pol has the inside knowledge to pull this off." Carth answered emptily.
"Very well," she said respectfully. "Let me know if there is anything I can do to assist."
"I appreciate that Juhani." He said and the Jedi left him to his thoughts.
Korriban
The one time home of the true Sith, a race that died out eons ago, Korriban is an example of volcanic waste before the green arrives. Like the business end of a cigarra it smokes still in places, broken by the stubble of shattered history. The ashen silt that covers it surface clings like a film to everything it touches perpetuating its former inhabitants plan by polluting the sentients who go there.
The Sith who live there now are adherents to a culture, not a race. Under the direction of Malak they raise the next generation of acolytes within the academy and mine its surface for relics and remnants of a powerful race long gone.
Pol stood by the exit to the Hawk, under the dim amber glow of the depressurization warning light. They had landed in the Dreshdae settlement under the pretense of joining the Sith academy. Pol planned to take the guise of a spoilt Jedi apprentice who was eager to align herself with the Sith. The pretense was that she had ruined her chances with the Order by her unmanageable impudence.
In the bowels of the Ebon Hawk Canderous and Carth stood either side of Pol, like a pair of heavies guarding an underworld figure. They each bore a pack over one shoulder, filled with their mistress's 'things'. As Pol didn't really have a lot of 'things', Carth's bag was mostly filled with med packs and the com spikes T3 had provided her with. Pol had filled them democratically ensuring both packs were of equal weight.
"So we're clear on this? You're my slaves, and I'm the spoilt noble 'wannabe Sith' brat." Pol reiterated. She slapped them both on the back ushering them towards the loading ramp.
"You said it," Canderous threw in a barb. He was making the most of his freedom while it remained. Being her slave could prove an enlightening experience, the Mandalorian thought wryly as he cast a libidinous look in her direction. His mind returned presently to the dagger. He swallowed hard as the light hearted rumination solidified and became a lead weight of duty.
Carth laughed out of habit at the comment of his fellow slave. Feeling hollow like the laugh he had given, he stepped out the door and onto the boarding ramp. The strange air of the Sith world infected his spirit momentarily, giving voice to his repressed emotions. Hopeless, it's all hopeless, the words revolved about his skull finding homes where fonder thoughts of Bastila had been. He fought them off assiduously; I can't believe that, if I think like that they have won already. We still have Pol, in all her outlandish virtuosity and the Jedi; we will find the Star Forge.
Pol frowned and stopped them, "N'jurkad! Don't sass me Mandalorian! I'm your queen, I own you. And no encouraging him either Carth!" She wagged a finger at the Republic soldier and corrected her beau with a rough salute.
"I am sorry, My Lady," Canderous intoned vacuously as the punch landed.
"That's better." Pol accepted graciously. Ah crap I broke a nail. Ignoring the insincerity of his apology she pushed them onward hoping Canderous wouldn't blow their cover with his insufferable pride.
Before they got any further Canderous intoned devilishly, "What kind of slave am I exactly?" A sleazy grin blared crudely upon his face as he awaited his answer.
He faced Pol expectantly but it was Carth who answered the question, "Not THAT kind, you're too old and frankly I've met better looking gizka'." The pilot chuckled, as a small amount of his humor restored itself.
Unperturbed by Carth's insult Canderous winked at Pol, "Nu huh, I'm in my prime." He drawled and spread his arms wide invitingly.
Pol admired his form and bit her lip. She nobly resisted the fleeting urge to throw herself at his mercy. I wish he wouldn't do this in front of Carth; the poor guy is taking Bastila's capture badly enough without us salting the wound. "Does it matter? Quit it both of you, just clam up and look obedient. Don't forget you have to call me Mistress Anju."
The men nodded at Mistress Anju, and she continued, "For the purpose of this mission, your names will be," Pol thought for a second, then pointed to Canderous, "Vlad and…" Carth snickered boyishly at the Mandalorian's new name.
Pol frowned, her sympathy for the soldier abating, I told them to be quiet, what is he laughing at? Vlad is a good name, I love that name! Humph I'll show you flyboy. Pol castigated him, "…and I shall call you Deggy."
"What?" He spluttered, "That's not even a real name!" Carth protested loudly with a horrified look for his Mistress. Ugh good going Onasi, me and my big mouth.
"You'd prefer Igor?" She asked with a quizzical look.
"No!" He groaned, with distaste.
"Then cheer up Deg-Deg," Mistress Anju gave an artful smile as she patted Carth "Deggy' on the head.
Deggy turned to Canderous, "Vlad, I get the feeling she is going to be really mean to us." He predicted with a deprecating frown.
"Speak for yourself, Deggy, I'm her favorite." The newly named Vlad smirked, until Pol slapped the back of his head more than playfully, "Ouch."
"Quit it both of you, I shouldn't have to remind you out there, and Vlad… try to look downtrodden. I mean it!" The injurious sounds of grown men snickering dogged her. Oh that's it, one more giggle and they're both dead, "Dreshdae has a Czerka store, it's not too late for me to purchase joy-boy outfits for you both." Pol threatened.
Her servants underwent an instant attitude adjustment. Satisfied at last that they wouldn't be found out on sight or by sound, Pol – Mistress Anju adjusted her dress. It was one of Missions unsolicited Kashyyyk purchases for her. The whole look of Lady Anju had been created by Mission and Juhani in the space of an hour.
Pol's hair had been arranged atop her head in an aristocratic fashion by Juhani; while Mission had varnished her nails, painted her mouth with rouge and outlined her eyes with kohl. She looked gorgeous, and Jolee had complimented the end result, bending on one arthritic knee to kiss her hand. He's such a sweet old rogue. She set her sights on the port authority as they stepped from the shelter of the Hawk and into public view. What would Lady Anju do?
"Come Deggy, Vlad." Mistress Anju clicked her fingers and stalked haughtily, with a coquettish swivel to her hips directly past the harbor master. As expected she was called back by the docking official.
"Excuse me Miss?" The harbor master called out. Lady Anju stopped and whirled to face the official, her skirts slapping against her ankles as her dress-robes billowed lightly with the action. She bought a scathing slant to her eyes and set her mouth to an arrogant pout, accentuated by her lip gloss.
With a sullen sigh she said, "Why, are you talking to me?" She examined her fingernails sulkily, while she awaited the answer.
The harbor master frowned; his eyes flitting from the noblewoman to her footmen. The larger one looked irritated, the smaller man forlorn as they waited for their Mistress to conclude her dealings. "There is the matter of the docking fee," the official nervously stated at last.
The Lady Anju looked up imperiously, and said, "Do you know who I am?" with the air of someone who doesn't hear the word 'no' a lot. She smiled smugly, the very corners of her mouth quirking upward; Pol made certain there was no trace of humor in her dark eyes to break the sham.
"If it pleases you, we might overlook the docking fee this one time…" The port official swept his hands through his hair, a nervous tic making a mockery of his movements. Pol felt a great well of compassion for him, but kept it from her icy façade as she left the space port. Poor guy probably has to deal with egotistical Sith jerks like 'Lady Anju' all day long.
Czerka supply outlet Dreshdae
Dustil Onasi, Sith apprentice leaned against the counter, "Gimmie a carton of your cheapest death sticks, five power cells, six frag grenades and a flask of Corellian brandy." He snapped the order and tugged at his collar irritably while he waited for the Rodian store-man to fill it.
"Dustil!" Carth gaped at the youth in astonishment and set down the pack he carried; the feeling of surprise was soon superseded by a batch of mixed emotions. Naturally the most mundane of his concerns was the one that took the fore and ragged his mind, oh no Dustil smokes?
"What!" Dustil pivoted irately, to face the voice that had called his name. His initial surprise at seeing his father was blighted by his disgust, "Father, what are you doing here?" The hatred was apparent in his tone and his loathing showed clearly in the patches of high color that sprang to his cheeks bought on by rage. It contrasted the deathly pallor of his sallow complexion.
Canderous gave a grunt of question to Pol, "Tion'ad ad'ika Jetiise? - Who's this Republics boy?" They looked alike, even caught up in their stand off.
"Elek - Yes and thank Neuter's nuts this place is deserted." Pol whispered wary of the expositional effect the scene would have on their plan.
Not seeing any threat, that couldn't be 'rolled' in a pinch Canderous grinned, "and you thought I'd be the one to break our cover." One Rodian no problem; if Republic can keep 'Son of Republic' quiet.
"Vlad at this rate you will," Pol chided crossly, "here take Deggy's bag, you boys are supposed to carry these not me," Pol kept a polite distance from the reunion. Last time I intervened the whole things turned to bilge, she thought guiltily. She tried to look refined but remote. Unfortunately she flunked her theatrics and wound up looking vague.
"You were never there for us father! The Sith are my family now," Dustil spat angrily.
"How can you say that? I searched everywhere for you, I thought you were dead. These are the monsters that killed you mother! Malak bombed Telos to rubble; doesn't that ring any bells Dustil? What you are doing here is… it's insane. Come with me," Carth begged, his chips were down and he had no intention of losing his son to the Sith.
"Why? What's the point? If what you say is true there is no home to go to. You say they are evil, but they have only ever shown me kindness, given me a chance to grow and prosper. What have you ever done for me father? In all those years you were away at the war?"
"I was fighting for your freedom!" Carth's argument was met with a derisive snort from his offspring.
"You owe me father, I'm not going anywhere with you unless you can give me some kind of proof." Dustil braced himself against the age old habit of deferring to his father. The seed of doubt grew within his conscience nurtured by the reminder of Malak's devastation of Telos.
"Fine, you'll get your proof, but you're not going back to the academy." Carth insisted. His companions gave him a nod of approval. Dustil was a loose end their assignment could not afford. He could see his son teetering on the brink of indecision, and took a calmer approach with his boy. With unadulterated desperation he dropped the insolvable argument, surrendering his pride. Carth looked destroyed as he pleaded with his only child, "Just gimmie a chance, that's all I ask."
Lady Anju stepped forward cautiously, her eyes still nervously scanning their surroundings for witnesses, "We will get your proof." She asserted giving a loaded look to the pilot.
The grain of humanity left in Dustil rubbed shoulders with the burgeoning seed of doubt. The mental friction threw him into disarray he relented and reluctantly agreed to leave the academy with Carth. As Carth turned to face Pol, the turmoil of the encounter still swam in cyclonic swirls about his features. "I have to… do you mind?" He began.
"Its fine Little Brother, just try to keep him away from the academy while we dig around. As soon as I get anything I'll let you know," Pol sanctioned the move considerately, eager to diffuse the situation.
"Are you sure? I won't be able to get into the academy without you," Carth gave a placating glance to Dustil whilst he squared things with his team.
"It's fine; there will be less unwanted attention if I arrive with one attendant. Two was kinda pushing it. Go on, you've got a lot of talking to do." She pointed to Dustil with her eyes cocking her head slightly towards the errant son.
Carth breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks, if this works out I'm going to make sure he gets offworld safely and back to Telos. Meanwhile I will take him back to the Hawk, I'll be there should you need me." The Onasi men left the Czerka store, despite all they had to say to one another they maintained a stalwart silence as they walked towards the space port.
Pol gave her own expression of relief when they were out of sight; so far the only witness to their charade was the Rodian shop-keeper. Calming herself she glided towards the bug eyed alien with a peculiar smile playing on her mouth. Too easy, she thought as she summoned the Force.
Lady Anju spoke in careful monotone as she persuasively related her instructions to the bug eyed store-man. She clutched his sleeve, "You haven't seen us, we were never here. You won't speak of this again." The Rodian's eyes glazed and his small mouth drooped as he fell victim to the mental suggestion.
Damn she looks good. Switching the old Mandalorian charm into overdrive Canderous said, "Solus mar'e! – Alone at last! Just the two of us then my Lady?"
"Behave."
Canderous wiped the smirk from the lower half of his face, but mirth still resided in his eyes. For the first time in decades, since he had been a low ranking soldier he gave a salute, "Yes ma'am."
Pol rolled her eyes and berated him huffily, "Oh you suck at this! Stay silent, don't smile, don't flirt…" Pol counted off her orders on fingers adorned with polished maroon nails, "and while you're at it quit staring at my ass when you follow me." There, I think that about covers it. Now I just have to act more like a tyrant…
Bearing two packs worth of Mistress Anju's belongings Vlad trudged faithfully behind his Mistress.
……….
Her latest session of Battle Meditation completed; Bastila knelt upon a viewing platform in the upper reaches of the Star Forge surveying, observing and plotting. The Forge was operating 200 percent above the projected estimation. Every day hundreds of battle droids and dozens of starcraft were turned out of the interminable production lines complimenting the already considerable Sith forces. This should be ours; it is the right of the strong to reign.
Her musings were disrupted by the heavy placement of an enormous hand upon her delicate shoulder. The subtle warmth radiated by Malak's closeness did nothing to endear him to her. A week of torture he had described as re-education had taught her much.
Malak moved his hand, giving the new Sith a dictatorial pat. He stroked Bastila's hair rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger possessively, "As promised I have already given you more power than you could ever have dreamed of Bastila."
"Yes Lord Malak, you have…" Bastila answered her master a hungry smile playing at her lips. But I know some one who can give me even more… Revan. She yet exists, sleeping fitfully within that joker of an ex-Jedi and that hateful Mandalorian shall be the key to release her.
"Then come, your lessons are incomplete. With your Battle Meditation pitted against them; together we shall crush the Republic and the weak Order you once defended." Malak eyed his apprentice critically until her attention refocused to the desired point. Bastila shivered in revulsion at the prolonged contact with the Sith Lord and turned her thoughts to revenge; two Iriaz with one stone; once Revan is restored the Mandalorian will die and so will you Lord Malak. It is the way of the Sith. With the perfect semblance of attentiveness Bastila attended to her lessons, "Yes Lord Malak."