Disclaimer: George owns it. I just play with it... and apparently rescue it from death on Geonosis, only to get it beaten up by a Sith Lord and make it hang out with a sleazy drug dealer.
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10. Burning City
Joclad hacked his way through the last troops that stood in his path, and then paused in the cool evening air, breathing in the ash that shielded the midnight sky. He'd probably get shot on general principle the instant he tried to find shelter; no one was going to open their doors to a bloodied and thoroughly wicked-looking wanderer, even if he did claim to be a Jedi.
Well, if I'm going to die, I might as well go back in there and make them do it…
The very thought of it only hardened his resolve to live. No. I won't give them the satisfaction of my death. Not today.
The Force intervened in the form of broken-down speeder that landed right in front of him. He stared blankly at its dark-haired, dark-eyed occupant for several seconds before realizing he knew this woman – or should know her. She gaped at him, and then beyond him, and Joclad turned around once more to look at the fires that still flickered along the top of the building.
"Danva," she said. Her voice sounded as though it came from a great distance. And then he did remember her – runner-up to a blonde warrior in one of the divisional championships on Bunduki. He thought he knew her from somewhere else -- Depa, she knew Depa, and there was another man with them…. Not that it mattered. She was here, she had a speeder...
"Danva," she repeated.
He recognized her military uniform and instantly yanked his arm free of her grasp, hand dropping to one of the three hilts at his belt. "Small galaxy, isn't it, Ralter?"
She saw the motion, and there was a vibroblade in her fist before he could so much as curl his fingers around one of the lightsabers. Joclad grinned darkly. "So now they're sending security officers to finish off the job?"
"I'm not with them," she said hurriedly. "I don't know what's happening, but I saw the news and—"
Without the Force, he lacked a sufficient method of scanning her, but the abject horror in her eyes sufficed for the time being. After the cool efficiency of the clones, a little emotion was almost pleasant to see. He studied her again, but kept his hands away from his belt. After a moment, she put the vibroblade away.
Cut her down before she turns you in! The idea almost appealed, but Joclad found he lacked the energy to slice her into little Nubian pieces.
"Sabé," he said. He hoped that was her name.
"Yes." The relief was evident in her voice. "Are there others?"
"No." He looked back at the burning temple, and then at her. "Just shadows and ashes."
She said things, or at least he thought she did. Her lips moved, and there was noise, but it could not overcome the muted roar in his ears or the singular pulse of each death through the Force. When she asked c asked asked an I take you somewhere, he nodded, and climbed into the speeder.
He gave directions, sending her down streets and between familiar buildings. It did not occur to him as to just where they were going until they were over halfway there; upon realizing what their intended destination was, he decided he really was quite clever.
"I used to joke about escaping from the temple," he said, after the silence became too strained. Basic diplomacy suggested that he at least try to have a courteous conversation with his rescuer. "Whenever the Council deliberated about letting me fight in the tournaments…."
"I heard," she said. She sounded like she was just trying to fill in the void as well. "Shard used to talk about it."
Joclad examined his injured hand, trying to bend the fingers back and forth without much luck. Sithspit, that's not going to heal well. "Shard?"
"You knew him as Privos."
Oh. Privos. I talked to Dack, Dack talked to Privos…sneaky little Corellian. He looked at Ralter and saw her watching him from the corner of her eye. He cleared his throat. "I joked about escaping… I never… I never thought…."
"It's all right."
He closed his eyes against the rushing wind, drawing deep breaths and trying to find a calm center to focus on. It proved as elusive as catching a wind-spinner back in his home city. After a few seconds he gave up and turned back to Ralter with a serious expression. "How about the weather we've been having?"
Ralter sucked in a breath, but otherwise betrayed no discomfort. "It's nice," she said. "Very temperate."
Conversation stilled again.
Joclad looked out over the side at the city rushing by underneath him. "I like it better with fog," he said. "Not as much sun." Inwardly, he kicked himself. You idiot! Stop talking!
"You don't like sun?" Ralter asked.
"I like sun. Just not in my eyes." Danva, stop it now. Before she flips the thing and lets you plummet to the bottom of the city. He reached for a safety restraint, and realized this junked-up excuse for a speeder lacked them entirely. Well, I guess she can't flip and drop me… she'll fall out too.
The thought heartened him somewhat.
They spoke no more, though Joclad had to fight down an almost irresistible urge to talk about their respective placings in their final teräs käsi tournaments. When the air no longer tasted of ash, he reached hesitantly for the Force, and nearly danced a jig when it responded to his call. This ought to be far enough away… he can't trace me here….
Ralter steered the speeder with skill, eventually landing in front of a dilapidated-looking apartment building. "What can I do? Is there anything—"
He put a finger to her lips, and then waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You didn't see me… you don't know who I am."
Ralter paused, and then gave him a weak smile. "Didn't work. Try again?"
Joclad huffed and strengthened his suggestion. "I said… you didn't see me…?"
Cin's words, tinged with amusement, came back to him: You're just not a deceiver, Joclad.
Fine. He could work with that. "Pretend you didn't see me," he ordered.
Ralter saluted him. "Will do."
She floored the accelerator, and the speeder dove back into the night with a tortured howl. Joclad watched the dim glow of its running lights until they vanished entirely into traffic, and dimly hoped Ralter's attempt to help him would go unpunished.
He cut himself off from the Force again. Just in case, he told himself. Just in case the Sith comes looking… if Joclad's destiny was to live, then Darth Skywalker needed to believe that Knight Danva died in the fire that had, if he were particularly lucky, consumed much of the northern tower.
It was only when he reached for the building's door that he realized he hadn't thanked Ralter.
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Elan Sleazebaganno was munching on a particularly delicious batch of seasoned nerf sticks when his door unit chimed.
He checked the chrono. Busby wasn't due with another load of deathsticks for two hours, and anyone else could wait. Elan popped another nerf stick into his mouth and tried to lose himself in the zesty, gently-spiced flavor that--
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Someone wasn't taking a hint.
He sighed, carrying the bucket with him as he tiptoed to the front door. He keyed up the camera and instantly leaped back in horror as Joclad Danva's blood-splattered face filled the screen.
Oh, hell, who squeaked me out this time? Elan stood very still and tried to ignore the fact that Danva's hazel eyes appeared to be boring right into his. Danva and Meridian had pretty much left him alone since they'd come back from Geonosis, making the war the best thing that had ever happened to Elan's business. But now the scary one was back. And on a buying night, too. Maybe I can pretend I'm not here...
Danva raised an eyebrow at the camera. "I know you're there, dear Balosar."
Stupid Jedi super-senses! Elan clutched his nerf sticks. If Danva showed up without Meridian to control him, bad things might happen. Please go away, please go away!
"I can hear you breathing."
Elan sucked in his breath and held it. Maybe the Rodian down the hall would start into one of her late-night tirades and distract Danva long enough for Elan to make a run for it. He could probably squeeze out one of the windows if he really tried….
"Let me in, Sleazebaggano, or you'll be sorry."
Elan sighed and opened the door, because it would probably be worse not to open it. "I assure you, I already am. And I've been clean for--hey!" He was roughly pushed aside as Danva staggered in, armed with no less than three lightsabers and a blaster rifle. Elan realized it might be very prudent to shut up and let the man do whatever he wanted. Angry Jedi were rumored to be very, very dangerous.
"You're not clean," the Jedi said, "but you haven't been caught, so I'll just stay here for awhile." Almost as soon as he'd finished talking, Danva promptly tripped over a box of brightly-colored Nymerian syringes. Elan watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the man caught himself with his right hand, and then appeared to study the contents of the box. Oh, no no no. Now I'm in trouble. Possession of Nymerian painkillers meant an instant stay in a small, dark cell for a very long time.
They're not mine, Elan tried to say as the Jedi leaned closer to inspect them. "I'm, uh, holding them," he sputtered out. "No, really! I am!"
Danva snorted at the box, and then maneuvered slowly toward the den. "Might want to move those," he called over his shoulder. "Fire hazard."
Elan locked the door and followed Danva into the main room, his eyes fixed on the man's awkward stride. He'd never seen a Jedi trip before. "Uh, Joclad, you're a rip of fun and all, but I'm not in the market for a roommate--"
Danva looked around the room. "Remote."
Elan blinked. "You came here to watch the holo? I don't know, it might be under the couch…" He trailed off as Danva slowly knelt in front of the holovid and switched it on. A few channel-changes later, brilliant orange-red filled the screen. Elan slid one of his outer membranes down over his eyes to shield them from the bright colors, and tilted his head to study the image of the burning building.
"Hey, pretty good effects. Is that why you came here? Temple won't give you good channels?" Elan plunked the nerf sticks down and dug through his pockets for a towel to wipe his hands with. That was the problem with nerf sticks; they left their beautiful ooze everywhere. "Buzzy, you should've asked. I could hook you up."
Danva gingerly crossed the room and touched the window control panel. The dimmer beeped slightly, unused to actually being utilized, and the transparisteel that separated his apartment from the rest of Coruscant gradually cleared.
Danva gestured out the window, where a smudge of orange-black blotted out the horizon. "It's not a holo."
His voice sounded worn, and the way he said the words was different – harder-edged, maybe. When had the Jedi gone and changed his accent?
Towel forgotten, Elan turned his attention back to the holovid. Flames leaped far into the atmosphere, clogging the skylanes with smoke. Wait… isn't that the Jedi Temple? Elan stared at the holovid for about five seconds, and then slowly looked over at Danva.
The Jedi's tunic sported darkened patches that Elan suspected were bloodstains, and a particularly nasty-looking tear in the fabric ran diagonally from shoulder to hip. Danva certainly wasn't walking right, and if the way he was cradling his left hand was any indication…
Elan swallowed hard. Maybe it would be best not to mention the Jedi's general appearance… no, that wouldn't do. But he had to say something; injured people didn't just wander in and out of his apartment on a daily basis."Uh… bad fight, buzzy?"
Danva slowly looked at him, and there was something terribly dark in his eyes that Elan, despite all his run-ins with the man, had never seen. "You could say that."
Elan studied the black stains around the Jedi's boots and trousers. That's gotta be soot… He's been in a fire… the Jedi Temple's on fire… I always thought he was a little crazy…. "So... Joclad, buzzy, didya... you know... set the fire?"
He was slammed against the wall so quickly his antenna bounced off it, and Danva's hand was tight around his throat. Damn, for an injured man he moved fast"You think me capable of such a thing, little Balosar?"
Elan tried to answer, but the fingers around his neck squeezed off his response. "I killed many people on this night, Elan," the Jedi informed him. "I don't know how many I killed, or how long they took to die, or how much they suffered." His voice grew louder and louder, until it reverberated throughout the room and likely spilled up into the neighboring flats. "I did terrible, awful things tonight - but do you really think me capable of that!"
Onearm jerked outward, pointing to the mess onscreen.
Elan struggled frantically in the man's iron grip, eyes bugging out. Air! Air! Air! The fingers around his neck tightened, and the gold flecks dancing in front of his vision made Danva's eyes look like they were blazing with unnatural light. Elan pried at the fingers, and rasped out, "I think--you are--right--now you are!"
The words did something. Danva looked puzzled for an instant, but then he released Elan and spun away, muttering something incoherent.
Elan slid down the wall, gasping, as the Jedi dropped into a chair and put his head in his hands. Danva sat that way for several minutes, his shoulders shaking. That was fine with Elan; getting the life nearly choked out of him didn't rank highly on his list of fun activities. He watched Danva until the shaking stopped, and then stood back up.
Elan kept his distance, not entirely certain that the danger was over. Danva had accompanied Dack Meridian to bust Elan plenty of times -- generally to look menacing and put the fear of the Force into anyone he came across -- but he'd never shown up like this. Nor had he ever given Elan a good throttling. He's threatened to, though, Elan reminded himself. Several times. Maybe he's just acting out his fantasy.
"So…" The Balosar tried to clear his throat, and winced. A look in the mirror would probably reveal the outline of Danva's fingers. "Nice grip you got there."
Danva stared bleakly at the wall. "I feel empty inside."
Elan wasn't entirely sure how he ought to respond to that. He spied the nerf sticks still sitting on the table, and snatched the bucket up. Food, food's always good. He held them out. "Maybe you're just hungry?"
Danva shook his head.
"You gonna choke me whenever I get you mad?" Elan mentally ran through the drugs he readily had access to, and wondered how big a dose he'd need of each to keep a Jedi Knight from going berserk on him. "'Cause if you are, buzzy, I got some treats that'll take that edge right off--"
"The clones have turned against the Jedi," Danva said quietly. "They've destroyed most of the temple."
The Balosar tilted his head to the side and quickly debated just what the Jedi had done to the clones to get their home so thoroughly ransacked. The dejected look on Danva's face suggested that he wouldn't be particularly receptive to that sort of question, so Elan took the safer route. "That's… too bad?"
"I just need a place to stay until I can get offworld. You're in bad with the authorities anyway, so I figure your lot can't get much worse."
Elan blinked. "Buzzy, I'm not feeling the love. No nerf sticks for you."
"I'm a Jedi. I have no love."
Elan opted not to pursue the bitter tone of that statement. It was probably best to let the man do as he pleased; Danva certainly didn't look like he intended to move anytime soon. "Well, there's a mattress in the--"
Danva waved his good hand. "I'll stay out here. Just go about your life."
Elan thought that might be quite impossible with a renegade Jedi Knight taking up half his living room. "I, uh, have a friend coming over later--"
"A dealer?"
He nodded fearfully.
Danva reached for something at his hip. Fully-expecting to be cut into tiny pieces, Elan jumped backward and cowered against the wall. Instead, Danva tossed a credit chip at him and produced the ghost of a smile. "Get me some deathsticks. I need 'em."
Elan's antennae twitched. Well, this was certainly a welcome change from the give me all your drugs or I'll run you through routine that Danva usually pulled. He pocketed the credit chip, and half-turned to go place a call to Busby.
But then he took another look at the Jedi, who remained half-sprawled in the chair, dazedly staring at the holovid with the same glazed expression that Elan had once seen on speeder-wreck victims in the medical ward. He's going to die on my furniture if I just leave him there, he realized, and took a step closer. "You need a bacta tank, too."
Danva shut his eyes. "Do you happen to have one?"
Elan snorted. "Think I'd be living in this pit if I could sell a bacta tank's services?"
"Do you know people we could blackmail or terrify into producing one?" Danva still had his eyes closed.
"No…"
"Then, Sleazebaggano, I'm rather stuck, aren't I?" The Jedi opened his eyes and looked tiredly at Elan, who noted the sudden fever-sparkle in them. Damn, damn, damn. He could give Danva deathsticks and make him relatively happy, but the Jedi might head into permanent orbit due to one wound or another before the night was through.
Elan sighed. "Danva, buzz, I gotta do something you're not gonna like."
Danva eyed him, but said nothing. Elan rustled around in a drawer before coming up with a mostly-empty medkit. "Now, I can't have you dropping dead in my apartment… I don't know what I'd do with the body…."
Danva scoffed. "Don't worry, Balosar. I'm not going to die."
Elan choked back a snort. "You reached out with your Force lately, buzz? You're in bad shape."
Danva looked at himself, and then back at Elan. "I've had worse."
Sure you have, buzzy, and I'm the Queen of Alderaan. "Yeah? When?" Elan pulled a bandage and half a container of clear bacta gel out of the kit, and twirled his antennae in thought. These would have to do. "I know some of you Jedi can heal yourselves or something like that, but you haven't done it yet." He looked pointedly at Danva's apparently useless left hand, and crept a little closer. "That. Blaster?"
"Yes. I wasn't paying attention," Danva said. The ghost of a pleased smile crept over his face, but it was quickly replaced by a more sinister expression. "The other guy looks worse."
Elan reached for the hand, but Danva snatched it away. The Balosar fixed him with his best surgeon's glare, which was hard to do without the medical droids or his operating uniform. "Buzz, I really don't want you dying here. You got any idea how much trouble you'll be? My incinerator—well, it hasn't worked right since the Mandalorian Incident, but you would kill it. And burning flesh, buzz, it stinks."
The Jedi flinched, and his left fingers flexed slightly. "I think there's nerve damage… it hurts, but I can't really control it…."
"Well, let me fix it. Or try to. Can't hurt, right? Besides, you're bleeding all over my chair." You are so not dying in my apartment, Danva. The look on the Knight's face suggested he was wavering, and Elan went in for the kill. "You really wanna tell your buddies in your afterlife that you went to a drug dealer? What're they gonna say on your stone, buzz? 'Here lies Joclad Danva, Jedi Knight. He went to Elan Sleazebaggano's place to die.'"
"And then Elan got his head detached from his shoulders for giving the Jedi Knight shelter," Danva said, sounding rather whimsical. "Not a bad idea, Sleazebaggano. We can have a party in the afterlife."
The idea of spending his entire afterlife with Knight Danva gave Elan the chills. "I don't want to party with you. You take all my drugs." Privately, Elan had always wondered what Danva and Meridian did with the goodies they swiped; were Jedi permitted to claim them as spoils of war? He resolved to ask that very question once Danva was sufficiently deathed out.
Now, however, he had a wounded beast to attend to. Elan picked up Danva's hand and felt around for the damage in the nanosecond before the Jedi shoved him away. "Joclad, I am not gonna have a dead Force-user haunting my apartment!"
"Gods, when I'm a dead Force-user I hope I'll have better things to do than haunt your apartment," Danva snapped. "Now give me that gel, or I'll run you through."
Elan happily relinquished the medical items, and Danva rustled through his belt for a moment before procuring what looked like a very tiny version of a professional hospitaller's kit. Elan, pleased that he wouldn't have to explain a dead Jedi to his landlord, focused on the holovid screen as Danva patched his wounds.
The tabloids were going to have a field day with this – well, all the news segments would. Elan suspected some of his friends were plotting parties even as they watched the fires rage; the Jedi had long been a source of headaches for Coruscant's once-thriving drug trade. Effective policing of the undercity had stopped following the outbreak of the war, but no one ever really forgave the high-and-mighty Jedi Council for spoiling the planet's fun.
Elan's glanced over at Danva, and his antennae nearly fell off his head when the Jedi tugged off his tunics. Beneath the stained and soaked brown fabric, his torso was covered in an interlocking series of blaster burns, bruises, old scars, and what looked like—
Danva caught him staring. "What?"
Elan pointed at the rip across his chest. "Is that—"
"From a lightsaber? Yes." He slathered a goodly amount of the gel on the slice, which followed the length of the cut Elan had seen on the tunic. "I got lucky."
Elan stared at the cauterized flesh and shuddered. "You got a funny definition of lucky."
"It could've been worse."
The man had a point. Lightsabers tended to rip through bodies rather easily; Elan had seen a few of their victims in the surgical ward before dropping out of school, and most of the poor souls had been missing entire limbs -- or been in very small pieces. In light of that, Danva was lucky indeed. "You jumped out of the way or something?"
Danva grunted. Elan occupied himself by studying some of the older scarring, his nerf sticks long-forgotten. He found something new to fixate on, and pointed at a patch of discolored skin. "That big thing on your side. Can't be a blaster hit."
"Super Battle Droid," the Jedi said.
Elan whistled. He'd seen pictures of those monsters in the news. "How'd you live?"
Danva hesitated and looked down at the old hurt. "I just did."
Elan's comlink chimed three times, signaling Busby's arrival. He gave the Jedi a wary look. "You still want those deathsticks?"
"Yes," the Jedi said. "Many."
"You're not going to stab me in the ear if they don't work right?"
"Elan—"
"Or cut off my arm and beat me with it if you don't like the flavor?"
"I'm not going to stab you in the ear," Danva said. "And I'm not going to beat you with your own severed limbs, and I won't dangle you upside-down from your balcony… for long."
"Hah! I don't have a balcony!"
Danva didn't really smile, but the frown lines around his face eased slightly. "Damn. That would have been fun."
"Yeah, well, there's plenty of other ways to kill me…." Elan cleared his throat nervously. "I mean, buzzy…." he eyed the Jedi's rather powerful build with a good measure of respect, "you could crush my head with your bicep."
Danva nodded solemnly. "And if I get mad again, I'll do it."
Elan gulped.
"Which is why you want to get me deathsticks…" Danva paused, "…and one of those Nymerians. Just in case."
"Yes. I want to get you deathsticks. And a Nymerian." Oh, Shawklit Dunne was going to kill Elan when he found out one of the precious syringes was gone… but Shawklit Dunne didn't have a lightsaber.
Danva pointed at the door. "Right now."
Elan pocketed his keycard. "Right now."
He'd barely made it out the door before he realized Danva hadn't even bothered mind-tricking him.