Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. If I did, I would not behunting wildly for a job right now.
Jedi of Gondor -I can't decide who got the crappier end of the bargain- Joclad or Elan. ;) Thanks for reading!
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11. Six Degrees of Elan Sleazebaggano
By the time the sun rose over Coruscant, Dack Meridian's knee felt as though he'd cut it open rather than sealed it up. Maybe the antibiotics had gone bad.
"Military transport C-127, identify yourself."
Dack rolled his eyes and reached for the transmitter, flicking it on with his thumb. "This is transport Ceveena," he said, reading the nameplate above the bridge door. Describing his recent experience to Port Authority was not something Dack planned on doing at the moment, so he simply omitted all clues of his mission from his report. "Incoming for parts and supplies."
"You are cleared to land, Ceveena."
"Thanks." It never hurt to be courteous these days. Dack switched off the communications equipment and stared uncomfortably at the glittering city planet as it grew larger in the bridge windows.
The transport had dropped gracefully out of hyperspace some eight hours after the harrowing escape from Rhen Var, and during that time Dack hadn't managed to come up with any decent explanation as to what had happened. He wanted to go the easy route and simply accuse the clones of mass treason, likely brought on by some malfunction in their programming. Clones were made, after all. Maybe the Kamonians had dumped something foul into his batch.
Now, as he innocuously locked on to the Jedi Temple's steady signal, he wondered how he was supposed to explain this to Kit -- hell, how was he supposed to explain it to anyone? The Council would probably blame it on him. Fed them poorly, you did, Master Yoda might say. Never mind that there hadn't been anything else to feed the blasted men.
On the bright side, Dack thought as he cued up an incoming message from the temple, at least I'm off Rhen Var.
The incoming blurb from the temple instantly lifted his spirits. The Republic is victorious, the automated message announced. All Jedi, return home.
He almost replied to the message. His fingers hovered over the keys, the promise of a live connection and someone who could tell him what had happened a mere keystroke away. But something stopped him. After all, it wouldn't be proper to report things from the skies. That was entirely too formal, and Dack Meridian was anything but formal.
I'll go down there in person, he thought. Much easier than explaining it from space. Of course, staying in orbit gave him the option of running like hell if the Council reacted badly to his news, but showing up generally meant you felt bad about the problem and were willing to work with someone in order to fix it.
He locked the ship's sensors onto the Jedi Temple and quietly set a course. Might as well get this over with. Eight hours of hyperspace had left him plenty of time to meditate on what had just happened, and his conclusions...
He had no conclusions. Maybe someone smarter would.
The temple continued broadcasting its standard all-return, but try as he might, Dack couldn't work up the sense of elation he knew he ought to be feeling. He leaned forward over the bridge console, fingers scrabbling against unfamiliar buttons. Maybe he could contact Kit personally and figure out what to tell the rest of the Council. Master-padawan privilege, he reasoned. Kit can't order me killed. I'm like his non-tentacled child.
"…our top story of the hour is the Jedi Temple, which is still smoldering…"
Dack jerked back from the standard audio transceiver as though it had electrocuted him. He had no idea how to switch to a visual setting on this high-tech bucket of bolts, so instead he sat as still as a Senior Councilor. The words trickled steadily out of the overhead speakers: the temple was still on fire, had been on fire for hours – all night!
And no one knows why….
He picked up his comlink, and then discarded it. No. If someone had done something to the temple – the temple – home was on fire… there was no telling whether they'd managed to tap the transmission lines.
Dack abruptly settled the ship into high orbit, initiating a standard military transponder alert that might buy him the ten minutes he needed to trance down and find someone through the Force. It was the only non-traceable method of communication that he possessed.
Master Fisto? Are you out there? He didn't know if his signal went out to anyone, or if it simply bounced around in his mind. Kit… where are you?
No answer came, even when he tried treading along the fractured lines of their training bond. If Kit was on Coruscant, he was unreachable.
Rickon? Nothing from Rickon, either. Then again, the little snoot never liked Dack very much as it was. He probably wouldn't respond just out of spite.
Dack went through the line of planetary Jedi strong enough to pick up on his weak messaging, and the unfamiliar sense of panic continued to grow as attempt after attempt fell flat. No one heard. No one answered.
The Force -- what he knew of it -- had always acted as a blanket, protecting him and soothing him in times of strife. In Kit Fisto's opinion, it was equal parts the Force and the Jedi spread throughout the cosmos, each vaguely aware of the other and stretching across the galaxy, touching those Force-sensitive and not. Even with his admittedly poor perception, Dack could usually feel someone.
But right then, as he sat on the bridge of his stolen transport, he felt completely, utterly alone.
Joclad? Cin? Anyone? His mental screech bounced off the walls, soaring all over this quadrant of Coruscant and possibly awakening moderately sensitive individuals from their rest. Oh, Force, Joclad was on his way to Rhen Var! Is anyone out there? Please!
Meridian?
A commanding female voice echoed through his mind. Dack sat bolt upright in his chair, clenching the armrests as something cool and sensitive probed at his psyche. "Who are you? What's happening? How are you in my head?"
First of all, stop broadcasting before you drag the Dark Lord of the Sith down on top of us, she admonished. You must remember me. Swyfte's old friend.
He finally found the visual feed, and the transport's tiny screen flickered to life. Smoke. Flames. Everything the audio report said – and the terrible emptiness that Dack felt--
This can't be happening, this can't be happening!
Meridian! Shape up.
He squeezed his hands into fists. Swyfte had a bunch of old friends, as much as he recalled. Only one of them, though, had Force ability… "The freeloader?"
Is that what she's calling me? Come to these coordinates... There. Burned into his mind with a thought. If there truly were such a powerful individual on Coruscant, even he ought to be able to sense her.
"Can I trust you?"
Your home is burning and your brothers are dying. Who can you trust?
The link emptied, and Dack realized he was already typing in the commands, bypassing basic securities and gaining landing access. Swyfte's crazy Teräs Käsi friend -- if it was indeed she -- had sent him more than just coordinates.
She'd sent him an entire landing cycle.
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Devona was suspended upside-down from one of the shielding panels when the military starship settled on the pad next to her. She swung up instantly, clutching her firma-span in one hand and mentally calculating how long it would take to race into the Wanderer and fire up if the visitors weren't friendly. Probably longer than I have to live, but oh, well. They can't say I didn't try.
The ramp lowered, and someone hobbled down it. Someone clad in dirty fatigues. Someone with shaggy brown hair. Someone with a blaster rifle.
Someone with a lightsaber dangling from his belt.
The firma-span slipped through her fingers and clattered noisily to the dock. "Dack!"
Dackdropped the blaster rifle he was toting and hobbled down the remainder of the ramp. Devona leaped off the side of the ship and dove into his arms, clutching at him hard enough to make him wheeze. "Dack, you're alive, you're alive!"
"Guh--Dev--air!"
She released him instantly. "You're hurt -- what happened -- the temple is on fire, they've been--" She took in his appearance: oversized flak jacket atop a blue and gray uniform generally reserved for Republic non-clone captains, both in bad shape. His eyes -- one blue, one green -- regarded her with a wariness she'd never seen from him.
Devona did not fancy herself a precog of any sort, but even she sensed that something terrible had happened. Suddenly, the fire at the temple seemed all the worse. And if Dack had made it back from wherever he'd gone, there was no saying who was following him
She snatched his arm and started hauling him to the Wanderer. "You can't be seen, they might shoot you. There was a thing at the temple – you've probably seen it—"
He managed to summon the rifle to his hand before she fully dragged him aboard, and he held onto it as she sat him down in the main room. He smiled vaguely at her as he stretched his injured leg out in front of him, and Devona found herself completely at a loss as to what to do next. Offer him food? Water? Ramble on about the meaning of the Force? Maybe she ought to find him a painkiller for that leg.
All that came out was, "Can I get you anything?"
Dack tipped his head back and continued to stare at her, his normally bright gaze dim and uncertain. "My clones attacked me. They attacked me!" He abruptly hurled the rifle against the bulkhead, balling his hands into fists. Devona jumped back as the gun clattered to the deck.
His stare darkened at her reaction. "They weren't even my clones!"
Comforting words wouldn't do much right now, and besides, what could she say? Sorry, Dack, you're in quite a fix just seemed cold. "No one seems to know what's going on. The Chancellor has called an emergency meeting of the Senate, but--"
Dack didn't seem to hear her. "No one's answering me. My friends, my master, everyone. They're gone. I can feel you in the Force, and I know that someone powerful is still on Coruscant, but I can't...I can't feel them...I can't feel Master Fisto...or anyone...no one's answering me..."
His fists pressed against his temples, and Devona perched haphazardly on the seat beside him. She touched his shoulder, afraid to do much more. Angry men in general were not her forte, and disturbed Jedi were even further out of her league. What in the name of Kriken was she supposed to tell him?
"You're safe here," she said, and wished she knew if it were a lie. "Arden and I won't let them get to you, and..." She looked at his rifle on the deck, and a thought occurred to her. "Do you even know how to fire one of those things?"
Dack gave the gun a dour stare. "I killed a few clones with it. Pretty efficient weapon, actually."
Hah! The Jedi realizes the obvious! She reached out to push an errant lock of brown hair behind his ear, meaning to say something amusing -- anything -- but instead noticed at a blinking green light on the outside of his wrist guard. She pointed at it, and Dack brought it before his eyes in mild surprise. "That's my dealer."
She blinked. "You have a dealer?"
"Well, he's not mine," he said, obviously quite willing to toss himself into something besides confusion. "I'm sort of his baby-sitter. Joclad and I picked this kid up a lot before the war started." He flicked open a panel in the guard and punched in some numbers. "I was assigned to him permanently after Geonosis, because my patches wouldn't hold up to offworld traveling for awhile. This is supposed to go off whenever he's got stuff in his system, but I suspect he found a way around it..." As he spoke, the tiny image of a Balosar fizzled to life atop the armor. His antennae twitched nervously as he peered into a camera.
"Meridian?"
"Elan," Dack said guardedly. "Have you been bad?"
The sound of his voice seemed to set the alien at ease, and Devona realized the Balosar likely couldn't see who he was addressing. "Meridian! You gotta get him out of here, he's gonna eat all my food."
"What? Who?" Dack barely looked up as Arden silently entered the chamber, and the smug look on Arden's face told Devona everything she needed to know about just how Dack had gotten here in the first place.
"Danva, buzzy. He's got the munchies, and he's just this bottomless--"
It took a split second for the name to sink in, but Dack was on his feet - well, one foot, anyway - before Devona could get out of the way. "Joclad?" he demanded, sending Devona an apologetic look as she crashed to the grated deck. Arden had the nerve to snicker.
"--pit--" Elan continued plaintively.
"Stay where you are. Keep him there. Just don't move."
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"You gave him deathsticks?" Dack's yell carried down the corridor, though no one in the shabby apartment building seemed to care.
The Balosar, whom Dack had hurriedly identified to Devona as Elan Sleazebaggano, looked like he was used to such outbursts. "He asked for them."
"But you gave him deathsticks?"
Elan nodded, and then backed away as Dack advanced on him. "Buzzy, you're limping, shouldn't be limping on a knee like that -- hey, now, he has a lightsaber, I wasn't about to--" He retreated all the way into his apartment, antennae starting to quake nervously. "Uh, there's no need for this, he asked for them--"
"You gave him deathsticks!" Dack had apparently lost capability for other words. After the maddening rush from the ship to this crusty building, Devona was surprised the man was still able to sound menacing at all.
"Let it go, Dack." Devona smiled at the Balosar and pointedly ignored the unbelievable rate at which his antenna twitched. She tugged on Dack's arm, trying to keep him from going for the lightsaber. "Hi, we're here to see Joclad."
Dack lifted a finger and jammed it directly into Elan's face. "Do you realize -- you've -- you've gotten a Jedi Knight hooked on deathsticks? Are you out of your fracking--"
"Oh, c'mon, wouldn't be the first time," Elan said. "What, you really think he's all that clean? He's had those things before, buzzy, and mark my words—"
"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!"
Dack yelped as a tall man nearly swept him off his feet. Devona vaguely recognized the imposing being known as Joclad Danva, but the bright grin on his face dispelled any notion of sanity the great teräs käsi fighter might normally possess. "Dack, I am so glad you're alive. It's so good to see you! Hey, did you bring food?"
Elan sighed in relief, pressing his hands to his chest. "Please say you brought food, he's eaten most of mine."
Dack wheezed audibly from the embrace. "Joclad, my ribcage wasn't rebuilt to take this kind of pressure."
Joclad dropped him immediately and clapped both hands on Dack's shoulders, smiling vapidly. "Did you see the mess at the temple? I was there! I think I'm going to go to the Dark Side now. So much better than watching everyone die."
Devona regarded the grinning fiend uneasily. "Is this what deathsticks do to you?"
"Everything's happy when you're high on them," Dack growled, leaning around Joclad to glare at Elan. "Which is why they do so well in these depressing times. I guess I know why he didn't answer me in orbit, though. When did you cut yourself off, Joclad?"
"After I sliced up a lot of people," Joclad said cheerfully. "It's much better not feeling things!"
"Cut himself…?" Devona asked. The man's tunic was a sliced-up mess, but he looked like he had all his limbs intact.
Dack appeared to reach for calm. "Joclad has a nifty little trick that he used in his tournaments. He can cut himself off from the Force. Makes him hard to find."
Joclad winked at Devona. "It's how I stayed alive."
Dack tried to punch his arm, but only succeeded in wrenching one shoulder free. "I thought you were dead, you blasted idiot!"
Joclad just kept smiling. "Sorry about that."
"And now you're hanging out with everyone's favorite slimeball." Dack sighed. "Wonderful."
"Hey, I haven't been picked up since you left, Merry!" Elan folded his arms tightly across his chest. Joclad let go of Dack with one hand and draped his arm around Elan's shoulders, and the indignant expression on the Balosar's face quickly turned to horror.
"Sleazebaggano saved me," Joclad said. "With his antennae. See how they twitch?"
"You can let go of me now, buzzy," Elan said.
"And he found you, so he can't all be bad!" Joclad leaned forward, dragging Elan with him. "I think the Force is still looking out for us!"
Dack took the opportunity to cover his eyes with the palm of his hand. "And he gave you drugs."
Elan bristled. "I only had the top-notch stuff, buzzy, best you can get, we all gotta make a living—"
"What are deathsticks?" Devona interrupted. Maybe everyone just needed to burn off some of their hysterics before proceeding in an orderly fashion. "They don't sound pleasant."
"Deathsticks: Quick, painless, and a boost of joy that will leave you breathless. Shortens your lifespan, too," Arden said, stepping into the doorway and crowding the tiny entry hall further. "Most of Sleazebaggano's customers probably won't be around much longer."
"Life? Who needs long life? Everyone's dead!" Joclad peered at Arden, and in doing so released the Balosar. "Hey, I know you. Where'd you run off to last night?"
Devona whirled on Arden. "You went to the temple?"
Her traveling companion looked vaguely amused by the entire thing. "I was curious."
"You went there? What happened to not getting involved?"
"Oh, isn't this a nice little change." Apparently quite unconcerned with the fact that she might have just started an inter-Order war, Arden leaned forward. "I thought you'd be glad. You were so perturbed by the attack on the philosophers of the Force—"
"Philosophers?" Elan Sleazebaggano smirked at the statement. "That'll be the day."
"I philosophize," Joclad proclaimed, dropping a hand to his belt and scrabbling with something. "I philosophize… with lightsabers!"
A glowing green blade was out and spinning around before anyone could so much as shriek don't give a lightsaber to a man on deathsticks. Elan yelped and dove for cover, and Devona backed up several paces as Dack moved to intercept.
He and Joclad grappled for several seconds, but in the end, deathsticks were mercifully not conductive to successful displays of 'saber-prowess. Dack extracted the hilt from his friend's hand and kept it firmly out of his reach. "Bad idea. Very bad."
Joclad's expression loomed dangerously close to a pout. He grabbed Dack by the shoulders with his right hand and awkwardly jammed his left into the man's face. "You ruin all my fun."
"He's handy with a plasma beam," Arden said breezily. She barely gave Dack a second glance as the Corellian sent her a curious look. "I thought he might be useful one day, if he lived."
"You--?" At Arden's nod, Devona buried her face in her hands. "Oh, not good. Not good."
If the Sith came running after the Teräs Käsi next, Arden Lyn could find herself a new pilot. Epic Force-battles stretched the limits of what Devona was willing to tolerate.
"What's not good?" Joclad asked brightly. "Dack, you really should try those things… they're so… delectable."
Dack turned his head to Elan. "He said delectable. Get the detox. Now."
Elan nodded, and scampered away down the hall. Dack tried to wriggle around Joclad, but the taller knight had no intention of letting him do so, skittering from one foot to the next and blocking the Corellian's exit. Dack smiled faintly. "Well, now we know what you look like when you're deathed out. Remind me never to let you have those again."
"I don't want detox, it'll make me sad again." Joclad shook his head violently enough to whip Dack in the face with strands of long black hair. "Cin died when I got there. That little dungspitter Skywalker turned on us--"
"Dungspitter?" Devona repeated. "What's a dungspitter?"
Dack stopped his struggling, and his face paled drastically. "Skywalker?"
"Yah, he's gone to the Dark Side! He's a kriffin' Sith Lord!" Joclad seemed to find the entire thing hilarious. Devona stared pleadingly at Arden: make it stop. He's scaring me. No one should be laughing about that kind of thing, not even a Jedi on deathsticks.
Arden nodded slightly. "Potent stuff," she murmured. "And Skywalker was the great Jedi hero. What a shame."
Joclad bobbed his head, finally letting go of Dack. Devona reached out to steady the newly released man as he stumbled backward, and was nearly dragged down for her troubles. "Yah, yah, you know it, huh? I liked the kid. Kind of a risk-taker. Came in and all those clones were just wiping the rest of us out, you know? No one expected it!" He gestured grandly, and succeeded in knocking Devona aside. "Sorry 'bout that," he said as she picked herself up off the floor. "So he's just there and he was wiping them out too, he killed Serra and he killed Master Drallig, he killed the man, it was awful..."
Elan reappeared and held out a little dispenser. "Detox. Best on the market. Hospitals can't do better."
Joclad smiled benevolently at him. "If you touch me, I'm going to rip out your windpipe."
The Balosar gulped, but kept holding it out to Dack. "Don't let him ruin it, that stuff's expensive…."
"Can we get on with this?" Arden asked. "Dose him and be done with it. Palpatine is set to make a speech about this whole mess in a few minutes."
"Holovid's that way," Elan said, pointing down the hall. He eyed Arden. "Can I interest you in a refreshment?"
"No," she said, pushing past him. "Get on with it, Meridian."
Dack called the detox to his hand and appeared to gather his nerves. Devona edged toward the door, ready to make a break for it if necessary. From what she remembered of the various rumors floating around about Knight Danva, the man had a bit of a reputation, so to speak.
Joclad regarded Dack distrustfully. "If you're my friend, you won't do it to me."
The Corellian pointed at the knight and said, with as much authority as Devona had ever heard from him, "You. Here. Detox. Now."
"But it makes my nightmares go away," Joclad said in a small voice. With his loose black hair and his pleading eyes, he suddenly looked much younger than Devona knew he must be. She wondered how often he had to play the hurting stray card to get out of trouble.
Dack looked at Devona hopefully, and she gaped at him. "What? I'm not going to hold him down." When Dack's expression started to mirror Joclad's in term of pathetic hope, she flung up her hands. "Be reasonable, he's twice my size!"
Joclad shook his head again. "No. I don't want to go there. If I go there they'll all be dead and she'll be gone and Geonosis is always there—" He backed up against the wall as Dack approached him, "--and I can't get away, and I'm finally happy now, Dack, don't do it to me, please don't make me—they got Depa--"
Dack slapped the dispenser against Joclad's neck. "Sorry, Jedi. That's not real happiness you're feeling, anyway."
Joclad stopped speaking instantly as the haze in his eyes started to dissipate. Devona watched him come back to himself, and the bright light of chemically induced well-being faded. Broad shoulders slumped, and his head lowered. She swore she saw dark circles appear under his eyes.
"Damn you, Meridian," Joclad muttered.
"Sorry," Dack said, shoving past him and into the main room. "But if I'm trapped in my right mind, you sure as hell are gonna be too."