Hello !
Here is a new chapter. Again, I'm sorry for the English mistakes. I would like to remind you that I am not an English native speaker.
I hope you''ll like it!
I had covered a short distance through the alleyway that led to the place where I had been taken by Mission and Zaalbar, when I spotted several pairs of eyes staring intently at me in a nearby corner. I looked up and saw that three employees of the cantina were having a break outdoors. One of them was sitting on a crate full of supplies, smoking some kind of particularly smelly plant. Surely it was nothing legal. But nothing here was truly illegal. The other two employees were no doubt engaged in some sort of discussion, just a few steps away from the smoker on his crate. These guys were now staring at me. They were probably wondering what I was doing here, scrutinizing them like they were freaks. I remembered that, dressed as I was, these men thought I was a gang member, a Hidden Bek. I had to act like one.
What might the behaviour of a gang member of the Lower City of Taris be like?
No need to think long and hard. I gave the three men a stern glare. Then, taking a step towards them, I barked:
"What? Is something wrong?"
Suddenly, the questioning faces of the three individuals vanished and were replaced by an intimidated pout. The man on the crate raised both hands, his smoking stick of weed between two fingers, in a defensive gesture:
"No, my friend!" He replied. "We're just taking a break, we don't want any trouble."
I seized this brief moment to stare at him coldly.
"Good." I resumed. " Well then, enjoy your evening, gentlemen."
I concluded in a friendlier tone. The Hidden Beks were indeed official criminals, but they enjoyed a much better reputation than their Vulkar counterparts. This was no time to jeopardise that certainly fragile image. Nor was it the time to be caught out by acting like a brainless brute.
I walked on, leaving the three men behind. I passed through innumerable alleys and streets serving a multitude of residential units, some of which seemed to be of a relatively honest standard, while others were a mass of tiny tenements, no doubt meant for isolated and destitute labourers. The mere image of all these poor people living in such miserable conditions was enough to make me feel a deep sense of shame. Of course, my current situation could hardly be envied by anyone. But it was very unlikely that I would ever experience the same thing as all these people.
Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't even noticed how much time had passed since I had left the residential area. I was drawn out of my reflections when I reached a large and crowded square. It must have been another small business place. However, the goods here were not worthless jewellery and trinkets. It was more about basic necessities: fruit, vegetables, meat, grain. I wondered how these people managed to get such quantities of food, which one would not expect to be so opulent in such a city. The local population pressed around the stalls, the merchants loudly displaying their wares. Sometimes people dressed in clothes similar to mine could be seen patrolling the area. Just as indicated in the information given by Mission and Zaalbar, I was now in the territory of the Hidden Beks. If I remembered well, I had to take the opposite street and walk a few more kilometres to get to my goal: the Beks' headquarters.
Immediately, I made my way through the crowd, avoiding my colleagues of the day, and made my way to the street. The latter was quite busy, though nothing comparable to the marketplace. I could move around with relative ease. As I went along, there were fewer and fewer people around, until I could no longer see anybody at all. Maybe the proximity of the Beks' headquarters frightened the inhabitants? As far as I knew, the Beks were known for their cleverness and concern for the population. But the people, although they were careful not to get too close to the Beks, were able to carry out their activities within a few dozen metres of the Vulkars' headquarters, even though they were looked upon as mindless beasts. All this did not make sense.
As my legs kept carrying me through the Lower City, I spotted a small figure standing on the right-hand edge of the alleyway in the distance, holding a blaster. As I approached, I saw that the figure was guarding a large door. This must be what I was looking for. Certainly a security guard. The little person was clearly a woman, with dark skin and short hair. A couple of tens of metres away from the woman, she suddenly turned her head in my direction, displaying a more than suspicious expression. She tightened her grip on her blaster, and twisted her whole body to face me. I slowly continued on my way, but when I reached a reasonable distance from her, I decided to stop.
"What do you want?!" She promptly asked, pointing her blaster at me.
"Sivir sent me!" I said, holding up both hands, hoping I could persuade her that my intentions were good. The guard looked puzzled. Without ever lowering her weapon, she continued:
"Show your face!"
I nodded my head respectfully. Gently, I proceeded to undo the ribbons that made up what Mission called a "balaclava". But this was no easy task. This semblance of a turban was tightly wrapped around my head, and I couldn't figure out how to loosen it. A minute passed. An unending minute during which I was unable to remove the damn thing. The woman would eventually lose her patience, needless to say. Yet I saw her lower her hands and hook her gun to her belt, right next to a small electric stick. Then she motioned for me to come closer. I did so readily. She delicately grabbed my arm with both hands and applied slight pressure, trying to pull me down.
"Bend over, I'll help you." She said warmly.
I complied and made sure the woman could reach my head. In a couple of seconds I was free of the garment. I reflexively took a deep breath and then gradually released it. I glanced at the security guard, who was making a kind of ball with the strips in her hands. She was smiling at me.
"Indeed, you're quite good looking." She added mischievously, before moving to a hidden terminal near the door.
I gave no reply. The comment had left me momentarily speechless. However, I did not pay any more attention to it. I took a few steps towards the woman, waiting for her to finish her actions. In that fleeting moment, I turned my head back to the street, in its continuation. I hadn't noticed it earlier: in the distance there was a Sith soldier, surrounded by heavy automatic turrets, also guarding a door to who-knows-where.
I had no time to get answers to my questions as the door to the Beks' headquarters slid open.
"Come on in." The guard said. "You are expected, you will be given directions once inside."
"Thank you." I replied before making my way into the base. But the woman stopped me before I could do so:
"Let me warn you anyway: if your intentions are bad, you will die today. You still have time to change your mind."
I stared at the guard, keeping my feelings to myself. After a couple of seconds I gave her a genuine smile and finally walked through the door.
As soon as I stepped inside the building, two rather quiet guards came to meet me and beckoned me to follow them. I nodded and let them take a few steps ahead of me. We passed through the first security gate, which opened up into a huge space, like an enclosed agora, in which handfuls of Hidden Beks were walking around. All of them, at my first appearance, intensely watched me, until I left their sight. The two guards led me down a long corridor, the walls of which were almost literally covered with tiny turrets, ready to fire on any unwanted visitor. Obviously Gadon Thek was not a person you could get close to so easily. The corridor ended in a large reinforced access, itself protected by two huge sentry droids. These machines were at least as impressive in stature as Zaalbar. They were models used by the military. But they didn't look fresh from the factory, quite the opposite. Their entire body was speckled with rust, if not simply dented by the probable confrontations they had experienced. One of the guards escorting me drew a small data pad from his pocket and presented it to the droids. In perfectly timed choreography, the two robots turned their heads to the object and a beam of blue light swept across its surface. When they had finished, the door opened and the droids stepped aside, agreeing to let us through.
Or rather to 'let me' through.
"Come on." One of the two guards eventually vocalised. "The boss is waiting for you."
I complied and passed through the door, which led me into a hallway similarly covered by a myriad of small turrets. Feeling somewhat paranoid, I shivered and decided to rush to the other side of the room, praying that these turrets had been correctly informed of my intentions.
As soon as I escaped from the hallway, I found myself in a sort of entrance hall bathed in a warm and soothing light, emanating from a small lamp placed on a table. At the bottom of the table, a dark brown carpet was spread out, filling a large part of the floor and contributing to the warmth of the place. The atmosphere here was one of comforting intimacy. There was a healthy aura about the whole area, a gentle force flowing throughout. A feeling of well-being. It contrasted so much with all the places I had been before. Even the apartment Carth and I occupied, which was a true sanctuary after all we had been through, could not provide one thousandth of the comfort that was here. I was obviously in the gang leader's private home. And this home was apparently filled with a very positive energy.
How strange.
I realised at that moment that I had once again lost myself in an emotional breeze of a similar nature to that I had felt in the lift to the Lower City. There was something familiar about it. Yet it was more vague. The first time, I believed I had actually perceived a sensation that did not come from me. An unfathomable presence, but coloured by an intense sweetness. Now it was merely a more general perception of the environment, admittedly pleasant, but the experience was quite different.
A voice broke in, pulling me out of my preoccupation.
"Ah hello, dear friend!"
I looked up to see a man with incredibly pale eyes smiling generously at me a few feet away. He was dressed in a baggy black jumper and wide, coal-coloured trousers, the hems of which gently falling down over his bare feet. Despite his rather casual appearance, you could tell that the man was of average height, with a slender, perhaps even athletic build. This was all the more noticeable because the flared collar of his jumper revealed the lines of his musculature, itself emphasised by the man's black complexion.
"Don't just stand there." He continued benevolently, running a hand over his bare head. A probable reminiscence of a reflex belonging to the past. "Come in, come in." The man finished, motioning for me to follow him.
"Thank you." I just replied, somewhat confused. I then went with the man into another room.
"Please have a seat, make yourself comfortable." The man invited.
I was now in a small living room, equally immersed in the same light, in the same warmth. At the heart of the room rested an imposing brown sofa, and two large armchairs of the same shade facing each other. I walked over to one of them and sat down quietly. I expected the man to sit in the second armchair, but I was surprised to see that he preferred the sofa, and he sat on the end closest to me. He laid one arm on the sturdy armrest and, with his pale eyes locked on mine, he asked me:
"Can I get you something to drink?"
The man had been particularly welcoming so far. And, even though he was the head of a gang, what I had heard about him was quite positive. However, I would rather not take any unnecessary risks by ingesting anything from the home of a leader of an allegedly criminal organisation.
"No thanks, I've already had to drink that dreadful concoction back at the cantina. I don't know if I'll ever recover." I replied with a chuckle.
The man broke into a genuine laugh for a while. Eventually he collected himself and resumed in a voice oscillating between amusement and exasperation:
"Sivir's follies will ultimately be our doom."
"It hurts me to admit it, but I understand that they were rather justified." I said, eager to defend the young woman, who had finally been trustworthy, against all odds.
"You're right." The man replied flatly before adding, "Would you excuse me for a second?
I saw him bend down and grab a small box from a small table beside the sofa. He opened it and pulled out a tiny flask, filled with a translucent liquid. He unscrewed the cap, placed it next to him on one of the cushions and quickly brought it over his head. At the same time he leaned back and placed the flask directly over one eye. A few drops fell on the lens. The man did the same on his other eye. Then he returned to his original position, replaced the cap and put the flask back in the box, which was placed back on the surface of the table.
"Eyesight problems? " I asked in curious yet respectful fashion.
The man gave an amused laugh.
"Yes and no." He replied enigmatically. "Yes, because, despite my condition, my eyes sometimes hurt."
I frowned. His condition?
"And no, because being totally blind, I can't complain about sight problems anymore." He finished with another laugh.
Was this guy blind? It hadn't occurred to me for a second. He seemed so present. But as I studied his eyes more closely, it became clear to me that such sparkle could not be something innate. I considered the shade of Bastila Shan's eyes to be particularly remarkable. But there was something almost supernatural about the man's. They were not blue, they were not grey: they were white. An immaculate iris encircling the deep black of his retina. It was an absolutely extraordinary colour. It stood out all the more clearly against the man's black skin. He radiated an undeniable charm, an unequivocal strength.
"I apologise, I had no idea." I finally spoke, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
"No problem." The man replied. "I came to terms with my peculiarity long ago." He added with a smile, before pausing briefly.
"I am Gadon Thek, by the way." The man said.
I smiled. I had completely forgotten that we hadn't even formally introduced ourselves yet.
"Corem Galhor." I answered with that same smile.
"I'm glad to meet someone like you, Corem." Gadon admitted, his invalid eyes paradoxically fixed on me. "It's a welcome change. We are used to dealing with Brejik's scum."
"The leader of the Vulkars, is it?" I asked.
"You call that a leader?" The man retorted, now suddenly tense.
"I am merely repeating the little information I have." I replied defensively.
Gadon then seemed to relax. His head down, he took a deep breath. His slender fingers began to scratch nervously at a small area of cloth on the armrest.
"I didn't mean to offend you, Gadon." I said, trying not to upset my host.
"You didn't offend me." The man assured, returning to my face. "I was the first one to mention him. It' s a touchy subject."
The gang leader took another gulp of air, which he released with a powerful breath.
"Brejik was my second in command once." Gadon announced, a hint of shame in his voice. "He was like a second child to us."
A second child to them?
"He was a kid from the Outcast village. He had been captured by slavers who were planning to sell him. We rescued him from these people. We took care of him. We loved him just as if he were our own child. We educated him as best we could, in an environment that, I admit, was far from total satisfaction. But it was either that or a miserable life among the Outcasts, or worse: the life of a slave.
Therefore, Gadon had somehow taken the little boy Brejik away from his family living in this village, right? A lot of information in such a short time. Did Gadon have another child? A partner? Were they present in that apartment?
"But Brejik, for all the love he got, was a boy who yearned for fame and success. He wanted to be the first in everything. Not the best. The first."
Gadon paused again. He brought a hand to his eye and wiped away the few tears that were trying to escape. Then he clenched his jaw and closed his eyelids with all his strength.
"I'm sorry." He said painfully. "Tears do tend to make my eyes burn." He leaned forward and placed the palms of his hands against each of his eyes. He remained that way for a moment. Then he straightened up and blew painfully.
"Ironic, isn't it?" He asked with a faint smile. "Having eyes that can't see, but hurt like hell. Double penalty."
I didn't know what to say about it. I couldn't offer this man any comfort. I could perceive his pain. Not only the physical pain, but also the pain that seemed to be forever engraved deep in his heart.
"It was clear that Brejik had never been the best at anything. But we didn't care. He was our son." Gadon finally continued in a grumbling voice. "But he ended up being the first. By betraying the people who cared about him."
Gadon Thek stood up. He took a few steps over to a terminal embedded in the wall, facing the sofa. I watched him. He proceeded to power up the device, using his voice. Then he gave the following command:
"Play film number eight."
The terminal obeyed the voice of its owner. A visual image was displayed. A woman could be seen sitting on the floor. Next to her was a very small bed. And all around her, sheets, duvets and pillows were chaotically arranged. She was smiling brightly. Children's laughter and cries could be heard. Suddenly, the author of these vocalisations appeared in the scene, snuggling up to this woman, who was quite obviously the mother. It was a little girl of about six years old. Both were laughing out loud. A moment of pure joy between a child and their parent. Or rather their parents. The father must have been the one capturing the scene. A suspicion that was confirmed when I heard a deep voice bursting into laughter as well. Gadon's. The man was recording a happy moment in his life with his daughter and his partner.
What had happened to these people?
I suddenly felt sick. An excruciating sensation invaded my whole body. It was taking root in my feet and rising quietly but sharply. What was happening? I looked up at Gadon, who seemed to be paying close attention to the footage, not realising my sudden condition. My breathing became more and more oppressive as the tape progressed. And, as time went on, Gadon grew sadder and sadder, and I grew more and more in pain. This was not the empathetic suffering of a compassionate soul. It was far beyond that. And as this pain crushed me internally, the distress caused by incomprehension joined the journey. So much so that for a brief moment I wondered if I would ever get through this. I had to keep quiet. I lowered my head, closed my eyes and took several long breaths. Gradually I felt the calm returning to me. However, as the terminal fell silent, a final, painful burst of pain swept through me and disappeared as quickly as it had come. Gadon ordered the device to stop and returned to the sofa.
As he sat down, the gang leader gave me a brief, puzzled glance. Then he picked up the box again and proceeded to put a few drops of the solution back into his eyes. A grunt of relief escaped his lips as he put the flask and box back in their place.
"Are you all right?" He asked.
My eyes widened. He had finally sensed my discomfort.
"I had a bit of a rough time." I admitted. "Nothing serious, it's over."
The man said nothing more. He slid casually back into his seat.
"They were my wife and daughter. Almost twenty years ago." He announced sorrowfully.
"Yes." I simply replied.
"They are dead."
A silence filled the room. I expected nothing else. What I had felt was very much the pain of a man who had had his most precious thing taken away from him. But why had I been so affected by his condition? As if it were all about me.
"Brejik killed them. By trying to kill me." The man said. "I don't think he wanted my wife and daughter to die, but if it meant he could get me out of the way, so be it. Fact is, he sacrificed my family, thinking he could have me with them. But I'm still here. All he got from me was my eyes."
"I am truly sorry, Gadon." I told him compassionately. What he was sharing with me was absolutely appalling. How could anyone survive such a tragedy? The loss of your loves by someone to whom you had been equally attached. How could one ever recover from that?
"You want revenge? " I asked.
"No, Corem." The man replied in a voice full of wisdom.
"I want him to understand that the power he has gained by doing these atrocities will come to an end. I want him to understand that despite my pain, despite my condition, I have managed to stay true and decent. I wish I could reason with him. He is my only remaining link to my past."
It was hard to picture what I had just heard. Not only did Gadon manage to remain on his feet, but he was also resolute in bringing Brejik back to him. Had he forgiven him?
The man in front of me was a perfect embodiment of generosity. He displayed a prodigious sense of greatness. The longer we spoke, the more I became aware of the genesis of his positive reputation. It was a remarkable being speaking to me, sharing his deepest sorrows with me. I felt almost proud to be near such a person. It was more than obvious that if this man was doing me a favour, I would have to repay him. In this respect, my own objectives couldn't be neglected for too long.
"If there is anything I can do to help you with this project, I would be honoured." I stated in all sincerity. But I was also hoping, beyond this offer, that Gadon and I could talk about work. I regretted pressing him at a time like this, but my situation demanded it.
"You can help us." The man answered calmly. "But I'm afraid it will only be for a not so noble mission." He clarified.
"What do you mean?"
"I know you need help finding your... colleague." The man said, suddenly looking rejuvenated. "You'd like to attend the swoop race for which she is the prize, is that it?"
"I think it would be better to take advantage of the event to get her out of there, and not to attend it." I joked before continuing more seriously. "I don't even know if she's really there anyway. Our situation is extremely precarious."
"Not that much, trust me." Gadon retorted with certainty.
"Excuse me?"
Gadon smiled mischievously. He commanded his terminal to reactivate and display some log. Data appeared. But I could not read it from my seat. I got up and walked over to the screen:
"Hello Zaerdra. Brejik did get a hold of the last of the pods that crashed near the sewers by the Outcast village. Our source reported that he found two dead Jedi and a General Officer who was alive, but in bad shape. As far as we can tell, she matches the description you gave us of the 'Smart Monkey'."
The ''Smart Monkey'? Was this a moniker given by the Hidden Beks or was Bastila Shan commonly nicknamed as such?
"Your Jedi is in Brejik's hands." Gadon confirmed from the sofa.
I took my eyes off the screen and turned to him.
"But if you know who she is, there's a good chance the Vulkars do too!" I exclaimed.
"Possible," the man replied. "But not extremely probable. The Vulkars are former Beks, in search of thrills and fame in the Lower City. Most have no interest in the affairs of the Republic. Your Jedi is very famous, true. But she was smart enough to be dressed in military uniform, and not wearing any insignia as far as I know. Which made her an ordinary officer. A very nice capture, but nothing to suggest that she is the Order's little prodigy."
"I hope so..." I spoke worriedly.
"If Brejik had figured out that he was holding Bastila Shan, he would have immediately delivered her to the Sith, for a generous payment or for valuable services. And they would have left the planet long ago. Their presence here proves that she has not yet been identified. And Brejik must surely keep her very carefully away from the eyes of his men. She can't have many contacts. More chances for her to go unnoticed."
"Yes, that makes sense." I admitted before releasing a breath. Slowly, I initiated the movement back to my armchair. Once settled, I glanced at Gadon, and addressed him:
"Can you help me find her?"
"I can." The man replied, leaning more firmly on the armrest. "But you'll have to help me first."
"What can I do?"
"I want you to win the swoop race for the Beks." The man replied behind what I hoped was a teasing smile.
"Is this a joke?" I asked curtly.
"No." Gadon retorted. "You are very talented, my friend." He added. "I want you to be my champion."
"I've never driven such a thing!" I countered with urgency. "The last time I put my hands on a speeder handle, it sent me to the hospital, and I stayed there for months! You can't ask me that! It doesn't make sense! Not for me, not for you!
"I have the utmost confidence that you will be able to win this race."
I paused for a moment, gasping for breath. I stared at Gadon Thek. I was totally bewildered.
"And that's enough for you?" I questioned in disbelief.
"Yes." The man professed. "But I can give you some help."
I wrinkled my forehead expectantly.
"We are developing for some years a very promising prototype of an accelerator." Gadon began. "I can have it installed on the swwoop bike you will be riding, which would give you a tremendous advantage."
"You're suggesting cheating, if I get that right." I replied flatly.
"Oh, you absolutely wanted to save your Jedi in all fairness?" The man questioned not expecting an answer. "I'll tell you the plan again: you're my champion, you're racing under the Beks' banner. You drive our best bike with our prototype. You win the race."
"Now I understand why you need me to be your pilot. Be honest and admit that I am only your guinea pig." I said gravely.
"That's not entirely untrue. " Gadon admitted. "But I have a strangely good feeling about you."
"That's reassuring." I sneered. "Can I at least see the vehicle first? Can I take it for a test drive before I crash it during the race?"
Gadon seemed to hesitate.
"There's a little subtlety I haven't mentioned to you yet." He replied, in sudden embarrassment, "This prototype accelerator has been stolen from us by the Vulkars many weeks ago. We'd have to get it back."
"Wait a minute." I interrupted, straightening up, my elbows now resting on my knees. "You want to pick up and install a device that has been stolen from you by the Vulkars, to win a race that is itself organised by the Vulkars?" I summarised in exasperation. "How can you possibly believe that my swoop bike could be allowed to compete under these conditions? Don't you think the Vulkars will find out?"
"The organisation of the race is not the work of the Vulkars." Gadon corrected. "Brejik provides and delivers the prizes, but that doesn't mean he's the organiser. Besides, no matter how much he tries to bribe the Federation to gain influence, they're on our side for the moment. They don't like the idea of a Vulkar champion winning. They'll turn a blind eye."
" Damn, what a mess... " I sighed.
"Yeah, what a mess." Gadon repeated, sounding somewhat amused. "Anyway, the priority now is to get the accelerator back."
"I do hope you get it back in time." I told him with detachment, but I knew that the rest of the story would not be in my favour.
"That's why I recommend that you find Mission Vao. I believe you have already met her. The Vulkar base has a hidden entrance that can be reached through the sewers. And Mission is the person who is most familiar with the sewers of this sector."
"Well, is there anything else you'd like me to do for you by the way? " I asked in a defeated voice.
"How long do you think the Republic can survive without Bastila Shan?" The gang leader countered.
I sighed. There was no other option. I was now certain that the prize for the winner of this ultimate race was Bastila. I had to do whatever I could to find her.
"Can you at least tell me where Mission is right now?" I asked.
"She's probably out with Zaalbar." Gadon answered. "She'll probably be back in the night. In the meantime, you can stay here. You should get some rest. We'll talk more about this tomorrow, with Mission."
I nodded.
"All right." I said emotionlessly.
We remained silent for a short while. I reviewed everything I had just lived in this room. The warmth of the place, the friendly smile of a gang leader, his pain and, despite the surreal events to come, I remembered the message sent to whoever it was that Bastila Shan was alive and that we finally knew how to find her. At that moment, a question that was certainly not of any interest crossed my mind, like a flash of lucidity that was somewhat superficial. Then I spoke again:
"Who is Zaerdra?"
Gadon Thek again broke into a burst of laughter:
"Haha, don't worry. She'll know how to introduce herself to you very quickly, trust me."