23: The Black Knight
Bespin was red that day. It was a fitting hue. Swimming through a sea of crimson and orange clouds, Osaka struggled to rebuild. Towers of smoke rose now rose amid the once-pristine spires, stormtroopers marched where indolent guards had once strolled while the citizens cowered from their armored tread.
Funerals. An official tally of casualties had yet to be released, but there had already been many services. Small, family-only affairs, these; any significant gathering of people made the troopers edgy, and nobody wanted that. Astonishing the carnage that the arrival of only fourteen bounty-hunters (and a squad of privateers) had caused.
Darth Nochichi cared little for the confusion and devastation he left in his wake. Nor did it bother him that Ganner would press an iron thumb into the collective backs of the Osakans that they had never felt before. Rebellion, turmoil and strife? A necessary step in any Imperial occupation.
His dark fighter carried him out through the sanguine atmosphere, plotting its own course and leaving its master to ponder. He considered his student, curled up on a pallet in the back with a breathing mask over her nose and mouth, and his monstrous, alien heart was moved by something that could almost be equated with affection.
Most High Baroness Ayumu Kasuga… how great and mighty a title for such a pathetic, fragile creature. But then, every human he faced had been so, even the Jedi, even warriors born-- even his own daughter. They had made great strides, he and Ayumu, but he knew that she would never be the student he wanted.
Nochichi had hoped for a younger, more pliable apprentice. Within Ayumu, at her center, there was a great well of languor, gentleness and this crooked sense of humor that colored her every experience. Though swathed in the wreckage of dreams and submerged in a sea pain and terror, these aspects still defined her.
Someone inhibited so could never be a Sith Lord. But in his own revolting way, the alien wanted what was best for her, so he resolved that she would be Sith alongside him. She was all he had to fall back on, after all.
"You would have been the perfect student, Chiyo-chan," he mused. "It's a shame I had to kill you."
At that moment, Chiyo snapped awake with that awful 'someone walked over your grave' feeling, which was quickly subsumed when she realized that she also felt like she'd been keel-hauled by a low-flying Seraph for a couple of kilometers. Where in the world was she?
Perhaps she could have gotten a sense of the place through the Force, but her head hurt far too much to muster the necessary focus. When she tried to spread her awareness, all the young prodigy got for her efforts was a big furry weight on her chest.
"Aiy! Get off, Marco! She's damaged goods."
"Nyaa…" The sound came with a puff of fish-scented air in her face.
The animal was lifted away and there came a distant thump and a disgruntled hiss as he was carelessly tossed aside. A cool, damp cloth moved gently over her temple, chasing the headache away and starting to clean a sheet of dried blood that she hadn't noticed.
Even as she started to drift off again, Chiyo's senses returned gradually. She became aware of the man as a well of stony calm; a great, dark wall to both the eye and mind, whatever emotions that lurked in his depths hidden even from him.
In his way, he was very similar to…
No way! was Chiyo's last thought before sliding back into unconsciousness.
"Thanks for coming," Yuichi said grudgingly, "This… isn't my environment."
It surely wasn't. The Holonet City Music Hall on Coruscant was about as far from his natural environment as one could possibly get, and he planned to retreat to an appropriately inhospitable bar as soon as he was done with his business here. He slouched awkwardly alongside Yasuhiro as they wended through crowds of nobles, officials, officers, aristocrats and performers. The lumbering, rumpled bounty hunter made a startling contrast to the tiny, impeccable Jedi.
"It's no problem. I've been wanting to see how their new conductor will do anyway."
"Where's Ben?" Yuichi asked. "And your foxy wife?"
"My wife, you'll recall, is four-months pregnant." Yasuhiro looked at him sideways, unruffled. "As for Ben, he doesn't like big events like this. He says he prefers to listen to music alone. I'm sure that if he goes on like this, he'll be a hermit before too long."
"Eh, get him some rocks to stare at…" Yuichi shrugged. He was as derisive of meditation as he was to most of the Jedi tradition, but usually refrained from making jokes about it in the presence of its practitioners. This was just a sign of his nerves, apparently. Odd that a man who could stare unflinchingly into the mouths of twenty blasters found wearing a tie so intimidating.
"How did you get through Customs this time?"
"Bribe."
"At the rate they're charging these days? I'm impressed."
"Well this'll be worth it to see…" Yuichi looked away, trying to compose himself to look tough again.
They were attending the command performance by some duke or another. There had been a flurry of them recently; ever since the Emperor started trying to bludgeon some culture into his daughter before she took the throne, throwing concerts become fashionable among the nobles. It was great if one could get some Galactically acclaimed performers for one's concert, of course, but even better if you could find an unknown of exceptional talent and give them their first exposure…
The two men found their seats and settled in for a long wait. Yuichi waited patiently through a rousing performance by the Imperial Pops, jiggled his leg and drummed his fingers through a few numbers by a string quintet, slept through a chorale that he might have actually enjoyed, considered climbing the walls as a male trio soared to pitches no man should ever reach, wondered why he didn't bring his blaster as some creepy alien demonstrated its proficiency with an instrument that was as loud as the bagpipes and twice as piercing, and finally… finally…
Yuichi sat up, wide-eyed. Taking the stage was a slender child of eleven, tall and elegant for her age, with huge, somber eyes. Her simple gown was shining black, but it didn't match the luster of her hair, flowing down her back in a thick braid. She took her place on the stage, gaze deferentially lowered, but when the orchestra started, she raised her eyes and her voice.
And what a voice it was! Yuichi Sakaki sat in rapt silence, dumbfounded that this lovely creature could possibly be his daughter.
There was a dinner after the concert—Yuichi had been planning to skip it, but there was no way he could now. Instead he found himself pushing his way through the crowds again, searching the sea of heads for—
"Hey, brat!" he called happily. Nanashi turned in surprise at his voice, then broke into a run towards him, leaving the person who'd been talking at her sputtering in her wake. Yuichi caught her out of the air effortlessly and spun as they hugged, laughing for the first time in what seemed like decades.
"Father!"
"Come on, I told you not to be formal!"
"Papa!" Nanashi's smile wasn't her usual reserved little upturn of the lips, but a big, genuine grin that would have looked goofy on anybody else. Yuichi didn't know it, but she only brought it out for him.
"That's better." Arm-in-arm, they started walking away from the party. That's where Sakakis usually go, after all, especially in groups. "So how ya been, brat? It's been more'n a year!"
"Yeah." For an instant, her cheer faltered, but it surged back without resistance. "I'm all right. And your work?"
"Just all right?" Yuichi scoffed. "Oh, come on, you're singin' in a command performance for Duke Whatsisface! You were spectacular, kid! And you're just doin' all right?"
She nodded. "It's not… what I hoped for."
"No?" he looked down at her, concerned. "Then, what the heck are you doing here?" He tried not to swear around her, though it was a reflex everywhere else.
"I chose wrong," she answered, which didn't really tell him anything. Before he could press, though, she tugged on his arm. "But how are you?"
"Oh, same ol' same ol'." He shrugged uneasily. "Difficult clients."
"Mm." She gazed up at him with those unblinking eyes and Yuichi realized that she understood more than he'd ever told her about his work. "Your voice sounds strained… are you hurt?"
"It's not bad!" This time he meant it, even thumping his side to show her so. "Just a little burn."
"Father, have they been shooting at you again?" she asked severely.
"Uh, of course not! It's just an industrial… adhesive…" he looked away. "Allergic… uh. Reaction. Um." After a few seconds of determined silence out of his daughter, he relented. "They might have. Er… they're lousy shots, though."
For some reason, that seemed to give her resolve. Looking at the tiles between her delicate feet, Nanashi pursed her lips. "Did you come with Master Mihama?"
"Yeah. Don't know where the little bast—guy got off to, though. You're not still scared of him, are you?"
"Hn." She didn't answer the question, which was all the answer he needed. "Could you tell him that I've… I've reconsidered?"
"You mean the Jedi thing?" Yuichi felt like a concussion grenade had gone off in the room (and he knew what those felt like.) "Nanashi, why?"
Nanashi pressed close to him. By this time they'd reached the row of windows that overlooked the Imperial City, standing alongside all of the other wallflowers. "It's because…" she faltered. He could see the city lights reflected in her eyes, and could all too easily imagine it as blasterfire. "Because I want to go with you."
"You know you can't, Nanashi." He tried to keep anger out of his voice—it wasn't at her, but at a galaxy that seemed to be conspiring to keep her from him. Only its game had changed—now it was trying to take her away forever. "You haven't done anything wrong. You shouldn't have to hide like I do!"
"I want to." She stood away from him and took one of his large, rough hands in both of hers. The child's fingers were very long and tapered; only an innate, unhurried grace (surely inherited from her mother) kept her hands from looking spidery. "I know I can't go with you, not really. But…" she looked over her shoulder at the throng of concert-goers. "There's nothing for me here. Maybe I can be in spirit, sharing your experience of life as a… as a Jedi."
Yuichi's grim eyes turned to the cityscape. It seemed that his daughter, too, suffered under the curse of clan Sakaki, dogged by a sense of darkness and unbelonging in wherever she found herself. But this… "It's dangerous, Nanashi. Jedi have to dive headlong into things nobody should ever have to deal with."
"That sounds familiar," Nanashi agreed. "And who is your next mark?"
For the briefest of moments, he wanted to drop-kick her. Sure, he had his profession, but didn't she see that he was hoping for a better life for her? There was once a time when being a Jedi wouldn't necessarily lead to a life full of violence and danger, but those happy days were gone. Why was she so eager to subject herself to Kamineko's patented living hell and then plunge out into a galaxy which would fit that description even better?
But he'd have to leave before the Law caught up to him, so if this was her decision, he couldn't really stop her no matter what he said. "Small-time gangster named Xixor," he answered, unaware of the grief in store for him. "Should be a pushover." Afterwards, he signaled by his silence that he had more-or-less given in.
"Papa, I'm sorry," Nanashi said sadly, putting her arms around his waist.
"Well…" he grumbled, hugging her back one-handed. "Long as you're happy, I am. I guess." Actually, he felt like he was still bleeding from that concussion grenade earlier.
She didn't buy it, anyway. "I'm so sorry."
"Oi, Sakaki!" Some guy in a tuxedo yelled, making both look up. "The director wants to see you!"
Nanashi looked up at him apologetically and slid quietly away, vanishing before he even turned to look after her. Such a sweet kid… and yet still very much a little Sakaki. Yuichi had had this vague hope that, since she saw so little of him, she would turn out completely different and be content with a long, peaceful life. Feh.
Yasuhiro wandered up and stood at the window next to him. He had a talent for keeping away when his presence was difficult—and then still showing up at a bad time. He opened his mouth to say something but only squawked in surprise as, faster than thought, Yuichi grabbed his collar and hauled him against the window.
"If I outlive her," he warned the Jedi. "I am going to kill you."
Chiyo woke again, much less painfully this time, to find that something was licking her face with a tiny, sandpaper-like tongue. She just had time to notice before Marco was once again yanked away from her and deposited roughly across the room. "What's your malfunction, cat?"
"Nyaa."
"Don't give me that look. She doesn't need your slobber all… eh? You up?"
Chiyo tried to reply, but all that came out was a sort of mumble.
"Here," now that he wasn't talking to Marco, his speech was more taciturn. "This will make you feel better."
The mouth of a small bottle was pressed to her lips. Whatever was in it burned like nothing else, but also filled her with a light, buoyant feeling. After a few seconds, she was feeling sure of herself enough to sit up and look at her caretaker. Though he wasn't making any particular effort to look dangerous, his features were positively lupine. To think I used to be scared of Kagura!
"Hey," he greeted.
"I recognize you…!" She normally tried to be more polite, but Chiyo was still a little addled. "You're…"
"Bang," he said, pointing his finger at her.
That brought her up short. "Huh?"
"I've been getting that a lot. Different fifth-rate bounty hunters saying, 'I know you, you're-!' but I usually shoot them before they can finish the sentence."
"Oh…" Chiyo shook her head, but the cobwebs stuck. "What… happened to me?"
"I have no idea. Believe it or not, I caught you falling out of the bottom of Osaka. You had a concussion, three broken ribs, a lot of bruises…"
"Why does my arm hurt so much?"
"That would be, uh…" he said it quickly and under his breath, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't catch it. "Phantom pain."
"Phantom…?" Chiyo put her hand on the side of her neck and moved it down her shoulder until it encountered a pin. This pin held her empty right sleeve up to the shoulder of her shirt. As the realization hit her, she slowly turned as pale as a sheet.
"Here it comes," Yuichi commented to the cat.
"Oh my GOD! What the… how did… where…? G-GOD! I can't believe it! What in the world happened to me?"
"Hey," Yuichi put a hand on her (whole) shoulder and shook her lightly. "Don't worry. It's nothing to freak out about."
Still frantic, she looked him up and down. "Th-that's easy for you do say. You still have both arms!"
"Hmph." He wiggled his fingers in her face. "Fake." He thumped his heel on the deck. "Fake." He leaned close to her and pointed to his eyes with two fingers. "These're fake too. You'll be fine."
"Oh… sorry. I'll, um…"
Yuichi watched her go step-by-step through a Jedi calming exercise; while he fought back a wave of bitter memories, the struggle was invisible from the outside. When her breathing had returned to normal, he stood slowly. "I'm getting a beer. Do you want something to drink?"
"Do you have any milk?" she asked in a subdued tone.
"Milk?" he chuckled. "We have a child, here. I'll go look." But beer? he thought to himself, And I guess here we have a moron. Oh, well.
He returned later with a pair of bottles. Being extra-careful not to mix them up, he handed her the milk and kicked back in his chair, resting his feet on the bed past hers. She curiously watched him take a long sip and grimace harshly.
"How is it?" she asked.
"It tastes like piss," he said amiably. "How's the milk?"
"Great!" she replied with muted cheer, "It's even good warm."
"Is it really that good? Maybe I'll have to get some."
They sat for a while enjoying (or whatever it was Yuichi was doing) their drinks, Chiyo pausing to poke at her riven shoulder and looking almost comically baffled. Not long ago, she would have been completely traumatized, but now it was just kind of strange to get used to.
"Well, you always wanted to bring down the Empire single-handed, didn't you?"
"Mr. Sakaki!"
"Sorry. Couldn't resist."
"No, no… I'm overreacting." A strange thing to say after you've had a limb hacked off, but it was turning into very a strange day. "So… what happens now?"
"Well, about that," Yuichi placed his empty bottle by his feet and threaded his fingers behind his head. "I had an exchange with my employer. He said that he's going to join this Rebel Armada that's gathering."
"A Rebel Armada?" Why did Chiyo find that thought so disturbing?
"He couldn't give me coordinates, of course, but he arranged a place for you to meet one of his contacts. I'll have to drop you off at a specific location on Thyferra and leave."
"And leave?"
"Yeah, they don't trust me. I have a… reputation."
"What kind?"
"You have one, too, you know. It's small so far, but rumors are spreading. I was expecting you to be a little bigger, you know, more threatening."
Chiyo nodded sadly. "I wish I was."
"Hey, being small and cute can work out for you better," Yuichi ruffled her hair. "Take it from someone who's big, ugly and scary. Being cute is… um…" he paused and considered. "It's… stronger."
"Stronger?"
"I'm a bounty-hunter, not a poet."
Two stormtroopers moved through the jungle carefully, weapons at the ready. It was midday, but the air around them was still thick with shadows and a sweet breeze that reached them even through their helmets' filter. If they'd bothered to look up, they'd have seen Endor's beautiful blue sky and the pale crescent of a Death Star under heavy reconstruction.
"Damn," one trooper grunted. "How're we supposed to find these guys?"
"Stupid extermination order," the other complained.
Guarding the Shield Bunker had been a pretty cushy job until the locals had started acting up. They were little furry creatures, varying in height from 1 to 3 feet, lithe and agile predators of the smaller mammals. Though no match for the Imperials in any kind of fight, they sabotaged speeder-bikes, laid traps and stole provisions all the time. The Imperial Commander had growled that if he had to 'cut one more trooper down from a tree...' and let his threat hang in the air ominously.
Now these two unfortunate men, as well as dozens of their comrades, combed the jungle in a vain attempt to follow their Grand Moff's command. After about three hours, though, one of them took off his helmet and sat down. "We're outta sensor range, right?"
"Yeah. I brought the drinks." The other removed his helmet as well and leaned on his rifle. "So what should we do about the locals? You know we'll never find them."
"I don't know, man. They're like ghosts. I'll bet we'll go through this whole patrol without seeing one of them."
"You're probably right…"
"Meow." It was not the actual sound of a cat, but 'meow' serves as a good onomatopoeia for it. Both troopers rose as one and turned towards it. One of the locals stood before them, staring defiantly with its arms akimbo.
"What's this?" the first trooper asked, "Just one?"
"Meow! Meow!" The call was taken up by dozens of the bizarre creatures as they started popping out of the brush all around them. Gray, brown, even a few that seemed calico. They spread out in a wide semicircle, gazing at the troopers with clear, innocent eyes.
"There's a whole bunch of them now!"
"What do you think they want?"
Then all at once, the creatures all cracked identical, absolutely freaky smiles full of sharp teeth. "S-something's wrong, man!"
"No shit, Master Yoda. That your Jedi intuition?" He leveled his blaster at the lead cat-person, but they were suddenly swarming all over him, biting into the joints of his armor and scratching at his face with barbed, bacteria-laden claws. "Ah! Ow! Oh, no! Help!"
"I got you man!" the other trooper said, taking aim with his own rifle, "Hold still!"
"You don't got anything!" the first shrieked, knocking the blaster out of his hands. "Help me, you moron, don't shoot me!"
"Now I'm unarmed! AHHH!"
The mighty forces of the Empire beat a hasty retreat.
With the vast cyan expanse of Hoth as its backdrop, the Rebel Armada was an impressive sight. Dozens of military vessels were arrayed at its core, from sleek blockade runners like the Katana to ungainly destroyers, all painted shining green since arriving.
Around them, untold hundreds of mercenaries, privateers, and private vessels hung in a cloud, carefully cataloged and watched. If any of them tried to leave now, they'd be blasted from space by the patrols of Seraphs that wheeled around the very edges of their formation.
The product of alien science, their flagship stood out oddly. The Mon Remonda was shaped like a colossal manta ray, at least twice the length of the next largest vessel. Its mysterious owners had an interest in the fall of the human Empire, and while their motives might have been less than altruistic, Kurosawa couldn't afford to pass such a weapon up.
Matsuyama brought his shuttle to a stop at a respectful distance and hailed as prescribed. Of course, it wasn't the craft he had left the Death Star in; he'd abandoned that one in his staged "capture" two sectors back. Now he and his associate were officially MIA according to Imperial records.
"Still gives you chills, doesn't it?" Chihiro asked. He jumped. Though he was pretty sure she didn't try, the younger officer had a tendency to sneak up on him.
"The thought of so many Rebels in one place? Yep."
"It's the largest fleet assembled in centuries," she said, resting a hand on the back of his chair. "Ever since the invasion fleet that took Coruscant for the Tanizakis eight hundred years ago."
"Incredible."
"We won't be able to leave until they attack, now. Have any second thoughts?"
"Are you kidding?" Matsuyama rubbed his temples. "Of course I do! This is a huge step. But… you know, I always made fun of them, but Kenichi and Shiro are sharp. They knew something was up. I couldn't have kept it up much longer."
"Well… I hope you can do as well for us as you did for them."
"Yeah, me too."
