Chapter 16: The Found

14 BBY- 5 Years after the Rise of the Empire

Kanan's cheek was still stinging from Hera's lips as he yanked on his boots and headed down to exit the ship. She was waiting for him there, box in hand as she gave him her signature sweet smile. Traces of a blush still darkened her the green of her cheeks.

"We'll ask Ranzar to meet the buyer, just as we discussed," she said confidently. "Then we can make a good judge of his character."

"And what do we do if we think he's a bad guy? Tell him 'no, you can't have it, we don't like you'?"

Hera placed a petal-light hand on his shoulder. "Kanan," she started, and the way his name slipped off her tongue like honey made his cheek burn again where she'd kissed him, "if this is a bad guy, then we'll call off the deal. We'll find some power cells elsewhere."

Kanan blinked in surprise. "You'd… be okay with that?"

"Of course." She gave him a funny look. "I trust you, so if you think this thing really could be bad, then we'll make sure it stays in safe hands."

Then she pressed the switch on the wall and the hangar ramp started to lower.

Kanan felt himself sink six feet lower into the quicksand that was his crushing, wimpy guilt.

They'd landed the Ghost in the hangar bay of Ranzar's space-station-thing, sending a quick message that they were the incoming delivery from Vizago. Hera and Kanan disembarked and stepped into the temperature-controlled hangar bay. Taking in his surroundings, Kanan noticed the numerous crates of all shapes, sizes, and origins stacked around them. Some of them had the insignias of crime syndicates like the Black Sun, others the stamped emblems of the Empire. Some had no markings of all, which he deduced were from small-time producers like Vizago. But Kanan got the idea that whatever Ran was running was a much larger business than whatever his least-favorite Devaronian had going on in his ugly Lothal warehouse.

"Ahh, yes. You two must be Vizago's friends!"

They turned to see a man of a stocky build with a thick, black beard walking towards them. He lifted a pair of rusted mechanic's goggles off of his ruddy face and peeled off a pair of weirdly-orange rubber gloves, all the while peering at them with curious eyes.
"I wouldn't say 'friends'," Kanan muttered.

Hera quickly reprimanded him with a hard nudge of the elbow. "That we are," she beamed, giving Kanan a side look that said mind-your-manners, you incompetent dumbass, "And you're Ranzar Malk?"

The man bowed facetiously. "At your service," he said, looking up with a giddy grin, "but you can call me Ran." He winked coquettishly at Hera.

Ranzar Malk was automatically placed on Kanan's bad list.

"Wow," Hera breathed, looking around. "Vizago told us you had a big operation, but this place is huge!"

"Yeah, she was a real piece of work to assemble, but she does her job," he sighed, slapping the wall of the spaceship as though it was a pet. "So have you got my merchandise?"

Hera shifted slightly. "About that…"

Something dark flickered into Ran's eyes, but Kanan couldn't tell if it was anger or fear.

"What? Did you lose it?"
"No, no," Hera said hastily, shaking her head. She nodded to the box in her hands. "We would just like to meet the buyer."

Ran's posture relaxed, but he still looked unconvinced. "You… want to meet the buyer."

"It's in our best interests," Kanan said shortly, stepping forward and a little bit in front of Hera.

"How?"

Hera pushed past him again, offering an apologetic smile. Another elbow to the side, this one bruising enough to make him wince. "What Kanan means is, well—we just want to make sure the buyer is… appreciative of the merchandise. We can't have something so valuable falling into the hands of a petty thief, can we?"

"I assure you, my buyer is no petty thief—"

"Well, we just want to be sure," Kanan cut in.

Ran stared at them for a moment longer. Then he shrugged, combed a hand through his long beard, and turned the other way, headed deeper into the station. "Well, I don't care. As long as I get my credits, you can meet whoever you want. He'll be here in a bit."

"Great," Kanan sighed, "more waiting."

"Patience, young one," Hera said in a mocking-old-lady voice that reminded him far too much of Master Jocasta whenever scolded him in the library, "we'll just hang out until he gets here. We're in no rush."

But Kanan felt like he was rushing. The holocron still pounded like a war drum from its hiding place in the box in Hera's hands. He felt like something bad was coming and it was trying to warn him, or some silly Jedi-nonsense like that.

Kanan wasn't a fool. He was a young padawan when the Order fell and he lost his master, and he was in no way proficient in his use of the Force or in his knowledge of its capabilities.

If the holocron was warning him of something—if that was indeed what it was trying to do, because how could he know?—he'd have absolutely no idea just how to figure out what.

Then Hera put a hand on his cheek, rose onto her tiptoes, and clumsily pressed her lips against his in a vibrant, blooming, stolen kiss.

She leaned back quickly, sheepishly, looking up at him embarrassedly. "Was—was that okay?"
Kanan barely managed a faint nod.

"Oh, oh great. It's—uh, for good luck."

"There's no such thing as luck," Kanan whispered weakly a moment later. But she had already turned her back to him and sped off towards the ship.

He swallowed thickly, eyes stretched wider than a bantha's testes and jaw left hanging ajar. His heart thrummed in his chest and his cheeks felt like they were on fire as his brain scrambled desperately to make sense of it all.

Did that just happen?

Did Hera just… kiss him?

As Ran had promised, the buyer arrived within the hour. The hangar bay ray shield flickered off and a slick, dark-grey ship flew in and landed. The shield went back up, deeming safe breathing levels and guaranteed gravity, and a figure emerged from the belly of the ship.

Around Kanan, the air seemed to go still. An unseen cold seeped into the atmosphere like liquid nitrogen leaking from a broken pipe.

"Hera," he murmured, subtly grabbing her arm. He couldn't explain the absolutely dreadful feeling that was creeping up his spine, but he did know that it was wrong.

"…Hera, I don't think—"
"Hello!" she called out. She left Kanan's side, pulling away from his hand on her arm, and walked towards the figure. Kanan fought back the urge to race after her and yank her back.

"Greetings," the figure said coolly. He was dressed in a charcoal-black uniform with his features were hidden behind a black mask. His fingertips were a dull blue and his voice modified. And, if all of that didn't scream evil enough, the Imperial insignia gleamed bone-white on his chest.

The figure stepped towards Hera. "Are you Ranzar Malk?"

Kanan couldn't handle it anymore. This man was bad, bad, bad, and every shriveled cell he had left in his brain was absolutely screaming at him to get Hera, get the holocron, and leave.

Hera shook her head. "No, but—"

"Actually, we were just leaving," Kanan cut her off, jogging up behind her. He didn't miss the way the figure's posture stiffened when he approached, and he definitely didn't miss the way it leaned forward as though to study him.

All very bad signs.

Not taking any chances, Kanan wrapped his hand tight around Hera's elbow again and tugged her towards the ship.

"Ran's somewhere around here, probably on his way right now," he said cheerily. "Have a good day!"

"Kanan, wait—" Hera started, but he was already pulling her with him back towards the Ghost.

"Trust me, we gotta—"

Suddenly, Hera twisted around at an abrupt speed, jolting him to a stop. She yelped as the box was ripped from her hands. It flew across the hangar bay and directly into the palm of the figure.

"I do believe this is mine."

Kanan froze. "I… there must be a misunderstanding, that box is nothing, just—"

"Oh, there's no misunderstanding," he chuckled, words oozing a saccharine poison. He flicked open the latch on the box and rolled his wrist, effortlessly lifting the holocron into the air without touching it. "In fact, it must be my lucky day. Not only have I acquired a holocron for my master, but I've also found a Jedi who can open it for me."

Kanan went still. Ice trickled into his veins and panic started to pound in his ears.

No, no, no, no—

"Kanan's not a Jedi," Hera snorted next to him, yanking her arm out of his tight grip and stepping forward. She pulled her blaster out of its hilt and aimed it. "And that's ours. Give it back!"

The masked figure let out an empty laugh that resonated eerily throughout the hangar like black smog. He reached for a circular device on his hip and held it out in front of him.

"Foolish girl. You can't fight me. But… maybe he can. In fact, it could be fun."

There was a click. Then a low, droning hum.

Kanan felt the blood drain from his face as he watched two crimson blades of sinful light ignite from the hilt. He went rigid, glued into place, muscles turned to stone, worse than a loth-cat in headlights.

Then the figure threw himself at him.

Kanan dodged at the last second, jumping to the side and crashing onto the floor, taking Hera with him. The blade came down again and he just managed to roll out of the way and clamber to his feet.

"Interesting," the figure mused. "Lost your lightsaber, have you?"

Kanan barely had time to pull Hera up next to him before the figure rushed at them again. He shoved her roughly, sending her stumbling out of the way of danger and whatever that thing was, then dodged to the right. He could still feel the horror prickling at his spine like needles.

"What—what are you?" Kanan gasped, breathless. He tucked his knees into his chest as he jumped clear of the blades' reach once more. The figure's onslaught was ruthless, coming at him again and again and again. Kanan bit back a shout of terror as he ducked low and feelt the heat the red blade humming dangerously above his head.

"I am an Inquisitor," the figure hissed, "and I was created to destroy your kind."

He leaped at Kanan again, blade thrashing wildly, but his movements were precise, skilled, educated. Kanan sprung away and bent backwards, nearly losing his balance as the tip of the blade swung out towards his chest. Barely having time to regain his footing before the saber came down again, he threw himself forward and into a roll. He came up to a stop on a bent knee, fighting for breath.

"Kanan!" he heard Hera call distantly, but the blood was pounding too hard in his ears to focus on anything but the red blade. He was getting dizzy and he wasn't sure how much longer he could do this.

"Fight me, you coward," the Inquisitor seethed, lurching forwards. "You must've been nothing more than a youngling when your kind died if this is how you fight. You're pathetic, and the stench of your fear in my nostrils is so thick I want to gag."

His lightsaber whirled in violent flashes of scarlet edged by white, its mere presence cold and shriveling despite its searing heat.

Suddenly, there were blaster shots. They whizzed past Kanan's ear and over his head. One struck the Inquisitor in the shoulder. He shouted sharply, and his head shot up. Kanan whipped his gaze over his shoulder.

There, Hera stood strong, gaze fierce and blaster smoking.

"Kanan, let's go!"

He didn't need to be told twice. Taking the opportunity, Kanan jumped to his feet and sprinted away from the Inquisitor, darting for Hera and the ship. He was almost there, just a few more paces, he was—

Something unseen rammed into his body and he let out a shout as it sent him flying to the ground. His jaw and shoulders slammed painfully against the durasteel floor of the hangar bay, and for a moment, all he could see was dizzying black and purple spots. Then his vision started to clear, seeing through the fog. His entire body ached and his heart was pounding. Blood dribbled down his forehead and he blinked it out of his eyelashes.

Shaking his head and fighting the nausea bubbling in his gut, Kanan struggled to his hands and knees.

A jarring clang sounded as something was thrown to the ground. The holocron skidded across the floor in front of him a few moments alter.

"I'm tired of playing games," the Inquisitor growled. "Open the holocron, or she dies."

Kanan's head snapped up. Several paces away, the Inquisitor stood, Hera pulled against him. She writhed defiantly in his grasp, jerking her head back and forth, but he kept a tight arm hooked around her neck and his lightsaber hovered near her jaw.

"Let her go!" Kanan demanded, jumping to his feet, shoving back the pain. He made to sprint forwards, but stopped the second the Inquisitor brought the blade closer to her neck.

"Ah-ah," he clucked, shaking his masked head. "Open it first, boy. Then, maybe I'll let her go."

Fury boiled in Kanan's throat and he felt his blood light on fire.

But his terror was worse. He was paralyzed. Shrill, wintry dread wrenched his chest, the panic thick and swirling like venom in his stomach.

"Let go of me!" Hera yelled, jerking her chin away from the Inquisitor. She struggled in his grip, twisting and turning, trying to get away. But it was no use. The blade hummed ever closer to her neck while its blood-red light spilled onto her sage green skin.

"Don't do this!" Kanan screamed, desperate. The panic was raw in his throat. At his feet, the holocron trembled and sang, radiating fear and trepidation.

He needed to do something, say something, do something, do something—

"Open it!" the Inquisitor demanded.

"He can't, you idiot!" Hera shouted, glaring up at her captor. "He's not a Jedi!"

Kanan almost screamed at her to stop, stop talking, please don't—

The Inquisitor smiled suddenly, a wicked thing that made Kanan sick as the air stilled.

"Open it, boy. Show her just what you are an open it."

"He can't open the stupid box! Are you even listening?! Leave him alone, you good-for-nothing son of a bantha!"

Something in Kanan's heart cracked. He trembled as he tried to say her name. He wanted to cry.

"Hera…"

"Let us go! You have no reason to do this! He isn't what you think he is, and he isn't a Jedi, you're wrong! We—"

"Hera—"

"We don't have what you want, so let us go! You have no stupid reason to—"
"Hera!"

His grief-stricken shout echoed throughout the hangar, bring the chaos to a standstill.

Hera stopped, her gaze unblinking as it met his in a heartbeat.

All that she needed to do was to look into his eyes. To look, see the desperate, broken lie, brimming with shameful tears, to know that it was true.

That Kanan was a Jedi.

Hera stared at him. Her eyes slowly widened, her soft lips slightly parting.

A tear slid down her cheek. Then she screwed her eyes shut and turned away.

It struck Kanan in the chest like a bolt of lightning. It choked him and filled him with dry, empty anguish. He felt himself crumbling away to ash.

"Well, what a terribly heartbreaking story this is," the Inquisitor sighed, tightening his grip on Hera. "But nothing's changed. You're still a Jedi, and she's still a damsel in distress. Open the holocron, or she dies."

But Kanan wasn't listening anymore. His lungs were scathing and his heart was aching, thoughts racing and nerves on fire. His hands had already found the disassembled hilt hooked onto his belt and had snapped them together into their rightful place.

He drew in a deep breath, let it wash over his core. Let the Force breathe against his heart.

Then he ignited the striking, sacred blue light of his blade.

In a flash of a movement, Kanan threw himself at the Inquisitor, catching him off guard. He stumbled backwards in a flimsy attempt to dodge his blow, letting go of Hera in the process. She dropped to the floor and scrambled to her feet a moment later.

Kanan carried on with a flurry of attacks. He reigned down a furious, reckless assault as he brought his blade down again and again and again on the Inquisitor. Blue against red, good against evil. In the background, he could hear Ran shouting and cursing, but he was too focused on the enemy in front of him to care.

Bright light flared around the whirling chaos that was the two figures. Sparks flew in the air, grunts and shouts echoed, teeth gritted, and jaws clenched.

The Force rippled around Kanan, bringing a supernatural strength to his bones and pooling in his chest. He felt it course through him as he jumped and slashed and leaped and flipped. He wailed his blade down remorselessly on the Inquisitor.

It felt right.

Leaving his lightsaber broken and silenced forever had meant that he could bury Caleb Dume and his sorrows there with it. It had seemed a reasonable exchange.

But now, as his blade gleamed a brilliant, cold blue for the first time in five years, he knew that he had missed this, and that this was right.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw a flash of green, and he knew that Hera was running for the ship.

For years, Kanan had lost himself. He'd wandered in the dust and the dirt, half-awake and barely living, bled of all hope or care.

But with Hera, he had just started to find himself again.

"You won't get away, Jedi rat," the Inquisitor snarled, pressing his blade up against Kanan's.

"Shut up. You're annoying me," Kanan hissed, regrettably too focused on fighting to bother coming up with a better come-back. He gritted his teeth and shoved his blade down harder, pouring all of his might into it.

The Force sent a wave of strength behind him, and with a cut-short yell, the Inquisitor went flying backwards.

"Kanan, now!"

Kanan whirled to where he had heard Hera's voice, drinking it in like sweet nectar or a cure. She stood on the ramp of their ship, engines revved and hovering. She frantically waved her arms, beckoning him. "Let's go!"

His heart swelled and drummed in his chest as he realized that she'd waited for him.

She had waited for him.

Without so much as a second's hesitation, he bolted towards the ship, leaving the Inquisitor struggling on the ground behind him. In a quick movement, he rolled to the ground, snatched up the holocron, and was back running on his feet.

As soon as he boarded the Ghost, the ray shield somehow flickered off and the gravity was sucked out of the room. A second later, Chopper—Force bless that droid—flew through the gap in the half-raised ramp and into the ship, beeping the whole way. Then it closed and they were safe inside.

The Ghost lifted into the air, up and into space.

Below them, The Inquisitor struggled to hold onto a railing as the vacuum of space threatened to suck him away to his death while Ran frantically worked the control panel to turn the shields back on.

The Inquisitor's glare was blistering. Kanan could feel it pierce him through the metal hull of the Ghost.

Then the hyperdrive fired up and they jumped away into the emptiness of space.