A/N Hey everyone, sorry it's been a while. Took another BAR exam and had a family member get married, so I've been busy. But I'm hopefully back in the game, so I'll try to update more regularly. Thanks to Kosiah's review for giving me the impetus to get this posted. And yes, I'm that shameless. If you want chapters, the only currency I accept is reviews. So there. :P
Chapter 14: Citadel Station
The Ebon Hawk thumped back into normal space with a decidedly disconcerting wheeze of the hyperdrive. Everyone, even T3, was up in the cockpit for this. Telos was . . . well, it was unlike anything Marina had ever seen. The planet itself was a mess of dead brown and dingy blue, decidedly uninviting for what was supposed to have been a habitable planet. But more noticeable was the massive, silvery dome that seemed to hover over a staggering twenty percent or so of the planet. The cost of that was astronomical, mind-boggling.
They really were trying to clean up the entire planet.
"Impressive, right? But the trillion credit question is, will it work? And so far, the answer has been no." Atton waived a hand in idle disinterest. "More importantly, we're being hailed by Citadel Station, a control center of sorts, in orbit around the planet. Now they may not know about Peragus yet, so let's not blow it, alright?"
Without waiting for a response, he keyed the com and started talking to docking control to negotiate them a pad.
Marina hardly heard him. She was staring up at the planet. She hadn't watched this one burn, no, but she'd seen enough others to know exactly what it would have looked like. Fix it? But that's . . . impossible. Some things are just better left alone.
And while she watched the planet, Kreia watched her.
The moment they disembarked, the loudspeaker interrupted its drone of background information with a sharp comment. "Attention, this is Citadel Station Bay Control, Dock Module 126. Please remain where you are. Lieutenant Grenn will arrive shortly to meet you. That is all."
Atton grimaced, hand twitching towards his liberated blaster. "I don't like the sound of that. If they think we caused the explosion . . ."
It didn't take long. An officer wearing an unfamiliar uniform in a very familiar orange and gold stepped through the airlock flanked by four security officers. He paused a moment, taking in the hangar bay, then focused on the three of them and spoke without preamble. "I'm Lieutenant Grenn, Telos Security Force. I'm under orders to take you into custody in regards to the destruction of the Peragus Mining Facility."
Atton and Marina both winced at the words 'into custody.' Marina hid her discomfort as best she could. "Are we under arrest?"
Grenn shrugged easily. "Not exactly. You haven't been formally charged, but you will be placed under house arrest pending the results of our investigation. Due to the nature of our investigation, I have no specific timetable to offer you. In the meantime, your ship and any droids will have to be given over for safekeeping."
T3 trilled in alarm from the boarding ramp.
"Yes, that includes you. You are a droid, so you will be detained. In addition, we will have to take your personal arms and armor until the completion of our inquiry."
Marina sighed. "I understand."
Atton held up his hands. "Hold on, is there any way to get our equipment back?"
Grenn nodded. "If you are cleared of any involvement, your personal effects will be returned to you. You will be held briefly in the TSF station until living quarters can be arranged, at which point you will be placed under house arrest. Do you understand?"
Marina gave Atton a glance, then turned back to Grenn. "We do. We'll cooperate."
Grenn couldn't quite hide the relief in his expression. "Good. My men will relieve you of any arms and armor."
Atton just groaned. "Tell me I'm not going to jail again." Grenn gave him a sharp glance. "Falsely accused, for your information."
The Jedi Master known as Atris paused in her meditation. Her brow wrinkled as she concentrated, straining to hear, to feel at something just out of sight. She sensed . . . something. Something she had not felt in a long, long time.
Is it possible? Have I succeeded at long last?
If so, there was little time to lose. She rose gracefully to her feet and tapped the chime. The servant posted outside her quarters responded instantly to her call. "Yes, master?"
"I have need of your services. You must go to Citadel Station. Hear me now, for you must be be very careful not to be seen. And here is what you must do . . ."
Lieutenant Grenn gestured to the tiny room at the back of the equally tiny TSF station. "You will be held here briefly. Living quarters are being arranged for you and your companions as we speak. Someone will return shortly to escort you to an apartment in residential 082."
Marina just stared at the inside of her force cage with distaste.
Atton spoke up. "Wait, I had some questions."
Grenn shook his head. "I'm a busy man, your questions will have to wait."
With that, he left, and Atton slid down to a seated position with a sigh. "Well, we're probably going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable. And at least they didn't stick us in the same cell this time . . ." He let the thought trail off, and nobody asked him to elaborate.
An hour later, Kreia stirred uneasily. "Someone is coming."
Atton started awake. "Wha . . .?"
The door slid open once more and another mean wearing TSF armor stepped in confidently. He glanced at the three cages quickly, then locked eyes on Marina. He stepped over easily, eyeing her up and down skeptically. "So this is the last of the Jedi. I must admit, I'm a little disappointed."
Marina masked her despair with exasperation. "You're wrong, I'm no Jedi."
The intruder smiled easily. "Jedi or no, you're the one they'll pay good money for, there's no mistaking that. Medium build, blue eyes, brown hair, the pale skin of a longtime spacer. No past, moving under the radar, avoiding the Republic . . . until now. The Exchange has a bounty on you Jedi, you know. Hard to come across these days—you're worth quite a bit of money."
Marina just shrugged.
Atton felt . . . something. He didn't know what it was, and was immediately suspicious of it. And yet . . . seeing the assassin laughing it up bothered him. It was just . . . it was wrong. He was doing it all wrong. Blowing the element of surprise, making his motives known, backing her up against a wall . . . that wasn't how you killed a Jedi. It was the worst possible way to go about it. The man was so incompetent it was insulting
He shouldn't care. The Jedi would get what was coming to her (or both of them, if he was lucky), and that would be that. Oh, he'd have to take the man down in the end, as even someone as brain-dead as this guy probably realized he couldn't leave any witnesses, but there it was, problem solved. Jedi gone, him freed, boom, finished.
But that nagging feeling wouldn't leave him. What was it? What was he missing, forgetting? Something . . . he didn't know what, but there was something, and it both bothered and frightened him. And so, against all of his better instincts, he acted.
"The Exchange, huh? I'm pretty sure some two-bit pistol jockey like yourself isn't one of them."
It was so painfully, obviously an attempt to distract him that it was actually more of an insult than a real attempt. You come after me with something this incompetent, his words said, then I'll try to stop them in an equally, embarrassingly incompetent way.
"You bounty hunters couldn't even win a fair fight! You're the cheapest, most worthless mercenary scum in the galaxy. I'd hire a Mandalorian over your filth in a second."
"You are trying to distract me. It will not succeed." He turned back to Marina. "Come, Jedi. It is time for your escape attempt." He tapped a command into the cage and it fizzled out. Marina just stood there, staring at him incredulously. "You know there's only one way I could fight you. Please, don't make me do it."
"Easier for me, then. Come, Jedi. Time to die."
She didn't move. He blinked, uncertain, then drew back a fist and crunched into her kidney. She dropped like a rock, mouth gasping for air that wouldn't come while spit dribbled out onto the tiled floor.
Atton's feeling of unease grew stronger, an itch he couldn't find. He bounced on the balls of his feet, anxiety nearly overwhelming him. "Hey, leave her alone! If you want a fight, try me, if you've got the guts."
The assassin ignored him and moved in quickly, drawing a small vibroblade. He was good, keeping a tight grip on the weapon and keeping it in front of him, no wild swings or slashes. Not good. What am I missing? What's bothering me?
That it might be because he was going to watch an acquaintance die didn't even occur to him. He'd done that far too many times for it to get under his skin like this.
Marina grimaced and reached for the Force.
Too hard.
It slipped away and she was on her own. She dove to the side, trying to get a little room to maneuver, and payed for it with a long slash along her arm, leaving her hissing with pain and clutching at the wound.
He didn't give her time to recover, wading in after her. She grabbed his arm holding the weapon but her hand slipped, slicked with blood. She twisted away from his next stab, which cut deeply into her side. She twisted harder and went down backwards, tearing the blade deeper, but wrenching it free from the assassin's grasp as it caught between her ribs.
He cursed and came down after her, straddling her while he scrambled for the vibroblade. She pushed back, getting her left hand up beneath his chin, while the other struggled to keep his hands from the blade. They strained, reaching, struggling, breathing heavily.
Her hand slipped on the vibroblade's handle and he wrenched it free as she gasped in pain. The blade came up and down again, jerking to a stop as she grabbed his wrist with her right hand. He leaned forward on her, getting his weight behind the vibroblade, and it creaped closer. Her slick right left hand scrabbled at his wrist, unable to get purchase, slipped off.
She kept pushing with her left hand on his neck, trying to release the pressure as the knife kept coming. They were locked once more, strained grimaced, teeth clenched, gasped . . . and the Force came. Her left hand clenched, twisted, and the assassin's neck snapped with an audible, awful snap. He flopped bonelessly on top her and she slid sideways and shoved him off with a shudder of horrified revulsion.
She stared at the man, his head lolled awkwardly to the side at an unnatural angle, quivering as silent tremors shook her, but she did not cry. This . . . she knew this, knew these sights, these smells, these feelings. You could not give in, not surrender, or you might never come back.
For a long moment she lay there watching, while behind her Atton and Kreia watched her just as quietly, all three of their faces the same blank mask.
The door slammed open with a trample of boots. "The security cameras a . . . what? What's going on here? Man down, quick, call a medic! All right Jedi, I want you to get up slowly, hands in front of you, and step back into the force cage. Cooperate and we won't have to gun you down."
They kept their eyes on Marina, who kept staring at the dead man, while her blood slowly pooled on the floor.
"Come on Lieutenant, She's already killed . . . hold on, who is that? Is that Batu Rem?"
Atton jerked his eyes away from Marina, somehow irritated at their interruption of . . . he didn't know, didn't want to know. There were three security officers, Green and two he didn't recognize. "He said he was an assassin. Is this the best TSF protection you have to offer?" His sarcasm and disdain was weak, forced, but it was familiar. It was safe.
The youngest officer jerked as if slapped, confusion skating into anger on the ice of shock. "Rem's no assassin you gutter-snipe piece of—"
"Batu Rem is on leave, he shouldn't even be on the station," interrupted Grenn. "This man isn't him."
"That's just great, but in case you geniuses hadn't noticed, she's bleeding out in front of you. Maybe do something about that, yeah?"
Grenn gave himself a little shake. "You're right, of course. Officer, get her to medical immediately. And as for you two, we've arranged for an apartment in residential model 082. You'll stay there under house arrest until our investigation of the Peragus Matter is complete. You'll be under TSF protection . . ." His voice trailed off for a moment as the bloodied woman was carried out of her prison cell, but continued on gamely. "I'll personally clear any visitors to your quarters, and we'll investigate this incident to the best of our ability."
"Great, another investigation. Inspiring."
Grenn sighed. "Officer Darrow, get Lieutenant Yeema a report of this incident. She'll look into this. The rest of you, come with me. We'll escort you to the apartment immediately.
…
Atton stalked moodily after Lieutenant Grenn as they made their way through the station, and almost made a break for it for the dozenth time. Damn it, I'll just make sure she's alight, that's it, then I'm gone.
At last Grenn and his little posse came to a halt in front of a nondescript door buried in the heart of a large spiral housing complex, one of many segmented areas that hung off the station like massive parasites on the bare bones of the station's skeletal structure.
"These will serve as your quarters for the duration of your house arrest. Two officers will be stationed outside at all times. Again, I'll clear any visitors. There won't be another 'incident.'"
Atton tried and failed to keep his lip from curling. "But just to be on the safe side, why don't you leave us a blaster or two?" He glanced at the imperiously silent Kreia. "Or better yet, just one?"
Grenn just shook his head and Atton rolled his eyes. "Fine. Look, can you at least tell us how long we'll be here? You owe us at least that much."
Grenn didn't give a millimeter, refusing to show if Atton was getting to him. "I can't say. We have a ship examining what's left of the Peragus facility now, so your stay might be brief. We'll keep you informed."
Atton stepped on his anger and made his face slide back to a desolate resignation as he took in the spartan quarters. "Well, this is a step up from the force cage at least."
Kreia walked in without a word and Atton followed her, shutting the door abruptly on Grenn. It was petty, but made him feel a tiny bit better. He settled on one of the hard bunks, but it wasn't five minutes until the smothering silence drove him to his feet, pacing back and forth.
"This isn't good . . . damn it, we've got to get off this station!"
"Why?" The unexpected, coldly amused question from Kreia interrupted his pacing. She hadn't turned or even opened her eyes, useless as they were.
He frowned, immediately wary. "Because . . ." he started cautiously, "what do you think the TSF is going to find at Peragus? That could lead the Sith . . ." He stopped abruptly as it dawned on him that Kreia had to know all this already and was just messing with him. "You know what? Forget it. As long as we're trapped here it doesn't matter anyways."
Atton threw himself back on the bunk, irritated with himself. He tried to keep his mind busy, reciting Republic transmission frequencies. But he ran out. He played pazaak in his head, but lost count in the seventh game as his mind turned yet again to that singular, bizarre woman that had stormed into his life. She is so . . . I mean, she's a bloody Jedi, but she doesn't act like it, doesn't . . . doesn't even want to be, but she can't get away . . . He shivered, and wondered, and eventually, he cracked.
"Tell me something."
Kreia didn't even twitch. "I do not have the years required, nor the desire to indulge you."
Atton ignored her, thinking out loud to himself. "But if she served in the war . . . Jedi are supposed to be tough, capable . . ."
Kreia, of course, did not answer. Only . . . he stiffened. Her normal, sullen silence had been replaced by a more . . . contemplative, thoughtful one. He wasn't sure how he knew that. It was just one of those things you grew sensitive to after a while on the rim, especially when your life was so often on the line.
At length, "Yes . . . and what are they without the Force? Take the greatest Jedi Knight, strip away the Force, and what remains? They rely on it, depend on it more than they know. Watch as one tries to hold a blaster, as they try to hold a lightsaber, to lead others, or even walk down the street, and you will see nothing more than a man, a woman, a child."
Atton propped himself up on his elbows, watching the old woman. "But to lose so much . . . I guess I didn't realize how much they relied on it, even for normal things."
For the first time Kreia moved, a tiny turning of the head towards him. "Do not be surprised. In many ways even you are more capable than a Jedi. You could survive where they could not, simply because you do not hear the Force as they do. It is an irony, of a sort, and it is why I tolerate your presence now."
That . . . but . . . he'd never considered the possibility that the Force might be a liability. "But such a loss of ability, a total loss . . . the Jedi seemed so capable, and yet . . ."
"She has been gone from war from some time. It is conflict that strengthens us, and isolation that weakens us, erodes us."
Atton couldn't help it—he stiffened.
He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the corners of Kreia's mouth twitch in satisfaction. Damn her to hell!
"Add to that that she turned away from war, did all she could to forget it, and the last piece falls into place. But we have spoken enough of this, and we do her a disservice by not speaking of this while she is present."
Her head creaked back, and Atton silently cursed himself for not keeping his fool mouth shut.
Marina was brought back the next day, her wounds healing with what the medical staff assured each other was near-miraculous speed in excited chatter. The word would be out soon, if it wasn't already.
She ignored them until they went away, and the long moment drug on while nobody looked each other, unwilling to risk their thoughts in such company. Then it passed, and she was one of them again.
Nobody said much that day.