Years later, in a vastly different galaxy, a long long time ago, far far away...
Hutt Space. Nar Shaddaa. Business Sector. Bounty Hunters' Guild Headquarters.
"Of course, Sir," The glossy, red protocol droid answered Risk eagerly, "If you would be so kind as to swipe your Guild card for me." It gestured stiffly toward the desk's sole prominent feature. As the Guild receptionist, the droid had no need of flimsies or a personal terminal. It also could easily be repaired in the event of a visit from an unsatisfied client. The multitude of scratches on his plating suggested that such visits might have been a regular occurrence.
Risk slid his counterfeit card through the reader, disguising her uncertainty with boredom. Bina had made the credentials' weakness abundantly clear: Risk could pose as Jensi Sallaros indefinitely—until the real Sallaros swiped his real card at any Guild office or Security Post.
Sallaros hadn't used the card in three months, checked in rarely and seemed to only hunt bounties when it suited her. It was the best Bina could do.
A tiny light on the card reader flickered white as data bounced along network links. After a few agonizing seconds, it glowed a steady green. "Mr Sallaros, Guildmaster Cradossk is waiting for you in his office. Please, use one of our complimentary weapons lockers and we will be on our way."
Risk waved off the droid-receptionist, "I don't need a complimentary locker today. Thanks." The combination of his unreliable credentials and the lucrative bounty he wore around his neck made giving up his weapons less than unappealing.
Though it was not as if he would be defenseless without them; Risk inwardly smiled as he let his thoughts drift to a better time.
The droid shuffled around his anachronistic desk and addressed him again, his golden eyes glowing. "Sir, the weapons lockers are both complimentary and mandatory." He raised his arms at the elbow, as if expecting to shake both his hands at once. Instead, the droid's forearms split along a hidden seam and revealed a pair of nasty built-in blaster rifles.
Risk lifted his hands in surrender and stepped over to the lockers, "I see your point."
"Do not forget your key. I assure you that your weapons will not be disturbed until three months after your demise—should you choose to leave them with us." He recited the Guild's policy as if it were a cheerful marketing screed.
Risk wondered if the Guild's doorway weapon scanners could detect his lightsabre as he stole a glance over his shoulder at the droid. It-he hooked his elbow into the drape of his cloak and used it to cover the locker as he obediently placed nearly his entire private arsenal inside.
The receptionist's weaponry retracted amicably and he led him into the remarkably professional central Guild office. Risk would probably have been more interested in the unexpected corporate decor if he hadn't been preoccupied by the uncomfortable lightness of being unarmed.
He was able to notice a sudden inconsistency, "I thought I was meeting with the Council."
"Mr Sallaros, Guildmaster Cradossk is waiting for you in his office," the droid repeated. He showed her to a large set of black double doors and bowed graciously before he shuffled off to resume his duties.
Risk glared at his oblivious, shiny red silhoutte and mentally discharged a bit of lingering resentment over her absent weaponry. The emotion was misplaced, and he didn't care.
The doors parted to reveal a bright office caught in the height of a colorful Nar Shaddaa sunset. Risk's eyes were dazzled by the light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and he was forced to pause in the doorway to adjust to the scene.
"Enter," said the office's sole occupant, in the Trandoshan tongue. Risk could follow the language well enough to understand the invitation. Fortunately, anyone as business-minded as Cradossk would comprehend Basic even if his anatomy wasn't well-disposed to speaking it.
He squinted at the reptilian silhouette, "Guildmaster, forgive me but I expected to meet with the Council."
"Instead, you meet with me. Perhaps you are disappointed, Risk," he hissed. His fake name stood out among the grunts and hisses of Dosk. She could see well enough to catch the light glistening from an antique dagger in Cradossk's hands. He was engrossed in the task of cleaning what he guessed was a prized family heirloom. A grim thought had him wondering how many beings it had slain over the generations.
"I've yet to decide. But I am grateful that I don't have to keep up the charade," he lied. His stolen credentials had been one of her few comforts.
"We allow for poachers. Do you know why?" Cradossk stood up and began slowly stalking towards Risk. He didn't bother to sheathe the knife.
"They make real bounty hunters look good and they take the jobs you don't want." He replied, head held high in defiance.
"Very good. The Council wants me to gut you from here," he pointed the knife at his stomach, from a couple of meters away, "to here." He brought the blade up to point at his neck. "Do you know why?"
As if you could
Risk squared his shoulders and answered as dispassionately as he could. Such a vicious threat was transparent, familiar, and easy enough to manage. It also did not frighten him. "Because I'm better than a poacher."
Cradossk narrowed his orange eyes and blinked. His eyelids closed lazily, like a sleepy crocodilian napping as it waits for its prey. He spat out a laugh and sheathed his dagger. "You must be. But you are wrong, that is not why they want you dead."
Risk did not relax. Though he had worked with bounty hunters for a long time, experience made him extra careful. Then again, he had to wonder if she'd understood that sudden phrase in Dosh; he spoke so rarely to Trandoshans. "Then what's the problem?"
He closed the gap between them with a single, long step. He sniffed the air around him, mouth slightly agape. "You ruin our reputation. You let bounties go. You killed three licensed hunters." He added after a moment, "The wookie survived."
He studied Cradossk for a long moment, "Why don't you want to kill me?"
"The Scorekeeper teaches many things. She says we must not waste. Gutting you is a waste of a good hunter." He circled him once and made his way back to a chair behind a simple, curved desk. Sharp claws on his bare, clawed feet clicked on the hard flooring. "The ones you killed were not good hunters."
Rope nets hung from the ceiling, full of desiccated trophies. Ancient weapons covered the walls, most of which had been restored to their former, gleaming glory. A few camouflage and flight suits stood near the door, immaculate and ready for use. He gestured for Risk to take a seat opposite his desk. He obliged and gave his hunters' regalia a few appreciative nods as she sat.
"So we can forget this bounty and you'll let me join the Guild."
"You could have joined the Guild any time—before you made us angry."
"Then, I don't understand..."
"You killed three licensed hunters on Nal Koska. You let the prey go free. That is unacceptable. You will make amends."
Risk leaned forward in his seat, "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"You are not sworn to the Creed. You cannot break an oath you have not sworn."
"...go on?"
Cradossk slid a picture, printed on flimsy, across his desk. In the photo, a well-groomed man with a tidy goatee was frozen in the act of adjusting an expensive crimson jacket. "Fore Prion has broken the Creed many times. But the Council does not believe that he could disappoint them. They like him. He has hurt acquisitions that should have been protected. He always cuts on them. Every body is missing pieces. The Gamorreans are unrecognizable. The last one was missing half his ribcage." Cradossk shook his head, "Unnecessary."
Risk kept a straight face, but he winced inside.
"He is an oily man. His smile covers up the truth and our Council believes that the damage is just part of his work. It is a great dishonor to the Guild."
There was a stony silence, before Risk opened his mouth.
"Why should I accept? I kill for different reasons."
Cradossk didn't seem put-off at the least. Instead, he dug out a pristine clear folder. It contained a single file.
Prion was on the cover, dragging along a familiar figure. A figure that he had not seen in many long years, cut all over with blood drying fast, lifelessly staring ahead, surrounded by three or four corpses.
Risk felt his eye twitching, and he was sure the damned Trandoshan had not missed it.
He let out a sigh.
Cradossk smiled with rows of conical teeth.
Risk collected the rest of the necessary information from Cradossk, all of it covered in caveats and oaths to secrecy.
He left the Bounty Hunters' Guild headquarters steeled for his first Guild-sanctioned hunt.
"L'Orexis Group in Chandrila is an MWC that has many brands offering a variety of positions for job seekers including counter managers, beauty advisors, managerial positions..."
Risk paused the hologram, going back to the menu. Keying in "Prion" in the search function, he was disappointed, but not surprised that he could not find anything. He dug out the file given to him by the guild, ready for some closer scrutiny, when the doors to his room opened with a whoosh.
Risk didn't look up. Years of practice had honed his mental capabilities in such a way that though not strengthened by much, they were fine as thread, not to mention the force signature was extremely familiar.
"Master"
The fair blond girl gave a short bow, but Risk ignored her. There was an awkward silence, before Risk turned to her,
"Didn't I tell you not to call me that? I am not of the order any more."
"But you are strong in the force...even the instructors weren't as strong as you."
The girl looked at him defiantly.
Risk shook his head.
"I'm sure they were each strong in their own right," he said calmly, continuing to study the file for clues about what name Prion might have registered himself under.
"That's not the point," the girl sighed, exasperated.
Risk ignored her, pressing "play" on the hologram
"As part of it's grassroots eforrts, L'Orexis has been spearheading programmes and initiatives to foster interactions and friendships between Chandrilans of different species and ethnic groups. An example is CampTeen, a youth harmony program dedicated to promoting harmony and bring youths from all species and races together. This Camp is headed by Leslan Barring..."
Risk stopped the hologram, checking the file again. "Leslan Barring" matched Foe Prion perfectly, from their arrogant expression to the nondescript scar on the left cheek. The only difference was their hair, which could be easily altered.
"Sir Risk," the girl finally opened her mouth, looking straight at him. "When are you going to start training me?" she was trying to act tough, but it just came off as scared.
Risk couldn't help but feel pity for the girl he had rescued six months ago. A member of an extinct race, never able to blend in with the rest, given a taste of the exoticity and the power of the force but unable to use it out of fear. He lapsed into his own thoughts.
"Are you sure?" he broke the silence.
"I've decided," the girl said, "I want to learn what I deserve, even if I'm going to get killed because of it."
Risk nodded. He didn't owe it to the girl, but he owed it to the Jedi that he had forsaken.
"Understand, Jeswi, that I am not a Jedi Master. Being strong in the force and being a Jedi are different." He began, watching with amusement, but also nostalgia as the girl-Jeswi eagerly nodded, victory and anticipation flashing in her brown eyes.
"All right, come here, and kneel in front of me. Yes, good, now open your mind and let me see..."
He was pleasantly surprised to find that she was already well versed in the basics. One of the more obedient initiates at the...Risk let the thought trail off, and focused on the lesson.
He reached out to guide her mind to the correct mindset, sweating a little with the difficulty. It would be much easier with a padawan bond, he briefly entertained the thought, before another, firmer part of his mind chastised himself for even going down that path.
He did not want to experience the same excruciating feeling of pain and loss again.
Entering meditation with his temporary protege, Risk reflected upon all there was, his mind years away.
Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Chaos, yet harmony.
A/N: So even without Vader Order 66 is still carried out, but with different protagonists/antagonists. Basically the emperor still uses Dooku as his main vessel, but has his "Empire's hands" basically including some other fallen Jedi/sith. Mostly canon.
Luminous Being: Yes the story begins from Rogue planet before the timeline diverges: I also changed the location to coruscant in order to fit in the "Jedi rushing in" scene. Shall mention this more clearly.
