Apologies
- Dustil Onasi -
The trees were crazy on this planet, like someone had shot them full of growth stims en masse over centuries. They must be ancient. In places, the outer crust of bark had been stripped away or eroded due to time. I could see the dried edges of the bark. In some places, that alone looked like it was more than a metre thick.
Funny, to think this was only the third planet I'd ever been on. It was so different to Telos or Korriban. Even the smell in the air was weird; pungent and moist, like the entire place was smothered in fungi-moss. Still, it was better than the sulphuric stink of Korriban. And the Force here felt wild and strong – without that twist to it that had become as familiar as a dagger in the back.
I retraced my steps to the freighter, walking fast, holding tight onto the Force weaves that obscured my presence. I'd kept a close eye on our path before, mentally taking note of each turn that frakking robe had chosen as we'd all followed him like meek bantha to the slaughter.
It'd been easy, to slip away from Dad once he moved to speak to Jen Sahara. Kel avoided looking at me most of the time, and Dak and the Cathar were otherwise occupied with that wrapped up corpse they were carrying. I wasn't going to meet those damn Jedi and turn into one of them. I'd said as much to Dad last night, but like usual, he hadn't listened. Some things hadn't changed, even after all these years.
…
"I want you to go with Dak and Kel," Dad said, his face serious as we sat quietly in the central room of the Ebon Hawk. I'd waited until the others had cleared out before entering. Even now, I hadn't fancied running into Mission Vao. Jen Sahara had still been there when I'd entered, but she shot me a wry look and vanished in the direction of the cockpit. Guess she knew Dad was about to grill me. "To the Jedi Master, I mean."
"I'm not going to be a frakking Jedi," I shot back, scowling. This wasn't the first time I'd said it.
He sighed. "I'm not asking you to join the Order, Dustil, but I don't think the Force is something you can run from."
"You don't know anything about the Force, Dad."
"Maybe not," he conceded. "But I'm learning. Look, Dustil, the truth of it is that I want you somewhere safe. I don't know where I'll be going until I check in with my superiors – and while I'd like to believe I can stay on Kashyyyk for an extended period of time, I get the feeling we'll be headed straight towards the Sith after this."
My eyes narrowed. "So, are you gonna tell me what's going on? Why aren't you on the frontlines?"
He looked away, his face tightening. Like always, keeping secrets. He'd told me they'd been on a classified mission commanded by the Jedi Order, but that didn't make any sense. Dad had been a Wing Commander, last time I checked, not a frakking scout or spy.
He'd said his posting to the Endar Spire – the big cruiser that'd been betrayed and shot up over Taris – was as an advisory one to the navi-pilots, and circumstance more than anything else had thrown him together with Bastila Shan and Jen Sahara. Since when did Dad take advisory positions? I'd been away for four years, though, so things might have changed, but…
…he'd been cagey about Jen Sahara, too. She had to be a pretty powerful Jedi, yet I'd never heard of her. And we got pretty familiar with the names of important Jedi at the Sith Academy.
At the close of it, he still wouldn't budge on details - on what they were actually after.
"What we're doing could change the course of the war, Dustil," Dad said at long last. "But it's dangerous. I want to know you're somewhere safe."
"So I'll head back to Telos," I snapped, my shoulders tightening in annoyance. I'd heard a large space station had been set up in orbit around our ruined planet, whose atmosphere had acidified to the point where no life was currently viable. The full extent of the devastation had only become apparent weeks after the plasma had settled. I hadn't understood the depth of my homeworld's ruin, not until I'd been months on Korriban. "I'm sure I can hang around on Citadel Station until you've finished with your war."
"It's not my war, Dustil, it's everyone's," Dad returned, his voice flat and terse. "And I don't have lodgings on Citadel Station. There's nothing there for you – it's better if the Jedi look after you until this is all over."
I could feel the scowl growing on my face. "I don't want to go with the damn Jedi, Dad. And if you're happy enough to take a Twi'lek girl along with you, then why the frakk can't I come?"
Dad sighed, his eyes closing briefly. "We won't be bringing Mission with us, not if we're heading into Sith territory. I don't- Look, I haven't worked out where Mission will go, but I won't let Jen take her into certain death. Dustil, I'm not sure where I'm headed yet. But it can't hurt to at least meet that Jedi Master and see what he has to say."
"Fine," I bit out, fed up and annoyed. I stood abruptly, pushing away my uneaten dinner. It tasted like the mush the Academy had offered over the years. Synthesizer crap was probably the same anywhere in the galaxy. Artificial flavourings never really hid the paste-like consistency.
"Dustil," Dad said, as I began to move away. His voice had a pleading note in it. "We'll work it out, okay? The Jedi are not anything to be scared of."
I gave him a short nod and moved away. I'm not meeting any damn Jedi, no matter what he thinks. But sometimes, it simply wasn't worth arguing with him.
…
I slipped into the starport, unseen by the uniformed Czerka staff who manned the area. Unlike the incompetents that milled throughout Dreshdae, these guys were armoured and equipped with varying weapons. Czerka Corp branched out all through the galaxy, or so I'd heard, but here on Kashyyyk they looked more like a military force than an intergalactic retail conglomerate.
I drew in a breath as the Ebon Hawk rose in front of me. I had another reason for heading back. My own cowardice had been gnawing at me - my inability to front up and say one simple word. Sorry. I didn't doubt that it'd get thrown back in my face – but from what I knew of Mission Vao, she deserved that word.
Why don't you try facing up to her and apologizing? Jen Sahara's advice kept coming back to haunt me in my head, and yet I'd found it so hard to do what she suggested. I could still see my dagger tracing along the back of Mission's neck, and the hateful words spewing from my mouth and destroying the camaraderie we'd just founded.
I dropped my grasp on the Force and knocked loudly on the closed hatch. A minute later, it opened and the Wookiee stood in the entrance. His arms were folded and he was glaring.
I'd never met a Wookiee before this one, and now I was on a planet full of them. They were smarter than I'd realized. I'd always thought of them as no more than primitive muscle who could barely communicate, but I was beginning to realize how completely wrong, even potentially xenophobic, I'd been.
I swallowed. "Hi. I wanted to, uh, to say sorry. To Mission, I mean."
He howled something incomprehensible, and didn't move. His black eyes stared down at me from an impressive height, and I shifted uneasily.
"Look, I frakked up badly on Korriban," I muttered. "I realize that. I just want to make sure she knows I realize that, too."
"Let the Sithkid in, Zaalbar," a gravelly voice said from behind me. I turned to spot the Mandalorian, who was eyeballing me derisively. A harassed Czerka bureaucrat holding a datapad stood in his shadow, failing miserably to get his attention. "He's Onasi's son. You ain't got nothing to worry 'bout him."
The Wookiee huffed, stepping to the side and allowing me access. It was galling, to be so easily dismissed by that ugly merc. I didn't get his comment. Was he calling me weak because of Dad, or too nice to try anything?
Why is a Mandalorian with Dad? Dad had told me a bit about Taris, the mad adventure to rescue Bastila Shan and sneak off-world before the Sith could capture them. He and Jen had picked up Ordo, the Wookiee, and Mission along the way. But Dad hadn't explained exactly why Ordo was still with them. If they're on a super-secret quest for the Republic or the Jedi or whoever he's reporting to, then how the frakk can they trust a Mandalorian?
I felt my mouth twist, and clambered up the loading ramp. It didn't matter. I was here to apologize, and I was damn well going to do it before my courage ran out like juma juice in a spacer's bar.
The Wookiee was dogging my heels, and I supposed I couldn't blame him. Dad told me Zaalbar was best friends with Mission, and they'd been looking out for each other for years in the Lower City of Taris – which sounded like living on the streets. Mekel would get along with Mission. Mekel would know what to say. Mekel had always been better with words than me.
I wondered where my friend was, and if he'd truly forgiven me for Selene. I should have trusted him. I wished I had.
I heard music as I wandered into the Ebon Hawk, the thrumming bass of a rock song that was unfamiliar but had the catchy beat of popular music. And as I turned into the garage, the sight I saw was more carefree and jubilant than anything I'd seen in my life ever.
Mission and that astromech droid were twirling around dancing – as much as a three-foot high utility droid could. The droid stopped mid-spin at my entrance, beeping in protest, but Mission didn't hear. Her hands were raised as her body swayed to the beat, and her high voice echoed the chorus words of the song blasting from the ship's speakers.
My mouth dried as I took in her lithe figure that was clad in a tight tunic, leaving little to the imagination. Her lekku hung loosely down her back as she stretched her arms skyward. I wondered, suddenly, just how old she was.
The Wookiee howled from behind me, and Mission spun around, lekku flying. Her light brown eyes widened in alarm as they fixed on me.
"You!" she cried in surprise. Her cheeks flushed angrily, darkening the blue skin to purple. She folded her arms and glared. "What d'ya want, chuba-face?" she snapped.
The tense knot of uneasy shame sat heavy in my stomach. "I- uh, I-"
"Aren't you meant to be with the others?" she cut in. The droid wheeled behind her and switched the music off. The silence was a jarring contrast to the earlier happy beat.
"Well, yeah, but-"
Her gaze slid past me. "Why'd ya let this jerk in, Big Z?" Her mouth twisted in a scowl. "He should be off with his daddy."
"Sorry!" I yelled suddenly. Mission blinked, before her eyes narrowed again. "Look, I came back to say sorry, alright? I should have done it earlier, I know, but…" I trailed off, feeling my face flush. I'd always been useless talking to girls. It was worse when they had every reason to hate me.
"You think some half-baked apology makes up for what you did?" she spluttered. "Far out, you threatened to kill me, you- you- yellow-bellied slug-brained Gamorrean pig-man!"
"I know! Look, I don't expect you to forgive me, alright? I just wanted you to know that I wish I could take it back, that…" I broke from her angry gaze, dropping mine to the ground. My face was hot. "You kept talking about leaving Korriban and there being a better way… and it just didn't seem possible. Talk like that – it gets people killed, back there." My voice had dropped to a near-whisper, and I heard the footsteps of the Wookiee wander away from behind me. Maybe he'd decided I was too pathetic to be a threat. "You seemed nice. Real nice. There were worse students in the Academy than me that might've come across you, y'know. I thought if I scared you enough, then maybe you wouldn't leave your ship again."
"I can take care of myself," she snapped, her voice tart. "And I don't let anyone stop me going where I want."
I looked up; she was still scowling at me, but I thought she looked a little less fierce. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Her face had paled back to its natural blue, smooth and youthful and flawless. "Fair enough," I mumbled. "As long as you know that I regret it. I- I'll leave you, now."
I turned, and walked out of the freighter's garage, not entirely sure of my destination.
"Are you heading back to the others?" Mission called out, her voice peaking with cautious interest. I halted, staring blindly down the corridor to the exit hatch.
"No," I answered. "I'm not interested in meeting the Jedi. Thought I'd go have a look around the Czerka shops."
I heard footsteps as she walked closer. "Why don't you want to go with that Jedi Master?" The curiosity was obvious, now, as she questioned me further.
I didn't want to answer… but then, it almost sounded like Mission was giving me another chance. There was a small kernel of hope inside my belly, slowly growing, and I realized her good opinion meant something to me. "I'm sick of people telling me what to do," I muttered. "I didn't have a choice about going to Korriban. I'm not going to be forced into anything again."
Mum had mistrusted the Jedi. She'd been fierce about not wanting me to even talk to them. Interfering bigots that ruin lives, I remember her saying once, in a voice laced with acid. Normally Mum was a happy, forgiving sort, but not when it came to the Order. Her dislike of them ran far, far deeper than Dad's – who just vaguely mistrusted them - and Mum never explained why. I didn't think Dad even knew she had a problem with the Jedi.
"I guess I get that," Mission said from behind me. I turned, then, to face her once more. She was staring at me with a frown, as if trying to work me out. "Does Carth know you came back?"
"No." I shrugged uncomfortably. "He won't be happy. So I may as well have a look around this place before I face up to the music."
The corner of her mouth twitched, before it blossomed into a pretty smile. "Want some company?"
In surprise, I found myself smiling back at her.
"Yeah," I said, and felt a flush of warmth as her eyes sparkled at me.
xXx
I didn't spot the Mandalorian as we left, and Mission was pretty keen to avoid the Wookiee, too. I had the feeling she was used to sneaking around. She shot me an impish grin as we locked the exit hatch behind us.
"Big Z will yell at me later," she commented, her voice off-hand and light, as we wandered into the bustling starport. "An' I don't really wanna leave him alone for too long. So this should only be a quick look around, yeah?"
"I'm surprised you trust me enough to come with me," I said, and immediately wished the words back. Mission stopped walking, staring at me with wide, serious eyes.
"You did a rotten thing to me. But," she continued, "I believe in second chances. And you are Carth's son."
"So everyone keeps saying," I muttered.
She frowned, and a touch of belligerence crept into her face. "What's your beef with your dad? He's a good guy, y'know. I woulda thought you'd be happy he came an' took you away from that rotten place."
I could feel my shoulders hunch defensively. "It's complicated. I don't want to talk about it. Look, let's get going." I glanced around – I could only see Czerka staff nearby, but it wouldn't be long before Dad came back for me. I'd get an earful, sure – and I'd rather put that off as long as possible.
I strode away from Mission, towards the stairs leading out of the landing pad. There were similar sized pads – both empty – on either side of the Ebon Hawk. Even more dotted around the gigantic tree that braced the control tower.
There were no footsteps behind me, and I could feel Mission's gaze boring into my back. Maybe, after that exchange, she'd decided I wasn't worth the bother. But I didn't want to talk to anyone about my father – especially not a pretty girl near my own age.
Just when I thought she wasn't coming, the sound of running footsteps caught my ear.
"You should chill out a bit, y'know," Mission said, as she caught up to me. "I reckon you take everything too seriously."
We sidled past a pair of uninterested Czerka guards and down the stairwell that curved around the wroshyr tree as it descended. At the bottom, it spilled out into a large courtyard that was winched tight against the neighbouring trees, much the same as the docking bay.
The construction of the Czerka outpost was completely different to the Wookiee ramps and lashed village buildings. Permacrete and metal versus natural materials. It was a jarring contrast.
"And you don't take things seriously enough," I returned at last, unable to stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. "I mean, you did go for a wander – by yourself – on a Sith planet."
I didn't know if the reminder would just piss her off again, but she just grinned back at me. "I've been on my own since I was a kid. And as for Korriban- well, I just kinda figured all the Dark Jedi would be at the Academy."
I stared at her in disbelief. "Okay, one: you are a kid. And two: really? What, you really thought none of them would ever visit the town that was no more than a short walk away?"
It was the wrong frakking thing to say. I knew it as the damn words spilled out of my mouth, and yet I didn't have the smarts to stop them. Mission's face darkened in a thunderous scowl, her light eyes spitting sparks at me. But she was so frustratingly naïve. And while it was endearing, to a point, it was also dangerous – considering the little I knew of Dad's quest. He wasn't exactly bringing her to the safest of places.
"I'm sorry," I muttered, looking away and feeling as awkward as frakk. "I didn't- I don't want to fight. Sorry. Look, can we just forget I said that?"
I stared blindly at a nearby wroshyr tree, barely registering a cloud of mites as they lazily circled around me before moving away. The uncomfortable silence needled after awhile, and I chanced a glance back to her. She was still glaring at me.
"Kid," Mission groused. "What are you, like twenty years old or something?"
"I'm sixteen," I told her, crossing my arms. "What are you, like twelve or something?"
"I'm almost sixteen," Mission claimed, tossing her head and turning away. "So if I'm a kid, then that pretty much makes you one as well." And with that she started walking – away from me, away from the starport, and towards the various Czerka stalls that opened up into a marketplace of sorts on the other side of the courtyard.
I couldn't stop a grin as Mission walked away. She was… certainly interesting, and I was pretty glad to hear we were the same age, more or less. I didn't let her go far before I chased after her. She shot me a look I couldn't quite decipher as we neared the first stall – manned by a Czerka-clad Ithorian leaning over a table laden with small plasticeel boxes. They all held disposable hypoderms in varying quantities.
I leaned closer to read the labels, and realized they were all stimulants. The Ithorian gave us a disinterested grunt. Probably thinks we're too young to have a decent amount of creds. Mission wrinkled her nose and we both turned away to canvas the area.
It was a sterile sort of place. I remembered the colourful weekly markets I'd attended on Telos when we'd lived out in the country. Even the capital city, Thani, held bright retail displays of hawkers and vendors out in force each fifth-day. I could recall the smell more than anything – different roasted foodstuffs or fried delicacies that were always the highlight of the outing.
To the right I spotted a stall selling wrapped protein bars. It wasn't the same.
"Sheesh," Mission complained. "This place looks boring. I wonder who they're even selling to."
"Mercenaries," I said slowly. The sentients wandering through the stalls all had a combat-ready look to them, those that weren't overtly grasping blaster rifles. They looked a lot more like mercs than traders or tourists. It seemed everyone on Kashyyyk wandered around openly armed. There weren't any Wookiees, I noticed. They had a reputation for keeping to themselves, and clearly had no interest in mingling with off-worlders.
Mission bore a slightly surprised look on her face as we moved deeper into the marketplace. "What would mercs be doing on Kashyyyk?"
I shrugged. "I dunno, but all of these stalls are geared towards them. Look – armour, supplies, weapons… this is a pop-up trading post just for them."
We quietened as we neared a couple of Rodians speaking to a stall-owner in halting Basic.
"Sector D4H is infested with katarn," one was stuttering, his large eyes gazing fixedly on the sent manning the stall. "But there is also a lot of tach, which means a lot of credits."
"If this poison can wipe out the katarn in an area," the other added, "then we can process the tach. We are talking large profits here, Gem, for us all."
"Not mercs," Mission hissed. "Hunters. Czerka-hired scum." She spat the last words out, and I saw her fists clench into tight balls at her sides. Her angry gaze snapped back to meet mine, before she whirled on the spot and strode off blindly, deeper into the marketplace. I blinked, momentarily surprised at her sudden getaway.
"Mission – wait!" I called, running after her through the crowd. "What's going on? What's got you so upset?"
Mercs or hunters – I honestly didn't see the frakking difference. Half the time mercs were hunters. The only thing to differentiate between them was that mercs got paid to do a job, while hunters found their payment from their kill.
Mission had a mulish look on her face as I caught up. She glanced at me sideways, and I saw a touch of sadness in her eyes. She huffed. "Look, it's just that this is Big Z's homeworld, alright? And Czerka's here to strip it of resources and make as many grubby credits as they can."
"Sure," I said slowly, not really sure at all. "But that's what they do, right? That's what any business does."
"But this is Kashyyyk!" she burst out. There were small spots of red on her cheeks. "This ain't what the Wookiees want for their planet. They live together with the plants and animals, they don't go around killing things for money!"
I frowned. "So why don't they stop Czerka then?"
She deflated at my words, staring at me mutely for a second before answering. "I dunno," she said sadly. "But I get the feeling it's worse now than when Big Z left."
I wondered why he was still back on the Ebon Hawk, and not out here on his homeworld. Why would he hide out, rather than walk outside on his homeworld again?
"Well, Czerka's pretty entrenched in this place." I glanced backwards; the imposing control tower was still visible, with the large docking bays above casting shadows over the small marketplace. Further afield, I could see another control tower with the same arrangement of landing pads around it. "I can't see them leaving Kashyyyk any time soon."
We walked in silence for a little longer, eyeing over the stalls we passed, but not getting close enough to attract attention from any seller. The Ithorian earlier had ignored us because of our appearance rather than age, I realized. Mission and I both wore loose clothing and lacked any sort of armour or weaponry. We looked like add-ons from a spacer's planet-side trip, rather than hunters about to comb the depths of Kashyyyk. It was the hunters they were interested in selling to, the hunters that their stock was aimed at.
The market ended sooner that I thought, near the edge of the permacrete platform that didn't even have a railing to advertise the fatal drop below. I made sure to stay a good metre away, and saw Mission staring at me. She had that curious look again.
"How long were you on Korriban for?" she asked, her voice high with interest.
"Four years," I said, feeling my shoulders bunch uncomfortably. The first two years hadn't been all bad, but everything had derailed after that. Now – I was away from there, and that was good – but I hated feeling so frakking directionless and uncertain. And I hated talking about it. "How long were you on Taris?"
"My whole life, I guess," she replied, shrugging. She seemed so easy and carefree, and I envied her equanimity. "My good-for-nothing brother used to say he smuggled us to Taris in the cargo hold of a freighter, but he always liked to make up wild stories, y'know? I don't remember anything but Taris from when I was young."
I didn't know Mission had a brother. I wanted to ask, but a cloud crossed her face as she spoke of him. I had the feeling it was a sensitive topic – and I didn't want to piss her off. Again. "Why'd you follow Dad off Taris? I mean, he told me how Zaalbar swore his life to Jen, but you were with a swoop gang, right? Why didn't you stay?"
Near us, a wooden path led away from the suspended marketplace to another permacrete foundation that held a handful more stalls. The air was warm and humid, and Mission was still staring at me, like I was some sort of puzzle to solve. Black leather bands wrapped around her headtails in a decorative fashion, and her brown eyes were wide and guileless.
"I guess I followed Big Z," she said slowly. "He's my best friend. I mean, the Beks woulda looked after me, and I feel bad I never had a chance to tell them where I was going…" she trailed off. "They probably think I died in the Sith bombing. Those that are still alive, anyway. I wish I coulda let them know I survived."
"Regrets suck," I muttered. "I wish I'd never blamed Mekel for- for- well, uh, it's not important now, but I wish I'd trusted him."
"Mekel – that's your cute friend, right?" Mission asked, and I tensed. Mekel was three years older than me, and Selene once said he was the best looking sent on Korriban. I wasn't sure if she'd been teasing or not, but I'd always been worried he'd make a move on her. "He told me to give you another chance."
I blinked, startled, and my eyes shot back to hers. Mekel spoke to Mission? The only time that could have been was just after I'd first entered the Ebon Hawk. When Mission had recognized me and screamed at me, and Dad had forced me inside.
"Mekel's a better friend than I deserve, I think," I said slowly.
Mission grinned, and nudged me. "Let's go check out those last few stalls, and then we'd better head back, okay?"
She began to walk onto the short wooden path that connected the courtyards, and I couldn't help but smile at her back before following. "Who do you think will yell the loudest?" I commented, as we closed in on the remaining stalls. "Your Wookiee or my dad?"
But Mission had stopped ahead of me with an audible gasp. As I stepped to her side, I could see her eyes had narrowed and her skin had paled.
"That can't be what I think it is," she whispered, and I followed her gaze to the furthest stall. It was next to a half-dozen cages.
All of them held at least one large, hair-covered, shackled sentient.
"Slavery," I muttered, my mouth twisting.
"No way, that's not right!" Mission seethed. "Wookiees hate slavery! I mean, it's totally against their way of life! They'd never ship any of their people off to be slaves!"
"Maybe it's just their criminals?" I guessed with a shrug. "I mean, that's the normal practice isn't it? Sell the bad guys off?"
Mission shot me a look of scathing disbelief. "What utter tripe. D'ya really think that's why so many Twi'leks are slaves?"
"Uh, no." I flushed in embarrassment. That hadn't occurred to me. Dancing girls and joyboys were often born into that life, or so Mekel had told me once.
She shook her head, still scowling with anger. "Wookiees exile their criminals. They don't sell them. Or at least, they didn't," she muttered, and resumed walking. Her gaze stayed fixed on the cages, but I glanced furtively around, trying to get a sense of our surroundings. There were less hunters here, and only a few remaining stalls. The slaver wandering in front of the cages stared at us in derision as we neared the first cage.
Chrome restraints were immediately obvious on all of the Wookiees' paws, locking them together in the front. All but one of the slaves were hunched in a seating position. Mission strode directly to the standing Wookiee, who was taller and darker-haired than Zaalbar. He had an older look to him, even if I couldn't pinpoint exactly why.
Mission folded her arms and stared up at the Wookiee. His black eyes were fixed on her, but they looked desolate and dull.
"How come a Wookiee is a slave on Kashyyyk?" she demanded.
He didn't answer, but the slaver did. "Hey! No talking to the merchandise," the Human grumbled as he stalked over. "I don't want any of them things upset. Get away, unless you have the creds to buy one."
Mission's eyes flashed in annoyance. "It ain't a crime to talk, is it?"
My stomach tensed as a belligerent scowl twisted on the older man's face. I made a split-second decision, and pulled lightly on the Force before speaking.
"She means no harm," I said, feeling my words drop heavily in the pungent air. "She is only talking, and will be gone soon. You do not need to be concerned."
The Human snorted. "Well, I guess if you're only talking then I don't need to be worried." He spun on his heel and walked away.
Mission was looking at me in suspicion, and I felt my shoulders hunch.
"I'm not sure I like it when you lot do that," she said quietly. "I mean, sure – it's handy, but it kinda feels like you can make people do anything you want. And that's a bit scary in the wrong hands."
I shook my head. "No, that was just a simple mind trick, Mission. It worked on him because he's bored and not interested in you, anyway. If he thought you were any sort of threat then I wouldn't have been good enough." It'd been a favourite game on Korriban, to trick free drinks from the cantina's staff. Mekel had been good at it. "As for getting sents to do anything you want- well, that's compulsion. Only really powerful masters are good enough for that sort of thing."
"Poor Big Z," Mission whispered, looking down briefly. I wondered what she meant, but she'd already turned back to the caged Wookiee. I hoped he could understand Basic.
"Why are there Wookiee slaves?" Mission asked again, and the Wookiee huffed but didn't reply. Mission frowned. "My best friend is from Rwookrrorro. He said his people never enslaved each other, that slavery was one of the worst things in the galaxy."
The Wookiee howled at that, a long incomprehensible answer that had Mission nodding.
"But why?" she answered. "I mean, why weren't you exiled instead?"
The Wookiee replied something in a low growl, and Mission frowned. "No, wait- what? What happened to Freyyr?"
I glanced back over to the slaver, who was scowling at us again while Mission kept talking. The mind-trick wouldn't last long, I realized in dismay. He looked ready to come back over and yell at us again.
"Hundreds?" Mission squeaked. "But- but that's awful! Big Z won't stand for this!" The Wookiee grunted, and Mission shook her head. "No, his real name's Zaalbar, he never wanted to leave-"
She was cut off by a more ferocious howl, and I was distracted by a heavy hand clapping on my shoulder.
"You kids are in trouble," a gravelly voice said. It sounded amused.
Mission was still firing rapid questions at the captive, the slaver was now striding towards us with a thunderous glower, and I turned to see bloody Ordo staring at me with a shark-ugly grin on his face.
"Time to head back before your Dad gets his jockeys in a twist," the Mandalorian commented, dropping his hand and looking over to Mission. "Oy, Mission! Get your scrawny blue butt over here!"
"Canderous!" Mission cried, turning around and stepping towards him. "These ronto-turds are enslaving Wookiees!"
Ordo lifted one heavyset brow in bored inquiry, before heading back through the marketplace with Mission in tow, who was still exclaiming at him. I followed silently in their wake. It was obvious Mission was upset by the slaves, but she held such a rosy, unrealistic view of the galaxy - she didn't really understand that rotten things like slavery were standard practice on any planet. Sometimes I thought it would have been better if no one had ever evolved beyond meaningless grunting.
I was more worried about Dad. I wasn't going back to that frakking Jedi, but I didn't really want to have a screaming row, either.
"Czerka are shipping hundreds of them off-world, Canderous," Mission spluttered. "That ain't right. These guys in the cages are just the old ones they're selling as curiosities. It's sick!"
"It's slavery, kid," Ordo grunted. "It's the same galaxy-wide."
"Not on Kashyyyk, you old geezer," Mission fumed, and I glanced at Ordo in startlement but he merely shot her an amused grin. Somehow, I didn't think I'd get the same reaction if I dared called him that. "Czerka is rotten to the core. Someone needs to stop them."
The humour slid from the Mandalorian's face like chocha pudding as introspection took its place. "Huh. Czerka don't usually dabble in slavery, they'd be stepping on the toes of the Exchange and the littler syndicates if they did." His granite eyes gained a thoughtful gleam as he stared ahead. "I wonder if they're trying to branch out. Czerka Corp and the Exchange have been at loggerheads recently."
"I don't give a mynock's tail about that," Mission snapped tartly. "I gotta talk to Big Z. His evil brother has kicked his dad down to the Shadowlands."
I blinked, and Canderous stopped walking, turning to face Mission with narrowed eyes. "His brother must be someone important, then." Mission didn't reply, but the mulish pout on her face was answer enough. The Mandalorian smirked. "The Shadowlands, huh? I can't see Zaalbar staying on the Ebon Hawk if that's true."
"It's true," Mission muttered. "As true as the hundred or so Wookiees imprisoned in a Czerka freighter on docking bay F4."
Ordo's brows shot up, and mine did the same. He laughed; a short, harsh sound. "Let's go talk to your Wookiee then. I have a feeling our life is about to get a whole lot more interesting."
xXx
