THE EARLY DAYS DUET:
BOOK TWO: THE WILL OF THE FORCE
Chapter Five – My Kingdom for a Farce!
A/N: So...about posting a chapter per month...my sincerest apologies on the 2 month delay! A word of the wise (and by wise I mean idiot-who-now-knows-better): Don't take 4 college literature courses at the same time. Your life will be a never ending marathon of intense reading and writing. I sold my soul to school this semester...This chapter is the culmination of every spare moment I could afford since February. I hope it meets your satisfaction.
You'll be pleased to know that finals are fast approaching for me (like, NEXT week from now!), so I can actually guarantee another chapter will be posted before the month is over! I hope you haven't given up on me, because even though I've been scarce, my story is 100% outlined so I have a goal and a trajectory that I fully intend to follow through on.
Read and review! Thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to express your interest in the story, it continues to inspire and motivate. :)
Enjoy!
2 Years Later; 28 BBY
"I'm not bitter," I protested. "Why would I be bitter about it?" In my thinly veiled frustration, I downed my last swig of alcohol.
"Don't lie to me," Dané replied. "You know as well as I do how much that position meant to people like us."
I snorted. "Playing dress up and putting up with pretentious dignitaries? Please."
Dané crossed her arms and leaned towards me from across the booth, asserting the seriousness of her tone. "Don't pretend I can't see how much this has been destroying you. How long has it been, a year? Two years?"
I shrugged carelessly. "Give or take."
Dané scoffed. "You're really going to keep pretending it never mattered?"
"Prissy always resented me," I said, invoking the nickname that I used for Padmé in my younger years. "Why in the thirty-six star systems would I miss working for someone as self-righteous as her?"
Dané arched an eyebrow. "Because she was still your friend, despite everything."
I scowled, staring into my empty shot glass. She was right, of course. But, regardless of the ties I had made in Theed Palace, and the devotion I felt to my duty, I knew that my handmaiden days were over.
Our conversation was laced with double talk and code names, but it was disguised so seamlessly as idle small talk that I knew that no one within hearing distance would suspect the true nature of our tête-à-tête.
After my debacle with Kasaré, I had been dishonorably discharged as a decoy. To this day, I remained unsure whether Yané had outed me, or if someone within the advisory council had caught on to my intentions.
Padmé entreated that I remain within her circle—restricted to a role similar to Saché's within the confines of the palace. I had declined her request, and instead seized my circumstance as an opening for new opportunities. I asked Panaka if I could be relocated into a different branch of the Royal Security Forces. I would have fewer security privileges, but at least I wouldn't be under Panaka's microscope anymore.
In a way, I had a different kind of freedom in unraveling Kasaré's conspiracy theory. The only downside is that it would take me far longer to make any progress. In the meantime, I busied myself by doing work for Naboo's Royal Security Forces under the direction of Senior Officer Daéla Boran. The fieldwork with the RSF was way beneath my usual paygrade and professional qualifications, but the rest of the world remained eternally ignorant of that fact.
All but Dané, that is. Like me, she had also left the Order of Sanctuary, though she had done so years earlier and by her own choice. She had joined customs security and remained active with the Naboo Underground. I was inclined to partake in her quasi-exile from the Order. As far as anyone else in the RSF was concerned, we had simply left our career as silent ladies-in-waiting in favor for a life of more excitement.
During my interaction with Dané, I saw movement from my peripherals, and flicked my eyes toward the motion in subtle acknowledgement. It took a micro-second to ascertain who had moved, where he was going, and why.
It was a Weequay—not exactly an inconspicuous operative, since Weequays hardly appeared in a place as culturally elitist as Naboo. However, they were often known to habituate near the Kassoti spice mines on Naboo, which was only a few clicks south of where we were now. The newcomer had seated himself a couple of booths away from the space that was occupied by Dané and myself. Sitting at the booth indicated that he was waiting for someone, which came as no surprise to us.
Casually, I rested my fingertip against the side of my throat, activating the tiny mouthpiece that had been surgically applied beneath my skin. I continued our fake conversation. "Friend or no, she was still nothing more than a job," I said to Dané. Job was the code word for our intended target.
Dané hardly needed my cue to recognize his entrance. She leaned back in her seat, an action meant to insinuate that she was irritated with my response. But I knew she was doing so in order to get a better look at the Weequay seated behind me. She gave me the cue for the affirmative by tugging at a lock of her bright red hair.
He was our guy.
"Got your signal, Dollface. We're setting up a perimeter now." The voice that came from my earchip belonged to Santo, one of our surveillance agents. My call sign had been dubbed as Dollface due to Dané's influence. I wasn't sure if it was done out of vindictive amusement or if she truly meant to bestow a subliminal homage to my unknown legacy. She was the only one within my work atmosphere who even knew of my days a royal decoy. Santo seemed to prefer calling me Dollface in favor of my actual name, which I found chronically grating.
"You know," Dané said continuing the charade, "if you stopped being so stubborn about your stance on this issue, perhaps you'd understand that you still have strong attachments with your former affiliates."
I faked a docile smile. "I'm well aware," I said. "I just need more time, that's all." The response was directed to Dané and Santo alike. More time was a cue to stand-by until I gave the signal to engage.
We could have seized the Weequay right then and there, but it was clear that he was expecting someone. It would be better to capture him after his engagement so as not to arouse suspicion. All we needed was information, then he would be let go.
We continued our fake conversation for a few minutes longer, waiting for our target to make contact with his cohort.
Nonchalantly, I grazed my left leg against my boot, checking to be sure that my blaster was still holstered underneath it. It was the same Q2 blaster pistol I had been granted from my handmaiden days. It was a weapon better suited for close range self-defense rather than fieldwork, but my aim was accurate enough to still make the weapon a useful one. Not to mention, its benefits as a concealed carry had proved invaluable in the past.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I felt the barrel of a weapon dig into my shoulder blade.
"Take it easy," I said, frozen into acquiescence. I kept my voice calm and conversational, hoping to avoid a firefight.
I glanced up at my contender. He was human, young. Perhaps no older than twenty-five. He was donned in a brown leather jacket and suede pants. His tall stature, scruffy beard, and tousled brown hair gave him a roguish charm that otherwise veiled his threatening demeanor.
Across from me, a Falleen blocked Dané and had a weapon discreetly pointed at her as well. We were both cornered in our booths, left with little other choice other than to submit to our new obstacle.
"We weren't expecting to have company," Dané said drily. Her voice was calm, but her eyes flashed with anger and recognition.
"I never forget a face," the tall man replied. He seated himself next to me, as if we were having a pleasant chat. The only keydifference was he had still kept his blaster poised behind my back. "You've cost me a lot of business over the years, Freckles," he said to Dané.
"Do we need to engage?" Santo's voice crackled in my ears.
"No, I wouldn't say that," Dané stroked idly at her throat, her tone even and deliberate. Code for Santo, and continued dialogue for our rakish opponent. "As I recall, your heist failed because you got ratted out by one of your own men. We were led right to you. The way I see it, your penchant for skimming profits is what caused your arrest last time."
"Last time?" I asked, intervening on the conversation.
"Jonash Solo here is quite the interplanetary smuggler," Dané informed me. Her green eyes stayed riveted fiercely at the man. "Most of his business is procured through the Hutts. We've snagged him here a couple of times, but he's better known for his interferences on Corellian trade routes."
"Yet, by-the-by, business happened to bring me back to the modest sights of Naboo," Jonash elaborated.
"How quaint," I grimaced, adjusting my back against his blaster in obvious malcontent.
Solo gave me a sidelong glance in amusement. "So what brings you two young ladies here on the outskirts? Surely you're not intending to disrupt economic progress?"
"It depends," Dané replied, "You wouldn't happen to be pirating for Somaprin-3, would you?"
"I thought you knew me better than that, Freckles," Solo mocked, putting a hand to his sternum. "Of course I'm looking for Somaprin-3. Spice is my trade, after all." He flashed another confident smile. "Now, since I can't have the two of you impeding on my business transaction, I'm sure we can figure something out here that will work to our mutual advantage."
Dané narrowed her eyes. "I doubt that."
"Now, now," Solo admonished, "Hear me out: we're just gonna keep you two occupied here until I've retrieved the information I need. And don't try whistling for the rest of your brute squad, or my friend Nousan here," he gestured to the Falleen, "will see to it that you regret that decision. He's a real charmer, Nousan." Jonash threw me a wink at this statement. "I'll get through another work day, and the two of you will leave here alive and unscathed. See? Mutual benefits."
I eyed Nousan, who still loomed imposingly over my partner. I was well aware of the capabilities that Falleen were bred with, and truth be told, I was surprised he wasn't putting those skills to use already. Women in particular were more chemically susceptible to their manipulations. Dané and I should have been putty in their hands right now. I suppose Jonash had more faith in his charisma gimmick than he did in biochemical manipulations.
I noticed the Falleen's icy reptilian gaze was steeled to Jonash Solo, rather than at Dané or myself. The restrained ferocity of his stare didn't characterize him as a loyal comrade, but as…what? A resentful crewmember? No. His posture was too authoritative.
Then it dawned on me: The Falleen was meant to be a leash for Solo. It seemed that his own employers were policing the roguish brigand as well. I guess the Hutts had caught on to his monetary scams and wanted to protect their own investments. If we played our cards right, this little revelation could work to our advantage.
I noticed Dané's hand was still poised at her neck, keeping her subcutaneous microphone on-line. She was waiting for me to give word to Santo.
"Enough talking," I said. "We're done here."
Jonash had hardly a moment to react before I elbowed his blaster out of his grasp and into my hands. Dané withdrew her own holdout blaster and aimed steadily at Solo. My aim fixated toward the Falleen, who in turn pointed his weapon at me. Solo was left without a weapon.
Within seconds, the doors broke down and Santo's reinforcements arrived. But among the throng, I quickly noticed just how much of the place had been infiltrated by Solo's crew. Blasters were pointed in every direction, and agents were diverted with additional firing volleys. It was a mutual struggle for dominance. At the sight of firearms, the remainder of the bar's customers were in a tizzy, collectively trying to steer clear of the sudden conflict. Dané and I kept our weapons poised and ready for retaliation.
Solo, unfazed by the sudden violence, only clucked his tongue in distaste. "Oh, come now, Dané," he said. "You didn't think I'd come here unprepared, did you?"
"Hardly," Dané said. "Now, hands behind your head before I sick my partner on you."
The contrast was jarring. The chaos of the bar seemed distant and unimportant to our booth. Jonash Solo was visibly uninterested in the commotion; his gaze remaining fixed on Dané's blaster with a strange kind of amusement.
"I'll do you one better, Freckles." Jonash said with a wry smile. "There's a much better way to end this. Nousan?" He shot a glance at the Falleen. "You're up."
My attention diverted to the Falleen, anticipating the worst. I could already feel the Falleen's abilities taking their effect. I wanted to pull the trigger, and found that I was unable to move. The Falleen's manipulation was isolated, but concentrated.
To my chagrin, Jonash took full advantage of the distraction. "You'll have to pardon my reach, sweetheart," he said suavely. In my moment of disorientation, Jonash had retrieved his blaster from my hand and hightailed out of the building. He successfully dodged the incoming blasts from Santo and the other security forces along the way. This man lived for the chase.
"Damn it," I snarled. I fought against the potency of Nousan's manipulation and hoisted myself up from the booth, reaching for my Q2 blaster from my bootleg. If I moved quickly I might avoid succumbing to the full thrall of the Falleen. Solo was a fool to think he might get away so easy. My movements felt forced and sluggish, but I seized control for as long as I possibly could.
"Not so fast," Nousan spoke up at last, his voice deep and resonant.
My steps staggered to a halt, quite against my will. A pleasant feeling suddenly coursed through me. The sensation was thick and heady, like I had been doused by a strong perfume. My resistance had finally crumbled into compliance.
I felt my feet pivot back toward the booth. The Falleen now began to look overwhelmingly beautiful. Not intimidating or abrasive like I had thought earlier…but trusting. Docile. Temperate. In the back of my mind, I could feel my rationality swimming frantically to get away from the hallucination. I had to hunt down a criminal…what was his name? What did he look like? It didn't seem to matter. I blinked slowly, trying to see past the murkiness of my intoxicating bliss.
No one else was inclined to move, either. Not the patrons, not the reinforcements, not Santo; even Dané gleamed at Nousan, her expression dazed and enthralled. This was one powerful Falleen. I had known of one overtaking up to a dozen people at once, but never an entire building.
Nousan ambled languidly toward the Weequay across the room, as though he were holding court. "Now, perhaps you might like to tell me where we can find the remaining supply of Somaprin-3," he said, his voice as soothing as velvet.
Something was getting away from me, but I couldn't quite place what it was. I closed my eyes wrestling to find the thought.
"This is my gift to you," Minrota's voice echoed vaguely inside the chamber of my mind. A stillness overcame me. No longer was there a haze of confused pheromones and uncertainty. The smog of emotion parted like a curtain. Once again, I could understand everything with perfect clarity. My eyes shot open.
I raised my blaster and pointed it at the Falleen. "Not today, sleemo," I sneered, harkening to the language of his Hutt employers. Nousan was visibly perturbed by my breakthrough.
"You can't be a Jedi," he said, unable to mask his surprise, his fear. "That's not possible! I had you in my hold!"
"I'm no Jedi." I didn't hesitate. I shot him in cold blood. He fell with an anticlimactic thump. Upon his death, people gradually returned to their senses.
Dané looked to me in wonder.
I didn't give her a chance to mull over what just happened. We still had a job to do.
"Let's go."
Later
RSF Headquarters
"Not bad today, Dollface," Santo sidled up next to me, thumping my arm affectionately with his fist.
"Thanks," I replied curtly. I kept walking, uninterested in small talk.
Santo, however, didn't want to take my hint. He reinitiated his presence at my side and kept in step with me as I continued my commute through headquarters.
"Hey, you okay? I mean, I know dealing with that Falleen was…unsettling," he recalled with a shudder, "but you dominated! If you hadn't shot the guy, we never would have regained control of the situation, and—"
"It doesn't even matter," I interrupted, "Jonash Solo still got away."
Santo shrugged flippantly. "He was just one crewman out of many. We still got the intel we needed from the Weequay, arrested all the criminals that remained on the premises, and still managed to beat Solo to the smuggled spice."
"Doesn't matter," I repeated. "He is still out there, and I'm willing to bet my life's savings that he has more contacts in the underworld than we currently have access to. He would have been a huge asset to eliminating spice pirating on Naboo."
"Hey, hey…" Santo slowed me to a stop, his voice grown serious. I rounded to face him. My patience was waning, but I silently permitted him to patronize me. Santo studied me with concern, his grey eyes stern yet compassionate. He leaned closer in earnest, causing a tuft of his jet-black hair to droop against his forehead. "You're not going to let this weigh you down, are you?" he asked.
My eyes drifted briefly to his breast pocket, where a chrome microchip peeked back at me. On it bore the inscription S-3. Clearly, it stored the information on the spice that we absconded from the Weequay and his contact. Quickly, I looked back at Santo, masking my wayward glance as having been contemplative rather than newly fixated.
"Of course not," I replied briskly, "Failure is part of the job." I shrugged away from him and proceeded on my way, knowing he would follow. "And it's all I ever seem to be good at."
"This wasn't a failure, Sabé." Santo persisted. "The mission went sideways, sure, but we recovered and got the information we needed."
Finally, I made it to the front door of my quarters. I huffed in irritation and gave a quarter turn back to Santo. "Look, Santo," I said, "I appreciate the concern. Really, I do." As I spoke, I tweaked his lapel in mocking patronization. He glanced at the motion, then back at me. I continued, "But if you don't mind, I've had a long day, and I'd rather like to stave off my frustration in solitude." I gave a final tug at his lapel and stepped back, asserting my desire for distance.
Santo's face twitched in momentary offense. "Sure," he said stiffly. "Whatever you say. I guess I'll see you later."
As soon as I was alone, I heaved out a sigh as if it was the first time I had truly breathed all day.
Then I uncurled my fingers and examined the microchip I'd lifted from Santo.
I switched on the lights to my quarters and briefly scanned my solitary haven. It was a mess, to say the least. Assorted papers, multitudes of tinkered technology and abandoned datapads dominated most of my floor space. Maps, drawings, and lists occupied the walls..
I made a face at the clutter and waded my way toward my computer console located across the room. I activated my small techno-service droid, which had sat dormant on the flat surface of the console.
"Oh!" The droid exclaimed upon activation. The joint of the neck lifted its head upright, and two small lights flickered from behind bored holes that constituted as eyes. It jolted in the air, latching the feet together into the shape of a small wheel.
"Hello!" it saluted, "I am Todo360, at your service."
"Hey Todo," I said, reaching from behind to withdraw a cord from its battery pack. "I hope you slept well, because you are about to be overwhelmed with a crazy amount of new information."
"I am fully recharged, and operating at 86% remaining memory capacity," Todo assured me. The robotic voice was monotonous, but strangely friendly. I had grown rather fond of the little droid. I first found Todo as an assorted mess of broken parts. It had been dumped into a garbage waste unit not too far from the RSF headquarters. I took a vague interest in its diminutive size and complex interior circuitry. It became a project of sorts that later turned into my personal black box of classified information.
"Good," I said, ripping off another cable from his backside. "Then this shouldn't take long at all." I replaced the vacant plug with Santo's microchip. Within seconds, the droid reeled back against the wall, surging and spasming with the onslaught of new material.
As the droid loaded its information, I took out a portable jammer and used it to scramble the frequency of my surgically implanted comlinks. I didn't want to risk having anyone overhearing this next conversation I would be having.
Discovering distributions of a drug that would prevent dreams from occurring seemed almost too serendipitous to be true. My dreamlike visions had been growing steadily more unbearable with each passing day. I just needed something to nullify Minrota's persistence, and Somaprin-3 seemed a perfect solution. I had hoped that by suppressing my dreams, I would also be able to suppress the strange force-like qualities I was beginning to exhibit. Even though it had proved helpful in the past, it was unpredictable and uncontrollable. I didn't even know how to begin to describe my situation to anyone who wasn't already aware of it. The last thing I was inclined to do was to drag Obi-Wan into the mess that constituted as my life. He had far more important things to do, for both his Padawan and for the galaxy. This was something I would have to figure out on my own.
I knew without a doubt that the Zenda stone was a talisman of the Force. Its effects seemed to have a potent influence on manipulating my own midichlorian responses. As far as I was concerned, I wasn't a force-sensitive so much as I was a force puppet. I only exhibited force capabilities whenever I wore the stone. The abilities had manifested subtly at first…for a while, only my visions seemed to have any bearing on predicting real-world events, and even then they were rather trivial—I'd witness a crime before it would happen and could inform my team of an 'anonymous tip' I'd received.
But I needed a method to temper my newfound ability before it risked getting out of control, and all of my research kept pointing to Somaprin-3. In Naboo, security forces were monitored more closely than the general public to ensure unwavering loyalty, so attempting to obtain my own supply of illegal drugs was a whole new level of inconvenient. I needed to think creatively about my methods. Hence, Todo360.
Finally, the droid settled down from the download. This would have to be quick. If I knew Santo, he'd be checking his pockets before submitting the microchip to senior officer Daéla Boran. Once he noticed the microchip went missing, it wouldn't take him long to reroute back in my direction.
"Now," I said, propping my elbows against my workspace, "what can you tell me about Somaprin-3?"
Todo cocked its head to the side, its beady mechanic eyes blinking systematically as it conjured information. "Somaprin-3: A soporific spice that deters dreams and amplifies lethargy within most organisms. In medicinal moderation, it eases insomnia for patients with severe trauma disorders. Modifications to the spice magnify its addictive properties, making it illegal in 6 of 10 galactic regions."
"Any information on where most of the spice is being manufactured?"
Todo's artificial eyes blinked. "Mustafar."
Of course it would be in Mustafar. It was only the most unassailable base of operations for the Black Sun crime syndicate. I wouldn't be able to even glimpse in that direction. I needed a subtler point of access.
"Does your intel provide any information on how to procure regular dosages?"
"Distribution often varies, due to the irregularity of smuggling trade routes."
"Are there any dealer locations in Naboo?"
"Unknown."
Figures. I huffed in mild frustration, and glanced at a planetary map I had pinned to the wall adjacent to my computer system. Frantic scrawls and lines zigzagged across the paper. It was the closest trail I had to locating Kasaré based on her known whereabouts. She would have been my ideal resource in figuring out how to illicitly obtain illegal products.
Unfortunately, as indicated by my fanatic scrawls, Kasaré was impossible to find. Shortly after the reclamation, Kasaré had been located sporadically, as though she was a fading blip on the radar. Then after six standard months, she had disappeared altogether. It was as if she had completely vanished. This woman was untouchable, which proved frustrating to me. She was my only real access point in unraveling the conspiracy against the Queen.
However, the fact that she was invisible on security records indicated to me that she still hadn't been found. The advisory council would want to make her capture a spectacle; if anything to deter anyone else from daring to oppose them. So if she had still evaded capture, then I still had hope of finding her. But until I had a viable clue, I was stuck in my own world with my own problems.
"Is there any other information on that microchip you can dispel for me?" I asked Todo.
"There is a catalog of interested buyers for the S-3 cargo that was housed here on Naboo," Todo informed me.
"Anyone of interest?"
"I'm sure I do not understand," Todo said innocently. "I am a droid. Nothing interests me."
I sighed, rephrasing. "Are there any names that crop up that are relevant to our search history?"
"Oh yes. One potential buyer is from Naboo, but is now currently located on Corellia. It is filed under the name of Jaina Evoria."
My stomach turned to stone. Jaina? Not possible. Why in Shiraya's name would she be in want of Somaprin-3?
"You're sure?"
"Most certain," Todo said. "I can link the information to your datapad if you require visual proof of documentation."
"No no, that won't be necessary," I said quickly. I didn't want any of the information to become traceable back to me. Todo was my only failsafe.
I felt something akin to anxiety stir inside me. I sensed…Santo was returning. Sometimes this uninvited force-sensitivity was a true blessing. I would have to move quickly.
"Todo I need you to wipe the data on Jaina."
"If you're certain…" Todo expressed doubtfully. Illegal activity often made the droid queasy but I had adjusted its programming so that it could override any legal inhibitions to its protocol.
"Yes. Do it now. Quickly."
"Yes mistress."
"I'm going to unplug the microchip now,"
"Very well."
"And I'm going to remove your head joint as well," I said after removing the chip.
This incited protest. "WHAT? Mistress, you don't mean to decapitate me?"
"Oh hush, it won't kill you," I said. "I just need you to look like an incomplete project so that Santo doesn't suspect your involvement and take you away. Because that…that might kill you."
"Oh my," the droid quivered, putting a tiny hand to its carved mouthpiece. The fear of the alternative permitted Todo to submit to my action. I traded the memory component of Todo's head gear with the model of a similar prototype. Its head was now an empty case, and the true information was safely tucked into the empty chamber of my Q2 blaster pistol.
My automated door breathed open moments after I had holstered my Q2 back to its former hiding place.
"I was wondering when you'd make your way back here," I said, lightly tapping the microchip against the surface of my desk. My role had resumed to that of a smug, teasing coworker. "I was beginning to grow bored of waiting for you."
"Okay, Dollface, I know you don't like me. But if you could try not to make me look bad in front of the boss, I'd really appreciate it."
"I don't know what you mean," I said coyly. "Don't you always look bad?"
"I get it, I'm not as good at double-talk and undercover tactics," Santo said gruffly. "That doesn't mean you should make fun of me for it. It stopped being funny five instances ago. Now, the microchip, if you please."
"If it's any consolation, you're getting faster at recognizing my tactics," I said, returning the chip to him.
"I never seem to catch you until after I've already left the conversation," Santo griped. "Not sure that constitutes as a compliment."
"Any progress is good progress."
He put the microchip safely back into his pocket then glanced back at me. "Were you…actually upset earlier?" he asked, his tone hesitant. "Or was that just another one of your tactics?"
I gave a thin smile, not bothering to answer. I was both smug and sympathetic to his ignorance. "You know, you're too authentic for this kind of life," I said.
"Perhaps," he said, straightening his jacket. "But at least my integrity is never brought to question."
It was an innocent remark. There was no malice in his response and he had no way of knowing it, but the words weighed heavily on me. We both knew my mind games were a crucial component to catching bad guys with minimal casualty. He did the grunt work, but I did the dirty work, and it was all too easy to recognize which was the nobler calling.
"True enough," I said, unsure of how else to respond. I felt a glimmer of shame for being so immersed in this constant routine of deceit. But I had been wearing the mask for so long that I had forgotten how to operate without it. It was my shield and protection. Rabé, Yané, Eirtaé, Saché…even Padmé sometimes…they were among the very few who had grown intimately aware of the inner feelings that I had grown accustomed to keep locked away.
"You're…impossible to read," Santo said, eyeing me with wary interest. My eyes riveted back to his. The soft gray of his eyes reminded me of Saché—and my heart panged with a secret sense of loss.
"I like to keep it that way," I replied. "it's the best way to protect what I care about."
"And what do you care about?"
"Peace," I said simply. Though if I were being completely honest, I could no longer find a noble word to describe my motives anymore. My delusion of the government's altruism had died a long time ago. And I had grown more certain that something inside me had died right along with it.
Closing A/N:Yes, it's THAT Jonash Solo. (He only has a stub on wookieepedia so I'm taking artistic liberties. He was fun to write! Kind of like a chaotic-neutral version of Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly tbh.)
