"I've got a bad feeling about this."
Carth looked over at Spryte, surprised, and stifled a laugh. They waited together for the landing ramp to drop and for Akil and Gatlin to finish scrambling the ship's identification codes. The ship still resonated with the stuffy cold of deep space, but Carth knew that outside they would have to combat the brutal heat of Onderon's climate.
"Maybe you should tell Gatlin," Carth replied. "He's the boss around here. Inexplicably."
"He's not so bad," she said, nudging him with her elbow. Carth stiffened, fighting back the desire to inch away from her. "And neither am I."
"Sorry," Carth said, not meaning it. "I'm the prisoner, remember?"
"Only because you want to be."
"I can't help it," he said. "This just seems like a bit of a circus. Do you really think you can stop a Jedi?"
"Got something better to do?"
Carth didn't reply. He could practically feel the smug satisfaction radiating off of Spryte as they stood waiting. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Gatlin and Akil arrived, both of them strapping last minute weaponry to the holsters secured beneath their clothing. Both of them carried enough heat to be a walking, one-man armory. Carth noted that Spryte had no obvious weapons on her person, just the skin tight cat suit and disarming eyes which—he thought with a grin—were perhaps more dangerous than a blaster rifle.
"I think we're ready," Gatlin said, straightening up and pulling his coat lapels closed. Akil nodded, silent as always. "Hit the release."
Akil lowered the ramp and, with Gatlin going first, they filed out into the hot Onderon sun. At once Carth was glad for the light clothing Gatlin had given him. The heat was oppressive, soaking into the sand until the ground itself felt like molten rock. A docking attendant approached Gatlin, detaining him for a moment while he verified their codes. The security here was lax, Carth noted, and the cameras and automated droids looked in dire need of repair, hanging onto the walls of the docking pens by threadbare wires.
The attendant waved them away and the com hidden in Gatlins coat crackled to life.
"Captain: The package has been spotted. Repeat, the package has been spotted. Iziz mercantile district, Sho-Zo'war Temple."
"Kantu? You've got to be kidding me," Carth said as the come fizzled into silence.
"What about him?" Gatlin asked, leading the team away from the ship and toward the tall, double bay doors guarding the landing pad. The attendant let them out, nodding to Gatlin as they passed beneath the high metal archway.
"He was just coming up through the ranks when I made admiral," Carth muttered darkly. "He always was an ambitious little worm."
"That ambitious little worm is going to drown us in cash," Gatlin replied. "You can bitch about him all you want later, when I'm lying on a bed made of credits. Now shut up and focus. We need to be ready for this Jedi. Any advice before the shit hits the fan?"
"Yeah," Carth said, smiling, "Turn back now while you still can."
"Now you're making me wonder how you ever made admiral," Spryte interjected, striding alongside Carth, her long legs easily matching his stride. They turned down an alley, away from the industrial quarter, west. "I thought a man like you would be ready to face down anything and anyone." She laughed at him, a hard, rasping sound. "One wittle Jedi making you sweat?"
"You forget: I had help, and no offense but they were better equipped."
"Oh we've got a few tricks up our sleeves," Spryte replied.
"I should hope so." Carth felt a distinct whisper of fear creeping up his spine. He couldn't remember the last time had battled a Jedi in face to face combat. "This Jedi has evaded the Republic before and chances are good they'll be ready for us. Do you even know what they look like?"
"No," Gatlin said, keeping up a brisk pace. "But I'll know it when I see them."
The group fell silent as they traveled through Iziz. It was broad daylight, not the best time for a melee assault. Carth felt naked without a blaster, his blaster, and wondered when exactly his brother would give him something to defend himself with. He felt uncomfortable and awkward in his brother's clothes, shuffling around like an impostor. In comparison to Gatlin in his long, sweeping coat, hidden arsenal of countless blasters and thundering boots, Carth felt like a child playing dress-up.
"The Republic's been sending scrambled Sith messages from the temple location for the last two days. Let's hope that's enough bait for our intrepid little Jedi," Gatlin said, checking the tiny digital map on his wristwatch. "We're coming up on the merch district."
The change was instantaneous. The gritty, mud-blasted buildings of the industrial quarter fell away as pristine white plaster huts and low buildings with delicate blue mosaic inlays rose up in a dizzying sprawl. The air, which was still unpleasantly hot, was now heavy with spice and perfume, a bewildering soup of powerful scents all vying for dominance in Carth's nose. The sound was deafening, merchants screaming like angry birds, shrieking their wares, their prices, their reputation directly into his ear. It was claustrophobic, a broad street that felt narrow from the congestion of foot traffic, browsing shoppers and merchant stalls. He felt at once alive and deadened by the influx of sensation, wandering in a heady, spicy fog.
"Tooth ache, back ache, migraine, I cure it all! Step over here, step over here, young man!"
"Lovely lady? Lovely lady at home you want to surprise? I have just the thing! Here, right here!"
"Beans! Dried, freeze dried, spiced, bleached, roasted and powdered!"
"You okay?" Spryte asked, nudging Carth.
"Yeah, it's just overwhelming."
"Makes Nar Shadaa look like a playground, doesn't it?"
"Sure," Carth replied, "a sleazy, drug-riddled, piss-soaked playground, but yeah."
Spryte laughed, nodding. She looked in her element, striding confidently through the blur of people with a serenely confident expression.
"Keep sharp," Gatlin said, throwing a sharp look over his shoulder, his silver eye patch glinting in the relentless sun. "It's easy to get lost here."
Carth kept pace, close on his brother's heels, watching the head of sandy curls bobbing as Gatlin elbowed his way forward at the helm. They blended in well, just another group of tourists catching the marvelous sights to see in Iziz. Nobody gave them a second glance. Carth tried to keep his shoulders relaxed, his posture easy, worried that someone in the crowd would recognize him. But they waded through the crowded street unchallenged.
They turned right onto an even busier avenue. Carth struggled to keep calm, irritated by the shouting of the merchants and the babbling of the crowd. He wanted silence, peace, but there was only constant stimulation. He felt a gentle hand on his elbow and found that Spryte was guiding him, not pulling him along exactly but helping him stay alert. A part of him wanted to shrug her off and yet he was grateful for the little reassuring pressure on his arm.
A thin white spire loomed ahead, stabbing upward like a giant and pale hand pointing at the cloudless sky. Gatlin quickened his pace, shouldering people aside, grunting as the flow of foot traffic worked against him. Carth felt his nerves prickle to life, his soldier's intuition telling him that danger was close at hand. He felt something hard being pressed into his hands and found that Spryte was offering him a blaster. Discretely, he tucked it inside his jacket, trying to keep a firm grasp on it without drawing attention to his awkward stance. It was a good blaster, well-balanced, with a custom grip.
"When we get inside," she told him in a whisper, "You're the boss. You're the one who knows what we're facing here. Got it?"
"Is that you talking or my brother?"
"Both."
The crowd thinned as they reached the temple. A few shoppers sat on the wide, shallow steps leading up to the doors, fanning themselves with their fingers as they took a short break. The sandy, pebbly ground fell away, revealing an intricately tiled walkway leading to the temple doors. The tiles were cracked and faded and Carth realized as they climbed the stairs that the temple had been abandoned. Graffiti scrawled across one of the doors declared: FRAK and the stained glass windows had been broken, covered up hastily with thin wooden slats.
He had to admit, it was the perfect hide out for a Sith operation. It was a central location but empty. Undoubtedly there would be a spacious basement, a kitchen and enough superstition surrounding it to keep curious bystanders away, perfect for hiding in plain sight. He wondered if their target waited inside. It was times like this that he wished he had some control over the Force, maybe then he wouldn't feel so damn nervous. The old Carth would be ready to charge inside, blaster at the ready, daring death with the bold fearlessness of a born soldier, but this Carth… He felt tired, unprepared, worn ragged by months of hard drinking and hopeless nights.
They circled the temple, Gatlin leading them toward a back entrance. The grounds of the temple were overgrown, choked with weeds and low, needled bushes. The back of the temple was in even worse shape, overtaken by vines and graffiti. A short staircase led to a pair of tall, narrow doors. The right-hand door looked as if it had been recently tampered with. As Gatlin eased open the door, Carth felt a stab of resentment. How dare his brother force this on him? How dare he shove Carth into a dangerous situation and all for what? A few thousand credits? He felt suddenly sick, dizzy. Spryte steadied his arm, shaking him.
"Come on, Carth. We need you now."
Inside it was cool, dark. The temple was one enormous room, a rotunda with a central, raised altar and a series of steps leading up to it. All around, against the wall, were stepped rows of arena seating. Everything was painted a cool, flat blue. Overhead, a stained glass skylight let in the glaring afternoon sun, creating a wan pattern on the ground of turquoise and white squares. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness; the only light came from above, in the ceiling, leaving the outer rim of the rotunda in shadow.
Nobody moved. For a moment, nothing happened and Carth thought that maybe the Jedi hadn't come, that they had seen through the trap and stayed away. But then there was a quick, scraping noise and Gatlin leapt forward, his blasters firing toward the raised dais at the center of the rotunda. A thick layer of dust exploded into the air, musty and dry. Carth felt the old familiar surge of his training stirring in his gut, his right arm springing to life as he aimed his blaster at just a blur of black robes.
Their fire was returned, volleyed back by a burst of neon blue light. It was a lightsaber, a saber so bright Carth felt his eyes squint against its power. He dove to the right, rolling, feeling his joints protest. With a thud, he landed behind a short, stone pew. He was out of breath as he peered from the safe vantage point at the Jedi. It was difficult to make out their form as their lightsaber whirled, deflecting the blaster fire from Gatlin and Akil. Spryte had disappeared altogether. Carth briefly considered firing at the Jedi but knew at once it was useless; they were alert now and ready to fight. It would take more than a few well-aimed blaster bolts to disarm them.
Then he saw Spryte; she had crept around the outside of the rotunda until she was directly behind the Jedi. In a flash, she struck, dashing and leaping into a forward flip before throwing something at the ground. A plume of smoke went up, showering her and the Jedi in sparks. It was a grenade of some sort but she had miscalculated and the Jedi had dodged, avoiding the main blast. Spryte recovered only to be kicked swiftly in the jugular. She flew backward, slamming against the wall, a pile of debris shattering around her as she fell to the floor.
"Damnit," he heard Gatlin grunt. Akil continued firing, but it was no use, the bolts simply came back over their heads. "You're outnumbered!"
Carth couldn't help it, he began to chuckle, amused by his brother's desperation. "What did I tell you?" he called to Gatlin.
"Shut up."
One choked groan came from the other side of the rotunda, where the Jedi had picked up Spryte with an invisible fist. Spryte hovered in midair, drifting eerily in the pale cloud of dust above the debris and then she was flying, hurled across the room toward them. Carth watched, mouth-open, as the woman soared, thrown with such force that he knew the inevitable collision would snap her spine like a brittle twig. He stared, preparing for the awful sound, the terrible moment of death, but it never came. She stopped just shy of the stone pew he hid behind, hesitating before dropping gently and safely to the floor. The blaster fire went quiet. Perplexed, Carth watched as another Jedi appeared, a man in a misty gray robe. His lightsabers sparkled to life, two short green sabers held in an agile, backhanded stance. He had saved Spryte and now he was fighting the black-robed figure.
The man in gray sparred with her, their sabers throwing showers of green and blue sparks across the dais. Carth saw then that the black-robed figure was petite, small even when seen in contrast to the gray-robed man. They were almost evenly matched, but the figure in gray prevailed, countering so swiftly and accurately that the black-robed Jedi fell back, losing their footing. Before they could tumble off the altar, the man in gray caught them, lifting them easily up and onto their feet.
There was something oddly familiar about the man in gray, his posture, his aura, his weapons. Carth stood as if in a trance, and stepped over the stone pew. As he walked slowly down the aisle toward the dais, the man in gray snapped his fingers, trapping the other Jedi in a hazy blue force field. Vaguely, Carth could hear his brother shouting at him, demanding that he come back, stop, watch out. But Carth felt an implicit trust with the man in gray, a pact long-ago formed and stored secretly in the cobwebbed corners of his mind.
As he approached the dais the sun emerged from behind a bank of clouds and the skylight above them shimmered and ignited, the patterns of light on the floor glowing as the gray figure turned to face him. Carth felt his heart grow heavy and then light, a confusing mixture of awe and fear robbing him of breath. He felt like himself and yet not himself.
Looming over him, haloed in golden light, Carth came to a reverent stop, gazing up at their deliverance. He was large, towering, of immense muscular strength visible even beneath his voluminous robes. His face, Carth thought with a jolt, was splendidly beautiful, like a statue's, smooth and pale and serenely noble. He had a wide, gentle mouth that was fixed into a line of supreme determination and his eyes were sincere and trusting. Blue, deep-ocean blue. His powerful arms were at rest, the lightsabers glowing and snapping in the dusty silence.
"Admiral Onasi," he said in an aristocratic, even voice. "It's good to see you again."