Su'cuy! Here is the latest update on the duo stranded on Triple Zero. If the Force is with them, this will be one of the final chapters where Rez and Jordin are on Coruscant (and as you will soon see, the Force is not exactly with them in this chapter...)
Anyhow, this chapter is one of my longer ones, and a lot is covered in this approximately 25-page segment. It doesn't focus entirely on the ELF scout and Captain Skraps; you get a peek at the events unfolding in Kuat Space as the action unfolds on Coruscant as well.
The part when Jordin recalls Geonosis is my personal favorite section in this chapter because her reflections are similar to my own thoughts when I first viewed Episode II: Attack of the Clones. I never was particularly captivated by Hayden Christensen (Anakin) :-O. Jango Fett, of all characters, was the one who fascinated me. I remember being so bummed when Mace chopped off Jango's head…something about that scene just seemed so unreal to me. I remember thinking, "Wait a second, I did not just see that. There must be some explanation for this…maybe that was a clone, or a droid disguised as Jango, or something." Nope. Jango was dead.
After you're finished with this chapter, head on over to my profile page and vote for your favorite character(s). The poll is just to help me get a better idea of which characters my readers like, so I can make sure the favorites hang out in the spotlight. Also, your reviews are very welcome and appreciated! Thanks to all who continue to support my book series! Your reviews really mean a lot!
Chapter 5
"Though he was my enemy, I held a sort of respect for Jango. Perhaps he wasn't entirely bad. Perhaps he loved that boy. Yes, you may think I'm crazy. I don't care. I know that he loved Boba as a son. I am not ashamed of honoring the dead, be they friends or foes. Something is not right here at the Temple. It is part of the Jedi code to respect the dead, but this practice seems to have fallen apart. Did you see the look on Windu's face as he bent over the body? Would you call that a look of sorrow? Something is terribly wrong here." – Adriaan ell Talaan, shortly after the Battle of Geonosis.
✶ Triple Zero, The Underlevels, 407 days ABG ✶
"You didn't tell me you frequented these areas," Jordin said, looked disdainfully at the garish neon cantina sign which was casting a harsh glare that only seemed to accentuate the scummy exterior of the dive.
The clone, seeing the way her snub nose turned up in disapproval at his choice of establishment which would serve their last dinner on Triple Zero, began to have second thoughts about selecting what had become his favorite hideout, what the guys in Torrent Company had dubbed his "man-cave"
"Jordin, I don't drink, so I don't see what's so wicked about enjoying my virgin beverage with people who are at my maturity level."
The girl's green eyes were more like gelid laser beams as she probed his face for any sign of dishonesty. At last she threw up her hands in dismay. "Rez, I'm not stupid – if you don't go to the cantinas for drinks, then why in all planets would you rather hang out at some greasy dive instead of getting a hearty meal at a halfway decent establishment?"
The soldier shrugged sullenly. "You were the one who wanted to try someplace new."
Her face turned the color of her hair, but she took a deep breath and forced her tone to remain low and even. "Rez, please answer my question: if you don't come for the drinks, then what can this place possibly offer you?"
The soldier blew out his breath noisily. "Culture!" he blurted.
Her skepticism devolved into downright incredulity. "Culture?" she repeated, her jaw dropping open. Her laser beam eyes swiveled toward the crumbling, harshly lit building. "How can you find culture in this –" She searched for the right word, " – this dump? How can you expect me to keep my appetite when I know I'm sitting up to my waist in filth?"
Blasted female, Rez seethed inwardly. How typical of a teenage woman to be so loving and demure one moment, yet be so downright snippy the next? Rez noticed that Marya, Kay, Synta, Andora, and even Adriaan were prone to these seemingly random mood oscillations, and it set his teethe on edge. I suppose this is why Ember always advised exercising caution around females, the soldier thought wryly, fondly thinking of his commanding officer. Good old Ember. I know he wouldn't disrespect my man-cave.
The crash of a few tables being overturned by clumsy, drunk patrons, followed by the sound of intoxicated, boisterous laughter, came from within the dump.
"You did mention you were tired of the peace and quiet," Rez pointed out hopefully to his dubious companion.
The gentle will inside her began to yield to him, but she was still hesitant. "Aren't we both a little young to be hanging out in a bar?"
Rez hefted the pouch which held the remainder of his spending money, shaking it so she heard the shallow clink of credit chips. He had been slightly exaggerating earlier when he had told her he had spent the last of his pocket money on the earrings which now dangled from her delicate, translucent ears."Let's just say the proprietor doesn't ask questions of anyone who carries a substantial amount of credits on him. Ahem." He jerked his head impatiently toward the door. "But I leave it up to you, sweetcake; we go here, or I can take you back to the Temple and you can spend your last evening on Coruscant in that peace and quiet you so dread, while I will thoroughly enjoy myself drinking fizzade with the scummiest dregs of society."
Maybe it'd be better to keep an eye on him, she reflected uncomfortably. Tensing, she allowed herself to be dragged closer to that greasy, loud menace, until finally she was swallowed by the slimy maw of the beast.
She was immediately overwhelmed by the chaos within. Bright, skimpily clad Twi'lek dancers twirled, glasses and mugs chinked, drunks babbled and drooled, spice was passed from hand to hand, dataries rattled, lights strobed and spun, beings from all corners of the galaxy huddled at the grimy bar and shrieked in dissonant tones for their drinks – while the prevailing odor of sweat, alcohol, and smoke filled Jordin's olfactory senses and threatened to choke her. The clouds of spice smoke tainted the air and swathed the whole cantina in a dense smog, and Jordin had hardly taken one step into the mess before something pulled on her boot and left her stuck fast to the floor.
She looked down and screamed at the green slime eating away into her freshly polished leather boot. Rez, quickly assessing the danger, swiftly yanked her free, but she pulled away from him and immediately let loose a full-scale verbal assault. "I told you this was a dump and it's even worse inside! This place is unsanitary and you know my health is still shaky – was your goal in taking me here to make me fatally ill again so that we could be forever stranded on this godforsaken capital? Well, if you want to stay longer you know all you had to do was ask me, you – you womp rat!" She suddenly broke down into tears. To her further humiliation, her outburst had not gone unnoticed by some of the nosier bar patrons, who swiveled to throw their two cents in.
"Hey man, don't just stand there! Buy your girl a drink! She could use one!" someone jeered.
"Rez, that you, mate? What's up with you and crimson chicks anyway?" a humanoid with green, scaly skin asked. "Don't you know the redheads are the nasty, vindictive femmes fatales? Take my advice and get yourself a blond – dumb is better than crazy."
Everyone within earshot collapsed into a drunken fit of laughter. His face flushed dark purple, the clone silently and gently took Jordin by the arm and led her to a secluded table in the establishment, ignoring the catcalls of his "friends"
As Jordin sat, she was amazed and touched at Rez's kindness and unusual patience with her, that she couldn't help but feel mortally ashamed for reacting as she did. It was sweet of him to show me his "man-cave", though it is as dingy as a Jawa encampment, she thought, It's the thought that counts, right?
"Oh, Rez, I'm so sorry. This place isn't all that bad, really," Jordin said, deliberately ignoring the three-centimeter-thick grease layer coating the table.
The clone, however, had a sharp eye. "Sorry, ma'am; let me clean the table," he murmured, and ducked his head as he swabbed the surface with a cloth he kept handy in his belt. But he didn't lower his face fast enough; Jordin was able to catch the look of joy that lit up in his eyes, and she knew her reconciliatory words had been noticed and appreciated.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, when the table had been properly buffed. He stood by her chair stiffly, like a servant awaiting his lady's command.
"A little," she answered, pulling out her datapad. "Rez, please stand up."
"But I am standing," he said, puzzled.
"Oh…right." She squirmed to find the appropriate word. Still not back to normal, she fumed inwardly. "I meant for you to…sit."
He pulled up a chair and straddled it, cupping his chin in his meaty hands. With a finger, he waved a serving droid over and ordered fizzade and fried nuna legs. The food – which, in contrast to its surroundings, was surprisingly sanitary and appetizing – arrived shortly, and both Padawan and soldier went through their drumsticks with gusto. Her hunger satisfied, Jordin turned her attention again to her datapad, which contained the information she had downloaded from the Jedi Archives.
Rez, who hadn't spoken ever since dinner arrived, ordered another round of drinks and a second platter of drumsticks. Recognizing that she needed quiet to study, he did not attempt to engage her in conversation, instead fishing out his own datapad and going through his mail. Jordin knew he had gotten quite a few messages from Synta, because she saw his face flush even in the dim blue light of the screen. After a bit, his fingers flew furiously across the keypad.
Need help writing that love letter? She asked drily in thought-speak, glancing up and smiling at him as she did so.
"Love letter?" His gaze briefly met hers, then swiftly ducked down to the screen. "What are you talking about? I'm trying to beat Aedan's new high score on Droid Gladiators III."
Ah. Obviously he did not want to be pestered. That suited her just fine. The redhead turned back to her pad and keyed in a command which would target similar keywords found in all the files she had downloaded.
As the computer processed the data, Rez suddenly shifted in his seat and yawned."Kid, not that I'm complaining or anything, but wouldn't a private setting – AKA, your room at the Jedi Temple – be a more appropriate location to be perusing classified Intel? This isn't precisely what I would call a secure location."
"Relax, Rez; the files I'm reading can be accessed by anyone in the galaxy. Completely public, innocuous information," she informed him.
"What do you mean by 'innocuous'?" The clone asked, leaning forward to look at her datascreen.
She almost withdrew the pad out of his sightline, but she reconsidered. After all, it would be more suspicious if she seemed unwilling to divulge what she was reading. Besides, she thought, I can trust Rez. He saved my life.
"Well, after I found the Intel Adriaan wanted, I decided it would be interesting to download her biography and read it. Just for fun, you see. It's a mental exercise; I'm trying to work out my memory and see how much information I can retain." She angled the pad so that he could look at the file. The soldier's eyes glanced over it without much interest until they converged on the profile picture.
He jabbed a finger at the dark-haired woman. "That's not the General," he said, almost accusatorially.
"Strange, isn't it? I figured it must be an Archive glitch, because the rest of the information seems accurate to me," she said with a shrug that belied her true interest in the pseudo "glitch". The computer pinged to alert her that it had finished scanning the documents. Several words jumped out from the page as the pad highlighted them. Matching keyword results: Goba, Shag, Ra'hal, Espera,Haak, sith, cultist, cultists, anti, chosen, revolt, slave, slaves, lightsaber, lightsabers, Jacen, Adriaan, ell, Talaan, Netari, Tinar, Pakla, Eris, Akura, Vati, Ptosoy, Palgwebb, Council, Jedi, Padawan, Knight, Master, Darc, Chun-be, Mandalorian, Jango, Fett… "Jango Fett?" the Padawan asked aloud, pouncing on one of the final names on the list.
"What's that?" the ELF scout asked.
"Jango Fett," Jordin repeated, distrait, scrolling quickly through Adriaan's file until she found the name.
"What about him?" Rez said, his brows drawing together in a frown.
She only half-heard him; her mind was racing quickly, at more or less the pace it had used to go before her injury. The black funeral cloth over which the coma had thrown over her memories was lifted by a strong wind that was carrying red dirt, the pop of blasterfire, the keening of two hundred and some lightsabers, the sharp whine of gunships overhead…
"Kan! The Acklay is chasing me!"
The rumbling wheels of an execution cart thundering in her ears as she squashed her face into the blood-soaked ground. She pressed herself flat against the earth, cringing as she anticipated an electro-pike to dive with a horrid thud into her back.
"Get in the cart!" A voice – a female, basic-speaking voice, a voice that could not belong to a Geonosian or battle droid – yelled as the chariot squealed to a stop just meters from Jordin, kicking up a storm of dust. Suddenly Jordin was floating through the orange sky as strong, long arms scooped her up as if she were a mere toy and tossed her with gentle haste into the cart. The blond woman shouted at Aedan as she threw two small boys on top of the ginger. The Wicked King hurled verbal abuse at her and stalked off. As the golden girl furiously gave chase to the boy, the blond youth who had been thrown on top of Jordin got to his feet, fumbled for the reins of the chariot, and Jordin was jerked roughly to the bottom of the cart as the chariot took off, leaving Kan and the Knight alone on the battlefield.
"Kan!" she screamed, struggling to remain upright in the jumbling, lurching chariot. "Kan!"
She saw his emerald-green blade dance against the orange landscape, cutting down droid after droid, bug after bug. Fire bounced off his blade and hissed like red snakes. His teeth flashed white in his brown face as he half-grinned, half-grimaced. He lifted a hand, and his enemies crumpled at his feet. Oh, he was marvelous to behold; nothing could stop him.
But he was not invincible. "Kan!" she shrieked, but the dust drowned her voice. A silver dragon had glided into Kan's path, and now stood poised over him, two blasters grinning hungrily at the boy's pulsing heart. "No!" she screamed as the twin mouths of the dragon spouted fire.
The blasts hit the shield of flesh that suddenly appeared in front of the boy. The tall, burly man crumpled without a sound and blended in with the red dirt of Geonosis, the dust entombing him even as he gasped his last breath. Kan screamed and dropped as if he had been stabbed, but the silver dragon's bloodlust had been satisfied; it shunned the boy and stalked off.
Moments later, Jordin knelt beside Kan, her tears evaporating on his warm neck as she threw her arms around him protectively, shielding her eyes and his as the purple saber of the great Mace Windu whacked the head off the armored man. The silver helmet shot like a falling star over their heads and landed with an empty clunk in the dirt, and as Jordin turned to see the silver and blue armor collapse like an empty eggshell at the Jedi's feet, a sudden, wild thought took her: had there really been anything in that armor, after all? Was that silver dragon truly as empty, cold, and heartless as his demeanor?
Adriaan had not thought so. The young Jedi paused in mid-swipe, the battle rage on her face devolving into a look of pure horror as the armored body died with a hollow clunk. "Jango! Ner ba'vodu! No!" she yelled, starting forward with arms held wide, as if to catch the body as it fell. Instead, her trembling knees gave way and she knelt in unconscious imitation of the decapitated cadaver. "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum ner ba'vodu Jango Vhett."
Kan's sturdy arm encircled Jordin's waist as her own arm curled around his neck, and her teardrops fell upon his tearless face, like rain upon the dry red dust. "Why are you not crying?" she sobbed. "Can you not pity the death of a man? He has a son! I saw his child before the battle!"
He looked at her with eyes as silver and empty as the headless dragon. "Empty armor cannot procreate. Empty armor is not worth tears," he said in a voice as soft and cold as snow.
Her eyes glazed over as memories bombarded her brain, blurring the words before her. She blinked and sat up. "Jango Fett appears to have been involved in the Goba Shag rebellion led by Adriaan ell Talaan," she said.
"Interesting," Rez said in a voice that showed little surprise.
She looked up, curious at his tone. "You already knew this?"
He shrugged. "She had always spoke of Jango Fett – the host of mine and my brothers' DNA – with great respect. It became evident that she had had contact with Jango in the past when she began to revert to Mando'a when conversing with us. She told us Jango had taught her the language a long time ago, and that seeing his face reincarnated in us began to awaken the old habit of speaking in that tongue. I don't know how close their relationship had been, but I suppose that when the war broke out and Jango took the opposite side of the conflict, their friendship had to be dissolved."
Jordin sent Rez the image of Jango's headless body crumpling, and of Adriaan falling with him, crying in the strange, harsh language of the Mandalorians. Can you translate what she was saying?
The clone frowned in concentration, but eventually shook his head. "My knowledge of Mando'a is limited to the words to Vode An," he said apologetically. "I do know that darasuum means 'eternal', and kyr'adyc I presume means 'dead'. Perhaps she is reciting a death rite of passage. You should ask one of my vode – that's 'brothers', so there's your first Mando'a lesson. Adriaan has apparently been teaching my brothers more of the language ever since I left to take you to the hospital."
Jordin returned to the file, considering. "Where is Goba Shag?" she asked finally.
He tapped a few keys on his pad and brought up a holochart of the Outer Rim, highlighting an area she did not recognize. "Somewhere on the borderlands of Wild Space, right where the Corellian Run spills out. I'm guessing it's somewhere around the Kamino System and the Arkanis Sector, because despite its isolated location Goba Shag is fairly well-defended due to being tangent to systems controlled by the Republic's allies, the Hutts and the Kaminoans. The Corellian Run and Hydian Way intersect after the Hydian hits Kuat, so Goba Shag is not exactly along our route, in case you were thinking about visiting." Keen emerald irises met frank brown ones. "If you're so curious about Fett's connections with ell Talaan, just ask the General herself when we get back; I'm sure she'll be more than happy to oblige."
He was too cunning for someone like her to attempt to fool. He knew her all too well. "I don't think any investigation is necessary," she said, eager to dismiss the possibility of asking Adriaan, and thus alerting her Master to the fact that her Padawans were becoming overcurious about her history. "This isn't anything important. I just found it…strange, I guess, that a decorated Republic officer like Adriaan would have at one time been intimate with a merc."
"Stranger friendships have happened," Rez said with a wink. "Such as the relationship between a certain redheaded Padawan and an Enforcing Front Line clone scout."
She smiled. "And don't forget the romance between a teenage Galactic civilian and a strapping young GAR soldier," she said teasingly.
"That isn't so bizarre!" he said defensively. "I think we make a great couple!"
"An unlikely yet coordinated couple," Jordin concurred. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip from her glass. "So, have you told her yet?"
His face turned red as he unsuccessfully tried to feign cluelessness. "Told her what?"
"What do you think, that you've beaten the high score on Gladiator Droids III?" the redhead said, rolling her eyes. That you love her, silly!
He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Do I?"
She looked at him quizzically. "Are you asking me? You should know best," she said.
He blew out his breath, running his fingers through recently cropped hair. He had shorn his ponytail off and gotten a crewcut to match Jordin, but he still wasn't used to the feeling of near-baldness. "Do I know best? Can I know best, when I really don't know much about love at all?" he asked. "Heck, I can't even give you a satisfactory definition of love. It would be unfair to Synta if I told her something I didn't really mean."
"Well, first off, love is too complexly simple to be dictionary-defined," Jordin said. She smiled to herself, steepling her fingers in the sage-like pose idiosyncratic of Jedi Master Windu as she leaned back in her chair. Funny that I would be having this conversation with him. I certainly don't consider myself an expert on this topic, having never actually been in a relationship before. Oh well, I'm all he's got. "Second off, if you think you've never experienced love, then what the heck do you call the relationship between you and your brothers? Or even between you and me?"
"Friendship," Rez said simply.
She sighed. The ELF scout's naïveté was sometimes exhausting, even to her. "And what is friendship?"
"The willingness to make sacrifices for those whom you love."
She looked at him quietly. Rez, would you really do anything for me? For your brothers? For Synta?
"You know I would," he said, too vehement to revert to telepathy.
Rez, if that isn't love, then I don't know what is.
"Hey, Rez, you didn't tell me you were still around! Thought you'd have been shipped off on another assignment by now!" A squat, slimy-looking male Quarren appeared suddenly behind Rez, slapping him on the back. The clone turned and flashed the alien a friendly, distracted grin.
"Actually, this is my last night here," he said.
"Good thing I found you then; I'm gonna help you make your last night on Coruscant unforgettable!" the Quarren chuckled. Leaning into Rez's ear, he whispered. "I've got a pair of Twi'lek girls just shipped from Ryloth. Very stunning; one's blue, while her sister is ebony-skinned. Nice hourglass figures, and most definitely not 'butterheads', no sirree! They charge me a fortune to perform at my club, but they've attracted double the amount of customers to my business, so I have to say it was a worthwhile investment."
"Dancers or masseuses?" Rez asked, fatigued by the alien's infatuation with Twi'lek women, who were invariably sold on the slave market as dancers or masseuses…or worse.
"Both," the Quarren said gleefully. "Would you like to see them?"
"No," Rez and Jordin said simultaneously, with equal vehemence. For the first time, the Quarren seemed to notice the Padawan's presence, for he stepped back in astonishment, his tentacles quivering.
"Oh my, yes, I forgot you had a girlfriend already," he said. He leaned in to peer closer at Jordin's face. She drew back, repelled at the pungent odor of alcohol and spice that flavored his moist breath. "Wait, but this redhead looks younger and cattier than the one you brought in the other day." He looked at Rez with reproachful pale blue eyes. "When I first met you, you very emphatically stated that you were a one-woman person."
"Ishall, may I introduce to you my fellow officer, Captain Skraps of the Invader Regiment," Rez said abruptly, his face reddening. "Captain, this is Ishall; he helped me find the store where I bought those earrings for you," he added almost desperately, trying to establish some sort of good impression of the Quarren with Jordin, who very clearly disapproved of his slimy friend.
"Ah, so this is the chick you scoured half of Coruscant for to procure some sort of bauble," Ishall said, his blue eyes flicking over her methodically, with a practiced scrutiny that made the Padawan very uncomfortable. Finally, his gaze swiveled to Rez. "You never told me she was hot," he said in a not-so-confidential tone. "You certainly know where to find the gifted ladies, don't you?"
Jordin's blood boiled with a mixture of fury and shame. Her hand moved to unsnap her Jedi weapon from her belt and remind the Quarren how to defer to a Jedi Apprentice, when the clone tactfully intervened. "There's a reason why I never mentioned her good looks, Ishall," he said, taking the Quarren's arm and leading him away from the table. "She's only a child."
"Makes no difference to me," the Quarren muttered.
"A Jedi child," Jordin proclaimed loudly, causing several bar patrons to glance at her nervously and edge away. She ignored them, however, standing up from the table and following the clone and his sleazy companion to the bar counter, where the beings hastily cleared a space for her to sit. Her performance that evening had certainly established her as a female to be feared.
"Ah, in that case," Ishall said, his gaze darting nervously at the lightsaber Jordin openly displayed on her hip. "My apologies, miss."
"That's Captain to you," she snarled, conveniently forgetting she wasn't officially ranked.
"As a token of my repentance, will you allow me to buy you a drink?" he asked as the bartender slid a mug of Ruby Bliels down to him.
"Caf," Jordin said.
"Aw, come on, it's your guys' last night on Coruscant!" Ishall wheedled. "You should loosen up and have some fun. Here, try some of this muja ardees; it has a very low alcohol content."
"Caf," Jordin repeated firmly, before Rez could take Ishall up on the offer.
"Right," the Quarren muttered. "You don't drink either, do you?" He spun to the soldier. "What in all the Twi'lek goddesses do you and your friends do for fun?"
"Oh, blast droids, destroy the Separatist's dreams, protect corrupt officials, all for the betterment of galactic citizens such as yourself," Rez said easily, waving at the bartender to get him caf.
"What about your downtime? Don't you get R&R?"
The clone spooned heaping mounds of sweetener into his caf. "Well, not officially, no, but my CO manages to cook up some excuse so we can go AWOL for a few days without her superiors noticing," he admitted. "When we aren't on the job, we're usually training."
"Do you have time to sleep?" the Quarren sneered, his nasally voice tinged with sarcasm. "Do you ever just sit around and relax? You know, have a beer among your mates, visit the nightclub – that sort of thing?"
Rez tasted his caf, grimaced, then splashed the steaming fluid with some cream to give it some body. "Well, when we're relaxing – in a loose sense of the word – we watch martial arts holovids, play gravball or bolo-ball or spar a few rounds, organize an inter-regiment sabacc tournament, kick the chef droids out of the kitchen and have a Phrik Chef style competition…you get the picture. Some of the chaps in my brigade are under the age of thirteen – myself counting, chronologically speaking – so we go Kuati-style and hang in the caf bars. We do family friendly sort of things."
The Quarren choked indiscreetly, halfway into his beer.
"Harum, well, that's mighty interesting…ahem…uh, so if this Jedi isn't your girlfriend, I'm assuming you're still with that other girl?" he asked, after his coughing fit had finally passed.
"Yes," Rez said, shifting in his seat.
"She's going into the GAR, isn't she?" the Quarren continued. He winked lazily at Rez. "I wonder who talked her into doing that."
"She's going into the Naval Academy; we won't be in the same regiment," Rez said a bit stiffly. He looked at the alien keenly. "Funny, I don't remember ever mentioning to you that she was going into the GAR."
"Oh, she must've mentioned it to me when you brought her here," Ishall said, waving a hand dismissively.
Rez frowned. "She did?" He sipped his caf. "I don't remember that."
Jordin frowned, too. It's not like Rez to forget anything, even a petty detail like that.
The Quarren shrugged again. Something about the topic seemed to make him uncomfortable, for he suddenly said, "So how's she doing?"
"Good," Rez said. He didn't seem to notice how Ishall slightly changed the subject. But Jordin did. "Why?"
"Just wondering." The Quarren gulped his Bliels down and ordered an ardees. "You two didn't seem so cozy when you brought her over. Kinda awkward, if you ask me."
"Really?" Rez said, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't think so."
The alien downed his ardees with a long, wet slurp that made her stomach churn. He held out his mug to be refilled. "It was quite obvious to me. You mentioned earlier that you only do infant-appropriate stuff – I guess that means you've never been with a girl before this, is that right?"
"Never had the opportunity to." Rez down the rest of his caf and ordered another. "Other than military officers like Captain Skraps, I haven't been around many women. The training on Kamino never included a class called 'females 101'"
"Ah, if there were such a class, life would be so much easier for us men," the Quarren sighed theatrically, nursing his ardees. "That fact aside, you are uncommonly disadvantaged when it comes to women, Rez old boy. You need to learn a few tricks."
"I don't like to trick people," Rez said, stiffening. "Honest and upfront – that's my personality."
"What I mean is that you need a few tips," the Quarren said, surprisingly forbearing. "For example, have you broken the 'contact barrier' yet?"
"The what?" Rez and Jordin asked simultaneously.
The Quarren looked at them and rolled his eyes. "Oh, stang, I've gotten involved with a pair of naïve Huttlets," he sighed. "Have you kissed her yet?" he asked, suddenly very forward.
"What?" Rez – who could string together a paragraph of expletives in twelve different languages without batting an eye – jumped to his feet as if the mere suggestion was scandalous.
Ishall rolled his eyes. "I thought not," he said. "Have you ever held her hand?"
"Why would I do that? She's not a baby," Rez said, a trifle indignant.
"Experience tells me women like their hands to be held," the Quarren remarked pompously.
The scout glowered, mulling over Ishall's nuggets of worldly wisdom. "I can't imagine why. It seems silly," he announced finally.
"You're the one who's being silly," Ishall snapped, quivering tentacles dripping with alcohol. "In fact, you're impossible! Why the Kaminoans made you clones so handsome is beyond me if none of you are willing to use your attractiveness to your advantage."
"What do you want me to do?" Rez asked sullenly.
"Well, we'll start off slow," Ishall said, jumping to his feet. "Next time you see your girl, touch her hip with your hand like this," he slapped his slimy fingers on Rez's belt – an offense that had cost many an eager pickpocket's digits, "and ask her if she were a space pirate, would she want her holster on this side, or –" he leaned in, his arm circling round Rez's waist so that his fingers touched the opposite hip holster, "– that side. It's such a smooth, original pickup line; got me a female every time."
Jordin snorted, but both males were currently overlooking her existence.
Rez considered for a moment. "That's it?" he asked finally.
The Quarren snorted in mid-gulp, spraying a reddish mist of ardees all over the slimy counter. "For now," Ishall said, wiping his mouth across a grimy sleeve. "I would suggest doing a little bit more for her so she won't forget you when she goes to an Academy full of devastatingly rich, suave, young male naval cadets, but that's your call."
Synta isn't so fickle as all that. She's loyal to you, Jordin hastened to assure a clearly troubled clone.
"Well, let's see you practice on the Captain…that is, if she doesn't mind," the Quarren said, hastily ducking away from Jordin's hard glare.
"Practice what?" Poor Rez was still digesting the "Synta's gonna ditch you for some snobby prepubescent royal pedigree cadet on Carida" bit.
Ishall slapped a palm to his forehead. "Breaking the 'contact barrier', you Gamorrean piglet!"
"And what is this 'contact barrier' you speak of?" Rez deadpanned.
"Just put your arm around her!" the Quarren roared. Rez hastily slung his arm roughly over Jordin's shoulder, but jumped back when Ishall yelled. "Subtly, you fool, subtly!"
The clone timidly put his hand on her shoulder. "Like this?"
Ishall rolled his eyes. "You look like a cold, limp, dead gorg. Do it like you mean it! But subtly! That's the key to every long-term success: being purposeful without looking it!"
Rez growled irritably and tightened his hold, curling his arm around Jordin's waist. She felt his warm breath puffing angrily against her neck.
"Perfect!" the Quarren yelled. "Now, hold it…" His obnoxious, nasally voice seemed to come from a distance, drowned by the thump of a spurred boot on the pavement outside. Jordin's senses strained to hear the sound. Something was off here. Something was going on…
"Hold it! Nobody move!" a voice full of authority rang throughout the bar, silencing all noise in an instant. Rez drew away from Jordin, and the Padawan turned in the direction of the voice.
She gasped. A squad of CSE police officers had flanked the bar, and all of their blasters were trained on Rez.
The Jedi careened in the emptiness of space, jetpack sputtering to launch her into the hatch as the access tunnel disintegrated beneath her feet, the consequence of the bounty hunter's ship forcing premature de-interdiction. The cold of space seeped into her survival suit, but it did not harm her; it was just cold, after all…
But, after all, cold was evocative of things she wished to forget; death was cold. His lips had been cold, that last time she held him. Her heart was cold. Cold was how she woke up every night. Cold reminded her of the hard, gelid white of a medical center – the warmth-stealing plastoid beds in an infirmary, the chilling, probing surgical instruments…
Cold also reminded her of better times; of the months she had spent on a frigid, stark, feral beauty of a planet in the Outer Rim, struggling to free her fellow slaves from captivity. Perhaps she thought of this time period as one of the best stints in her life because he had only arrived after the rebellion, after all…he had not been there to guide her. It had been the first time she had ever been truly on her own, and she had founded a revolt and succeeded in establishing a new Republic world. Not many Jedi – not even the ancient Masters – could boast of such an accomplishment. It had been the first time she had realized that she did not entirely depend upon her Master; that the date was approaching when they would at last be not instructor and student, but equals.
And now I have surpassed him…
"You seem happy here, Highness," he observed. His back was to her; he was facing the spectacular sunset that was always followed by a blast of colors as the dying light hit the frosty landscape. He seemed oddly out of place in the stark topography; a black figure upon the crystal-clear structure of the city, which seemed to be carved out of the icy terrain itself. The whole planet was crystalline, the white of snow mingling with a stunning rainbow of billions of crystals – what Darc jokingly referred to as the flora of Goba Shag. The planet was always beautiful, by both sunshine and moonshine, but she had always liked dusk best. The four moons began their silent march across the heavens as the sun saluted them and sank beneath the horizon, leaving behind a spectacular trail of stars. The heavens were always clear and beautiful on Goba Shag, which still maintained its wild virginity despite the sith cultist colonization.
The sun blinked, then slipped into the dark womb of twilight. The planet fell into shadow, the moon casting a pale, even glow, illuminating the glassy surfaces of the city. His blade-thin, straight figure stood out starkly against the ghostly sheen of the terrace, as black as the silhouette of the mountain range beyond the capital – ahem, the only – city. The scene was heartrendingly stunning, yet she sighed at the leaving of dusk; sunset would always be her favorite time. Was it because the beauty was so fleeting – sunset lasted only a few seconds on this frigid planet – that she found it the best time of the day…because it didn't last long enough for anyone to detect any faults in its beauty? Perhaps, but maybe it was because the deep golds and russets of the drifting sunlight had reminded her all too well during her captivity of his dark umber eyes, glowing like the embers of a fire her frostbitten hands could not feel, only dream to grasp?
She brushed sunbeams from her eyes. She did not dare admit such things even to herself. "The planet is beautiful," she said, realizing the silence had stretched for too long.
"The landscape or the people?" She did not see his face, but she heard the smile in his voice. "Come, your Majesty, you were never one to stop and marvel at the simplistic beauty of nature. Your interest has always been in people – even in the ugliest of creatures you find some covert beauty that makes them seem attractive to you. You and I find beauty in passion, in the purpose and action of beings. You and I are not moved by the cold beauty of stars."
A warmth expanded in her chest; her heart hammered in her throat. Ah, that is why I think you are the most beautiful of all creatures, because you set me afire…Her hands went to her lips; her thought was so loud she was certain he had heard her.
"I do not need to hear you, Adriaan." She felt his presence touch her mind, as warm and comforting as a hand clasping her own. She had been lonely for so long; sure, she had been surrounded by people – she had been the commander of the six-leader group to the opposition – she had scratched out a living on the cold hard rock, she had risked hypothermia and torture and death for the freedom of a planet, but she had done it alone in the sense she had had no advisor, no mentor to direct her on the right path…this time, she had done the leading. She had done the had been the mentor, the fourteen-year-old General of a billion-being army…and she was still alive.
"Padawan, I have always been careful not to flatter my own students, but I can't let this mission pass by without congratulating you on your success. You are truly amazing, and that potential I knew was hidden in you all along finally showed. I'm glad." His voice was low, sincere. She had never heard him speak to her in such a way.
"It is because you made me so," she said quietly, with a graciousness that surprised even herself. But it was the truth; she had done it alone, but if it hadn't been for his training – if he had not so inspired her with the confidence that she could actually rise from the darkness of a prophesy, and be someone worth fighting for – she wouldn't have had the willpower to succeed.
"No; that tactic with the barricade wall – I know I never taught you that. In fact, I'll admit to you now I am no military genius," he said. "Clearly, that was not the consequence of any of my efforts."
She grinned. Was that yet more praise coming from his lips? "Admit it; I'm a genius," she crowed triumphantly.
"You?" he snorted. "Don't try to fool me. I know you didn't come up with that. Sure, you're a genius, for a blond."
Her retort died on her lips when the moonlight spilled through the window and illuminated his perfect face, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe.
"Don't pretend you found that Mando beskar'gam in some crystal garden, either," he said. "It didn't escape my notice that your revolution had the aid of a third party."
And here came the inevitable lecture. She swallowed. "Look, sir, I know the Mandalorians and Jedi are traditional enemies and all that, but you did tell me that my enemy's enemy is my friend; and in this case, well, face it…the Mandalorians weren't the antagonists here."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I know, I know I said all that…and I'm not criticizing you for accepting Jango Fett's help. I'm just surprised you were able to close negotiations with him. A bounty hunter of his prowess isn't hired cheaply."
"I didn't hire him, actually."
"Don't lie. Hutts will ride swoops before a bounty hunter does volunteer work for a charitable cause."
"It wasn't charity," she said. "Haven't you heard the native lingo? It's a mixture of Bocce, Huttese, and Mando'a. Many slaves were picked up from outflung Mandalorian colonies, such as Concordia. Mandalorians are generally built tough, so the cultists naturally sought after slaves of Mandalorian heritage. These were his people whom they had taken captive; what better motive to support our revolt then to free his race from the oppression of slavery?"
"Jango was never one to do a job for purely sentimental reasons," he muttered. "Then again, every man has his weakness."
She reared up indignantly, suddenly resuming the presence and command of her recently acquired title of Queen. "Jango was not weak," she stated, her voice ringing against the crystal pavements, like icicles shattering upon diamonds.
"Ah, so you became acquainted with his fighting style, after all. I wondered about that when I saw you in the beskar'gam." He turned back to the landscape, his shadow bouncing off the reflective panels of the palace walls. It was called "The Palace of Mirrors" for a reason. The structure was hewn from the mountainside, the interior coated with plates of native crystalline sheets – the result was so phenomenal that when a dignitary from KDY came to visit the planet months later, he was so enamored by it that he had a replica erected on his own homeworld. "I was thinking about hiring him to give you a few training sessions later this year, actually, but it seems I got some free private lessons from him. Tell me honestly, what do you think of him?"
What did she think of him? She had had many assistant instructors besides her own Master, many of them non-Jedi. As a youngling, she had trained under Katma Malub. Jacen had taken her all across the galaxy, to the Taikaido Masters lurking in Wild Space, to Mandalorians who still held fast to their ancient warrior traditions, Trandoshan mercenaries, Corellian brawlers, Wookiee warriors, Rattatak gladiators, Rodian cutthroats, Clawdite assassins…she had learned from all the greats. She had learned from the others strength and agility, cunning and flexibility, power and endurance…but what had Jango taught her?
"He's…different from you," she began. "He fights…cold. He doesn't seem to care what happens to his enemies, what he must do to achieve his goal…as long as it is achieved in the end."
"I meant in strategy," he said abruptly. "What's his style?"
"You've seen him fight," she said simply.
"And what did you learn from him?" he persisted.
"That I don't need…that I don't always need certain people in my life." She gulped, her voice failing her. It was hard to say such words, but she knew it was the truth. She did not need Jacen anymore…but that did not mean that she did not want him. Because I do want him; I want him to never leave my side, to be as undyingly loyal to me as I am to him. He is so close – only inches from my side – yet he is still so far away, so distant. I…I just wish that distance would be closed, that he would take me into his arms, that this freezing cold will be melted by his fire…"That eventually, I will have to learn to be on my own. He taught me what it takes to be a leader, what it takes to be independent."
"So what you're saying is, you don't need me anymore," he said bluntly. She opened her mouth to disagree, but he whirled and pressed his hand to her lips before she could speak. His fingers did not forcibly press her words back into her throat – it was the mere fact that she felt his smooth, soft hand against her mouth that rendered her tongue speechless. It annoyed her that he so easily captivated her with his unaffected charm and artless seductiveness, but then again she secretly liked the feeling of being conquered by him. "Shhh, it's okay; that's what I was hoping to hear. It's nothing bad, Adriaan; it just means that my baby girl is growing up."
Normally, if anyone dared to call her "baby", "sweetcake", "darling", "angel", "sugar-pie" or anything alone the lines of an affectionate form of address, he would have been sucking liquidized food from a tube hooked up to his guts because his broken jaw would have to be wired shut for at least three months. But her Master was allowed certain liberties she did not grant to anyone else. He was special to her.
His hand suddenly relieved the pressure from her mouth, a finger absentmindedly straying to stroke her lower lip. She gulped to disguise her soft intake of breath. "Aw, come on, my blond masseuse, admit you missed me," he said, his fingers meeting beside her mouth to playfully tweak her cheek. Again, if anyone else had taken such a liberty they would have had to get all their appendages replaced with prosthetics. But Jacen was not just anyone.
Had she missed him?…an incredible question. Missed him? Could a Jedi use the Force? Her Master was as integral to her as breathing; he had been the person who had inspired her to be something, to put her talents to use. He had been the one who had made her aware of the fact that she actually had talents to nurture. During their separation, there had not been one day when she hadn't thought of him, that she hadn't looked twice at a shadow wondering if it was he, that he had finally found her…in every person she came in contact with, she saw a resemblance of Jacen. Every smile, every flash of teeth was evocative of his mocking grin. Had she missed him? "Miss" was an understatement.
His absence had been augmented by the discovery she had made in the precious microseconds before they had parted to complete their separate objectives of the overall mission. It was a discovery of something greater than just an emotion – it was the discovery of a way of life, a world she had not known her heart had taken root in. She reached out to his mind in the Force to see if what she had discovered had not faded from a lengthy separation. To her eternal bliss and pain, she realized now that the feeling – the existence – of love for him had matured from a mere spark to a roaring furnace, feeding away at the hope and passion in her heart.
She was aware now that the strange attraction to the Mandalorian had been a passing emotion, a silly girl's fantasy – but this was real. She had admired Jango as a soldier obsesses over his seemingly omnipotent captain; for her Master, it was a sentiment which sprang from an innate admiration for an instructor – someone who had reached a level she herself strove to achieve – but over the years it had covertly blossomed into something deeper and more complexly simple. When she had left him, it had been with the silly affection of a gawky girl, but that immature infatuation had developed into the love of a woman. Sorrow and care had marked her, but she was still whole and pure – and all his. She was something men since time immemorial strove to possess: a precious, flawless, untouched gift.
And she – that unspoiled, vestal gift – was all his.
"I do not wish to hurt you," he had said much later. "I see the future, and I am afraid; I see your death, your blood on my hands. I do not know why you gave up Goba Shag, why you gave up the crown – you would have made a splendid Queen. Nor do I even know why you did not follow the bounty hunter – do not lie, I know you had impressed him, and that he had offered to take you as his protege – for you have the mentality and potential to be an excellent bounty hunter. The life of the Jedi is not for you; they judge you on a biased scale. No matter how hard you try, they will find you flawed, for the prophesy dragging at your destiny weighs you down with faults that should not be attributed to your own design. It is only because of me that you stay, but how can you linger with a person who has and only will make you suffer? How can you stand to serve an Order which anticipates your failure?"
She saw the future also, and the future shrouded her Master in the mists. A black shadow obscured him, and she realized the shadow came from herself. She then knew that she would eclipse him, hide him from the galaxy…or surpass him. She did not yet know the origin of the syzygy.
And she sensed not fellow Jedi, but T-masks, thousands of Mandalorian visors…
"Because I would rather be burned by being too close to the fire than stand back and shiver in the cold," she replied at last.
She was sucked into the warmth of the ship, but was not greeted by his breath on her neck, his tears on her face, the warm impassioned embrace of a lover. She had never received it, had never felt it. She knew nothing but the chill that ill-replaced the heat her imagination sought…He was cold. So were the black T-masks, but for some reason the firearms the two warriors wielded made the wraithlike figures more frighteningly real…
The clone turned slowly, not a trace of fear shimmering in his countenance. "What's going on here, gentlemen?" he asked casually, his hands resting on his hip holsters.
The lieutenant motioned with his blaster. "Hands up where I can see them," he barked.
Rez sighed prodigiously. "Couldn't you see them where they were before?" he quipped, but he obeyed the officer at Jordin's urging.
Rez, now is not the time to be a wiseguy.
"Relax, kid; neither of us have done anything illegal. We'll be fine."
"Cuff him," the officer said to his henchmen, and one of the policemen came forward. The clone huffed and puffed but did not resist, allowing the officer to cuff his hands behind his back. Jordin wanted to reach out to him, to let him feel her reassuring hand on his arm, but a heavy hand clapped on her shoulder and pulled her away. She turned and looked up into the eyes of a security guard.
"Stay calm; you're safe now, miss," the man said.
"Safe? I was never in danger –" Jordin retorted, but no one was listening to her. Their attention was diverted at the entrance of a tall, handsome young man as he shouldered his way through the numerous bar patrons, his keen blue eyes gleaming with malicious triumph.
"Good work, men; this is the one," he said.
Rez, even from his humble position of prisoner, nevertheless managed to look down on the well-muscled man, who was far from short-statured. His brownish-blond hair was gelled into spikes, giving him a fierce demeanor. "Do I know you?" Rez asked calmly. Jordin watched from a distance, noticing the contrast in the two men. Blond and pale but equal in stature and strength, the high school jock glared eye-to-eye with the dark-skinned soldier.
"My girlfriend may have mentioned me in passing," the man replied cooly, without batting an eye.
The clone blinked but otherwise did not react. Then he leaned forward, like a dog tugging at its leash. Jordin sensed his heartrate escalate. Calm down, Rez; it's okay. "Synta's mine now, kid; you had your chance to win her, but you left her for the scum on the streets, where luckily I found her before some no-good pirates did. You know the saying, 'Finders, keepers'"
"You can cut the kriff," Synta's ex – Natavi – snapped. "A spawn from a glass vat with no citizenship status has no right to exercise the privileges you have been usurping. Thanks to the efforts of your good friend Ishall, here, I have enough evidence to get you slammed into a detention block for the rest of your life, with scum such as yourself. Though, I must warn you that people guilty of your crimes are often ill-received by their inmates. You most likely won't die of old age in there."
So Ishall had set them up. Jordin was far from astonished.
"On what charges?" Rez said, his voice thick with fury.
Natavi's mouth split smugly, his teeth white seeds in a scarlet fruit. "On the charges of stalking and exercising power over a seventeen-year-old female Galactic citizen and fraternizing with a minor."
"'Fraternizing with a minor'?" The phrase was beyond both Rez's and Jordin's comprehension.
Natavi jerked his chin in Jordin's direction. "There's no way that kid is over the age of sixteen," he said.
"'Fraternizing'?" Rez repeated.
The guard leaned in, and the ugly words were whispered into the clone's naïve ears. Jordin – innocent, pure, befuddled Jordin – flinched; she didn't need anyone to translate, or to explain what they were talking about. She knew well what they were accusing him of, and her heart broke at the look of confusion on Rez's face, for she knew that he had absolutely no comprehension at all of what those whispered words meant. Quietly, she entered his mind and cringingly offered him a black-and-white translation. She retreated as the whites of his eyes and conquered the brown of his irises as he straightened with a sudden dignity, his tanned face shot red with puzzled fury. "We are GAR officers," he spat. "We do not have time for tactless clowning around."
"Tactless, tactless," the high school jock jeered. "I've caught you with an underage female in a cantina located on a not-so-wholesome level of Coruscant – to put it lightly – and helping along the death stick business, it turns out."
"Death sticks?" Rez sputtered. "We haven't been doing any drugs."
"Ahem." Natavi stepped forward and scooped their caf mugs off the bartop. "These are your drinks, I'm assuming."
"Ever seen caf before?" Rez snarled.
Natavi handed the mugs to a cop, who scanned the drinks with some sort of device, which began to beep alarmingly after being dunked into the fluid. The officer and the jock exchanged glances before turning to glare at Jordin and Rez. "To be exact, caf loaded with illegally procured death stick solute," Natavi said, clucking in disapproval.
"Deathsticks? What kriffing dinko put death sticks in our caf!" Rez yelled, thrashing.
Rez, calm down, Jordin begged.
"Calm down?" he shouted. "How can you expect me to be calm when I can't even have a kriffing cup of caf without it being tampered by some CIS-boot-licking scum?"
"The drug in his system has clearly made the boy unstable," Natavi said to the cops. "Keep him restrained."
"I have friends who will testify to my innocence –" the clone began huffily, but the boy cut him off.
"Friends? You mean your fair-weather acquaintances you've been hanging out with in the local bars? The beings I've paid to keep you under surveillance for the past couple of weeks?" Natavi sneered. "I've been watching you ever since you've been stalking my girlfriend."
"Clearly, someone set us up," Rez growled. "I'm gonna rip off his face when I get to him –"
"REZ!" Jordin shouted, drowning out his threat. She knew Ember did not allow his men to idly threaten civilians, no matter how scummy they were. Besides, she saw the Quarren cringe at Rez's words, his slimy hands moving to shield two transparisteel vials…
"There! The Quarren! Stop him!" Jordin said.
"I found these death stick tubes by the mugs, officers!" Ishall yelped, tossing the vials to the floor as if they were red-hot coals. The tubes splattered into a gazillion fragments as they hit the tiles.
The clone turned, his face purple with furious betrayal. No, Rez, stop; calm down. We don't need resisting arrest added to the charges they're putting on your record, Jordin pleaded, but his anger had erected the barriers in his mind, shutting her out from his thoughts, and he did not hear her.
Her Force-augmented sight saw every individual muscle in his back and neck and arms swell, the veins popping out from his skin, perspiration straining from his pores. He leaned forward, his eyes bloodshot, his white teeth drawing blood from his lower lip as he snarled at the quailing Quarren, like a nek battle dog that had just cornered a womp rat.
Rez! He did not hear her; he would not hear her, he willed himself to become deaf to her…she watched in horror as he jerked away from the guard, barreling towards the Quarren.
I am going to kill this scum like a slug! He said then, his voice roaring in her brain.
She stared, petrified, her arms dangling helplessly at her sides. She was not coordinated enough to lift them up in time to stop him.
But you do not need your arms to use the Force, a voice whispered in her mind.
She looked upon the scene as if standing behind a pane of transparisteel. She was not part of the action; she was simply an observer, a witness. But the voice in her head spoke the truth; she did not need her arms. Nor her legs, as Eris had taught her; nor her eyes, as her coma had taught her; and Adriaan had not needed her hands to save her life, so long ago on Umbria…
"Jordin!" Kan screamed. He fell to the ground, and she didn't know why. It made her falter in her sprint towards that strange gold-armored man; had Kan been wounded?
No, not wounded; she saw the gleam of the detonator curve like an ominous satellite through the gray sky; it glittered in the gloom that marked daytime on Umbria. Alarmed, she redoubled her speed, hoping the explosive would sail right over her.
But the man in gold was clever; he had timed it to fall short, so her efforts to get away only made her fall deeper into his snare…
"JORDIN!" Now Adriaan's voice joined Kan's, but their calls seemed to come from far away. Their voices were drowned by the horrid clunk as the det hit her on the head…
And she stumbled…
And she fell…
Here comes the bang, she thought, this is the end; it's going to blow my head off…
As her face hit the dirt, she saw the eyes of her Master, yellow-blue in the monochromatic landscape. Her hands were at her sides, but the glitter of the det was reflected in her pupils; she merely looked at the explosive, and it did not go off, it did not burst. It changed direction in mid-fall and was now spinning away, away…
She stared at Rez's arms, imagined feeling his muscles ripple and pulse beneath her frail fingers. She squinted; her power surged, she saw every cell in his body straining towards the Quarren, every particle of his being filled with a red miasma of bloodlust. Her Force vision grew stronger and stronger, until she could see the spaces between the atoms which composed the walls, the bartop, the very floor beneath her feet…
A spasm itched in the corners of her narrowed eyes, and she felt her scope of vision grow wider until it encompassed the entire bar, the very beings which crowded behind her. Her left arm flung forward, her eyelids snapped back into her skull, her pupils dilated…
And Rez was lifted like a rag doll and yanked back, like a dog on a leash. He careened backward, his spine hitting the edge of the counter with a bloodcurdling crack. He doubled over and crumpled to the floor, and the frozen figures of the bar seemed to be jerked back into motion. Cops scurried, stools were bowled over, Ishall wailed and ducked behind the bar, Natavi leaped back and collided clumsily into the table behind him, Rez's security guard whirled and gripped the fallen clone by the arms; Jordin tossed her nonexistent luxuriant red locks from her face, threw her shoulders back, and flung her left arm forward, green eyes flashing.
"ELF-1374, check." She spoke the tardy command with such an imperious air that even Natavi paused to look at her, eyes wide.
The clone's head jerked up, his bloodshot eyes wild. Pinkish blood frothed at his lips as he coughed, his body straightening defiantly as the guard put a knee into the small of his back and hauled him upright. Jordin lurched back when she saw the agony branded on the young man's face; she had not meant to throw him that hard. Indeed, she had not realized she was even capable of such power. Something had seemed to have taken hold of her at that moment; she had not felt altogether in possession of herself. Had it been merely instinct that had taken over, or something else?
The look Rez gave her as the cops hustled him out the door was an expression of such pure voiceless incredulous betrayal that she involuntarily burst into tears.
"Add resisting arrest and attempting to murder a civilian to the list of misdemeanors," Natavi said with a prodigious sigh. Indifferently, he turned away from the clone and inclined his head superciliously at the Padawan. "I wasn't aware that you are a Jedi," he said. His blue eyes gleamed maliciously as he looked her up and down, his gaze reminiscent of Ishall's in the way he stared at her as if he was assessing her value on the slave market. He leered smugly, as if he could see right through her robes. It made Jordin's gut squirm. "Thank you for assisting in the arrest of this predator. According to galactic law, as a minor you were naturally under the influence and power of this creature, and as a result the charges of illegal drug use do not apply to you. I assure you this man will pay for the harm he has done to you."
"He has done no harm to me," Jordin said, a haughty tone she did not know she possessed sneaking into her voice. She clumsily pulled her robe closer, shaking the tears from her face. Tears would not help Rez; what he needed was a placid spokesperson. "I am his commanding officer, and a Jedi, and I attest to the fact that even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to influence me to do anything. As his commanding officer, I am responsible for his behavior."
"Of course." Natavi waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "However, according to galactic law – and I mean no disrespect, miss – you do not have the capacity to give your full consent to…collude with this criminal. Furthermore, according to his profile, he was assigned to care for you after you were diagnosed with a severe traumatic injury. As a recently comatose patient who has just been released from the hospital, you are hardly fit to make your own decisions in matters of –"
"I am fit to make my own decisions," she snarled. "And I have decided to accompany ELF-1374 to the police station, where I can clear up this…misunderstanding."
"The assertions of a child victim and recently comatose patient can hardly be valid," Natavi growled.
How does he know I was recently in a coma? "Quite right," Jordin remarked. "That is why I am going to contact my Commanding Officer, General ell Talaan, as well as respected Jedi at the Temple, who can testify to Rez's moral rectitude."
The boy paled. His mind was transparent to Jordin; she realized that he hadn't counted on a mere clone having influential friends on Coruscant. Natavi played the part of a cool jock, but it was all a veneer to mask his terror. He had taken a dangerous gamble by attempting to frame an innocent man who was friends with the Jedi, and Jordin was confident that if she got the Jedi involved, they would be able to refute whatever false evidence Ishall and Natavi conjured up.
"That is hardly necessary," Natavi began, but the cop holding Jordin corrected him.
"Actually, it is extremely necessary that witnesses be produced. In fact, whether she wants to or not, we are bringing her to the police station to ask her a few questions," the officer said.
Jordin's green eyes stabbed at Natavi's blue irises. Your game is up; if this was a clumsy attempt at getting revenge, you have failed, she said into his mind. His lips turned chalk-white, and his pale hands began to tremble. She did not speak arrogantly; she knew it was the naked truth.
"Come," the police officer said, tugging her by the arm. She stumbled after him, keeping her gaze focused on Synta's ex.
You will never win; whatever evidence you have invented, the Jedi forensics team is the best in the galaxy, and they will discover its inauthenticity. You are nothing but a petulant child; a real adult would have accepted the consequences and moved on. And even if you had succeeded at putting Rez in prison, did you really think you would have gotten Synta back? She is out of your reach now.
Her gaze pierced his mind, his heart, his very tenebrous soul, and he shrank from her touch. He lowered his eyes and sank onto a bar stool, but her attack was relentless. She pierced his brain, discovered the origin of the darkness in his heart. She pulled back the veil concealing his sins and exposed them to his heart, revealed him for what he was: a boy steeping in a black mire of crimes.
His pale, malicious blue eyes faded to grey. He put his head in his hands and suddenly burst into a flood of tears.
The police officer holding Jordin, alarmed at Natavi's behavior, raised his CO on the comm. The lieutenant came running back into the bar.
"Sir, what is it?" he asked of the weeping boy.
"He's innocent!" Natavi gasped.
The Jedi stopped hammering the minds of the two prisoners as she heard a great cry through the Force. An icy sense of foreboding washed over her, a feeling of an impending danger. But just as suddenly, the feeling passed, leaving her to grasp shreds of an echoing pain and loneliness. The sound was familiar; it was the scream that slashed her heart to pieces when the one she loved had been torn from her arms even as the swiftly fading warmth of his lips reignited as her living mouth touched his and stole his last breath. Even now the taste of that dying breath tingled on her tongue, trembling with the bittersweet fragrance of moonlight, starlight, salty balmy ocean spray, the warmth of dusk on escaping from Eclipse lilies, the musky incense of embers…
But that was long ago. She took a swig of the caf she held in her hand, inhaling the smokily fruity aroma of the creamy liquid. The earthy flavor of the drink was redolent of the biting tang her memory tasted, the steam evocative of the fading warmth her thoughts embraced.
The Scream she had heard was the sound of mental suffering, an angst-ridden shriek of suffering and regret and heartbreak. The echoes resonating in her ears came from the depths of her heart. She thought the Scream had ended years ago, but in truth she had merely shut the doors on the noise. The echo had thrown the gates wide open, unleashing the horror from within.
She looked at her two victims, who sat vulnerable yet defiant. There were thousands of ways in which she could break them; she had been advised to use the "emotional love" technique. A logical tactic: the pair were clearly partners, had an emotional attachment to each other. She analyzed them keenly, and sat back when the glitter of metal encircling a finger on the woman's left hand confirmed her assumption. If she threatened to harm the woman, how long would it take for the man to snap and reveal their secrets? They were a tenacious lot – warriors since birth; no doubt they had been handling firearms from an early age – but even the toughest would break at the sight of a loved one being tortured.
But she tasted the Scream rising from her heart to her esophagus, and she could not wish that shriek to be replicated in even the most vile of beings. She would not give anyone that pain.
Mind-trick-boarding was more agonizing for the individual, but the physical pain would save them from the Scream. She would spare them that suffering.
"Take the woman away," she said to the soldier who stood at attention behind her. Her erratically omniscient Master had always said – and the Knight's experiences confirmed her mentor's apothegm – that what women lacked in physical strength they made up in incredible mental power; men were variably bigger and fitter, but had minds that were more easily distracted. She would use this to her advantage.
As the soldier escorted the woman out, the Jedi stood up and strode to the man, connecting to him hand to hand, eye to eye, mind to mind.
You will tell me what you know, she said.