Chapter Twenty: Lights
Within the passenger bay of the Imperial shuttle, Lorrik and Jresh gathered their stored belongings under the watchful electronic eyes of the vessel's Astromechanical Logistics Droid. Luggage in hand, the two Sith were ready to temporarily move in to the fallen slave master's palace.
"You know, I wonder how the others are doing," Lorrik stated.
"Well enough, I suppose," Jresh replied. "They are every bit as skilled and resourceful as we are."
"I wonder where they went. Somehow I don't see any of the others toppling any slaving operations," Lorrik offered with a light chuckle.
Nar Shaddaa. The Promenade. The lights of underworld splendor hovered high above the world's metallic surface. A floating assemblage of shops, markets, and trade centers. The illegitimate legitimized and codified, watched over by the silent enforcers of the Hutt Cartel. A nexus for tourists and off-worlders, given a peek at the dark delights that surrounded them in every direction.
In the lower Promenade, within a small shop nestled amongst its kin, a lone figure sat behind a lone counter, surrounded by a litany of small trinkets and scavenged items lining the walls. The Devaronian male exuded an utterly uncouth demeanor and facade, placing him amongst pirates and smugglers rather than legitimate businessmen. The shopkeeper leaned back in his chair, feet upon the counter, picking at his teeth with his fingernail. The lethargic trader fell out of his seat when a large case was dropped on the countertop with a resounding thud.
"Hey, I got stuff to sell," Arlia spoke up, rather terse. A low grumble emanated from behind the counter as the Devaronian slowly lifted himself from the floor.
"Who the hell-" the shopkeeper muttered before poking his head over the counter, and catching a glimpse of the stern Twi'lek that stood across from him. The snarl upon the Devaronian's face quickly faded as he found himself lost in Arlia's purple eyes. Her sharpened, glaring purple eyes. Returning to his seat, the shopkeep quickly dusted himself off before casually leaning against his counter. "How can I be of service?"
Arlia offered the subtle arch of her brow toward the oddly smitten trader. "I hear you're in the artifact trade."
"You hear right, missy," the Devaronian playfully declared alongside a snap of his fingers. "The name's Whess. Geological marvels. Archeological treasures. Jedi artifacts. One-of-a-kind items for the collector who finds value in the finer things. I buy, sell, and trade-"
"Alright, alright, enough," Arlia interrupted, rolling her eyes at the chatty dealer. "Like I said, stuff to sell. Can you help me or not?"
"But of course, the only question is… what are you looking to sell?" Whess asked as he leaned in, not put off by the Twi'lek's derisiveness in the least.
Without a word, Arlia reached over the container in front of her, loosening its latch and prying it's cover open toward the shopkeeper. The Devaronian's eyes grew large as he looked upon the sparkling assortment of crystals placed in front of him.
"Ah, lightsaber crystals. How's a lovely thing like you attain such a collection? Theft? Con job? Childhood friends with a Jedi… or Mandalorian?"
"They didn't belong to Jedi," Arlia explained. "Well, their last owner wasn't a Jedi. They're from a tomb on Korriban."
"Sith artifacts!" Whess perked up.
"That going to be a problem?"
"Not at all!" Whess clarified. "In fact, that makes them all the more valuable. They were already in short supply before the war. Nowadays it's almost impossible to get ahold of anything significant before the Jedi or Sith get their hands on them. And let me tell yah, they don't like to let go. How did you manage to get these?"
"Like I said, tomb on Korriban," Arlia restated, completely deadpan.
"I'm not about to have some angry Sith in my shop looking for these, am I?" Whess asked.
Arlia snapped the lid of the container shut, and leaned in close until she was face to face with the startled Devaronian. "I AM the angry Sith in your shop," the inquisitor harshly declared, almost whispering. The dealer tensed up in his seat as the Twi'lek continued to cast her sharpened glare. "Can you sell them?"
"I… uh… yeah… I mean… yeah," Whess stammered.
"How long these things take to sell?" Arlia asked, almost to the point of interrogation.
"Uh, that depends on who's buying," Whess carefully answered. "There's usually someone willing to pay a hefty sum for things like this, but moving a collection of this size could take a while. I can set up a consignment deal and try selling them piece by piece-"
The inquisitor let out a soft groan. "Look, I don't plan to stay on this awful moon any longer than I have to. Can I just sell this all to you right now, and you just do… whatever with it?"
"Oh… uh, yeah, I would be amendable to that," Whess admitted. "How much are you looking to get out of them?"
"I don't know, how much are they worth?" Arlia plainly asked.
"You mean, you don't know?"
"No. I don't," Arlia admitted. Once more the sharpened her gaze and leaned in close to the shopkeep. "But you wouldn't think about trying to cheat me? Would you?"
"No! No, of course not!" Whess quickly replied.
"Good. Have my credits ready by the time I get back," Arlia directed as she turned toward the shop's exit. "Oh, and I don't really have any accounts or anything, so I'll need physical currency."
Whess flinched. "Are you crazy? You can't walk around Nar Shaddaa with unbound credit chips that valuable! You won't be able to take two steps off the Promenade before getting assaulted."
"I can take care of myself," Arlia stoically declared as she stepped out of the shop. The Devaronian was left gawking at the vacated space before the inquisitor poked her head back into the establishment. "Oh, and if I come back and you, my crystals, or my credits aren't here… I will hunt you down and destroy you and everything you've ever loved."
Without another word, the Twi'lek was gone and the Devaronian was left to his own devices. Arlia walked alone across the glittering neon plaza that comprised the lower Promenade. She passed market stands and vendors with a deadened gaze, eyes permanently affixed ahead of her, not a single light or sound sufficient enough to distract her. She walked with purpose. She walked with destination firmly in mind.
The Twi'lek appeared simultaneously at home and at odds with her surroundings. Her violet skin was as eye catching as any advertisement that dotted the ecumenopolis. Though only her arms went uncovered, the mix of formfitting and gracefully flowing clothes that caressed her body could do a suitable job captivating the interest of the area's typical male denizens. If not for the lightsaber at her waist, she could have been mistaken for one of Nar Shaddaa's permanent residents. But she felt no familiarity toward the wretched hive of wanton splendor. Every groveling merchant, every stumbling drunkard she laid eyes upon merely cemented the idea that she did not belong amongst them. They were the 'normals'. She was Sith.
Arlia's time on the Promenade neared its end as she stepped on one of the floating district's various outcroppings, one which held a healthy number of taxis awaiting a steady stream of customers. Approaching the droid dispatcher, the Twi'lek momentarily paused, patting herself down, only now realizing the paltry sum of credits see possessed had been given to Isorr or stashed alongside the crystals. The inquisitor's shoulders slumped as she contemplated returning to Whess, before promptly rejecting the idea. Instead, she set her eyes upon the lone figure addressing the taxi droid. Young. Male. Garb of a spacer. Scruff of an upstart miscreant.
Letting out a brief sigh, Arlia stealthily approached the man, stopping just short of his flank. Standing behind the young spacer, the inquisitor straightened her stance and tucked her lightsaber into the inside of her pants. Making sure she was in earshot, Arlia began hastily patting herself down, releasing the occasional whimper.
"Oh no! Ohno ohno ohno!" Arlia shrieked. In the corner of her eye, she could see the spacer turn to face her. "My credit chip! Where is it?"
Seeing the young Twi'lek in distress, the spacer immediately sought to console her. "Whoa, hey. What's wrong?"
"I can't find my credit chip. That… that was all my money," Arlia bawled. "Oh goddess. What am I going to do now? I can't afford a shuttle offworld, I can't even afford a taxi. I'm going to have to go back to dancing for some slimy Hutt…"
"Hey, no, you won't have to do that," the spacer softly whispered. "If you need a ride, I've got a ship. I'd be more than happy to take you away from here."
"Really?" Arlia perked up, turning a smile. "Oh, I don't know how I'd begin to repay you…"
"Don't worry, I'm sure we can work something out," the spacer warmly declared.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you so very much!" Arlia emphatically stated, softly clutching the spacer's hand with her own. "You have no idea what this means to me. Come on, Let's go!"
"You got it," the spacer offered, almost heroic in his candor.
Pulling a credit chip from his pocket, the man handed it to the droid attendant who directed him toward one of the open taxis. Together, Arlia and the spacer approached the vehicle, the Twi'lek happily taking her spot on the passenger's side. Sitting in the pilot's seat, the spacer fired up the taxi's systems and set a course.
"Next stop, Nar Shaddaa starport," the spacer stated as the vehicle lifted from its landed position. Arlia peered over the taxi's edge as it lifted higher and higher, before finally leaving the Promenade outcropping. Shifting in her seat, the Twi'lek began rifling through her pockets, before finally retrieving a single sheet of flimsiplast. "What'cha got there?"
The inquisitor ignored the spacer's inquiry, her attention focused completely on the sheet's message. "You any good with a blaster?" Arlia asked, eyes still affixed to the sheet, voice devoid of any previous giddiness.
"What? I don't have a blaster," the spacer confusingly admitted.
"Eh, probably for the best. You'd just slow me down," Arlia muttered to herself.
"Huh?"
Along one of the Promenade's outcroppings, a pair of Humans conversed with the taxi droid. Out of nowhere, a lone spacer fell from above, impacting against the metallic surface as a taxi passed quickly overhead. Lying motionless on his side, the fallen figure released a low, hushed groan.
Now firmly within the pilot's seat, Arlia punched a new destination into the taxi's guidance system. The vehicle carried its lone passenger toward one of Nar Shaddaa's lower wards, far from the starport, far from the Promenade, far from the public eye. Down into the dark bowels of a world untraveled except by those with specific, calculated desires. Minutes of high speed travel passed before the inquisitor came across a nondescript landing pad deep below the glamorized skyline. Touching down, Arlia powered down the taxi and stepped out.
The air was calm and quiet, the bustling traffic above providing only softest of murmurs at this depth. Journeying deeper into the shadowed district, Arlia retrieved her lightsaber and kept it firmly grasped within her hand. The tight pathways and corridors she traversed seemed designed exclusively for pedestrian traffic. Traffic that was currently nonexistent. With each step she took, the sounds of Nar Shaddaa's exterior faded until they were finally silenced. With each step she took, she inched closer and closer to her targeted destination.
Finally, the Twi'lek stood in front of a simple door. Nondescript. Devoid of signage or adornment. Utterly unremarkable to the uninitiated. Touching the exterior control panel, she realized it was locked. She knocked. No response. She ignited her weapon, and thrust its purple blade through the electronic lock. She pulled the blade out to a show of sparks and molten metal before watching the door rescind.
The inquisitor was greeted with the sight of an empty waiting room. Sparsely decorated, but ultimately familiar in its every facet. Arlia panned her gaze about the empty chamber, eyes sharpened, ignited lightsaber still held within her firm clutch.
"You've a visitor, Matron!" Arlia shouted before making her way deeper into the compound. Passing through the next door, the Twi'lek walked down a narrow corridor, a series of doors lining either side of her, behind each of which sat a compact, solitary chamber. Test rooms. Places for clients to preview the merchandise. Arlia marched forward, paying them no attention, other than lightly carving their surface with the tip of her blade as she moved past them. Each step she took was utterly calculated, the layout of her surroundings having been etched into her memory long ago. Deeper and deeper she marched, knowing exactly where she was headed.
A couple of sharp turns down the various narrow corridors and pathways led the inquisitor to a dead end. No outlet, only a single room resting at the end of a hallway. An office. Where the entirety of organic interaction was condensed and simplified into mere numerical and monetary figures. Not even guarded by a locked door. With the swift motion of her free hand, the barrier rescinded, granting Arlia sight into the only room she had never seen as a child.
Surpassing any room that preceded it, the office was a picture of refined tastes and regality, walls adorned with paintings, sculptures upon pedestals dotting the floor. Opposite the entrance sat a large desk, a rare piece of wooden furnishing amongst the metals and artificial lights above. Crouching behind said desk, a lone figure furiously rummaged through its drawers before finally coming up brandishing a blaster pistol.
"Hello Matron," Arlia muttered, utterly stoic. "Here I am. Returned and in satisfactory condition."
The Matron possessed the same stylings and appearance she had a decade ago, the already matured Zeltron still possessing the sense of refined beauty about her even in her advanced age. Same pink skin. Same purple hair restrained in a bun. Same exotic white garb that balanced the look of politician and consort. Without a word, the Matron discharged her weapon. The red bolt surged across the office before reflecting off the inquisitor's saber and colliding against the wall in a quick burst of smoke.
Arlia thrust her free hand forward, releasing a powerful Force push that targeted not the Matron, but her desk. Caught by the telekinetic wave, the heavy desk slid backward, impacting against the Zeltron and shoving her back before pinning her against the wall. As she felt her lower half being crushed, the Matron watched the Twi'lek slowly approach her. Attempting to fire another bolt from her pistol, the Zeltron was unable to as an invisible force ripped the weapon from her grip.
"Is that any way to treat a guest?" Arlia muttered, closing what remained of the gap between them. "Don't tell me you've forgotten who I am."
The Matron struggled to speak through pained breaths. "I know… exactly who you-"
"That's right," Arlia interrupted. "The one who got away. Or, more appropriately, the one who came back. You can't tell me you didn't see this happening sooner or later. You can only ruin so many lives before someone comes along looking to ruin yours."
"Because Sith are such benevolent creatures," the Matron muttered as she felt the crushing force against her legs intensify. "You think you're better than me? You're not-"
The inquisitor quickly grabbed ahold of the Matron's jaws with her free hand, pulling her face in close. "What gave you impression this was about being the better person? This is about me, and you, and the things you were prepared to put me through… all for a few measly credits. This isn't about making the galaxy a better place, this is about ending the life of someone who was once prepared to end mine. You should thank me for the brevity in which I have chosen to operate."
The Matron's eyes began to water as she struggled to speak, the Twi'lek's hand tightly held over her mouth. "Please. I have a daughter."
"I don't care," Arlia sternly declared, before slipping the blade of her saber into the Zeltron's abdomen. The Matron jostled for a moment before going limp. Arlia withdrew her blade as she watched the last spark of life leave the Zeltron's eyes. Releasing her grip on the Matron's face, her body was allowed for fall against the desk where she would remain indefinitely. Arlia continued to stare at the fallen figure for a few seconds before briskly vacating the office.
Navigating the narrow corridors once more, the inquisitor stood at an intersection of hallways. She knew the way out, but she stood with momentary pause as she darted her gaze down the available passageways. After a moment of thinking, she set down a corridor, one that did not lead to the exit. She eventually found herself traversing a narrow hallway, beset on both sides by a series of doors. Living quarters.
Drawing her lightsaber, the Twi'lek ignited the purple blade before holding it to her side, parallel with the doors' control panels. She began walking down the corridor, skimming her blade against the walls, destroying each door system as she passed it. One by one, the doors raised. She had opened eight rooms before returning along the opposite site, opening eight more.
Emerging from one of rooms, a child not yet in her teens hesitantly poked her head out. She scanned the hallways up and down, seeing only the curious figure wielding a blade of purple light. "Where's the Matron?"
"Dead," Arlia stoically explained. "You're free. Go."
More and more of the children began to poke their heads out of their solitary rooms, none opting to fully surpass their threshold and step into the hallway. Boys and girls of varying species, all aged from ten to their early teens. All garbed in simple, but well-kept attire. Despite there being sixteen rooms, the number of children present was only a fraction of that.
"Do you really mean it?" another child quietly asked.
"Yep," Arlia briskly answered, opening the door to the final living quarter. "Matron's dead. You're all free to go."
"Where?" another child asked.
"What do you mean where? I don't know. Anywhere. Not here."
"How are we supposed to get there?" another questioned.
"Figure it out. I'm done here," Arlia declared as she disengaged her lightsaber.
"Can we come with you?"
"No," Arlia brushed off.
"Why not?"
"Because," Arlia stated. "Besides, can't fit all of you in a taxi."
"What are we supposed to do?"
"Nothing. Anything. I don't know," Arlia answered, increasingly flustered. "I was in the same position when I was your age. I wanted something, I had to go out and take it. Nobody gave me anything."
Slowly, as her own words swirled within her head, the inquisitor began to realize how untrue that was. If it hadn't been for Vai Thorel, she would have remained with the Matron. If not for Syrosk and Isorr, she would be stuck at the bottom rung of the Academy. If not for Lorrik, she had no idea what things would be like for her and the other apprentices. All the pain, all the hate, it had clouded her mind, made it impossible to perceive anything but the worst around her. On Korriban, any kind or benevolent action would be ignored in favor of the awful, selfish actions carried out by her peers. By herself.
Turning back down the hallway, she saw twelve children, all looking to her with wide, confused, worried eyes. Standing amongst the small crowd, was a young girl. Violet skin. Lekku adorned with a stylish head wrap.
Sitting on a bench in the lower Promenade, the sights and sounds of splendor once more dominated the surrounding atmosphere. In one of the open areas, Arlia sat alone on a bench, arms spread wide and resting on the seat's back. She was alone, because in front of her, twelve children ran about chasing one another amidst the sounds of youthful joy and exuberance.
Amidst the various sounds competing for dominance amongst the lower Promenade, the one able to cut through them all was that of the inquisitor letting out a heavy sigh.