Summary: Hashan, Ahsoka, and Qunlan face some revelations
Last time on Balance Isn't the answer: After invading forces bombed Ahsoka and Lizzy's home and they escaped, Ahsoka was offered multiple job offers involving the brewing war, and Lizzy was just dragged along.
Space, Near Ord Mantell,
28:00 local time, 14 Faran 33 ACR
A wiry redhead strolls into the restroom of the passenger freighter—ships that carry a lot of people the same way cargo ships would carry freight—anyone who knows this man would also know that he isn't a redhead, nor is he blue-eyed. He doesn't lock the door behind him. He has no intention of taking long in here. His tiny, generic, rounded-rectangle commlink comes out of his pocket next. This washroom is surprisingly clean considering how cheap the tickets were. He shrugs unnecessarily at the thought before the commlink beeps exactly once. The mission is a go. A few moments later, a woman walks in after him. Anyone who noticed probably thinks they're getting nasty in here. Honestly, there isn't enough space in the one-man restroom for that.
She looks amusedly at him. Does she expect him to be embarrassed? Well, tough luck, he simply looks back at her levelly. Completely uninterested.
"Well, this run is slightly different."
He doesn't dignify her pointless crumbs with a response.
"We have weapons drop coming in. Black Sun suppliers. You pick up the weapons and kill the suppliers."
Killing your suppliers, slimy and risky. "The Sun has loads of resources. Can we afford to make enemies of them?"
"No, we can't." Her lips are pressed into a thin line as she says this.
He raises an eyebrow in response as if to ask 'Why are we doing this then?'
"Which is why you have to ensure no survivors."
"That's a shit plan. They could simply send out comms before the entire crew is killed."
"You come highly recommended Mister Saba, what I have seen so far is yet to inspire confidence. For your sake and the Partisans' sake, let's hope you're as good as Commander Rell say's you are."
We're-better-than-you posturing, a common reality, and a complete waste. He knows exactly how to deal with it too—appear the uncivilized, incapable brute they think you are and then over-deliver. "So, lil' lady, why are we getting weapons from Black Sun in the first place if we're also struggling with a Black Sun problem? Their spice rings are wreaking havoc on the streets, I'm just a grunt and even I know that."
"That isn't your business and neither is it mine."
"That attitude is why the republic is trampling all over us now." She bares her teeth at him. It's gone in a flash—a micro expression—she might not have noticed it. He does though, it's another thing he has to grudgingly thank Ahsoka for. She doesn't really appreciate his talkback.
"Deets honey, I still need to pick up these weapons, ye?"
She hands him a data chip before smoothening her clothes. Extra smooth to sell the nasty-in-the-washroom act of theirs. It's kind of ironic how people's overcompensation for rumpled clothes is what ultimately gives them away.
"I still think this is bullshit. We shouldn't be dealing with Black Sun even if they're giving us weapons for cheap."
"No one gives a shit about what you think."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night lil' lady. Just because something is our only viable option doesn't make it any more just. Illegal and criminal and a bad idea is illegal, criminal, and a bad idea no matter the situation or reasons."
She growls at him. Straight-up growls. She probably grew up with a mostly predatory population. It doesn't matter. He squeezes past her and slips out of the small restroom. The aged woman sitting close by gives him a look. He simply acts like he didn't see it as he moves back to his seat.
A few minutes later, she walks past him further back in the cart. They won't be meeting each other again anytime soon.
Northern Casino District, Ord Mantell,
32:30 local time, 14 Faran 33 ACR
His crew wasn't happy with the mission. The weapons handoff was to happen in the casino district, lots of police, private security, droids, and barriers to stall and kill you. And they didn't even have much in the way of armor let alone weapons. The drop site—behind Lady Fate Casino—is narrow and without much cover. Death trap for the dealers, death trap for his team. The shitty active zone sets everyone on edge.
Nerves won't help, so his team was off to have some fun. They'd better not drink too much. Black Sun insisted that the drop-off take place at the crack of dawn. And that's about 70 minutes local time away. Why Ord Mantell runs on decimal time instead of sexagesimal time he will never know.
Vell is sauntering toward him—far too soon—an orange Twi'lek in a rather skimpy translucent leotard on her arm. "See what I found!" She emphasizes with a loud slap on the Twi'lek's ass.
He doesn't reply. He's cataloging the Twi'lek. The beginnings of a nasty bruise against her jaw. Very demure and clingy, he has a gut feeling that that is an act. He knows better than to blindly discredit his instincts, another life-saving habit courtesy of Ahsoka. Vell's hand might be kneading the Twi'lek's ass but her eyes are scanning her surroundings, just a tad sharper than they need to be. She's early and with an eyewitness. Hmm. Orange must have gotten caught up in something. Vell probably got involved—unnecessarily, that is—and they both exited together. Knowing Vell's overzealous forthrightness . . .
"You impulsively saved her and now you want to finish the job."
"Sir, with all due respect. She might be a street walker, but no one to run the risk of facing what she was threatened with."
"And what was she threatened with?"
"I'd rather not repeat it, sir."
"I'd rather not have eyewitnesses Vell."
The Twi'lek's lips tremble. It's well concealed. "Well, sir—"
"Spare me the osik woman. We don't have time for it."
"They were beating her up."
"And so, you decided they were wrong, interfered, and decided to save a poor Twi'lek. Yes?"
"Well, it is wrong Hashan, and you agree."
"With it being wrong, yes. Saving her? Ok. Bringing her here? Ever considered what that means for her? After we finish our job? Black Sun is going look for answers and if they hear that there was a Twi'lek around, they'll hunt her down, and for what Vell?"
To Vell, it would have been better if he were angry instead of resigned and disappointed, "It's not a problem if we take her with us." She feels the need to make it up to him.
"And did you consider what she wants?"
"It's not like she has other options."
"Even wonder why she's a street walker despite there being no safeguards? People usually do that when they need credits. Desperately . . . the question is why?"
The Twi'lek just looks between the two of them.
"I asked you a question girl."
"Uh, s– sir, my so– son needs medical treatment sir."
Why did he have to be the team leader? He doesn't like making these shit decisions. "Vell," "Ye?" "Get her to base, quietly, no transmissions to anyone. Clear?"
"Yes." It's resigned. She isn't exactly proud of her oversight. Good.
"I– I can't. My son. I can't leave him. I th– thank you bu—"
"Woman, a blaster bolt between your eyes, or we take you. Those are your options. I won't risk my team for you."
There's a glint in her eyes and he quick slings the knife he bought after landing into her ankle. The tendon in her right leg is cut, and she falls on her face. She turns over, still taking a moment to process what actually happened. Only now noticing the extreme angle her foot is bent in. Vell has the good sense to clamp down on her mouth before she has the presence of mind to scream.
"Be on your way Vell," Hashan speaks as steadily as earlier. Internally he's frustrated at the situation. "Don't play hero. We'll see what we can do for her kid later. I need you at with the dockyard cell yesterday."
She nods and then moves.
The others reach soon after. They had already planned before they split. No one approaches him. They all take their own positions around, mixed in with the crowds. He continues leaning up against the damp but surprisingly not dingy wall. A man walks past him, down the alley, and in through the Casino's back door. Worker or contact.
There isn't any movement for quite a bit.
The door opens and two women in overly-glittery clothes stumble down. He doesn't need to particularly look to know that they'll have a fair bit of bruising. You don't mess with Casinos' and get away with it. Law enforcement with play along as long as you don't go too far. They half run, half stumble their way out. Hashan just keeps on standing, uninterestedly smoking. Once upon a time, he might have raged against such illegal violence. But there's only so much one can do. Saving two girls will hardly fix the whole Casino—violence cycle. And reform isn't easy. There's a reason it hasn't been done yet, plus, he's only one man. He isn't even going to try because it might be worse for those girls if they get help. He pointed as much to Vell earlier. Maybe later, he'd try again.
He glances at his chrono. Most of his own people wouldn't have noticed. There's less than a minute to the dead drop. He stubs his slow-burning spice joint. He wasn't an avid fan of smoking, it's just something he learned as part of mission cover.
There's a loud beeping sound. An alarm? He notices his people glace at him. Unexpected complication. Pull out? Nah. He flashes the hand sign to hold and then also signals to be prepared for good measure. He knows that the signal will be passed on even to those out of his line of sight. He ventures further into the alleyway. If someone starts shooting, he's dead. There's a tiny beeping commlink at the end of the lane, he waits for a few seconds. It could be a trap or an explosive. The force offers no warnings—he isn't as well connected to the force as the Jedi, but he can get vague impressions from it—and it just feels amused. He presses the answer button.
"I am the sun and I shine providence upon your cause."
Cheezy as hell. "And so, we grow as green plants under the radiant sun."
"These bags are for you kid, now run along. I've commed the police, you have about 10 minutes before they reach where you are." The line goes dead.
Kark.
Hashan tries to haul up the two leather bags, they're really heavy. He pretty much drags them to the entrance of the alley. Rage, the Zabrak on his team walks over and lifts the bags like they were nothing. Then they disperse like ants from an inferno.
They were supposed to kill the dealers—which he thought was rather wasteful—He'd rather pry them apart for information, but his orders were that they were. They couldn't. Were his people compromised? Or was the Black Sun just paranoid? In either case, the Black Sun played its hand rather well. He wasn't going to kill anyone today.
The deep dock worker's quarters weren't glamourous or decrepit. They're all tiny cubicles, with enough space for a bed and 4 rows of shelves indented into the wall. That's all. Roughly what he expected. They're usually densely packed, so, he thanks his stars that he's in one of the upper, lesser-used quadrants. The rusty walkways outside his room have a nice view of the docks—behemoths being cut down and scrapped with the millions of stars twinkling above. He had honestly expected to be more light and dust pollution but the stars are extremely clear.
With a beep, a tiny blue hologram Twi'lek hovers shortly over his hand. No one is nearby. No one is supposed to be, while he can't sense other living beings, he does have a vague impression of being alone. He'll take what he gets. He is tired but there is something he needs to clarify.
"Rell."
"Hashan."
The dark circles under her eyes don't come through the holo, but the tiredness in her lek is supremely clear to him. He doesn't say a thing trying to puzzle out just how much his boss knows and how she'd react to his questions.
"I've had a long day Saba and I know you didn't comm me to stare at my beautiful face."
"How observant of you ma'am." He's dry as the desert plant she's on.
"The weapons the Black Sun supplied us are republic make. Top of line too and worth a lot of credits. Millions."
"What? Those 60-odd blaster rifles?" Her voice is amused, and her face is too.
It would have worked if Hashan didn't know just how capable an actor Rell was thanks to his own snooping. "Don't be daft Rell, it's insulting."
She sighs deeply. "I do that too much you know? Sighing." She half turns away and he's about to point out that that isn't an answer. "Officially, the Black Sun managed to nab a weapons shipment from a BlasTech tech shipment and we took the opportunity to purchase it. Don't raise a fuss about it Hashan."
The call cuts out.
And BlasTech conveniently forgot tracking chips in such advanced, costly weapons? Bantha shit and Rell knows it. This was an inside job. That batch of weapons was meant to reach them. So many young men and women fighting for a better tomorrow just to be dancing to someone's grand plan. The chances that someone who can arrange for cutting-edge weapons to be delivered is genuinely concerned for on-the-ground people's hopes and aspirations? Having no vested interest? Non-existent. Money can't be the end-game either, rolling in credits is a prerequisite for such endeavors.
Kark. Kark them all. Blasted karking universe. The people around him deserve better so he'll work. Do his best for them because they're too blind to see. Sometimes he doesn't know whether he should thank Ahsoka for it or hate her for it—his ability to see past the lies.
That night before he sleeps, he pulls out his datapad and types: I'll take over an intel team if I'm allowed full control over my intel cell. It's a tall order to make, but Rell can maneuver enough to get him that much.
Undisclosed location, Coruscant
~ 23:30 galactic standard, 14 Faran 33 ACR
It was raining on Coruscant. Not a very common occurrence. Ahsoka is seated against the stone kitchen top when she notices this. The soft fabrics of the front room barely lit under the warm light of the table lamp she's using as she takes notes on flimsi as she scrolls through her work datapad. There's something heartfilling and beautiful about how water droplets patter against the balcony railing before splattering against the glass of the sliding door past the couch.
She doesn't put much effort into keeping on task and instead lets herself get lost in the rain outside, languidly stretching backward against the countertop. The static of precipitation wrapped itself around her like an old friend. The water splatter against the glass coalescing into everchanging transient streams down the glass. Simple. Hypnotic. Dazzling. Ephemeral. Profound.
Could she be doing something more useful? Yes. Could she be doing something more interesting? Yes. Why isn't she? Because she's contented as she is. Sometimes life is about slowing down and savoring the moment. Simmering in presence instead of gallivanting around. Steeping in the flavor of simply being instead of seeking more.
Completely and utterly savoring the present.
And what a wonderful present . . .
Ahsoka doesn't know how long it has been—It could have been just minutes or hours—before she's brought out from her reverie as she notices a dark silhouette leaning against the wall nearby out of the corner of her eye. She turns to gaze upon her wife, equally lost in the rain. It brings a gentle smile to her face. She turns back to her flimsi and restarts scouring the anonymous tips that the Republic Intelligence Bureau gets regularly.
Ahsoka's dear wife doesn't seem to notice, still lost in the rain. Ahsoka is happy for her.
Her mind returns to her surroundings when a soft hand settles on her exposed shoulder. A mug settles by her hand. It warms her heart. It wasn't necessarily the homely aroma of Caf wafting to her sharp nose but the easy thoughtfulness behind the gesture that gets to her. Her wife decides to settle to her side, a mug of Coco in her hands too. Lizzy is lounging with her back against the countertop just like she was earlier.
Ahsoka takes a sip of the Coco. She lets the warm liquid take to her. Only then realizing that the room is cool. It's probably just the mood this early in the morning, she lets the tiny flash of mild bitterness that stays back after she swallows the sugar-less Coco carry away all of her thoughts.
They sit in quiet companionship, leisurely sipping at their drinks. This is one of the many reasons Ahsoka fell in love with the other Togruta. Her quiet, thoughtful, and patient presence. She knows that the other woman has questions that she isn't asking. Whether her wife's content to wait, equally enchanted by the weather, or if the girl is keeping from asking so as to not spoil the moment, Ahsoka doesn't know. It's nice though.
Ahsoka figures that she'll answer her wife's unasked question. "Wasn't feeling sleepy, so I thought I'd go through some of the anonymous forwards that we get over at Intel."
"Hmmm. . ." Lizzy drags the vocalization. It's surprisingly neutral. "Find anything interesting?"
"Maybe."
Ahsoka turns around and then moves her barstool closer to Lizzy's. Her wife lays her head against her should. They sit there together till sunrise.
The rain doesn't stop.
Quinlan Vos would like to say that he had a bad day yesterday. Waking up from carbonite freezing to find out that it has been hundreds of years since he was frozen wasn't what he was expecting.
He isn't exactly surprised. Ahsoka Tano had managed to find him and offered to keep him safe and frozen till the Empire got off his sorry ass. When he found out that it's been hundreds of years since, he had been very pissed. Very nearly gave way to the dark side within the Jedi temple. That wouldn't have gone well for him at all. Kid Yoda's pointed question about whether he really thought Ahsoka was capable of such cruelty is what gave him pause. He didn't know, but she was as much, if not more Jedi than he was. At least that's how it was the last he knew her.
"Asajj Ventress was killed shortly after your freezing Master Vos." The little green being's ears dipped down, "Lady Tano chose to not unfreeze you so you wouldn't throw away your life in pursuit of vengeance." Those big black eyes gaze into his own. Unflinching, unblinking, "Her choice to not unfreeze you after the empire fell is wrong–"
"The galaxy was rebuilding and could have done without a beleaguered darksider. Now there's the whole new Jedi order in case that happens." All his fight had left him the moment he heard of Asajj's death, replaced by resigned numbness and somewhere behind all of that, smoldering embers of loss. "She probably convinced herself that it was just sparing me the pain, buying me time to process it all."
The tiny grandmaster—Grogu—seemed sad, "Being frozen in carbonite doesn't help though does it, Master Vos?"
"She probably knew, Master Grogu. She has been carbonite frozen before." His voice sounded detached and dissonant to himself, "I could feel the force. I felt Asajj die. In my sluggish mind, I denied it. I denied it for so long. I wanted to do nothing but find the bastard responsible and kill him. I wasn't aware that I was carbonite frozen. All I knew was that I couldn't move. I didn't know why I couldn't though. That anger turned to desperation, and then resignation. So, I tried to accept that Asajj wouldn't be there when I get unfrozen." She might have helped him, but not nearly enough. Tactically though, he could see her reasons. Sharp and level, just like Skywalker was.
He had a day to get his shit together because there was some shit going down and Ahsoka refused to work with anyone but him. He was both angry with her for what she did, grateful that she was giving him a distraction while he processes his shit and a hundred other things that even he, for all his eloquence, couldn't name.
"Quinlan."
Over his should he carefully takes in the orange Togruta form of Skywalker's former padawan. She's darned tall now, a little less than a head taller than him. She looks skinny, but his years of slipping through the galaxy mean that he knows what to look for. Her predatory grace in movement alerts him to the strength her frame doesn't belie. "Master Tano." He doesn't have the emotional fortitude for the charming rogue act.
"Ahsoka, please, or Lady Tano for now. I'm not part of the Jedi Order, never rejoined. Didn't know you could be polite."
She comes to a stop a little distance in front of him.
Quinlan deadpan delivers the one question he wants answers to, "Why?"
She hums noncommittally, pauses a second before sitting down beside him. "This park was constructed to honor Senator Leia Organa Solo for her dedication to justice and her pivotal efforts in overthrowing the Empire and then later on, the First Order."
Her deflection is grating, "Get to the point, I dislike pandering." The suddenly burning rough barely-contained edge is poorly hidden.
"Me too Quinlan, me too, but I need you to know that the Empire wasn't the end."
She pauses, but he says nothing. He can't, not without exploding.
She sighs before continuing, "I had a promise to keep and that meant I wouldn't be there if you gave into the dark side. There were two other Jedi in the galaxy, one wouldn't have given you the benefit of doubt and the other would have given you too much."
"So, you left me frozen." Dry, cold, fact.
"In the time I was away, my things were shifted to the Coruscant temple even though it would be around another two human generations before the Jedi returned here. In that period of time, I deviated from what is considered Jedi that the temple didn't quite welcome me. It's better now, but not by much."
Even as she turned at him, he continues to resolutely look out at the bushes across them. She huffs, the emotion behind that indecipherable. Quinlan knew he was better than this, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"You could have still unfrozen me."
"Without an enemy to focus you? Quinlan, as hard as it might be to you, I do care that you aren't killed by the Jedi or the Republic."
"So you can't have me dark?" Anger laced his voice, the young . . . no, old, no, ancient woman didn't deserve that.
She chuckled small and soft. That just set him off a little harder. "I'd be a hypocrite if I said that Quin." She doesn't elaborate further.
They sit in silence, Ahsoka seemingly unbothered and enjoying their time in the park. Quinlan processes what she just said and then decides to cool off. He pulls on his anger drawing it tight, compressing it till it's a ragged shimmering crystal. He lets the dark side swoop down on it, he lets the energy burn through him. It's thoroughly rough, but he neither shows any outward indication of it, nor does his stop. He goes at it again and again till he feels empty. Emotionally drained. It was a bastardized version of releasing your emotions to the force. It worked efficiently for particularly strong emotional turmoil. It was a dark side technique. If Ahsoka noticed it, she gave no indication.
He takes a deep breath and his whole body protests in soreness. "You could have killed me. Spared me the pain."
"I thought a Jedi's life was one of service?" She quirked an eyebrow conspicuously his way.
It was cruel, it didn't take a genius to realize that. She wasn't even trying to hide her amusement from him.
Quinlan leans back into the bench fully, his eyes on the sky, "Asajj was my everything. I don't know if a galaxy that so unceremoniously ripped her away from me deserves my service." He had said that a lot more softly, far more slowly, and with far more breaks than usual.
"The galaxy doesn't," she responds equally quietly, "but you do."
She passes him a datapad. Four hundred years and the basics of datapads remain the same. He makes it a point to snort even if he doesn't exactly feel like it.
"What am I looking at?" He's reading through the few documents and the accompanying annotations.
"You sure your brain has thawed fully kriffer?"
He guffaws—they both know it's fake—"Kriffer? I'm pretty sure you can do better Snips." Low blow, but he's Quinlan Vos, the charming rogue.
She chuckles unphased, "Well, looks like your memory is working just fine then." Or maybe not such a low blow, it's been years for her after all.
He reads through it all.
"Are you telling me that somebody—possibly senators—are involved in laundering weapons to the partisans from the New Republic? Republic Intelligence is taking this seriously?"
"Yes, I thought you could read Basic. I can explain in Huttese, Mando'a, Shyriiwook, Ryl, or a bunch of other languages of your choice if you didn't understand."
"I understand Basic quite well Ahsoka." Despite everything else, he still felt a kind of kinship with the woman. Possible since they were all that was left of the old order. "But I still have to ask, do you really believe this? Sounds like conspiracy theory banthashit. Doesn't even have any backing."
"I believe there is something to it, Republic intelligence doesn't," a pause, "I want you sniffing around in the Senate."
He might have only been back for one distraught day, but Quinlan knew better than to walk into a briefing without doing his homework. "This could just be the secessionist attempting to throw a red herring. There might be republic elements funding the Partisans, war is good money after all, but a conspiracy of this size? Right here in the Senate? Bit much don't you think?"
"Call it a hunch Vos. Go sniff the senate."
"I'm not your Vornskr Tano."
"You are Vos, now get going." That was a clear dismissal if there ever was one.
"Kark yourself Tano."
"I have you for that Quinlan." The damned woman is amused again.
"I might just take you up on that Tano."
Later she would forward him another anonymous tip that someone high up in the Mid Rim Security Confederation (MRSC) might be involved in weapons laundering to the Partisans. A few hours after that she would send him another tipoff that indicates that the leaders of the Republic, MRSC, and the Partisans could be in league.
Notes:
- Elements of the BlackOp's like scene were inspired by the Spotify/Paracast Original "Espionage."
- Also, if you're looking for a more adult/explicit/gritty story, check out Cyberpunk:Fixers, it can be read fandom blind.