Chapter 9: The Luck of a Jedi
A loader droid arrived outside of the Mantis early the next morning with several crates of parts and supplies Greez had ordered in tow. At Greez's insistence, the crew spent most of that day helping him offload and store the supplies and assisted with some of the bigger repairs while Cal used some scrap parts to build a pair of weapon racks on the walls of the holotable room where they could lock up Ilyana's staff and rifle.
As the sun began to set, Cal took Ilyana into town to finally do some reconnaissance and hopefully pick up the trail on their first lead.
"How do you usually start these searches?" Cal asks Ilyana as they walk down the main street back toward the market.
"Well, that depends on the situation," she replies, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the crowd that has filled the street as many of the shops close and the cantinas open. "When I could I would wear a disguise of some sort, work my way into the population and listen for any signs of my quarry but that's a method most commonly used by the ISB. Command preferred Purge Troopers to be accompanied by ships, troops, and a lot of blasters: the overwhelming, imposing presence of the Empire as it were," she says, gesturing emphatically.
Cal stops walking and looks around, "So you're telling me there could be an undercover Purge Trooper here right now."
Ilyana shrugs, "It's possible but unlikely. While I preferred quiet infiltration, the others preferred to make themselves known. They like terror. Either way, I don't have access to those resources anymore. So what do you suggest?"
"Well," Cal begins, scanning the shops that line the street, "why don't we start with a drink?" he suggests, gesturing down an alley toward a nearby cantina.
"Your kind drink?" she asks, purposefully not using the term 'Jedi' in a crowded street.
Cal rests his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath. He had been so young when the Jedi Order fell that there was so much about his own people he didn't know. Instead of trying to answer he just says, "People talk in cantinas," and starts off down the alley.
The Cantina is completely underground beneath another shop that has closed for the night. They entered through a staircase sheltered by a heavy canvas canopy to prevent sands from blowing down into the bar. At the bottom they step through an aging metal door that opens slowly with a grinding whine, clearly overdue for maintenance.
The Cantina is dim and thick with smoke and jovial though tired chatter. Most of the patrons are likely residents and workers that have stopped in to socialize after a long day, rather than transient traders or mercenaries.
"Hey, barkeep," says Cal as he approaches the bar, Ilyana keeping her distance a few feet behind him. A squat, round human with graying hair responds and approaches him suspiciously.
"Haven't seen the likes o' you around here before. Whaddya want?"
"Just looking for a couple of drinks for myself and my friend here and a place to sit a while," Cal answers kindly.
The barman looks Cal over, then Ilyana in turn, clearly not convinced that they are friendly. "We don't want no trouble here. If ya here to start anythin' you should take ya'selves somewhere else. We just workin' folk here."
"We're not here to cause problems, I promise."
The barman huffs then asks, "What'll it be then?" with no less suspicion.
"I'll have an ale. What about you?" he asks, turning to Ilyana.
"Phattro, extra ice."
"Ice costs more," says the barman but she just stares back at him. "Ya got it," he says and shuffles off to get their drinks.
Cal drops some credits on the counter, takes the drinks, and gestures for Ilyana to follow him to a table in the corner of the room.
"Why are we in here?" Ilyana asks, settling into the seat.
"We're here to listen. This isn't a transient bar. These are locals. It's the best place to find what we're looking for.
"I know that," she replies sharply, "This is exactly the kind of place I would have gone but we're outsiders. They're never going to talk to us so what's the point?"
"You would have come in here? What would you have done?" Cal asks.
Ilyana shakes her head and looks away, without answering. He doesn't need her to. Her earlier words run through his head, the overwhelming, imposing presence of the Empire, and he knows exactly what she would have done. Most likely people would have ended up dead.
"We don't need them to talk," he offers, dropping the question. "We just need to listen."
"But there are so many people here," she says, looking back at him. "How are we supposed to hear what any of them are saying?"
"Just relax and listen. Let the Force focus your mind and help you find the answer through the noise."
"I'll try," she says with a sigh and focuses her attention on the crowd.
After a minute of awkward silence Cal speaks up again, "I have to admit, I didn't think that is what you would order," he said pointing at her drink.
She looks down at the clear glass and the light shimmering off the ice through the bright purple liquid as if it is filled with precious stones, "I hate it."
"What?" Cal asks somewhat taken aback.
"I don't like Phattro. However, sitting in a cantina without a drink is suspicious and if we're here to do surveillance I cannot stand out nor become intoxicated. I needed something that takes a long time to finish, hence the extra ice which takes time to melt and, in the end, most of what is consumed is water," she rattles her answer off quickly in a highly professional voice.
Cal listens with his eyebrows raised, somewhat surprised at the speed and detail of the answer, then looks down at his ale, second guessing his choice. "You have done this before."
Ilyana leans forward with her elbows on the table, back straight and focused on Cal. "It used to be my job."
Cal matches her posture and they lock eyes. "What would you drink if we weren't doing surveillance?"
"Corellian whiskey."
"You wouldn't have come in here if you were infiltrating?"
"No, not without establishing a cover first, acquiring a job or such."
"If you've had jobs before, how have you never been to a market?"
"I've been to a market but never for anything other than food. Any job you get when you're fresh into town will barely pay enough credits to eat."
"You're quick with your answers."
"That's easy to do when telling the truth," she says then fires back. "You're doing a lot of talking for someone who's supposed to be listening."
"It would be suspicious if we look like we're listening."
"Why did you bring me along instead of one from your own team?"
For a split second Cal's eye contact wavers. "You're the one with the intelligence."
"I've already given you everything I have on this lead. You hesitated."
Cal sighs, leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his ale, a notably smaller sip than he would have before this conversation began. "I don't think you should be on the ship right now. Not after last night," he admits.
"I understand," she says with a nod and takes a sip of her own drink, the rapid fire questions and answers ended. They sit in silence for a moment surveying the others in the cantina till Ilyana leans forward again but not in the same charged and focused manner as before. Now she is more relaxed, casual.
"A few months ago I was following a lead on this little nowhere planet in the middle rim. I really thought that one was going to be a Jedi. So I convinced command to let me infiltrate rather than going in with guns blazing. They grabbed permission but insisted on providing the disguise. I gathered my weapons, armor, and supplies; everything I would need to complete my mission but it wasn't till I landed just outside of the target town that I opened the disguise they had issued."
Cal listens curiously, wondering where she is going with this story and acutely aware of her change in mannerism; so distinct from a moment ago that she almost looks like a different person.
"Now, you're probably aware that the Empire is not known for its interest in the culture and customs of even the most influential systems, let alone a small farming planet in the middle of nowhere."
A crooked smile breaks out across Cal's face and he is forced to ask, "What did they give you?"
"The cheapest replica they could find of the most opulent ceremonial dress used on the planet."
Cal was unable to hold back his laugh.
"On top of that," she continues, "I was only issued enough credits for fuel but even if I'd had more, the only other clothing I had at the time was my armor. So I couldn't just wander into a market and buy something. Instead, I was forced to… liberate… some acceptable clothing from a home on the edge of town."
Cal brushes his hair back with a look of disbelief on his face then says, "I can't imagine a Purge Trooper in armor sneaking into someone's house to steal their clothes."
Ilyana raises her glass, "The life of a Seeker."
Cal breaks out laughing again at how ridiculous the story is and for the joy of seeing more of the person beneath the armor. He is struck by her pleasant, easy smile as she brings the drink to her lips and wonders how it can be that this is the same person who stood before him on that bridge deep in the mines.
"I take it there was no Jedi."
"No."
The two continue to talk and trade stories for a few hours while surveying the bar and listening for clues as to the identity of their target. Only a few patrons had been in the cantina when they arrived but enough that the level of noise allowed them to talk without being overheard. As the time passed, however, more and more people filtered in and the casual conversations turned into a roar.
Cal had been forced to return to the bar for a second drink long before Ilyana got halfway through hers but he took the advantage of the change in perspective to survey the crowd while he waited for the barman to fill his glass. He let his mind drift to the edge of meditation and his vision dimmed slightly, the voices in the bar shifting in and out of focus, one after the other growing louder, then drifting away again. The barman bangs the ale down onto the counter, unknowingly pulling Cal back from his search. Cal drops a few more credits onto the counter and heads back to Ilyana.
"Anything?' She asks as he sits back down.
He shakes his head, "Nothing. I'm beginning to wonder if this is a dead end."
"I think we should stay a little longer," she says. Cal notices a slightly distant look in her eyes and wonders if he had that same look at the bar a moment ago.
"How long did you say you were a Purge Trooper?" Cal asks her, moving a little closer so she could hear him.
"About two years. Why?"
"I was just thinking. If I was the first one you encountered in all that time, there really must not be many of us left."
"No, I don't think there are but," she pauses to decide if she should continue, "but you weren't the first one I encountered."
"What?" he asks, surprised.
"There was one other," she continues, "It was near the end of my training. Two of the inquisitors took six of us on what they called a 'field test'. They said they wanted to see how we would do in a live situation but they didn't explain what that meant. When we got there, it turned out that there was a Je…" she stops herself short and scans the room. The increasing close quarters didn't seem like a good place to be saying that word out loud, "...one of them there; an Umbaran man." she continued. "We tracked him, cornered him, captured him and brought him back to the fortress."
"What happened to him?"
"He died, most who are taken to the Fortress do."
"That's terrible," he says.
"No," she replies dolefully, "they're the lucky ones."
Cal sits back in his chair, taken aback by what she said and loses himself in thought for a moment.
"I've been to the Fortress," he says eventually.
"I know."
"You do?"
"Of course!" she says with a laugh then leans in closer to him and lowers her voice to a whisper, "Scrappy, young Jedi infiltrates the Fortress; goes up against Purge Troopers, an Inquisitor, and even faces Vader yet makes it out alive?" She leans back in her seat and takes a sip of her drink, "You're a bit of a legend around there."
Cal gives her a jokingly hurt look then echoes her words, "Scrappy?'
Ilyana just shrugs.
"Were you there?" Cal asks her.
"No, thankfully. I was off on a lead, or more accurately another dead end; but I hear Vader was furious that you got away and took it out on a lot of people."
"Well, I can't say that I feel bad for them," Cal says, then raising his glass to her, "but I'm glad I didn't have to fight you."
"Me too," she says and taps her glass to his. Just before they both drink she says, "You would have lost," and takes a drink.
"What?!" he asks, almost spilling his drink, "Really? You think you would win."
"I am quite good," she says with a shrug.
"Well, we'll have to spar sometime."
"You're on," she says, and at that moment Cal's voice drops away along with all the other noise in the room. Despite their conversation, she had kept in mind his earlier advice about listening through the Force and now she hears it, four words, rising clear and bright above the muted roar of the crowd: "...luck of a Jedi…"
She scans the room and is drawn to the bartender at the far end laughing with a customer. It was his voice she had heard. As she watches, the customer walks away and the bartender heads into a back room. She excuses herself from Cal and moves through the crowd following him to the back. The barman had just retrieved something from the supply closet when she stepped through the small doorway behind. She grabs him from behind and slams him against the wall, holding a vibroblade to his throat.
"Tell me what you know about a Jedi," she demands.
"What? I don't know any Jedi!" the bartender exclaims.
"You were talking to that customer just now. You mentioned a Jedi. Tell me what you know or I will split you open!" she threatens.
"What are you doing?" Cal's voice cries out from behind her and he pulls her off the man. At the table, he had seen her expression suddenly shift and become very serious and focused. When she left, something dark left with her.
"I did what you said. I heard him talking to a man about a Jedi."
"So you attacked him?"
"Do you want the information or not?" She asks with a searing look and a tone dripping so much aggression that he no longer saw the person he had been talking to all night. That person was gone and in her place, standing mere inches away was a Purge Trooper who might lash out and try to kill him at any moment.
"Yes, but this is not how we do things. Give us a minute." he demands, matching her aggression, and points back toward the bar.
For a tense moment, he is not sure how she will react to him giving her an order. Without breaking eye contact she returns the blade to its sheath and walks back toward the doorway to the bar; remaining in eyesight of both of them. Cal talks with the barman for a few moments but she is unable to hear what is said from this distance. A rush of annoyance rises in her as Cal pulls a few credits from his pocket and offers them to the man. They speak a little longer before Cal turns and heads back in her direction.
"She's not going too, is she?" the bartender calls after him while pointing toward Ilyana. "The kid don't deserve that."
"Let's go," Cal says and ushers Ilyana out of the bar.
Back out in the street, they walk in silence for several blocks, both trying to calm the anger burning inside them. The sun had long since set and the street was now deserted. The crowd they had worked their way through earlier had all either gone home now or were occupying one of the many bars, cantinas, and casinos.
"We asked you to turn over your weapons," says Cal, referring to the vibroblade. Without a word she removes it from under her vest and hands it to him.
"Why did you keep it?"
"I thought that would be obvious," she says but when he does not respond she continues, "I don't trust you."
"Well at least we have that in common," Cal says then immediately regrets it as there is no need to make the friction worse. "There are ways to get what we need without violence," Cal offers instead.
"Yeah, I saw that and you're poorer for it," she says abrasively. Cal stops walking, clearly exasperated but trying to remain patient. She stops a few steps farther on then turns back to him. "You need the information," she continues, "You can't be afraid to use any means necessary to get it or you will fail."
"That may be how the inquisition does things but it's not the only way and it's not the way we do it."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not the right thing to do," he answers.
"I watched you kill all those troopers on that bridge like it was nothing. Don't act like you don't have blood on your hands, Jedi!" she spat the word at him.
"I don't deny it but that man in there was not a threat to you."
Ilyana opens her mouth to speak but stops herself. They stare each other down in the dimly lit street, the only sounds coming from wind rushing over the sands and muffled voices leaking out from the bars. Neither of them wants to back down but neither of them really wants to fight either.
Eventually, Ilyana takes a deep breath and raises her hands in a sign of surrender. "These are your leads now," she says, stepping back and dropping her hands, "your mission. My mission ended the day I deserted. I may not agree with you or your methods but… I will follow your lead."
"That works for now," he says and they continue to walk together in silence for a couple more blocks.
"You know," Ilyana says, as her blood pressure and heart rate return to normal, "for a long time I didn't think your people would be any better than the Inquisitors. All the stories I heard made it sound like you were basically the same thing."
"What do you think of us now?" he asks.
"You're definitely different."
"Better?"
Ilyana shrugs, "The jury's still out."
They walk on together quietly for another block before Cal motions for her to stop and points to a building just ahead and covered with graffiti. A dim orange glow streams through its partially boarded up windows.
"Here we are," he says.
"What is this place?" she asks.
"A gambling den. The bartender said that there is a boy in town who is unusually skilled at Sabacc. He's never lost a game. People say he must have the luck or perception of a Jedi," he explains, "during the day he works as a courier down near the landing pads, but in the evenings he can often be found here. We're here to watch," he finishes pointedly.
"I won't touch the boy," she assures him.
Inside, the den is even more crowded than the bar had been. The room is small and the only chairs circle six tables crammed into the center of the room where games of chance are being played. The only lights are directed at the center of each table, illuminating the engrossed, conniving players and drenching the rest of the den in shadow. Observers hover around occasionally placing bets with a bookie shuffling through the crowd.
Cal and Ilyana maneuver their way through the crowd till they reach a table where a Twi'lek boy of about ten is playing Sabacc against traders, scavengers, and at least one pirate. They join the other observers and watch several rounds. Occasionally, another participant will lose, get angry and storm out. At one point a scuffle breaks out on the far side of the room. Security steps in and drags the offenders outside to continue their fight. A few moments later two blaster shots are fired and neither offender returns. Eventually, Cal turns away from the table and cocks his head toward Ilyana that he's ready to leave.
Outside the street is lit only by sparse streetlights that barely hold back the dark. The vague shape of the body of one of the brawlers can be seen at the end of a nearby alley. The other fighter is nowhere to be seen.
"The kid is good," says Cal, walking in the direction of the spaceport, "I'll give him that but it's not the Force."
"You're sure?" Ilyana asks.
"Yeah," he nods.
"I'm sorry," Ilyana says, noticing the disappointed look on his face and doing her best to offer some consolation. "Unfortunately, this is how it goes sometimes. Well actually, most of the time. Rumors get blown out of proportion. Perhaps some are wishful thinking. It's difficult to tell which one will be fruitful."
Cal stops walking and asks, "Wait, will the inquisition still follow these leads since you left."
"Yes, they go back into rotation but won't be reassigned for a while. Why?"
"So, eventually they'll come here looking for him too?"
"Yes."
"What will happen to the kid then?"
"Well, if the Inquisitors come they'll see that he's not force sensitive as you did. They'll see this as a waste of their time and probably just leave. If troopers come they'll take him back to the fortress where the inquisitors will examine him."
"And force sensitive or not he'll die there."
"Probably," she nods.
Cal turns and rushes back to gambling den. Ilyana starts to speak but decides to just let him go and takes up position just outside of the light's reach of a streetlamp on the far side of the street. There, she listens to the soft sound of wind blowing gently through the buildings. During the day the wind had been harsh and whipped through the streets with as much urgency as the traders going to market but as the sun set, so did the wind. It reminded her of when she would lie on the floor of her shuttle traveling between missions, listening to the hum of the engine. She would close her eyes, reach out and lift some nearby object up into the air without touching it and turn it in gentle circles. The motion would quiet her mind and let all the worry, doubt and fear wash away, a brief reprieve before the sensors began blaring again that her next destination was approaching and it was time to be a hunter again.
A few minutes later, Cal steps back out into the street alone and begins walking towards Ilyana but stops short. She had just turned her head as if to address someone standing behind her but there was no one there. He watches for a minute longer. She hasn't seen him yet, because her attention has become completely consumed in surveying the street as if looking for someone or something. Her lips move as if she is speaking but he cannot hear her words. After a moment, her searching gaze lands on him and he clearly sees a curious, almost desperate look on her face but it passes almost instantly and is replaced by the same cold, hard look she had when he stepped away. Part of him wonders if he had imagined that look but decides to act as if he saw nothing for the time being.
"He's gone," he says, as he approaches her "let's get back to the ship."
They walk back to the Mantis quickly but silently.