Obliques: Guardian of the Night

"Pah, I'm sick of Xim. Some drooling savage whacking a bunch of other savages into submission. I never understood why they keep talking about him. Just Rimmers trying to feel special, I suppose."

Tigelian Kolfane, Coruscanti poet, 11,185 BBY

Tepasi Landfall Year 353

11,345 TYA

A cool breeze blew in from Cradle Lake and into Settler's Town, brushing rooftops and whistling between skyscrapers. People here called it a town but in the three-and-a-half centuries since human colonists had emerged from their sleeper ships they'd been industrious, and the settlement had swelled to over two million people. The advent of lightspeed travel to this part of the galaxy, just a hundred years before, had tripled the population. Bright towers stabbed toward the stars, like the humans of Tepasi were trying to get back where their ancestors had come from.

Humans, it seemed, were irrepressible. The thought had occurred to Ashar Gell (himself human) time and again since coming here. On nights like these, when the cool breeze washed away midsummer heat, he liked to stand on high rooftops, watch Settler's Town throw up its light, and feel glad to be a part of it all.

But not everything was right in Settler's Town. When he was alone like this, looking down on the city from his skyscraper perch, Ashar would reach out with the Force to feel the lives below. A city was a stew with every flavor of life, joy and sorrow and ennui all mixed together. But some flavors stood out.

Someone was afraid down there, deathly afraid. Someone was in danger. Humans were irrepressible but they could also be dangerous to their own kind. It was a sad fact, and in a place as big as Settler's Town, local police couldn't protect everyone.

Which was why Ashar spent so many evenings peering down from rooftops. There were some things only a Jedi could do.

He concentrated on that strand of terror until he got an idea of its location. Then he sprung to action, literally. The towers of Settler's Town were packed close together, and he bound from one to another with Force-assisted leaps. He landed on balconies and ledges and immediately jumped off, trusting his eyes, body, and the Force to guide him to his next perch. As he leaped across the city he worked his way steadily downward, to the dark alley from which the dread came.

By now Ashar could navigate the city's ledges and window-sils easily. He'd been doing this for over a Tythan year since his two Jedi partners had dropped him off on Tepasi. Neither of them had been human and couldn't have fit in, but they'd agreed to let Ashar insert himself into this society to observe, to learn, and to help.

Not that Ashar totally blended in. Rumors spread throughout Settler's Town of his nighttime escapades. Almost daily he saw newspapers and magazines proclaiming the so-called 'Guardian of the Night' a public savior, a dangerous vigilante, or (most amusingly) an invader from another world with supernatural powers (though only crackpots believed option three).

He was proud of his work, but he didn't want the crackpots to find out how close they were to the truth, so he'd taken to donning black clothes and a mask over his eyes. At the beginning he'd worn a Jedi's cloak too, but when that got caught on a transmitter antennae (almost fatally), he'd cut the cloak down to a cape that spread out like wings as he bounded from building to building.

He'd realized belatedly this only added to the mystique.

The cape fluttered behind him as he made the final leap. Ashar used the Force to soften his landing on the flat roof of a warehouse, then scampered to the edge of the alley where he could feel trouble emanating.

He peered over the edge and saw it: two young men stood against a wall, hands against dirty brick. Four other men stood around them: two held pistols, another a truncheon. The fourth and biggest man was roughly patting down the captives, and when one tried to push back he got his face slammed into the brick. The other three captors chuckled and fondled their weapons. From the four thugs he sensed greed, casual malice—and a killing intent.

As if to confirm that, the man with the truncheon asked, "Can we finish this up? I'm getting bored."

"I told you, we don't have the money!" cried the captive without his face in the brick.

"And we told you," the big thug grunted, "this isn't about money. This is about sending a message. Nobody can walk in and act like they own our turf."

"We didn't even know—"

The second one, too got a face full of wall. The thugs laughed. The big man stepped back and dusted his hands together. "All right," he said, "send the message and let's go."

Which was Ashar's cue.

He dropped soundlessly into the alley, behind the backs of the four thugs. Only one spotted him from the corner of the eye and started to turn. Ashar immediately used the Force to shove him hard into the truncheon-wielder.

The other two didn't go down so easily. Surprise didn't slow big man down; he swung his fists wildly, and Ashar barely dodged one mammoth hand. The other man was even more of a problem. He raised his pistol and began to fire madly at the intruder.

Ashar had no room to dodge. Instead he drew the sword clipped to his waist, forged from folded Ska Gora steel, and used lightning-fast reflexes to intercept two bullets.

Metal pinged metal. One slug bounces into the wall. The second ricocheted elsewhere. One of the captives, the man who'd gotten his face shoved into brick first, grunted and slumped to pavement.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Ashar was too stunned to dodge the next fist aimed at his face. He almost fell but called on the Force to pull himself upright and lashed with his sword. Its dull edge took the big man hard in the gut, keeling him over. Ashar interposed himself so the big man, now staggering, was a shield between himself and the gunman.

But the other two thugs were rising to their feet. Force or no Force, this could spin out of control fast.

Then there was light: bright light from behind that threw Ashar's shadow long across the alley wall. In this light he finally got a good look at the men he'd ambushed.

To his shock, they were wearing the brown-and-blue uniforms of the Settler's Landing police force.

This was also their first good look at him. The truncheon-wielder picked up his weapon and scowled, "Damn, it's really him!"

The gunman squinted into the light and levelled his weapon. "A cape? Really?"

Ashar decided this might be a good time to run. He heard shouts behind him and the clicking of loaded guns. "Stop, police!" "Hands up, now!" "Drop the sword, buddy!"

Despite his panic, Ashar saw clearly. He had loaded weapons aimed at him from the front and the back, meaning anyone who shot carelessly would catch the other side in the cross-fire. Unless these police were stupid as well as corrupt, that gave him an advantage.

He hoped.

Ashar barely tensed his legs before leaping for the roof. He used the Force to do most of the lifting as he propelled himself out of the alley. But the police fired too readily; bullets whistled past his ear. Just as his jump peak and he fell toward the rooftop, a shot caught him in the right thigh.

He fell onto the tar roof, on his side, hard. Ashar muttered curses, tried to sublimate the pain, and used his sword to push himself upright. There was clamor below but no gunshots. He was hurt but he could still get out of this. The Force would carry him to places his attackers would never reach.

But he heard clapping boots and clattering metal, and knew they'd found an exterior stairway to the roof. Ashar lurched and nearly fell on his face; the pain in his leg was too much. But he called on the Force to hold upright and hobbled as quickly as he could for the roof's opposite edge.

He was too slow. He heard more shouts, glanced over his shoulder, and saw silhouettes on the rooftop. He pushed with his good leg and tried to use the Force to propel him to the nearest building, two levels higher. For a beautiful moment he surged upward and he knew the Force was still with him, that he wasn't going to die a stupid pointless death alone and far from his fellow Jedi.

But his body and the Force faltered. Instead of landing atop the next building he slammed into its side. Impact squeezed breath from his chest. He held hard onto the roof's edge but he knew he didn't have the strength to last.

Bullets tore at the wall inches from his face. Ashar released and landed painfully at the bottom of another narrow, filthy alley. He tried to stand again, putting weight on his good leg, but his ankle buckled and twisted. He fell into the dirt. His hand brushed his thigh and came away thick with blood.

This was how it was going to end. He'd been a fool separating himself from his companions. He should have stayed with them and sailed to further stars but he'd been so intent on playing the lone hero; the guardian of the night.

Now he was going to pay for it.

He heard men approaching from the rooftop. A hot wind blew into the alley and suddenly a bright, bright light appeared directly above him. Silhouettes edged against the light, peeking down at him from the rooftop, but they didn't aim their weapons. They were looking up too. Ashar held a hand in front of his face and peered between cracks in his finger.

The wind grew harder and with it came a noise, a familiar noise. He didn't believe in it. He was wounded, doomed; his senses were playing tricks on him, leading him to false hope.

But because there was nothing else he could do, the Jedi continued staring up, into the light.