A/N: Aaaaand we're back, now ready for the second target.
Read, review, and above all, enjoy!
Disclaimer: blah disclaimed blah.
"Welcome back to Manaan, operative," said Hulas, and if he'd looked eerily sweet-tempered beforehand, now he looked downright jovial.
"First things first: congratulations on your first successful mission! The Overseers commend you for your masterful handling of Zuulan: your stealth, technical prowess, and thoroughness are exactly the kind of attributes we look for in an operative. As such, I have been authorized to provide you with a reward – hopefully the first of many: a blaster developed exclusively for the use of those within our guild, designed for greater range, accuracy, and stealth than any other handgun, be it of Republic make or Sith-produced. It will serve you well, I am sure. You will find it waiting for you just outside your docking bay with a courier droid."
Hulas smile faded slightly, and when he continued, his tone was much more businesslike.
"However," he went on, "there are still more tests awaiting you, and now the Overseers wish to test your mettle against a different kind of target – one requiring more subtlety than your previous mission.
"Your target is Lorgal, a Rodian terrorist styling himself as 'The Great Liberator'."
Hulas pressed a few buttons just off-camera, and a mugshot of the target flickered onto the screen next to him: a scrawny Rodian specimen with sickly grey-green skin, the "Great Liberator" was barely a hundred and fifty centimetres tall and dressed in a Correctional Authority jumpsuit at least three sizes too big for him. Judging by the bruises ringing his crooked proboscis and swollen eyes, he'd been beaten up by the authorities just before this mugshot was taken, which only made him look even less impressive. However, despite his pathetic appearance, there was no mistaking the look of defiance in his eyes, nor the proud sneer his broken teeth were fixed in. More alarmingly, the date at the bottom of the mugshot indicated that this particular arrest had happened barely three weeks ago.
"Our sources indicate that he was first radicalized by the Republic's shaming of his people for their neutrality during the Mandalorian War. He began his career as a legitimate activist calling for Rodia's secession from the Republic, organizing legal petitions and protests. There are hints of him growing more egotistical and extreme in the face of repeated arrests and failures, sometimes to the extent of provoking riots, but nothing overtly terroristic in nature."
Another series of images flickered across the screen, showing a younger, less-demented-looking Lorgal standing at the head of a sign-waving crowd, hollering at passers-by through a megaphone, holding out datapads for sponsors to sign, and occasionally being dragged off by brick-faced members of assorted security forces. About the most aggressive thing he was seen doing in any of them was waving a purple banner of his own design before an apathetic-looking crowd, apparently trying to inspire demonstrators to outright rebellion.
"It's possible that his radicalization was at least partly due to long-term exposure to the illegal drugs he used to treat the injuries he suffered at the hands of riot police later in his career. Self-medication would certainly explain the marked increase in violent outbursts, but so far, we have been unable to confirm what, if anything, was to blame."
Another mugshot appeared onscreen, this one from a few years prior and featuring the young Lorgal practically propped up against a wall, barely hanging onto his placard with obviously broken fingers, his face so battered and bloodied that it was hard to recognize his species.
"Whatever the case, it seems that Revan's betrayal inspired a very different approach: in the months following the start of the war with the Sith, Lorgal took up the title of "The Great Liberator" and escalated to a campaign to destroy the Republic itself, envisioning a future in which 'the Republic and all its creations are cleansed in liberating fire'."
Unsurprisingly, the next few scenes featured almost nothing but images of explosions, most of them in heavily populated metropolitan areas, with the occasional schematic of devices and detonators thrown in for good measure.
"In the last few years, Lorgal's time has been occupied with a campaign of highly destructive bombings across Republic space, targeting everything from administrative buildings to industrial centres, resulting in the deaths of several hundred innocent people in his efforts to destabilize the government. However, he was caught while attempting to plant a bomb at the Republic embassy on Manaan, no doubt with the intent of disrupting the flow of kolto to the Republic or even damaging its reputation with the Selkath. Under the circumstances, the Selkath government would have gladly had him executed for endangering their trade, but as the crime took place on what is nominally the Republic's territory, they have permitted him to remain in the ambassador's custody.
"Lorgal will soon be transported to Coruscant for a public trial, most likely to be sentenced to death. However, based on the narcissism and attention-seeking behaviour inherent to his psychological profile, we have reason to believe that he will use his moment in the spotlight as an opportunity to spread his anti-Republican beliefs further, ensuring that his manifesto outlives him regardless of the sentence… and given the projected media coverage of the trial, this only enhances the possibility that disgruntled citizens will continue his work across the galaxy.
"The GenoHaradan cannot afford to have the stability of the Republic jeopardized by dissidents following the martyred Lorgal's example: you must ensure that he doesn't live long enough to be transported offworld.
"The target is imprisoned in a force cage right at the heart of the Republic enclave, so you won't be able to deal with this target as violently as you did Zuulan. Whatever way you kill him, it must appear to be an accident. Fortunately, as a Jedi, you will have the trust of the embassy staff, and regardless of any public reverence for the law, officials will be glad to be rid of a known terrorist, so any investigation into Lorgal's death will be minimal… provided that the cause of death doesn't indicate blatant foul play."
Hulas leaned back in his chair, the expression on his proboscis uncharacteristically grave. "This might be the most important of the missions we have given you thus far, and failure is not an option. Good luck, operative…"
Tarrah sighed deeply as the familiar shape of the Republic enclave drifted into view.
If she'd had any say in the matter, she'd have never gotten anywhere near the building again: quite apart from the sterile pomposity of the place, the city's broiling tension was even stronger than ever around here, second only to the kolto trading centre and the grounds of the Sith embassy in sheer unmitigated paranoia, anger, and desperation. Worse, it was hard not to approach it without imagining Hulas lurking around, keeping an eye on her.
But alas, if she wanted to get the GenoHaradan on her side, she'd have to follow their instructions to the letter. So, here she was, trying to look casual, even though her robes made her instantly recognizable to anyone who cared to look and most of the guards were saluting her on sight. It didn't help that she'd already had to promise the ambassador that the bit of business he wanted attending to would be dealt with just as soon as she was finished with a few matters around town, which only made her even more conscious of the spotlight being levelled her way.
She'd just have to hope Hulas was right about the lack of investigation, or this would almost certainly end in a very messy intergalactic incident at best.
Past the oversized desk of the ambassador, the stately polished chrome of the Republic embassy gave way to the rough, utilitarian gunmetal bulkheads of the military enclave beyond. Here, there was everything that the Republic needed to maintain their presence on Manaan behind the mask of diplomacy: barracks, mess-halls, armouries, conference rooms, surveillance monitoring chambers, war rooms, even much-rumoured laboratories… and most importantly of all, detention blocks. Or, more correctly, detention block – for of course, there wasn't much room for numerous prisoners in a property that the Selkath had barely deigned to lease to it latest batch of unwanted guests. Indeed, all security measures aside, it took less than forty-five seconds for Tarrah to reach it.
As the heavy security door rumbled open before her, Tarrah saw at once enclave's detention block was not an impressive setup: just a row of cylindrical holding cells against the wall, with just enough room for a prisoner, a thin mattress, and a miniscule waste disposal slot in the floor – naturally requiring the prisoners to urinate and defecate in full view of both the guards and any other prisoners on the cellblock. No doubt that was the intent behind the design, to humiliate the captives on a regular basis, sap their will to escape, and break down any resistance to interrogation.
And there, at the end of the detention block, sat the Great Liberator himself. Lorgal hadn't changed much since his incarceration scant weeks ago: the bruises had faded, and a doctor had evidently attended to his smashed jaw in that time, but he'd lost none of the brutal defiance in his eyes and his proboscis remained fixed in a snarl of hate.
The moment Tarrah stepped inside, Lorgal spun around on the spot, eager for any chance to spill his bile on any new visitor to the detention block. Unlike her other Rodian acquaintance, Lorgal had no overwhelming desire to conceal his emotions, nor did he care if anyone knew what he felt or thought: everything about him was alive with resentment, hate, and rage, the kind that had built up over the course of decades, filling him up and pushing aside everything else until the only emotion that could possibly stand as their equal was his pride.
"Have you come to sneer and jeer like the others?" he snarled. "Come to see Lorgal the Great Liberator caged like an animal?"
Tarrah pointedly ignored him as she surveyed the area. So far, there were only two possible witnesses: the jailer at the front desk, and the lone guard waiting by the door. Neither cared very much, from the looks of things. The jailer was clearly sick to death of hearing Lorgal's endless tirades, and the guard was aching for his shift to end so he could have lunch and vent her frustrations about the prisoner.
Annoyingly enough, Lorgal only took this as encouragement. "Silence, is it? The Republic's favoured response to everything that does not please! When the Supreme Chancellor's hypocrites failed to protect Rodia from the Mandalorians, they gave us only silence in place of aid! When Rodia chose not to protect those who would not protect her, the Republic answered only with silence, silence and contempt! When Rodia suffered under the Republic's sanctions and trade embargos, it answered with nothing but silence for the innocents who suffered for its tyranny! When Rodia stood alone against the first Sith bombardments, the Republic gave nothing but silence!"
"I think I get the picture," said Tarrah airily.
She was busily analysing the area for anything that could eliminate Lorgal "by accident." True enough, there were a great many objects that could conceivably fall from the ceiling and crack the Rodian's skull open, especially since the force cage didn't extend any further than the ceiling, but nothing that could be deemed accidental. She could easily use the Force to twist the shield emitters so that they closed in on Lorgal and electrocuted him to death, but any use of her powers would be noticed in the aftermath: after all, mechanical systems didn't fail without at least some kind of rational explanation.
"You are a Jedi, yes?" Lorgal sneered. "The whores of the Republic! The liars and hypocrites who speak of peace but offer none! Does it please you to sit by and do nothing as innocents suffer, while the Dark Jedi score victory after victory in the name of the Sith? Does it torment you to know that you meditate while the galaxy burns?!"
Tarrah didn't even dignify this with a response. By now, she knew the flaws of the Jedi well enough, having seen them firsthand on Dantooine, and she'd heard all about those flaws from the lips of their supporters, detractors, and even the Jedi Masters themselves. Even Bastila had provided evidence of them, albeit unintentionally. Yes, they were hardly perfect… but at least they were trying not to harm innocent people. In any case, Tarrah didn't need to uphold the Jedi Order's dignity to feel good about herself, so she let the Rodian vent his spleen and focussed on finding a solution to the problem.
Instead, it was the guard who lost his temper. "Yeah, you're one to talk about the galaxy burning," he snapped. "You're the murdering bastard who's setting it on fire!"
If anything, Lorgal's sneer only seemed a thousand times haughtier. "Kill a million people with a mighty star cruiser and you are a war hero, kill a hundred with a thermal detonator and you are a terrorist."
At this jailer, who'd been irritably staring at the mug of caf on his desk, scoffed. "A million combatants compared to a hundred civilians? You obviously never served in the army, pal."
"You are obviously blind to the Republic's chains shackled around your neck. You cannot see me for the hero I am!"
"Think about a little remorse for the people you killed, and maybe we can talk about what you are, huh? Maybe you'll remember that they were civilians, just like all those innocent people on Rodia."
"Don't ask me to care about them any more than they cared about us, human. They support a soul-destroying regime without thinking of the suffering it inflicts on the weak and impoverished; now they understand what it is to suffer! Now they understand the consequences of their blind loyalty!"
Tarrah barely kept herself from sighing. He didn't see that his legitimate grievances were blending with the illegitimate ones, couldn't tell where true injustice on the Republic's part ended and simple incompetence began. He couldn't see the fallacy of grieving for the unfortunate victims of Rodia's misfortunes while heaping scorn on the victims of his own bombings, many of whom were probably just as impoverished and without choice as the Rodians harmed by the Republic's sanctions. He couldn't even see that nothing was going to change because of his actions, that any damage he and his supporters could do to the Republic was insignificant compared to what the Sith could do to it… and likely never would.
And the most depressing thing was that this wasn't due to fanaticism: Tarrah had met fanatics before, and they had similar attitudes to Lorgal, but where they differed was the balance of pride and devotion, anger and ego. True fanatics were boiling cauldrons of zealotry for their chosen cause, fuelled by hatred of the enemy of their chosen cause and often spurred on by grief over injustices. From what Tarrah could sense of him, Lorgal had those elements, but all of them were overshadowed by his monumental ego, wounded by years of failures on the picket line and inflated by self-medication.
He believed that only he could bring down the Republic, that only his perspective on events was truly accurate, and now that he'd been caught, only his example would liberate the people of the Republic. No wonder he hadn't spared a thought for the Sith: the fact that an empire with a seemingly infinite fleet at its disposal was more dangerous than one man with a few bombs simply hadn't occurred to him. After all, that one man was him – and to Lorgal's ego, insignificance was impossible. His narcissism had all but eaten him alive.
It was certainly a testament to the fact that a sapient being didn't need the Dark Side of the Force to become a monster… but as bad luck would have it, Tarrah still needed to find a way to kill him.
For a moment, she considered just using the Force itself to kill him: it would be easy to fling him headlong into the barrier until the electrical barrage stopped his heart or crush his throat like so many Sith Lords had done with disappointing subordinates. But either one would have only raised questions.
In desperation, she checked the control panel at the other end of the room and began checking through the list of controls and statistics, hoping that slicing could allow her some relatively untraceable methods. There were several promising leads here, all with their own special caveats: slicing the ventilation could let her flood the cells with toxic gas, but that also risked exposing the staff to the gas as well; a "glitch" in the heating could potentially ignite Lorgal's bedding and burn him alive, but fires had a nasty habit of spreading; she could even redirect a water pump to drown Lorgal in the cell… but that could do a lot of damage to the embassy, and the last thing she needed was to hurt the Republic's presence.
And then she saw it: a power conduit running directly under the force cages, in clear defiance of safety regulations. But then, Roland Wan's team wouldn't have had much time to arrange this enclave behind closed doors, so cutting corners would have been unavoidable… and best of all, it could easily result in accidents in the event of a power surge. Usually, Tarrah only got to do this if the conduit was open for repairs, but now…
Tarrah felt her mind turn cold. This wasn't like the hurried, anxiety-riddled sense of purpose that had descended on her when she'd set up the bomb in Zuulan's speeder; instead, what she felt now was nothing but pure unfeeling focus, as cold and as efficient as a machine. She knew exactly what she had to do and how to wall herself off from all human emotion, not by seeking shelter in serenity as a Jedi would or by plunging headfirst into monstrosity like a Sith master, but simply by not feeling anything.
Meanwhile, Lorgal and the staff were still bickering. All eyes were on the target and none of them on her. So, pausing only to make sure that the security cameras were pointed away from her, she discreetly slotted one of T3's computer spikes into the control panel. After that, she stood well back from the panel and began pressing keys with the Force, accessing the power regulator and amplifying the conduit's outflow, allowing it to climb just slowly enough for her to get out of the way.
"You don't see!" Lorgal ranted, oblivious to the faint humming sound that was beginning to fill the room. "You cannot see! How can you? You've been blind all your life! But I will open your eyes: the purifying flame that I will light shall cleanse all things corrupt and-"
The rest of this little speech was lost in a deafening roar as the power conduit under the detention block ruptured, sending a crackling stream of electricity arcing through the force cages, and with nobody else in them other than Lorgal himself, the charge had nowhere else to earth itself but him. For a few seconds, the Great Liberator could only jitter wildly on the spot, arms flailing wildly as the electricity rippled through his undersized frame. And then now-malfunctioning force cage contracted to less than a third of his current size, instantly leaving him sandwiched between two glowing electric walls and unable to do much more except twitch faintly as he was slowly electrocuted from every conceivable angle.
Exactly fourteen seconds later, the cage broke down entirely and Lorgal's smouldering body crashed to the floor. He twitched for a second or two, then lay still.
The guard and the jailer eyed the corpse in silence for a moment. Then, the jailer sighed and finished his mug of caf, looking astonishingly blasé considering what had just happened. "Well," he said at last, "I guess that's one less thing to worry about: guess we won't have to deal with the hassle of transporting the crispy little huttspawn offworld."
"What do we do now?" asked the guard; he at least looked surprised.
"Might as well call a medic: those guys down in sick bay could at least use a good laugh."
Before long, the two of them were chatting casually as they waited for the medic to arrive. Rather tellingly, neither of them discussed the cause of the accident that had just killed their prisoner, nor did they mention the Jedi who'd just happened to visit the detention block just before Lorgal died.
In fact, they didn't even notice that she'd left.
By the time Tarrah had gotten back to the Ebon Hawk, the unnatural calm was wearing off, and she was starting to feel horribly nervous.
What if Hulas was wrong? What if the Republic really would investigate Lorgal's death? Would Tarrah be blamed – or worse, would either the jailer or the guard end up as scapegoats? What if the Selkath started asking questions about the whole affair, accuse the Republic of having assassinated Lorgal? What if this was the beginning of sanctions against the Republic or even a reduction in kolto shipments? What if Tarrah had made everything worse?
And behind all the questions, behind all the fear and the dread and the gnawing guilt over being able to kill so heartlessly, there was the Dark Side, arms open wide to embrace her. The Dark Side was the emergency exit, the lighted path to an escape from all the unwanted feelings, and so many Jedi had fallen to it because they'd felt there was nowhere left to turn. But then, Juhani had proved that assertion wrong, hadn't she? As the Council had intended, she'd shown that there was always a way out of the nightmare that didn't involve the Dark Side.
So why did Tarrah keep getting the feeling that she was slowly but surely walling off the ways back, actively destroying her choices without even meaning to? Why couldn't she escape it through the normal Jedi ways? Why did she need to improvise her solutions? And more importantly, how long could she keep doing this before she went completely mad?
Groaning, Tarrah hurled herself into one of the couches ringing the Hawk's central communications console and curled herself into a ball, hands clasped over her face.
It wasn't until she'd been lying there for almost a full minute that she belatedly realized that Juhani was standing over her, yellow eyes wide with concern.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Tarrah thought of all the possible ways she could hide the truth, and quickly decided that there was no point to even deny what she was feeling. "No," she said at last. "This planet, it… it really weighs on you after a while. There's too many secrets here, too many conflicting agendas, too many… betrayals. It's hard to find stability here."
"I know how you feel," Juhani admitted. "I never thought I would say such a thing after all that happened to me there, but I miss Dantooine."
"I think it's the separation that makes it worse."
"From Dantooine?"
"No, from everything here. Manaan isn't like any of the other planets we've visited before. Up until now, we've been a part of things from the moment we left the ship. Here in Ahto City, we're basically living in a self-contained reality – I mean, Ahto itself wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for the kolto trade. So, we're instantly segregated from the reality of this planet and we'll stay that way no matter where we go; we'll never get to see the planet as it really is, meet the people as they truly are, and everything we do is wrapped up in kolto trade. So…"
She paused to take a deep breath. "It doesn't feel real. It feels like a nightmare."
Juhani eyed her, her catlike eyes unreadable. "What is all this really about, Tarrah?" she asked, softly. "You are afraid, but not just of what is happening in this city. What is it that you fear?"
Tarrah hesitated. How much of the truth could she admit to without revealing the GenoHaradan? Would she be able to unburden herself without spilling all her secrets? Perhaps she could at least confess to at least some of what she felt, if not all…
"Corruption," she said at last. "The Republic is up to something shady in Ahto City, just like everyone else: there's a lot of dirty politics in play and a lot of people being hurt behind the scenes or worse, and from what I can see, we're going to have to get our hands dirty fixing it sooner or later. And I'm worried that this is how it'll start: my plunge into the Dark Side."
And some impulse that Tarrah didn't fully understand made her add, "And that's why I need your help, Juhani."
"Why me, though? You know I am not the Jedi I should be, Tarrah. You know I struggle to control my anger. Why do you turn to me and not Bastila? She was sent to guide you, after all."
"That was the intent, yes, but…" Tarrah lowered her voice to a whisper. "Bastila is starting to doubt herself. I mean, she's a good person, but she's been propping herself up with the Council's expectations for too long, and now that she's got cause to question them, her self-confidence is falling to pieces. She's been relying on me for support lately, and I can't start burdening her with my problems. Besides," she added, "Bastila's always been strictly orthodox. She doesn't know what it's like to break the rules. She doesn't know what it's like to-"
"Fall," Juhani finished.
Tarrah nodded. "She hasn't even considered the possibility of falling."
She wasn't entirely sure what she meant to say: she was operating largely on instinct, grasping for contact and hoping against hope that it would be enough to hold back the maelstrom of her emotions until it finally faded.
"Please," she said at last. "Promise me that… if I don't have what it takes-"
"You do."
"No, listen. If I don't have what it takes to draw back from the edge and fall to the Dark Side, promise me that you'll be there to bring me back. I know you'll recognize the signs, I know you understand how I fight, and… and I know you'll have the strength to stop me if all else fails. Just… promise me, okay? As my friend."
And to Tarrah's surprise, she wasn't just saying things to hold back the tide: she was being perfectly sincere.
Without saying a word, Juhani sat down next to her. For perhaps ten seconds, she sat there in silence, as if afraid to speak, her yellow eyes darting back and forth in uncharacteristic anxiety. "You have my word," she said at last. Was it Tarrah's imagination, or was there a tremble in the Cathar's voice? Why did she sound as if she was about to cry?
And then, to Tarrah's surprise, Juhani reached out and took her by the hand. For once, she wasn't wearing gloves, and her grasp instantly startled Tarrah into silence; she hadn't expected Juhani's hands to be so warm and gentle – as if she'd thought the mixture of unexpected rage and judicious self-control would leave her cold, harsh, even crushing. But no, she wasn't cold at all, but almost reassuring in her warmth, and Tarrah couldn't help but return the grasp in kind.
"I promise you," Juhani whispered.
Those were tears in those catlike eyes, weren't they? Was she crying? Why was Juhani crying?
With a jolt of shock, Tarrah realized that the surge of the Dark Side had begun to fade the moment she'd heard Juhani's voice. And when she'd made that promise, the temptation to fall had faded entirely. It wasn't entirely surprising, given that she'd regained self-control when Mission had arrived on the scene to discuss things with her, but…
Why did Juhani seem so enraptured in the moment?
Why was Tarrah so reluctant to let go?
For several minutes they sat there, holding hands and not entirely sure what to do next. And then, there was a muffled ping from Tarrah's datapad, and as if on instinct, the two parted on the spot.
"Sorry," Tarrah muttered sheepishly, "But I've got to take this…"
And so, she slunk away, trying not to make eye contact with Juhani as she did so.
Sure enough, it was another message from Hulas, and never in her entire life had Tarrah been so unhappy to see the spindly bastard.
"Greetings, operative," he said, infuriatingly jovial as always. "The Overseers were most impressed with your work on Lorgal and have authorized another reward package of equipment. For carrying out the kill at close range, unseen in plain sight, you have been granted a GenoHaradan vibroblade. The hilt contains a cannister of a very special neurotoxin, one specifically formulated for compatibility across most humanoid species – a very rare and special brew indeed. It's designed to gradually regenerate, so you won't need to replace the poison. The slightest jab will be more than enough to leave your target disoriented, in great pain, and in due time, unconscious, then dead. I trust you will make good use of it, of course…
"The Overseers have also decided that you have passed the first grade of tests: should you succeed in the next three missions, you will be declared a full member of the GenoHaradan and granted access to all the resources and connections owed to your new position… including the possibility of directing our resources against the Sith.
"Before you begin, I must warn you that though the rewards increase exponentially at this level, so does the potential lethality: you are going to be pitted against some of the most dangerous targets in the galaxy over the course of these next three tests. Yes, Jedi, more dangerous than the Sith you have been pitted against. You may think that your power as a Jedi may give you an advantage over them, but I must warn you well in advance: some of these targets are known to have killed Jedi as well, so I advise you not to take these next missions lightly. I will contact you shortly with the first of the three tasks very shortly – though I advise you to remain on Manaan for the time being.
"Remember: the GenoHaradan accepts only the best…"
Tarrah sighed.
At least she wasn't short on excuses to stay here…
A/N: Up next - the Merchant of Secrets!
