Chapter Thirty-Seven
JUHANI
Once again, Aithne had left Juhani behind to scout the new planet they had landed on. Bastila had rejoined Aithne at last, and Zaalbar had gone as well. But, once again, Juhani was relegated to babysitting. This time, her presence aboard Ebon Hawk felt even more redundant. Many others remained on the ship too, so she was hardly needed on guard duty.
Juhani was beginning to regret she had asked to accompany Ebon Hawk. She had done practically nothing since her assignment to the mission, only ever managed to attract Dak's attention and bring his sad, drunken vengeance down upon her companions. She could still see him falling in front of Ebon Hawk's turret guns, blood spraying from the gaping wound in his side. He had crumpled to the ground like a cut-strings marionette. She had felt him go, a twisted, pathetic mockery of the man he once had been. He had been her friend.
Or perhaps she had deluded herself about that too. She had believed him that first time in the cantina of Korriban when he had said he did not care what she was doing.
Juhani's so-called knighthood seemed itself a mockery of her childhood dreams. When she remembered the heroes who had saved her as a child, the gods who had gone to defeat the monsters who had slaughtered her people, and compared herself to them? She was weak. She was nothing. And it seemed that all of her companions knew it. Why else leave her with the younglings like a doddering old creche master? Over and over and over again, she was left with the younglings. Juhani was a warrior! Or so she had thought.
A few hours after their landing on the morning they arrived on Tatooine, Aithne had begun to send the usual round of deliveries to the ship that they received the day of a landing. Fresh supplies of food, more than welcome after the last several days of synthetic protein. Fresh water, though Juhani could not begin to imagine what it had cost on Tatooine. There were also small ship repairpersons to coordinate with Carth and T3-M4 for routine maintenance on Ebon Hawk. Juhani had long been one of the primary persons on Ebon Hawk entrusted to deal with the logistics of supply, and it was good to have at least something she could do to keep busy and out of everyone's way.
Juhani was in the cargo hold cataloguing their rations—how much they could use for their stay on Tatooine, when they would need to reorder, what they might need for trips to either Dantooine or Manaan afterwards—and adding up the receipts for Bastila to reconcile later. Then she heard a croaking noise behind her.
She turned to see a large crate by the wall with holes all through it—the type of crate used to transport live animals that were not being sedated or frozen for a journey, animals that needed to breathe. There was one hole in the box, however, that had not been drilled for this purpose. This much larger hole had been broken—kicked or peeled away. And even as Juhani watched, a small, yellow creature leapt away from the box toward the door to the cargo hold.
Juhani pounced upon the creature. It jumped away, kicking off from the deck with a pair of disproportionately massive webbed feet, but Juhani caught it by its ankles. She dangled it upside down, examining it. It croaked at her again. The thing did not have eyes, just large hollows above its wide, wide mouth and below a bony frill where eyes might be in another creature. Its skin was smooth and gave off the overall impression, along with its webbed feet, that it was a creature as comfortable in water as it was on land. It did not have teeth or claws, but as it croaked mournfully at her once again, she noticed its tongue was long indeed. It would eat with that, she decided, probably insects or even small avian species. Its mouth was very, very big.
Behind her, there was another croak. Juhani turned to see another of the creatures hopping away. She cast the animal she held away and bounded toward the exit of the ship.
Leaving the docking bay was an Aqualish and two Rodians she had not spoken with about their delivery. "Excuse me," Juhani hailed them. The Aqualish turned.
/Yes?/ he said in Huttese.
Juhani addressed him in the same language. /I believe you may have delivered an order to our ship by mistake/ she said. /There are several small creatures in a crate in our cargo bay. I do not understand why we have received them./
The Aqualish had a datapad. He consulted it. /This is docking bay 32, is it not? No, everything's in order. I have the requisition order here—one shipment of gizka./
Juhani blinked and fought a rising sense of panic. /May I see it?/ she asked politely.
The Aqualish handed over his datapad. Juhani read an order from a Mid-Rim restauranteur for one medium crate of live gizka to be delivered to his freighter, arriving to Docking Bay 32 the day before.
/No/ Juhani said, tapping the order. /This was an order for yesterday, do you see? And this is not the name of my captain. We did not order these gizka./
/Hey, we were told to deliver a crate of gizka to this docking bay; we delivered a crate to this docking bay/ the Aqualish said. /If your people arrived late in a different ship, that's not our problem. All I need now is for you to make your thumbprint on the—/ he flicked through tabs on his datapad and sighed. /Nothing is ever organized around here/ he complained. /Oh, and one of my loaders mentioned that because you were late, the crate might've gotten a little heavy and broken. That happens, I'm afraid. We don't accept liability—/
/No/ Juhani insisted. /You must take the gizka back./
/We couldn't do that, ma'am. You order, we deliver. Have a nice day./
And the Aqualish turned on his heel and followed his loaders out of the bay.
Juhani swore. Gizka! She had not known what the creatures were when she first saw them. Gizka, however, were known as pests throughout the galaxy! Their meat was a delicacy on many worlds, which would be why the Mid-Rim restauranteur had ordered them, but their reproductive rate put that of most species to shame. In an environment without predators, they could multiply at truly terrifying levels, and when they could not get their preferred foods, they would eat anything, including a ship's wiring.
"Uh . . ." Mission had walked down the ship's ramp. She was holding one of the gizka. "Someone delivered a crate of these things, but the crate's busted. They're all over the ship now. Must be over half a dozen of 'em."
"I know!" Juhani snapped. "Some fools delivered them by mistake, and now we are left to pay the consequences."
"I mean, I can help round 'em up and run 'em out, if you want," Mission offered. "They aren't mean or anything." She scratched the one she held under its pebbled chin, and it chirped happily. "You know, they're actually kinda cute, in a really ugly way."
"They are also gizka," Juhani said grimly. "If they have shipped us both males and females together, there will be another spawning right this moment."
"Gizka?" Mission repeated. She looked at the one she held. "Huh. I don't know what I thought one would look like, but not like this. You want help kicking 'em out or not?"
"It would be irresponsible to simply evict them without a plan for their removal," Juhani said, reluctant though she was to admit the solution could not be so simple. "We might be able to collect them all, provided none have hidden already in the remote corners of the ship, but if we simply turn them loose, they will become a plague upon this spaceport."
"We could just try and pen them up again," Dustil suggested, emerging himself from the ship, followed by Jolee. Jolee Bindo held another of the creatures, kicking hard to get to the one held by Mission. Both animals let out lustful cries. Jolee made a face. "Bindo says they make good eating; that that's the only reason anyone'd be stupid enough to ship these things in the first place."
"I take it Aithne did not order them to supplement our suppers, though," Jolee added.
"Nah, shipping mistake," Mission confirmed. "You really think we should eat 'em?" she asked, looking regretful. "They're so cute."
"Trust me, lass, you won't think so when we're knee deep in the things and Ebon Hawk breaks down in the middle of deep space," Jolee promised.
"And you were the one who was supposed to be clearing our deliveries and visitors this morning?" Dustil asked Juhani. He snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"
"There have been half a dozen shipments delivered and nearly a dozen visitors to the bay since Aithne and the others left," Juhani cried. "How was I to know immediately that that shipment was not among the ones Aithne had meant for us to receive?"
Dustil spread his hands mockingly. "I don't know. Maybe check the labels on all the boxes before you start counting out the contents? Maybe ask every stranger on the ship exactly what they're doing before they drop anything off?"
"All right, sonny, that's enough," Jolee said, drawing a silver knife from his boot and dragging it through the gizka's throat and down its abdomen, moving the knife away from him so the blood spattered on the sand instead of his tunic. He extended the hand holding the knife for the gizka Mission held, and frowning a little, she handed the second creature over to meet its fate as well. "Well. That's one breeding pair less to make a mess of our ship. Come on, I'll cook us some lunch."
"No," Dustil said, scowling. "Somebody has to address this." He gestured at Juhani. "Look, you were supposed to back Mission and me up back on Korriban. It was your job to make sure our path to the ship was clear, that no one knew I was leaving and nothing touched us on the way. Your pal, Dak, was a joke, but because you didn't handle it, he and his buddies got a crack at the entire crew. Any of them could've been sober. Worse, they could've chosen to go back to the academy or run to another settlement for reinforcements. We could've had half a dozen fully trained Dark Jedi and a squadron of soldiers on us because Juhani didn't think the Sith who left the Jedi because he was mad at her would ever hurt her or her friends. Never mind that her friends are at the top of Lord Malak's most wanted list.
"Now she's just letting anyone who cares to walk up the ramp and deliver packages. Those gizka might eat our ship and leave us stranded in the middle of nowhere or without life support, but they could've also been a Sith bomb that would blow us all into next week!"
"Nobody's gonna let the gizka eat us to death, Dustil," Jolee said. "We'll throw them out before that happens."
"She's careless," Dustil said, thrusting his finger at Juhani. "It's dangerous, and I think she should be punished for it!"
"That's not your place to say," Jolee started, but Juhani raised a hand.
"I am right here, Dustil Onasi. Kindly address your speech to me."
Dustil breathed out and looked around, at his master, at Mission, then shook his head and thrust his finger toward Juhani. "I challenge you!" he declared. "Prove you aren't the incompetent idiot you've been acting! Battle me."
"Dustil—" Jolee began, but Dustil cut him off.
"No. If no one else is gonna hold her accountable, I'm going to!" He sneered at Juhani. "I won't kill her. You don't do that on this side, do you? But she'll learn—"
"I accept," Juhani hissed.
"What the hell is going on here?" a Twi'lek passing through the port sneered. He walked up, moving with a visible limp as he did so.
"Don't think it's any of your business, old man," Dustil said, without taking his eyes off of Juhani. "Move along."
"Oh ho!" the Twi'lek chortled. "You gonna put this cat in her place, are you? Good. Bad enough I have to deal with all the other idiots on this world. We don't need any stinking Cathar here. Although—if she's bothering you—"
The Twi'lek looked Juhani up and down, and she felt his gaze crawling over her like a colony of insects. She unclipped her lightsaber from her belt, feeling disgusted, attacked.
"I have as much right to be here as you do, sir!"
"Juhani, leave it be," Jolee told her. "Sir, I'm certain you have somewhere to be. We'll settle this little quarrel by ourselves, thank you. Inside."
But the odious man in the Czerka uniform would not leave. "I'm surprised you let her speak, old man," he mused. He looked back at Juhani. "We should have exterminated all you Cathar when we had the chance."
Juhani felt as if he had thrust into her chest and removed her heart and lungs from her body. She staggered back. "What . . . what do you know about my world?"
The Twi'lek showed his teeth. As he did, Juhani remembered another man from years ago. Back on Taris. "I know enough," the man sneered. "Hey, wait a minute . . . you look familiar somehow."
She was not imagining it! She had seen this man before! Standing atop the auction block on Taris, moments before the arrival of the Jedi, she had seen him, lifting a card to buy her. "What . . . you!" she cried.
"You know this scum?" Dustil demanded. He had moved, Juhani saw. He was facing the Twi'lek instead of her now. It was irrelevant.
"This doesn't concern you, boy," the Twi'lek said. "You or the old man! Now, where could I have . . . no, he's dead, and she likely is too . . . I . . ."
Juhani's grip tightened on her saber. "What are you talking about?"
The Twi'lek shook his head, and Juhani realized he too was old—as old as Canderous at least. "Maybe I was wrong," he said. "Still, I think a specimen like you would be a nice addition to my collection. You! Kitty! Who's responsible for you?"
Jolee stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Juhani speaks for herself," he said. His voice was even, but his hand had drifted toward his saber.
"What's all this?" Aithne, Bastila, and Zaalbar had entered the hangar once again. Aithne's presence reached out to envelop Juhani. She clung to it like a lifeline against a storm.
"This sleemo just walked up and started saying the worst things to Juhani!" Mission cried.
"She let some idiots deliver a shipment of gizka to our ship!" Dustil said at the same time. "They're everywhere!"
Aithne's golden eyes flicked to the two dead gizka hanging from Jolee's hand. "So I see. And this man?"
"Mm. I can tell who's in charge of this circus," the Twi'lek said. "What do you say? Sell your pet Cathar?"
Juhani was back in the slave pens in the Tarisian Undercity, grieving her father, unknowing what had happened to her mother, but certain of what was about to happen to her. She was the prize of their entire lot. She would make them rich and go forward into worse than poverty herself. She was bound for a living hell.
Blood pounded in her ears. She extended and velveted her claws, not knowing what she did.
She looked over at the Twi'lek and saw only his face as it had looked that day.
Then Aithne stepped in front of her. Bastila stepped beside her. Ropes of peace and calm extended to her from her two fellow Jedi, and Juhani remembered where she was and what she had become. She remembered what had happened just moments after they had called her number at the auction.
"The lady is a free woman and a Jedi," Aithne was saying.
"A Jedi? Ridiculous," the man from Taris scoffed. "Be reasonable. We both know Cathar aren't really people anyway. The females make amazing pets, but males should be put down like the animals they are. I remember one time on Taris—"
Juhani had never known just who had killed her father. A horrible suspicion struck her heart then, and she tensed all over. "What?! What did you say?!"
"You were on Taris?" Aithne interrupted.
"What did you do on Taris, you scum?!" Juhani demanded.
The Twi'lek shrugged. "Put one of you down like the animals you are. So easy. Couple a days later, I saw one of the females on the auction block, but these damned Jedi . . ."
Now Juhani was sure. Her senses had not deceived her: It was the monster who had tried to buy her as a slave! Maybe he had killed her father as well, but even if he had not, he had killed another man like him, and he was proud! "It was you!" she hissed.
"What? Me?" the Twi'lek said. He peered at her. "Oh ho! I have seen that face before! You were the little Cathar I was going to purchase! My, how you've grown." He leered. "Shame the Jedi came along and stole my pet from me. I could've had you properly trained. No worries; I can break an adult too."
"You were at a slave market on Taris?" Aithne summarized. "Buying Cathar?" Her voice sounded carefully controlled.
The Twi'lek shrugged. "Sure. When I was fighting with the Mandalorians against the Cathar, I developed an appreciation for these creatures. They make excellent servants if properly trained. You Jedi act all prim and proper, but inside you must feel the same way I do about the lesser species. The Sith at least let their feelings show on the outside."
Aithne curled her lip. "I've just about had enough of you," she announced. "We didn't invite you here. We don't want you here. Keep your racist filth inside your mouth, and go about your business. There's nothing for you here."
"That creature," Juhani whispered. "My homeworld . . ." She had been a small child when her family had fled Cathar, but she remembered the terror. She remembered her mother's sorrow, her father's helpless rage. Before her now stood one of the abominations responsible. He was no Mandalorian, either. He had been one of their allies instead. Low, hateful mercenaries and hangers on who had burned worlds just for the sake of it, destroyed families just like hers. Because they had thought that anyone other than their precious selves should die. Could they not feel that all were equal in the Force?
"Come now, will you let your pet go?" the man persisted. "I'm sure we can come up with a price we both think is fair."
"Just kill him," Dustil suggested, crossing his arms. "If the fool can't tell where he's not welcome and keeps trying to buy free women, kill him."
The Twi'lek's eyes widened. He raised his hands and started to back away, but Zaalbar and Mission had cut off his escape from the hangar.
The Wookiee roared and signaled his agreement.
"Yeah, you're right, Big Z," Mission said. "Let's squash this asshole." She went for her blasters, and Big Z unsheathed his sword.
"We're not going to murder him!" Aithne shouted, raising her hand in a fist for the others all to hold.
Juhani trembled. "I will see him dead for what he has done to my people!" she cried.
"Now, hold on a second!" the Twi'lek protested. "Let's not be hasty!"
"That's the first reasonable thing you've said today," Jolee said, coming up to stand on Juhani's other side. "But I suppose even a canker-covered, oozing pile of slime and excrement can have its moments of clarity. You walked into this, and you're pretty much asking for whatever we choose to give you. Especially Juhani here. But we don't do that on this side." His eyes cut sideways to Dustil. "Juhani, what have your teachers taught you?"
Juhani stared at the old man. He had not called them her masters. How had he known not to do that? The consideration broke through her turmoil, and she breathed, "There is no emotion; there is peace," she repeated, feeling a grip ease around her chest. "I will restrain myself. I am a Jedi now. My lust for vengeance must be curbed."
"And what about your love for justice?" Dustil muttered. "We let him go, this guy's just going to go inflict himself on someone else!" He swore but threw up his hands and hung his lightsaber back upon his belt. Glaring, Mission and Zaalbar too lowered their weapons.
"Go," Aithne told him.
The Twi'lek ran. "Right, right, say no to the Dark Side!" As he exited the dock, however, he looked back at Juhani with greed in his eyes, and mouthed words she read upon his lips. "But I will have you yet."
Juhani fell to her knees, drained with the effort of restraining herself.
Aithne and her fellow Jedi surrounded her. "Good work," Aithne murmured. "Let's go inside."
The peace of Ebon Hawk was somewhat disturbed by the croaking of the gizka. Aithne was not pleased that they were present and loose. Bastila's mouth pursed, and Aithne glared at the little things as Jolee began to cook the first victims in the small galley.
Canderous and Carth joined them in the main hold to discuss the confrontation with the Twi'lek.
"His name is Xor, I believe," Juhani told them. "Or . . . that is what I seem to remember." Her memory of that day was as crisp and clear as if she had lived it five minutes ago. Xor was the name the auctioneer had repeated in acknowledgment of his bid. "A pustule of a man, to be sure."
"Why'd you let him go, Moran?" Canderous wanted to know. "Sounds like a grade-A creep."
"We can't just go murdering random citizens in the spaceport," Carth protested.
"Hey, if he didn't know better than to waltz up somewhere he didn't belong and start spouting crap like that—" Canderous started.
"That's what I said!" Dustil agreed, throwing his arm out at Canderous in demonstration.
"Killing him would have been wrong," Jolee disagreed, turning a sizzling gizka leg over on the stovetop. "The man was unarmed and offered no threat of violence. Nor was he currently engaged in any activity harming others or the world. We can't just kill people for being racist and unpleasant."
"Agreed," Bastila said crisply. "I understand that seeing him again must have brought back memories, Juhani. You did well to resist your anger."
"Alright, sure, so he didn't have a blaster," Mission conceded. "But, Aithne, Jolee, you ever known a guy like that? 'Cause I'm telling you: that's the kind that shoots aliens for fun! All the ones that don't fit his weirdo tastes, that is! He tried to buy Juhani. He's bought other girls for sure, and who knows what happened to them, if he's just some Czerka jockey now. I'm sorry, I'm with Dustil and Z and Canderous on this one. Letting him go just let him spread his horribleness someplace else!"
"So, what? You want to hunt him down now?" Aithne challenged. "Just track him down and kill him for being awful?"
Mission hesitated. "Alright," she surrendered. "I get that we can't do that! It's just—you don't get how it is for an alien girl in the Undercity. Or . . . was. You just don't."
Zaalbar roared in agreement and took his friend's hand. Juhani reached over and grasped the small girl's shoulder.
"Thank you for understanding," she said. She looked around at the others. "My father was killed in a tavern one night by someone who hated him merely because of his species. Maybe Xor, maybe someone else. He was provoked and murdered, and not a soul cared to do justice upon his killer. Within days, my mother and I had lost our home, and I still do not know what became of her. I was seized and made captive—a payment for my family's debts." She spat the words.
Jolee plated the gizka along with some of the fresh vegetables Aithne had had delivered. Canderous and Zaalbar began eating. The rest of them stood, listening to Juhani.
"I was a very small girl," Juhani explained. "I had no weapons, no training. No hope of fighting or escaping my oppressors. I had nothing to do but stand, in a pen, while they pet and clicked at me. Examined my teeth and claws. The auctioneer said my claws might be removed for my buyer right in front of me—just casually discussed cutting off a part of my fingers. And I could do nothing. I seethed in hatred and humiliation as they brought me forward on the block, promised all present there that I would grow into an exotic beauty. I knew what my fate would be."
She was silent. "I was wrong," she said then. "The Jedi came. The Revanchists, heading out to do battle with the Mandalorians upon the Rim. They tossed the entire slave market. Disrupted the auction, scattered the slavers, and freed us all. They were like gods, and from that moment, I knew what I would be. I asked, I learned where the Jedi could be found. I worked and saved until I could afford passage to Dantooine, and I begged the masters there to accept me for training. I thought I would have to convince them, did not believe they could possibly accept me. But they said I, too, had the Force in me." She smiled, remembering how it had felt for the first time since she had came from Cathar: to feel an equal. To be recognized and welcomed for her gifts.
"I achieved my dream," she said. "But when I stood before that beast today, for a moment, it was as though none of it had ever happened, and I was back once more in a nightmare."
She clenched her fists again, bowed her head. Tried to find her center, but all she felt was anger. "My Cathar blood boils at the thought of that man still running free. I cannot stand still while I think of it, but I will not give into the Dark Side either."
"Don't stand still." Dustil's voice was quiet. He did not look at her, but beyond her own turmoil, she could sense his—nearly a mirror of her own. Carth's son had not been forthcoming about what his life on Korriban had been for the past few years, but as Juhani watched him, she sensed she may have not been the only one to stand in the slaver's pen, filled with grief for the past and helpless hatred for the oppressor.
"Pardon?"
"Not for punishment," Dustil said. "Those damned gizka are here now, what happened on Korriban happened. Forget it. Just—let's spar a little anyway. It helps."
"It does," Juhani agreed, surprised the young Sith knew this fact, that he ever tried to manage his anger instead of lashing out.
"Dustil—" Carth started.
"I think it's a good idea," Jolee interrupted.
"So do I," Aithne agreed, watching both of them. "You'll consent to referees?" she asked Dustil.
Dustil rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure."
"And use training sabers," Jolee added.
At this provision, however, Dustil sneered. "What? You scared I'll hurt her?"
"I'd be more worried that she'd hurt you, boy," Jolee told him. "Juhani is a Jedi with years more training than you've got. Better training."
"Then she ought to be able to resist her anger, right?" Dustil retorted, without taking his eyes off of Juhani. "What do you think, Juhani? Think you'll be able to resist tearing me apart?"
"I shall do my very best," Juhani said, baring her teeth. She did not know whether Dustil was attempting to help her or to work out his own aggression now. She did not care. Part of her was reminded of friendly challenges growing up on Dantooine, fellow apprentices and padawans training together and tapping into a spirit of harmless competition to improve. Part of her was reminded of more fraught duels later, with Dak and with Belaya, with Master Quatra, where the four of them had been mere centimeters from tearing one another apart. Part of her just wanted to hit something.
Mission wanted to come see the duel too, but Aithne pointed out not everyone would fit into the cargo hold if Dustil and Juhani were to have room to fight. So the girl stayed back with Zaalbar and with Bastila, grumbling, to eat her lunch as well, and Juhani and Dustil proceeded to the cargo hold only accompanied by Aithne, Jolee, and Carth. Aithne and Carth sat among the cargo crates. Jolee equipped them both with the simple training sabers Aithne had built for sparring practice and then stood up against the padded wall to observe, ready to intervene if necessary.
Dustil adopted his opening stance. Like her, he preferred Ataru. Or rather, she thought he did. The positioning of his body was not ideal. Juhani did not think he had been properly trained. "Sloppy," she told him. "Your foundation is neither solid nor easily shifted to another stance. You may be firm, or you may be fluid, but do not be indecisive. Do not practice bad technique."
She struck out where his defenses would be weakest, illustrating her point with the way his body gave and had to fall away from hers, crumpled before her attack. She did not press or try to hurt him, yet Dustil's cheeks turned dusky red, and his anger burned.
Jolee spoke up from the side of the room. "She's not saying anything you haven't heard already, boy. Best learn from her, I think."
"Learn what?" Dustil spat. "How to get so in my head about what I think I should be doing that I forget to do my actual job?"
Juhani ignored him. He was insulting her out of embarrassment, but the child had corrected his stance. His words were cruel. His body spoke respect. He lashed out at Juhani, who parried his blow easily. They walked through the first two sequences of the Ataru form, with Dustil attacking and Juhani defending. "Good," she told him, finding no imperfection in his technique this time. "Now: faster!"
She went on the offensive this time, making him repeat the sequences from the opposing side at a pace half again as quickly. When they hit the end of the second sequence, Dustil modified an ending block into an underhand up toward her ribs. Juhani vaulted away and made him chase her. "Use your feet!" she urged him. "The entire battlefield is yours. The more places I must defend, the greater the likelihood I will mistake my defense! Movement is your ally!"
Dustil regulated his breathing well, increasing his intake of air to suit the increased tempo of their combat. "You're good," he noted. "Got power. Good technique. So why are you so weak?"
He stepped out with his foot, aiming to crush her instep with his heel. While she stepped back to defend from this blow, he switched his lightsaber to his left hand and brought it around in a sideways arc toward her torso—in the same direction in which she was stepping. Juhani had to fall into a roll to avoid it. As she did, she struck upward with her wrist, moving to disarm the hand that had not fully grasped the saber as of yet. "You think me weak?" she asked him.
Dustil danced backward, avoiding the disarm. They squared to one another once again.
"You lack resolve," he panted. "Must've had plenty once upon a time, leaving Taris like you did. But since?" He shook his head. "Couldn't finish Vesser. Couldn't finish the slaver. You're distracted on the ship. Sense your discontent. But you don't have the conviction to act on it and leave, either. You're weak."
"I have an assignment, a duty," Juhani said. She moved in with an overhand, and the two of them began sparring in earnest, trading blows back and forth, dancing through the forms. Every time Dustil stepped out of line, Juhani struck out at his weakness with an empty fist or with her feet, pointing out the flaw in his form without a word. On the sidelines, she could feel that Aithne and Jolee were both pleased by her instruction.
"Yeah, you're real good at your duty," Dustil retorted. "So messed up over what you wish you were doing that your actual assignments end up screwed."
"I am not upset!" Juhani protested. Her latest swing went wide, however, and she knew every person in the room could hear the lie. Even Carth.
Dustil took advantage of her mistake, stepping inside her guard and using his body to render her weapon temporarily useless. His elbow came back toward her gut, while his other hand reached across for her wrist above her lightsaber. Juhani sprang up and back with her feet, flipping away from him, then used the landing to spring herself back, now clear and facing Dustil's unprotected back. He ducked and swept his leg around backward, trying to trip her. At the same time, he sliced his lightsaber up to engage again.
But in this position, he lacked leverage. Juhani used her superior height and weight to bear down upon the human boy. He grit his teeth against the strain.
"Never yield the high ground!" she instructed him.
Dustil jackknifed, leaping off the ground with both feet to strike her in the stomach. He connected this time, and Juhani was thrust backward. She cried out in pain and surprise but still managed to get her guard up before Dustil had jumped to his feet again. They squared off a third time, and Dustil laughed through his bared teeth.
"What do you want, Juhani?" he demanded. "In the Sith, they teach us to chase it, not hang around positions that don't inspire us. Whatever else the Sith are, they got that right. You're a coward! Sticking around doing what you're told even when you hate it. When you hate what you're doing, you mess it up. Like taking care of Dak. Like the gizka. What's your passion?"
Juhani circled him, uncertain. She felt as though the boy had discovered a truth she had ignored. She accused him of sloppiness in his lightsaber forms; but he was right that while she had been lamenting her inaction in the thick of Aithne and Bastila's assignment, she herself had been careless in the assignments she had been given. And it was, it was because she found them uninspiring. Juhani was discontented. She was bored. And it had made her stupid. Reckless.
She had come on this mission hoping to find guidance under the Jedi who had saved her from herself in the grove on Dantooine. She had not come to be purposeless or redundant. She wanted to serve. But where?
Juhani didn't know. She lacked direction. She lacked root. And so, she had lost her conviction.
"Do you have a suggestion?" she asked. "Wise and all-knowing as you are?" She attacked him with a more advanced sequence, one he would not learn until a few years into his study. A petty vengeance.
Dustil dodged her attacks. Defended as best he was able. But he was not equipped to engage upon this level.
"The Jedi do not indulge their passions," she told him. "The Jedi find peace within their being, within what they are doing in the moment. In doing so, they achieve serenity. Embrace discipline and find enlightenment." She beat the training saber from his hand, caught it within her own off hand, and tossed it back.
"Yeah? And how's that working out for you?" Dustil asked her. All at once, their duel was over. Juhani sensed it as the boy turned away from her, demanding, toward his teacher and Aithne Moran instead. "How's that work?" he asked them. "Complacence in a purpose that doesn't move you. That doesn't sound like discipline! That sounds like stagnation to me! Help me out, here, 'cause I'm confused!" He exhaled, then began moving in the same sequence Juhani had just demonstrated, more slowly.
It was not the way Juhani had been taught to ask for training from her elder Jedi, yet that was clearly what Carth's son did now, she saw. He sought clarification on Jedi tradition and the way it was better than what he knew from his master and his captain; and training in lightsaber combat from herself. She did not know how she felt about the fact that it was her own mental and emotional shortcomings that had prompted his questions to the others. Yet she was honored to have her expertise as a warrior recognized. So she moved around Dustil, correcting him where he fell out of line. Dustil nodded his gratitude.
He was a good boy, Juhani realized. A good student of combat and of the Force. Aggressive, yes. Angry, but she had also been angry as a child, and sometimes she was still. But Dustil was not acting out of his anger now. He had challenged her initially not in a spirit of enmity but in an urge to protect the crew of Ebon Hawk, and then to help direct her energies. He interrogated the principles of the Jedi not to mock them but because he perceived a weakness, which they must resolve for him before he committed to do more than oppose those who had held him captive, lied to him, and murdered his dear ones, on Telos and on Korriban. Before Dustil Onasi committed to become a Jedi for himself, he would know that it was right.
He could be unpleasant enough, Juhani thought, and surely had been. But she thought she knew his heart now. She thought that she might like him.
"What do you want to know, Dustil?" Aithne asked from the side of the room.
Dustil raised his chin, welcoming her into the discussion. "You achieve your objective on Korriban by rejecting passion? By following the Light Side? Or did you get that map and get me out being the best damned Sith in the whole academy?"
Aithne did not answer. Dustil nodded. "Right. Right," he agreed, breathing heavy.
"Passion led me both ways on Korriban," Aithne said finally. "Through my passion on Korriban, I gained strength, like the Sith say. But also weakness. I contacted you, was motivated to find you the answers that you deserved. I resisted brainwashing and conquered my rage and anger. I also killed and tortured needlessly, became as distracted and vulnerable and mistake prone as Juhani has ever been. Equally through my passion. Passion can help sometimes. It's true. But I think that it's deceptive. What about you? To what ends has your passion led you through your life?"
It was Dustil's turn to be silent. He deactivated his training saber and threw it to Jolee Bindo, who caught it from the air. Then he bowed to Juhani.
"Thanks for the bout," he said.
"Anytime, Padawan."
"I'm not a padawan," Dustil growled.
"As you like."
"Need to meditate," Dustil said to everyone. "If it's still possible with those gizka. Will you go over it with me later?" He addressed the last to Jolee suddenly.
"What you determine about the impact of passion in your life? Certainly," Jolee answered. "If it helps, I think the truth lies somewhere between the Jedi perspective and your own. But I'd like to hear what you discover."
Dustil nodded. Then his dark eyes flicked back to her. "Figure out what you're doing here," he told her. "And if you Jedi are supposed to be living in the moment, maybe do that."
"You are correct," Juhani admitted at last. "About that, at least. I do owe you—all of you an apology." She bowed first to Dustil and then to Aithne. "I have felt my tasks too simple for me. Sometimes almost an insult. It has led me to resent, to neglect the tasks I should not. I am sorry for my dereliction. I am sorry for my distraction. I will do better. One reason the Jedi Council and I agreed I should be posted here was to mortify my pride, which almost led me to such disaster before. It seems I have yet to learn that lesson."
"It's a tough one," Aithne agreed. "For my part, I forgive you, Juhani—and I'm sorry too. I've felt better, having you guard the ship and the people on it. But if it's not how you feel you're best used, we can talk to the Council on Dantooine about getting you another assignment. I'm sure they could definitely use you at the front."
"Yeah, I know about feeling your assignment is a waste," Carth seconded. "For the record, I don't think you are wasted with us, Juhani. Our mission—our people are sensitive enough, we need you. We need your eyes. Need your lightsaber. We got . . . we got people hunting us on every planet that we've been to, and it's only gonna get worse. But if your heart isn't with us anymore, Dustil's right: you won't be able to help us to the best of your ability. I'd take some time, here. Figure out if you can commit or if you need to ask the Jedi to assign you elsewhere."
"Look, I gotta get back out there," Aithne told them. "We found the Czerka offices for Mission, visited the market, and booked a room for later tonight for her party, but all our information suggests we're going to have to head out on the dunes eventually, and we need some current maps and navigational tools. Best intel says the big game hunters—the ones after wraid and krayt dragons and such—are the ones we need to talk to. I was going to take Canderous and talk to them before coming back here to get ready for this evening, but Juhani? You want to come too?"
Juhani made a face. "Oh, so you finally invite me off the ship, but only in the company of that Mandalorian."
Aithne shrugged, and Juhani smiled at her. "It would be my pleasure, Aithne."
CANDEROUS
Canderous wasn't sure inviting the Cathar out to play was the best solution to her recent dereliction of her duties. Far as he was concerned, the Onasi kid had had the right idea making her defend herself. If he were Moran, he'd've probably had that Jedi girl on the worst, dirtiest jobs on Ebon Hawk for a week for Vesser and the gizka, or else have her hunt every last vermin on the ship until she was covered in their blood to prove her commitment to their crew. It was her fault they were there; she could damn well clean them up, and kriff their reproduction rate.
But he wasn't the captain. It was true, too, that she was a pretty good option for getting Tatooine's hunters to open up. Near two-meter tall warrior woman would get all of the game seekers on this dustball boasting and bragging about their best hunts, or else warning them away from their spots, which was almost just as good.
The Aruetii made an effort to talk to Juhani as they headed out of the port; told her about their morning shopping for the kid. "I picked up a nicer blaster for Carth's gift to her—he's been teaching Mish to shoot two pistols like he does, and this one's a better match for the one I gave her back on Taris than the old standby she's been using. She'll probably need to practice with it for a few weeks before she's ready to take it off the ship, but when she is, she'll be faster and more accurate, and the gun'll be less likely to break, too. Bas got her this pretty beaded headdress in case she wants a change from her usual lekku wraps; and Z went into a junk shop and got her the kind of scrap she likes to make her best spikes and lockpicks."
"And your gift?" Juhani asked.
Moran shrugged. "Figured it's probably about time Mission had an outfit that doesn't also function as protective plating."
Canderous frowned. "How old is the kid turning again?"
"Fifteen," Aithne answered.
Canderous snorted. "I was fifteen when I joined Clan Ordo as a warrior in my own right. When I dropped down on my first Basilisk. By age fifteen, Vao should never wear clothes without protection again."
The Jetii sighed. "I'm not raising her Mandalorian, Canderous. She'll choose whether she'll be a warrior or not, so she'll choose whether she'll wear armor or not."
"If she's with you, she's a warrior," Canderous argued. "Either that, or she's gonna end up dead. Vao doesn't have the Force to help protect her. She should take any other advantage she can get."
The women looked conflicted. For a couple of warriors themselves, they sure had trouble understanding people with weapons and armor were always stronger. If you really wanted to keep somebody safe, you gave them all the kit you could muster, and you taught them to use it better than any enemy they'd face. Every child under the stars ran into trouble sometime—it was good: kept them sharp, gave them honor and a purpose. Good parents, good clanmates didn't waste time crying about the danger. Didn't waste effort trying to wall off their young ones from the galaxy. That time was better spent preparing the next generation.
Moran and the others were halfway there—buying Vao a blaster, teaching both her and Dustil how to fight with every weapon they had available. But they were still hanging onto the delusion that they could stuff the young ones into some hole away from the war. As long as those kids were onboard with them, they were part of it, and knowing Mission and Dustil, they'd be throwing themselves in the very center.
The three of them made their way to the hunting lodge. One gutter rat there tried to chat up Moran. But he was a weak-chinned moron. Within two minutes he admitted both to having a wife in town and doing all his hunting with droids. He was an insect, and the Aruetii could've crushed him with her thumb, if that was her style. Would've been fun to watch her beat him down. Sadly, Canderous didn't think she'd made a habit of pulverizing idiots just for hitting on her, even when she'd been pretending to be a Sith back on Korriban. Moran wasn't his woman to defend. But he wished Carth had been around. He had a feeling Onasi might not have been so generous with the guy, and the sleazeball needed pounding.
Fortunately, there were a handful of other, more reasonable hunters in the room. One of 'em even copied his maps for Aithne onto a datapad—Canderous thought as an apology for the idiot and a trio of stinking Gamorreans looking sideways at them like they wanted to try hunting Trandoshan style. Unfortunately, the hunter—one Komad Fortuna—also told them that at the moment, the Czerka had a chokehold on the settlement. The only way out to the dunes was to show the guards at the gate a Czerka hunting license. Or join a mining crew, but that would take too long.
Canderous wondered whether they'd wind up wiping Czerka off another planet by the time they were done. It could be fun, but on the other hand, kill another whole installation of the pests, and they could wind up getting another bounty placed on their heads, and they had enough to deal with.
All in all, none of them were happy leaving the hunter's lodge heading back to Ebon Hawk. Didn't help that Tatooine was every bit the boot's underside Canderous had ever heard it was. You could be out in the suns for half an hour, and it felt like half a day. The wind blew, and the sand blew everywhere. If you weren't already dehydrated from the heat, that wind would do it for you, and before you knew it, your lips were twice their normal side and stinging, your throat was bone dry, and your hair and all your clothes had started to resemble the color of everything else on the dustball.
They had a swoop track, though. Canderous eyed it as they passed. He'd been doing maintenance and upgrades on Davik's old swoop during transits ever since Taris. It was something to do when if he didn't keep busy with something, he was just as likely to crash two of his crewmates' heads together. "Hey," he said to Moran, nodding at the track entrance. "Next time you go out without me, maybe I could try out Davik's old swoop bike. Could try and help out with the cash flow. You're gonna be out a lot with Mission here, right?"
"Sometimes, anyway," the Aruetii agreed, turning around to look at him speculatively. "Sure," she agreed then. "Think I've had enough of swoop racing for a lifetime, but we've got the bike and all. Might as well use it. Just stop before you waste the credits on the entrance fees if it turns out you aren't any good."
"Don't insult me," Canderous scoffed. "I know better than to waste our credits if I can't keep up with the locals. But I've built a couple of surprises into that bike. I think I can do all right."
"Rather do that than go hunting?" Aithne asked, curious.
By way of answer, Canderous reached out a hand, made a fist, then opened it again to show the Aruetii the grains of sand on his palm.
Juhani made a face. "It is intolerable, is it not?" she agreed.
"I went to the races back on Taris, sometimes," Canderous explained. "Hell, that and the rhakghouls is how I first saw what you could do. Never ridden myself, but learning with some risk there on the line could be an interesting challenge."
"Canderous?" A voice, not too friendly, hailed him. Canderous turned back to the doorway to the swoop track venue and saw a man. He looked familiar. Canderous took a second glance—the man was Mandalorian, he realized. Not like the Dar'manda they'd seen on other worlds. This one was one like him—a soldier who'd fought to the end and surrendered his beskar when Revan took down the Mandalore. You could see he'd started to reclaim his culture. Canderous hadn't done that. He hadn't had the heart after the end. Instead of working to create a new set of heirloom armor worthy of the Mando'ad, he'd contented himself with lesser materials. But this man had one beskar pauldron; a rocket launcher comparable to the weapons fired over Malachor.
And Canderous knew him. Hell, it'd been a good twenty years. He'd last seen this man as a boy, hardly older than Mission or Dustil back on Ebon Hawk, a young warrior just beginning to fight beside his clan. He'd been under Canderous's command . . .
Now, he was a man. In his prime, maybe a couple years younger than Carth.
Canderous stopped, signaled the women to stop. The man walked up to him and faced him, hands upon his hips. "Canderous," he said again. "So, we meet again. It has been quite a long time."
Canderous searched the man's face—the posture, the stiff lower lip, the narrowed eyes. He was looking for a fight. He hadn't seen another of his clansman for years. It should have been a time for celebration. But this man—the last time he had seen him . . .
"Jagi," he said slowly.
"Canderous," Moran said carefully, picking up on the mood. "Who is this guy?"
"He . . . he was a warrior under my command up to the battle of Althir," Canderous answered.
"First or second?"
"The one I told you about," Canderous answered. "The first. But I thought—"
"You thought I was dead, didn't you?" Jagi interrupted, eyes flashing. "You thought all of us that you had sent on that attack had perished! You sent us to die in a foolish attack while you directed your forces elsewhere! You broke from the battle plan and let us die for it so that you could have the 'honor' of being the first to the enemy commander!
"I have been tracking you for years, Canderous," Jagi announced. "After Taris, I never thought to see you again. Until I heard your employer's ship had been sighted on Edean and then Korriban." Jagi said, lip curling. "And here you are, in the company of two Jetiise scum! Traitor!"
/Your people swore no vengeance upon the Jedi after the fall of Mandalore/ Moran pointed out quickly. /Canderous is my employee in an honorable contract, a strong sword arm against worthy enemies./
/Don't/ Canderous told her, even as Jagi's eyes flashed.
/You dare . . ./
Aithne's eyes flicked back to Canderous, but she stood down.
"I . . . at the battle, I acted with prudence," Canderous said, turning the conversation away from the Aruetii and to the charge against him, and returning to Basic to keep it informal. "If I had not done it, the battle would have—"
Jagi cut him off. "—The battle would have been won anyway! I will not hear your excuses, Canderous!"
"There is a difference between an excuse and an explanation," Aithne said quietly.
Jagi's hand flew back. "Slana'pir, osi'yaim!" he shouted. Juhani and Canderous moved at once. Canderous took the blow Jagi aimed for Moran on his gauntlet and threw him back. Juhani activated her lightsaber and held it at the ready, eyes blazing.
"My employer has offered you neither insult nor provocation," Canderous said sharply. "Where is your honor?"
"Where is yours?!" Jagi demanded. "Since the clans were banished, I have hunted you to ask this! This is a personal matter between us! I will have my vengeance!"
Canderous frowned. "Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod," he warned. "Hear me, Jagi!"
"I will not!" Jagi declared. "You shed our blood all too willingly in the skies above Althir and defied your mandate to do it! Fame-hunter! Glory-seeker! Coward and traitor! I challenge you, Canderous! I challenge you to fight the fight you fled that day above Althir! Come out to the dune seas. I will be waiting for you, and I will spread the news of this challenge to all the surviving clans! We shall meet in the desert to settle this debt of vengeance once and for all. If you fail to meet me there, you shall be stripped of all honor and forever cast out of our society. It will be you and me alone in the dune sea: a final battle that can only end in death!"
"He's not free," Aithne interjected once again, voice cold. "I tell you: he is my employee and under my protection. The others of our party may speak for themselves, but if you fight Canderous, you fight me as well."
/This is not your fight/ Canderous warned the Aruetii, without taking his eyes off Jagi. So. His honor was to be challenged? Rather than unite their clan again, this pissant wanted to tear it further apart over a settled part of Mandalore's teachings, a matter that had been long since determined?
/I do not fear you, Jedi bitch/ Jagi snarled. He added to Juhani, reverting to Basic, "If you choose, you can die by his side as well."
The Cathar hesitated, looked back at Aithne. "What is this battle he speaks of, Canderous?"
"I'll explain to you back at the ship," Aithne told her, also without taking her eyes from Jagi. "This man may have a genuine grievance, but he's unjustified in seeking retribution under Mandalorian law as established by his leader at the time of the battle. He's out of line." She signaled the Cathar, and Juhani deactivated her lightsaber.
/You know nothing of which you speak, Jedi, however quick your tongue/ Jagi hissed. "I hope you do come to the dunes. I will gladly kill you alongside this traitor!"
He turned and strode away.
Canderous clenched and unclenched his fists. "I cannot ignore his challenge. Don't save me from it, Arue—" he broke off. Somehow, the words he'd always used for Moran didn't work anymore. She had a better understanding of Mandalorian law than his clansman. But if he didn't prove his innocence on that idiot's body soon, he'd be disgraced across the diaspora. Any hope of returning to his people would be gone. He hadn't even realized he wanted to return.
But the war with the Jedi was over. Revan was dead. The vow they had sworn to her could die too.
"Don't save me from it, Aithne," he growled. "I must face him alone. My honor demands it."
"On the dunes, your honor won't be worth a gold helmet's chance in a firefight," Aithne retorted. "It's a wasteland. With no witnesses, that man could bring fifteen men to kill you if he wants, relying on your precious honor to get you there alone. Besides. You aren't leaving the gates without a hunting license, and we need to get one anyway. I'm coming."
"Moran—" Canderous started.
"I won't intervene if I don't have to," she promised. "Any more than I intervened in Dustil's fight with Juhani this morning. But I don't trust that guy. Do you?"
Canderous stared at the younger woman. "I'm not asking for your help," he reiterated. "This is between me and Jagi." Still. The kind of loyalty Moran was showing—he hadn't had that from an employer. Ever. As a bounty hunter, he was used to sticking his neck out for the assholes who hired him. Hadn't ever had one return the favor.
And she was right. If Jagi hadn't had his ears cleaned out after Althir when Mandalore had addressed his performance, if he'd hit a kinsman's fair employer—he couldn't be trusted to know shit when he smelled it. It was ugly to think it, but he maybe could use some backup.
"I . . . cannot," the Cathar said, looking away. "Perhaps if I knew the details, but I—you are not what I thought you were when we began, Canderous. Yet I cannot commit violence for the sake of your honor in your people's war upon the galaxy. I will not. Not even . . . not even to save your life. I . . . I am sorry."
Canderous stared at her. "Cathar—Juhani. I don't expect you—either of you—to fight some idiot to the death to avenge your enemy's reputation. We're colleagues, not friends—"
"You're my friend," Aithne interrupted, fiercely. /Canderous. I know your name/ she told him then. In Mando'a, the phrase meant more than it would've done in Basic. Canderous met Moran's eyes. She knew what she was saying. It wasn't the version of the phrase that meant they were parent and child, father and daughter or vice versa. A woman three decades younger could claim someone his age as her kid. It didn't usually happen because it was ridiculous. But she also wasn't using the version of the phrase that meant they were partners—a good thing. He would've had to let her down if she had. Not only was she far enough into whatever thing she had going with Onasi that they really ought to have been three months past the vows, sharing a bunk instead of those dumb longing looks, and spoken vows for one another's children besides, he wasn't free.
But her phrasing in Mando'a did assert a kinship nonetheless—that the two of them were of a clan—and it reminded him of something she'd said to him before, when she was trying to explain why they were sending Sasha back to her people. He'd thought she was speaking metaphorically at the time, using her translation skills to make a point she wanted made. Instead, she'd been saying, months back, that they were family—either that she claimed a stake in Clan Ordo or was establishing a new clan on Ebon Hawk and called him not only her employee but her comrade-at-arms, a person she would fight beside not only as a matter of practicality but one of honor and satisfaction.
/I know your name/ she repeated, in case he hadn't understood her the first time. "I'll go with you. /I will stand for your honor and your place among the clans./
Canderous searched her face. Then he extended his hand, and Aithne, knowing what she wanted of him, didn't shake his hand like an employer or a contractor, agreeing on a deal. She took his forearm like a clan sister.
/So let it be/ he agreed. "Thank you. I don't expect Jagi to be out on the dunes until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. It will take him time to spread the word to the clans. Especially from here. When I meet him, I will welcome your assistance."