Hutt Campaign I
Setting the Chessboard
Landren stared at Gladiolus as she climbed the ramp into the Dearg Due. He had flinched when the Jedi's shuttle suddenly exploded. In a heartbeat, he understood she was responsible. She glanced at him as if sensing the dozen thoughts buzzing in his head. She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent. It was only when she closed the boarding ramp that he asked, "Finished with your business on Ziost?"
"Yes. We are free to depart."
He nodded slowly, considering her with an uncertain eye. "What of the Jedi?"
"She has been dealt with." Gladiolus removed the Jedi's lightsaber from her belt and thumbed the ignition. Only the snap-hiss was familiar to the spacer. He blinked, seeing the cheery golden blade illuminating the shuttle's interior. "I have decided on our next destination?"
"Oh, you have?" said Landren, sounding rather relieved. Gladiolus shot him a curious look, as though she expected him to remain uncertain of her whims. He did not exactly trust her, but she could be quite sensible at times. "And so where am I to take Your Lordship?"
"Hutt Space," she answered, deactivating the fallen Jedi's weapon. "They are the next foe. I have already crippled one slaver operation. I sense they peddle enough slaves to be a major player. And so I must ruin them forever."
He stared at her dumbly, wondering if she was serious. Her face did not change. He coughed, chuckled lightly, and then his head snapped back as a barking laugh escaped him. Gladiolus stared at Landren. He felt her gaze even before his head came back down. He continued to chuckle, even as a troubled feeling seeped up through him.
"You're… You cannot be serious!" Landren said, trying to not sound hysterical. "The Hutts have influence far beyond their space! Why, I'd hazard they control half the Outer Rim, either directly or indirectly!"
"It matters not," Darth Gladiolus declared. "Their space is theirs. It has resisted the Republic and the Sith. I will not permit them to continue as they always have, especially when they are vital drivers in the galactic slave trade."
"You genuinely care," Landren remarked, surprised.
"I was once in a position all too similar to theirs," the Sith Lord admitted. "But that was before I gained my powers. I was someone else, then."
Landren stared at her. He had picked up enough during his time with Gladiolus to know that she had scrambled and fought to gain her power. She would not relinquish it without a fight—and she had a strange empathy toward those in a position similar to her in the past.
He nodded to himself. Her sense of self meant she could not allow anyone to live through whatever happened in her past. It made her worthy to follow, even if Landren feared it would lead to trouble. For now, he would return to the cockpit and prepare to leave Sith Space behind.
Darth Gladiolus meant to shake the galaxy, and she would begin in the Hutt's quaint corner.
The Dearg Due departed Ziost without fanfare. Gladiolus stored her trophy lightsaber before the repulsorlifts activated. She then claimed the seat behind Landren, content to watch as stars filled the viewport and then stretched out and swirled into the vortex of hyperspace. She watched her pilot fiddle with the navigation computer, mapping the next stage of their journey. While she demanded they make for Hutt Space so she could begin her crusade against the filthy slugs and their slaving ways, he made a concerted effort to keep their destination a secret from her. Though she could compel the truth from him or divine it through the Force, the fact he wanted to keep it secret amused Gladiolus enough she permitted him to maintain the illusion. She would permit him to act freely. He acted in her interest often enough she could almost trust him.
They journeyed for the better part of five days before they reached the system Landren dared name as their destination. Twice they stopped for supplies. Whenever they did, the Sith Lord occupied the same cargo hold used for her training throughout her travels across the stars. Gladiolus was content to leave handling their resupply to Landren. She practiced with her trophy lightsaber. There had been attempts to wield both, but she found the technique unwieldy. Even so, the technique lingered in the recesses of her mind. The thought of surprising a foe with two blades amused her. She did consider speaking with those holocrons she possessed with knowledge of lightsaber dueling before setting the idea aside. If she decided to pursue wielding two blades seriously, then she would seek knowledge then. As it stood, learning that trick would be a distraction.
As for their destination, she learned once the star field of normal space returned was the desert world of Sriluur, situated just outside of Hutt Space along the Sisar Run. Moons orbited the yellowish, craggy world as Landren headed toward it.
"It's important for the Hutts in this part of the Outer Rim," Landren said when Gladiolus glanced at him. "As for this world, I thought the uncertainty of the conflict between the two main peoples on it could give us a place to… hide and maybe even recruit if you desired it."
Gladiolus nodded, though she remained heavily skeptical she could recruit from a world associated with the Hutts and the filth influenced by the slug race. She would happily destroy any associated with the slave trade. As for those uninvolved but connected to the Hutts and their operations, she would grant them one of two options: join or die.
"I also have a contact willing to meet us here," continued Landren. "I sent word to him our first resupply stop. He should arrive soon enough that we can move into Hutt Space if you have no desire to linger here."
Gladiolus frowned. She disliked surprises unless she was the one springing them on others. To learn that Landren plotted behind her back—even for her benefit—while she reveled in the glory of killing a Jedi left her annoyed. She believed his contact would be of use. The Sith Lord already sensed that truth. She was merely peeved that he dared keep it from her until now.
The Dearg Due headed for a small space station orbiting Sriluur. Several ships floated near the small station, including a trio of cruisers that struck Gladiolus as being familiar.
Very, very familiar.
She smiled and released her anger at Landren. Should the meeting he planned on her behalf turn out fruitless, she had another plot ready to put into motion.
She merely needed to find the pirate captain she met after passing through Chiss Space and corner him.
Landren glanced between a pallid Niem Ganbohr and a grinning Gladiolus. When he had scheduled this particular meeting, he had hoped some time would pass before his employer—he found it easiest to think of the Sith Lord in those terms—would force Niem to join her and supply both ships and intelligence of the galactic underworld. Instead, Gladiolus's sulfuric eyes shimmered while Niem swallowed his swagger. Landren sighed and muttered, "I assume you two have met?"
"Oh, we most certainly have!" Gladiolus said, chipper like children on Life Day morning. Landren guessed he had gifted her the pirate with them. "Why, he dared use his interdiction ship against me! Oh, and there was that nasty, nasty business with slavers."
If Niem Ganbohr's face had not already achieved a degree of paleness that would make snow jealous, Landren would have expected the pirate captain to be whiter than an Alderaanian maiden. Another sigh escaped the pirate captain, longer and pained.
"Yes, well… I've managed to extract myself from that business," Niem said defensively. "Especially after one of my business associates in the Mid Rim turned up dead! His operation, destroyed by a Jedi!"
"…was this operation by chance set on Ord Mantell?" asked Gladiolus.
Landren shivered at her intensity.
"…so it was you," Niem said, unsurprised by the news. Landren thought that Niem was grateful that Darth Gladiolus slaughtered however many people she found involved with the business she discovered on Ord Mantell. "I had planned to betray them to you whenever I got the chance—I never received a holocomm address so I could contact you, by the way—but you managed to reach them first." He then smiled, exposing his relief. "I would have been terrified if someone else with Jedi powers was running around killing my former contacts involved with slave trading."
"Oh, there are people worse than me running around the galaxy Niem," Gladiolus said mockingly. "I'm only the devil you know."
"…and so you are," he admitted. Niem turned to Landren. "So, what business did you wish to discuss? Please don't tell me this whole affair was set up so I could meet your crazed employer—she is paying you, yes?"
"I'm getting what I want from this," Landren said, wishing he could be completely honest. "I did set this up so you could meet with her. She'll require allies involved in our business if she's going to achieve her newest goal."
Niem glanced between Landren and Gladiolus several times. "…and what devilry does this witch seek to employ?"
Gladiolus beamed as she proudly announced, "I will bring the Hutts to heel. I shall achieve what generations of Jedi, Sith, and every other power in the galaxy has failed to achieve. By the time I am finished with them, not a soul will ever speak of the Hutt cartels with fear of what they might do."
"You're mad."
"I understand why you think me mad, Niem," she said softly. A thick allure filled her voice. "But know this: I will also succeed." Gladiolus straightened and expanded. Commanding. "It will take time and effort, but even the Hutts can fall. They are not invincible. They are not indestructible. Like all things, they will come to an end. Twenty thousand years have they been a power in the galaxy. Within my lifetime, their legacy shall be forever shattered. Forgotten, replaced with that which I desire to be known of them until the end of time."
Niem glanced at Landren, eyes begging for help or merely some sanity. "I believe in her," he told his fellow scoundrel. "She might not have the ships and men to achieve her final aim yet. But if she wants to bring down the Hutts, then their days are numbered." He glanced at her. Her expression was annoyingly unreadable. "She's managed to escape situations that should've been her end. She has even handed one foe their death."
Niem breathed out heavily. He glanced at his guards, who all stared at Gladiolus with fear in their eyes and hands on their blasters. "It's not like I have a choice. If I allowed my people to know Lord Gladiolus has returned and that I risked going against her, half would mutiny and the other half would stand back and watch as the mutineers spaced me!"
"Then you're decided," Gladiolus declared.
"I am," Niem confessed, pained. "I'll inform my people. What do you want from me?"
"Everything you know about slaver operations within Hutt Space to begin with. Once the time comes, your ships shall answer my summons."
"I'll compile everything my people have and send it to you." Niem then glanced at Landren as if saying: I'll give you the best, and her the rest.
Gladiolus merely smiled. Landren shivered, for terror ran through him. He had been right to link himself to this woman, though some days he feared what might become of the galaxy once her ambitions were finally settled.
Hopefully whatever she received from Niem would satisfy her. Else, Landren might have to shoulder the weight of plotting and planning her war against the Hutts.
The Dearg Due slipped out of hyperspace two days after the meeting over Sriluur. The shuttle emerged almost five hundred thousand kilometers from the world of Ylesia. Of the worlds in the list of slave colonies provided to Darth Gladiolus by the pirate captain Niem, it provided her with the most value in terms of striking against the Hutts. She had learned of their division into kajidic clans. Their rivalries could be exploited and create divisions perfect for her to slip through, break apart any unity in their race, and then shatter them utterly. A grand council might govern the Hutts, but that would prove powerless against her.
Ylesia was a blue world with hints of white clouds and a number of small, verdant continents. No moon orbited the world nor were there ships in orbit.
Gladiolus glanced at Landren as he monitored the comm. She had expected an immediate challenge to their arrival. Niem's records had been slightly incomplete since it suggested someone would be present. Yet the records possessed enough truth that she believed someone would contact them.
"This is strange," Landren muttered as the Dearg Due's sublight engines brought them to four hundred kilometers from Ylesia. "Someone should have contacted us by now."
"Maybe they wish for us to draw closer," Gladiolus suggested.
The spacer frowned. He then glanced at her. "Can't the Force tell you what's happening down there?"
Gladiolus stared at the blue world, searching and sensing for anything that would bring clarity to the comm silence. There were communication relays on Ylesia, yet for some reason, they did not wish to reach out. The people onworld were content to ignore the approaching shuttle, seemingly satisfied in their mental imprisonment. Her hands clenched tightly as a ball of fury ballooned within her.
"Bring us forward," she snarled. "If they wish to remain silent, then we will force words from them!"
"But that wasn't the plan," Landren warned. "All we are meant to do is to—"
"I want this world," Gladiolus suddenly declared. "I want Ylesia! I want the slavers on it dead at my feet! We will free their slaves this day, Landren!"
"And what if they don't embrace the freedom you impose on them? What if you cannot take Ylesia alone and it returns to being a slave colony again?"
The Sith Lord sniffed. "I have no use for weaklings. If they're content being slaves, then I will grant them a merciful death."
Landren considered her, disturbed within and without. She sensed his swirling emotions along with a faint impulse to question her desires. She knew that he disliked the thought of killing the slaves who did not embrace their freedom. Gladiolus found the prospect distasteful, but it had to be done. To permit those compliant in their enslavement to live risked casting falsehoods over the freedom and power Gladiolus offered. And for all her sins and vices, Darth Gladiolus would not lie. Deception did not require one to utter a falsehood.
They should be pleased with the knowledge that those weak and foolish enough to reject freedom and liberty have been culled. Traitors would have arisen from that number to drag them all back into the chains of servitude.
"Land on Ylesia, Landren."
"…not yet," the spacer murmured. A furrow formed between his brows while his lips flattened to a line "I can't say why, but I have this feeling that now isn't the time to strike at Ylesia. Something feels… off. Wrong."
Gladiolus stared at the spacer, relying on the Force to better understand his willingness to deny her. She did not like being passive in the Force, but something about Landren's reaction unsettled her enough to rely on its great power. He should trust her implicitly, and be willing to follow her commands and orders without question. Instead, he dared go against her—and worse, she sensed that he would double down on his unwillingness to follow her commands.
All based on a feeling.
"Do you have a better plan than mine, Landren?" She leaned in and whispered into his ear, "Is there something you hide from me? Something to convince me to forget your defiance?"
He glanced at her, then back to the viewport. "A slaver convoy. Niem's willing to let you borrow his ships for an operation. Yank them from lightspeed. Board and free the enslaved."
Gladiolus smiled sweetly as she said, "Tell me more of this convoy, Landren."
A look crossed his face as though he regretted every choice he made since their meeting above Muunilinst. Yet Landren spoke convincingly enough that they departed Ylesia shortly after.
Seven ships tumbled out of hyperspace, yanked from their jump by an interdiction cruiser sitting behind two other cruisers. A singular shuttle hung in space nearby. Though it was four against seven—the Dearg Due might be small, but it packed firepower—there was no guarantee of victory. At least for any usual pirates there would have been no guarantee of victory. But they had Darth Gladiolus, Dark Lord of the Sith, with them. Though she had no real experience with battle meditation, she trusted in her training under Lady Bastila, one of history's greats with that power. Her power swayed the tide of ancient battles. On that day, it would claim a simple but glorious victory.
Gladiolus breathed slowly, eyes closed as she bent the Force to her will. She delved into her innermost self, where the seed of her need and will to control all readied to flower. Once that aspect of her nature filled every inch of herself, she turned her power outward. With the Force, she touched the mind of every soul aboard the eleven ships present. Her brow twitched upon sensing the fear, the dismay, the surrender within those destined for slave markets. Many had abandoned themselves to their fate, unwilling to believe deliverance might ever dawn upon them.
The Sith seeped into every enslaved mind. She stole their fear, their terror, their confusion, and uncertainty. She poured into them the calm center she, as a Sith, rejected. Jedi clam was required at this moment. She then whispered to each and every one of them, no matter how it sickened her: 'Your salvation is nearly at hand. You must merely be patient. You will be saved. Trust in the Force.'
Gladiolus withdrew her attention from the prisoners, content with their calming mood. Her mind moved to the cruisers arrayed against the slavers. Landren knew her plan and did not require the touch of battle meditation. She had wanted to place him under its sway, but he had successfully argued against the need. He could be trusted, after all.
The crews of Niem's three ships reacted harshly to her touch, but she swiftly imposed upon them an understanding that their sole hope to emerge from battle victorious and alive was to trust in her and her power. They knew their roles and would be permitted just enough leeway so Gladiolus did not need to directly impose commands on them.
The interdictor ship remained in the rear while the other cruisers pressed forward, drifting apart to encircle the seven slaver ships. They fired long-distance turbolasers, focusing on shield generators. Gladiolus did not trust the gunners to avoid reactors while targeting enemy weapon systems. The slaver ships maintained their most important systems near where they held their prisoners.
Though cowardly, I see the merit in their trick. It makes gunners nervous in the case of rescues. Thankfully, we have other methods to handle their tricky methods of defense.
She thumbed her comm. "Landren. Begin preparations for our first boarding."
"Are you certain? The shields are still—"
"They will fall soon, Landren. First boarding preparations. And inform Niem to put his troopers to use."
He harshly clicked off his comm, striking back at her with feedback. Gladiolus grimaced while she maintained her focus. She remained in battle meditation as her attention shifted to the crews of the slaver ships. She bypassed the captains to focus on those charged with navigation, defenses, weapons, and most importantly to her: guarding their captives. She plucked at their confidence and focus, distracting them. Every little sound. Every sudden movement. Gladiolus willed them to allow a touch of focus to be shredded away by them, and thus ruin their certainty in their tasks. Against any other foe, these seven would have an easy time blasting apart their foe.
But they had no defense against a Sith Lord. They were powerless before the almighty strength of the dark side of the Force, and so they would be destroyed. Their cargo—bile rose in Darth Gladiolus's throat, thinking of people as cargo—would be liberated. Beginning today, the galaxy would learn of her and her power.
But they would be fed a particular lie. The truth of Darth Gladiolus would not be revealed now.
"First boarding is ready," reported Landren. With a softer tone, he added, "Are you certain about this, Gladiolus?"
"I am," she declared. Her mind reached out for the last piece required for her deception. "And call me Knight Rynn once we've boarded. I wish for the Jedi to believe a lie. One that they will struggle to peel apart until it is too late."
Archaic hangar doors exploded inward, permitting a matte black shuttle ease of entry. Two laser canons in the under chassis fired into a pack of pirates itching to enter their boarding craft. Their shuttles exploded, incinerating several and sending the rest flying. The firing continued for several more seconds. The moment the matte black shuttle's sensors determined all hostiles were dead, the boarding ramp lowered and a dark-robed figure dropped to the hangar floor. She shot forward as the shuttle retracted its ramp. It then turned about and returned to the battle beyond, just as the delayed magnetic field sealed the breached hangar bay.
The figure slipped from the bay, down a steam-filled corridor, and reached the turbolift shaft. Instead of waiting, the figure ignited a yellow lightsaber and carved through the door. A few seconds later, they vanished into the shaft. The last the nearest holocam saw was the fluttering of their dark cloak through the hole.
"Captain. We've lost track of the intruder."
Captain Monrail sighed wearily and then rubbed a large, permanent bump on his forehead. He regretted signing on with this slave convoy, but his debts had accumulated to the point that if he did not work toward paying them off, he would end up like his cargo. If he were fortunate, he would spend decades piloting the pleasure craft of whichever Hutt ended up owning him. After all, he owed debts to at least a half dozen Hutts.
He remained uncertain how many he owed money to. He planned to figure out that list in the future.
"At least tell me it's only the one," the captain said as he turned to his security officer. Ven Ramona was shifty, which made sense. After all, the Twi'lek profited off the trade of his fellow Twi'leks. Monrail disliked Twi'leks by nature, and slaver ones especially. "Or did that shuttle jettison something else?"
"Only the Jedi," Ven replied tersely. The Twi'lek then sneered. "They came alone."
"You assume that was a Jedi."
"I saw a lightsaber! Only a Jedi would dare carry one!"
"Or someone who killed a Jedi," Monrail countered. "Jedi go missing often enough in the Outer Rim a few must have been killed and their weapon taken as a trophy."
Ven scoffed. "I have heard enough tales of the Jedi to know only their kind can kill them."
Monrail shrugged. He doubted the tales of the Jedi that Ven knew. Not that the tales mattered that much. As long as his cargo reached its destination in the Circumtore system Monrail would not worry about the Jedi. Given they had not made progress toward escaping the locality of whichever cruiser carried an interdictor field, a successful delivery was increasingly unlikely.
That all assumes the boarder is a Jedi to begin with. They rarely enter Hutt Space, and only ever do with a hundred eyes fixed on them at all times.
A shout arose from the far side of the narrow bridge. As Monrail turned to address the issue, an officer sprung from their seat, nearly tripped over their neighbor and hurried to where the captain waited with a raised eyebrow.
"It's the prisoners, sir!" the anxious Rodian shouted. "The Jedi! She's freeing them!"
"What?" boomed Monrail as he stormed past the nervous Rodian to their abandoned station. The Rodian trailed after him, muttering lowly in their annoying native tongue. "What do you mean the Jedi is freeing the cargo?"
"That's what she's doing!" the Rodian said, as though repeating the words would explain everything that Captain Monrail apparently did not understand. "Cell by cell! Not all of the cargo is following her, but she's leaving the cells unlocked and arming whoever she can!"
Smart, was Monrail's first thought. It was followed by a trickle of fear. She wants those who are willing to fight to remain by her side, while the rest wait until their path to freedom is clear. He then sighed and muttered, "Order everyone we have down there. Blasters set to stun. I don't want some trigger-happy fool blasting a hole in our merchandise while trying to take down the Jedi."
"Sir, I don't think that'll work," the Rodian muttered, ringing overly long fingers.
"If she's what everyone believes she is, it won't matter! We don't have the personnel or the equipment to overcome a trained Jedi without gassing the level." He sighed and made what could be a rash decision. "Let's hope she's only some fool who picked up a lightsaber. We have enough bodies that someone will score a lucky hit."
Plus, she's attractive enough to repay the trouble she's causing, Monrail thought as he watched footage of the cellblocks. The woman had lost her cloak, revealing she was a young human woman dressed in spacer clothes. Even with the distortion of the cameras, he could tell her brilliant emerald eyes and soft features would earn a pretty penny in the slave markets. With her agility and grace, she would have a prosperous life as a dancer in a Hutt's court.
Unfortunately, the longer he watched, the more he believed the woman was a Jedi. A chill ran through the captain. He glanced at his comm officer, wondering if he should alert the other ships, or if he should keep his mouth shut and let them handle the attacking cruisers running over for the Jedi's boarding action.
Best I handle this myself. If I bring down the Jedi, my debts will vanish and I might even pocket some profit. Better yet, I can claim the glory for myself.
Monrail checked the blaster at his waist. It had a full charge. He nodded to himself and then turned to Ven. "Come along, then. We got a Jedi to capture."
The Twi'lek grinned widely and, as Monrail left the narrow bridge, followed in his wake. Monrail only hoped the path before him would not end with his death. Ven could perish and he would not lose a wink of sleep.
Darth Gladiolus found ease in freeing blasters from their security hold so she could hand them to freed prisoners. Pretending to be the Jedi Knight Whae Rynn, dead on Ziost, was more difficult. Even so, she would not doubt her deception. Her belief powered the glamour covering her face. Her effort was necessary for the first stage of her plot to turn the people of the Republic against the Jedi. The Council back on Coruscant would be forced to account for her actions. And while they would certainly attempt to investigate her—she would need to be careful about keeping them ignorant—the public would be left with the conflicting views of a Jedi willing to do what was necessary and an order unwilling to enforce the laws and virtues of their Republic.
And just like Revan, I shall blacken the name of Jedi until the people happily flock to my Sith Empire. They will cast aside their "democracy" for they'll believe my will to be their will.
Those in the first cells she opened had been unwilling or too fearful to follow her. Their spirits had been cowed, crushed. They had spent long enough in the possession of slavers they had lost their humanity—most were not human, yet she sensed that bright spark of sapience her species possessed in spades—and descended to the level of animals. If she were Darth Gladiolus in truth, she would eviscerate them. But a Jedi could not kill the innocent.
Fortunately, some still held tight to their humanity. They still possessed the will to live and fight. It was the fifth cell, filled with burly, scarred Twi'leks, that she found her first soldiers.
"May we fight with you, Jedi?" one asked. The others looked ready to demand blasters and begin fighting. Whatever security they had on this level had already been repelled. "We have heard the legends. But to see it firsthand…"
Gladiolus tossed him a blaster with the Force. "Any who will fight for their freedom is welcome to stand by me."
"And what of those who won't fight," another asked.
"They have elected to remain where they are until we can lead them to freedom."
They nodded. She then sent blasters to the others. Gladiolus proceeded to the next cell and the one after that. More emerged, though most were content to remain in their cells and wait. A few surprised Gladiolus and asked for blasters. She sensed their unwillingness to be returned to servitude, yet they lacked the fortitude to actively fight for their freedom. They, Gladiolus knew, would taste freedom in time. She believed they would become ardent in its defense. Perhaps more ardent than those who stood and fought for their freedom this day.
About half of the cells had been opened when the first wave of enemies emerged from the far lift. Gladiolus used a burst of Force speed to move between her unprepared soldiers and their attackers. That familiar snap-hiss filled the level, even if the blade was an unfamiliar color.
The attackers shouted, "Jedi!" and opened fire. Some shot blue rings, while the rest fired red bolts at her.
Gladiolus deflected their attacks while maintaining an eye on the warriors gathered to her side. Those furthest worked their way forward, taking potshots while they moved from cover to cover. Others moved to cover Gladiolus while the rest continued the process of opening every cell and arming those willing to fight.
Enemy numbers thinned swiftly. Gladiolus feared them not, for they were powerless before the might of the dark side. Her power of battle meditation, though relegated to a passive power to embolden her allies and degrade her foes, lingered in their system. The Force linked all who lived together. And while normally she detested that aspect of its nature, it granted her benefits in combat she could not justify abandoning. She knew the minds and hearts of those against her. Thus she turned their attacks against them with ease.
Seventeen corpses rested near the lift when the blasters fell silent. Four had retreated, while two more hid beyond her sight. She sensed their presence and the sweetness of their fear. It would be simple to reach out with the Force and break them. But that was not the Jedi's way. While she thought of herself as Darth Gladiolus despite her glamour, these people had to know her as only Whae Rynn, Jedi Knight, for now. The dead Jedi would be the only one among her order willing to take a stand against the Hutts and the slavers they emboldened.
That was what they would believe until the truth came to light: it was the Sith, not the Jedi, who delivered them to freedom.
She remained poised, ready to fight once more. Movement fluttered about the ship. More so, she had not seized the bridge yet. The enemy aboard could not turn this battle against her now. The other vessels remained distracted by Niem's cruisers, who all held to the plan. She focused her mind on the fleet, drawing them into better positions. Armored men resonated with her power, ready to board enemy ships and seize control.
Soon, boys. Soon.
Gladiolus removed a comlink from a pouch on her left hip. She thumbed the receiver before saying, "Landren. Keep an eye on the battle above. I'll get the situation on this vessel under control and then call for you."
"Understood, Knight Rynn. May the Force be with you."
She rolled her eyes, back to those freed by her hand. "And with you." She then put her comlink away. Her armed followers stood nearby, waiting for commands. "I need to know if anyone present is familiar with the layout and structure of this vessel—"
Her lightsaber swung behind her back, deflecting two blaster bolts she had sensed more than heard. Gladiolus reflected three more before the surprise attack stopped. She frowned and turned to face her failed attackers. She sensed someone beyond the stack of corpses left behind. Weapon raised high, buzzing by her ear, Gladiolus approached the opening. She inched toward the presence, circling the mound of corpses with care. She heard the prisoners arguing amongst themselves; they did not understand the nuisance of the Force, the way it alerted her to dangers and trouble. She snorted. A Jedi might attempt to explain the nature of the Force, but that was not in her nature. More so, she did not wish to waste her time explaining the Force to anyone incapable of touching its majesty. They needed freedom more than they needed answers for her tricks.
She found an ugly man with a bump on his head trapped under a few corpses. His blaster had tumbled from his hand and landed a few inches beyond his reach. She watched his pitiful attempts to crawl out from beneath the dead.
"You must be the captain," Gladiolus said, pretending she was truly a Jedi. The captain froze, terrified. She lifted a body from atop him with the Force. "Please surrender. You've lost today."
The captain froze. "How can I believe you?"
"Because you are trapped under the bodies of your men. If you were in a position to stop me, our conversation would go a very different way."
"You killed my people."
"They shot first," Gladiolus said. "I prefer to not take lives. But they forced my hand."
"And what about me? I was involved."
"You were. But you are also alive. Something tells me you could be trusted, Captain…"
"…Monrail. I'm Captain Monrail." He glanced between her and his discarded blaster. They both knew what would happen next "If I join you, can you promise I'll live?"
"You and anyone else who surrenders," said Gladiolus with bile in the back of her mouth. "My interest lies in ending the Hutt slave trade. I would prefer to seek mercy and justice wherever I can. Unfortunately, those who have suffered struggle to understand where they should turn their anger. They cannot let it go, and they take it out on those nearest to where they suffered."
Captain Monrail stared at Gladiolus. She saw the base cunning in his gaze. She felt his mind turning and whirling. Given the anxiety and doubts still plaguing him, the man likely had a connection to the Hutts he could not easily sever. But if they were destroyed, then perhaps whatever led him to captain a slave ship could push him her way. She slid that idea—that hope—into his head, nearly granting herself a migraine in the process. His fear moved like molasses and was not easily swayed from familiar routes.
"Will you protect me from the Hutts?" he asked softly.
Gladiolus nodded, projecting a soft Jedi smile. "Of course. That is my duty as a Jedi."
The captain released a relieved sigh. "Just promise the slav—the prisoners won't kill my people."
"I'll do what I can to preserve the lives of your crew. But if they attempt to retake this ship and return to your prior course, they may take actions contrary to my orders."
He sighed again, pained. "I understand."
"I hoped you would. Their anger will bloom soon. Some may attempt to go behind my back to extract their pound of flesh."
"You'll stop them?"
"I will do everything in my power to protect your people—assuming they surrender."
"They will," the captain said. "Anyone willing to defend this ship against you is already dead. The rest will fall into line once they know that I have surrendered the ship to you."
"Then, Captain Monrail, I happily accept your surrender."
Almost ten standard hours passed before all seven slaver ships finally surrendered to "Jedi Rynn". Gladiolus and Niem's forces seized three vessels before the crews of the enemy fleet wizened up to her intentions. Ships four and five nearly repelled the boardings, but Gladiolus overpowered them and rescued their prisoners. The last two vessels, caught between disgrace and death, chose the latter. Or so they attempted. Gladiolus sensed their foolish aim heartbeats before they could activate their self-destruct sequences. With the Force, she stopped their drives from going supernova.
Unable to take their foes out with them in death, the crews swiftly surrendered themselves and their cargo.
Gladiolus went from slave ship to slave ship, choosing those with piloting experience to take control of each vessel. They were then given a set of "randomized" jump coordinates for them to plug into the navigational computers. While most of the locations were randomized, a few—including the final set—were preplanned. She intended to gather them, along with Niem's fleet of three, together. There she would forge a makeshift army to combat the Hutts.
"I can't believe it worked," muttered Niem after the last former slave ship jumped to lightspeed. Gladiolus glanced at him. They stood on the bridge of his flagship. Landren was busy seeing to the Dearg Due so that she might depart and beat her future fleet to the rendezvous. "Three against seven, and with the crews and cargo we faced? Hundreds should be dead."
"Yet barely a hundred lost their lives this day," Gladiolus said. "And not a single one was enslaved."
She remained proud of her accomplishment. Those who took up arms understood that they risked their lives. But the sweet taste of freedom overrode their fear of death. They had been willing to kill—and to die—for their liberty. That they all lived would inspire a sense of invincibility within them. It helped that her power of battle meditation guided hands on both sides toward her desired outcome.
Then again, said power weakened whenever I directly entered combat. Whenever I could withdraw, the power filled the battle so potently that not a soul escaped my grasp.
"I guess that counts as a victory," Niem said glumly. "Can I expect my ships to be used more?"
"Only if you or Landren cannot find me more interdictor cruisers."
The pirate captain frowned. "What do you plan to do with them?"
Gladiolus smiled proudly. "Why, I will repeat what I have done here until the Hutts expose their weakness for all the galaxy to see. And then, I shall hammer them. I will break apart their colonies, their power, and their identity."
A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Life Day!