3-9 WITHDRAWAL

“I think we should just go get the ‘item,’” you say. “Actually, can you tell me what it is now? It’s annoying just saying ‘item.’”

Master Lasah rebukes you with a frown, but then sighs and partially relents. “I cannot tell you exactly what it is, but I can give you our code name for it: ‘Dreammaker.’”

“That sounds like a drug.”

“I agree. Sounds like some sort of Spice variant, perhaps. However, it truly is not a narcotic. That is all I can tell you for now.”

“Okay. Thanks, Master.”

“Now then, let us go.”

The two of you fetch the droid with the scraped-up face and make your way back to the speeder. The other droid remains behind to complete a clean up of the scene and you wave back at it until the speeder turns a corner.

You wish you could have brought that one back with you, not the piece of junk sitting in the rear. You point your mask-made eye at it, giving it your best glare. It tilts its head at you in return, feigning confusion, its dastardly plans halted for the time being.

“Xena,” Master Lasah’s voice catches your attention. “Tell me of what you saw — what you heard — from Neen.”

You turn to face the front, ending your sightless stare-down of the droid behind you. “Doctor Neen seemed to be telling mostly the truth; his account of the timeline was accurate to his own judgment. However, he was hiding the fact that his droid was provided to him by some sort of drug, or Spice, cartel. Probably the same one that hurt Mister Tlin.”

“Why was it provided to him?”

“I… I don’t know, Master. He didn’t really think about it. It just came up in one of his thoughts.”

Master Lasah hums in thought as she drives, her fingers dancing on the wheel as she spins up the cognitive engine of her mind. “Hmm. We may have to visit Doctor Neen again very soon. I should have thought of this earlier, but it is very possible that that droid was the last ‘person’ to see Ryker. If we could dig through its memory, we may be able to find the truth of the matter.”

“We could turn back now.”

“No. We will leave it for tomorrow. I would very much like to reclaim the Dreammaker now. The sooner the better.”

“Yes, Master.”

You swing your legs, too short as they are to fully reach the floor. Your tail is once again wrapped around your side — an uncomfortable position, but one you’ve gotten used to over time. You reach up to your headband and—

“Ah! I forgot! That other patient of his — I talked to him for a moment.”

“Really? What did he say?”

“He, uh. He didn’t say much. I was just trying to calm him since I could talk with him using telepathy. When he heard me, he seemed to be really shocked for some reason. And then, he said something. ‘Ozyly-esehembo.’”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know! I thought you might.”

“Unfortunately, I do not. Is there anything else he said?”

“No. He fell asleep right after that.”

“I see. But, it is a bit rude to sleep when someone can finally speak with you, is it not?” Master Lasah remarks.

“Oh… yeah. I guess so.”

“Perhaps you can speak with him more during our next visit. Anyways, we are here now.”

Master Lasah deftly pilots the speeder between two skylanes, slipping out of the airborne traffic and swooping into a red parking garage next to the bank. The bank itself, the Coruscant Highline Bank, is built into yet another tower of residences. Up above and down below are many more souls, simply living their lives as best as they can. They scramble about, relatively poor compared to those kilometers above, and disgustingly rich compared to those far far below.

What a lucky thing for you to live in the Temple — a beautiful place where austerity and spartan living are an affordable way of life. Your spiritual ancestors look down upon you and the other Jedi, their chrome faces sternly judging the future generations. They who live in the Spires high above the masses; they who live unknowing of the struggles of the menials. What a wonderful life it is, blissful in opulence. Garbed in ignorance.

No. That’s not entirely true. The Jedi, while highly regarded and handsomely compensated for their critical tasks, do not forget the people. You live for the people — a peacekeeper in mind, body, and purpose. That is the Jedi way.

Detachment — a view from far above, yet close enough to see and acknowledge their faults, values, and labor. Compassion — a cherished memory of those who strive for betterment; the offered hand when they fall down through no error of their own. A reminder that those below, above, and far beyond sight deserve a chance for recovery when struck low and opportunity when nothing they can do prevails.

The locks on the speeder doors click open, pulling you from reverie. Ugh. What noble thoughts you have. Do you truly live up to them? Can it remain so once the war begins in earnest?

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Who knows?

Master Lasah, once again, leads the way. You trail behind, stepping quickly to keep up with her lengthy stride and you’re struck by a sense of familiarity.

You remember, long ago, you would follow Master Masbau around in much the same way. You would pelt him with endless questions, curious about the universe — curious about yourself. He would do his best to answer while retaining a certain distance. That duty of detachment, ever an obstacle to the Jedi, even to masters of the Order. No matter how much it is repeated, you’re not sure anybody can truly keep it fully at bay.

A detachment between allies, you understand. Between a Jedi and the parents they do not know, sure. Between friends, maybe. Between a Master and their Padawan? How? That seems impossible. You’re not even a Padawan yet, and you cannot believe that it is possible.

Master Lasah is not a replacement. She’s similar to Master Masbau in some ways, but is radically different in others. It’s not bad, per se, but…

It’s just different.

Perhaps she will be your Master. Perhaps not. Either way, you have your own unique relationship with her. She is not Master Masbau and never will be.

The doors to the bank slide open haltingly, their actuators clogged with dust and grime. You stick close to Master Lasah, mindful of her movement to avoid bumping into her. Together, the two of you take a final step, stopping in front of the service desk at the front.

“Good day, uh, Master Jedi. Can I help you?” the Twi’lek at the counter asks.

“Here,” Master Lasah says, handing her a datachip. The Twi’lek receptionist plugs the chip into an appropriate slot in the counter, then scans the screen before her. She nods, then prompts Master Lasah for an ID who immediately complies.

“Thank you. Right this way, Master Jedi.”

Remarkably professional, you think, despite first appearances with that door. The bank is rather small, possibly just a branch of a larger one. Very few patrons loiter in the lobby, most of which seem to be chatting with each other. A few of them eye the two of you as you follow the receptionist and you can’t help but feel watched, even as you progress out of their lines of sight.

The next room is filled, top to bottom, with safe deposit boxes. There are even partitioning walls with smaller boxes within. Cash and credits, documents, trophies, precious gems and metals, and a thousand other objects are stored here.

It’s a dizzying array of connections. These things are conceptually important to people. They leave a mark on the fabric of reality, penetrating into the Warp beyond. A shallow touch, though. There aren’t that many things here. These things aren’t that important on the whole, but you can just feel the value placed upon the items here.

Or maybe you’re just imagining it.

As Master Lasah enters the room, you see her stiffen and then sniff the air for some reason. Her attention darts around, touching upon the boxes and their contents, but seemingly not finding what she is looking for.

What is it? you ask.

Oranges.

Oranges? Citrus! You smell it too now. You look around as well, searching for the source of the smell, but don’t see anything out of place. No suspiciously round and fruity objects. After all, why would anybody store fruit here? Perhaps it’s the scent of some sort of cleaning chemical they use.

You expand your view, reaching beyond the room. The lobby, still with the lingering patrons. An accountancy room, a break room, a ‘fresher. Staff rooms. A refrigerator holds leftover meals, but no fresh fruit.

A vault further in holds even more valuables. More precious metals. More money. Surprisingly, a few antique weapons and armor. Also, a medium sized freezer with racks of vials. Medicines, most likely.

Above? Nothing. Layers of offices and security.

Below. The same, though there is a garbage chute that leads to a small dumping site out the back. You trace the chute upwards and find it leads to another room within the bank — clearly separated to keep any of the unsavory smells from leaking into the rest of the bank. It’s intelligently placed in a location with little need for security too— just off to the right from the lobby — though it does seem to have a series of cameras and alarms placed facing it.

So, just what is making that smell?

In the meantime, Master Lasah walks ahead and accesses a large deposit box. From within, she drags out a crate, within which is a lidded container made of heavy-duty plastics with strips of metal reinforcement. A slip of paper, possibly a shipping manifest, lies between the top of the container and the lid of the crate. The crate seems to have been partially opened, but Master Lasah doesn’t seem too worried. She simply peers at the locks on the inner container and silently nods to herself with some affirmation.

She lugs the box upward, using the Force as a helping hand. You reach up to lend your own hands as support, but she declines with a shake of her head. “Thank you, Xena, but I can handle it.”

“Okay. Are we going now? Shouldn’t we do more, uh…”

“No. Not today. We need to bring this home first. I will have some others help out in the meantime. They can keep watch and perhaps do some more investigating.”

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

Back in the speeder, on the way to return it and the Guardian droid to CorSec, you turn to Master Lasah and make your concerns known.

“Master Lasah, why don’t we go back now to talk with that droid? What if something happens?”

“Patience, Xena. Things will be revealed in time, and bothering citizens after they have closed up shop for the day does not make for pleasant or easy conversation, even if it is just with their droids. We have done what is necessary for today and learned many things.”

“But, there’s so many things to do now! So many things to look into! A drug cartel and what they did to Mister Tlin! Whatever deal they made with Doctor Neen! That weird patient. The smell of oranges at the bank!”

“Patience. Making moves now will muddy the waters, yes? Tlin was beaten for making reports on this cartel’s territory. Us simply walking in and starting our investigation has already made things worse.”

“So, shouldn’t we move fast? What if they go after Doctor Neen next?”

“No. What is done is done, and we will let things play out. I highly doubt they will go after Neen. After all, injuring one of their own is one thing. Taking out a whole sector’s only medic is another. Not only that, but he seems to have something over them in return.”

“Really?”

“He made some sort of a deal with them, yes? He has some pull, and I have a feeling it is more than you may think. It is still also possible that they may not have had anything to do with Ryker’s death. After all, they did seem to be rather upset about it. “

“A potential customer… Why would they think that, though? Even if she were just walking around undercover, why would they think she could be a customer of theirs? Looking for drugs?”

“Hmm. I have an idea, but how about I leave that for you to think on? A good exercise for my aspiring little detective. I expect you to have an idea by tomorrow morning. There is more to the mystery beyond that though, and I will still require your help to solve it all. It is even possible that it may not even be relevant to our story here! We will see.”