In any case, the reader may judge for himself.
~Eaters of the Dead, Michael Crichton
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"You certainly took your time," Jabba growled. It was a good ten or fifteen minutes before Diomeni returned; Jabba could detect new energy in Diomeni's sweeping movements coupled with a face full of alarm.
"Forgive me, Lord Jabba. The footage finally arrived, but..." He held his holoprojector like a fool holding a thermal detonator. Jabba couldn't decide if his face was of actual panic or an artificial imitation.
"Well, I think you should see for yourself, but I warn you..." Diomeni grimaced, "It's disturbing."
And Diomeni showed Jabba the last thing he wanted to see: a holographic image of Anakin Skywalker and a small Togruta youngling shoving his son into a backpack. Jabba's blood boiled at Rotta's screeching wails of fear. The only time it ceased worsened his mood because Anakin Skywalker groaned aloud and said, 'I hate Hutts.'
Insults and threats deafened the gasp of Jabba's entourage. Meanwhile, Diomeni silently watched. Jabba's disbelief had taken attention away from himself, and Diomeni was half tempted to smile as the edited footage brought them closer to victory. Thankfully, he strained himself as Jabba restrained his outraged Huttese curses.
"My son! They treat him like an animal! How dare they! HOW DARE THEY IGNORE HIS SCREAMS!" Jabba shook with desperation and anger.
"I'm sorry, Jabba. I had to be sure, but..." Diomeni composed himself, "Rest assured; we will take action to prevent their escape. Our droid troops and agents have been instructed to rescue Rotta and confront Skywalker..."
"His life should be paramount!" Jabba stuck out an empathetic Hutt finger, "I want him here, unharmed! No excuses, no mistakes!"
"I give you my word." With a deep bow, Diomeni contained his bubbling enthusiasm. He had meticulously groomed his hair to ensure that Jabba could bare witness to his striking appearance, yet, in that brief moment, he avoided locking eyes— cautious that they would reveal any trace of a dangerous gleam.
"And?"
Diomeni blinked. "I'm sorry, but 'and' what?"
A low rumble reverberated across the room as Jabba's eyes narrowed in a familiar distrust.
Oh, this is just a worm recognizing a mighty taidora.
"...I heard your name before, Diomeni." And Diomni's brow rose slightly, attempting to mask his 'unimpressed' stare with one that said, 'And?' But rectified this with a simple, mollifying nod.
Jabba rumbled. "Even if I was ignorant of your philosophy, everyone has a price. Even those pious Jedi. Now, what do you want in exchange?"
Diomeni stared, silently pleased with himself.
"...Well," He pretended to stutter, "I'll admit that I planned to wait until we delivered your son, safe and sound, and Skywalker's head on a pike, but..." He shrugged, allowing a hint of his true intent to shine. Jabba would appreciate his dislike of Skywalker. But business comes first.
"Very well: Count Dooku has an offer for you, one of mutual advantage."
"How much?"
"No, never mind that," Diomeni waved him off, "Count Dooku wants your support."
Diomeni exuded an air of unwavering confidence as he stood tall and held an intense eye contact that would typically have bending knees. His commanding tone demanded immediate attention and conveyed a firmness that brooked no dissent. This is what Jabba needed to see right now.
"The Republic plagues this galaxy, and we endeavor to be its cure. The Jedi are the biggest obstacle, allowing the Republic to fester. Join us, Jabba; become a key player in the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and help us topple this dictatorship. They deny us a chance at coexistence. Well, that's their problem."
"Hutt Space is already separate from the Republic."
It was clear now that Jabba wouldn't budge or bargain.
"For how long?" Diomeni prompted, leaving a digestive silence in its wake, "You know they despise you, Lord Jabba. The Republic wants absolute control of the galaxy; it's only a matter of time..."
Diomeni remembered the sales pitch he had to memorize per the Count's instruction, but in these cases, less was more.
"Fine!" Jabba barked, "You'll get full access to Hutt Space, and the Republic won't. Now—"
"Thank you, Lord Jabba." Diomeni interrupted, "Now, I have a personal request."
Jabba knew this was too good to be true. "Bah! What?"
Another silence settled. Diomeni surveyed the room with an almost mechanical awareness. He wasn't trying to search; he already knew where they were. As soon as he gestured towards Carmine and Dia among Jabba's collection of creatures, they rushed towards him with a sense of urgency that couldn't be disguised as mere surprise. However, at that point, it didn't really matter anymore.
As Diomeni wrapped his arms around their waists, he spoke in basic, now modulated in a dialect he couldn't quite place his finger on.
"I want them." And Jabba could see behind the innocent expressions: their eyes filled with something he could not put up with.
Jabba's fist clenched but voiced none of his suspicions. "Take them, now get my son back!"
"Thank you, Lord Jabba. And we will." Diomeni said his goodbyes to his Nitko escorts and left quickly. Dia looked at the Hutt with a new sense of determination, feeling like Diomeni was preventing her from taking revenge on the disgusting creature. Then quickly followed Diomeni with renewed steps.
Diomeni excused any need for a guide, as the trio exited. Slowly and silently, there was a methodical manner to their stride if anyone should observe. Diomeni in his faint, gliding steps, Carmine in a hopping type of drift, and Dia's mix of rushed and scraping steps. The door scraped upward, and Dia had to shield her eyes; she couldn't tell if Diomeni had done the same.
"... My Lord, Diomeni, I..." So many things that Dia could say.
"Not yet. We now have errands." Was what she heard him say. When her eyes adjusted, he saw Diomeni adjusting two speeder bikes. They were both long, curved swoop bikes, sharp and armed.
Diomeni mounted his bike and immediately took off as swiftly as the wind. Carmine mounted hers and motioned for Dia to join her. She was a captivating sight for Dia: a few moments ago, she was a slave, or so Dia had first thought. But on this bike, absolute control radiated off her form. This is why Dia ensured that when she hesitated, the second was so brief it could only have been imaginary.
Between the wind blowing her lekku, hugging Carmine's form, and Dia's lack of questions, the uncertainty was bound to return. When they arrived at their destination, Dia was in awe of the ship before them. A large gleaming ship stretched across the bottom of the hill they climbed. Dia felt as though she was trespassing on the territory of a great predator. A shovel-nosed beast with blade-like sides with swept-back wings, just as an aigala searches for prey. The stabilizers, vertical and curving, each almost resembled a crescent moon.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Carmine said quietly.
Dia looked between her and the ship and nodded.
"I think it's ugly." Carmine rolled her eyes, "Don't tell him I said that, though. He is surprisingly touchy about it."
The two women sped closer to Diomeni but paused when they saw his mild glare directed at the hooded figures infesting his ship. Jawas, of course, roamed Tatooine with greedy zeal in search of technology. With a deep intake of breath, Diomeni turned off his speeder and made a show of standing up and straightening his cloak.
"Excuse me." And that was all he said before he leaped into the air and slaughtered the Jawas. Carmine casually leaned into Dia while the Twi'lek watched in mild horror. Because merely shooting the Jawas was one thing; actively tearing them to pieces at the speed of a demon, bare-handed, was entirely something else. Though, what shocked her more than Diomeni's speed and effectiveness was how tranquil her disgust was at a sudden massacre. When a Jabba tried to blast him with an ionization blaster, she should have flinched when the sparks flew or when Diomeni ripped the gun from its hands and bashed its head in. In a few moments, she found herself laughing and cheering with Carmine and even warned the man when a few were escaping. When did that happen? When did she learn to rally to butchers?
Diomeni landed heavily on the ground beside them, and as he straightened he held out his bloodied hands to Carmine. Wordlessly she produced a flask and poured water onto them, which Diomeni he used to cleanse his hands thoroughly. With a nod, he sat back on his speeder, and they continued on their way. The speeders were quickly inserted into the ship, and they walked up the ramp. The hot sand beneath Dia's bare feet forced her to quicken her pace into the ominous red-lighted doorway.
Upon entering the interior, she found herself taken aback yet intrigued. The ambiance was a unique blend of nature and technology. A dark, lavish jungle intertwined with metal. Halls were adorned with crimson, green, and violet flora, creating a hot and inviting atmosphere that made her feel as though nature and technology were in perfect harmony. It was not a chaotic mix of wires and metal but a carefully crafted and thoughtfully designed space.
These sumptuous things were not meant to be here. Somehow, Dia felt they were here to stay.
Without a word, Diomeni stepped into a tall space and awaited them. Carmine tugged the Twi'leks arm and brought her next to the man, to which a door slit a moment, the door opened again. On the left were six chairs facing a long chair, and on the right was one with a red viewport and a set of controls. Diomeni sat in that one, while Carmine moved to the left.
The cushions on the furniture were a shade of lavender that brought back memories of her time on Ryloth, but the railings were made of gold. Carmine plopped her body on the long chair before lifting her head to allow Dia a spot. Feeling bolder, Dia smiled as she jumped as high as she could to sit on the desired spot. Carmine joined in Dia's giggles; how long had it been since she could laugh freely?
Carmine lay her head on Dia's thighs and dangled her legs off the railing. At first, the Twi'lek instinct was to flinch and stiffen, but it eased away as she found herself caressing the Zeltron's cheek. Carmine returned the gesture, and the two fell into silence.
As the ship thrummed with life and they felt its ascension, Carmine spoke.
"Do you feel that?"
"...The ship?"
"No," Carmine touched her chin, "the freedom."
"Freedom?" She tasted the word in her native tongue, "Jun lijuu..."
"You're free, Dia," Carmine whispered, "Free to do whatever you want with us. Or to us."
The Twi'lek's laughter trickled out as she pinned the Zeltron's hand down— an unexpected action on her part. How long had it been since she had felt control back in her life? And now this girl— this beautiful, exotic woman was offering herself up to Dia? Once long ago, Dia had shared and laughed and played as any other child would, but now, after years of not seeing or knowing her family's life without her...
Carmine sat up and held Dia's face with a new look on her face.
"Before we can ask you to do anything," She said softly, "even the smallest wish must be fulfilled."
Dia leaned back in her seat, thinking about what to say. "I... I feel happy and so very alive." So much so that her teeth had sharpened. "But... I think my feelings aren't just from... Well, um—"
"Yeah, I know." Carmine's sultry laugh caused her blush to deepen, "You're very flexible."
"Hah, yes, but, but I have a point." Dia laughed, "It isn't just the passion or power that I want. But...love." She looked for sincerity, "And that's what you offer, isn't it? Love."
"And happiness." Carmine said instantly, "Power not for power's sake, but to keep our happiness." Carmine caressed the Twi'lek's cheeks, "We will teach you. And once you know better, you'll see us."
"And you'll be us."
Dia didn't flinch when the deep voice whispered so closely in her ears. She should have jumped when Diomeni had silently come to meet them. And she should have retched at the strange snake wrapped around his neck and wondered why that whisper sounded within her ears and not next to them.
"Because," He said softly, "there are beasts hidden in the vast shadow, and we must burn... so we may defeat them. So that we may guide the lost souls like yourself."
She didn't mind the snake now slithering down his arms and around her neck. She admired the creature: golden with green wavy lines on its body, while its head was a quill-like, golden teardrop. She didn't measure its length. Instead, she let it wrap her chest, shoulders, neck, and head as it still held his body.
"We may appear beastly ourselves, but that's only because..." He growled, "They fear us. And even if they see a monstrosity," She stared at the snake's most bottomless violet eyes, as its head unfurled to reveal a hood, and the tiny quills she felt extended into long, green glowing fangs. She didn't flinch.
"You can still find beauty."
Dia stared at the snake, neither hissing nor attacking, and wondered. How long had it been since she feared? And she knew the answer: since she left Jabba's palace. Dia petted the snake with a gentle hand and smiled.
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Zakriahs was given the chance to meditate, but he barely took it. Here he was, in a small, empty room, feeling very small but not quite so empty. He asked a trooper for a datapad on his way here.
In a time that he couldn't bring himself to estimate, Zakriahs knew that Teth would be introduced to their fleet and that he wouldn't have much time to observe it. By the day, the chill of his new life becomes a literal fire.
In a mix of so many feelings swirling within his heart and head, Zakriahs ignored them and plopped down to meditate. But this is where he did something different.
Meditation is a favorite pastime of his— contrary to his reputation.
And the time he usually takes to gather the clouds of his mind and dance and sing and breathe new meanings into otherwise simpler words would usually last as long as a storm does. But in this moment, when he knew he wasn't long for Teth, a collective twenty seconds passed before opened his eyes and began furiously typing into the data pad in his hands.
Storms are necessary, and oftentimes, when a storm leaves too soon, there are a few plants that cannot fully bloom without its water.
With that said, this is what Zakriahs wrote.
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"General Kenobi, you are clear to land, Docking Bay Five. Awaiting orders to proceed to Teth."
That tranquil ambiance of space travel ended when we docked in the Acclamator's wide hangars. There was a hustle when I glanced at the crew members around the docking bay. As soon as Obi-Wan speaks, however, they're going to add a bustle to their step.
"Commander, contact Admiral Kilian and tell him we're going to Teth; it's time to reinforce Anakin."
"Right away, sir."
And there it is— the bustle to their hustle. I took in the cool, stale air while stretching outside my starfighter. The Acclamator's doors began to shut, Clones got into formation, and the activity spiked. I watched all of this go down casually.
Only... I don't do anything casually. Oh, yes. My mind is still not there yet. The memory... The horrors of war, they're not patient are they? No, war is patient when it feels like it. Why can't any of us enjoy the feeling of floating without having to worry about explosions or such?
We have terrible luck. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Obi-Wan doesn't need a boy who bounces off the walls with congatia's fervor; he needs a Padawan who hears the meaning behind the order. But then, what if I'm overreacting? After all, two minds saw the disgusting misuse of surgical ingenuity and walked away scathed. Not unscathed. His mind counts just as much as mine! So, why, why, why is it taking me so long? Why are we still on this?
"Zakriahs..." said Obi-Wan when he noticed my mood. No, not my mood— I sat on my starfighter, unmoving and ignorant to the departure of my Astromech.
"I'm fine, though I'm still sick to my stomach." There was a hand on my shoulder, and his eyes shone with understanding. I supposed there was no need to hide this from him. "We're tight roping on an awfully thin rope, Master."
"Yes, I know." He said simply. There was another firm yet gentle shake on my shoulder. My breath came out softly, and with a light nod, I felt calm return. "Is there something else?"
I lightly brushed his hand away to pace for a bit. However, I began to feel dizzy and had to rely on my newfound calmness to ease the sensation.
"I have a bad feeling about this. That corpse, you remember what I said about the perpetrator?"
"That they are precise and have an abundance of confidence?"
"Surgery is not accomplished with a hop and a skip, Master. It takes the steadiest hands, a broad view of the greater picture—"
"And nerves of steel." He said, touching his beard, "Yes, I see what you mean."
Nice of you to catch my train of thought. Stifling a chuckle, I continued.
"And now here we are," I shook my hands empathetically, "negotiations settled with a notorious gangster, expecting resistance from a violent artist of death, and all Anakin has to do is retrieve a Huttlet?" A hard scoff escaped me.
"You believe it's too easy," Obi-Wan stated rather than asking. He should have asked; water is always better than a set stone.
"I don't know what I believe, but we're missing something. I can feel it, yet I haven't the foggiest on what!" My hands, now fists, shook with passion.
Obi-Wan placed himself in my pace space. "You expect more from this unknown enemy. Relax, it could just as well be your nerves."
Perhaps he didn't sound as convinced by his own words, just like me. Perhaps we were both tired.
In the end, I sighed. "I hope you're right."
Sometime later, Obi-Wan contacted Anakin via his R4 droid. It took a few moments, but eventually, Anakin's voice broke through before his figure shimmered to life. I saw Padawan Tano by his side with... a Huttlet in a backpack. Jabba had stated Rotta's age and given us a firm declaration of how best to treat him. It occurred to me then that Rotta was the first baby Hutt I'd ever seen at that point.
"Is Obi-Wan on his way?"
"I am." Obi-Wan said, "With reinforcements, too."
"And Zakriahs, too." To their credit, all it took was a second's glance before business took ahold of them. Oh well, maybe that's for the best. Who wants to listen to me, anyway?
"Have you found Rotta?"
"If holomessaging transmitted smell, you'd know." Oh, Anakin. "We got him. But..." I paled.
"But what?" Said Obi-Wan in a tone that made my stomach sink further
"We have a problem, Master Kenobi," Ahsoka spoke this time, her voice laced with apprehension, "Stinky's sick, and he needs urgent medical care." She looked the whimpering Huttlet over with, what I can only describe as, motherly concern. Later, the image of her caring for younglings at the Temple passed through my mind.
"Stinky?" I mouthed the nickname with confusion, then frowned. Sick? He's a child, sure, but a Hutt doesn't get sick— at least, not easily.
"Hutts don't just get sick, Master," Said Anakin after those words sunk in, "so things have taken a turn for the worse."
Obi-Wan ran a hand through his beard, which I read less as a great Master contemplating the thought clouds of Stewjon, and more as a tired man stifling a groan, "This is the last thing we need, Anakin."
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"I gathered." Anakin said sarcastically, "This sting feels like Count Dooku's hands are all over it."
"They're trying to stop us from accessing the routes, making us the enemies of the Hutts."
"The moment we went from losing half my men in breaching this monastery and suddenly strolling in unopposed to fetch an infant, I figured something was up."
"To deliver Jabba a dead infant instead of his son..."
As these two ran through my thought clouds, the images of this operation formed in my head—a surgeon's solution to the extraordinary. The colors I needed for this grand artwork had set themselves neatly in place for the galaxy to behold. In other words, I was right.
"Do you believe he was poisoned? Purposely?" said Obi-Wan, catching my eye.
"I don't know, but the timing seems too convenient."
These words seemed to affect Anakin, as now he couldn't look Obi-Wan in the eye.
"Perhaps I should have seen this coming, and I'm sorry Master, but this was a bad idea since the beginning— there's no winning with Hutts, you only choose how you lose— quietly or loudly."
"We had no choice, Anakin. One way or another, we need those routes, and refusing Jabba was never an option." Before he spoke, Obi-Wan's eyes appeared as though he would restrain a sigh, yet he briskly reminded Anakin of the stakes. Even now, Obi-Wan still has troubles with the Chosen One, but he's become adept at hiding this.
"Maybe Jabba's colluding with Dooku. After all, it's not like Jabba to beg for the Republic's help," said Anakin, and I blinked. It was a possibility, certainly, however...
"I doubt it." I said, "He was undeniably and intensely frustrated."
Anakin's already intense frown hiding in a tone of indifference became blistering.
"He could just as easily have been acting, Zakriahs." Oh, yeah, a part of Anakin wants this to be true.
"It doesn't matter why," said Obi-Wan, "but what does matter is the Huttlet's safety; his life is your top priority. Treat it as you would— er, as you're supposed to treat your lightsaber."
"Nice..."Anakin said dryly, glaring at Tano, who appeared to be stifling her own chuckles before collecting herself. People tend to forget that Anakin Skywalker has an impish mirth to him, but I saw it return to those tired eyes. No, he wouldn't appreciate my laughter at this point.
"All right, we'll— oh, terrific..."
"Incoming! Take defensive p—!"
And that hologram cut out. I stared, nonplussed, and amazed at how quickly things can change. I took a breath, letting the excitement settle back into the grim alacrity of an approaching storm.
"At the speed of lightning?" I suggested.
"Indeed." He agreed.
"Can I meditate?" I asked before he gave out orders.
"Very well, but be ready."
I knew there was at least one room for solitary reflection, and on my way to it, I asked for a datapad. Reflecting on that conversation, part of me wishes I had said something to bring down the tension. But then, I wonder, do these people even fully comprehend Zakriahs Asher? Anakin and Obi-Wan scarcely saw me in the Temple, and I barely spoke to Ahsoka or anyone from Clan Clawmouse. They're not yet ready.
Toshi would know I was joking. Anise would make the joke worse. Guilo'Mar would just stare. And Barriss would be worse than stone. It seems like it was only yesterday when last I saw them before they headed off to war. I should contact them when I can; better still, I should introduce Padawan Tano to those guys. Unless she already knows them. Oh, well, I'll reintroduce them; this war will turn us into different people. She could use something nice after this.
By some miracle, the hyperspace trip is taking a time—an excellent time to spend in meditation.
But then, I wonder, what events shall transpire on Teth that could engulf these fresh new thoughts? What will I see? What will I do? Will I get better? Will we meet up with the Rogue and his Rogue-in-the-making? Will they be okay? Can I pet the Huttlet? Should I teach him how to play fetch? Is that rude?
And, most importantly, will I be enough?
Even after having asked this question twice, I'm left in a conundrum. And I can't let conundrums alone! So, instead, I'll recount these recent events and see where I mean and what I go from here.
That tranquil ambiance of space travel ended when we docked in the Acclamator's wide hangars. There was a hustle when I glanced at the crew members around the docking bay. As soon as Obi-Wan speaks, however, they're going to add a bustle to their step.
"Commander, contact Admiral Kilian and—
Okay, okay! Well, I don't have to take it that seriously! I don't think these walls block out too much sound, so I probably sound like a lunatic right now. No, I won't repeat what I've already written and be forced to live in a perpetual loop. Though I should use that in the future, it'll throw everyone off.
I don't care how I sound or act— I deserve a good laugh after… that. After…
I've just had a realization: I was right. I mean, I usually am, but I was right. There is a sinister conspiracy brewing beneath the flare of explosions. And with all of that in mind, to think my fears and doubts would be confirmed from such a vast distance…
It humbles me. I'm humbled…
The last time I felt this weight, Yoda brought me to the Room of a Thousand Fountains for the first time.
I should feel grand that my perception could rival the Grand Master; my Master probably spotted the signs, but I was the first to acknowledge them. This should be a momentous occasion for me.
But I feel small. Because, if I was right about this, then what else? If I can spot the handiwork of a highly intelligent psychopath and sense that I'm only privy to a piece of it, then what else? What else will I see? How often will I be right? And why doesn't that excite me now?
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Obi-Wan didn't like the idea of an aerial battle becoming routine. The very notion of battle having a formula was not something that he, as a Jedi, could ever take pride in having pegged. With that said, that doesn't mean he wants it always to be a tumultuous slog.
Despite these reservations, he had a duty to the Jedi. He led his support through the blur of explosions to rescue his friend and his new Padawan, which was easier said than done, given what he was hearing.
"They're coming on your left— AHH!"
"We're not ready for our landing craft!"
"Three new targets! Closing!"
"No! You're too close!"
"I can't keep it together!"
"Hang on, brother! I'm coming!"
"So am I!" Came a youthful voice.
A few seconds later, "Thank you!"
"Of course! Anytime." The sound of his voice was high and exaggerated, but Obi-Wan detected the anxiety from within. Now, Obi-Wan hated flying. Whether it was Anakin's insane piloting or his own, flight was never a thing Obi-Wan looked forward to. Especially in such a hectic and cluttered area of ships firing from every direction.
Given all he's observed, Obi-Wan had expected (and even hoped) that Zakriahs would remain behind to guide their forces. Surprisingly, as soon as all fighters were ready to depart, his Padawan vehemently requested to join. At the last second.
Yes, it was inconvenient, and he did tell Zakriahs to run as fast as he could, and he was now more worried for his new Padawan again tenfold, but Obi-Wan was touched and even a bit proud. The reasons he was worried, however, held a different sort of edge than the one he usually was on with Anakin.
For example, how long was it since he last piloted any kind of ship?
"Sir, your left!" said a Clone.
"Ah, thanks! Veer left!" But Zakriahs swooped straight down. "Your other left, J11! You astromechs don't have up and down; only left and the other left and right and the other right! Don't sass me, droid. I could have easily left you to the Jawas!" His temperament was now also in question.
Zakriahs also had a tightness to his voice that Obi-Wan often used with Anakin's stunts.
"Master, I'm flying in front of you! Get them off me, please!"
"Copy that!" Obi-Wan swerved his starfighter to intercept the Vultures currently chasing Zakriahs. It was close, but as the boy lead the droids to Obi-Wan, broke right, and then the Jedi zoomed through the explosion that was once their attacking forms.
"Thank you, Master!" He said relieved.
"Of course, Zakriahs." Obi-Wan said kindly, "Don't become too stressed up here; I can understand the feeling of flight."
"You mean you understand the overrated nothingness that is flying? I was under the impression that you ha— that you didn't care for it."
And then, the moments when humor and seriousness were unknown.
Obi-Wan chuckled, "Zakriahs, 'hate' is not a dangerous word to say."
"Be quiet, Master. We're up in the air!"
"Of course, Zakriahs." That wasn't how Obi-Wan expected to 'cut the chatter,' but it was something. Both know they're in the middle of a battle. Best not to indulge the boy too much.
A great fog amassed below the fighters of the sky. When they entered the atmosphere, the Vultures came at us from seemingly nowhere. Obi-Wan knew better, though, and did his best to trace their point of origin. It took a few minutes and a few more Vultures to contend with, but eventually, Obi-Wan found what he was looking for: the monastery.
Down below, there was a plateau with a temple on top. Cylindrical with a large dish for its roof. A narrow bridge connecting to another tower— yes, Anakin and Ahsoka said they attacked a palace. And on one of the platforms, Obi-Wan knew he spotted a sizeable Separatist landing craft. He also reserved a tiny bit of amusement at Zakriahs' reaction. It must be the biggest 'H' he's ever seen.
Obi-Wan had seen firsthand the prominence of these Trade Federation ships, more recently in battle. He's fairly certain he'd know that vessel even from such a distance. And where droids were being deployed, Anakin was surely in need of assistance.
"Master, there's a battle down there. East side, I think." And it was good to know Zakriahs still catches on.
"Yes, I see it. Anakin's down there. All ships follow me!"
The fight to get anywhere close to the temple was even longer and more arduous. The Vulture droids attacked with more ferocity; it reminded Obi-Wan of the nest of gundarks he fell into. It was only thanks to Anakin that Obi-Wan could fly around, uneasy at how Zakriahs would carry himself.
"Pardon, you four, but come with me for a second."
Obi-Wan glanced back to see Zakriahs' starfighter guiding four other V-19s with him.
"You on my left: get their attention. You in the middle: fly below us and then veer upward. You on my right: get those other five to back us up and tell them to be ready to pounce straight ahead."
They all obeyed with a 'Yes, Sir', and a moment of silence resumed on the Padawan's end. The fog had started to collect again, and Obi-Wan couldn't see where Zak had gone. The fighters that kept Obi-Wan at bay were suddenly not as prevalent as before, and his starfighter could finally settle down somewhat. Breaking off his path to follow them, he realized their attention had been nabbed by one of the earlier V-19s.
Now, Obi-Wan had a good view of the destruction of ten Vulture droids: the bottom V-19 saved his partner by taking out two while more fighters emerged from the clouds to meet them head-on. Once four had been hit, the rest began to scatter, and that was when Zakriahs streaked down with missiles to scrap three more with Obi-Wan destroying the last one.
"Job well done, gentlemen! Thank you, kindly!" Came Zak's exuberant cry. Before Obi-Wan could congratulate his Padawan, and then ask him if he knew that would work, a new voice buzzed through.
"General Kenobi, this is Commander Cody. Permission to engage in a ground assault."
Obi-Wan looked behind him and saw that their hard work paid off. The Venator had positioned a great many meters away but still closer to their battle zone. Obi-Wan considered: there were still many opposing fighters in the air, but they were being contained. And Obi-Wan knew that if there was ever a chance to save Anakin, Ahsoka, and the Huttlet it was now.
"Granted. Launch the gunships now!"
As they approached, the Clone fighters passed on orders to cover them. With a satisfied nod, Obi-Wan moved to where he last saw the Separatist landing craft.
"Get ready to take the controls, R4." He said with a newfound calm, "Zakriahs, we're going down to help Captain Rex."
"Yes, Master." He replied, and in a second, the Jedi were flying side by side.
"I see a Vulture droid among their attackers. Is it a good idea to ram my starfighter into it and jump out before the explosion?"
Now, that was something he almost reprimanded since it seemed very Anakin. But, that was neither an action nor a statement, and it gave Obi-Wan pause.
"Master?"
"...Well, at least you asked. No, Zakriahs, don't do that. We're going to blast the droids before jumping into the fray. Be ready."
"Sure." And his line went silent.
Although Obi-Wan had yet to establish a Force bond with his new pupil and it sound as genuine to an educational query as could be, Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel Zakriahs' cackles.
----------------------------------------
A protocol droid couldn't yank anyone by the scruff of their neck to an impatient crime lord as a bounty hunter would. Lightly pushing someone from behind was the closest it could get to conveying that subtext. Diomeni's bemusement at the droid's handicap was ignored, in its place was an entirely different feeling.
Diomeni spun violently to face the droid, cool blue eyes glowing in the darkness. The deep offense of such an action aroused a wave of hot anger within him at the pathetic droid's misplaced nerve. Two steps backward were Diomeni's confirmation that the message had been delivered: don't do that.
Still, Diomeni understood that the droid would only do such a thing because Jabba was livid. The droid was afraid. Hastening his pace, he left the droid to scuttle behind him as he approached Jabba's throneroom with a cool, confident stride.
Sitting or standing in front of each other, silently staring at the floor, Jabba and Diomeni waited for the droid. Though Diomeni was unafraid, he knew a volcanic silence when he felt one. No, the better comparison is the thin ice: one false move...
It spoke of the Hutt's power over conveyance.
"Glorious Jabba loses patience, and he demands to know what you are doing about his son." said the droid once it finally stood next to the Hutt, the latter having raised his head to glare at Diomeni. The former, however, flinched when the red-haired man flashed his eyes on its mechanical form.
"Droid," He said in eerie disregard, "I have made it perfectly plain that I can address Lord Jabba in perfect Huttese, in consideration and respect for his culture and language. You have insulted us both for neglecting such a fact."
If Jabba reciprocated the sentiment, he didn't show it.
"Your minions are failing!" He spat, "They are useless! My son is not back in my arms! Execute them and replace them with better ones. Such incompetence wouldn't be found in my service."
Diomeni almost laughed, "Oh, my colleagues have their uses." He aligned the tips of his fingers, "It's not incompetence, Mighty Jabba, I assure you. Our enemies are powerful and cunning."
"Are you saying you can't do it?"
"I'm saying they're not to be underestimated. The Republic, as you know, has a way of making things worse for everyone." This time, Diomeni did laugh, a rich sound that infected some of Jabba's entourage. He collected himself before Jabba's temper burst, "Their iron-clad orders state that not even the slightest harm should befall Lord Rotta. So, we must handle this with a delicate hand, lest the fires consume the Republic dogs and Rotta in the process. Look at the Republic's track record with hostages."
This wasn't mere mockery, either; Lately, botched hostage extractions were being counted on the Republic's part. Count Dooku himself was betting on a dead Huttlet after this. This did nothing to soothe Jabba's anger, though he hadn't ordered Diomeni's execution so that counted for something.
"My son looked unhealthy in that recording. I don't even know if he's alive! If he's dead—"
"He's not, my Lord. Oh, Skywalker tried to escape Teth, but as of now, he's backed into a corner. We will catch him."
Jabba leaned forward, "I'm not a fool, Diomeni, and I can see that neither are you." Diomeni silently acknowledged the compliment, "I've had my own sources monitoring the Teth sector. And they tell me the Republic has reinforcements arriving."
Of course, they do, thought Diomeni. Aloud, he said, "It's not enough."
"I've been asking myself," Jabba said, changing the subject in a concerning manner, "why would the Jedi, much less Skywalker, kidnap my son?"
"Well, from what I hear, Jedi love stealing children."
But Jabba hadn't finished speaking. "Why would they continue to hold my punky-muffin when returning him earns my cooperation? That I would do everything I could to destroy anyone who would hurt him? They can't possibly think they can hold him, hostage, forever!"
Diomeni had to get things back on track. So, he allowed a piece of charm to slip through.
"I hear rumors." He said casually, "Personally, I love rumors: facts are so misleading these days, but rumors, whether true or false, are often revealing." And they were. They really were. "And the rumors I hear speak of a man the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic trusts and respects and listens to more than any other politician or Jedi."
"Who?" Jabba asked after a pause.
"Skywalker." He paused again, to let the Hutt's thoughts stir a storm.
"So, that's it..." Jabba said. If the Hutt were a Sith, Diomeni would be certain that every item would be quaking and shaking and that everyone present would feel a crushing chill that would break their knees.
Finally, the basso profundo cried out like the crack of a mountain, "I'M A KAJIDIC LORDA!" And everyone flinched and backed away as the Hutt began to collect himself, as though he had reached the height of a mountain and slowly slid down to the ground, "If they think I'll let this outrage— this insanity— go unpunished, then their part to play in civilization is forfeit! Yes, I swear it, they will pay for this outrage!"
Diomeni's lip pulled upward, "The Republic will never understand you, or anything about the Hutts and your way of life. I would have a special request fulfilled for Lord Jabba." Diomeni barely understood Hutts himself. When Jabba repeated the word 'outrage' —chomma— he knew that it held multiple meanings.
In this case, 'chomma' was the Hutt crime of challenging the natural and social order, not just a petty threat. Human crimes were nothing to Hutts, and Hutt crimes were, of course, alien to humans. But because humans dominated the galaxy, their rules should be common and apparent. The vile disgusting slugs would always be seen as aberrations to the Republic, even if they never outright said it.
"When I get Rotta back, he'll get a new toy..." Jabba's voice turned contemplative as if he planned to cook a fine meal, "You'll bring be Skywalker's head."
Diomeni chuckled, "A good lesson and I admire your creativity." And he meant that. The crux of the matter was approaching, Diomeni wanted to test his insight. "Count Dooku requested negotiations between the Hutts and the Confederacy be taken place soon. But, in my opinion, I feel it's best we wait until we return your son, alive and unharmed."
"Hmm..." The imperceptible nod was accompanied by a gravelly hum of begrudging exasperation, but it conveyed gratitude, nonetheless.
He stepped back to bow in reverence and moved away for privacy. Diomeni went deeper into Jabba's halls, choosing the perfect shadow to make his report. Once he found it, his smile became tighter, and he pulled out his holo. His eyes flicked into an eye-roll before he pressed the button and shimmered a lanky, bearded man with a face of billowing clouds.
"Well?" said Count Dooku.
"He refuses negotiations until he gets the slug-ling back, alive," Diomeni replied with a frown.
"Of course he does." The leader of the Confederacy expected this. Diomeni said nothing as his holoprojector flashed again, and he pressed a button to reveal his compatriot. Her cowl was gone, and her pale face flowed with the hunt, and she held her two, curved lightsabers.
"I see things are progressing swimmingly," Diomeni said dryly.
Asajj Ventress, the Rattataki queen, and Dooku's most valued acolyte, said nothing to Diomeni.
"My Master." She said to Dooku.
"Ventress." He nodded.
"What news?"
"Skywalker is within my grasp." She said with savage delight, "I will cut through these doors, and then his neck."
Diomeni chuckled, "That reminds me: see to it you leave the head intact. Jabba feels his son deserves a toy. Rather wholesome. And we need the Huttlet alive."
Dooku nodded, "If he is dead, I will be most disappointed. Do not fail me, Asajj. Report your progress as soon as possible."
"Of course, my Lord." She lowered her head, and she disappeared. Diomeni's eyes flashed. As if that action would compel the destructive and exotic queen to return before him.
An action not lost on Dooku, "You have not taken unnecessary risks."
Diomeni resisted another eye-roll, "All I've done is ensure that Jabba's hatred for Skywalker is his only comfort in these dark and troubled times."
"Good." And Dooku turned almost dismissively, but Diomeni added an afterthought.
"He's asking questions. Ones that should he have asked sooner would undo this operation." The implication that Jabba's own intellect, while slow and encumbered by grief, would undo an entire operation was not lost on the Count of Serrano.
"This must succeed. We must have those trade routes." He declared.
"Yes..." Diomeni agreed but said nothing else.
"What of our intel which appeared so suddenly?"
This time, Diomeni's calm expression slowly twitched to a smile. "She is mine. As she is now, she cannot stand. Merely cringe and crawl. But already has fangs to bear..."
"...Indeed."
Count Dooku stared, and Diomeni stared back. Diomeni's teeth shifted slowly but didn't grind and ground, while the Count's eyes hardened and narrowed but never burned. Neither man spoke for a long, long time.
"I will contact Ventress shortly and see her progress," said Diomeni, his face now languid.
"Very well." Dooku's eyes relaxed but remained narrowed, and he too disappeared.
----------------------------------------
Throughout this ragged dogfight, Rex and what was left of Torrent Company, 501st Legion, had been hoping to see a brilliant flash of blue and green. Specifically, blue and green lightsabers from a certain General and his young Padawan. Surrounded by clankers, walkers and flyers alike, all being dispensed ceaselessly by a C-9979 landing craft, Rex would go as far as to silently pray for their arrival.
And when he heard the droning of a lot of LAAT/i drives, he knew his prayers were answered. Oh, and there were fighters, too. Rex was feeling pretty good right now.
"Surrender Republic dogs." shouted a droid.
So good, in fact, he would mess with the frackin' droid.
"We've got you outnumbered!" Rex declared.
"Outnumbered? Hang on. So, that's one, two, three—"
As if the universe was rewarding Rex, the moronic droid actually turned around to count before it was blasted away by lasers from above.
In seconds, LAAT/i ships arrived, pouring out Commander Cody's boys to assist them. No, not assist— takeover is the better word.
About kriffing time!" said Nax, one of his soldiers. A few new troopers rushed next to them and tossed them fully loaded DC rifles. When two Jedi interceptors hollered down to land on an outbuilding, Rex caught sight of blue and green as he prayed for. It wasn't Skywalker and Tano, though; it was Kenobi and Asher.
He watched as they bounded into the air, their brown robes bursting with the wind and flipping through the air to make gymnasts feel useless. In less than a second, Rex had two Jedi backing him up.
"Halloa," said Asher before he Force-pushed a droid crossing Rex's barricade, "how're you?"
"Good timing, sirs," Rex remarked as he blasted at droids with newfound energy.
"Not good enough it seems."
And just like that, the General's grimace made Rex feel the last few hours.
"Is this all that's left?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm sorry, Captain." Kenobi's movements lost no momentum. "Where is Anakin?"
"We lost contact with him; last we heard he was somewhere in the monastery."
"We'll go look for him."
"Careful, though. There's a woman in there: my hairstyle and a double-bladed red lightsaber."
"...Ventress."
Asher, who had been silently deflecting bolts, turned several shades paler. Sometime after the battle, Rex would begin to question: I didn't know who she was, just that she was Separtist scum, but you do?
At that moment, however, he said, "Give her a few bruises for me, will you? I have fractures 'cause of her."
"Count on it."
He made to move but stopped, a curiously wry look passing over him.
"Zakriahs," he called, "isn't there something you're forgetting?"
"I forget nothing! What did I forget? I forgot."
And then, Asher was next to him, as he pulled something out of his robe. It was Rex's pistol. That's right, he lent him one on Christophsis. Rex's face, hidden behind his helmet, displayed a range of emotions - starting with confusion, moving on to bewilderment, and finally ending with a chuckle.
It was also Asher's partly smiling, all serious expression that did it for Rex.
Instead of telling the kid he'd already replaced it, he said, "Keep it."
"What? What am I supposed to do with this thing?"
"Keep your wits about you, and I'll teach you how everything around you can be a weapon."
Rex was only partially joking. The ARC trooper did wish to impart some Mandalorian wisdom on the young 'un. It could help him. Speaking of which, the boy shrugged and shoved the blaster back in his tunic. At least he has the safety off— he's not completely hopeless.
As the Jedi leaped into the fray and Rex felt his energy wane, it had him wondering. How far would this kid get? Where is he by Jedi standards? After nearly two years of watching Skywalker's work, it posed an interesting comparison. Jedi like Kenobi and Skywalker are on a different level— so is the little 'un, Padawan Tano, from what he's heard.
Maybe it was the fact that Rex was down to five men and he's earned some perspective. But he couldn't help it: Rex wanted to help the Padawans. How?
As the Jedi disappeared, his wrist comlink beeped.
"Captain Rex, it's General Skywalker."
Rex's relief didn't show much in his otherwise soldierly and business tone. He was a soldier, and he could fight with them.
"Yes, sir!"
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Asajj Ventress, Dooku's best Sith practitioner and Rattatak's ruthless queen, felt like the Jedi could take nothing more from her. She was wrong.
Her droid, 4A-7, was dead. Not deactivated or dismantled— dead. Skywalker's Togruta Padawan had beheaded him without a second thought.
4A-7 was not a fighter, but he was a speaker and a listener. More importantly, he was perhaps the only one Ventress trusted. So, to view through his eyes— eyes, not photoreceptors— his last moments on the holorecording stung her. He was a loyal Separatist. He died...a man's death. Even as she now holds his working memory on her datapad, his soul for all intents and purposes, it may never be the same.
But this didn't deter Ventress. Her resolve only grows stronger. After all, fashioning her pain, loss, grief, and fury into weapons was what kept her alive. It's what she needed to go out there and destroy the Republic's reinforcements. But the last thing she needed was a delay from the comlink, and to receive a message from Count Dooku, or that perverted—!
Ans of course, the hologram revealed Diomeni, lounging on a couch with a cup in his hand. Her eyes narrowed as he stirred the liquid lazily.
"So, Kenobi's forces have broken through." He said casually.
"I'm dealing with it." She bit out.
"I know you are." He raised a placating hand, "What's your condition?"
A scowl edged closer to her features. "I'm alive."
He nodded once, "Good. Do you have the Hutt?"
You know I don't. "No, Skywalker's trying to escape on a ship, but we will capture him."
Diomeni sighed, "You don't know how difficult it is, just sniffing the air in which a Hutt growls. And he is growling because we don't have his son. Normally stirring conflict is a breeze, but Hutts are different creatures. No reward will come out of this without that Huttlet."
Her firsts tightened, "I didn't realize speaking was such a grueling task for you."
"Now don't be like that! I wasn't dismissing you, Asajj. This is Skywalker we're dealing with, after all."
Ventress looked away with a resentful nod. "The trick is the Huttlet: Skywalker carries him at all times, I'm dealing with a living shield."
"When's the last time you had to deal with those?"
He laughed in good humor, but Ventress refused to laugh. She did, however, roll her eyes.
"It feels like centuries." She accidentally admitted. To which, Diomeni chuckled a little too triumphantly for her liking.
He leaned forward in his seat, "Take heed, Mistress of Death. For even if...you fail," He paused, "I can still work my will over theirs. You let me deal with the Count, and as for you," A feral smile met her, "happy hunting."
With those last two words of a different language, he disappeared, leaving Ventress staring into the emptiness where his holographic form was. Her face constantly twitched in the dark, as if she couldn't decide whether to display searing anger or hardened determination.
Eventually, she sensed someone familiar in the Force closing the distance behind her. And a new presence, as well; as a younger, more mindful fanfare to compliment the more experienced signature. She knew who was approaching her, and her face decided to set itself on pure, unadulterated.
Obi-Wan Kenobi. The thief is coming.
She didn't turn around but immediately ignited her lightsabers. Asajj Ventress, slayer of Jedi and a woman who felt thoroughly pissed off, would enjoy killing the man who stole what was hers. Ky Narec, her poor Master's lightsabers would probably never come back to her. But the thief is here now, and she's decided anger will do.