Victories come from finding opportunities in problems.
~Sun Tsu
Life is a first impression. You get one shot at it. Make it everlasting.
~J.R. Rim
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"Have you set the charges?" Anakin asked his Padawan.
"Yes."
"Then what are you waiting for?"
Ahoska pointed upward, tapped the button, and the generator detonated.
The effect was immediate; the red shield dissipated, and the distant sound of heavy cannons was heard after a minute. Neither Jedi spoke, each holding their breath.
Ahsoka watched as her Master turned away to focus on the sky, and she was the first to release a heavy sigh. Finding somewhere to sit, the sound of Republic Gunships began to fill the air. She was relieved; the reinforcements had finally broken through.
For Ahsoka, however, it almost didn't feel worth it.
Not saving lives, of course; that was undoubtedly worth the fighting. For Ahsoka personally, nothing had gone in her favor.
Anakin Skywalker was hardly impressed with her. She supposed the Chosen One's standards were higher than most and that she couldn't reach them. It made Ahsoka give perhaps her quietest but longest sigh.
Ahsoka was almost positive he hated her. After all, Skywalker didn't ask for a Padawan— he made that clear for two other Jedi to hear.
Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had given her a chance; the older man nudged Ahsoka forward in the same direction the Knight went. She was grateful for that.
Captain Rex more or less pulled her out of hyperspace. The ARC trooper had taught her to walk at the speed of her allies. Otherwise, they'd leave her behind. She felt embarrassed— apprehensive, even— at first to have a Clone Trooper read her like an open book. Ultimately, the purpose wasn't lost on her.
Funnily enough, the second most inscrutable person here was the one who gave her the most hope: Master Kenobi's new Padawan, Zakriahs Asher. There were whispers in the Temple about Obi-Wan Kenobi choosing a new Padawan, but Ahsoka hadn't stayed long enough to listen to all of them. And when he gave his name to her, she knew it was familiar. Maybe she would have more time to recall where she heard the name if he didn't distract her with random nonsense.
It was one pep talk after another, from an ARC Trooper to a fellow Padawan— at least, she thinks the other Padawan was giving her a pep talk. Watching people like Anakin Skywalker struggle for words with this boy was hilarious for her. And therein lay her newfound hope: he was a flamboyant little clown making jokes at the Chosen One's expense and received no repercussions.
When their mission officially began, she sought it wouldn't be so bad, and of course, it wasn't that bad— it was worse.
She nearly got her Master killed and ruined their strategy three times. The first was because of a droideka. The second was running headfirst into a trap. Then the third was making the trap worse.
Ahsoka wanted to scream at him. Begging him for a second chance. She wanted him to remember she had saved his life; she wanted to say he wouldn't be disappointed again.
But she was tired. Too tired for sass, to be fierce, and to stand on her two legs. So, she sat there with her head low and eyes closed. She couldn't look at him, even as she felt his questioning gaze upon her. She didn't try to fight it; one more remark from him, and then it was back to the Temple.
The rational part of her brain, which restrained her from sobbing and begging for a second chance, was surprised when he sat with her.
"You're reckless, little one," He said after a moment, "I don't know if you'd make it as Obi-Wan's Padawan..."
No, she thought, don't cry.
She turned her head away, desperately fighting any tears. Ahsoka didn't need to hear him finish; she knew what came next.
"...But you might make it as mine."
What?
She looked at him hesitantly. Anakin Skywalker had a slight smile on his face. Through the Force, she could feel tentative encouragement replacing her fear and sadness.
This was the first time she'd seen him smile— not smirk arrogantly or condescendingly. It's a good look for him. Ahsoka thought to say something: sorry, thank you, I won't let you down, but there was no need for words.
"Come on," Anakin— her Master— said warmly. Ahsoka wiped something out of her eye while he walked ahead of her. It may have been dust, or it may not; she didn't know. After all the surprises she received today, this was by far the greatest one.
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"Nearly forgot, I did," Yoda said suddenly, tapping his stick.
A Clone Trooper holding a metal case approached Padawan Asher and disappeared among the ranks.
"Foresee this we did," Yoda smirked, "But such short notice it was."
Kenobi and Asher's brows either raised or furrowed. The Padawan tested the case's weight, then noticed the piece of flimsiplast on its handle.
After he read it, Zakriahs face twisted from a smile to a frown and finally a twitching smirk. He chuckled before forcing it down and wheezing an exasperated groan.
He held up a finger and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Zakriahs bowed his head to the Grandmaster instead.
"Excuse me." He said and left before Obi-Wan could tell him otherwise.
Obi-Wan watched him rush behind the broken wall that was once a room within a building. When he reappeared, a quick smirk vanished from his face before he shut his eyes and held his hands out.
A few pieces of debris lifted off the ground and floated toward the Padawan while he backtracked.
Obi-Wan's amusement lay underneath his shock. He wanted to chuckle; only Yoda's presence made him wary. Currently, the Grandmaster shook his head; his gravelly hum tinged with humor.
"Testing my patience, he is," Yoda answered what Obi-Wan had already suspected.
Obi-Wan shook his head; years of defending Anakin compelled him to have an excuse ready for his Padawan.
"I'll speak with him afterward," he said after remembering this Padawan was different. And his issues, which Obi-Wan could tell Zakriahs was attempting to conceal, must be addressed. For now, however, they'll indulge the Padawan's antics. It's the least they can do.
After one minute or longer, Zakriahs emerged from his spot, the rocks crashing out of the way. The boy did a dancer's twirl and flourished his arms like a showman. He changed his clothes.
A sandy tan now replaced the standard pale tunic, the pants he wore were charcoal, and his once smooth brown boots were now combat strapped.
"Ah!" Zakriahs sighed dreamily," And here I thought I would ha— dislike them, but now that I'm back!"
He stood before Master Yoda.
"Well, all I should say is," He bowed deeply, "thank you, Master Yoda!"
"Thank you?" Yoda's brow arched, "A mere messenger, I am. Nothing special have I done."
Obi-Wan stepped in before Zakriahs responded.
"Now that you're ready, we should go. Let's not keep Anakin waiting."
Zakriahs looked as though he had more to say but instead nodded and joined them on the Republic Cruiser.
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On the way, Obi-Wan had told of Anakin's reaction to Ahsoka Tano. Yoda took the news with only a head shake at the end.
Strangely, Zakriahs stayed quiet throughout Obi-Wan's briefing. His expression was unreadable, and his thoughts were hidden. Or at least crowded. Master Yoda and a few other Masters endeavored to teach Zakriahs the value of silence, and despite his disposition, Zakriahs seemed to take this lesson to heart.
In all of Yoda's decades of teaching and wisdom, he admitted that while Zakriahs was unconventional, he secretly liked the questions he raised. And Yoda knew that, sooner or later, Zakriahs would do the second thing he did best: talk.
The three Jedi awaited the arrival of their two affiliates: Anakin and Ahsoka. Two Delta-7 Starfighters sat a few meters from the trio, both red and ready to use. While they waited, Obi-Wan checked his Padawan for any severe injuries. The curly-haired boy made his cool stride believable until Obi-Wan, doting and prodding, located hidden bruises. Thankfully, they were not severe, and Obi-Wan left the squirming boy alone.
When Anakin and Ahsoka finally arrived, Yoda jumped straight to the point. His voice was firm, and his gimer stick pressed just as firmly into the ground.
"Trouble you had with your new Padawan, I hear."
"I've explained the situation to Master Yoda," Obi-Wan said after Anakin and Ahsoka shared a quick look, and Anakin only gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"If ready for a Padawan you are not, perhaps Ahsoka should—"
"Hold on a moment," Of course, Anakin knew precisely what game his old Master and Yoda were playing, and he would prove them wrong. Anakin had a sneaking suspicion why the Council had entertained the thought of giving him a Padawan; throughout his career as the Chosen One, only one possible reason convinced the Council to do the unthinkable. And that reason was strangely silent.
Anakin wouldn't turn his back on them— he'd never turn his back on anyone who needed him. Just as they nearly did on him at eight years of age. Perhaps he didn't want to instruct Ahsoka, but who else would do it if not Anakin Skywalker? He refused to let her abilities wither and waste in the Temple, forever denied the chance to see the Galaxy in person. He would be better than all the wisest Jedi and do the unthinkable.
But Anakin didn't say any of this. Instead, he spoke with the soft, controlled voice expected of a Jedi Knight.
"I recognize Ahsoka's hastiness and attitude," Ahsoka winced, "but, with some training— and patience—" Ahsoka winced, then nodded, "she'll go very far."
Ahsoka and Obi-Wan smiled, one from pure relief and the other of pride. Zakriahs, Anakin noted, didn't react to this at all. He was staring at the soldiers a few meters away, marching in perfect synchronization. A minor thing he also noticed was that of the three humanoid Jedi present, Zakriahs hadn't crossed his arms.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
What does that say about him? Anakin thought, And about me for noticing something that small?
Unfortunately, the conversation steered back to the war.
"Go with you, she will then, to the Teth system." Yoda turned away.
"To Teth?" Anakin said, confused, "That's wild space! Not even the droid army is in that sector."
"Kidnapped, the son of Jabba the Hutt has been."
Anakin paused, "And you want me to rescue him?" The Knight felt his right hand slowly balling into a fist.
Obi-Wan noticed, "Anakin, we need the Hutt's alliance. Any advantage we can get over Dooku should be welcomed."
Anakin could feel his mechanical hand burning, all because he heard that name— the name of the Sith who stole his arm! If only for a moment, Anakin would pretend that everything about this wasn't testing his limits.
Yoda hummed, "Negotiate with Jabba, Obi-Wan, and Zakriahs will. Find the kidnappers, you and Ahsoka will."
"C'mon, Master!" Ahsoka smiled nervously, "Doesn't sound that hard. I'll assemble the Troops." With that, she walked off to be the diligent Padawan he needed her to be.
A mild bout of laughter brought Anakin's eyes to Zakriahs, studying her retreating form with crossed arms. Somehow, this irritated him more: a headstrong Padawan he must watch over and an unknowable Padawan taught by his former Master. Add to a Huttlet he must return to the source of his greatest pain, and these things made Anakin feel slow. A huff escaped him before he could catch it.
"Relax, Anakin," said Obi-Wan, "Teach her everything I taught you, and the results will speak for themselves."
Anakin was completely certain now: this was planned. And his Master was at the forefront. The tone in his voice told him as such.
Anakin turned sharply at Zakriahs as he laughed wheezily. Whatever look Anakin's face took quickly shut him up, the boy now averting his eyes. Anakin tried to relax, fearing his face might have become too intense. With nothing else to say, Anakin strode to the cruiser, his mind brewing on these significant changes.
Ahsoka and Zakriahs were young, so there was no need to take anything out on them. They didn't know any better, but after today, the Chosen One was sure they would learn. Their sore bodies, rasping voices, and tired eyes that came after a battle were there. And the bitter task of not succumbing to the pressure that comes with standing back up would have to be honed.
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"Well, he..." I paused, trying to think of what to say, "he'll do right."
The Jedi Masters looked at me silently. I waited a moment before nodding.
"Yes, he'll do right!" I straightened, with a clap of my hands, "Well, best not to wait any longer. We have the difficult mission." Obi-Wan still said nothing, "Okay, then, let's get to it!" If she could be enthusiastic about Hutts, why couldn't I?"
"Not," said my Master, "yet, Padawan. There is something we must discuss."
I turned around, wary of that tone. I saw that the bearded man's eyes had taken...Masterly sternness I dreaded. Only there was no reason to fear it; everything worked out in the end.
"What's hiding in your tunic?" He began, "And before you jest, consider where you are and why I'm asking."
Okay, so he cut me off. Well, if all he wants is a straight answer, I can take it. I needed this, anyway!
"Oh, you're right!" I exclaimed, "It's a DC-17 pistol, but you know it better as one of Rex's guns." I took it out and whistled one of the Troopers over, "Can you take this to Captain Rex, wherever he may be?"
"Belay that, Trooper. Resume your duties."
A chill ran through me as the Trooper walked away, and the suspicion of what this was about started creeping in. I could have been...wrong. Perhaps, I did something I shouldn't have, or I came on too strong with the change in clothes.
"The question now," He crossed his arms, "is why do you have that blaster?"
"Well—"
And it hit me: I was right. And I walked into a trap, and there wasn't any way to answer that without the truth. I hated disliked fumbling my words.
"Because..." I looked down, "I knew the droids would take my lightsaber when I surrendered." A brief glance at Master Yoda told me his face was identical to Obi-Wan's.
"And," Obi-Wan said slowly, "what did you plan to do with that blaster?"
I looked up, "I wasn't planning on— No! You weren't suggesting that; I should have known better. I'm ashamed that I...don't know." I held up my hands, surprised to see the blaster.
Those words... I couldn't believe I said them. Whatever it was that kept me upright failed me as my shoulders slumped, and I could focus on no one thing.
"I...don't know." I said again, "I don't know."
I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Take a deep breath."
I obeyed, and my tightly shut eyes became more relaxed. When I opened them, Obi-Wan's strict eyes had mollified slightly. I think Master Yoda's also had, but I didn't check. I doubt they had, though.
"For your first battle," He began, "you handled yourself well. But you're reckless. It would be one thing if you were more experienced, but you're only a Padawan." He smirked slightly, "You forget that sometimes, don't you?"
I didn't answer.
"I will teach you everything you need," He continued, "But for now, focus on what you know, and I will help you expand it. You will learn new things, and I know you have the patience for it. And I know you're better than simply charging without a plan."
I took another deep breath, absorbing or inhaling his words. This is what it meant to have a Master; I knew that. But to finally have one...
"Wait," I looked up, "does that mean...those two," I pointed behind, "are idiots compared to me?"
"Don't put words into my mouth, Padawan." He said, but neither his tone nor face was severe enough. It got some laughs out of me, which I'm thankful he shared with me. I stood straighter when his eyes shifted downward, reminding me of Master Yoda's presence.
My face dropped, but I understood. Before he said anything, I brought myself down to the level of the Jedi's Grandmaster. Once I was close enough, I hung my head, and he whacked my head with his gimer stick. Not with enough force as before, but...yeah, it still hurt.
"Indulge you before we have, Padawan." He frowned, "But not so lenient can we be. Not anymore." He heaved a sigh, "To end this war as quickly and painlessly as possible, our new task is. Yes?"
"Yes, Master Yoda." I bowed to the Grandmaster, "...The difference between intelligence ad wisdom."
He nodded approvingly, "Remember the difference, you must, Padawan Asher. And for your sake, hold onto that knowledge, yes. And for the sake of your allies."
"Yes, Master." Keep your sentences short.
"And," His tone changed, "thank me not. If see her on Coruscant you do, then to her your gratitude goes." His little chuckle was all I needed to return a smile.
"Yes, Master Yoda."
"Now," He tapped his stick, "To Teth now! Quickly! And may the Force be with you."
"And you," Obi-Wan and I almost said in perfect sync. My hands shook with anticipation— truly! Oh, my body still ached in a few places, and the war was no closer to ending, but the trials I would face seemed more immediate than ever before. I couldn't wait!
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"Jabba, the bounty hunters you sent for your son have returned."
This was the best news he'd heard all day.
The leisure of Jabba the Hutt would not be returned so quickly. All he had now was scornful anger to hide the worry for his missing son. He did not need sympathy from any of his subjects— only results.
So, Jabba allowed a gluttonous satisfaction to creep into his heart. Jabba should have known better that it wouldn't specify the deplorable state his hunters were in.
To his confusion, only an IG droid moved to greet him. The crime lord remembered choosing this droid for all of its most recent kills; however, it was one of four bounty hunters he hired.
Odder still, there was a humanoid tied to the droid. Upon closer inspection, Jabba saw its wrists and ankles tied to the droid's arms and legs. A grim satisfaction bubbled within Jabba; this person was probably the sleemo who hurt his son! The cruel display made Jabba wish he had thought of it first.
But Jabba's entourage began to cough and gag, making him pause. With the droid in perfect view, Jabba saw this victim.
It would have been one thing to send a body bag or even pieces, but in this— this...brutal torture that he still wished he had thought of before...
His punky muffin, Rotta, was in the hands of someone dangerous, as dangerous— or even more so— than himself.
After hailing a torrent of Huttese swears, Jabba ordered an immediate call to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine of the Galactic Republic.
As everyone cleared out, Dia Ziveri scurried into a space where the shadows would hide her. She was a palish pink Twi'lek who danced for Jabba the Hutt, weary of any shade that would betray her at any moment. When she finally settled into a room, she relaxed when the person she expected emerged from the shadows.
"Are you ready?"
Dia's heart did not stop racing. At first, it was fear at what she had seen, but not this time. This time, it was the figure's voice: slightly raspy and all saccharine. Her Twi'lek nature pushed her eyes away from the figure, though not in the same vain as she would with the Hutt.
She stiffened when a hand pulled her chin up, and her breathing nagged.
"Shh," said the figure, "no need for that." Dia's mind began to ease with the figure's words, and she did not fight it. Did Dia move or did—?
"I promised you, didn't I? You'll be protected, and you will know true freedom." The figure paused, "Now, I need to know you're ready. They're expecting us, and he'll speak with you."
When a crimson hand grasped Dia's palish pink hand, her fears and regrets dissipated, now replaced with tranquil happiness and warmth in her body. Dia's smile was not made of plasteel, nor was her heart. No matter how fun her dances could be, they never hid the Hutt who bought her, the cruelty of his lifestyle, or the stench...
Her resolve was now set.
"Yes," She said for the first time, "I'm ready."
The crimson figure smiled, impressed with that delicate voice finding some weight; Dia watched as the figure slipped from her space to walk to the door. The figure paused, slowly and deliberately tapping three long fingers on the door. When nothing happened, the figure did it again.
A faint sound was heard on the other side; to Dia's ears, it sounded like a yawn. A pleased smile later, the figure skipped to the holo device on the floor.
Dia's resolve was instantly nearly forgotten as the hologram flickered into two life-sized beings— standing across one another in hoods. The first figure was only taller than Dia's hunched form, while the second towered over them all. Dia felt relieved to hold a crimson hand for the chill she felt when their voices resonated in the small room.
"Well?" said one of them; Dia couldn't tell which. They were so still, and the voice she heard was rasping, nothing like the one who held Dia's hand.
"Jabba didn't like it," Dia's friend giggled, "I swear, it was like he looked into a mirror."
Suddenly, a soft, sonorous chuckle made Dia flinch. The tall one's head looked down at his companion.
"I told you it wasn't a waste of time." Dia recognized the cruelty in his voice, the pleasure of hearing this news. Yet, Dia's mind ignored that. All she could feel was her fluttering heart at this musical Coruscanti accent. She couldn't help it.
The short figure, however, didn't acknowledge her partner's words.
"Now, Jabba understands the stakes. Unfortunately, the battle on Christophsis ended in the Republic's favor. My Master tells me that a Jedi Master and his Padawan will arrive to deliver pleasantries." The figure paused, "And I think I know who the Master is..."
Dia realized now that this figure was a woman speaking. Only this woman's voice seemed coated with poison and pure contempt. It was perhaps the most dangerous woman she'd ever met, and she couldn't even see her face.
"How soon can you arrive at Tatooine?" The woman asked the tall man.
"I'm already here," The man replied.
The woman snorted, "Then, it appears we are ready."
"Who will be the daring rogue to rescue the crime lord's spawn?" The tall one chuckled, "Perhaps one of his slaves," He stretched the word, "will put his anxieties to rest."
"Indeed." said the woman, though Dia could imagine a smirk on her face.
"I await your killing blow, Mistress." The man bowed, sounding earnest.
The woman did not bow and did not speak. She flickered away, and Dia finally released her breath.
"So," Dia sucked it back in when the man turned his head, "who do we thank for this?"
"Her name is Dia Ziveri!"
When Twi'lek was pushed into view, she resisted only halfheartedly. She had been perfectly content to wait it out behind her friend, but...then again...
"Dia..." the man purred, "what a lovely name."
The Twi'lek woman wondered if Jabba had ever bothered learning his name. So far, her head swam, and her heart pounded at hearing her own name being spoken.
Of course, Dia was desired. It was only natural; she was a Twi'lek. Most times, she hated it. Sometimes, she convinced herself to like it. This time, she craved it and could practically taste it. This desire felt so sweet!
"I would hear your voice..." He said, and she felt no fear at the request.
"Yes..." She breathed, "Yes, my lord."
Was he a lord, Dia wondered. The words felt so natural. Was it her Twi'lek nature to bow, or was it him?
He chuckled again, "We would have learned eventually, but thanks to you, you've saved us ample time."
The spell broke momentarily when the shadowed face materialized two glowing orbs. Dia reminded herself that it was only a hologram, not bloodthirsty eyes filled with a lusting— No! There's no way she could even think that! How dare her mind even presume she understands anything!
"He's right, you know," her shoulders felt two hardened hands, "Jabba underestimates how much gossip his dancers can pick up. Hutts...underestimate much." The pur in her ears sent shivers down her spine.
"Your rewards will be plentiful." The man said, "Your soul will be protected. And you're voice?" He stood straighter, "We will teach those who look down upon you to fear your whispers. If...you'll have us?"
His words...
Dia wasn't sure if she had heard all of them, yet she somehow felt the truest meaning. Her eyes closed, and she drank in his promises. They were intoxicating— quite literally, if the rumors she's heard about these people were genuine.
No images filled her mind, and there was no fantasy of lounging around while servants fulfilled her every need. She saw nothing like that with her eyes shut.
Instead, she opened her eyes. And she saw him. Those fantasies existed right in front of her— staring with anticipation. No, she couldn't back out now— she had to have it!
"Yes," she said desperately, "I will! Please!" Dia had nearly shouted, but the hands softened her voice. That's right. No one could know she was doing this— least of all Jabba. Though she couldn't see his face, she knew a beaming smile hid within.
"In due time," He said, turning his head, "Carmine. How long can you defend her?"
The crimson Carmine smiled, "Is that a question?"
"That's my girl." He said, "Expect me as soon as the Jedi leave."
Carmine blew a kiss to the hologram before it vanished. Once again, like a switch, Dia's fears returned, thankfully at a Hutt's pace— her knees wobbled, but Carmine caught her.
"Intense, isn't he?" she giggled.
The Twi'lek, however, couldn't focus on her. Her hands shook, and her eyes were now moonlike. And again, they surrendered— even before a gentle hand brought her face back up. Dia supposed she shouldn't be surprised with a Zeltron after all.
"These will be your last days of dread," Carmine stroked her lekku, "You're new life will...well, why don't I save the details for later?"
And with that, Dia nearly forgot her name. She forgot her life in Jabba's palace, her family, her struggles, and everything else. All Dia knew at that moment was those beautiful promises— echoing in her mind and smiling down at her. All the pain she's endured, every leer she squirmed under, every second she cowered under of blob of slime...it would all be worth it. Soon...