Most amazingly, the great reunification had been accomplished with a minimum of bloodshed and battles. Relying on ambassadors and treaties, he had accomplished what could never be done through armies and war. To win a world, you must win the hearts and minds of its people, the Chancellor had once explained, shortly after Johun had been assigned to him. Now, after a decade of witnessing all Valorum had achieved, he knew truer words had never been spoken.
“Estimated arrival in five minutes,” the voice of the pilot crackled over the shipboard intercom. “Prepare for landing.”
Johun gave an exaggerated sigh of relief, and the Chancellor chuckled softly. It was a familiar routine to both men. Even though he was retired, Tarsus was not a man to simply step aside from the realm of politics. He remained a vigorous advocate for the Republic. In the two years since his term of office had ended, Johun had accompanied him on over fifty personal diplomatic missions … like the one they were on now.
The planet of Serenno was an important world to the Republic. The ruling noble families were among the wealthiest individuals in the galaxy. In addition to donating enormous sums to highly visible charitable and political organizations, they had the financial capital to help underwrite massive government infrastructure projects.
More important, their vast resources also enabled them to fund groups that were opposed to the Republic, should they so choose. Separatist factions often sought out wealthy benefactors in Carannia, Saffia, and Fiyarro, Serenno’s three largest cities.
Valorum had come to meet with the heads of the six most powerful families on the world. He hoped to convince them to use their influence to persuade the other families to cut off all funding to anti-Republic factions. It was a difficult mission, as the Counts of Serenno were not known for acceding to the demands of outsiders.
To make negotiations easier, the visit was being conducted through unofficial channels. Valorum had once explained to Johun that many rulers and politicians behaved quite differently when their actions were exposed to the public eye. Too often they would simply give the appearance of meeting expectations, a tactic Tarsus personally despised. In a public forum officials would frequently offer promises of support to a cause they did not believe in, only to reverse their position once public awareness of the issue faded.
Conversely, rulers might oppose or reject an idea they supported so as not to appear weak-minded or easy to manipulate. Such was the case on Serenno. If it was widely known that a representative of the Republic was coming to pressure them into action, they would oppose him on mere principle.
Never trust a promise made in front of a holoprojector, the Chancellor often warned. If you want to get anything done, you need to meet behind closed doors and look a person right in the eye.
“Making final approach,” the pilot announced, and Johun felt their shuttle bank slightly to port.
They were scheduled to touch down at the private spaceport of Count Nalju, head of one of Serenno’s six Great Houses and a staunch ally of the Republic. Landing at a secluded location on the Nalju family estate, they would take a landspeeder to prearranged meetings with representatives from each of the Great Houses in turn so Valorum could plead his case.
They felt the slight bump of touchdown and heard the whoosh of the exit ramp descending. Eager to get out and stretch his legs, Johun jumped to his feet.
“Shall we disembark, Your Excellency?” he asked, using the honorific to which the Chancellor was still entitled even in retirement.
Valorum rose from his chair, then made one last check of his appearance. Johun was dressed in the traditional brown-and-tan garments of his Order, but Tarsus was wearing an elaborate outfit in the custom and fashion of Serenno royalty. He had been fitted with dark blue trousers and a loose white shirt, both handmade by master tailors. Draped over his shoulders was a silken cape of midnight black—a gift from Count Nalju. The edges of the cape, along with the collar and cuffs of his shirt, were embroidered with a repeating pattern of three overlapping white circles set against a blue background, the emblem and colors of House Nalju.
The entire outfit had been fashioned from only the finest and most expensive materials; Johun shuddered to imagine what it had cost. Yet the garment was a symbol of the unwavering support House Nalju gave to the former Chancellor’s cause. Without the sponsorship of a powerful and long-standing House, the nobility would simply dismiss Valorum as an outsider or inferior.
Johun knew that Tarsus could have asked the Senate to reimburse him for the expense. However, as was his nature, Valorum had chosen to pay for it himself.
They disembarked to find themselves on a small landing pad constructed atop a tall outcropping of stone rising up like a pillar from the ocean. Fifty meters away stood the towering cliffs of the shoreline, their tops the same height as the landing pad. A single two-meter-wide durasteel walkway connected the landing pad to the clifftops. Halfway along the walkway, perfectly centered between the cliffs and the landing pad, was a wider five-by-five-meter platform, supported underneath by a crisscrossing skeleton of reinforced girders.
There were no railings on either the landing pad or the catwalk. Johun knew the lack of railings—like so many other aspects of Serenno’s culture—were symbolic. There was a long-standing tradition of fierce independence among the nobility. Railings on the walkway or the landing pad would have been a sign of weakness, an admission of frailty and mortality that would have undermined House Nalju’s pride and position. Even so, the Jedi couldn’t help but worry about the Chancellor’s safety when he contemplated the fifty-meter fall off the edge to the cold waters below.
The sole purpose of their arrival was to avoid fanfare and attention, so it was no surprise that there were only a handful of people waiting to meet them. Johun guessed they were servants from Count Nalju’s household retinue, as they wore clothing similar to Valorum’s custom-made cape.
Four figures were huddled together on the platform in the middle of the walkway waiting for them, buffeted by the stiff ocean breeze that tugged at their clothes and made their capes flutter out behind them. Three of them were human—two men and one woman. The fourth was a male Twi’lek with bright red skin; Johun wondered if it was some type of status symbol for the nobles to employ a Lethan among their household staff.
Waiting on the clifftops beyond the platform were two more servants, standing beside the landspeeder that would whisk them away to their appointed meetings. Unlike those on the platform, they were too far away for Johun to make out any details that might indicate species or gender.
The New Dawn’s engines shut down, only to be replaced by the crashing rhythm of the surf as it pounded itself relentlessly against the face of the cliffs.
“Not my first choice of places to touch down,” Johun noted, raising his voice loud enough that Tarsus could hear him over the waves and wind.
“Well, I did ask Nalju to let us land someplace remote,” Tarsus shouted back with a laugh. “I see they only came out halfway to meet us,” he added, nodding his head in the direction of the four figures waiting on the platform.
“Would you go any farther out on this walkway than you had to?” Johun asked.
“I guess not,” the Chancellor admitted, then put his head down against the rising wind and made his way out onto the walkway.
Johun followed a moment later, though he felt a sudden uneasiness about the entire situation.
“Be careful,” he called ahead to Valorum. “If you go over the edge I can’t promise I’ll catch you.”
The other man either didn’t hear him or was too busy concentrating on making his way safely across to respond.
They were only a few meters away from the platform’s edge when Johun was hit with a powerful premonition, an undeniable disturbance in the Force that warned him something terrible was about to happen. To this point his attention had been focused on Valorum’s progress across the treacherous walkway. Now he opened up his awareness and allowed the Force to flow through him, painting a
perfect picture of their entire surroundings.
The four figures waiting for them on the platform were armed with blasters and vibro-weapons. The two by the landspeeder—a short, heavyset man whose arms and neck were covered in green and purple tattoos and a Chiss female—were also armed. More alarmingly, the Chiss seemed to be concealing something in her hand.
Even without turning around, his heightened awareness allowed him to see the New Dawn resting on the landing pad behind him. Around the circumference of the pillar, just below the edge and carefully hidden from view, he sensed something explosive. He guessed that what the Chiss held in her hand was a remote detonator.
Johun took in every detail of the scene in the blink of an eye. Even so, he wasn’t fast enough to save the New Dawn or her crew. The Chiss flipped the switch in her hand, and the charges wired around the landing pad exploded. The blast ripped through the ship’s exterior, leaving great smoking holes in her unarmored hull. The shrapnel fragments shredded the pilot and navigator inside, killing them instantly.
The top half of the landing pad’s stone column crumbled away, sending the New Dawn tumbling down. It ricocheted off the pillar’s jagged rock face then hit the water with an echoing smack, sending a spray of foam shooting skyward; it sank almost instantly beneath the cold, frothing surface.
As the landing pad fell away the durasteel walkway buckled and bent, sending Valorum toppling over the edge. Empowered by the Force, Johun leapt forward and landed on his stomach, his arm shooting out over the edge to catch Valorum by the corner of his cape an instant before he plunged to his death. The Chancellor dangled there for a second before Johun heaved him up with one hand, swinging him by the cape so he dropped safely on the listing walkway behind the Jedi.
Johun ignited the green blade of his lightsaber just in time to deflect a blaster bolt fired at him by the woman on the platform, then scrambled to his feet to face his attackers. They hesitated at the sight of his trademark weapon, considering their chances against a Jedi.
Their delay gave Johun a chance to evaluate the situation. Retreat was impossible: the section of the durasteel walkway they stood on now jutted out at a descending angle from the platform where their enemies gathered; the far end had been sheared away and now dropped off into empty sky. The only escape was to go forward toward the cliffs—even if it meant going through his enemies.
“Don’t move!” he shouted to Valorum as he leapt forward, landing on the platform even as the woman and both men drew their vibroswords and attacked. Only the Twi’lek held back.
All three wielded weapons laced with cortosis, allowing their blades to clash with Johun’s lightsaber without being sliced in two. It only took the first pass for him to realize each one was a highly skilled opponent. Deflecting a quick slash intended to disembowel him by the first man, Johun wheeled to intercept a hard swipe at his neck from the woman. He delivered a spinning round kick to her side, sending her reeling even as he reached behind his back with his lightsaber to parry a savage thrust by the third man at his unprotected flank.
Johun’s training in lightsaber combat was limited to the strikes and parries of Form VI, Niman, the most balanced of all the styles. Colloquially known as the Diplomat’s Form, Niman had no specific strengths or weaknesses. Its general versatility had served him well during the unpredictable grand melees of the Ruusan battlefields. But over the past decade he had made only the most basic efforts to maintain his skill with the blade. Instead he had focused his attention on developing diplomatic talents. Yet he was still a Jedi, and a formidable foe for anyone to face.
He may have been outnumbered, but his enemies attacked as individuals, unable to coordinate the timing of their strikes. The woman regained her balance and rushed in, but Johun spun to the side and shoved her toward the first man. Her momentum sent her crashing into her partner, both of them tumbling to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.
Knowing that the other two were momentarily incapacitated, he focused all his attention on the second man. Attacking as a trio, they had forced Johun onto the defensive. One-on-one, however, he was able to press the action. He came at his lone opponent aggressively, holding nothing back, knowing he was fighting to save not just himself but the Chancellor, as well. His blade danced and sizzled, moving too swiftly for the eye to follow.
The man fell back under the assault, frantically parrying the blows and retreating until he felt his heels dangling over the platform’s edge. In desperation he lunged forward with a clumsy stab at Johun’s chest. The Jedi simply slapped his blade aside and ended the assassin’s life with a single cut of the lightsaber across his chest.
The other two were back on their feet now. The woman rushed toward him recklessly yet again. This time Johun stood his ground, ducking under the wide, flat arc of her blade sweeping in from the side. He reached out with his left hand and seized her wrist as he rolled onto his back, using the momentum of her own charge against her. Pulling hard on her wrist, he tumbled backward and brought both feet up, planting them in the middle of her stomach. He completed the move by kicking out with both legs, sending her flying up and over the platform’s edge. She screamed all the way down, her cries ending abruptly when she struck the water and rocks below.
Johun was already back on his feet, bracing for the first man’s next attack. But rather than face him alone, his remaining adversary turned to flee, making a break for the walkway leading from the platform back to the shore.
He passed the Twi’lek at a dead run, then stopped as his body went rigid and his hands flew to his throat. He turned around slowly so he was facing Johun, clutching the bloody gash just beneath his jaw as he toppled forward and fell facedown on the platform.
It happened so fast it took a moment to register on Johun. Then he noticed the small, crescent-shaped blades clutched in each of the Twi’lek’s hands. They looked like miniature sickles; the one in his left hand was a bright silver, the one in the right dripped with red.
The Chiss and the tattooed man had been making their way toward the platform to join the battle. Seeing the Twi’lek cut their escaping accomplice down, they abruptly reconsidered. Faced with a wrathful Jedi Knight and an ally who would kill them if they tried to flee the confrontation on the platform, they made the only logical choice and raced back up the walkway to their waiting vehicle. Piling in, they fired up the engines and sped away, wanting no part of a plan that had gone so wrong.
Stepping over the still-gasping body of the accomplice he had just killed, the Twi’lek dropped into a fighting crouch. He didn’t seem to know or care that the other two had abandoned him. His lekku hung down behind him like twin tails, the tips twitching and curling in anticipation.
“I’ve always wanted to test my skills against a Jedi,” he said, issuing the challenge.
Johun was more than willing to accept. He leapt forward, moving with the blinding speed of the Force as he stabbed his lightsaber squarely at the Twi’lek’s chest to put a quick end to their confrontation. With an almost casual grace, the red-skinned Twi’lek merely leaned backward and twisted out of the way, slashing out with the strange crescent blades at Johun’s throat.
The Jedi turned his body at the last second, avoiding the first blade completely, but catching the other with the meat of his right shoulder. It sliced deep into the muscle, eliciting a grunt of pain from Johun.
He wheeled back around to see the Twi’lek in the same low crouch, holding the crescent blades up in front of him like a boxer. Johun approached more cautiously this time, recognizing that this opponent was far more dangerous than the other three put together.
Using tight slashes and quick cuts, he probed his enemy’s defenses with his lightsaber, trying to learn the patterns and rhythms of his foe’s unfamiliar weapons. The Twi’lek slapped each blow aside with contemptuous ease, alternating hands so he could always leave one of the crescents up in a defensive position.
The unusual weapons sacrificed reach for speed and maneuverability, Johun realized. He
was vulnerable if he let the Twi’lek get in close, but if he could keep him at a distance he had the advantage. The Twi’lek seemed to realize this, too, and began to move in slowly.
Johun tried to force him back with a sequence of aggressive attacks, but he was unable to penetrate the Twi’lek’s defenses. No matter what he tried, his enemy was always able to keep at least one of the crescent blades back to parry his blows.
Frustrated, Johun overextended on one of his strikes, bringing the lightsaber in a fraction of a centimeter too high and wide and putting too much weight on his front foot. The mistake nearly proved fatal.
The Twi’lek swatted Johun’s blade aside and stepped forward, closing the distance between them to less than a meter as he slid inside the arc of the lightsaber’s effective range. The sickle of his left hand sliced down in a high vertical strike as the one in his right carved a low horizontal slash. Johun was able to backpedal and avoid the initial blows, but he wasn’t so lucky when his opponent reversed his attack, allowing the crescent blades to retrace their original paths in the opposite direction.
One of the blades sliced upward, opening a gash in Johun’s cheek and narrowly missing his eye. The other left a long, shallow cut along the left side of the Jedi’s ribs—painful but not debilitating.
His enemy was in too close for Johun to bring his lightsaber to bear effectively; all he could do was butt with his head, sending his brow smashing hard into the Twi’lek’s face. There was a wet crunch as the cartilage of his enemy’s nose crumpled beneath the impact. The Twi’lek staggered back, then dropped once more into his fighting crouch. Blood flowed freely from his nostrils, the dark crimson flow visible even against his bright red complexion.
Rule of Two Page 16
