The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  Her feelings for Jace were too strong. If something happened to him, she feared all her Jedi training wouldn’t be able to save her from seeking vengeance against the Empire. With her child, she knew, it would be even worse.

  “This path leads to the dark side,” she said, and in that moment of clarity Satele knew what she had to do.

  Satele opened her eyes as the memories faded away. They still hurt, even three decades later. As much as she wanted to believe she could master and control her emotions, when it came to Theron and Jace she had to recognize that it simply wasn’t possible. They would always evoke a powerful reaction in her; it was a weakness she had to acknowledge.

  If she were to confront Jace about his potentially harmful influence on their son, it would only make things worse. Like Theron, he would react to her interference with anger, and she would inevitably respond in kind. Better not to get involved any further.

  She had cut them out of her life for a reason: it was the only way she could fully serve the Republic. She had sacrificed her chance to have a family and an ordinary life when she chose the Order, and—hard as it was—she couldn’t go back on that decision now.

  CHAPTER 20

  GNOST-DURAL WAS ALREADY WAITING for him when Theron arrived at the shuttle. He expected him to ask if he had spoken with Satele, but the Kel Dor didn’t bring it up.

  “So where do we go to meet this contact of yours?”

  “Jigani Port,” Theron said. “On Desevro.”

  Tracking Teff’ith down hadn’t been hard; the SIS had a well-established network of informants at all the major spaceports that weren’t under Imperial control. Getting information on the movements of people passing through the ports in the Hutt worlds or nonaffiliated sectors like the Tion Hegemony was a routine procedure, provided the target wasn’t taking unusual steps to conceal his or her identity.

  The purpose of the network wasn’t really to allow Theron to get regular updates on a small-time criminal working for the Old Tion Brotherhood, but he wasn’t the only agent who used SIS resources to track individuals for non-official reasons. The Director normally turned a blind eye to these minor violations if the agents didn’t overly abuse the system, though now that Teff’ith could actually be useful to the Republic there was no reason to worry about being discreet.

  As the Jedi punched in the coordinates to the Prosperity’s nav computer, Theron’s mind kept drifting back to his meeting with Satele and her warnings about Jace. It wasn’t like him to lose his composure. Satele hadn’t done or said anything that didn’t fit with what he expected from a Jedi Master. It really shouldn’t have set him off like it did.

  “Prepare for liftoff,” Gnost-Dural said.

  Theron understood that in the grand scheme of things, the Jedi were good to have around—the Republic wouldn’t have survived without them. And though there may be differences between how they perceived the war against the Empire and how the rest of the Republic viewed it, in the end they were all on the same side. So why had he lashed out so intensely at Satele? Was it because, as Grand Master, all the stereotypical Jedi traits he found most irritating were amplified in her? Or was it just because she was his mother?

  Their shuttle took to the sky, breaking Coruscant’s atmosphere a few seconds later. Once it was clear of the planet’s orbital flight lanes, Gnost-Dural flipped the switch and they made the jump to hyperspace. As the starfield through the cockpit window became a blur of white, Theron decided he might as well pass the time by finding out if his partner shared Satele’s opinions about the Supreme Commander.

  “I met with Grand Master Shan,” he said.

  “Good,” Gnost-Dural replied. “I trust the meeting went well?”

  Theron still didn’t know if the Kel Dor knew Satele was his mother, so he decided not to bring it up.

  “She has some concerns about Jace Malcom. She’s worried he’s driven by hate and vengeance. She’s afraid he might slip over to the dark side.”

  “Grand Master Shan knows him better than I do,” Gnost-Dural admitted. “They served together many times. It’s possible she saw something in him that troubled her.”

  “You don’t sound too worried about it.”

  “It’s a common fear in our Order when we work with the military,” Gnost-Dural explained. “Jedi are not soldiers; we do not approach war with the same mentality. Times of galactic strife and suffering will inevitably force the Republic into a struggle between the darkness and the light. As Jedi, it is our role to try to keep the Republic on the proper path.

  “At times, this can lead to tension and conflict, particularly when dealing with someone as strong-willed as Jace Malcom. But it does not mean we are not all working to achieve the same goals.”

  “Sounds pretty reasonable when you say it like that,” said Theron.

  “I’m surprised Grand Master Shan didn’t explain this to you herself.”

  “Maybe she tried,” Theron admitted, “but the words she used didn’t really get through.”

  “Sometimes personalities clash. Even the Grand Master is not the right teacher for every student,” Gnost-Dural noted.

  Theron bristled momentarily at the implication that he was learning at Gnost-Dural’s feet, but he quickly brushed his irritation aside. The Kel Dor hadn’t meant anything by his words; it was just that odd way Jedi had of speaking that made normal folks feel like they were being condescending.

  Maybe half the problem is you, he chided himself. Gotta stop being so sensitive.

  He yawned, suddenly aware of how tired he was. He hadn’t slept well after his meeting with Satele.

  “I’m going to grab forty winks,” he said. “Wake me when we get to Desevro.”

  The customs authorities at Jigani Port weren’t anything like Imperial security on Ziost. They didn’t require clearance papers or approvals or even an official ship registration. All they wanted was someone to pay the fifty-credit docking fee and a hundred-credit deposit on the hangar.

  Theron paid them out of his own pocket, not bothering to get a receipt so he could apply for reimbursement later. He wasn’t sure how much of this mission was coming out of the SIS budget, but considering the Jedi had supplied the ship he didn’t mind footing the bill for parking.

  “Where to now?” Gnost-Dural asked Theron as he paid the customs official.

  “If I know Teff’ith, she’ll be hanging around the dirtiest, nastiest, most dangerous spot to get a drink in this place.”

  “That’d be the Crooked Finger,” the customs agent answered. “Not sure it’s your kind of place, fellas,” he said, glancing up at the Jedi’s luxury shuttle. “Want me to arrange a security escort?”

  It wasn’t difficult to understand his concern. Gnost-Dural was wearing nondescript robes rather than his Jedi garb, and his lightsaber was tucked out of sight. Theron had donned his custom bracers, with a full complement of toxin darts and a recharged pinpoint laser. But not everyone would realize they were more than just a stylish choice of wardrobe, and the single blaster on his hip looked woefully underpowered for the kind of people they were bound to run into wandering Jigani Port’s seedier dives.

  “We can handle ourselves,” Theron assured him. “Just point us in the right direction.”

  When they reached the Crooked Finger, it was everything Theron had expected: dimly lit to hide the dirt and grime, and overflowing with a motley assortment of heavily armed thugs and criminals. Music from a slightly out-of-time live band spilled out the door, along with the clamor of the patrons shouting to be heard above the music.

  A pair of large Nikto sitting by the door sprang up as they entered, barring their way.

  “Cover charge to get in,” the bigger of the two said. “Fifty credits each.”

  Theron highly doubted they actually worked for the bar, but he didn’t see the point in starting something. Before he could dig out any more credits, though, Gnost-Dural intervened.

  “No cover for us,” he said, waving his hand in front of him in an a
lmost hypnotic gesture. “We’re friends of the owner.”

  “Guess we can let you through,” the smaller Nikto answered as he and his friend stepped to the side. “Seeing as how you know the owner.”

  Once they were inside, Theron leaned in close enough for Gnost-Dural to hear him above the music and the general din of the crowd.

  “Do you know how much easier my life would be if I could learn that trick?” he said. “Best thing about being a Jedi, if you ask me.”

  “It doesn’t work on everyone,” Gnost-Dural reminded him. “Only those with weak minds. Nikto are particularly susceptible.”

  They made their way through the maze of tables and chairs, Theron’s eyes scanning the bar for a yellow-skinned Twi’lek. He spotted her sitting at a table in the back corner with a scrawny-looking Rodian.

  Theron had expected her to be sitting alone; Teff’ith didn’t normally make friends.

  “There she is,” he told his companion. “Better let me do the talking.”

  As they drew near, he could see that the Rodian was talking animatedly with Teff’ith. He couldn’t make out the words, but the Rodian’s lips were moving, his ears were twitching, and his hands gesticulated wildly. Teff’ith, on the other hand, was barely paying attention. She looked bored, or maybe drunk, sitting slumped forward in her seat with her hands folded in her lap beneath the table.

  “Hello, Teff’ith,” Theron said when they reached the table. “Mind if we sit down?”

  Her disaffected posture vanished as she whipped a blaster up from under the table; clearly she’d had it in her lap the entire time. The Rodian’s eyes opened wide, then went back to normal once he realized she wasn’t pointing the pistol at him.

  “Saw you across the room,” Teff’ith said to Theron. “Too crowded to shoot until you got close.”

  Despite her words, Theron knew she had no intention of actually pulling the trigger. Not unless he gave her a reason to.

  “You get to the count of three to walk away,” she said, her oddly accented Basic still as impossible to place as Theron remembered.

  “There’s no need for the pistol,” Gnost-Dural said, his hand making the same slow wave he’d used on the Nikto at the door. “We’re all friends here.”

  A strange look crossed over Teff’ith’s face and the tip of her blaster dipped momentarily, only to pop back up and take dead aim at Theron’s midsection.

  “Not friends. One.”

  “I’m not here checking up on you,” Theron reassured her. “I’m just here to talk business.”

  “Not interested. Deal was you leave us alone. Two.”

  “The job pays well,” Theron continued. “If you can handle it.”

  “Maybe we should listen to him,” the Rodian chimed in.

  Teff’ith glared at him, before turning her gaze back to Theron.

  “Vebb convinced us,” she said, placing the blaster flat on the table. “You sit. You talk. We listen. Then we shoot you.”

  Theron and Gnost-Dural settled into the two open seats at the table.

  “Ugly-head got a name?” Teff’ith asked, nodding at the Kel Dor.

  “Gnost-Dural,” he answered, not even slightly offended by the insult.

  “Master Gnost-Dural,” Theron clarified. “He’s a Jedi. Like Master Zho.”

  “Zho not like other Jedi,” Teff’ith grunted, and Theron couldn’t argue with that.

  “Your assistance on Ziost was quite helpful,” the Kel Dor said, trying to get on her good side.

  “You cutting deals with outsiders behind Gorvich’s back?” Vebb said, shaking his head. “That’s bad business, Teff.”

  Teff’ith shot Gnost-Dural an angry glare before turning her attention back to Theron.

  “You said you got another job?”

  “Everyone knows the Brotherhood smuggles contraband onto the Imperial space stations,” Theron said, speaking quickly. “You’ve got the contacts, you’ve got the clearance codes, and you’ve got the ships.”

  “We know what we got. You got a point?”

  “I want you to help us get onto one of the space stations.”

  “Which one?”

  “We don’t really know yet. It’s going to be sort of a last-minute thing when it happens.”

  Teff’ith shook her head. “Can’t help.”

  “What are you talking about, Teff?” the Rodian exclaimed. “Gorvich can pull this off no problem.”

  “Shut up, Vebb,” Teff’ith growled. Turning to Theron she said, “Too dangerous. Another crazy mission.” Nodding in Gnost-Dural’s direction she added, “Another crazy Jedi.”

  “Come on, Teff’ith. You won’t even have to be involved. Just set up another meeting with someone who can help us out.”

  “Already set up meeting for you,” she said. “One per customer.”

  “Don’t do it for me, then,” Theron said, reaching for one last card to play. “Do it because it’s the right thing. Do it because Ngani Zho would have wanted you to help us. It’s the least you can do for him, now that he’s gone.”

  “Zho’s debt’s nontransferable,” she said, but Theron could see her resolve softening at the mention of their old friend. Teff’ith hadn’t been around Zho for long, but he knew they’d formed a powerful bond. His mentor had that effect on people.

  “I’ll throw in enough credits to choke a bantha,” Theron offered.

  “Okay,” she finally agreed. “We take you to Gorvich, but that’s it. Then you disappear. For real this time.”

  “Of course,” Theron promised her. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  CHAPTER 21

  HUDDLED WITH GNOST-DURAL in the back of the airspeeder taking them from Jigani Port to the nearby city of Maslovar, Theron was convinced they would drop out of the sky at any moment. The constant high-pitched whine of the engine made conversation impossible, and every few minutes the pilot had to drop them to a height of only a few meters above Desevro’s swampy surface to keep the repulsorlift from overheating. The stabilizers weren’t much better, and each time a gust of wind hit them the speeder threatened to flip over.

  The flight lasted only twenty minutes, but by the time they touched down in the center of the city Theron’s stomach was trying to crawl up and out of his throat.

  “Best hotel in Maslovar!” their pilot proclaimed as his passengers climbed out of the backseat.

  Looking at the dilapidated building before them, Theron was convinced there had to be a better option. But he wasn’t eager to get back on the speeder anytime soon.

  Maybe it won’t be as bad as it looks, he silently hoped as they collected their bags and headed inside.

  Teff’ith had agreed to set up a meeting with Gorvich three days from now. Theron wasn’t happy about the delay, but she insisted it would take some time to pull together everything they’d need to get past Imperial security on whichever space station ended up being their destination. Until then, there was nothing for Theron and Gnost-Dural to do but wait.

  They’d asked Teff’ith to recommend a place to stay; seeing where she’d sent them made it clear she still wasn’t happy about working with him.

  “We need a room,” Theron said at the check-in desk. “Three nights. Two beds.”

  The woman behind the counter didn’t speak as she punched at the buttons on her console. Eventually she produced a pair of keycards.

  “Sixty credits per night. Pay up front.”

  Theron slid the credits across the counter, and she handed him the keycards. “Level six. Top floor. Turbolift is broken.”

  Theron prepared himself for the worst as he entered the room, and he wasn’t disappointed. An unidentifiable but distinctly unpleasant odor wafted out to meet them as the door slid open, and Theron was certain he heard the scuttling of vermin running for cover as he flicked on the lights.

  “There is no comfort, only filth,” he mumbled.

  “We could return to the shuttle,” Gnost-Dural suggested. “There are sleeping quarters, a shower, and
a refresher on board.”

  “I think the floor of the shuttle would be more comfortable than this place,” Theron agreed. “But I need a few minutes before I can handle another speeder ride like the last one.”

  “You and Teff’ith have an interesting relationship,” Gnost-Dural said.

  “It’s not really a relationship,” Theron explained. “She’s just one of my contacts.”

  “She is clearly more than that,” Gnost-Dural countered.

  “Ngani Zho saw something in her. He took her under his wing. I guess I feel responsible for her now that he’s gone.”

  “Do you have feelings for her?”

  Theron laughed. “Not like you’re implying. She’s more like a kid sister. Annoying, always getting into trouble, but you know there’s good buried somewhere deep inside.”

  “It must be buried very deep,” the Jedi noted, “for her to send you to a place like this.”

  “She’s not going to double-cross us,” Theron assured him.

  “Because of her respect for Master Zho?”

  “It’s not just that. She’s got honor.

  “She could have abandoned me on Darth Mekhis’s flagship. Could have taken my shuttle and left me to die there when it self-destructed. But she didn’t. She waited while the whole place was collapsing around her. Gave me time to get back to the shuttle.”

  “No wonder she’s hostile,” the Jedi said. “She saved your life, and now you come and ask her for another favor. You are the one in debt to her.”

  Before Theron could reply, the cybernetic implant in his right ear buzzed.

  “Hold on,” he said to Gnost-Dural, holding up a hand for silence. “Incoming call from the Director.”

  He whispered, “Accept incoming,” before saying more loudly, “Director—any news?”

  “The bird is coming back to the nest,” the Director said. “The one in the manax tree.”

  From the analytics report, Theron knew there were just a handful of Imperial space stations large enough to accommodate a vessel the size of the Spear. Only one was located in a system starting with the same letter as manax—Reaver Station in the Marranis system on the Outer Rim.