Star Wars: I, Jedi

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Then finally someone—me, sometimes; other folks most often—would shiver and clutch at his gunhand as if he, too, had lost fingers. That simple gesture could quiet a group. And the mere mention of the word “Jedi” was enough to send all the braggarts back to their drinks and private fears.

  As a CorSec officer I’d seen this sort of bravado before, and had seen it fade in the presence of a uniformed officer, but never had it risen to such heights, nor plunged to such depths. The Empire’s effort to vilify and transform the Jedi into agents of terror worked to my benefit. If the Empire, which was bad enough, had feared the Jedi enough to wipe them out, then having a Jedi here preying on the Invids was about as bad as it could get.

  So bad, in fact, that the captains of the various groups in Vlarnya offered a ten-thousand-credit reward for the Jedi’s head.

  And I set out to make it higher, much higher.

  For the next several nights I stalked and hit what I considered to be “soft” targets—bands of pirates wandering the streets in search of trouble. Each encounter occurred differently. The fact that many of the pirates reinforced their courage with lots of lum or whiskey helped me immeasurably. Drunks have often seemed incredibly lucky, and in Vlarnya they were as well—but all of their luck was bad.

  One evening I let a trio of the Fastblast’s crew catch a glimpse of me ducking into an alley. I’d been drinking with them earlier and had talked up how a group could go hunting the Jedi and snag him, winning themselves that great reward. The Fastblasters—two humans, male and female, and a male Kubaz—worked themselves up into a frenzy, then I excused myself and made as if to head home. I wished them luck with their hunt, hoping they would find the Jedi before the other hunting groups, and they took the bait.

  The Fastblasters came running and as they rounded the corner of the alley, I projected into their minds the image of me fleeing before them, my cloak flapping back, water from a sewage rivulet splashing up with each step. The humans raced after me at full speed. The Kubaz, who didn’t quite see the image I projected, slowed and raised a hand to warn his compatriots. Before he could do so, I rose from the shadows that concealed me near the alley mouth and clopped him on the head with the butt of my lightsaber.

  Bereft of his warning, his two companions ran at full sprint into the brick and plaster wall I’d hidden with my illusion. The woman rebounded hard from the wall. Her blond hair wrapped around her face as she twisted through the air and crashed down in a trash midden. The man, who had been a step behind her, had begun to twist to his right, so he took the impact on his shoulder. Even from ten meters away, I heard his collarbone snap. He bounced back, took a couple of stumbling steps in my direction, then dropped to his knees.

  His right hand fumbled with the blaster holstered beneath his left arm, but with his broken bone, there was no way he could get a hold of it. I stepped in closer and thumbed the lightsaber to life. His eyes grew wide and he sank back on his haunches.

  “You’ve lost use of the arm. No reason to lose the whole thing, is there?”

  He slowly shook his head.

  “Very good.” I brought the point of the blade around so it sat a centimeter from the tip of his flattened nose. “The next Fastblaster I see on the streets will die. Relay that message for me, will you?”

  He nodded and I stepped away from him, retracting the lightsaber’s blade. I turned to stalk back down the alley to the street. Even without the Force, I would have heard the snap of his blaster being pulled from the holster. Already three meters away, I turned, lit my lightsaber, and deflected the first shot into the alley wall, where it left a little guttering flame. Two more shots missed wide, I blocked a fourth to my left with the lightsaber, then saw that the fifth would miss right and drill the Kubaz struggling to his feet.

  I reached out with my right hand and blocked the bolt, sucking as much of the energy in as I could. The shot stung, sending a jolt up my arm, but I shunted the pain aside and funneled the spare energy into telekinesis. I closed my right hand into a fist, then pulled. I wrenched the blaster from his hand, snapping a couple of fingers as I went, then tossed it high onto a roof.

  “Remember my message.” I turned again, smacked the Kubaz in the head again with the lightsaber’s butt, and vanished into the night.

  Three days later the Fastblast and its crew departed Courkrus for destinations unknown.

  Other crews were not so easily frightened. The Blackstar Pirates felt invincible in their sanctuary behind the Mynock Hole and I knew my intervention there would shake them to their core. In an earlier visit as Jenos Idanian, I took a seat that gave me a clear vision of the datapad they used to gain entry into the back. By casually studying the people going in I learned they used a four digit code, but most of the pirates hit the numbers too quickly for me to read them exactly.

  I waited for an older man well into his cups to approach the door and set myself. He punched the number in and waited for a light to go on and a tone to sound before he would be free to push the door open. I reached out with the Force and simply made him forget he’d seen the light and heard the tone. He frowned, then more carefully and precisely punched the code in, letting me read from his actions what the combination was.

  A rainstorm hit Vlarnya the evening I decided to carry my war to the Blackstar Pirates, and the atmospherics certainly added to the tension growing in the Aviary. It also helped that virtually everyone wore hooded cloaks as sheets of rain lashed the city. I was soaked by the time I reached the Mynock Hole, but went unnoticed among the other dripping, cloaked figures in the cantina. I even swept into the back area warded by pirates without being the subject of much scrutiny. Moving with authority and raising a hand to the datapad to punch in the combination appeared to be normal to the pirates seated there, so I only needed to devote a tiny slice of the Force to making them lose the seconds of their life in which I passed them by.

  I punched in the code and pushed the door open. What I found beyond it surprised me because of the opulence. Muted red and gold glow panels gave the foyer and parlor beyond it a warm feel. Doorways across from the entry and in the two side walls provided access to corridors that I guessed led to rooms meant for private pleasures. I caught just enough of the tang of spice in the air to guess what some of the pirates were enjoying, and a half-dozen men and women attired in unseasonably brief costume, lounging vivaciously on overstuffed furniture, suggested what others would find to content them.

  And through the doorway at the far end of the parlor I heard the cheers and groans I’d long associated with gambling. With the small self-service bar to my right, the Blackstar Pirates’ haven seemed to make available most of the idle-time delights considered desirable throughout the galaxy. This was a place where everyone could have fun.

  To my left a silver 3PO droid with a missing eye sketched a brief bow and extended his hands toward me. “Check your weapons, Master?” Beyond him I saw a small caged enclosure chuck full of blasters of every size and description, with another 3PO droid locked in, shelving weapons and retrieving them.

  “I think not.”

  “I must insist.” The 3PO droid inclined his head toward me. “In accordance with all the regulations in your fellowship contract, specifically clause 35.6 …”

  I lit the lightsaber and split him from crown to groin with one swipe. Sparks flew as both halves tottered and crashed to the floor. I stepped over the twitching pile of circuits, secretly guilty over how good that had felt, then I pivoted to the right and slashed the lightsaber through the drink synthesizer. Coming around full circle, I leveled the silver blade at the parlor’s occupants.

  “That was last call. I think you want to leave now.” I raised a finger to my lips. “Quietly.”

  They scattered mutely as I stalked straight into the gambling den. People hunched over sabacc tables missed me entirely, but those gathered around a jubilee wheel did not. I stabbed the argent lightsaber down into the wheel and let the wheel’s momentum carve the rim from the hub. The rim
spun off, wobbling around the table, scattering bets, then rolled to the floor and tangled in the legs of some Rodian carrying a tray of drinks. Between his crash and the outcry from the roulette players, I got the pirates’ attention.

  I held the lightsaber before me in such a way that its harsh light deepened the shadows within my hood. “This is no more your sanctuary. This is no more a place where chance holds sway. Doom has come to Courkrus, and if you stay, your only safe bet is on death.”

  With that I walked to a door in the exterior wall, slashed it open and let rain slant in. Lightning struck and thunder blasted as I stepped through into the night—well, it did at least for most of the humans I could reach—and then I was gone except from their nightmares.

  And the bounty climbed to one hundred thousand credits.

  The weakness of my approach became very apparent to me and, unfortunately, Shala the Hutt. While my tactics were being very effective, and desertion was beginning to nibble away at the Invid ranks, the fact that I had not killed anyone had begun to work against me. I was dealing with thoroughly and completely ruthless individuals who would kill someone in a fight over scraps from a garbage heap. Since their lives were the only thing of value many of the Invids possessed, the fact that I wasn’t killing applied a brake to the plummeting morale and even allowed for a rebound.

  Shala let it be known that he had a method for dealing with the Jedi, but he kept it under wraps. His warehouse became a fortress where even Tavira’s future consort was not allowed to visit. He sent his various hench-creatures out to terrorize parts of town outside the Aviary and started delivering his own messages. His crimes against property escalated into robberies and simple assaults, with more and more hideous crimes clearly in the future. His actions were an open challenge to the Jedi, and even though I waylaid a couple of his raiding parties he just made the following ones more powerful and sent them forth.

  Everything pointed toward a direct confrontation between us, which I knew would have to be at the warehouse. I snagged a Twi’lek associate of his—Shala’s explosives specialist, a real nasty piece of work—and sent Shala the message that I would meet the Hutt at the warehouse. I didn’t specify an exact time, but it was obvious that I would have to find him sooner rather than later.

  Elegos was dead set against my going. “Surprise has been your ally and has allowed you to win through in situations where you should not have. Entering the Blackstar sanctuary was foolish because you’d not been there, but surprise got you through that. You surrender surprise here and it could kill you.”

  I shook my head and clipped my lightsaber to my belt. “I’ve still got a few surprises of my own, you know. And I’ve been in that warehouse. I’ve been around Shala.”

  “Which is precisely why you should be more careful. You know his crew is mostly non-humans, so your ability to affect their minds will be severely limited. It probably won’t help you at all.” Elegos frowned at me as he handed me my cloak. “And it’s fine for you to absorb a stray blaster bolt or two, but what if they open up on you with a dozen carbines?”

  “They won’t. Look, I’ll get a sense of the place before I go in. I’ll know if he’s got people waiting to jump me.”

  “And what if he has robotically controlled blasters so you won’t have gunmen to pick out?”

  “I’ll think of something.” My answer rang hollow in my ears, too, but it was the only one I had for him. “I can’t not face him, Elegos. If I do nothing, he wins, and a lot of people get hurt. I lose my chance to destroy the Invids.”

  “If you die, the same thing happens.”

  “I have no choice.” I shrugged. “I know this one will get ugly, and I’m fairly certain someone’s going to die. I’ll just have to make sure those who die are those who deserve to die.”

  I left my hotel unseen and stalked through darkened streets I found remarkably free of life—at least the sapiens variety. Word had clearly leaked out that the Jedi had agreed to accept Shala’s challenge. Since the two of us were likely the most hated individuals on the planet no one wanted to get in the way of our confrontation.

  The warehouse looked no different than it had before, save the side door was open and no light bled out into the night. I extended my senses toward it, letting the Force flood through me, and picked out only a half-dozen large lifeforms, including Shala on his dais. The others remained hidden deep in the warrens surrounding the central pit. Their nervousness shone like a beacon, but I found Shala frighteningly calm. He was just waiting for me, so I deigned to keep him waiting no longer.

  I entered the warehouse through the open door and was not surprised when it closed behind me. I made my way quickly through the tangled trail of debris to the central amphitheatre, threading a path through chemical drums and twisted piles of metal. When I reached the warehouse’s center, I saw a single light on, shining down on Shala and the 3PO droid translator. I slowly stalked down into the amphitheatre bowl and stopped two meters away from the Hutt. I threw back the wings of my cloak and brought my lightsaber into a doublehanded grip, but I did not turn it on.

  Shala muttered something and the droid translated. “The great glabrous Shala the Hutt bids you welcome. He instructs you to lay down your weapon and surrender to him, or you will pay a most fearful price.”

  I thumbed my lightsaber on and pointed it up at him. “Tell Shala I have all the credits I need to pay his price right here. Where would he like them deposited?”

  The Hutt laughed, which was not the sort of warm friendly sound one usually associated with laughter. His shoulders bounced, his fat bounced more, and a greenish foam crested the lower lip of his mouth and cascaded down his chin. The sound, however, that was even uglier. As it trailed to a wheeze, I heard a click and saw the Hutt raise his right hand. In it he had a remote with a big red button held down by his thumb.

  The droid spoke again. “Shala asks me to inform you this is a deadHutt switch that will set off a variety of explosives here. He says that he has enough explosives here to destroy everything for a kilometer around us. If you do not surrender, many innocent people will die.”

  All around us I saw little red lights come on and begin to blink, making me groan inwardly. In the light from above I caught enough detail—crosshatched panels curving inward with a red light blinking on top—to know I was looking at Merr-Sonn Munitions LX-1 laser-flechette mines all pointed in my direction. When detonated, the panels would absorb the energy from the explosives and the laser diodes would spray out clouds of laser bolts. To complicate matters, the mines usually had a three meter backblast of pure explosive fire, which would feed into the chemical drums I’d passed on my way in. That would trigger subsidiary explosions that would make quite a mess.

  Based on the drums I saw, and what I knew of the mines, there wasn’t really as much explosive power here as Shala said there was. Either he is lying or … I glanced up and above the spotlight, and caught the blinking of another LX-1. Or he was told things are a lot different than they are. Here at stupidity central, we’ll be vaped, and the neighborhood will get quaked, but we’ re not talking square kilometers of wastage.

  I shook my head. “Your Twi’lek set all this up for you?”

  The Hutt mumbled. “Master Shala says he is most pleased with Rach’talik’s work.”

  “Me? I’d want a refund.” I smiled up Shala, and gave him a cold laugh of my own. “You’ve made two mistakes, Shala. One, you’re at ground zero yourself. Two, you think I can’t stop you.”

  I rotated my right wrist, twisting the throttle control up, and whipped the lightsaber around in a slash aimed to slice the deadHutt switch in two. With the twist I turned the lightsaber’s emerald out of the way and I brought the diamond into line with the Durindfire beam. This extended the blade from 133 centimeters to 300, narrowing it, but bringing the Hutt’s hand easily into striking range. Quick flick of the wrist, cleave the control in two, and the day would be saved. That would be the easy way.

  Easy is not for a Jed
i.

  With a puff of smoke, the lightsaber’s blade sputtered and died.

  I remember the look of surprise on Shala’s face. I’m pretty certain it came from watching the lightsaber blade grow out at him, but I’m not wholly convinced of that. I think, though, the horror that tinged his expression, that came from the realization that in his surprise, he’d dropped the remote.

  Rach’talik, in addition to wanting to replace Shala, was a virtuoso with explosives. The LX-1s went off in sequence, not all at once, washing the central area with wave after wave of laser fléchettes. Each blast scoured the center of the warehouse from a different angle, guaranteeing that no unexploded mines would be hit, but adding laser fire to the chemical fires and exploding drums.

  And he even saved the blast from above for last, maximizing the chances that Shala would live long enough to know he had been betrayed.

  Had Rach’talik gone for quantity instead of quality, I, too, would have been reduced to a greasy, steaming stain on the duracrete. I knew, from the second I saw the remote fall, I had only one chance at survival, and only one chance to try to contain the damage. I sank within myself, touched the Force, started it flowing, and sucked in every stray erg being sprayed on my direction. I felt sting after sting, as if I were sliding through a Sarlacc’s gullet, and it felt as if I were descending into a black pit of pain. I directed some of the Force to help me blunt the pain, but that made it much more difficult to hold on to all of the power I was absorbing.

  I knew I couldn’t hang on to it for long, and I knew I needed to use it to contain the explosion’s deadly force. As I had done in the grotto to save Tionne, I channeled all of it into telekinesis and raised my left hand. I twisted my wrist, starting the energies swirling into a vortex. I could feel the air begin to whirl around me, tightening, quickening. Flames from the chemical fires leaped toward the center of the room, spinning themselves into the vortex. Loose debris, flaming bits of duraplast and rattling, clattering pieces of scrap metal flew into the air, filling the fiery cyclone with dark specks.