The merchant squeezed back behind the counter and settled into a large round seat with cushions that had molded themselves to his considerable shape. “I’m Sconto, my friends. What brings you all the way to Pau City, and what do you hope to find here in my shop?”
“I don’t suppose you have anything left from the Clone Wars?” Karr asked.
The man smiled at them. “Are you kidding me? I’ve got the best thing to come out of the Clone Wars…me!”
Maize’s eyes widened. “You fought in the clone wars?”
Sconto let out another belly laugh. “Not quite. My father was a clone.”
It was Karr’s turn to be amazed. “Seriously?”
“If my mother can be believed, and I have no reason to doubt her.”
“But I thought clones didn’t live very long. You must be…” Maize quit before she could speculate.
Sconto didn’t offer her an age, only a wink. “I’m about as old as I look. Either my non-clone blood won the fight, or else I got lucky—and I didn’t inherit their sad, short life span.” If he was telling the truth about his father, then he must be in his late fifties.
Karr beamed. Leaving Merokia was already proving helpful. “Then if your dad was a clone trooper, you must know about the Jedi,” he prompted.
Sconto’s expression fell. A blank look replaced his wide smile.
Karr could see Maize was about to laugh, thinking she had found someone who shared her disbelief, until she noticed that all the good humor had gone out of the room.
“Don’t talk to me about Jedi,” Sconto said, his cheery demeanor taking on a hardened tone.
Karr chided himself for being so carefree about his quest. He forgot that the galaxy was a big place filled with big opinions, and many didn’t line up with his way of thinking. “I’m only asking as a history buff. I’m trying to find—”
But the man cut him off. “My father was killed in those wars. Gone before I ever met him. And I don’t think I need to tell you who I hold responsible?”
“The Jedi,” Arzee said enthusiastically, as if answering a bit of trivia.
Karr winced, wishing he had programmed the droid to understand when a question was rhetorical.
“War is an ugly thing,” Sconto continued. “Both sides think they’re right, and many lives are lost because of it. You can’t argue with fighting for what you believe in, but…” He paused as if he was tempering his anger again. “Betrayal,” he bellowed. “To turn on your fellow soldiers in arms, to cheat and strike like cowards! That’s just…” He searched for the worst word he could think of. “Disgraceful.” Then he spit on the ground as if the word wasn’t enough.
Everyone was a little dumbstruck, but Maize couldn’t help breaking the silence.
“The Jedi really existed?”
“Absolutely,” he said with bitterness. “There were tons of them. But now they’re all gone. Of course, their legend has grown beyond their power by now. It happens that way sometimes, with heroes and villains alike. The truth is never as simple as it seems, in history books or anyplace else. The Jedi were a bunch of power-hungry renegades, a few of whom might have had some sort of abilities.” He waved a hand dismissively. “But at the end of the day, they were violent traitors, and the clones were right to put them down.”
Maize decided to try a little diplomacy. “We’re not interested in politics,” she confessed. “We’re just here as part of a school project.”
As his mind caught up to hers, Karr added to their cover story. “A history project!”
Sconto began to see clearly again. “School, huh?”
RZ-7 agreed. “Yes, sir—my young friends here are working on a special assignment, outside the classroom. Directed study, that’s what they call it.”
Karr nodded vigorously. “We’re researching the effects of the…the fall of the Republic on planets like Utapau.”
“Or Mirial!” Maize agreed, offering up the planet from her own heritage. “You know, out-of-the-way places that were abandoned after all the fighting, and no one stayed behind to clean up the mess. We’re going there next, but Utapau was closer, so we started here first.”
Karr adored and admired her lying skills, and he tried to keep up. “We live on Merokia, and this is the nearest location of a big battle. That’s why we’re here in your amazing shop, and not rummaging through some dusty old library—we’re supposed to use primary sources, like interviewing people who survived, or cataloging items that were used in the fighting. That kind of thing.”
Maize capped it all off. “It’s for extra credit.”
Sconto softened again, and the pleasant shop owner they had originally met stood before them once more. He clapped his hands as if restarting the scene. “You’ve come to the right place, for sure! You’re welcome to interview me, of course, and I have…oh,” he said, his voice trailing off as he dragged the chair on its rusty wheels, running his hands over the stock behind the counter, “so many odd little things that might serve you. Let’s see what I can find….”
He shoved his fingers into crevices and corners, pulling out recorders, helmets like the one Karr had surrendered to his teacher, belts, gauntlets, cuffs, custom parts for strange weapons, small books and assorted manuals, keys in every shape and size, and the preserved skeleton of a small animal that once might’ve looked something like a tooka cat.
One by one, he lined things up on the countertop.
Karr quietly removed his right glove and tucked it into his pocket, and Sconto kept talking.
“Here we have a small control panel, the sort used for door locks or portal seals. I am told that it came from the second Death Star, but it’s hard to say for certain. It might have come from a similar installation, or it might not. Over here, this is a set of Old Republic glasses, made for the galley of a large warship that still flies, I’m led to understand. Someone told me it was converted to a hospital ship that travels the galaxy on mercy missions, but you couldn’t prove it by me. And this”—he indicated another mystery panel covered with circuitry that could have performed virtually any function, on any ship or in any home—“this…all right, I’ll be honest. This one came from a hand-drying device that was installed in a washroom facility on board a personnel support craft. They can’t all be exciting, but every scrap that survives is meaningful, you understand? Everything that lingers and can be held, or touched, or repaired…it has value to someone, someplace.”
“What about that?” Karr asked, pointing to a staff that reminded him of the one he had back at home, in his collection.
The shopkeeper exclaimed, “Ah!” and grasped the stick in his hand. “Good call. This baby comes with some authenticity.” He rotated the staff to reveal a name etched into the side.
Karr tilted his head and read the name aloud. “‘Medon’?”
Sconto waited for a bigger response, but then confessed, “Yeah. I wasn’t sure who that was, either, but then I looked him up. And if it’s who I think it is, this staff belonged to Tion Medon, the port administrator here in Pau City back during the Clone Wars.”
“So he saw some action?” Karr asked.
Sconto shrugged. “It’s possible. I wish I knew for sure if it was his, because it would fetch a nice price if so, but unfortunately Medon isn’t as rare a name as I’d like it to be.”
Karr was only halfway listening. “Sir, could I…touch it? I’d be real gentle. I don’t want to break it or hurt it, I swear.”
Sconto handed it over to Karr. “Since you’re such good students, I suppose I could allow it. You want to record it, yes? For your project?”
“Yes!” both kids said together.
From the bottom of her bag, Maize produced an imaging unit as proof of their good intentions.
“Very well, here you go. Please be careful, though. It’s pretty fragile and I’d hate to have to call your parents for money, should you cause any harm.”
Before he even reached for it, Karr knew he’d gotten lucky. The piece was definitely o
ld, and his skin was on fire before his fingers were fully around it. Then, as he stared at it with something like delight—and something like terror—he gently squeezed.
There was a flash. There was darkness.
There was a blurry image. Karr tried to focus, but it was no use. And in some ways the fog added to his terror. He saw a lanky figure dressed in reddish brown. And though he couldn’t make out the face, he most definitely saw jagged teeth and bleeding eyes. Karr tried to convince himself that the eyes weren’t really bleeding—that it was just a normal Pau’an—but he couldn’t be sure. It was almost enough to make him let go of the staff back in the real world, but before he could react, the Pau’an blurted out, “Greetings, young Jedi. What brings you to our remote sanctuary?”
Karr quickly turned to see whom he was talking to, wondering if his body was turning in Sconto’s shop, as well—when, suddenly, he saw him! A man wearing, from what he could tell, a brown belted robe. An actual Jedi Knight. At first, Karr couldn’t hear him—but his voice came in very clear, very suddenly: “Unfortunately, the war.”
Karr wheezed and blinked furiously. The image skipped and jumped in time.
“With your kind permission,” the Jedi continued, “I should like some fuel and to use your city as a base as I search nearby systems for General Grievous.”
“He is here,” Tion Medon whispered as he stepped closer to the Jedi. “We are being held hostage. They are watching us.”
For a moment, Karr thought Medon was referring to him. But the image jumped again.
“Tell your people to take shelter,” said the Jedi. “If you have warriors, now is the time.”
More sputtering. Karr desperately held on to what he could. Everything was becoming fuzzier. His vision skipped in and out, went black for a second, then returned.
The Pau’an bowed to the Jedi, steadying himself with the same staff Karr was currently holding. As the port administrator turned to leave, Karr heard another figure ask him, “Is he bringing additional warriors?”
Medon responded, “He didn’t say,” and crossed once more to the exiting Jedi in a conspiratorial fashion. “Master Kenobi,” he whispered as he approached his ship. “General Grievous is a force to be reckoned with. Will you be bringing additional troops?”
The image of Kenobi flickered, and his voice went in and out. Karr tried to stay in the vision. “…rest assured…necessary arrangements. General Skywalker and I dueled with him…planning accordingly.”
The world around Karr sparkled and hummed; reality went in and out of focus, trading places seamlessly with the psychic mirage of the Jedi Master from long before.
He wanted to know more, wanted to stay in that world forever, surrounded by what he imagined were thousands of Jedi. But he also wanted to make sure he didn’t faint or fall—or break the staff that meant so much to the shopkeeper.
“Son, are you all right?”
“Karr? Karr, come on—snap out of it!”
“Sir? Do you require medical attention at this time? Here, sir.” RZ-7’s voice cut through the static. “Let me help you sit down. There you go, that will do.”
Karr allowed himself to be lowered to the floor. Maize’s small fingers pried his away from the staff, and she handed it back to Sconto—who appeared genuinely concerned. He’d come around from behind the counter, and he hovered nervously above them.
“I’m sorry,” Karr gasped. “I’m so sorry, everyone. It’s nothing, I’m fine. I swear, I’m fine. This happens all the time. I’m only…”
“He has thin blood,” the droid informed the shopkeeper. “A tragic condition, but you see, that’s why I travel with him—for his safety, and the safety of others. He will be fine. Please give him a moment.”
The big man fidgeted nervously. “What does he need? What can I do?”
Maize patted Sconto’s arm. “His medical droid will take care of him. Please don’t worry. He needs some food, that’s all. I’ll take him…around the corner. There was a place, wasn’t there? He’ll be back to his old self in no time.”
“There are many places in this district, though only a few have food he could eat. Here, let me go get you something….”
“No, no. Please don’t go to the trouble. Thank you for your time,” Karr said, struggling back to his feet with the help of his droid. “You’ve been very helpful. Maize, did you…did you take any pictures of the staff?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll do that right now,” Maize said, capturing some shots with her imaging unit.
Before they could shuffle out together, Karr paused. He turned back to Sconto and said, “Sir, thank you for letting me hold your artifact. It’s quite a find. And if you ask me, it definitely belonged to Tion Medon. So make sure you price it accordingly.”
The shop owner looked at the staff with new eyes. He didn’t have to believe the boy, nor was there any reason he should, really, but Karr sensed that he did. “Thanks,” he said with a smile. “I will.”
Everyone else chimed in, thanking the shop owner profusely, and backed out of the crowded little store as fast as they could without raising further suspicion.
Karr’s head was still ringing a bit from the blackout, but when they were back on the street, he couldn’t contain his excitement. “I saw one! I saw a real Jedi!”
“What? In a vision?” asked Maize.
“Yes. From the staff. And he was everything I imagined he’d be. The robe and the…well, all I could make out was the robe, but it was definitely a Jedi. The administrator addressed him as one.”
“Wow,” said Maize. “And here I thought it was enough you found someone to confirm the existence of your crazy crusaders”
“You can’t call them that anymore,” Karr said with exuberance. “Because we found proof! And because I saw one.” He was so excited that he began to feel light-headed again. “Whoa.”
RZ-7 steadied him. “You’ve experienced a lot, sir. Perhaps we should get some food in you.”
“Yeah, I think food might help.”
RZ-7 said, “The Pau’an diet isn’t likely to agree with either one of you. Let’s try the next level down. If nothing else, we should find a cantina or something that caters to off-worlders.”
Soon enough, they found a small, dark diner that catered to a wide variety of travelers. They squeezed into a booth at the back and sent the droid up to the bar with credits and loose instructions to order something edible.
The diner was busy, and the drinks were flowing—but no one offered the teenagers any, and neither of them pressed their luck by asking for anything they shouldn’t be able to buy. Karr’s brain was bouncing around in his skull, and his hand felt hot where he’d held the staff. He was deeply relieved when his droid returned with large mugs full of water and the promise of runyip cheese and crackers to come.
He downed half his mug in a few seconds and felt a bit better right away, but the aching fog of the vision still lingered. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands and tried not to moan.
“So what did you see, exactly?” Maize asked him.
“Are you going to be all right, sir?”
He answered RZ-7 first. “I’m good. This one wasn’t so bad, actually. I didn’t faint all the way or anything!”
Maize poured some of her own water into his mug to top it off. “That is great. Were you able to get anything else from the vision? Or just confirmation?”
He beamed at them both. “I got names.”
“Names? When I gave you my father’s drafting tool, you mostly mumbled about what he looked like. You got names this time?”
“Two of them. One was named Kenobi and the other was General…Skywalker, I think!” he said excitedly.
At the next table over, an Utai in a municipal jumpsuit barked, “Skywalker?” and several heads turned—including Karr’s. “That’s a name you don’t hear every day, not anymore.”
Karr swiveled on the rough seat cushion. “You know that name?”
Several others murmured, “Jedi,
yes, hm.”
The city worker nodded, his bulging eyes bobbing on his face. “Old stories, that’s all.”
“Not stories!” someone else at the table argued.
“Everything’s a story, eventually,” the first Utai protested. “So long as someone lives to tell it and someone lives to hear it. Same for the Republic, same for the Jedi, same for all of us one day, if we’re lucky.”
Quietly to Maize, Karr said, “More proof they were real.”
The native heard him. “Real, yes. That’s not a question. Were they good? Were they bad? Were they wrong?”
“Were they all destroyed?” Karr asked quickly, before the philosophy lesson could progress any further.
The Utai shrugged. “Who can say? Maybe they simply left. There’s no telling. Not now, not here. But!” he said with a lifted finger. “Do you know what I heard? There is a story that is still told, around campfires and on long trips through space: It is said that Luke Skywalker—at the Battle of Jakku—he used the Force to reach into the sky and pull down the Empire’s ships! The battle’s victory belonged to him, that’s what they say.”
Karr’s eyes were wide. “Imperial ships! Are you telling me that the Jedi existed after the Clone Wars?” He was used to no one on Merokia knowing anything about the Jedi—or even about galactic history, really—so the revelation that there might be Jedi still alive stunned him. “That would make Skywalker incredibly old, if he lived through the clone and civil wars,” Karr noted, thinking again how maybe he was wrong to question some of his grandmother’s tales.
“That’s how I heard it, anyway. That’s how the New Republic won the Battle of Jakku and ended the war with the Empire. I’m sure someone who lives there could tell you more than I know, though. Visit the outpost at Niima and try your luck.”
Journey to Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Page 6
