XXX: Thoughts
Nima could feel the hum of her Master's tension, knew that he wielded it like he would a lightsaber. Yet it couldn't be healthy for him, and so she cleared her throat and said, "Master, what's worrying you about the meeting?"
"What isn't?" Master Bell tugged at his beard, glancing around the break room where Eida would arrive to begin the conference. It was a bizarre sort of game of holo-phone, but the Green Jedi Council was sending three of their members to negotiate. "But my greatest worry is the traitor."
"The traitor?"
"We know by now that we were in contact with the Green Jedi before our first operation was destroyed." Bell shook his shaggy head, eyes fixed to the wall. "There are all sorts of things that could have gone wrong, but which did? Was there someone within the Green Jedi that turned them in? It would make sense, but even if that was so, who was it? It can't have been that much of a secret, that the Jedi are interested in the fate of the Green Jedi. And why? Money, power?"
"Family," Nima said, not entirely sure but willing to guess. "Palpatine could offer safety to the families of those who turned on them."
"He'd be lying," Bell pointed out, brows furrowed in irritation.
"They'd be afraid." It wasn't empathy, but she could picture it, could slot some Jedi into the picture, their family trapped and scared, themselves hoping for a way out. "Desperate. A third of the 'Temple Jedi' are dead, and all that's keeping them from their deaths is an unstable government and a Senator infamous for his opposition to Palpatine." Her words were like webs, like nets in the water, and she felt them building up, tying everything together. "There's no guarantee Palpatine is a Sith, and if he is, how can they save anyone?"
"No guarantee? Did this hypothetical traitor think we were lying, then?" Jordyan's voice was at least cold instead of hot.
"We believe that marrying and having a family is of the Dark Side," Nima pointed out, dryly. "Or… we believe something close enough to that, and they interpret our actions in the worst light possible."
Bell winced at that, almost leaning away from Nima's words as they continued to weave around him.
"They don't respect us; we don't respect them. Then someone arrives, swearing that Palpatine is a Sith and controls the entire Republic, that the war was all just a sham and they need to leave their homes en masse to join with people they've never liked, who didn't like them." Nima frowned. "Then there was someone promising something else, promising literally anything more than defeat."
"I'm not necessarily privy to all the terms and conditions the infiltration team offered." Bell's face, though, told Nima all she wanted to know without even looking into his heart. They had come here to save the Green Jedi, with all the best intentions, and keep Corellia from sliding onto Palpatine's side. But they assumed that saving the Green Jedi would involve, sooner or later, the Green Jedi fleeing Corellia.
Perhaps it still did. Perhaps there was no path forward when Palpatine was there except escape, for the moment. Perhaps they'd leave, and perhaps one day they'd return as she hoped one day to return to Dumu-Malik and what was left of the Temple, when the war ended.
(When the war ended? It had only just began.)
"There's no other choice. They're isolated and alone on a planet filled with people who will be made to hate and fear them. They have to leave," Bell insisted, quietly but with forcefulness.
"Maybe they do. But it should be their choice, shouldn't it? Their individual choice. Do you remember how you told me about the Yarl people of Arlisix 7? How despite not actually being a different species, they were hated and feared and discriminated against until you uncovered a conspiracy, if it can be called that, to assassinate Yarl activists, and helped them organize their protests."
"They did the real work," Bell said. He meant it. "I simply protected them and did what I could."
"So you didn't tell them that, as hated as they are, it'd be better for them to flee Arlisix 7? Didn't simply offer them tickets off the planet?"
Master Bell flinched as if struck, his eyes wide. "No."
"Because it was their home. It was the place that mattered most to them. It was where their jobs, their friends, and their family was. I… you told me that so many people saw no hope, right?"
"I did," Bell said quietly, as if he were whispering in front of some sleeping beast, as if he didn't want to wake it up, end whatever dream existed between them now, where they could both see something in the distance, a shining path.
"But they wanted to fight for it. They saw a future even if nobody else could, and i-it might have been a mirage." Nima blinked back tears, because she knew that that's what the Jedi were doing too. Perhaps in a thousand years some historian would dryly write, without compassion, that the Jedi Rebellion was doomed to failure, that it never had a chance because of a dozen factors carefully picked out. She couldn't know! She could only hope, and trust. "This might be a mirage. But the Jedi of Corellia, at least some of them, believe in their home. Isn't it our job to believe in them?"
Master Bell swallowed, his own eyes slightly wet as he stared at her for a long moment. "You're right, it's not about me. And despite their wealth and power, the Green Jedi are not… they are not an enemy. Not at all. I'll think on it, and try to say the right things this time. I cannot make a mistake, not now."
There was a sniffle, and Nima turned to Eida, who was standing in the door. "Y-you're really something, both of you."
"One day Nima will change worlds," Bell said. He looked at her, as if seeing all sorts of things that Nima wasn't sure were really there. "Starting with Corellia."
*******
There they were, back in the chateau once more.
Across from Nima and Master Bell, besides Jix and Eida, there were three human figures. The youngest of them was a man in his thirties with long red hair and sharp green eyes, dressed in fine dark pants and a flowing red shirt. His smile was a little insincere, a diplomat's smile.
Next to him was a woman in her forties, rail-thin with already greying hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in Jedi Robes, and her lightsaber, at her side, was curved. Finally, there was a woman who had to be in her fifties or older, dressed in armor that looked… odd. Nima swore she had seen it before, perhaps in some history text. The armor was blue and red, and included some sort of vest. She looked a little worn, as if softness and old age had begun to creep up on her.
"I am Ivane Rul," the diplomat said. "And these are Amia Valris." He gestured at the blue-eyed woman. "And Kara Ponle." The woman in the armor. "I am the chief diplomat of the Green Jedi Order, and of course a member of the Council. Amia Valris is the foremost expert in using the Force to move things, and is an excellent duelist and sterling teacher. Most importantly, she has important contacts in executing our plan. Kara, after the loss of several other Jedi, is by far the best remaining duelist."
Kara nodded at Master Bell in what seemed like respect. Nima knew Bell wasn't the best lightsaber duelist in the Jedi Order, far from it. But he was skilled, and had a lifetime of hard experience.
"She also," Rul added, "Has plenty of tactical experience that might be important if this comes down to a fight."
"I expect it will." Master Bell shook his head. "Neither the Diktat Guard nor CorSec as a whole will allow anyone to leave without a fight."
"Ah, that is another point. The preliminary arguments you made involving the total evacuation have some flaws." Rul strolled over towards him. "I don't mean to say that as an insult, but they are points for negotiation, and there are a few things I noticed. First, the lack of details about how you'd get the ships required for the evacuation."
"That's something for us to discuss." Jix looked nervous at Bell's words.
"Second there is the matter of the total forced evacuation--"
"You can discount that part." Bell smiled politely. "I've decided that it's unrealistic to demand anything like that. Instead I'd like to offer voluntary individual evacuation, combined with a more… mandatory evacuation of certain important artifacts and teachings."
"That was a fast turnaround." Rul shook his head, as if he'd suddenly lost half of his arguments. "I think we can work with that, provided we talk through just what artifacts you're talking about, and of course we need to figure out how to evacuate everyone."
"Bluntly, we need to solve the plague problem before we can evacuate anyone at all. We have no evidence, but plenty of reason to suspect that the plague has something to do with Palpatine. The timing is too convenient."
"I agree," Amia Valris said. "It doesn't make sense otherwise." She seemed a little uncertain as she spoke, glancing over at Rul as if expecting him to override her.
"So, what are you planning to do to stop it?" Rul asked.
Master Bell breathed in and out for a moment, glancing over at Nima before finally speaking. "Our team that was sent here was in contact with the Green Jedi before they were all captured."
"What of it?" Kara asked, with narrowed eyes and a tight frown.
"I suspect that they trusted the Green Jedi more than anyone else they were working with, and I suspect that someone betrayed that trust."
Everyone startled at that, at least on the Corellian side.
"This is a very bold accusation," Rul said, his mind whirring about furiously to try to decide what to say.
"You see, I'm not accusing the Green Jedi of being corrupt. I'm accusing someone, among whoever was involved in all of this, of being afraid. Afraid for their family, their loved ones, hoping to help themselves in the face of Palpatine's machinations. The man helped Skywalker fall to the Dark Side, he has ways to turn someone."
"Was Skywalker so far from it?" Kara asked, licking her lips and staring ahead in steely-eyed concentration. "Your Shadow, the one you're searching for, talked to me. He was curt, cold, but he mentioned the doubts and fears about Anakin."
Nima winced and stepped forward. "Whatever he was a few months ago, it wasn't a Sith, even if he was steeped in the Dark Side."
"What was he to you?" Valris asked, stepping forward. "I know that you're Nima Tyruti, Jix has spoken of you to the Council. But we're all perhaps a little uncertain why you are here."
Nima could feel the uncertainty coming off of Rul, and the slight offense coming from Kara, and could put together it all in her head. They were wondering why a Padawan was speaking out of turn in a high-level negotiation. They were probably also wondering where Master Secura was (the answer to that was: setting up the attack in LiphCo single handedly.)
"I thought Anakin was--"
She cut herself off for a moment. She couldn't lie to herself, no matter how much she wanted to do otherwise. If she merely thought he was her friend, and he wasn't, then she hadn't failed as terribly as she had.
"Anakin was my friend. I trusted him more than I should, but everyone has breaking points. I've done… rash things while trying to help those I love."
Valris blinked in shock, and Kara actually took a step back. "Love?" Rul asked.
"Yes," Nima said, though she tried not to think through all the different kinds of love she felt in her life, and who she felt them for. "I want… I know it's not that insightful and they probably already know, but whoever in the… Order knew about the Jedi Mission, can you tell them, if they're the ones who betrayed this trust--if someone did…"
Nima felt as if she were walking across a minefield. She could feel the glare of eyes on her, waiting for her to make a wrong step. But it was more than that. There was something in their gaze that also felt like expectation, like hopes, as if not only could she disappoint them, but impress them too. But it wasn't them she was talking to. It was someone she couldn't see, who would hear her words secondhand, who would frown over them and consider whether they meant anything at all.
"I'm not going to say, if they're caught, they won't be punished. It's not even my place to talk about that. But I understand being scared, I understand if Palpatine made promises to you that he's never going to keep. But he's not going to keep them, and reporting now, compounding your errors, it helps nobody. Not even you. Confession is good for the mind, but not repeating your mistakes is… is a lot." Nima swallowed. "Could you pass that on?"
"That's very forgiving of you," Rul said.
"I don't understand it," Valris admitted.
"I do." Ponle was frowning though. "Weren't you the person who helped crack the Temple Bombing, with the terrorist Barriss Offee?"
Nima was already exhausted, mentally at least, and she still had a long way to go. Rul was an expert diplomat, and these were adults. In a fair fight, she had no chance. But Rul was a diplomat, and she knew what that meant. She also had the truth on her side. "Yes, I am. But ask me: if there was somehow a choice, between the bomber never doing it or any other cruel act again and the bomber being brought to justice, which would I have chosen?"
Ponle snorted. "You really aren't your Master, if your answer is what I think it is."
"The best students are not mere copies of their Masters." Jordyan Bell shook his head. "I do think you should pass the word down, carefully."
"That's assuming there was a leak at all," Rul said.
"Can it hurt to pass the word along, as part of a talk?" Valris fingers were tapping against her arm, impatient. Perhaps to move on? "I vote we should do it."
"I wouldn't believe that Master Bell disagreed that the galaxy cried out for justice if I hadn't seen it myself," Kara Ponle said, with a grim glare in Nima's direction.
"We can go around and around on this topic, or we can vote and get to talking about artifacts and how to get as much of your library free and clear of Palpatine's clutches as you can." Bell smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure once we focus on what we do share, such as a desire to keep a Sith as far away from important Holocrons as possible, it'll be easier."
"We can only hope," Rul said, with false cheer.
*******
The building had apparently won an award. It was a towering, light filled pillar, stretching up a hundred plus floors, casting a shadow over all around it that was set off by some strange light system that replicated what the sun casting directly down on the overshadowed masses would be like. It was lovely, in a way, and that's what won the award: steel and care and a flashy idea. But what had made it truly work were the underground tunnels that led to a set of warehouses that apparently took in smuggled goods. This was their success, a secret warren of paths that made their way to half-buried warehouses that had the kind of outer security system that could withstand a massive CorSec raid, if they were willing to kill dozens and dozens of sentients in the process.
"They're clever, but mathematics shall endeavor to save the day once more," Ekria had said to her, with a bright-eyed look of manic joy. "They've done everything right: the warehouse where it's all going down has its own vent system, its own sewer system that feeds into the regular one by a tube that is reinforced. And the guard shifts themselves are probably randomized… except that they've left themselves open. Once a day, they send out a signal on the holonet, coded and yet open for anyone who happens to know their exact frequency."
"Why?" Nima asked, still not sure where they were going with it.
"Because that way it's impossible to go from them to their employers, or those who work with them. It's through that that I've managed to set some viruses that will give us our chance. They're ready for everything, including an assault by Jedi… but down in the sewers, there's one place that should, if my calculations are correct, let you break into the vent system. From there, can you guess what you'll do?"
"Won't they have… traps? After the last time I used the vents to get into a system?"
"I think so, yes. It's a good thing that my virus should stop them from being able to tell when you're moving through all of it."
Nima blinked, and tried to think it through. "Wait, then what's the point of infiltrating to turn off the defenses?"
"Ah, my dear Tyruti," Ekria said, with a smile of the sort that would have annoyed Nima in other circumstances. "My viruses are excellent, but there is a eighty-nine percent chance that the enemy will have backup systems to come online, and they also have regular guards and droids to spot things with their ocular systems."
"Their eyes?"
"That is what I said. Keep up, please. And if you ask: why haven't they reinforced the sewer against the blows of a lightsaber, I'll answer--"
"I'm not asking," Nima said, quietly.
"That they understood the first and greatest secret to operational security is not to draw needless attention to yourself. Retrofitting the vents to be lightsaber proof would be both expensive and flashy, and require resources and also agents and workers whose silence would have to be either bought or acquired via… intensive and violent means."
"I understand that," Nima said. Well, Ekria had used a lot of unnecessary words, but it'd been obvious enough to her already. It was about trust: if you did too much to keep safe, you couldn't keep secret, and if you didn't keep secret you weren't safe at all. There was no defense as strong as secrecy, was there?
"Ah. Well. Good." Ekria was blushing. "I apologize, I am nervous and I tend to be both verbose and given to flights of loquacious rhetoric when, er. I talk a lot and use big words."
Nima reached a hand out and patted Ekria on the shoulder once she was sure it was okay. "I understand. I'm nervous too."
"You don't look it."
Nima laughed, a little higher-pitched than she intended. "Good."
******
Nima crawled through the vent, having gone from the hot, damp disgust of the sewer, the smells that curled up your nose and stuck with you, to the chill lifelessness of the air vent. She at least didn't have to do quite as much gymnastics to get through the vents, but they were a little cool to the touch, and with her every movement she waited to hear that she'd failed.
She was making too much noise, in the dark of these vents. She crawled onwards, dragging herself up and down and around. She was taking too long, more tired than she thought she'd be. She was out of practice, at least in contorting herself to make her way through vents. She breathed in and out, carefully and slowly, as she turned another corner and finally reached the defense control room. It was a spherical room, seemingly placed on the catwalks above the warehouse itself, with a computer station, and a side-desk with comms equipment and a mug filled with Caf declaring, '#1 Dad.' There was no heat from the mug.
(Nima suspected that working with vultures taking advantage of the plague to make money disqualified someone from being a good father.)
There didn't seem to be anyone around, but Nima stretched out her senses and couldn't detect anyone's emotions too close by. This didn't necessarily mean anything, considering the risk of droids. But Nima couldn't turn back now. So she opened the vent and dropped down, hurrying over to the computer station.
It had a dozen different monitors, but Nima focused on the main one, sitting down and typing in the password that was supposed to tell the computer virus to let her in. It worked, and the black screen moved onto a blue screen with a list of security features. Nima glanced at them for a moment, seeing words like 'Turret' and 'Fastlatch-class defense Droids: Vents 1-3' which made Nima glad that they hadn't known Nima was crawling around down there. She couldn't imagine fighting attack droids in the vents would have ended well.
Nima fought past the cold chill and began deactivating the defenses, one by one. Then someone shouted. "Oy!"
Nima had been told to do them one by one to make sure the system was fully vented, but she had also been told--ordered by Master Bell--not to die. So she just pressed the shutdown-all option, and stood up, drawing her lightsabers as she did.
The steel door burst open, and a dark-skinned man in a flak-vest burst in, aiming a blaster pistol at Nima. She darted forward, her shoto slicing into the barrel of the blaster. It sparked as it hit the ground. Nima wasn't prepared for the man to growl and punch at her, and he clipped her eye with his fist.
Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Nima tried to push him with the Force, reaching out a hand to do so, but he just stumbled for a second before coming on faster.
"Ahah! Little Jedi. It's time to--"
He swung, but Nima leapt, landing on a far wall, and deciding to try again. This time she shoved him hard enough that his skull cracked against the glass of the security booth. He turned, blood dripping down his face, and grabbed a grey comm-unit. "We have Jedi!" he shouted, only to hear a static hiss, and then a.
"Yes, I know that you idiot. We have one at the entrance. You're to hold your Jedi off by any means necessary. Zeks will kill us otherwise."
He hadn't been standing still while doing so, but had instead been moving slowly towards the computer platform, no doubt to try to turn on more security. But Nima got there first, lightsaber cutting him off. He hesitated a moment, staring down at the buzzing sabers.
Then he laughed, just as he heard the threat about Zekka Thyne. "Ah, I get it. You don't have the balls to hurt me!"
He reached again for the computer, just as Nima slashed down and chopped the keyboard into bits. "You really are crude," Nima said to herself, and pushed again. He stumbled back only a single step.
Danger! Nima felt the threat a moment before it fired, and backed up, turning, to see a two meter tall bronze war droid of some sort, wielding a blaster rifle in a single hulking arm. It had thinner arms, and a thick body which included what looked like vent-holes in its torso, and a 'head' that didn't stick up from where a neck might be, but was instead coming from its chest. It consisted of a long rectangular emplacement, where its faux-eyes and its 'brain-box' were, with small vents on each side, looking like over-large ears.
Nima darted forward, but its fist came down, faster than she expected, and clipped her on the arm. It was a jarring pain, but her shoto still lanched forward to cleave through the hand holding the blaster rifle. It exploded in a shower of sparks, and Nima, wincing, stabbed out again, this time going straight through its torso.
It exploded, of all things, shrapnel sending Nima stumbling back, shielding herself with her saber. Nima whirled around, and just barely dodged another punch from the angry criminal. "Ha, can't kill me, can you? Odd place for a pacifist, isn't it--"
Nima's heart was racing. She hadn't thought about this, hadn't considered just how all of this could end. Her stomach felt like it was cramping already as she brought down her saber towards his left leg. He didn't even dodge, just wound up for another punch. He was sure that she was a good person.
She disabused him of that notion, saber slicing through his left leg at the ankle. He screamed in pain and surprise and toppled down to the filthy floor. He kept on screaming as Nima turned, stepping out of the way of a desperate grab of her legs. "You should be able to get a prosthetic, it's close to the joint. I am sorry," she said, aware of how inadequate it was. But it was that or kill him, and she couldn't do the latter.
She stepped out to a warehouse in chaos. It was dark, but the flickering lights revealed what looked like great big tanks in one corner, rust grey and hooked up to equipment that consisted of a baffling array of wires and tubes. The fighting hadn't reached it yet, but Nima could change that.
Long rows of boxes blocked off the fighting there was, which at the moment simply consisted of Master Secura fighting off a horde of gangsters with rather less compunction to slicing them up… and strange floating droids that looked a little like a pot, but had three arms. One had a vibroblade on the end, while another shot off blasts of stunner fire. It actually looked like she was being pushed back, despite herself, the droids moving surprisingly fast and aiming shockingly well, compared to what she'd heard about B1s and 2s.
Her senses again gave her only a fractional warning against the next droid, another one of those hulking war droids. She sliced through its torso in a single smooth movement, and scurried desperately back as it… burst into flames. Oil, or something like it, began to spew everywhere as the flames from its self-destruction began to spread.
What?
…
The droids were supposed to die.
Nima realized it with a cold thrill of horror. If that was so, then this whole warehouse was going to go up in flames.
Master! The droids are a trap. They're going to burn this place down.
Not until they get out the shipments overhead, they aren't. We're making our way towards the center, can you head up top?
Nima ducked as another one of the hulking droids came into view, and this time he was holding a flame-thrower. Nima didn't even try to fight him, instead leaping for a wall, teeth grit.
I can see the facilities!
There were almost two-dozen people hurrying, emptying jugs down a drain, fiddling with a set of holo-computers, no doubt about to wipe everything.
And what will you do? There's dozens of them, and they're not going to surrender just because you can chop up their blasters. I'm on my way there, you need to go up, Nima.
Nima frowned, but allowed her Master to see her acceptance. He was a little below her, less than a minute from intersecting with the unsuspecting enemy. Master Secura made a good distraction, though she wasn't supposed to have gotten quite as bogged down as she had.
Nima understood her place in this mission. She had to do her part, and that meant leaping for the metal stairs to the next floor up and pulling herself onto them. She raced up them three at a time, trying to figure out where it'd be. There had to be a place for ships to slip in, but it had to be pretty secretive and well-defended, or they would have broken in that way. Nima reached out with the Force, but could only get a vague impression that there was a gathering of people to her left. She hurried forward.
This time she had no warning at all. A vent grate near her burst open and a four-legged droid, painted matte-black slammed into her. It looked like a large crab, about knee-height except that it was on top of her. Its photoreceptor also had a blaster cannon attached, but it was the vibroblade that had slid from one of its legs that scared her. It bit into Nima's side as she tried and failed to dodge. Only the fact that the droid had leapt at all saved Nima's life.
She placed one of her boots against it and kicked it off as hard as she could. It slammed into a wall and landed, 'eye' moving to track her as it fired a ring-stun round, of the sort it was hard to block. Nima rolled out of the way, just barely making it, and shoved it back with the Force. It was a collection of metal and wires, energy and programming, and she needed to be more aware of those things. It was easy to feel the living Force, to track people, but surely she could do better than this. She was bleeding, and yet all she could focus on was her failure. They were going to keep on doing this, using droids to get the drop on Jedi used to human enemies.
The droid in front of her, no doubt the Fastlatch-class, fired again, but Nima was already backing up. The droid, balanced on three legs, had less than stellar aim. It missed, just barely, and there was a click as the vibro-blade slipped back into its leg, and it was back on all fours. Then there was the sound of movement, metal hitting metal, and a second one of the Fastlatches came from the vent.
Nima turned and ran. Hopefully they'd give up, and if they didn't hopefully she could deal with them later. She was still bleeding, and she didn't want to get too close to them. Instead she took a left, feet pounding over the catwalks, and slashed through a door, pushing it out in imitation of Bell. It didn't go as well. Instead of slamming out to catch everyone beyond in a blast of durasteel and power, it just tipped over and clattered to the floor, the door cut into two even pieces.
"Well, it seems as if we have guests. Very rude guests who don't knock," a high-nasal voice declared. The voice had a musical quality, but Nima just stepped through, unable quite to get a read on its owner, in the face of a dozen other bundles of emotions in the Force.
They all had a similar read of panic-worry-anger-fear, of the same sort that Nima was holding back only at a great cost.
It was a small hangar, with just two large hover-trucks in it. They couldn't hope to escape notice, if they fled.
There were dozens of large boxes, currently sitting there, the back of the second hover-truck wide-open, and a dozen men and women. All of them were dressed in simple, practical clothing, even the blond man who was clearly in charge, and who was still speaking, even as everyone else had drawn blaster pistols or even, in two cases, rifles.
"Ah, it is a Jedi-ling. Well, you've found us. The Plague Rats. And of course Zeks is gone, to finish the rest of the end." The blond man had a pair of blaster pistols in his hand. "But how about we all try not to die. She's, what, twelve?"
"Thirteen," Nima said.
"See, I'm good at actually guessing these things. Now, shooting a thirteen year old probably wouldn't be the bottom of the barrel for all of us, but it'd be really embarrassing when she deflected half the shots back, and killed some of us on… no, by accident. I can tell with that look on your face. So, here's how it goes. We have guns, and we aren't that afraid to turn this into a mess. We all go with these hover-trucks, we all get arrested by CorSec, and nobody has to get hurt."
"Except whoever does from whatever Palpatine has planned." Nima's voice was low and exhausted, and she was still listening for the droids behind her. They couldn't have lost her, could they have?
"Well shit. I thought Zeks was involved in that. Not that surprised. After all, there won't be much of a Corellia left in a week. Or a me. He force-fed me some sort of magic potion last night. Already starting to feel sick, darling Jedi-ling." Nima shifted to the side a single step, trying to give herself room to run once this all blew up.
The world seemed to be falling down around her slowly. Downstairs there was burning and danger and death, and upstairs there was a strange, bizarre man who felt incredibly dangerous.
"Then please, talk now. Corellia will be gone?"
"Boss, what the fuck is even going on?" a woman asked, still leveling her blaster rifle at Nima. "I just wanted to make a fortune sellin' cures to bozos."
"Put down the weapons, and nobody gets hurt," Nima said. "My name is Nima Tyruti."
"And I'm called Eunie, because I do kinda sound like I don't have any, how would you say, testicles. I'm one of the several leaders of this Plague Rats Supergroup."
"Really, boss?" a man asked. "Is that what--"
Which was when the two Fastlatches clambered in. Nima waited for this to all end terribly.
It did, just not how she expected. One of them shot one of the workers, who toppled over, stunned.
"Go go go! The first one's loaded up!" Eunie yelled. "Really, Nima, those things are banned for a reason. I'm the only one with the tag that makes them not target me--"
Which was when the second one fired at Nima and she leapt, desperate, getting out of the way and running towards the hover-truck as the skylight opened.
"Enough!" Eunie yelled, and his first and second shots with a blaster pistol knocked two of the legs out from under the first of the Fastlatches, while the rest of his followers made quick work of it while it was down. The second one was fast, slipping out of the way of the blaster bolts and aiming at Nima again.
Nima jumped off, aiming for the quickly rising hover-truck, blocky and ugly as it was. She kicked off of it, but unless she wanted to follow it in rising, there was no way she could ground it without probably leading to a lot of deaths. Nima growled in frustration and aimed a few slashes along its side, just to see what they'd do, and then leaped off, on top of the second moving vehicle.
The Fastlatch leapt after her, and Nima, frustrated, tried to kick it away, only to half-topple as the vibroblade came out, humming menacingly.
Nima, as a Jedi, had a real respect for the menace of a weapon humming.
Nima jumped down from the hover-truck, but put some rather impressive holes in it with her lightsaber on the way down. There was someone in the front, shouting, and she turned to face them, half-crouched down to force the Fastlatch to get closer.
"This is getting silly," Eunie said, with a roll of his eyes. He shot the Fastlatch drone in its vibroblade leg, but the second shot went wide as it launched itself at him. "Oh, come on--"
Nima raced forward to try to get in its way, as another hail of blaster fire missed terribly.
(The only decent shot here was Eunid. For that matter, Eunid was probably the only person, including Nima, who seemed like he actually knew what he was doing.)
She chopped through the Fastlatch, too distracted going after Eunid, who was dodging just fine. It sparked, and then exploded in yet another shower of shrapnel.
"Well, now that we're done with the droids, there's just us and you. I can't tell you what's going to happen."
"Why not?" Nima asked.
"Well, look. Zek plans on using a bl--" Eunie began, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and his personality seemed to shutter behind a blank, seizing nothing. There were still blasters aimed at her, and so she didn't move forward. After a little while, his eyes rolled back, and blood dripped from his nose. "See? And now I'm bleeding from my brain. I'm also pretty sure I'll go into a coma if I leave. Was going to risk it anyways."
Nima stared at him, and so did some of his minions. "That's… that's terrible."
"He called it 'Sith Alchemy.' But eh, I have secret loved ones and secret bank accounts. It's like I always say--you roll the dice and you keep playing until you run out of chips."
"Boss," one of them called out. "You've never said that in your life."
"Well, pretend I did," Eunie said, with a grin towards Nima. "See what I have to work with?"
"I could try to save you, if it has something to do with your mind," Nima said. "I'm a Mind-Healer."
"You know, why don't we make a deal? If you can find a way to get me to live the next day, we'll all throw down our arms and maybe you can pick my brain if you live that long. If you make sure to promise nice plea bargains." Eunie grinned. "C'mon, Nima, it's the best offer you're going to get."
Nima was pretty sure he was a horrible sentient. But he hadn't been as bad as he could be, and at the moment, if it was a trick, she knew it was one that would backfire. She reached out in the Force and didn't feel any obvious deception as she stepped forward. "Do all of you agree?"
There was a round of nodding as Nima began to walk towards him, picturing his mind. It was like a fountain, bubbling and yet highly controlled. Whatever randomness a fountain seemed to have was actually under the control of computerized water-pressure systems and everything else. It was still life, it was still beautiful, but there was that same odd combination of sparkling self-confidence and careful control. He'd talked about his death like it was just another thing that happened.
He apparently never said that quote about cards, but he was willing to gamble his life as so many chips. Nima reached her hand out, and imagined this bubbling fountain, and then metaphysically knelt down to taste the water, trying to draw on what she knew from Barriss, what she'd learned about the brain and the rest of the body.
The water tasted faintly of chemicals, and in the depths of the fountain there was some sort of shape. Nima knew how it worked by now. She'd have to work slowly and carefully to tease out just what it was, and hope she didn't accidentally stumble into anything and start a chain reaction.
Which is why she wasn't prepared at all when a tentacle of inky darkness grabbed her hard enough to bruise and dragged her kicking and screaming into the icy water. It was familiar, the water, the experience of half-drowning, but when she tried to pull away, the way she could have with Eida at any moment if she'd been willing to accept failure, she found herself blocked, as if the top of the fountain had iced over.
Oh. Oh drat.
Nima struggled through the clinging water, the cold instantly numbing her legs as she kicked out, swimming towards an air bubble. She reached out, struggling to expand the bubble, and then thrust into it, trying--impossibly--to steal the 'air' from it.
A man in a mask is shaking up a metal can, and then spraying the red mist into the air. He turns and gives a thumbs up. Nima realizes she's standing in a booth somewhere above him, and there's a test… a trial?
Nima gasped as she was driven out of the bubble, and dragged further down, slipping past bubbles briefly showing scenes of a little red Twi'lek girl, staring up at… Eunie? Then a view of Zekka, his skin bizarrely mottled, fury in his face as he offered a smoking green bottle in one hand, a pile of credits in the other, and a promise: "I will tell you my plan."
It was a trap! Nima struggled to hear the plan, to prolong the bubble of thought as she was dragged further down. She needed a lightsaber, but she couldn't picture it, couldn't… construct it in her mind. She was trapped, she was underwater, she didn't--
A part of her didn't quite realize it was all fake, couldn't quite imagine how badly her lightsaber would do with that much water, imagined them shorting out, those proofs that Katarina, that Katarina… at least appreciated her as a friend. Against her bidding, she felt tears stream down her face in the cold wet darkness of the pool. She needed, she needed…
She wanted to break free. She was free, she was supposed to be free and freeing others. She let it form, let her determination warm her. She was the Padawan of Jordyan Bell, she was a student of Dumu-Malik. She wasn't going to drown in some dark, cold place in the mind of a criminal.
Her focused will drew out a sword she'd seen, one still kept for her or anyone who wanted it, perfectly balanced, tens of thousands of years old. Nima drew Dumu-Malik's Shuhudaku from nowhere and sliced through the tentacles.
Then, instead of retreating, she kicked downwards, the water bubbling as she moved, boiling the ocean by cups. She finally saw it, a mass of black tentacles, dripping blue-black, inky blood. It had no start and no end, it was a mind, and yet it was mindless. A tool, a mental construct but with a very physical reality. They'd really given Zekka access to dark Sith Alchemical solutions. What kind of person would give a… would just…
The tentacles grew and moved to surround her, and Nima realized they were attacking thought. Especially, she realized, barely dodging a swipe of one of the tendrils, thoughts about certain things. It was a sort of virus, a monster in the deep, and she slashed and hacked, pushing ever forward. There was no center, no heart to attack, just directed malice.
Finally, as her mind started to grow abstracted and exhausted, the monster beneath her stopped moving. But Nima could see that some of the tendrils were starting to heal, were in the very slow process of growing back, inch by bleeding inch.
She couldn't destroy it, at least not as weak as she felt now. She knew, by some dismal instinct, that she'd have a terrible headache once she was aware of the outside world again, and she felt heavy even here. So she focused on pushing it all back with the Force, trying to create a sort of bubble for it, an air-pocket for the monster to rest in. She pushed it back, tentacle by tentacle, until it fit in a small, secluded area.
Only then did she feel free to pull away.
"What the fuck just happened?!" a man demanded, pointing a blaster pistol at Nima's hands.
Nima blinked muzzily. "What?"
"You started screaming. Then so did he."
"Don't… she did something good," Eunie said, a little faintly. "Did you fix it?"
"For now. I think I could destroy it entirely, but. The best way to prevent it from working is to be unconscious. When it stops you from speaking about something, it's because it stops you from thinking about it. It's a poison of the mind, and I have no idea how it'd work or how to destroy it forever. But I can figure it out." Nima spoke slowly.
"That's a lot of trust you're asking," Eunie said. "But I do feel better. Also, it has to do with flying." He winced, but wasn't stopped from saying it. "That's as much as I'll say."
Flying. Spray. Some evil plan? Nima couldn't put it together in her mind, probably not even if she could focus, which she wasn't able to.
It was in that moment that Master Bell stepped into the room. "Ah, Nima. And I assume all of these nice sentients have surrendered." Bell said it calmly, with a soft smile that gave Nima chills.
"Considerations for my men, and… help for me," Eunie said. "That's the deal we have. Your… Padawan, is that what they're called, or Jedi-ling or whatnot, can explain." He smiled, though it wilted in the face of Bell's hard gaze.
"It's true. Mostly. There's… a lot of things to say." Nima stood up shakily. "Did we win?"
"Yes, and we need to leave. With this man, as well?"
"Yes." Nima nodded.
"CorSec can take them up and release them once this is all over," Bell decided, glancing over at the criminals as they threw down their arms, apparently not wanting to cross Bell.
******
2 DAYS AGO
To: Rats
From: Unlisted
There will be plenty of reward to go around once we single handedly save Corellia. The plan is simple, and the design should work. By this time next week, the plague will be all but eradicated, and my reputation will be secured.
As will your payment. I thank you for the extra treatment, we were falling behind on producing it.
Once Vorru is no longer such a power in the underworld, I will look forward to future endeavors.
With Sincerity,
Your Benefactor
********
"There was a spray nozzle design in the deleted files," Master Bell said. "We're currently trying to work through what the plan is. But the workers we've captured should help, and we're starting to analyze the composition of the 'Treatment.' Which brings me to the task of… talking to them."
Nima took a long, deep breath. "I can do it."
"Okay, Nima, but if any of them give you trouble, feel free to step back." Master Bell's voice was careful. He'd been careful all the hours that had led Nima back to her room to sit down. She couldn't quite sleep. She could smell the clear water, and when she closed her eyes she could almost see the inky blood. What if there was a tendril of it somehow in her head, and it attacked her while she was asleep?
"What about Master White?"
Bell sighed. "I don't know how to take it, but when they retreated just before the plague, a lot of the most powerful families in the Green Jedi Order left behind homes at the outskirts of the city, or just beyond. There's evidence that points towards the idea that he's being held at an estate seized by the Diktat and under his control."
The next words sent shards of ice jamming into Nima's already exhausted brain.
"Yes, we have reason to think he is at the extensive Valris estates."
Nima is going to try to negotiate with those higher-ups that aren't unconscious for their own good. What's her strategy? (Choose 1)
[] Talk. Get to know them. Be friendly and pump them for information. It's the nicest option, but these are hardened criminals and even if it works it's not exactly a fast option.
[] Debate/argue. Try to antagonize them, try to draw them into discussing their plans, defending them… be mean but not too harsh.
[] Use mental abilities. Yes, it's a little… sketchy, but rooting around in someone's brain is… possible, if risky.
[] Write-in.
Meanwhile, as the Diktat pulls together whatever his plan is… what are the Jedi doing? (Choose 3)
[] They could use media access. Specifically, if they used CorSec contacts to be able to get into a position to put a 'splint' in the official Diktat Communication Holonet Channel, they could… hijack it, for at least a time, at the right moment.
[] The Diktat is hiding, and he's ultimately the one planning… whatever this is. Nima feels like she can almost put it together now, but not any details as to what it's all for. But being able to find the Diktat to force his hand might be important.
[] Some elements of CorSec are working with the Diktat… in fact, most of it. Finding a way to sabotage their efforts to cover for the Diktat might be important, both in the court of public opinion, and in any efforts to take control.
[] Remarkably, the protestors haven't been struck down by the plague, at least not en masse, but they're in a difficult position. Is there anything Bell can do to help them? Do they need help? Well, they might, depending on how the final stage of… all of this goes down.
[] Get ready for a jailbreak of the Jedi District. And for that matter, figure out what it means that Valris' estates are being used like that. Does it mean anything? It might or it might not, or it might even be a double-bluff meant to implicate her.
[] The 'mainline' treatments are being evacuated. It was too loud, and too explosive, and saving all of them is impossible. But knocking over a single truck so that you have at least some legitimate, working treatment would be… lovely.
*******
A/N: We're moving towards a climax. Nima's rolls, incidentally, were all over the map.
