[Fic] The Birth of the Republic

[machievelli]

Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, the peoples of the galaxy have begun forging the Republic. Yet there are those who see the Republic as the coffin of all their plans.

But they will not go into that grave willingly…

 

 

 

HONEY TRAP

The weather had turned cold on the outskirts of the Shades.

 

The Shades was a ghetto in everything but name. When the Coruscanti government sector had built up to handle more business traffic, they had annexed the Shades, or Crestview has it had once been known. But they didn’t evict the citizens and rip it up as they had other more fortunate neighborhoods.

 

Instead they had built up and over that ill-fated suburb. One day they had a view of the sky, and everything a small town might want.

 

Six months later, all they saw above was the spreading arches of the supports of the newer government buildings. The businesses that could move did, leaving only the marginal ones to service the now entombed people. The mag-lev trains still ran, but the bus system had closed, because those vehicles had run on solar power. Every citizen that could afford to relocate had also gone, leaving a desolate land where those who could not afford to move back into the light held desperately to life.

 

When the first government buildings had occluded the sky they had installed light standards that mimicked day and night. But those had been unattended for almost seven years now. There were large areas with little or no light even during the day. Now two decades later, it had become a slum, a ghetto, a dump.

 

To Tatyi, it was home.

 

She walked down the street, wary of the deeper shadows. There were renegade medical students and entrepreneurs that made their livings trolling these streets for body parts for the medical centers that serviced the affluent. You could end up as an emergency transplant donor and no one would even know you were gone.

 

She needed at least two more men to pay her rent this month. A decent man from skyward could put her over the top, but if it were merely the usual sleaze that satisfied his lust, it had to be at least two.

 

She hadn’t wanted to become a whore. Of course here on Coruscant they called them ‘documented sex service providers’ and you had to be checked at the local clinic once every ten days or so to maintain your license. Without one the Blue-backs would roust you. Maybe take a little trade before you ended up in the box. But with one all you had to worry about was the local mob and the street gangs.

 

She wanted to go into space, to see other worlds. But the school had closed down without enough teachers to keep it going. With only a middle school education, the only job she could get on a ship would be a wiper in engineering, or a deck hand without a rating.

 

A vehicle approached from behind her, and she surreptitiously looked back toward it. If it was too high end, she knew to run like hell. The mobs sold ‘trade contracts’ to the unfortunates down here, and for a moment she considered it. You were still a whore, but at least it was off planet!

 

It was a late model mid class sedan. All right, not the mob.

 

It pulled up beside her, then smoothly stopped. The passenger door opened invitingly.

 

She felt a sudden chill. Even if she was on the street in two days, she was not getting in that car-

 

“Get in.” The voice said softly. It wasn’t a commanding tone, or one that sounded bad. Just an average person. But somehow she couldn’t resist. She found herself walking toward it even as her mind screamed for her to run. Her body refused to listen to her as she primly took the seat, and the door closed.

 

“After a few modifications, you will be perfect.”

 

In her mind she screamed for release as the vehicle began to move.

[Jae Onasi]

Well, that's a rather chilling start. I read that last line and immediately got the image of Hannibal Lechter or some equally nasty sociopath.

[JediAthos]

I agree with Jae, very chilling. However, it leaves me wanting more as well

[The_Catto]

A very thrilling start, Mach. I want to read more

[Char Ell]

Looking forward to this next part of your Republic Beginnings saga, machievelli. The first two parts were quite enjoyable.

[machievelli]

THE JEDI INCIDENT

 

To Premier Dreekai, it was a beautiful day. Everything was taken care of; or as in the case for the nascent Republic, would be.

 

It couldn’t be said that he was a bad man. As a politician from the districts he had been a bluntly honest man, and that had catapulted the forty-five year old man to the premiership. But he came to an office badly wounded by corrupt men before him, looking at a trillion credit deficit from their social programs. It was all well and good to try to overtax the wealthy but when the wealthy relocated and the middle class began to suffer, voter ennui had become voter outrage. He had ridden that into office, but if he couldn’t fix the problems, he might not have the office at the next election.

 

When the men who were trying to begin a galactic Republic had approached him, he had seen a way to fix his problems. Since Kerridor was a hyperspace hub, he had suggested to his council that they ask for a one tenth percent tariff on all traffic through the system. Not on everything mind, merely on anything that had to be transshipped in the system. It wasn’t much, it came out to about fifteen centicreds per hundred tons. But millions of tons of cargo were transshipped every day!

 

Of course the major corporations complained. The fact that the tariff could be paid from their petty cash drawers didn’t matter. They had begun leaning on the framers of the Republic’s charter. He had despaired until he heard that the Jedi Council was sending a representative to speak with him.

 

Breia Solo. He had immediately searched the database. She was heir apparent to the CEC chairman’s seat, though her father’s friend Koori Deralo had control of the seat thanks to her being a Jedi. But raised in such a household, she could see his tariff for what it was, a prop to be removed in a couple years, not something he would demand forever.

 

When the Jedi ship was reported to have come out of hyperspace, he called his wife. Janeen would show the Jedi that his tastes were middle of the road. Janeen had been the daughter of a dockworker, and had seen her marriage not as a way out of the middle class, but as proof of where her own values lie. Instead of using the massed front of his council, he’d brought only the two internal security officers his office required, and Janeen. His political allies had wanted to be there but again he had refused. He did not want a massed front to cow her, rather the talk of two people who understood business.

He would not appear to be a despot; merely a public servant who believed that servant meant just that.

 

The Jedi CEC A-19 courier dropped to the pad, and Dreekai watched on the monitor as the woman strode down the ramp. Middle height with coal black hair, she strode forward, nodding to the men that had been sent to greet her, but beyond that ignored them. He felt a chill hand on his heart, but ignored it. She was probably busy, and had other things she needed to deal with. He was, he had to admit, a secondary problem to them. On the monitor, he tracked her as she strode forward like a warship on it’s set course toward his inner sanctum.

 

He arrayed himself to the best advantage politically. His guards between him and the door as the rules required, but Janeen beside him, seated on his right to show her worth to her husband.

 

The double doors swung open and he saw her for the first time. He knew her height was 10 centimeters shorter than himself, but he realized how much of her stature came from her office rather than her actual height.

 

“Greetings, Jedi.” He motioned for her to approach, standing and coming around his desk. Not for him the artificial barriers of his office. She strode toward him, and the two guards paced her.

 

“I shall come to the point.” She said walking toward him. The Council sees Kerridor as an important system to the Core. Your actions have caused… problems.”

 

Dreekai stopped, confused. Even doubling the tariff should not have caused such a reaction! “Jedi, what have we done to incense you so?”

 

“The council sent me to deal with the problem.” She replied. Again he felt that chill. “The problem as they see it, is you.”

 

He was still trying to understand how he was a problem when she moved. Her right hand shot down, her blade whipping sharply to her right, the guard falling in uneven pieces as her left came to join it on the hilt. The second guard went for his pistol, but that implacable blade swept left, and that man screamed as she laid him open.

 

Dreekai had an instant to scream as the blade lifted up, then sliced down, cutting free his right arm, then it punched forward, and his intestines fell around his feet.

 

Janeen screamed, backing away from the assassin. She fell, scurrying backward until her back rammed into the wall. Before her was a frozen tableau. Her husband dying on the floor, one guard already dead, the other soon to be. The woman turned, the blade at low guard, facing her.

 

“Please.” The Jedi whispered. “By all the gods, run!”

 

Janeen leaped to her feet, running.

 

She was the only survivor.

 

Behind her the Jedi slowly went to rest, wiping her sword on the dead Premier’s suit then turned and strode from the room.

 

CORUSCANT ONE WEEK BEFORE THE INCIDENT

 

Master Soo-chin sighed. She looked around the seats at not her own Jedi council of Corellia, but one of representatives of all 12 monasteries. What was already being called the Jedi Grand Council.

 

Hubris. They were just the chosen representatives of their own monasteries, yet some were already using that same title here within the council room itself.

 

She stood, and several groaned. “Again I must call for a vote that the order withdraw from the proceedings-“

 

“Soo-chin.” Master Halfert of Ossus cut her off. “Was it not the combined Councils of Corellia and Coruscant that suggested this action?”

 

“Yes.” Master Greshta of Ryloth snapped. “Against the objections of our own council-“

 

“Please masters. Less acrimony, more discussion.” Master Tron of Echana called. “We have agreed that the rules might be loosened for our debate-“

 

“Relaxed, not thrown from the window.” Master Koordo the Hutt commented. “If she wishes to sink the boat her own factors launched, I see no reason to stay her hand.”

 

There were several minutes of argument at that point. Soo-chin merely waited until she had their attention again. She picked up the pad with the draft of the nascent Republic’s charter. “I bring your attention to article two of this document. You are all familiar with it?”

 

Tron shook his head. “You have beaten us over the head with the Charter often enough in the past months, Soo-chin. Let us accept for the moment that we do understand what freedom of worship means.”

 

“Ah, but have you considered the Neshtori of Noral?” She pressed. “It is a precept of their religion that their gods created the Neshtori, and everything else is sub-human... pardon the term,” The Hutt Twi-lek and Gran members nodded. “That means that anything they wish to do to any other race is blessed by their god. Will you accept this argument?”

 

Several of the members nodded slowly.

 

“So, the Coruscanti and Corellians sign this document. At which point one of the Neshtori who is smart enough to pour rainwater from a boot without instructions inscribed on the heel challenges the blockade of their home world on the grounds that Coruscant, Corellia and the Republic espouse freedom of religion, but refuse to accept it in their case.”

 

“Wait, they attacked-“ Master Friggar of Gran began.

 

“The wording is clear, my fellow master from Gran. ‘The Republic accepts free worship of all races within our borders’.” She looked at each in turn. “We will be supporting by our silence a blockade of a sovereign planet by two of our members. The fact that their religion makes everything not of their race a monster to be slain is incidental if you take the wording literally.” She looked at the pad again. “Article 7-“

 

“What you deny the right of self defense?” Greshta almost screamed.

 

“Under the wording before me, every act by the Neshtori is acceptable under Article 2. Their religion teaches that all but Neshtori are monsters, and they have not only the obligation but the right under their religion to defend themselves against these alien monsters.” She demurred. “It reads ‘Any act of self defense is acceptable’.”

 

“But they attacked first!” Tron said then sat back, sighing. “I must concede the point. There is nothing forbidding preemptive strikes.”

 

She noticed the weakening objections. “Also Article four, which demands that a proper accounting of such acts by a planetary state must be explained and up for review by the Republic. Including ‘all wars at present under way’.” She looked at them. “Under Article four, section three, they have a list including ‘all blockades and actions denying free commerce’.” She looked at them “Our own councils agreed with the assessment that Noral must be blockaded for the next two decades. So again we are directly complicit.”

 

“So the document is flawed.” Friggar said softly. “What is your suggestion?”

 

“That we either withdraw entirely from the procedure, or turn our efforts to article 15. For this organization to survive, we must strike and rewrite Article fifteen.”

 

“What?” Halfert almost leaped from his chair. “I helped write that article!”

 

She shook her head. “As we helped write each, Master. This charter is not solely the thoughts of member states. It is suggestions given by the Jedi to member planets, filtered through their own views.”

 

“So you answer is either we leave them to plot their own course, or give this Republic an Army and Navy?”

 

“Masters, under Article 14, all members have the right to build and maintain enough warships to protect themselves against any attacker. At present, the navies of seven member planet outweigh any possible enemy by as much as three to one. The Corellian and Coruscanti fleets alone could if combined fight every other polity in the Galaxy on an equal footing. But those fleets do not answer to the Republic except in time of emergency. They answer to those planets.

“According to the same article, any planets or coalition is allowed to fund and equip any ground forces they require when in ‘their view’ they are under threat.” She looked at them all one by one. “Most of the smaller polities have small fleets but if the Neshtori again were to break the blockade, or the Republic were foolish enough to allow them to petition this Congress, Senate, Parliament of whatever they finally decide to name it, we will lose.” She again looked from face to face. “Either article 14 must be rewritten, or we must strike Article 15. A strong central military with the authority to deter any aggression must be formed. A force that can order any polity to either desist or assist at the Republic at its need.”

“I call for a recess.” Halfert interjected. “We must take time for unimportant things like eating or drinking.”

 

Tron looked at the man, and chuckled. “Halfert. Gods, man, what did you do before coming to council? Eat one of our apprentices?

 

Halfert rubbed his stomach as the others laughed. “You poltroons, I’m big boned!”

 

“And covered with big meat!” Tron laughed. “I agree. My bladder is not as big as it was.”

 

Soo-chin sighed as the other masters simply stood and wandered away. A Padawan learner came in, handing her a pad. She looked at it, then at the young Twi-lek angrily. “Mandalore? Who changed her orders?”

 

“You must be checking up on Breia Solo.”” She turned glaring at the portly man from Ossus.

 

“Yes, Master Halfert. Who ordered her to Mandalore? She is supposed to be going to Kerridor as I instructed.”

 

“It will not take that long, Soo-chin. I just felt she could help the Jedi sent to Mandalore with their problem. She should be enroute to Kerridor within hours of her arrival.”

 

She massaged her head. “Last year when I diverted your Padawan to Coruscant, I heard quite an earful from you about it.”

 

“Yes, you did. However I understood why you did it, even if it delayed his mission.” Halfert faced her. “However as long as Dreekai is in charge on Kerridor we are wasting time even speaking to their government. I did not see that a delay would interfere with that. However I do apologize for sending her off somewhere else, even if it is only for a couple of days.”

 

 

 

 

THE MANDALORE ART OF NEGOTIATION: THREE DAYS BEFORE THE INCIDENT

 

“It is Cedaro Kostov of Clan Briel that is the problem.” Padawan Teacher Wolort told the statuesque brunette as they strode toward the audience chamber. She nodded at him, looking instead at her Padawan Learner Dushin Sookor Bai Echana.

 

“Watch and learn.” She instructed. “Any questions are for afterward.” She looked at Wolort. “You are mistaken, my friend. Cedaro cannot decide between types of dessert, let alone lead such a revolt. Clan Briel as well is small with little authority. It would be as if an apprentice decided to overthrow a monastery. No, Clan Briel and Cedaro are animals staked out on a hunt that someone else expects us to undertake.”

 

“Your reasoning?” The Naboo born Jedi bit out.

 

Breia sighed. She had worked with Wolort before. Five years older than her 33, he had always assumed himself her superior, even though she had attained her rank before he had. The man seemed to be unable to assume a woman could handle a serious assignment unless there were an older and wiser, as in male, assistant. His own Padawan learner Sarisha of Gran shook her head behind him.

 

“Stay out of this.” He snapped without looking at her. “Our… advisor should be able to explain herself without your grimacing at her.”

 

“The Mando’a are a people that defer to only two things, strength and honor. To have a minor voice speak against this suggests a ploy rather than a real show of strength.”

 

“This from your vast knowledge of their people no doubt.”

 

Breia slowed, then stopped. “Padawan Wolort, I was asked to help you with these negotiations, not the other way around. I checked the files of your missions to date. You have dealt with the Mando’a once, and that was in an adversarial situation. I have dealt with them seven times, from negotiating contracts to fighting rogues who violated their code.

 

“I submit that your opinion of my worth was considered when I was sent, and the Council asked me to come anyway. If you refuse my help, I will notify the council of this, and go on my way, allowing you to attempt to handle this in your oh so superior way.” She looked at her own assistant. “Dushin.” She turned walking back the way they had come. Obedient as always, the Echani Jedi followed.

 

“Wait.” Wolort snapped. “What is your opinion, Padawan learner Dushin?” Sarisha gasped in shock. To ask not the senior Padawan but her assistant implied that she was lying through her teeth. It was a gross insult.

 

Dushin looked at the man. While boiling with fury, he had his own people’s reserve to fall back upon. “You insult my teacher, and at the same time expect me to support your arguments. If you were of my people I would call you fool poltroon and dastard. However you are from Naboo, which seems to know little of mere honor so I will answer bluntly. If my teacher is wrong I will break my sword.”

 

Breia looked at him a little alarmed. To the Jedi a sword had a soul, but to the Echani, a sword was the soul of the wielder. To publicly threaten to break it because of such an incident was a form of ritual suicide to his people. He had just placed Wolort among the damned to his people by even making the statement.

 

Wolort snorted, then signaled for Breia to take the lead. She sighed inwardly. When the report reached the council, Wolort would be withdrawn from field service. Prejudice had nothing to do with their missions, or their treatment of each other.

She walked past him.

 

There were two guards at the door and as the Jedi approached they brought their weapons from low port to ready. She could sense Wolort falling back a bit, but Dushin and Sarisha moved forward to flank her.

 

“Who asked Jedi to come here?” One asked in a derisive tone.

 

“Perhaps Mandalore needs them to wipe his bottom.” The other snorted in reply.

 

Without breaking her pace, Breia continued forward then spun, her heel slamming into the first guard’s head. Even as he went down, she landed, her finely muscled leg catching the other in the breastplate with such force that the larger man was lifted and slammed into the wall.

 

She was back at center, hands clasped mildly before either had even begun to recover. “It is said that only a fool challenges the Brae-dragon of the south with only words as their weapon. Have you children the stomach to take this further?”

 

The one who had taken the mule kick began to stagger forward, drawing his blade. Breia moved, her hand snatched the weapon from his hand then she slapped him backhanded, then forehand hard enough to rock his head. She set the blade against the floor, and lifted her boot.

 

“Please!” The Mando’a warrior fell to his knees. “I…” He bit his lip then bowed his head. “I give my heart into your hand.”

 

She looked at him mildly. “What name were you given?”

 

“Jagi of clan-“

 

“I know your clan. It is emblazoned on your pauldron. Have you done honor to your clan with your words?”

He bit his lip, and stayed mute. She stood; flipping the shiv in hand held it out. “You are a credit to your training ge’verd. It is your wisdom not your honor I challenge.” He looked at her face, and then gently took the weapon, sheathing it. Then he pointedly stood aside. Breia walked past them, and pushed open the door.

 

The Audience chamber was large, but not by any stretch a throne room. In fact it was not unlike a gentleman’s club with comfortable chairs. The Mandalore might be a king in all but name, but he acted as first among equals. Mandalore stood walking toward here, arms spread. “Solo! Long has it been!”

 

“Good to see you again, Casiri.” She whispered, returning the bear hug he gave her.

 

“Look at her!” Cedaro Kostov sneered. “Has she come to bed him instead of talking?”

 

Breia felt the arms tighten, but her words loosed them. “A moment pray.” She stepped from the embrace, walking toward the seating area. She gave Cedaro a cool glance. “It speaks! I did not know you had trained your hounds to bark in a human tongue Mandalore.” She waited as the man stood. “You have been a thorn in the side of your own people long enough, Cedaro. If speak you must, do it where those of honor need not hear But first perhaps we should deal with your master in this.” She strode toward him, but at the last moment, turned, and she punched Docro Corrido clan Treiaga in the throat, throwing him and his chair over.

 

“You accuse me?” Docro tried to snarl. “It is not you that has stood at the Mandalore’s side in these negotiations-“

 

“As Tegran of Clan Ordo did five centuries ago?” She asked. If she had slain them all, she could not have made such a sudden complete silence.

 

“You name me in the same breath with the worst traitor of our people?”

 

“I would not defame the name of Tegran by linking you to him.” She replied levelly. “At least Tegran had the willingness to make his antipathy known rather than skulking like a Hutt after an unwilling concubine. He had the honor you lack by doing what had to be done for his people. Instead you post children at the doors from your clan and his,” She jerked her head toward Cedaro, “to insult us, hoping I would act like some civilized member of the Galaxy.

 

“But you forget; my first master was Breia Sookor Bai Echana called Yuru’ike in Clan Ordo. She taught me how to deal with your ilk before I was a woman in truth. Here before the Narir Jatne of the Mando’a I call you coward, I call you faithless, and I call you forsworn. I say that your words are mere wind, and any true warrior knows the wind has no value.” She suddenly moved forward, looking up into his eyes. “What right has such a thing as you to listen let alone speak when real warriors converse?” She turned heading back toward the stunned Jedi.

 

Suddenly she knelt, turning, her sword already leaping from its sheath, to block his as Docro charged. Wolort began to draw behind her, but she knew Dushin well, and it was he who stopped the older man. “And showing your true colors by attacking from behind like the coward you are. Without challenge!”

 

“Challenge is for true warriors! Not Jedi filth such as you!” Then his words crashed down on his head, and he hesitated, looking toward Mandalore.

 

“When I named her sister of blood, it was because of her own assistance at Baraduur.” Mandalore said softly. “Would you make my words wind like yours?” He glared at the man, then at Breia. “Since he is no warrior of the Mando’a, you may deal with him as you see fit.”

 

“You cannot-“ In the instant he was distracted Breia whipped her blade up in a Fybylka cut, a streak of blood running from where she had laid open the lobe of his ear with what the Echani called the ‘fly cutter’.

 

“You enemy is here, creature.” She snapped. She moved to the attack, pushing the man back in his frantic attempt to block. He tried to reach up to use his com link, and her next cut sheared the mechanism from his sleeve. “Let us dance alone, fool. As it is meant to be.”

 

Docro tripped over a chair, and her next blow caught his sword on the flat rather than edge, shattering it. She stood over him, blade at his throat, and paused.

 

“Will you yield?”

 

“I yield.”

 

“You know better, Docro.” She snapped. “As Narir Jatne of Treiaga the form is deeper.”

 

“No, I will not surrender my clan and title to you!”

 

“Then they will all die!”

 

“Who ca-“ His throat gushed blood, as she merely swept the blade to the side three inches. Docro caught at his throat, looking at her in surprise. Everyone watched as he bled to death. Breia relaxed minutely, then stepped back. She held her blade across her hands, walking to first stand then kneel before Mandalore.

 

“I must beg your forgiveness, Manda' lor of the Mando’a. I have brought dishonor upon this chamber and myself by my actions. I submit myself to your judgment.”

 

He looked at her, and then waved. “Oh please Breia, we all know what you have done and why. I am just trying to work out who has authority over you. I know your council would claim it, but at the moment, you are also Narir Jatne of Treiaga by right of combat, and that means you are mine to command.” He gave her a grin. “Unless the Jedi intended to hire the entire clan!”

 

She shook her head, still somber. “We both know the old saying, ‘serve two masters, and neither is satisfied’. I had considered the problem.”

 

Breia bent forward. “My lord, the chief of clan Treiaga has fallen in combat mortal by my hand. As the laws of our people demand, I come to swear my oath as their Narir Jatne.” She laid the sword down at his feet, and prostrated herself. “I swear my clan shall follow you or those who succeed you until the stars burn out. That our lands our swords and the honor of our clan are in the hollow of your hand.” She did not move as he lifted her sword.

 

Carefully Mandalore laid the blade along his arm, hilt toward her. “I your liege promise my honored liegeman strength for strength, honor for honor, duty for duty, death for betrayal. Arise Narir Jatne of Treiaga. Take back your right to defend yourself from my hand.”

 

Breia leaned up, took the hilt, and carefully slid the blade away from his flesh before cleaning then sheathing her sword. But she stayed on her knees. “Liege, I have duty that must keep me from home. I have recently ascended to my station, and ask a boon.” She lowered her head; hand outstretched for all the world a child begging succor. “Choose the one you deem wise to take my place until I return.”

 

Mandalore reached out, taking her outstretched hand between his own. “I your liege promise to choose a wise man of your lands to administer them in your stead. My own men shall assure that his work meets you standards, and I shall treat your people as what they are, people on lands of a loyal vassal.” Then his hands tightened, and he pulled her to her feet.

 

“Enough of that.” He turned to Wolort. “Padawan, your associate has given me much to do in the next day. I would ask that you return tomorrow, and we can continue our discussions. That is if clan Briel can keep their venom to themselves.”

Cedaro looked at his leader; then at the cold-eyed woman that stood before him. Then he looked away silently.

Breia sighed deeply as the audience chamber fell away behind them. Wolort stalked beside her, uncharacteristically silent. “I had hoped it would not come to that.” She said softly.

 

“I find that hard to believe, Solo.” Wolort snapped. “You did everything but draw his blade for him! Then you butchered him as he lay unarmed! And that is what my report to the council will say!” He snapped his arm at his Padawan learner, and stormed away.

 

“I saw, but there is some I do not understand.” Dushin said after he was gone. “I crave enlightenment.”

 

“What do you know of the Mandalorians?”

 

“That they are a race that feels honor and battle is all.” He replied.

 

“That is not the truth, nor the sum of it.” She replied. “Their ideology was forged in battle, where betrayal can mean not only your own death, but the death of your very race. The oath for Narir Jatne is a perfect example. ‘My clan shall follow you or those who succeed you until the stars burn out. That our lands our swords and the honor of our clan are in the hollow of your hand’ is so sweeping that he could order me to slaughter my own clan with my own sword, and I would be duty bound to carry out that order. Yet the oath he swore also bound him just as firmly. If an enemy attacks clan Treiaga he is bound to return that attack. Not in a measured response, but with all the fire he possesses.

“The title Narir Jatne means ‘Leaders of the best’ and they are bound more tightly by their oaths than the verd or ge’verd, warriors and trainees who follow them into battle. The Narir Jatne can be executed for failure if it is proven that it was incompetence that caused it.”

 

“So your challenge was what, acceptable?”

 

Yes. By his actions Docro had placed his entire clan in danger, not openly as Cedaro did, but from concealment. If I had slain that boy at the door, it would not have reflected on his clan chief, nor would my shattering his blade. But that boy was under orders to speak as he did, to insult us.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

The first Mandalore said ‘let you contempt be judged by your silence, not your words’. If he had merely been silent, it would have shown his contempt more readily. But Wolort is too self-centered to understand that. So more pressure was applied.” She walked silently for a moment. “No one could give him orders to act that way except for his clan chief, and that meant the leader of Clan Treiaga was behind it.”

 

“And the duel?”

 

“He could stand behind his own title, claim that as Jedi I was making false accusations. But his own pride proved his downfall. His hatred of Jedi made him say what he did, and that spelled his doom, even if he had defeated me. Because no one can make the Mandalore’s pronouncements nothing unless they are willing to challenge him where he stands, which Docro was unwilling to do.”

 

“But why did you kill him?”

 

“When Tegran was executed facing the 21st Mandalore, he refused to surrender his clan for judgment. Historically his words were ‘who but me cares if my clan dies?’, a challenge not only to the Mandalore of the time, but an insult. Luck and a child saved that clan, for the Mandalore’s son was married to a woman of Ordo, and she stood before the men who came to slaughter them, holding the Mandalore’s grandson in her arms daring them to kill her first.

 

“You see, the 21st Mandalore’s name is not remembered. While Tegran is called the greatest traitor, he was also their greatest hero. It was that Mandalore who placed Clan Ordo and other smaller clans away from support so they could be slaughtered in one of the civil wars that plagued them before Unity. Tegran redeployed his men; along with those smaller clans, and won the battle. That was his treason, not riding a betrayed plan down in flames. He was banished, then hunted down like an animal to be brought before that faithless leader to be executed.

 

“But if I had let him finish the sentence, the Mandalore would have been honor bound to order the death of seventy thousand of his own people.”

 

“So you killed one to save the others.” Dushin said. “And your oaths to Mandalore?”

 

“If I did not take the title, Docro’s siblings and the other clan families would have squabbled over it. Who was part of the plot would be obscured in the bloodletting. So I took the title then gave it back to Mandalore by my asking for help to run ‘my’ clan while away.”

 

“The plea.”

 

“Back in the midst of time, when a Clan Chieftain had to be away from home for long times, a Chatelaine was appointed to act in his Chief’s name. But he doesn’t have to be a member of the clan. So Mandalore can now clean his own house without our interference.”

 

“An elegant solution.”

 

“Except that now I must go to the Treiaga lands and accept the oaths of the families of the clan.”

 

“Mandalore mentioned Baraduur?”

 

“Nineteen years ago, when I was still apprentice to your aunt, my namesake went to the planet Hestari. The government of a break away republic named Hotari decided to lay blame for a failed battle on clan Ordo. We were there to negotiate a ceasefire when the claim was made. Hotari invoked the option to slaughter them, and Breia Sookor refused to accept it.” She walked along silently. “When the 2500 man army of Hotari attacked, they faced one hundred fifty Mandalorian warriors and two Jedi. We slaughtered ten times our number to make the people of Hotari admit their duplicity. Both Breia Sookor and I fought at their side and the families of the clan that were represented petitioned the Mandalore to make us honorary Mandalorian warriors.”

 

She grinned. “So since I was 15 years old, I have been officially a Mandalorian warrior of Clan Ordo. And if Ordo marched I would be duty bound to march with them.” The grin died. “Now I’m a bloody Clan chieftain!”

 

 

 

ENROUTE

 

It had taken almost a full day, because as blithely as Breia had described the process, it wasn’t that easy. First there were sixty-five families in the clan, and each family head had to come separately and swear allegiance. Each had to also bring forward contracts signed by that family to be re-authorized. The Narir Jatne had the legal authority to hold any contract in abeyance or cancel them outright. If Breia exerted that authority troops halfway across the galaxy would be sent home.

 

Of the 100 odd contracts that had the men of the clan working, only a half dozen suffered this. Those had the Mandalorian warriors acting more as thugs than as soldiers. Finally only one family remained.

 

Breia stood near her chair, and watched as the Corrido, once the penultimate, came in. In the lead was Docro, son of Docro Corrido. He was all of 9 years old, but he marched as proudly as his father must have when he ascended to head of the clan. The other senior warriors, both men and women marched behind him

 

Breia walked forward slowly. “Hail family Corrido of clan Treiaga.” They stopped a few meters from her, and the boy continued forward.

 

“Hail, murderer of my father.” The boy snapped.

 

She looked at him coolly. Then drew her blade. Dushin hissed in alarm as the blade whipped up, then came down to stop less than ten centimeters from the shocked boy’s throat.

 

“Never make a statement you cannot back with steel.” Breia said softly. “The 3rd Mandalore faced such words all his life. My question is boy, is are you willing to take steel and defend those words?”

 

The boy reached out, and the man beside him sighed and drew his sword. “I am his champion-“

 

“In a duel caused by a direct word, there can be no champion.” Breia replied going from the lunge she had held back to guard. “If I had made such a statement, it would have been allowed. But a man must bear steel for his own words. So it has been since the 1st Mandalore.” She looked over the faces. “Siella Corrido. Come here.” She pointed at the ground before her. The wife of the late Docro came forward. “Show proper respect.”

 

When the woman did not move, Breia walked forward, bare steel in her hand. “If you will not show proper respect, you will die.”

 

“Kill me! You’ve destroyed our family by usurping my husband’s place!’ The red haired vixen screamed.

Breia swung, the back of the blade clipping her behind her knees, dropping her to kneel. Before she could roll, the blade was before her stomach.

 

“Are the Corrido blind?” Breia hissed. “Your husband tried to lead a revolt without putting his blade behind it. His last words would have condemned all of the clan to slaughter, and you condemn me?” She leaned back, the blade sliding back into its sheath. “Condemn the advisors that failed to stop him, or egged him on.”

 

“One of your kind did this to him!” She snapped back.

 

Breia stood over her then reached out her hand. Siella looked contemptuously at the offer, standing smoothly. “What next, your blade in my face as well?”

 

Breia looked up at the taller woman. “My first master was Breia Sookor Bai Echani. You know of her world.”

 

“The Echani are known to us. Their concept of honor is equal to our own.”

 

“Dushin?” Breia motioned him forward. “This is sister’s-son of Breia Sookor Bai Echani.”

 

Siella looked him up and down then gave the curt head head-nod of her race. “And why must you introduce him to me?”

 

“It is said that steel will brook no lie.” Dushin said. “Will you swear by it?” He drew, extending the blade. Siella looked at it, and then clasped it. A moment later she opened her hand, showing the unmarked palm.

 

“I swear by the gods of battle and steel that one of your master Jedi came here last year, and that was when my husband began to lose his mind.”

 

Breia walked back to the throne. “You, the champion. What is your name?”

 

“Sandro Corrido. Docro there is my own sister’s son.”

 

“Sandro, do you accept I am your clan chief?”

 

“I do not wish to accept it, but law and precedent is on your side.”

 

“Then give you sister’s son your blade.”

 

The man stiffened, then drew his sword. He extended it to the boy. Docro hefted it, the blade pulling him forward a bit, but he settled down once he was used to the weight. He turned, still defiant.

 

Breia stepped forward, her blade still sheathed. She stopped close enough that he could lunge if he wished. “Docro, son of Docro, you have given your clan chieftain harsh words. Will you die by them?”

 

“It is always a good day to die.” He snapped.

 

“Then hear the judgment of your clan chief. I name you Châtelaine of clan Treiaga and heir apparent until my return.” She looked at Siella and Sandro. “I name you the advisors to this man along with the one Mandalore assigns. Guide him well.”

 

The blade dipped. “Why would you trust me?” Docro snapped.

 

“Because you are brave, if a bit naive.” Breia snapped. “But you have the heart of a chief, and one day soon you might take my place.” She looked at the blade. “Now you can carry out your vengeance, or allow me to find whomever drove your father to madness, and exact vengeance for your family and clan.”

 

“I beg a boon.” The boy lowered the blade then knelt. “Allow me that vengeance.”

 

“That I cannot promise.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “If it is a Jedi master as your mother believes, even I might fail when I face him. But if I am able, I will try to assure that you witness it with your own eyes. Will that be sufficient?”

 

“Chu!” The boy snapped his head sharply.

 

“Then come, we need to discuss how to renegotiate the contracts now in abeyance…”

 

The A-19 Jedi Courier lifted from Granthor spaceport in the heart of the Treiaga clan holdings four hours later. It shot into the sky, rolling through a barrel roll. Behind them, an angry boy and his mother watched them go.

 

“Do you believe them?” Dushin asked.

 

“You’re the Echani, not I.” She snorted. “Could they have lied to us?”

 

After a moment, Dushin shook his head slowly.

 

“Then after Kerridor, we must investigate this. Which Jedi master was among the Mandalorians a year ago?”

[Char Ell]

Wow! A power-packed set of chapters in this one, machievelli. Breia's knowledge of Mando'a customs and traditions is quite impressive. She has matured quite a bit since Republic Dawn. I really think your story is off to a great start.

[machievelli]

KERRIDOR: 10 HOURS AFTER THE INCIDENT

 

Janeen Kirodi, widow of Dreekai Kirodi once Premier of Kerridor took the oath of office numbly. The party had trusted no one else to maintain the government until a special election could be held. She had wanted to curl into a ball and die. To scream her fury at the woman, the Jedi that had murdered her husband. “Send a message torpedo to Coruscant, report what has happened.” She ordered once the adjudicator departed. “Tell the Jedi there had better be a good reason they wanted my husband dead.”

 

She walked over to the desk. Her- she stopped hands pressed against the wood of it. No, it would be his desk until the election. He might be dead, but it was still his desk.

 

“Madam Premier!” A security guard burst in.

 

“Yes?”

 

He stuttered trying to explain, then hit a control on her intercom. “Kerridor approach, this is Jedi courier Metal Heroes approaching from vector zero one seven. Request that you notify Premier Dreekai of my arrival.”

 

She heard that hated voice, and her eyes burned. “Bring her in right out there.” She ordered, pointing at the Premier’s landing pad. “And have your men ready.”

 

*****

 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Dushin said. “First they seemed confused, then they direct us to a restricted pad.”

 

Breia had the same feeling. “Perhaps they can explain what is wrong when we land. There’s the pad.” She whistled softly. “We’re being directed to the Premier’s pad. Think someone told them we’re letting them have their tariff?”

 

“I don’t know, master. Something about this strikes me as wrong.”

 

She nodded. The vessel dropped, lift and drives screaming, then she landed feather soft. One man waited for them, but it wasn’t the Premier. He waved, then his hands clasped at his waist. Breia ignored the alarm she felt, unclipping her seat belt. Dushin automatically finished shutting down the courier, and followed as the woman went back, and thumbed the ramp control.

 

They walked down the ramp, and were clear of it before Breia suddenly stopped. She felt…

 

As she scanned left, Dushin, who had felt the same thing automatically scanned right. Men were there, with guns and scopes. She finished the turn now facing the ship. There on the horizon half a dozen atmospheric fighters had begun orbiting on a direct course from where she was to the edge of the atmosphere. She closed her eyes…

 

Yes, snub fighters on the same vector.

 

She turned back. The man that was waiting for them reached beneath his coat, and the pistol he brought out was a miniature sub machine gun. Dushin tensed, and she lifted a hand gently. “Not yet, Dushin.” She said.

 

The man moved forward. “On your knees.” He ordered.

 

“May I ask-“

 

“On you knees or the first round is right through your head.”

 

Breia motioned, and dropped to her knees. Dushin knelt as she did. The man moved forward, weapon focused so that the first needle round would have gone through her eye and brain without touching the orbit bone. He motioned, and she clasped her hands behind her head. He moved closer, and behind him half a dozen men double-timed out, full sized sub machine guns and battle rifles at the ready.

 

“Move and all three of us die.” The man hissed. Then he reached out, and pulled her sword, sheath and all from her hip. He retreated, handing it to one of the men then made the same cautious approach to disarm Dushin. Once the second sword was in his hands, he moved backward, passing it to one of the guards.

 

“Breia Solo, I arrest you for the assassination of Premier Dreekai Kirodi.” He took out two pair of manacles. “If you resist, my men have orders to kill you and anyone near you.” He walked forward again. “Extend your hands.”

 

Breia looked at him. She could feel the tension in the guards, and in those guards still out of sight. She didn’t know what was happening, but any resistance at this moment would kill the three people at the focus of all that anger, and she had to discover what was happening before she could deal with it. She extended her hands meekly, and the man locked the manacles on her. Following her example, Dushin also complied.

 

“No!” A woman stormed from the rooms beyond eyes flaming with fury. “Kill them, kill them both now!” She screamed. She would have come close enough to rake Breia’s face with her nails, but the man that had manacled them turned, catching her up and dragging her back. While the man was large and well trained it took all of his strength to hold her.

 

“Madam Premier-“

 

“She killed him! She cut him down like an animal, and you just arrest her as if she over parked her speeder!”

 

“Please madam Premier!”

 

She raked his face, ripping his cheek to shreds, screaming ‘Kill them both!” over and over. The guards looked both embarrassed and adamant. Breia knew that they wanted to pull those triggers, to blow her and Dushin to bloody gobbets. But their orders over ruled that desire.

 

“Will you poison his death?” The man screamed. His tone shocked Janeen more than his words. “Will you make him a murderer after his own death?”

 

“Konor-“

 

“She may have murdered him, but without a trial what you want is no better!” Konor screamed at her. “After a trial, yes. Without one it is murder at a whim! No better than what was done to him!”

 

Janeen sagged, crying inconsolably. “Oh Konor, my conscience, as you were his.” She touched his face. “Forgive me, please.”

 

He held her at arms length, head turned away. “Nothing to forgive, my lady.” He stepped back, the marks on his face, blood dripping, ignored. “Take them to Leforto.” He ordered.

 

The guards came forward, allowing the pair to rise, then ushered them into a police skimmer that arrived a moment later.

 

*****

 

Sanarodi Berol of the guard walked up the ramp of the ship. A year old CEC A19, Metal Heroes was still the best of her class. He sat in the command seat, rubbing his hands over the sleek controls then began the engine start sequence. A pity they would have to give her back to the Jedi eventually.

 

Behind him a form moved, rolling silently forward. The new pilot, glorying in something less than a decade old didn’t notice it.

Suddenly he flinched as a four fingered metal hand closed on his neck. Another extended into view, and a 30 centimeter blade snapped out.

 

“I assume you just wanted a joyride.” A soft atonal voice said. “Before I extend the left blade, have you any last words?”

 

“I am a member of the Kerridor Premier’s guard!” Sanarodi wanted to shout. It came out as a whimper.

 

“So now we have theft by government decree?” The voice asked. The second arm retracted its blade, and one of the digits tapped the autopilot button. “Perhaps we should discuss this. First, where are Padawans Solo and Dushin?”

 

“They were arrested!”

 

“For what?”

 

“The murder of Premier Dreekai Kirodi!” This came out clear and strong.

 

“When was this murder committed?” The voice asked.

 

“Approximately 12 hours ago.”

 

“Curious.” The hand lifted, and turned the man. He stared at a huge metal spider that held him where fangs could strike. “Since my memory banks state that we were in hyperspace until one hours eighteen minutes ago.”

“Obviously they reprogrammed you.” He retorted.

 

“That might make sense.” The droid mused. “Except that I have never had a memory wipe, therefore it would be a new experience. And my measurement of galactic time shows no gaps, which would be there if one segment of my memory had been rewritten.” It brought him closer to its eyes, his breath catching as the ‘fangs’ brushed his chest. “Please, those may look like fangs, but they are not. The left one is a nozzle for releasing cleaning chemicals in a controlled environment, and the right is a data probe link.

 

“Why was it believed that she had committed this crime?”

 

“We have her on video records. It will be the main evidence at her trial.”

 

“Oh, so there will be a trial.”

 

“Of course there will. Right before the execution.”

 

The eyes swiveled, and he could see the iris narrow into a pinhole. “Why does that not fill my processors with joy?”

 

*****

 

It sat in the center of a ten kilometer square wasteland, with four electrified fences to keep people not only in but out as well. A solid block of stone with slits instead of windows, it had been built with the idea that a prison was supposed to be uncomfortable.

 

When constructed two decades earlier, Leforto had been where the worst prisoners were to be housed. It was a facility that defined maximum security, since the only people within it were the guards and prisoners. Every other part of prison life, work details, libraries laundries, and kitchens had been shorn away. Food was delivered in processed and sealed units with utensils hard enough to cut the food, but no harder. In fact every utensil had been manufactured of a plastic that began breaking down if immersed in any liquid from gravy to saliva. A slow eater would end up eating with his hands as every utensil dissolved.

 

Except for that last touch, however, the prison was almost bland to a Jedi. Spend all of your time by yourself with nothing to do but stare at a wall? Oh Please!

 

Breia sat in a tailor seat, eyes wide open, and deep in meditation. She had been accused of murder, and the legal system of this planet believed in guilty until proven innocent. She had seen the video recording, but nothing she had said convinced them of her innocence. Her ships’ log and flight recorder ignored because obviously it could be faked. She was on vid; therefore she was guilty.

 

She visually walked through the scene. Whoever it was had not only looked like her, but at first glance had been Jedi trained. Yet there was something…

 

She heard a whistle, and looked at her bracelet. It looked like a Corellian Daskiri, what a woman might wear if she were married. Of course appearances were deceiving. It had been her mother’s. Holani Solo had been a field operative for Corellian intelligence and their black Ops section had reworked everything she had owned.

 

Including her wedding band.

 

She touched it, sliding metal left and right in a distinct pattern. A small panel popped open, and she plucked out the ear-bug, putting it in her ear. “Go.”

 

“Padawan, this is A4L7. Do you have a location on Padawan Dushin? He doesn’t have your equipment.”

 

“Next cell to the west.” She reported.

 

“Excellent. Could you give me an approximate height of the cell?”

 

She looked up confused by the question. “Three meters. But-”

 

“One final thing, would you be so good as to duck?”

 

“A4-“

 

“Now would be a good time.”

 

She flattened, and the wall behind her a meter and a half from the floor shattered as a concussion missile punched through it. Beyond the stone she could hear turbines shrieking. She ran over, looking at the three-meter diameter hole. Out in the darkness she could see the prow of her ship within an easy step’s distance.

 

“It is now safe to board the vehicle.”

 

“You metal lunatic! How did you know the warhead wouldn’t detonate?”

 

“Because I removed it.” The droid replied laconically. “We can discuss my sanity later. First I have to get you out of here before they can execute you.” Breia stepped up onto the edge of the shattered stone, then across to the ship. It dipped slightly at her weight, and she ran up the central spine of the port cannon mount to the dorsal emergency hatch. She grabbed the hand control, snapping it right, then lifted the hatch and slid into the upper airlock. As soon as the outer hatch closed, the inner one hissed open. Disdaining the ladder she dropped to the deck, and bolted forward as the ship side slipped. There was a roar and a second missile slammed into the stone wall, shattering it. This one had struck aiming into the cell she had been in, the shrapnel smashing into the empty cell as a good portion of the wall between it and the next cell went with it. Dushin looked up like a ground hopper popping from its hole. At her wave, he leaped across, and a few moments later, joined her.

 

The ship spun, leaping toward space as they strapped in.

 

“We have it A4!” Dushin shouted.

 

“Disconnecting autopilot.” The ship dipped as Dushin rammed the throttle forward. Breia was speaking into a hush-mike, and as she finished whatever she was doing she turned to the sensor/weapons panel. “Breia-“

“I’m only arming defensive systems not weapons.” She flicked a switch locking the guns and missiles down, and at the same time began activating all countermeasures. “No atmospheric fighters, but we have an element of two snubs that are in an almost direct line of departure.”

 

Dushin tapped his own screen as the ship punched up out of the atmosphere. The snubs she had detected were not on the direct line anymore, their orbital motion had carried them beyond it, but as he watched they began sharp turns that would bring them back rapidly. He also saw-

 

“Customs cutter at 021, mark 01 powering up. Weapons coming online.” Breia reported. She thumbed a button and one of the decoy pods dropped free. It burst into five smaller missiles, and each lanced away in a different direction as they each now displayed the exact same signature as the courier.

 

The cutter had them only on sensors, and seemed confused. Then gunfire erupted from her turrets and main guns, tracking the decoys. First one then another was destroyed.

 

The fighters however had them in visual range, and bored in. Breia tapped another button and both message torpedoes dropped free. One arced on a course for Corellia, the other for Mandalore.

 

“I need a few more seconds!” Dushin screamed.

 

“I can’t give them to you without killing them!”

 

“Take over!” He spun to his own weapons panel. Breia jinked the ship as a hail of shells flew through where they would have been except for her reflexes and Jedi senses. The second fighter fired a missile, which first followed a decoy, then turned and tracked not on the courier, but on the Corellia bound torpedo. It vanished in an explosion. There was a flare as the first fighter fired his own missile.

Suddenly the space behind the courier was filled with drones, chaff and flares. Confused, the missile passed into the cloud of chaff, and exploded.

“Hyper in 3,2,1-“ The courier was gone.

 

 

 

THE HUNT: 24 HOUR AFTER THE ASSASSINATION

 

Wolort was finally happy that things had worked out well. Mandalore had ignored his apologizes about Solo’s overreaction, but he knew it because if Mandalore admitted that she had helped him, it would make him look weak. They both knew it, and that was all that mattered.

 

He went back to the courier, and waved for a cup of tea. Sarisha sighed, poured the Naboo green, and set it on the table along with a pad. Seventeen years in training as a Jedi to become a personal maid. He looked at the pad.

 

“What is that?”

 

“A message from Padawan Solo.” She said, her three eyes focusing on his face. “Which we received three and a half hours ago.” Which I called you about but you were too busy swimming in the testosterone sea to reply. She thought sourly.

He snorted, keying in the code the one you refused to let me have. She added sourly.

 

The holo came up. Breia Solo looked disheveled, but in control. Why couldn’t they have assigned me to someone like her?

She spoke calmly, but swiftly. “Emergency message. Someone who looks like me has assassinated the Premier of Kerridor. Dushin and I escaped, and the other message torpedo is bound for Coruscant and the Grand Council. This links to information we have that a Jedi master caused the later clan chief of Treiaga to act as he did.” She looked directly at where Wolort sat, as if she had known where he would be sitting. “We have had our differences in the past, Padawan Wolort, but the council must be warned. The assassin moved as if she were a Jedi. Either she is Jedi trained, or someone out there is using our methods.

 

“No time for more, we are going to have to break through the defenses. Enroute to Salamari station will hold there until contacted.” She cut off.

 

Wolort smirked. “Take us to Salamari station.” When his Padawan learner left, he saved the document then tapped the message torpedo controls. “To the Grand Council this is Padawan Teacher Wolort. Obviously my protestations concerning Padawan Solo have been ignored. She has murdered the Premier of Kerridor, and is now fleeing to Salamari station. I am enroute to capture her.”

 

He finished his tea, gloating as the Kuati designed courier leaped into the air. Then he fired the message torpedoes, one bound for Coruscant, the other to his home temple of Ossus.

 

*****

 

40 hours after the murder, the message torpedo from Kerridor dropped into normal space and scorched down toward the Jedi temple. It began transmitting the instant it was within one light second, then went into orbit to be recovered, refurbished and reused. On the ground, the Padawan at the communications board recorded the message, checked the header, and handed it to another Padawan to be delivered to the Grand Council.

 

“Masters, I have already discussed this with the government of Ossus.” Master Halfert was saying. “They do not see that a fully organized Republic military is a necessity.” He looked around, and stopped when the Padawan entered. “Yes?”

 

“Message from Kerridor, Masters.” The young man said, handing it to the closest master, who happened to be Koordo the Hutt. He activated the pad then gave a hiss.

 

“The Premier of Kerridor has been assassinated.” The others turned to stare at him. “The assassin was Padawan Solo.”

 

“Impossible.” Soo-chin snapped. “She has proven to be hot headed sometimes, but an assassin?”

The Hutt looked at them. “They also report that Padawans Solo and Dushin were taken into custody, but somehow escaped. A data cube was sent along to prove their contention, and is in orbit in the torpedo that delivered this.”

 

Tron nodded. “Have the torpedo land.”

 

On the screen Breia entered. Dreekai spoke. “Greetings, Jedi.” He motioned for her to approach, standing and coming around his desk. She strode toward him, and the two guards paced her.

 

“I shall come to the point.” She said walking toward him. The Council sees Kerridor as an important system to the Core. Your actions have caused… problems.”

 

Dreekai stopped, looking confused. “Jedi, what have we done to incense you so?”

 

“The council sent me to deal with the problem. The problem as they see it, is you.”

Her right hand shot down, her blade whipping sharply to her right, the guard falling in uneven pieces as her left came to join it on the hilt. The second guard went for his pistol, but that implacable blade swept left, and that man screamed as she laid him open.

 

Dreekai had an instant to scream as the blade lifted up, then sliced down, cutting free his right arm, then it punched forward, and his intestines fell around his feet.

 

Janeen screamed, backing away from the assassin. She fell, scurrying backward until her back rammed into the wall. The woman turned, the blade at low guard, facing her.

 

“Please.” The killer whispered. “By all the gods, run!”

 

Janeen leaped to her feet, running.

 

Behind her the Jedi slowly went to rest, wiping her sword on the dead

Premier’s suit-

 

The holo projection froze on her face as she turned. The masters looked at each other. “Master Soo-chin, what were Padawan Solo’s orders?” Koordo asked.

 

“She was to go to Kerridor, speak with Dreekai to determine if this tariff measure Kerridor intended to pass was a permanent or temporary measure. The planet is just trying to replace deficits caused by half hearted attempts at social engineering.

 

“I felt that it was merely an honest attempt at generating short-term revenues. I had already read the text of the bill, and it was my opinion that the sundown clause was well written and worded. It was to last for only three years, and only a full scale natural disaster of global proportions would have kept it beyond that point.

 

“As much as our associate Master Halfert seems to think it was merely a leech upon the economy, I transmitted that belief to Padawan Solo. At no time did I suggest that the Premier should be killed.”

 

“Perhaps she has fallen.” Tron suggested. “Less than a year ago she lost both of her parents and brother in that coup attempt.”

 

“Since that incident her record has been sterling.” Soo-chin protested. “She has handled mission after mission well within the parameters we have set. I see no reason for her to just murder someone!”

 

“Perhaps there was a psychological reason.” Halfert suggested. “The last Prime Minister of Corella, Lar Foren looks enough like Premier Kirodi to be brothers. Perhaps she merely snapped, placing this man in the Premier’s place?”

 

“And there is Wolort’s report.” Greshta added. “He reported that she brutally murdered a Mandalorian Clan chief before she departed the planet.”

 

“Masters how many of you have dealt directly with the Mandalorians?” Tron asked. “I read the reports, not only from Wolort but from his own Padawan learner Sarisha as well. She spoke at great length about Padawan Wolort’s antipathy not only against Padawan Solo, but also toward every woman that disagrees with him. Where Wolort has dealt with the Mandalorians once in his career, Padawan Solo has not only dealt with them, but both she and the late Master Sookor were named as women of honor and warriors to Clan Ordo. I submit that if Padawan Solo killed someone there, it was necessary under their own code.”

 

“And Wolort is to be recalled and assigned a teaching position.” Soo-chin told them. “This is not the first time we have received complaints by our female members about his problems, but it will be the last.”

 

“My question is who sent Padawan Solo to Mandalore?” Koordo asked.

 

“Master Halfert asked her to stop at Mandalore.” Soo-chin replied. “After considering what he had done, I had to agree. The Mandalorian situation was becoming overblown and Wolort was out of his depth.”

 

“Is it possible that someone who looked like Solo committed the murders?” Tron asked.

 

“Assuming no delays, she should have arrived at the time the murders occurred.” Halfert said. “We cannot assume her guilty, but by the same token, we cannot assume her innocence. We must find her and bring her before the council.” He looked around. The other masters nodded. “Then we should order all Jedi to look for Padawan Solo.”

 

 

 

MISCOMMUNICATION

 

Salamari station rested in orbit of the fourth moon of Salamari VI, a huge gas giant in an otherwise worthless system. The Kashiaga Corporation of Ryloth had discovered large quantities of methane and propane in the atmosphere. Both in and of themselves weren’t valuable, but they were the source of hydrogen fuel for aircraft or ground vehicles and the basic building blocks of plastics.

 

But to mine it was the problem. The planet had a gravity of almost 3 standard, and no one as yet had developed an anti gravity field that would stand that strain. A ship trying to merely drop in and load would be shattered in short order.

So the Twi-lek designed massive ram-ships. Three times the size of a Frigate, they were nothing more than a bell shaped opening covered in ablative armor, massive tanks, engine and a cockpit thrust out the starboard side. Once the design was finalized an old military repair ship came in, deployed a portable space dock, and construction began. The first one, named merely 001 was run out, and when it came out of the atmosphere like a meteor that had changed it’s mind, it carried 3.1 million cubic meters of those gases already compressed for transport.

 

Now fifty year later Ram-ship 421 burst from the atmosphere, outbound for the tankers that waited for that cargo. The trip from hitting the atmosphere to leaving it took about fifteen minutes. It took longer to unload it than it took to slam it aboard at 100,000 kilometers per hour. They ran from the tanker anchorage twenty light seconds from the planet in then out to unload.

 

The station had grown. It acted as a focal point for hyper lines that bridged the entire sector, and had begun as merely a barracks for the pilots and a warehousing facility. Now it had grown to a massive conglomeration of cargo pods and old ships that had been tractored in and anchored to each other by transit tubes. Detritus from damaged and repaired ships

floated in the space around it, and the local children made a game of collecting it for scrap.

 

The CEC A19 looked like thoroughbred entering a paddock of nags.

 

It rolled in, headed toward the central disc.

 

“Which registry shall we use?” Dushin asked. The people that frequented the station didn’t like law enforcement, and because of that, tended to dislike Jedi. Since there were a lot of places like it, every Jedi ship carried a dozen different registries. Still only on sensor, Breia tapped a button, and the photo-reactive primer on the hull shifted to a dingy gray. She nodded, and Dushin looked at the scheme with a grin. “Salamari station, this is independent Courier O-Ren Deshko inbound. Request docking clearance.”

 

“O-Ren Deshko this is approach control. What is your business on the station?” The coordinator asked in Twi-leki.

 

“Approach we are stopping for replenishment of our fuel stores, and some food. No deliveries at this time.” Dushin answered flawlessly in the same language.

 

“O-Ren Deshko this is approach control. You are cleared to pad seven. All docking fees due upon arrival.” The tone had mellowed.

 

“Understood and thank you. O-Ren Deshko out.” He checked the dock that flashed. “How do we come in?”

 

“Stern first, we might want to get out fast.” Breia ordered. She stood. “I’m going to get changed. Want some tea?”

 

“Yes, please Master.”

 

She tousled his hair, and headed aft. He sighed. At nineteen, he hated that she treated him like a kid. But she had taught him a lot in the last months. He heard the fresher start, and sighed. So much for him getting to change.

 

A cup appeared to his right, and he took it. “Thank you A4.” He sipped sighing appreciatively. Echani fire tea with honey made from the nectar of the same plant. Another thing he appreciated about her.

 

*****

 

Captain Dori Chandar Bai Echani accepted his receipt for the docking fees, and signaled Belisha Charisi his first mate to follow him. The two headed for the cantina, sipping the local beer.

 

“Well we’re here. Any idea what to do?” Dushin asked.

 

“We wait.” Breia told him.

[Char Ell]

I liked that you took the time to detail the Salamari mining operation. It provided a nice break from the storyline that didn't take took long and broadened things out a bit.

 

It's a good thing Breia kept that spider droid, A4L7, around. He sure comes in handy as backup in situations where his human handlers have been captured.

 

Looking forward to the next posting...

[Bee Hoon]

The fic is so detailed! It's a good read... A lot of effort has gone into thinking it out. There's a few typos here and there, but nothing major. Awaiting coming installments! Funnily enough, I know someone named Soo-chin, and the person is a man:p

[machievelli]

Beehoon, if you get a chance read my other stuff. I try to put as much effort into everything.

[Bee Hoon]

I've read Return from Exile... The Atton fan-girl in me protests at poor him not having a chance with Marai:p For some reason, I really liked the scene with Luxa. I'll read the others if I have the time:)

[JediAthos]

I have to say Mach, I'm absorbed in what you have written here. I think that my writing style could benefit from reading yours Not only that but so far the story itself is excellent and I think that Breia Solo is my favorite character out of your stories.

[machievelli]

I've read Return from Exile... The Atton fan-girl in me protests at poor him not having a chance with Marai:p For some reason, I really liked the scene with Luxa. I'll read the others if I have the time:)

 

 

Well if you ask really nicely, I can always send you the scene Jae considered to risque between Marai and the Handmaiden,

 

 

Thanks JA. She is one of my favorites though the practical joke war was my favorite section so far. Actually every one of my women in the forefront have my undivided attentiopn when they stroll onscene.

 

Someone asked me after Darshan Solo flew up a sewer, then having the Mando'a kids cut into a septic tank if it was going to be a constant thing.

[Bee Hoon]

No thanks, not really into that kinda stuff=p I liked the scene because it was so Zeltron, so to speak, whereas meeting her in the game was pretty bland. Her calling the exile "beatiful" was more like someone trying to butter you up to do business. Heh.

[machievelli]

Nah. What i did was make the Corellians (Which she is in my version) more demonstrative. She was primarily worried that Atris wanted a romantic relationship would cause her more problems until the Handmaiden told her that wasn't the case.

 

But the wording was a little... suggestive.

[JediAthos]

The practical joke war was absolutely a riot and a half! When I read that stuff I could wait to see what one would do to top the other!

[machievelli]

CONVERSION: ONE WEEK BEFORE THE INCIDENT

 

Tatyi watched herself move in that prison her mind had become. For eight months she had been forced to make the same moves over and over in constant repetition. For the first few days it made no sense. Stand flatfooted, sweep right hand down to her hip, move it forward. At the same time left hand would set itself under the right, both together. Swing arms right, left, forward, spin, left hand coming free, right sweeping sharply from above her head to her waist. Land facing that specific spot on the wall, with both hands together, holding even with her waist. That outside voice controlled everything. Right down to where her feet should be as her hands moved. When she tired, she would have to walk a convoluted path using a virtual reality head set, the walls and doors all created in that unreal world.

 

The path will not change, but what you must do with the blade does. The first two strikes must go to those around you by their proximity and threat to you…

 

The addition of a stick at the end of the first week made a little more sense, but now she had to pull the stick in her right hand, and move it through the motions demanded of her.

 

She tried to resist, did everything she could think of. But if she faltered in the slightest thing, the voice would speak a word, and she was racked by unbearable pain.

 

After three weeks, with the now larger stick a heavy weight in her hands, a dull steel blade in a sheath on her left hip had replaced it. Again the constant repetition until the voice was satisfied. Then they were combined; she would walk the unreal corridors, and other blank figures would be there. Upon command she must strike. Then one face was added. She was required to learn his name and title. As much as she continued to resist, this man would die by her hand.

His script varied. Sometimes he was argumentative angry defensive sometime obsequious, sometimes merely a gentleman speaking to a friend. If he was defensive, or angry, the two others she had to kill but were not as important adjusted their positions according to his opening mood. Closer if he was confrontational, farther away if he was in a friendlier mood.

Her script however did not change. Regardless of how he began reacting she said the same words. They were always said in a bland uncaring voice, but the words she used caused the two others she had to kill but were not as important to move closer to her.

 

Their position depended on his starting point. If he were afraid or argumentative, they would be close enough to touch with her hands. If friendly they might be as much as five meters from her when they began to interpose their bodies between her and the one she must kill.

 

Over and over she went through it. Sometimes she killed him, then the other two. Other times she had to kill them first. Sometimes one of them, then the target, then the other; it was almost bewildering in all of the possible variations on the theme of murdering one man.

 

The first time the scenario she was part of merely ended suddenly she didn’t understand the import of it. She had killed one of those she had to kill but were not as important, and was advancing on He who would die by her hand when suddenly the VR screens of her glasses went blank.

 

For some reason this thrilled her. It wasn’t until the third time it happened that she realized why.

 

If it occurred, the plan of that voice would be foiled. She would die, and He who would die by her hand would live.

If you were ask any person who was more important, a person they had never met or themselves, they will almost always pick themselves. Yet she understood at the gut level that if she died and he lived the galaxy would be happier. She began to try to fail, and she discovered that the voice’s control was not absolute. She could make herself fail enough that it became a viable option, even if it were odds only a professional gambler would have loved.

 

Then she was made to go into a medical center. When she awoke, the voice told her that the problem had been solved. If she died before carrying out her mission, a small device implanted where her womb once had been would explode, destroying the building’s structure and kill untold hundreds more.

 

At the end of five months, it all changed. The person who owned the voice came in followed by a droid. “Make the modifications.” The voice ordered.

 

Again she had tried to resist but as she writhed in pain the droid had approached, spraying an anesthetic gas.

She had nightmares as she slept. The voice asked what could be done to avoid that failure assuming she was taken rather than killed, even if it were merely a percentage. If she failed, the enemy would know-

 

A cold mechanical voice would reply. The word Comparazide would be used.

 

The voices would argue, the mechanical voice suggesting this amount, the ‘controlling’ voice demanding more until they reached equilibrium at 5 CCs.

 

She had awakened with another face. Her hair had been left alone, except to make it fuller. Her eyes were now green, and the breast augmentation she had paid so much for ten years ago had been reduced, but was still impressive.

 

She had been biosculpted. Face eyes breasts voice, now totally different.

 

She had some control when not being put through her paces, and as long as she did not consider sending an electronic cry for help, her time was free. She looked up the word. Comparazide was a chemical excreted as an anti-coagulant by the Duros ‘Night flitter’ blood-sucking insect.

 

Yet with any interaction between races from different planets and races there can be unexpected side effects. The amount released by a single night flitter was a microgram, Less than 500th of a drop. If the right quantity (4 milligrams) of Comparazide were injected into a Twi-lek female it was a powerful aphrodisiac. In a Hutt a miniscule amount (15mgs) would cause hallucinations. However in a human…

 

Five cubic centimeters of the chemical would cause her very flesh to dissolve into liquid. In fact a mere fifty milligrams would cause a suppurating wound that would never heal. If she were captured, this would be released and she would die; reduced to a bubbling puddle of disassociated tissue within hours…

 

Then the bomb would blow the building to hell anyway. There would not be enough of her DNA to find, let alone test.

 

Her last hope that the plan would fail had been torn from her.

 

Again she had to show that she remembered her lessons. Only once she had proven this the voice demanded speed. Faster and faster until she was terrified that she would slip, and the blade would go flying.

 

Now it had become second nature again, even if done at a blinding speed. She paused at the end, hands with blade at her waist, blade aimed toward that spot on the wall.

 

“Excellent.” The voice whispered in her head. “Dress in the clothing provided.”

 

Tatyi found herself pulling the clothing from a box. She had seen them somewhere before, but where?

 

“Go to the ship. Practice on the voyage.”

 

She dressed, following the hall to the small landing pad where a ship awaited her. She walked aboard it, going to the mess deck, and sat.

 

The pilot came aft, and she felt a resonance. As she looked at him for the longest time she could not think of why. He was dressed as she was though his robes were pantaloons instead of a skirt split up each side.

As she felt the ship lift, her mind suddenly clicked on where she had seen those clothes before. Some group called the Jedi Monks.

 

And like a blinding flash she understood why she felt that connection…

 

He was as much in thrall as she was.

 

Every few hours of the journey she would stand, VR glasses on, walking the path she should walk in those final moments, killing those she should kill. Now the one she had to kill had a face. He was a smiling gentle looking man who would walk toward her. When he spoke, she heard his voice. The voice called her Breia Solo, and she knew that it was supposed to be her.

 

The ship screamed down into the atmosphere, and she stood. The pilot looked at her, and again she felt that connection. Like her he was a slave within his own mind, and that part not under this evil spell screamed for release.

The ship landed, and the ramp hissed down. Without the VR she still knew where she was. The controlling voice had known exactly where the ship would land.

 

People spoke to her, but she ignored them. Part of her wanted to run to hurry, but the voice had been explicit in it’s detail. She came to the last door, but it didn’t open. She looked at the woman behind a desk, and her eyebrow rose imperiously. It was as if the secretary faced an army with full siege train. She opened the door, turning away.

He who must die was before her now across the office. “Greetings, Jedi.” He motioned for her to approach, standing and coming around his desk. She strode toward him, and the two guards paced her.

 

“I shall come to the point.” Tatyi said walking toward him. “The Council sees Kerridor as an important system to the Core. Your actions have caused… problems.”

 

The target stopped, confused. “Jedi, what have we done to incense you so?”

 

“The council sent me to deal with the problem.” Tatyi replied. “The problem as they see it, is you.”

 

Tatyi moved. Her right hand shot down, her blade whipping sharply to her right, the guard falling in uneven pieces as her left came to join it on the hilt. The second guard went for his pistol, but the blade swept left, and that man screamed as she laid him open.

 

The target had an instant to scream as the blade lifted up, then sliced down, cutting free his right arm, then it punched forward, and his intestines fell around his feet.

 

The woman screamed, backing away from the assassin. She fell, scurrying backward until her back rammed into the wall. Tatyi turned, the blade at low guard, facing her. She saw the terror in the woman’s eyes, and used every bit of her will to stop herself from killing. The woman had not been part of what she had been trained to do. Only that saved them both.

 

She fought her muscles, and won a brief respite. “Please.” She whispered. “By all the gods, run!”

 

The woman leaped to her feet, running.

 

Behind her Tatyi slowly went to rest, wiping her sword on the dead Premier’s suit then turned and strode from the room. There was so much confusion. No one knew what had happened, and she was able to reach the ship. The instant she was up the ramp it slammed up, and she collapsed as the lift and drives slammed her to the deck.

She could stand, but she lay there wailing her pain at what she had done until the pilot came to collect her. As he lifted her in his arms, she understood the horror of it all.

 

She had murdered a good man and those sworn to protect him. Even she could explain she was damned for what she had done.

 

 

 

PURSUIT

 

The A19 courier Darshan and Holani Solo dropped to the ground, engines whining to rest. The ramp came down, and the blonde strode down it in a sinuous glide that attracted every male eye. She paused until the male Duros in Jedi robes joined her.

 

“I am looking forward to a break.” Sienna Dodonna said, doing a little dance of joy. “A week of quiet meditation-“

 

“And drinking.” Toorio commented.

 

“Perhaps some time relaxing-“

 

“At one of the louder night spots.”

 

“Hey!” She glared at him in mock irritation. “You don’t know me that well!”

 

“After eight months in the same ship?” He asked mildly. “Try me.”

 

“I drink seven cups of tea-“

 

“Eighteen.” He replied. “That disgusting Echani Fire tea.” He shuddered. “And you wash down eight pancakes every morning.” He looked at her. “My question has been where you put it all. I know exactly how many calories each of them is. Along with the syrup and nerf butter you smear on them you could feed a family of four on Duros.”

 

“Yeah.” She admitted with a laugh. “If Duros ate pancakes!”

 

”Moss is nutritious.” He told her blandly.

 

“Maybe.” She turned, poking her Padawan learner in the chest. “But it’s no fun!”

 

“Food is-“

 

“I know! ‘Food is fuel’. I think your entire race must have decided that pleasure when it came to your diet was against some kind of galactic law.”

 

A Padawan came from inside the monastery, bowing. “Padawan Teacher Dodonna, the Grand Council had asked your presence immediately.”

 

She sighed. “See to provisioning us, Toorio. A Padawan’s work is never done.” She changed her course, walking toward the larger building that had been constructed only that year. Like a lot of the younger Padawans, she agreed that there had to be a central authority which all of the now wide flung Jedi would obey. However she had always thought the home temple of Ossus should have that honor.

 

But all of this talk of a central Republic had swayed the heads of some of the masters. With most of the commerce coming from Coruscant and Corellia, they wanted the capitol of the Republic to be in the Core. So the Masters had decided that Coruscant should be the base of the Grand Council.

 

She passed the bustling communications room. What might be so important that Padawans were running? She felt alarm when she saw who was standing in the waiting room. Yodai and Samsun still working together, Shali of Rutia with her new Padawan Learner Derio Creisi of Taris, Losian Deshiali of Coruscant with his Padawan learner Serena Pardue of Corellia, Mooroli of Changar Station with his Padawan learner Shari of Naboo, Reiger and his Padawan learner Nimri of Duros, Diera Coori and her Padawan learner Janus of Corellia, Carola Mortai and her new Padawan learner Lanal of Ossus, Reyes and his Padawan learner Garreth of Gran, Solon and his Padawan learner Deor of the human colony of Lannrul, Coroy and Padawan learner Sheel of Togarai Kriel and Padawan learner Wints, last but not least Costi and Padawan learner Veruul. Four monasteries and six races were represented. Toorio came in, taking his place beside his Padawan teacher.

 

The door opened, and they marched into the council room. A dozen masters looked at them, all seated in a circle.

“You have been selected because all of you know your quarry. We have a problem that must be dealt with immediately.” Master Soo-chin said without preamble. “Padawan Breia Solo has been accused of murdering the Premier of Kerridor. You all know where she might hide, and it is up to you to find her and bring her in.”

 

“She wouldn’t have done that, Master.” Sienna burst out.

 

“Agree I must.” Yodai said. “To murder someone is something not possible for her.”

 

Soo-chin sighed. “Our problem is that the detractors against the Republic will use it to frighten others away. ‘It’s join or die’ they will say. This assassination has polarized those for and against the Republic, and if we do nothing about her, they will say we have ordered this for some dire purpose.

 

“To assure that the Republic only has willing members, we must show we are willing to hunt down criminals. Even if they are one of our own.”

 

“Masters,” Coori said softly. “You speak as if she is already condemned.”

 

Halfert sighed. “She has been on Kerridor.” He looked at the other masters. “We are meeting now to decide if the order will exile her.”

 

Reyes looked around the council members. “Without even a trial master?”

 

“Kerridor has given her a trial.” Master Friggar said softly. “Until that trial can be appealed, we must act on the assumption that it was a just court. You have your instructions.”

 

The Padawan moved out of the room. Sienna noticed that Yodai paced her.

 

“Not good this is.” Yodai mumbled. “To hunt one of our own.”

 

“I am open to suggestions, Yodai.” Sienna sighed.

 

“Like hunting animal we must be.” Yodai said. “Gather from our senses, before we hunt.”

 

“The Captain’s basket.” She murmured. She explained the term, and she gave him the systems she knew Breia might hide. The woman paced forward silently. “If you get any news-“

 

“Pick up extra message torpedo I will. Keyed to your vessel it will be.”

 

“As will I.” Sienna said. They reached the pad, and the paired hunters went to their ships.

Sienna waved Toorio from the controls. Of all of them she knew Breia the best. Where would she hide? Probably in the Captain’s basket…

 

 

 

CREATING A FICTION

 

The bearer of the voice watched pensively as the couriers lifted into the sky. It was only pure luck that Sienna Dodonna had returned when she did. If anyone knew Breia Solo well enough to discover the deception, she was the one.

Yet the first part of the plan was underway. All that was needed was inattention for a few more weeks. The Republic would collapse, the Jedi would be discredited, and then the Jedi would be removed as a problem forever. But like the small trickles of snow from an avalanche, blocking it at this juncture would limit that future.

 

The Masters were taking a break, and the bearer boarded a vehicle, arriving at the house. The puppet sat in her room, hands on her knees, staring at the wall. If allowed too much volition she tried to escape, or collapsed into tears at what she had done. So she had freedom of movement only when he was here, or on an assignment. Once Breia Solo had died, the girl would be eliminated.

 

“Come with me.” The voice ordered. She stood, walking down to the ship. At the command she sat in the control seat, spoke the words she was bid, then returned to her room. The pilot took the ship off, took it one transit away, less than 30 light years then sent the message torpedo hurtling back toward Coruscant.

 

 

 

SALAMARI STATION

 

The last few days had been boring more than anything else. Breia and Dushin had little or no interest in the mining operations, and even less in the Galactic Fizzball championships. Since that seemed to be the extent of conversation on the station, they had spent most of that time to themselves. Breia had finally cleaned the galley until it shone, and proceeded to make yet another mess when the station’s gravity had fluctuated suddenly, throwing the pancake she had been flipping into the overhead hard enough to stick. She was on the stool, scraping the hardened batter from the overhead when the alarm went off. She leaped down, racing forward, beating Dushin by mere seconds. A4 who had the watch brought up the scanners. A Kuati design Courier had come out of hyperspace seconds earlier, and now they listened in shock.

 

“This is Jedi Courier Padawan Kalieif of Ossus, Padawan Klien Wolort commanding to Salamari station. Two wanted murders are hiding on your station claiming to be a Jedi Courier. The Order requests your assistance in capturing them.”

 

“What is he thinking?” Dushin asked. He was strapping in as the station told Wolort that no Jedi couriers had docked.

 

“He isn’t thinking.” Breia told him, taking her seat, activating the entire countermeasure board with a hand flipping down the switches as the other locked her shock harness. “He has his chance to get rid of me, that’s all he cares about.”

 

“Salamari station I will not repeat myself. The courier is a CEC A19.”

 

“Any suggestions?” Dushin asked as he brought up the engines.

 

“We need to give him a bigger problem than us.”

 

“That I can arrange.” Dushin fed power to the maneuvering thrusters running out of the dock like a fish avoiding a shark. He grinned then ducked behind the station as Kalieif of Ossus caught them with their sensors.

The com channel bleeped. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Breia commented, flipping the switch. “Wolort, this is Solo. What are you playing at?”

 

“Playing at?” His voice came back, smug. “You’ve finally proven your instability, Solo. Murder and mass murder. You’ll be exiled, and the order will be better for it. Surrender or I’ll blow that Corellian piece of garbage across the approach lanes.”

“And now.” Dushin said softly. He fed power to the thrusters sweeping smoothly onto his course. The ship leaped back into view, but now was on a grazing course for Salamari VI.

 

Breia took one look, then stared at her Padawan learner. “Dushin-“

 

“Trust me.” He commented. The ship barrel rolled as Kalieif of Ossus spun to pursue.

 

*****

 

“Master this is wrong.” Sarisha said from the co pilot/weapons station.

 

“No, it is finally proven. She brutally murdered that Mandalorian, and now she’s committed a crime even the Council will not gainsay.” Wolort was smug. “Lock onto her.”

 

Sarisha thought of the Padawan, so strong, so… perfect as a teacher. Her hands moved away from the weapons controls. “No.”

 

He hissed hitting the switch that gave him control of the weapons. “Just like a woman. I hope you enjoy being part of the conservation corps, Padawan.” The Courier screamed down in pursuit. The CEC A19 had the edge in the primary boost phase, but slowly the more powerful Kuati craft began to close. Solo was such a fool. She held her course for her grazing run. He flipped up the targeting reticule, and his face grew feral as only now the A19 jogged into an almost straight dive into the atmosphere. If she didn’t pull out in four seconds…

 

*****

 

“Dushin…”

 

Just a few seconds-“

 

“We don’t have a few seconds!” Breia shouted. An alarm sounded, and Dushin gave a banshee scream as he flattened out their dive, rushing for the grazing course again.

 

*****

 

Wolort heard the alarm, frantically looking at the sensor screen. A massive ram thundering down on him like a saber-trout after a water bug took up the entire stern aspect. He jerked up and away from the planet.

 

He almost made it. He turned to avoid the edge of the ram scoop hurtling through space at a greater velocity than his own ship, but to avoid being engulfed, he would have to commit to a death flight into the atmosphere of the gas giant itself. He tried anyway but even as he turned the venturi of the scoop’s maw slammed into the stern of the courier, ripping the engine pods from it.

 

There was a flare of ablative armor being burned away as ram-ship 071 punched along her course.

 

*****

 

The pilot sighed as the atmosphere released his ship at last. He had been required to extend his exit burn by seven seconds thanks to that idiot in the courier.

 

Damn it, it wasn’t his fault! Every ship entering the system was notified to avoid the entry path taken by the ram-ships! Once committed to a dive, the nav system was locked down because just a degree off either way would either abort the run or cause the huge vessel to burn up. The ram-ship steered like Alderaani swamp pigs as well, and if he had tried to override the course the damn computer would still be arguing with him now.

 

“Ram 071, report.” The crisp Twi-leki came over his headset. They would have to report this to corporate, and at least the pilot didn’t have that responsibility.

 

“Ram 071 incident report.” He replied in the same language. “Small vessels entered entry flight path. Unable to avoid impact; one seen heading for the hyper limit, other believed to be destroyed.”

 

“Incident noted. Cargo collected?”

 

He looked at the meters. That couldn’t be right…

 

“Repetition. Cargo collected?”

 

“Control, I must have sustained damage to the tank monitors. Cargo negative.”

 

There was a sigh. “Probably what is left of that courier jammed the venturi and welded itself there. We have already notified the Jedi monastery on Ryloth. Shuttle will make flyby to check for damage.”

 

The ram-ship continued the four hour return trip to the offloading sector. A shuttle approached as the ship slowed further. It began to pace then overtake, smoothly moving in the ram-ship’s path. The pilot switched to the maintenance channel.

 

“-Pretty bad dent there in quadrant two. We’ll have to repair that before she can go in again.”

 

“Look, quadrant four. It looks like one of the craft’s engines punched into the armor. We’ll have to fix that as well.”

 

“Agreed. Helm, back off thrust, we have to drop into the throat to see if there’s anything else blocking the venturi.”

The pilot watched as his ship overtook the shuttle. It would slide a hundred meters down that vast cone of ablative material, the maintenance officers looking for other damage. Suddenly he heard something he didn’t anticipate; laughter.

 

“Control, notify the Jedi that the ship appears to have been destroyed, but some of the crew survived. We have visual on two beings in a life pod, which was jammed into the throat of the venturi ahead of what is left of the ship.

 

“How bad is the blockage?”

 

“Dockyard job.”

 

“Understood. Control out.”

[True_Avery]

Damn your stories are fantastic. Mindboggling amounts of detail and dialog.

 

How on earth do you do it?

[machievelli]

Damn your stories are fantastic. Mindboggling amounts of detail and dialog.

 

How on earth do you do it?

 

 

It's trying for thirty years, actively working on improving my craft, and allowing myself to actually write something down rather than being my own worst critic. If you haven't already, read the story 'The Leeanan' in the Outer Rim. I kept getting the question 'where do your ideas come from' and I wrote that story in response.

 

I feel I do have a spirit, a muse if you will that constantly pushes me to create. I am both main characters in that story. The tired old man that tells the stories, and the terrified young boy with the gift who is afraid of ridicule.

[machievelli]

ACCUSATION

 

“Sienna, if you hear this I am in trouble. I carried out the assassination as instructed, but the masters never considered the security systems the Premier of Kerridor had in place. I did not get away clean.” Breia looked at the holo-recorder. She was disheveled, but calm. “I will need your assistance in creating my alibi. Meet me in Tangera. Breia out.”

 

The holo died, and the masters looked at each other.

 

“What header was on the message?” Master Soo-chin asked.

 

The communications Padawan bit her lip. “Inbound from Tangera, Master for retransmission to Padawan Dodonna.”

 

“So two of our Padawan are party to this murder.” Master Halfert commented. “One who committed the deed, another who will help cover it up!”

 

“Master you defame two members of my own monastery-“ Soo-chin began.

 

“Master Soo-chin, innocent or not, provenance or not, we cannot merely stand by. Already the news of the assassination breeds conspiracy theories like the volet worms of my home world.” Master Friggar said softly. “If we stand silent, we will be accused of complicity or even masterminding this abomination. We must show our own agreement with the laws that will govern this new Republic, and that means we must exile Solo. Since Dodonna stands accused of complicity, she must join Solo in that shame.”

The signal was sent on to Kerridor. After it had been, the Council voted 11 to one for exile.

 

As of that moment, both women were no longer members of the Jedi order. They were criminals.

 

 

 

CINTACT

 

Breia snapped awake, rolling, her hand snatching up her blade and it was drawn, aimed at the chair on the edge of the compartment.

Sienna leaned back putting down the polishing cloth and oil she had picked up her hand moving carefully from the hilt of the sword across her lap. “Sorry.” She said quietly. “I didn’t think that polishing my blade would disturb you. May I continue?”

 

At her nod, Sienna smoothly drew her blade, using the small cotton ball on a metal stem to tap the oil onto the blade. She began at the point, working with single-minded concentration to the hilt, then picked up the cloth, and began to work the oil into the metal.

 

Breia suddenly realized how stupid she looked and sheathed her blade. Sienna appeared not to notice, but Breia could see the slight stiffness in her shoulders relax.

 

“You know they do make steels that don’t need this constant care.” Sienna mentioned conversationally.

 

Breia sat, the sheathed blade on her thighs. “We had this discussion before.” She pointed out. She motioned, and Sienna waved a hand, the oil bottle lofting across into Breia’s hand. The older woman took out her own polishing cloth, and began oiling the blade.

 

“Many times.” Sienna agreed. She flipped the blade so the other side was up, returning the oil to the table with another wave. “If I had a credit for every time we have had it-“

 

“You could have bought the monastery-” Breia broke in

 

“If they would sell it.” Sienna finished in a soft voice.

 

“Is this another dream, Sienna? How could you have found me?”

 

“Thank A4 and the captain’s basket.” Sienna said. “ “Right now. Yodai is looking in the other half of it. We will leave a message torpedo here for him. As for A4, he believes you didn’t kill anyone, and unlike the others that might have considered sending a message directly to his central memory bank, he also knows me.”

 

“No he doesn’t.”

 

“Remember the hanger deck on Star Trader?” When not one but seven A4s attacked me?” Breia nodded. “I was curious about what had caused it. With my family connections I did two things. First, I downloaded all of the data from the ship and from the lab they were to be sent to.

 

“According to the naval programmers, and the company programmers from Deritech, who built the series, we caused a cascade reaction in the memory of A4D9, which caused all memory to become open ended. They originally thought it was a programmer’s fault but it turned out all he did was tell them to check data every time until it learned all it needed to learn about what it should know. But you started letting it learn anything. Everything became connected by experience but also learning, as it would with a child, and like an intelligent child it hungered for more. They also discovered that if a droid that had that capability and inclination was interfaced with another, that droid also ‘caught’ the intelligence bug.

 

“They worked out the glitch, and the new A5 series was put into production last month.”

 

“You said you did two things.” Breia pointed out. Sienna whistled.

 

The hatch opened, and an A4 minced in. At first she though it was L7, but no, she had never painted it’s carapace a creamy white with brown slashing, nor had she changed the photo-receptor color to blue. She puzzled over the reddish brown streaked colored section above the pedipalps

 

“Say hello, Fate.”

 

“Hello, Jedi. You are the Breia Solo she talks about?” Unlike L7, who had a baritone, this droid’s voice was a mellow alto.

 

“Yes. And you are?”

 

“A4F8.” A pedipalp motioned. “Sienna saved me from the lab. I was the last operational A4, and she suggested I join her aboard her ship.”

 

“She was the last of Star Trader’s A4s. The one they had to clean up before she was sent down. They were talking about ripping her apart and scrapping her. So I took her with me not long after we saw each other last.”

 

“Took her with you?” Breia looked back and forth.

 

“She merely suggested to them that if I were really sentient as Sienna suggested and knew they were going to kill me, I might be able to escape from the building if I set my mind to it. The techs thought it was unlikely. However having been programmed with the specifications of the building, once that option was suggested, I could see the value of it.“ Fate said.

“They said she was too stupid and unfocused.” Sienna tossed in.

 

“Where did you get the building specs?”

 

“Out of their own computers.” Fate commented. “Deactivating and bypassing security is simple for a droid, if it knows what that security is and what it is for. That was all part of the original mission parameters of my series. Also there are workspaces we were designed to use, that are difficult for humans to travel. I merely waited until their lunch break, rewired the lock plate, used the lift access panel, and went up the shaft and boarded the Jedi’s ship. She left shortly afterward.”

 

Breia stared at Sienna. “You stole a droid?”

 

“Actually if you must be pedantic about it, Jedi Dodonna did not steal me, she is merely guilty of aiding and abetting in my escape and harboring a fugitive.” Fate said.

 

Sienna looked up from her polishing, smiling gently. “After she not only escaped but boarded my ship without being detected, she asked for a new paint job. Show her, Fate.”

 

The road wheels dropped, and the droid spun. Then the wheels retracted, and the first pair of legs slid up the wall, the second pair sliding forward to lie directly beside the first. The last pair locked in trail, and the third pair moved so they lay directly beside the last.

 

With the legs tightly locked together and seen from above, the paint scheme looked like a three meter tall woman, with auburn hair, large breasts, and enough of her body showing to prove that she was a natural redhead laying against the bulkhead, arms raised above her head, legs demurely together. Then the upper right pair moved in unison, and the image seemed to blow a kiss.

 

Sienna gave her that ‘butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth’ grin. Breia tried to be serious, after all, theft was a crime, but the situation seemed so… absurd. “That doesn’t explain the voice or that artwork.”

 

“I had been experimenting with how to interact more easily with the crew if I had been returned to service.” Fate told her. “Some react positively to the standard deeper male voice setting, but I discovered in direct communications for human male, they react more readily if the voice was feminine. One of the techs was watching a vid on night shift, and was answering back to the actress, even though her statements made no sense without a sexual context. So I downloaded all information on that woman, one Solara Ryal.”

 

Breia began to giggle. “Solara Ryal? The adult holo-vid actress?”

 

“It was because I found the manner of Solara Ryal’s interpersonal conversation appealing as a role model.” Fate went on unperturbed. “I had been watching and the human males who were around me acted… strange when I adjusted my vocoder to her voice.

 

“Her way of speaking has a curious effect on human males. They look at me as if they were droids caught in a recursive feedback loop.”

Breia looked to Sienna. “Tongues hanging out, trying to say something and making a lot of mistakes in what they are saying.” Sienna smiled. “The way men act around me when I dress like I normally do.”

 

Breia had heard of the actress. The interactive personality vids where she moved around your home spoke to you personally, or replied using an AI were the biggest sellers. Picturing someone as viscerally attractive as Sienna, with a voice that literally oozed sexual desire… She chuckled, and then suddenly found herself laughing picturing a 200 kilo droid approaching, pedipalp hands moving with that sexy voice saying ‘whatever I do, we both know you will enjoy it.’

 

For the first time since that horror on Kerridor, Breia felt happy. But then she sobered. “So what’s the plan? Take me in then hope we can convince the widow to delay the execution?”

 

Sienna sighed. “Would that it were that simple. If A4 had not broken you out of jail, you would have had four months to prove your innocence. However escape suggests guilt. If you were innocent, why did you run? Even if you were to return and allow the normal process to continue, they would filter everything through that fact.

 

“Plus all evidence put forth by you would be tainted because their appeals process requires that their representatives collect it. We cannot go where you have gone, and do it, they must do so. There must be proof that you have not gone there to arrange an alibi. Their definition of ‘cruel and unusual’ when it comes to punishment under their law is making you wait an interminable period before execution of sentence.

 

“This means you must surrender yourself to their justice for as much time as it takes to prove it under their law.” Sienna looked at her mildly. “But that leaves you only three months, so I am hoping we can do it faster by actively assisting them.

 

“Either that or you must flee into the unexplored reaches of the galaxy and never return.”

 

“I know that.” Breia whispered. “If A4 hadn’t broken us out, I would still be sitting there, hoping the process hit no delays. This Republic the Core world are forming is more important than my life.” She looked at her friend bleakly. “Even though I am innocent, I would have allowed them to execute me rather than see it fail.”

 

“Then we have little time.” Sienna said, standing. “We are going to look over the one piece of evidence you saw only once, and from there try to figure out what we can suggest to the Kerridor to look for that proof of who really committed that crime.” She leaned forward. “We brought a copy of that vid record.”

 

“And I am not in it.” Fate sighed. The women looked at her and roared with laughter.

 

*****

 

All four of the Jedi watched the vid. Sienna had passed out one time recording pads to each of them, and ordered the Padawan learners to pay attention to discrepancies. Ten hours later, she had each of them thumb seal their pads, and took them back. She then had them all sit within the recording field. Step by step she went through what they had done, each commenting on their own pad.

 

The flight to Kerridor was solemn. Breia brooded not on the fact of her innocence, but on the rapidly shrinking time before her execution. The two ships landed side by side, and before the ramp of Darshan and Holani Solo opened combat boats had surrounded them, weapons locked on them.

Sienna marched down the ramp of her ship, and waited patiently. No one had been there to meet them, and the boats didn’t have enough room to land. An air car was approaching, and she turned, facing it, hands clasped behind her back patiently.

 

The car landed, and half a dozen men leaped out, weapons at the ready. One strode toward Sienna. “Who are you?” He demanded.

 

Sienna bowed, crossing her arms before her. “I am Padawan Sienna Dodonna of the Jedi order. You are?”

 

“Konor Malpressian, Chief of security for the Premier.”

 

*****

 

Sienna suddenly remembered a class they had taken in their first year in the Monastery. It was merely named ‘greeting’. The teacher was an Arkanian named Sah Tremba. He began the class oddly to her five year old eyes. He stood facing them, both hands held out from his body. The left was palm upward, the right palm downward. Then he introduced himself, and began the class. But there was no mention of why he had held his hands that way. Curious she had accessed the data banks on the Arkanians, then when that did not tell her why, she accessed their society and history.

 

The next morning, she had come to class, walked up to him, and put her hands in the same position as he had. “Teacher, I thank you for what you are giving us, and hope I may learn to use it wisely.”

 

He smiled them moved closer to her, his hands now flat against hers. “I thank you apprentice for taking the time to learn why. Take your seat.” He then turned to the class. “In the past, when my people were only on the one planet, this greeting was used by the Sah tribe on my world. With the left palm up, you are offering something. With the right palm up, you are expecting something that was not at first offered. If the left palm is down you are returning, rather than giving. With the right palm down you are expecting thanks for accepting your gift.”

 

He looked across the class. “One of the bloodiest wars in our history began because a man used the wrong form. He was not of that tribe, and did it backwards, making a peace negotiation a demand instead. It is the difference between saying ‘we would like peace’, and ‘we will have peace or else’. Hundreds of thousands died because of nothing more than an improper greeting.

 

“Things will not go right when you go on missions if you forget this. If a specific greeting is expected and is not given, they will see all that follows through that filter. Remember that.”

 

“But why did you then put your palms on hers when she did that?” A student asked.

 

“Apprentice?” Sah Tremba asked Sienna.

 

“It is the difference between saying please and not saying it. He offered us the gift of his knowledge yesterday, but none of us thanked him for that effort on his part. I replied this morning with an offer of my thanks, he touched my palms replying without words that he accepted my offering.” Sienna explained.

 

“That was why the war began. The peacemaker came not asking or offering, but demanding.” Sah Tremba said.

 

*****

 

Sienna looked at Konor. His form was abrupt, without a proper show of respect to someone who had never been met. The action taken not toward an equal familiar or superior, rather the form given to someone beneath contempt. “Am I not worthy of respect?” She asked softly.

 

The man flushed, then he stepped back. His hands crossed on his chest, and he bowed. “I apologize for my lack of courtesy. May I ask the nature of your business this day?”

 

Sienna repeated the gesture. “I bring news of Padawan Breia Solo, and that which you seekers of truth must search for in her case. But I bring this as well.” She waved. The ramp of Metal Heroes lowered, and Breia came out, followed by Dushin and A4. Down the ramp of Sienna’s ship came Toorio and their A4 Fate.

 

Breia came over to Konor, crossed her arms, and bowed even deeper than the others had. “I turn myself over to justice. The plan to escape was not mine, and I have returned of my own will.” She knelt, her sheathed blade across her hands, palms open. Dushin repeated her. Now both were kneeling offering their weapons. Numbly Konor took them.

 

A4L7 came forward. The greeting looked odd, but the droid did it without complaint. “I am A4L7, assigned to the vessel Metal Heroes. When we arrived on your planet my memory was not accessed because of the belief that I might have been reprogrammed. I committed the crime of releasing condemned criminals assuming something had gone wrong during the trial. I turn myself over to your justice and ask that my memory be compared to that of A4F8, the droid assigned to Courier Darshan and Holani Solo to verify that it has not been changed in any way from what was in my memory banks previously.

 

“I ask that you report to the seekers of truth in this case that by checking the continuity as well as placement of memory by a qualified programmer, they can detect any suspicious gaps in my memory. The only such gap that should be there is during the brief coup attempt of last year when I was heavily damaged, and had to be rebuilt.”

 

Fate rolled forward, repeated the gesture, and added. “I am A4F8, assigned to the Courier Darshan and Holani Solo. I submit myself for examination to verify that I have not transferred any data to unit A4L7.”

 

Konor stepped back, motioning to one of his guard. “You will stand here and wait. If any of them including the droids attempt to escape, they are to be stopped by any means necessary.” He stepped further away, and spoke into his com-link for a long moment.

 

Half an hour later, a large van from Justice arrived, and took Breia Dushin the droids and the guards away. Sienna and Toorio rode with Konor to the Premier’s office.

 

Janeen Kirodi stood when they arrived. Though it was the height of discourtesy to demand that they be unarmed, Sienna and Toorio had given over their weapons without complaint. The interim Premier did not come closer to them. The guards had been increased to five with Konor directly between them and his charge.

 

“Jedi again!” Janeen spat. “Have you come to kill me as well?”

 

Sienna crossed her arms and bowed. “I understand your misapprehension, Premier, and I grieve with you for the loss of your husband. The Jedi knew him for his honesty, and we will miss his honorable acts.

 

“May I explain what has occurred?”

 

Janeen hissed, then sat. Again, Sienna did not correct her for being discourteous. After all, she was a supplicant trying to explain what was happening. “Speak.” Janeen rasped.

 

“We have returned here with those accused. However there is evidence that would not be seen because few know either the Jedi, or their ways. This is all that we would offer before you to go to your seekers of truth in this case. Knowledge they would not have, and avenues of investigation they would not have taken.

 

“I also give to you this message from the Jedi Council, direct from the lips of Master Soo-chin. ‘We would have given what this man has asked because he is honorable, and authored the surtax the Kerridor asked. The bill was not altered in the process of passage, and the tax would have been removed at the time specified. His own honor would have demanded it. If the Kerridor feel that more is now due them due to the acts of another, the Jedi will agree that raising it by an equal amount is acceptable. We have already informed the members who are forming the Republic that this is proper compensation for the pain caused by the assassin’.” Sienna looked up.

 

Janeen glared at her, but after a moment, her face softened. She stood returning the gesture. “I thank the Jedi for those words of consolation, and the return of the criminals.”

 

Sienna stood, gave a shorter bow, and took the pads they had recorded on the ship from Konor. “When we found Padawan Solo, she explained what she believed had occurred. These are for your seekers of truth in this case. All of us reviewed the video records of the incident, and each without being prompted, made their own determinations of what they saw on these four pads.” She set them down. She held up two more. “Though I am a good friend of Padawan Solo, I began recording on this pad when we found where they were, and met them. Both my Padawan Learner and myself assumed something might have gone wrong, and would have killed the fugitives if necessary.

 

“Each of us carried these set to record retransmitted into our own ship’s log so there would be a verifiable record of what happened.” She held up one more. “When we had viewed what had occurred, and each had made their own comments on their pads, I downloaded them into this pad, along with what our own approach to the fugitives had shown, and my own comments on what should be investigated in this case. Your seekers of truth in this case may accept or deny this as they see fit.”

 

“You think she is innocent.” Janeen challenged

 

“What I think does not matter, but yes I do.” Sienna said. “However, I will play one part of this for you now before these witnesses.”

 

Sienna brought up the talk in Breia’s cabin. The holo showed her seated, Breia still seated on the bed. “Before it begins, I will tell you that while Breia might have known I was recording this, she did not complain.”

 

“This means you must surrender yourself to their justice for as much time as it takes to prove it under their law. But that leaves you only three months, so I am hoping we can do it faster by actively assisting them.

 

“Either that or you must flee into the unexplored reaches of the galaxy and never return.”

 

“I know that.” If A4 hadn’t broken us out, I would still be sitting there, hoping the process hit no delays. This Republic the Core world are forming is more important than my life. Even though I am innocent, I would have allowed them to execute me rather than see it fail.”

Sienna stopped the recording. “I will let your seekers of truth in this case determine what is true and not. My Padawan Learner the accused and myself stand ready to assist in any way.”

 

Janeen stared at her for a long moment, then tapped the intercom annunciator. “Have the Minister of Justice, and the Seekers of truth for my husband’s murder sent to my office.”

The wait was not long. Logo Mariko came in followed by three men and a woman. “Madam we are delaying for no reason, and that will interfere with the process.” The older man said.

 

Sienna raised a hand, stilling the Premier’s retort. “Sir, what do you know of the Jedi that is not wild conjecture or rumor?”

 

The man glared at her, then motioned. The woman seeker stepped forward. “The Jedi are a religious organization formed several centuries ago on the planet Ossus, seeking to connect with what they call the Force. Little was known of them until approximately forty years ago when a Jedi monk slipped aboard the first fully independent hyper drive vessel Han Calrissian. That vessel was piloted by Darshan Solo.

 

“Since that time they have started monasteries on Echana Coruscant Corellia, Sanberi, Tessedora and Kilburan. Number of members of the order assumed to be seven hundred and thirty. They are broken into four groups, apprentices, Padawan, both teacher and learner,” She motioned toward the Jedi in the office, “and Masters. Most contact is with the teams of Padawan, who always operate in pairs. There are believed to be just under 100 such teams.”

 

“That is all?” Mariko glared at her.

 

“Sir the question was predicated on what is known and verifiable. There are a lot of wild rumors that give the Jedi magical powers, but few have been verified, and the sources must be considered in assigning a value to the claims.”

 

“You see how our seekers are trained. Janeen commented. “Alyanna, how many people are in this room?”

 

“I have seen and verified yourself, Minister Mariko, Security Chief Konor, Guards Lamba, Saltir Edge and Cosso, Two people in Jedi garb, Seeker leader Shan Seekers Colosoro Magnian, and myself.”

 

“Why two people in Jedi garb and not two Jedi?”

 

“With the recent schism led by Master Zeison Sha of Tessadora, we have two groups with different views, that dress in the same manner. The followers of Zeison Sha believe the Jedi should stay out of politics on any level, even down to councilor or judge. They practice non-violence, but are trained in defense, both with staves and with their hands. So far the schism has been amicable, the 70 members of this new order still live within the same monastery as the Jedi they came from. Except for the basic precepts of their divergent religions, they are still identical in dress and manner.”

 

“But these are here in a political capacity.” Janeen protested.

“Be that as it may, Premier. However they are not armed, nor have they made any statements before me that suggest they are not Zeison Sha instead. Until such an occurrence I will not speculate.”

 

Janeen nodded. “Repeat the rumors.”

 

Alyanna went on. “They are believed to be extremely quick in combat, and are trained both in hand-to-hand combat, and swordsmanship. It is said that a Jedi sword can cut through almost anything. In combat they also have what can only be called prescience in that they know if someone is behind them is attacking them or in cover. Some it is believed can do this with automatic defense weapons that are emplaced.

 

“It has been reported that they can move out of the line of fire from weapons with this mixture of speed and prescience and some Jedi can even interpose their weapons between those with projectile weapons using the blade itself to block the bullets fired at them.

 

“It is believed that they can move items of varying weights with the force of their mind alone, and in some cases, destroy or damage automatic defense weapons either by touching them or at a distance. One is believed to have seriously damaged a Corellian police restraint droid by ripping its arm off. The arm of a B9 Police restraint droid is rated at 4.5 tons, meaning she had to exert 5 tons or more to do so. The same woman disabled another by somehow creating an electrical field in her own body, and directing it through the droid in question.

 

“They are believed to be able to cloud the mind of those around them making them invisible or appear somewhere else, to place thoughts, or force someone to do something with their voice alone. It is said they can tell truth from lie by merely listening and can force the truth from someone in questioning.

 

“All of what I have described however, is conjecture. Reliable observers have never witnessed it.”

 

Mariko motioned. As if to say, ‘so’?

 

“A brief indulgence, Premier.” Toorio said. “Minister, how much do you weigh?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Merely a question.” Toorio replied.

 

“220 kilos-“ He gasped as Toorio reached out, and the man lifted half a meter into the air. He flew backwards slowly, the other people staring in amazement as they moved out of the way. The man settled back to the ground.

 

“My teacher Padawan Teacher Dodonna taught that to me. It is not magic, it is knowing how to do it.”

 

“How did you do that?” Alyanna asked.

 

Sienna sighed. “Seeker, even if we told you, you would have to have the ability within you to do it, or the knowledge is worthless. It is like explaining the physical operations of speech to a mute, or how sound oscillations work to the deaf.”

 

“Humor me.”

 

“What he did was cause the molecules of the minister’s body to become lighter than gravity would permit, and then moved them from one place in the room to another.”

 

As she spoke, Konor put his hand to his ear, obviously listening to a report. He stiffened, and said one word. “Kaliffi!”

 

Behind Sienna, Security officer Edge reached for his weapon. At the same moment, the other three guards did the same. A well practiced move, it would have surrounded the two Jedi with drawn weapons, and any reaction would cause their death’s.

 

In the same instant though, both Jedi raised their hands. The weapons leaped from their holsters, and smacked barrel first into the outstretched hands as if the men had merely thrown them to the Jedi.

 

Konor’s weapon was out but except for moving her hands, Sienna had done nothing more. “I assume, Security Chief, something has convinced you that we are also a threat. Give me a moment, please.” She slowly stood, the weapons extended to the two guards on her side. “Retrieve your weapons.” She told them. Once those two had taken them back, Toorio stood, and did the same. Both were now seated again. “May I ask what caused your reaction?”

 

“Communications reported a message torpedo from your Grand Council. In it, you are named as a co-conspirator in the assassination.” Konor gritted out.

 

“Sir, I would ask you to indulge me for a moment. Please remove and unload your weapon.” Sienna waved to the men behind her. ‘You’re agents may aim theirs at me to assure I do not try anything while you do. While we have some capability, I do not think both of us here can disarm every possible safeguard you have. That is why I am asking this only of you.” She turned to speak over her shoulder. “If any of you feel that something is grabbing your weapon, by all means pull the trigger.”

 

Confused, Konor drew his side arm, ejected the magazine and the bullet in the chamber, and returned it to his holster.

 

“Now consider, sir, that we are just now entering the room. You’re men as they are right now, are ready for an attack. But we are unarmed.”

 

The gun leaped from the holster, breaking the snap that held it, spinning in the air and smacked butt first into the open hand she had raised. She held it now aimed at it’s owner. She raised the barrel, and there was a click as she pulled the trigger on the empty chamber. In the spin it had also cocked itself. She spun it on her finger, and handed it to the guard behind her butt first.

 

“I submit sir, that if I were part of what had occurred, both you and the Lady behind you would already be dead. Consider further, that Breia Solo has four years more experience than I do. She could have done the same.” She leaned back into the chair. “But whomever is to blame for her husband’s death, for the deaths of your two officers has to have access to my own Council. Once everything else has been considered, we must add that.”

 

She stood slowly. “Madam Premier. My Padawan and I are at the service of you and the Seekers of truth in this matter. If you wish to move us to quarters that will lock so we cannot flee, I will understand. But we are here to find the truth as much as those assigned to the case.”

 

She bowed to the Premier again. “With your indulgence, and that of your seekers, we can demonstrate everything we are believed to be able to do. This will explain the comments all of the Jedi concerned made on their pads.”

[Bee Hoon]

Wow, I missed quite a bit! There's a few punctuation errors, and spacing out between some of the dialogues was also missed in a few places. Besides that, distinguishing between the present and the recording of Breia and Sienna would have been nice. It's a great chapter! I really liked the part with Sah Tremba in particular. Sienna's cool display was also very impressive, and very Jedi: calm and collected in the face of pressure.

[machievelli]

Besides that, distinguishing between the present and the recording of Breia and Sienna would have been nice. It's a great chapter! I really liked the part with Sah Tremba in particular. Sienna's cool display was also very impressive, and very Jedi: calm and collected in the face of pressure.

 

 

You will notice places where I have a single word with no punctuation. In each case, those are chapter headings.

[Jae Onasi]

You will notice places where I have a single word with no punctuation. In each case, those are chapter headings.

 

Perhaps making the chapter headings in bold or underline might make them stand out as 'not story'. A couple technical things--I caught some comma usage (or non-usage in this case) errors, and you explain twice to the readers about the Jedi watching the holovid and recording the findings on datapads. I would have cut the scene with the 4 Jedi (or shortened it considerably) and kept the one where Sienna explains it to the Premier.

 

machievelli, I never anticipated a slut droid. You'll have me rolling laughing if they somehow end up in 'droid love' or something. You'll have me rolling laughing just having them talk more in any case. I'm enjoying the intrigue and seeing the development of the Jedi and even the first schisms. I like seeing the different customs (like the greeting hand gestures, or the bows with arms crossed), but then I like all those little details that make cultures come alive. Breia's and Sienna's banter is hilarious as usual.

[machievelli]

I would have cut the scene with the 4 Jedi (or shortened it considerably) and kept the one where Sienna explains it to the Premier.

Something I caught and have since edited it. The problem with bold or italics is it doesn't carry over unless you re-edit before posting. I'll just put them in all caps from this point on...

 

machievelli, I never anticipated a slut droid. You'll have me rolling laughing if they somehow end up in 'droid love' or something. You'll have me rolling laughing just having them talk more in any case. I'm enjoying the intrigue and seeing the development of the Jedi and even the first schisms. I like seeing the different customs (like the greeting hand gestures, or the bows with arms crossed), but then I like all those little details that make cultures come alive. Breia's and Sienna's banter is hilarious as usual.

 

All I did here was remember the guy flirting with the automatred voice in Andromeda Strain. It is a known fact to the military that any voice that is used for standard procedure announcements must be something that everyone will automatcially listen to. All Fate did was look at the reaction of men to that specific voice, and it made sense.

 

As for greetings, different societies here have the same sometimes arcane gestures and motions to fit in. I just a class among trhe Jedi for it.