Sins of the Father/Part 23

Please, Narasi, Tirien thought, staring out across the arena where his Padawan had Pavac a twitch of the thumb from death. Do the right thing.

He thought it, but he did not send the thoughts out to her mind. Watching the fight had been painful in ways he had not expected; he had never seen her come so close to death, and, feeling her wounds in the Force and the blistering heat of her rage, he had had to struggle against the urge to tear down the barrier gate with his mind, draw his own blade, and save her—though whether from Pavac or herself varied moment to moment. But he had resisted, remembering how her words had cut to the core of the issue.

How many times have you told me to be a Jedi? Well…let me.

No more than fifteen minutes ago, though it felt like a lifetime and then some, Tirien himself had told her it was better to die a Jedi than succumb to the dark side. The easy words were harder to live, as so many platitudes turned out to be, and Tirien felt the ache in his palms from how tightly he had clenched his fists. At some point Zaella had come to his side at the front of the stands—whether to watch the contest or just to keep him between Izkara and herself, he did not know—and before long she had started a running commentary.

"Stop blocking, reflect it back! Oooh, dammit!  Oh, kark, that must've hurt!  Come on, cut his head off and be done with it!"

In the end Narasi's rage had overpowered everything Pavac could throw at her, and now he was as good as dead unless she reined in her anger. Tirien wanted to call out to her, to counsel her, but, deep inside, the Force gave him the strongest warning he had ever felt. To mastermind Pavac's release would forever leave unanswered the question every Jedi had to face, one way or another—the decision, in a moment of greatest trial and temptation, between light and dark—and plant a poisonous seed that would someday bloom into something monstrous. And so Tirien clenched his jaw and held his silence, praying for his Padawan and grappling with the fear that, in their years together, the training he had given her was not enough.

Narasi took her lightsaber away from Pavac's head, and then Tirien could breathe at last.

She returned her lightsaber to her belt, limping toward the stands; along the way she extended a hand toward Zaella's lightsaber and her own discarded belt, but Tirien sensed her exhaustion, and after a second she knelt to pick them up instead. As she did, the Force drew his attention with a whisper of danger. He sharpened his sight to see Pavac pulling a small metal sphere from the back of his belt; he pressed it with his thumb, and the whisper became a cry. But when Tirien reached for the Force, it restrained him.

In his second of hesitation, when Narasi's weary mind had just perceived the danger, a sharp crack rang over the arena. Pavac's head snapped back; his eyesight still amplified sharper than macrobinoculars could allow, Tirien saw a thumb-sized hole in the Pyke's sloping forehead. Blood ran down Pavac's smooth, noseless face, and Tirien felt the life leave him. He collapsed on top of his right hand; Narasi had only just turned and taken her lightsaber back in hand when the bomb went off, propelling Pavac's corpse a few meters into the air before the ragged remains crashed back to ground with finality. Narasi just stared through the whole process, then turned around.

Tirien followed his Padawan's gaze high into the stands, past the Hutts slipping toward the exits with their retinues in tow, and saw Arkyr Rentol standing on the topmost level, his right arm still pointed toward Pavac, his left hand bracing the forearm slugthrower, and his half-cape swaying in the wind. Enhancing his hearing to match his eyesight, Tirien heard him say, "Ke hettir o'r haran, hut'uun."

Tirien looked back at Damis Myragon, who had not moved from his place in the stands, and who had been watching the arena without giving his partner away. Tirien nodded, and the Elomin Mandalorian nodded back.

Tirien sensed the agitation running among Runganna's advisors and guards, but he could not be bothered to pay it any attention as he hopped down to the barrier. As Narasi trudged toward him, he commanded the Nikto at the controls, "Open the gate."

The spike-faced woman hesitated, looking up at Runganna. Tirien gave it two seconds to ensure he was settled in the mindset of necessity to ensure no further treachery, rather than impatience. Then, just for effect, he snapped his fingers as he flooded the Force into the tall durasteel posts that supported the energy barrier. The electrical current amplified far beyond what the posts' delicate circuitry could take; in a shower of sparks that sent the Nikto scrambling for cover, the posts crackled and blackened, and the shield dropped.

As the barriers on either side fizzled out as well, Narasi plodded the last few steps out of the arena. She made it to Tirien under her own power, but, having accomplished the feat, exhaustion claimed her and she slumped against him. He tried to hold her up without laying his hands on any of her wounds, but she was so caked in dirt and blood, and had so much of her skin reddened from Pavac's flamethrower, that the best he could do was brace himself so she could lean on him without falling.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered to her.

He felt her claws on his back as she tightened her grip on him. "I got so angry…I used the dark—"

"You did," he cut her off, before she could really wind herself up. "But you made the right choice in the end. You kept your honor and stayed a Jedi."

Turning her a bit so he could look up at Runganna, Tirien called, "It's over, Runganna. Give us the bomb and we'll transfer your credits."

Defeat did not suit Runganna, who wriggled in her armor, radiating fury. Darqyren Valt had been watching with narrowed eyes as beings slipped out of the stands in ones and twos, but he turned back at Tirien's voice. The Ganks surrounded Runganna, some facing the handful of spacers and mercenaries still seated nearby, but most chambering their rifles to their shoulders as they looked down on Tirien with hostility he did not need the Force to perceive. Izkara observed from one side of the throne.

"You cheated," Runganna fumed. "Your champion ignored the rules, and the Mandalorian killed Pavac. You lose, Jedi; you can't have it."

Tirien cradled Narasi's back with one hand for a moment, channeling her energy to help soothe her pain and lend her some strength. She took a deep breath, straightening in his arms, and pulled away, nodding in understanding.

Darqyren's advanced mind processed the signs of preparation in a heartbeat, and he called down, "Leave now and you remain unharmed, Jedi. Stay…"

He gestured, as if to trail off in regret, but the Ganks raised their rifles. In one movement Tirien and Narasi drew their lightsabers, bringing their blades to matching guards. Zaella skipped behind them, hissing, "Give me my lightsaber!"

"Just stay there!" Narasi snapped back.

"Please, Master Jedi," Darqyren said. "Perhaps you can defend yourself at length, but your Padawan is dead on her feet; if you persist in this madness, I'm afraid we'll have to make that saying rather more literal. Lay down your blades and no harm will come to you.  We'll ransom you back to the Republic unmolested."

"And Zaella?" Tirien asked, mostly to stall for time as he analyzed the scene. Runganna's Ganks were all looking at him now—a dozen marksmen with cyborg reflexes and aim, all arrayed around Runganna's throne.

"We have no quarrel with Lady Hadan, nor do we seek one. She'll be returned to Ryloth, where she belongs."

Tirien heard Zaella's breath shake as she exhaled behind him. Narasi snarled, "No."

Tirien raised a hand to forestall her and called up, "Are there no choices but surrender and death, then?"

The Sakiyan vizier bowed. "I'm afraid there are not."

Tirien sighed, his shoulders sagging a little with acceptance, and he said, "Very well."

"No!" Zaella whispered. "Fight, please!"

Narasi glanced at him. "Master…"

"No choice, Narasi," Tirien said. "Me first; I'm the bigger threat."

He deactivated his lightsaber, holding up the curved hilt with his thumb and forefinger. Darqyren nodded, and Tirien tossed the weapon away toward the stands. It bounced once on the ground, then again.

It did not bounce a third time. As he sensed the Ganks' attention turn to Narasi, Tirien caught the hilt with the Force and sent it flipping up to the throne. A twist of his will activated the green blade, and it ripped through Runganna's ranks like a cyclone, striking off the cyborgs' helmeted heads. Even their reflexes could not save them; by the time they perceived the danger and understood what had happened, ten of the twelve were dead.

The last two, covering one of Runganna's sides, had time enough to put the pieces together and aim at Tirien. One lost his head before his finger found the trigger; the Force warned Tirien he would not strike the last in time, but here, defending his Padawan from death and Zaella from worse things still, when he had given his enemies every opportunity to repent, the light shone through and he knew he could do it. So he let the lightsaber go, and at the same moment the last Gank pulled the trigger, Tirien held out his hand.

The blaster bolt erupted from the rifle…and stopped there, no more than two meters from its source, a packet of trembling, coherent light sizzling with lethal energy, immobilized in midair. Zaella gasped, Darqyren's eyes widened, Runganna cried out, and the surviving Gank marksman froze in a fatal moment of surprise—fatal, because even as his mind processed the scene and began to plan a counterattack, Narasi caught the curved lightsaber hilt with the Force as it was still falling, and the green blade flared back to life to strike the last shooter down.

While the few brave souls who had remained in the stands this long raced for the exits with cries of shock and alarm, Narasi pulled Tirien's lightsaber into her open hand. At the same moment she caught it, Izkara, who had looked at the quivering blaster bolt with wide eyes, found her courage and snapped, "Now, Zaella, while he's distracted!"

She leapt from the stands, igniting her blade on the way down. Narasi sprang in front of Tirien to intercept her, catching Izkara's attack in the cross between her two lightsabers, and at the same moment Tirien turned his palm up and squeezed his hand into a fist. The blaster bolt shot forward and blew off the back of Izkara's head. Her corpse slumped onto the stone, her lightsaber rolling away.

Zaella had not stirred at her master's command, but she stepped around Tirien now, staring at the body with wide eyes as Narasi passed Tirien back his lightsaber. Even that single block had sapped much of her remaining energy, but Tirien looked at Runganna's other guards, scattered on all sides, and sensed their fear. He raised a hand toward a pair of wavering Gamorreans; with matching squeals, they dropped their vibropikes and ran.

As Tirien had hoped, their defection broke the dam, and the rest of the guards ran for it, one batch after another. After a moment only Runganna, Darqyren, and the Mandalorians were left with the two Jedi and Zaella. Runganna activated the repulsors under her armor, but Tirien waved a hand, and the Force ionized them until they shorted out; he winced along with Narasi and Zaella at the monumental crash of the Hutt's bulk crunching down on her throne.

Once the echoes had subsided, Tirien said, "We are taking the bomb, Lady Runganna."

The Hutt popped her neck seals and pushed her helmet off; after her own fall, its crash on the ground seemed quiet. "I…you…yes. Yes, fine.  Transfer me my credits and—"

"Oh, I think a discount is in order, under the circumstances," Tirien said. "Don't you?"

"Lady Runganna and I alone know the activation codes," Darqyren said. He was coated in dust from Runganna's impact and bits of char from dead Ganks collapsing around him. "How will you obtain them?"

"We'll take the bomb regardless," Tirien said. He gave it a pause, then put ice in his eyes and a threat in his voice as he said, "But if you fail to provide us the codes, we'll send a message to the Hutt Ruling Council describing everything that happened here, including your issues with Vigo Mar'sebbin. And we'll send it on open, unsecured channels so Lord Osydro will be sure to hear too.  Tell me, Lady Runganna, who do you think will get you first?"

Darqyren looked at Runganna, who gave them the codes. Once Tirien had recorded them, the Hutt added, "You spoke of a discount."

"I did," Tirien confirmed, and now he deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt. Thinking for a moment, he said, "Thirty thousand credits seems generous."

"Thirty thousand?!" Runganna roared. "We spoke of millions!"

"And had you given us the bomb when Narasi won the contest, or even now, when she defeated Pavac, you'd have had them," Tirien replied. "But now, I think thirty thousand should cover new repulsors for your armor and a new staff."

"New staff?"

"A hundred credits a head, was it?" He looked over his shoulder. "You two, go and free the slaves. If their overseers try to stop you or hurt the slaves…do what must be done."

As he had hoped, the words wiped Narasi's weariness away, and she smiled for the first time since the battle began. "Yes, Master!"

Runganna bellowed in dismay. "You can't—"

Tirien looked back at her, and the Hutt's protests strangled off into a deep-throated gurgle. Nodding, he said, "Good day to you, Lady Runganna."

As Narasi and Zaella headed into the palace and Tirien took up the repulsor platform bearing the bomb, Damis said, "A moment, Master Jedi."

Tirien found both Mandalorians studying him, cradling their rifles. Letting the Force flow into him, ready for whatever might come, he said to Arkyr, "Thank you."

"It wasn't for her."

"I'm sure it wasn't, but I'm grateful regardless."

"If you've a mind to express your gratitude, there is something we want," Damis said.

Tirien shook his head. "I can't give you this weapon, not even for Narasi's life."

Damis said, "Keep the bomb; your apprentice prevailed in Runganna's challenges, whatever she and the Sakiyan worm might say, and Mandalorians are not thieves. We want the beskar."

Tirien looked into the arena, where the slain Dashade lay, still wearing pieces of his armor. He had seen flechette rounds, blaster bolts, even lightsabers glance off the metal. Mandalorian iron had been the downfall of many Jedi through history; its danger was matched only by its merciful scarcity. Returning his gaze to the Mandalorians, he asked, "Will you use it to forge weapons for use against the Jedi?"

"We will use it as Mand'alor commands," Damis answered. "It's the heritage of Mandalore; it should never have come to criminals in the first place."

Tirien considered for a moment, then sighed. "Take it—as a sign of our gratitude, and a gesture of good faith. And tell Mandalore that we want war no more than she does."

"We'll tell her."

"I hope we don't have to be enemies."

"We fight as Mand'alor commands," Damis said. But he released his rifle to extend his hand, which Tirien shook. "But if I have to kill you someday, I hope it's some consolation that I'll take no pleasure in it."

Tirien smiled dryly. "Likewise."

Arykr shook hands too, and they parted ways.