Sins of the Father/Part 12

After enduring enough ales, lagers, liquors, and brews that any near-Human without the Force would have been seeing quadruple or dying of alcohol poisoning, Tirien had extracted a wealth of minutiae but few valuable nuggets of information from the Hutt lackeys around him. The Force could purify the alcohol in his system and purge its effects before they hit his mind, and even screen out toxins that might have found their way in, but it took enough concentration that he only chanced mind tricks on those who were well and truly inebriated or particularly weak-minded.

Amidst all his new knowledge about the best prices from local vendors, which dishes looked less than fresh even before they went into the kitchen, and which slaves could provide a good time or had access to the better stores of spice and t'bac, Tirien had learned some things of value. Runganna's cyborg bodyguards were Ganks, and as soon as he heard the name Tirien realized why its absence from his memory had been nagging him. Gank killers was the full nickname it took a few rounds before anyone was incautious enough to use, and Tirien gathered their cyborg parts enabled their precise coordination and lightning reflexes. While not Jedi, the Ganks possessed sufficient skill that such a large group of them could present a problem.

Runganna had not extended an invitation to the Sith Empire, and Tirien had yet to decide whether that was good or bad. He did not know how even he would have managed this chaos if the Empire had sent Alecto as its bargainer, so he was inclined to consider himself fortunate, but the specter of Saleej or Gasald—or, at a stretch of the imagination, Osydro—being incensed enough at the slight to act before he and Narasi could get offworld shadowed his relief.

Most troubling, Runganna and Tarni Hadan had a long history together. With her rule of Ryloth uncontested, Hadan sat adopt a criminal gold mine of slaves and ryll spice, which accounted for her financing her operations. How a Hutt as young and new to the game as Runganna had developed such a strong relationship with the self-proclaimed Dark Lord was less clear, but while the Republic could outbid Hadan in credits, Tirien had no doubt she would sell every gram of spice and every Twi'lek who drew breath if it enabled her to cause more destruction and force the galaxy's powers to take her seriously.

No one seemed to know what to make of the Mandalorians, particularly since a third being with the T-visor had appeared during the Jedi's meditative nap break, but Tirien left that to Narasi to sort out.

"To the Ruling Council!" a Weequay declared, raising his mug. It was the fifth toast in a row, but, in the middle of Hutt Space, Tirien could hardly refuse, so he echoed the words and took a swig along with the dozen beings around him.

"To the slaves—may they be young, fine, and many!" called a Devaronian holding a nubile Twi'lek up against his side while a near-Human woman rubbed his shoulders; both women wore skimpy silks that did not hide their shock collars. Most of those in the group echoed the call, but that was a planet too far; Tirien held out his mug and tipped the rest of his drink onto the ground, stone-faced. He was treated to good-natured chuckles from all sides, but the near-Human risked meeting his eyes and giving him a little smile she was too frightened to hold, and across the group, a Nikto poured out his own mug and nodded when he saw Tirien had noticed. The two of them waved down servers for new mugs; Tirien cupped his free hand around the body of the mug and channeled the Force into it to purify the brew of anything more harmful than alcohol.

"To the Jedi!" the Nikto barked. All around the group beings hesitated, and Tirien sensed their ambivalence with amusement. Rolling his eyes, the Nikto pointed his free hand at Tirien and said, "To this Jedi!"

Now their drinking mates cheered, and Tirien bowed from the neck before quaffing a swallow. When he stood the mix of thugs and smugglers clamored for him to stay, but he wove through the group with words of apology and twisted away from the half-drunk attempts to push him back down for a few more rounds. He deposited his mug on the tray of a passing droid and stepped out to the refresher; the Force could sterilize the most noxious of poisons and turn alcohol into no worse than a bitter taste, but it did nothing to reduce the sheer volume of liquid.

On the way back he passed a pair of Bith passing credits from hand to hand, both of whom looked at him with sudden tension, but he sighed and waved them on about whatever crimes they were plotting, and they turned away again. When the intensifying smells told him he was nearing the fete again, though, an Advozse looked his way, recognized him, and stepped forward, a mug in each hand and something like a smile on his surly face.

He extended one tankard. "Ah, the Jedi! Have a drink with me!"

Tirien shook his head. "Forgive me, I've had enough to be getting on with."

"Aw, come on, just one! The party's barely started!"

Tirien hoped that was no more than hyperbole; at the rate Runganna seemed to be slithering along, the Seventy-Second was going to defeat Darshkére and capture Sullust before he and Narasi got back. "I suspect it will go on long enough that passing on a drink won't put me too far behind anyone else. Later, perhaps."

The Advozse's semi-smile held, but his finger-thick brows drew together and he gave off a ripple of nerves in the Force. "Gimme a break, Jedi. It'll be a story I can tell my younglings for years—I had a drink with a Jedi Knight!  In Runganna the Hutt's villa, no less!"

The Force gave Tirien a nudge—too subtle to be a warning, but insistent enough that he understood its will. Giving the Advozse his full attention, he folded his hands and said, "Shall we say tomorrow, then? Presuming we're both still alive?"

The Advozse hesitated, and Tirien reached into his mind without guiding it one way or the other, trying to understand the decisionmaking process at work so frantically behind those glossy black eyes. Was the drink drugged? Poisoned? Was this no more than a diversion? He reached out for Narasi, but though he sensed a hint of her temper, she did not appear to be in any danger…

The Advozse chose the side of the knife's edge on which he wished to fall, and raised both tankards in salute. "Tomorrow it is! Until then, Master Jedi."

Tirien half-bowed, then turned without another word and headed into the party, keeping the mental eye in the back of his head on the Advozse until he was too far away for a sneak attack. He looked around for his Padawan, but a wall of flesh, a haze of smoke, and several sandstone pillars separated them. Tirien started to work his way toward a thin patch in the crowd, but found himself diverted when a Zeltron sauntered up to him, hips sashaying, and gave him a sultry smile.

"Hello there, Jedi." When Tirien only nodded, she pouted her plump lips. "So tense. Want me to help you with that?"

No fewer than a dozen women and three men had propositioned Tirien since their arrival, but this one felt different. Focusing on her, Tirien perceived the absence of the Force where it should naturally be. Either she was a Force user as gifted in concealment as Alecto, or, much more likely… "No good tryst ever begins with a lie."

"Shows how little you know!" she giggled. Walking her fingers up his chest, she said, "But I'm all real, baby."

It was a convincing illusion, Tirien admitted, and he was not unaffected, but the Force kept him centered. "Really? Then this won't even tickle."

He passed a hand in front of her simulated face, giving just a twist of electronic disruption—just enough that the simulation wavered, revealing the droid beneath for a second. When the holoprojector reactivated, even the artificial face showed wide eyes, and the droid backed away. Rolling his eyes at Runganna's amateurish manipulations, Tirien returned to the crowd, but only made it a few meters before he was waylaid again.

"Yeah, jus' came in from the Jedi planet…" a voice slurred, and Tirien looked to see a snow-white, bald near-Human staggering along, leaning heavily on a Zabrak. "Jus' takin' 'em tech 'n' stuff, y'know…usual sorta trip way out—hey, here's one!"

The bald man beamed in a vague sort of way and lurched toward Tirien, who steadied him with the Force. The man wobbled, his eyes widening; at close range, Tirien could smell the odor of a number of brews mingled about his lips and the front of his shirt, and though his mind was steadier than Tirien would have expected, it was definitely blurry. Shaking his head, the man smiled at Tirien again. "Here's a Jedi! Hi, Jedi!"

"Hello," Tirien replied. "You said you've come from the Jedi world way out there…you mean Ossus?"

Ossus was lost to the Jedi as completely as Tython—not, like Tython, because the datacrons with the way had been corrupted or misplaced, but because Ossus had been ravaged by Exar Kun, and its ruins now lay far behind Sith lines. Losing their ancestral world to the Overlords had been a bitter blow to many Jedi, and more than one doomed expedition had tried to recover it, but even before Mizra, all such crusades had ended in disaster. Tirien wondered whether the strength of Kun's fury had left a permanent taint of the dark side.

"Naaaaaah," the man said, clapping a hand on Tirien's shoulder and leaving it there, leaning in. Tirien glanced at the Zabrak, who shrugged with a resigned look.

"Ilum?" If smugglers were running past Republic lines to Ilum—especially smugglers that could be found consorting with Runganna the Hutt—that boded ill for the Order's security.

The man blinked. "Wassa Ilum?"

"You said you've been to the Jedi planet," Tirien repeated, as much to cover the introduction of information as to refocus the man. "What Jedi planet?"

A serving droid passed by, and the bald man grabbed a mug, sloshing some of the liquid on his hand as he pulled it off the tray. Tirien caught it and tugged it from the man's grip, holding it out of reach. "Heeeey, c'mon, Jedi! I promise, I'll get a ride t' the spaceport…"

"The Jedi planet?" Tirien prompted.

"Oh yeah, we delivered supplies there," the man nodded. "Tech 'n' stuff. I'm the navigator.  Is…is…is called Guudria.  Yeah, Guudria!  Waaay out there, down in Resh…19?  20?  Waaay out there."

"Resh-19?" Tirien repeated. He tried to picture the standard galactic chart in his head, but either he was fuzzy on the details, or… "Is that even in the main disc?"

"'s a spiral arm," the bald man confirmed; he swiped for the mug, and Tirien pulled it out of reach. "That's where th' Jedi queen is."

"Jedi queen?" Tirien repeated. What fresh hell was this? Was it not perverse enough that Jedi were creating themselves lords? "Jedi don't have royalty."

The bald man shrugged, seeming to throw himself off balance with the movement; Tirien caught the wrist of the hand now clutching his robe and steadied him. "I dunno. I'm not a Jedi.  But she and her Jedi're the bosses of the little people.  Seems like a queen."

Something felt wrong about all of this, although it was not the bald man's mind; if he was lying, he was better at it than any Forceless man Tirien had ever met. "You said you're the navigator…do you still have the coordinates for Guudria?"

"Yep." The man searched his belt for the better part of a minute until the Zabrak took pity on him and handed him the datapad that had been hanging at his hip. "Thanks! Lemme see…no…no, that was spice…nah, that one was…uh…a personal trip…here it is!"

He smiled and handed Tirien the datapad. Tirien took it, allowing the man to seize the mug in what he would take for a moment of distraction; in fairness, Tirien admitted he had held up his end of the implicit bargain. He copied the data into his own datapad and pulled up a starchart; sure enough, Guudria lay in the R-19 quadrant, far down one of the spiral arms—about as far from the Core as it could be without leaving the galaxy altogether. What were Jedi doing out there?

"You're sure they're Jedi, not Sith?"

"Oh yeah, not Sith," the man confirmed between gulps. "They defint…defnitty…I'm sure they said 'Jedi'. And their laser swords aren't red an' they don't have the weird fire eyes."

The bald man's smile curdled, and he looked around. "The Twi'lek lady didn't hear me say that, did she?"

"I'm sure she didn't," Tirien soothed. Catching a mug off a passing tray, he put it in the bald man's other hand. "Here, have another on me."

"Thanks a lot…" the Zabrak said, giving Tirien a dry look as the bald man recovered his grin and started alternating swallows, praising the magnanimity of Jedi in the brief moments his mouth was clear.

Tirien left them to it, his mind abuzz. He knew the model the Jedi Lords of the Tapani sector had established—the benevolent rule of the enlightened for the defense of the masses against an impossibly powerful enemy. Had some rogue Jedi endeavored to replicate the experiment on a smaller scale? Or were they Dark Jedi, preying on the defenseless in some faraway corner of the galaxy? The navigator had spoken of multiple Jedi; whether for good or ill, the situation compounded exponentially with every Jedi involved.

A trio of Nosaurians moved out of the way and Tirien saw a path through the crowd. Before he could make it through, though, Narasi came from the other side, agitation all over her face. "What's wrong?"

She opened her mouth, but then pointed. Assuming she wanted to be out of earshot, he followed her through the party halls, away from the riotous celebration, and down a set of wide steps onto a terrace overlooking the night. Circumtore's horizon seemed closer than most worlds', and the fens surrounding the palace sparkled in the orange light of what Tirien guessed was dawn.

Narasi turned her back on the view; Tirien wasn't sure she had really seen it. "Have you heard of San Pavac?"

"Pavac…" Tirien thought he had, but he could not recall at the moment, apart from a vague sense of distaste. "Yes, but I don't remember where. Who or what is it?"

"Who, and I don't know either. The Mandalorians were talking about him.  They told me—"

She stopped abruptly, and Tirien narrowed his eyes. "What did they tell you?"

"They told me…he's here," she stammered. Tirien gave her a look, and she added in a rush, "And they wouldn't tell me who they're working for, they just said she doesn't want a conflict with us…"

"She who?"

"I don't know. I said we—the Jedi—don't want a conflict with Mandalore, and they said if she wants one with us, she didn't tell them…"  She trailed off. "Master?"

Tirien's eyes had tightened. "Mandalore."

"Yeah."

"Not the planet, Narasi, the person. The Mandalorians have elected a new Mandalore—one leader for all the clans, whom all the Mandalorians are supposed to follow."

She crossed her arms. "What does it mean?"

"I'm not sure. It was only a faction of Mandalorians who fought the Black Knights, but it was a Mandalore who led them to bomb Serroco."

"…so nothing good, then."

"We'll have to see. What else did they say?"

"Not much. They tried to tip me off when a Rodian was coming to stab me, but I already sen—"

"What?!"

"I took care of it!" she assured him. "I sensed him coming twenty meters away. He was just some kid with a vibroblade."

Tirien massaged his eyes with his fingertips. "For future reference, that is the kind of detail you lead with. Who was he?"

"I dunno. He said somebody named Chakka Grissen hired him."

Tirien shook his head. "Not familiar. I'm not surprised there were attempts on our lives, although I'd hoped we might get by longer before the first."

"Attempts, plural?"

He told her about the insistent Advozse, and threw in the news of a Jedi planet while he was at it. She worried her bottom lip with one fang, drumming her claws on her elbows. "Do you think they're connected?"

"Not even a little. This matter of Guudria might bear investigation, but the assassins take priority.  And even they're a second note until the auction is over; we can't risk killing anyone here until Runganna's handed over the weapon.  Make sure you're on your guard at all times."

Narasi nodded, but one corner of her mouth pulled down. "It's hard here. I mean, I was okay with the Rodian, but my perceptions feel…clouded."

"It's because Runganna has everyone here indulging their basest, most animal instincts," Tirien said. "It feeds the dark side when people descend into hedonism and abuse others for their own pleasure, and that makes it harder for us to perceive the Force's will clearly. But that only makes it the more important to act with level heads."

"Yes, Master."

Tirien tipped his head toward the palace, and Narasi took a deep breath before leading the way. Tirien had roamed the galaxy's seamy, slimy underbelly enough as a Padawan and a Knight both that he had grown accustomed to the reek of darkness every bit as real as Sith power; seeing his Padawan brace herself against it reminded him to see the situation with new eyes. "I know you didn't fully understand its significance at first, but you did well getting that information about Mandalore out of them. The Council will want to know that."

"One of them—not the Human, the other one, with the horns—he felt agitated about it. I think he realized his partner slipped up too."

Tirien nodded; another piece of evidence that supported his analysis. Not that it did anything to help in the auction, but understanding the Mandalorians' motives was useful. "You're sure he was Human?"

Narasi missed a step. "Um…"

"Did you see him without his helmet?"

"Well, no."

"So he could've been another Pantoran, for all you know."

She gave him a look. "I feel like I'd recognize more of you. Everybody on Pantora had that weird, almost-Coruscanti-but-not-quite accent you have."

Tirien rolled his eyes. "And what about you? Your accent is weaker than most Zygerrians, how many people do you think would recognize what you are if you—"

He stopped when he sensed his apprentice's focus had shifted, and he looked up to see a Mandalorian coming toward them in the hall. Lowering his voice, he asked, "The one who felt agitated?"

As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong; the helmeted being was clearly not Human, what with his long, arched neck and small faceplate. Tirien thought he might have been a Pyke, though he had not seen one in years. But there were no horns on his helmet, and the sheer number of weapons he carried—Tirien saw three blaster pistols, a grenade, and a rifle just from the front—suggested he had come to Circumtore for something other than diplomacy.

Narasi shook her head, and the Pyke Mandalorian noticed them staring. Tapping two of the three fingers of one hand on the pistol holstered cross-draw style on his belt, he asked, "Got a problem?"

Tirien shook his head, though his eyes did not leave the T-visor. "No problem."

"Good." The Pyke sauntered toward them, still tapping his pistol. "I've been on the bad end of a lightsaber before; can't say it scares me much anymore."

Tirien sensed bravado, but underneath there was readiness for action. Cooling his tone, he replied, "Only our enemies need to fear us."

Tirien felt the grin he could not see. "A Jedi with an edge! All right, I like that."

Without warning, he drew his pistol, spun it on his trigger finger, flipped it to his other hand, switched it to a reverse grip, and slid it back into its holster; the entire process took three seconds. Narasi's hand flew to her lightsaber, but the Force kept Tirien still, the perception of ego over threat. The Pyke pointed at Narasi, then at Tirien. "You're quick, but you're good."

"Your praise enriches my life," Tirien said. He gave Narasi a restraining nudge in the Force, waiting until she relaxed to add, "And you're not here on Mandalore's behalf."

The Pyke laughed. "Talked to my brothers, have you? The clans can dream of Mandalore restored all they want, it's still a dream."

"So you're what, a bounty hunter?" Narasi asked.

The Pyke cocked his small head. "You don't know who I am? You wound me, Zygerrian.  I'm San Pavac, Favored Son of Oba Diah, the Scourge of Saleucami!"

"Saleucami?" Tirien repeated; he had not missed that this was the being whose name had so puzzled and agitated his Padawan, but connected to Saleucami… "What did you do there?"

"Ah, if only I could tell you," Pavac lamented. "But a good merc honors his clients' confidences."

"You work for the Sith Empire."

"When the price is right." Pavac shrugged. "Sometimes it isn't; quality doesn't come cheap, and sometimes they can solve their problems with quantity. Other times, more…specialized expertise is required.  And I'm a man of highly specialized expertise."

Saleucami, just north of Hutt Space, was firmly in Sith hands, but Republic Intelligence had heard whispers of the rebellion there, and its horrific conclusion. Before Tirien could press the point, Narasi asked, "You're San Pavac?"

"Ahh, now your Zygerrian knows me," Pavac said. He touched a gold crest welded to the side of his helmet, and Narasi blanched. "That's right, girl. I've got the personal favor of the High King himself.  Brought him Shaelo Shunyanda and his whore to boot."

Narasi froze, and her shock flooded the Force so powerfully Tirien blinked, stunned for a second. Pavac looked at him, and Tirien struggled to cobble together a tone of interest and wonderment. "So you're the one who brought in Shaelo?"

"Damn right I did. Ten years on the run, and I'm the one who outran him."

Tirien hoped Narasi, who obviously had some clue what this was about, would take over…right up until she did. In a strangled voice quite unlike hers, she asked, "You brought them in…alive?"

Pavac shrugged. "Eh, I'm good, not perfect. Had to disrupt Shaelo, and the little woman was a fighter too, so I put a couple in her chest, but they did the genetic matching and—"

With no warning but the explosion in the Force, Narasi screamed, ripped the lightsaber off her belt, and leapt into a swing that would have hacked Pavac in half had Tirien not gotten there with centimeters to spare. His green blade caught her blue one so close that the sparks of the collision bounced off Pavac's armor, and for all his speedy reflexes, for half a second he was so shocked that he froze. His hands flew for his guns, and the pistols cleared their holsters, but too late; Tirien thrust out his free hand—so close to Pavac he could almost touch his chest—and the Force blew the Mandalorian back and into a wall so hard he crumpled.

Narasi levered against Tirien's guard, and he spun his blade in a twist that disarmed her. "What are you doing?!"

She lurched after the fallen lightsaber, but his voice brought her up short, and she whirled on him. Only when their eyes met did the crazed look fade from hers, replaced by a look of horror that consumed her entire face. She did not move when the Force brought her lightsaber to Tirien's hand, but by the time he attached both weapons to his belt, she had started shaking.

"Don't you dare move," he snapped, then darted to Pavac's side. The Pyke was already groaning and pressing his hands to the ground, but Tirien caught him where his long neck joined his body, channeling the Force into his mind. Knocking him out took only a thought, but Tirien reached deeper, pulling up the last few seconds of memory and blurring them into a muddled mess of confusion. He did not have the skill to insert false memories; even what he had done started to stray out of the light and into the shadows between good and evil. But he could not have Pavac reporting the attack to Runganna or targeting them himself…

When he rose Narasi was in the same spot, staring at the wall with that same sickened expression. Tirien grabbed her by the arm and towed her along; she walked mechanically, stumbling over her feet, hyperventilating. Hugging the edges of Runganna's festivities when there was no choice but to go through, he used the Force to compel a path, nudging or even pushing those in his way. By the time some of them realized what had happened and grumbled after him, the Jedi were already gone.

Tirien opened the door to the room they had been given, pulled Narasi inside, and rounded on her. Her big blue eyes were shell-shocked and far away, but as the door hissed closed, Tirien stepped up within reach of her, and she blinked and focused with dread as he said, "I think there's a story it's high time you told me."