Sins of the Father/Part 8

Zaella sensed Izkara had turned up her fiery aura of rage until even the masses could feel it, and the thugs, sycophants, and hired guns melted back as the two Twi'lek Sith advanced. Zaella saw many Twi'leks sprinkled through the crowd, most of them wearing chains or collars; Lady Hadan had doubtless turned a tidy profit on Runganna's party. Walking among them, Zaella felt the truth of the words she had been taught since youth—the Force shall free me. The Force-blind wretches around her might have lekku and come from Ryloth, but they were as unlike her as an ape was to a Human. The Force made its chosen strong—where the slaves wore shackles and little else, Zaella wore the gray of a Sith apprentice and a black, hooded chimere over it; where to even possess a weapon could mean losing the weapon hand or life itself for a slave, Zaella bore a lightsaber and a set of vibroblades on her wide belt.

Then again…

The slaves rose and slept, worked and rested, danced and entertained and whored themselves as their masters commanded. Could Zaella say any different of herself?

She scowled. When she was Knighted she would be master of her destiny, the strong arm of the Dark Lord. Everything until then was just a trial to make her stronger, a strength no slave would ever know. They were not the same.

Slaves and free beings alike backed away from the Sith, but Zaella sensed that fear wasn't universal. She looked over the horde of partygoers and quickly saw why. Suppressing a spike of fear herself, she whispered in Ryl, "Jedi, Master."

"Of course Jedi," Izkara hissed. "Did you just notice them?"

Now that she had, Zaella couldn't imagine how she had missed them, even for a second. True, it was strange to see a Zygerrian in Jedi robes—how had that happened?—but the man beside her was exactly what Zaella had envisioned when she had imagined the day she would confront a Jedi. Maybe not the blue skin or the tattoos, but the cold judgment in his yellow eyes and the pain in the Force—like Ryloth's harsh sun, scorching and blinding at once. The pain fueled her power—the dark side reared in challenge, sensing something hostile to itself—but it discomfited her, too.

Izkara opened and clenched her fists, but in the end she elected to ignore the Jedi. Throwing back the hood of her black hood with a haughty flick of one finger, sliding her hands down the length of each lek in turn to drape them down her back, she tossed her head and made a show of looking at those closest—several backed farther away. As Zaella used her hands to pull back her hood too, she felt the eyes on her, surprise and new interest—those informed enough to appreciate the rarity of her red skin. She laid her lekku down her chest and winked at a male Twi'lek slave.

She followed Izkara toward the helmetless Hutt surrounded by a throng of admirers. A Gamorrean punched each of his palms in turn, and Zaella felt him bracing himself. Izkara didn't even slow down—she pointed at the Gamorrean, who fell to the side, raspy little oinks squeaking from his maw as he slapped at his throat. The other bodyguards raised pistols and rifles, but Izkara brushed her robe back from her lightsaber; Zaella felt more than she saw her master's challenging grin. She rested her sword hand on her lightsaber too, but she noticed the Hutt raising a hand and glanced past the two Sith. The Zygerrian Jedi had her lightsaber in hand and anticipation on her face; the blue-skinned man restrained her by one shoulder, but his other hand was on the curved hilt on his belt. He nodded once and released the weapon; it took a second for the Zygerrian to return the lightsaber to her belt.

Zaella gave her a sneer. Try me, bitch, I'll cut you apart.

"Your guards don't seem as happy to see us as I expected, Lady Runganna," Izkara said. She gestured around the party. "I hope my master's product hasn't disappointed you?"

"Not at all," the Hutt replied. She waved her armored hands down, and her guards lowered their blasters with palpable frustration. "I've come to expect the best products from Ryloth, and Tarni hasn't let me down yet."

Zaella bared her teeth, but the reflex was born more of tension than rage. She had never heard anyone call the Dark Lord by her given name alone, and she didn't know what it meant that Runganna did. Was the Hutt trying to show dominance over them? Or maybe it was a subtle assurance of her support in the auction—a wink when a wink would've been too obvious?

"Lady Hadan will be pleased to hear that," Izkara said; she seemed not to have taken it as a wink. "I hope our purchase today goes as smoothly as yours have."

"Today…tomorrow…" Runganna waved a hand expansively. "We'll get to it sooner or later. For now, have a snack!  Have a slave!  My house is your house."

"Tomorrow?" Izkara demanded. "We were told—"

"Ah, I just wanted to be sure you'd arrive on time! What's a party without some of my favorite Sith?"

Zaella looked around and saw many beings watching…waiting. The Jedi Knight wore an expression Zaella recognized at once, because her instructors and Izkara had shown her every variation of it: patiently waiting with the smug assurance that she was about to do something stupid. She noticed a few other Shell Hutts and their guards arrayed in a semicircle facing them—spread out enough that it might appear casual, and certainly not a threat or a trap, but close enough that the jaws could close in seconds.

"We're surrounded and outnumbered, Master," she whispered in Ryl. "And the Dark Lord said—"

"I remember what the Dark Lord said!" Izkara snapped. "Mind your place and hold your tongue!"

Zaella knew better than to bow in submission here, where the gangsters and gunslingers would take it as a sign of division between them and think to pick them off as easy prey. But she boiled inside, resentment squeezing her hands into fists. She should've let Izkara mouth off enough to get herself slaughtered; it would have been worth it if she could've been sure the Hutt thugs wouldn't have shot her too. ''I'm so sorry, Lady Hadan, I tried to stop her, but she insulted Lady Runganna to her face. But look, Master, I brought you this weapon I got at the auction…''

Izkara's voice wrenched Zaella away from her phantom Knighthood. "I'm sure we'll find ways to entertain ourselves, Lady Runganna."

The Hutt chuckled. "Just don't kill anybody."

"Of course not, my lady." Izkara's voice had turned soothing. "Lady Hadan cherishes your long friendship, she'd never approve of us staining your halls with corpses."

Izkara turned and looked at the Jedi. "Unless of course we're attacked. Then we'll defend ourselves, and there will be blood."

"Oh, I expect you can all behave," Runganna said. "Right, my Jedi?!"

"As you say, Lady Runganna," the Jedi Knight said; his cool voice matched the ice in his eyes. The Zygerrian just nodded, though she looked at Zaella with narrow-eyed suspicion.

Runganna rumbled approvingly. "Now, enough business talk! Music!  And bring me my pickled gornt testicles!"

Izkara turned on her heel without a word, and Zaella followed her out of the heart of the throng as beings made way for them. A Devaronian gave Zaella a saucy look as she approached and whistled as she passed him; Zaella raised a hand and squeezed it into a fist, and the whistle jumped an octave and sputtered off as the horned alien collapsed against a table, supporting himself with one hand while the other clutched his groin. A couple Humans nearby laughed as the Twi'lek Sith left the meandering courtyard rooms.

Once they had wandered their way into a hallway far removed from the hustle and bustle of Runganna's festival, Izkara stepped into a niche with a plinth that had once held a statue—or perhaps would someday, when Runganna got around to choosing one. Everything here did look new…

"I'm going to get a sense of this weapon," Izkara said. "Find out who the Jedi are, and if there are any other bidders."

"Yes, Master." Zaella left her there, relieved to get away but also pleased to be given an unsupervised task. Doubtless Izkara planned to steal the credit for the entire affair when they returned to Ryloth, but Lady Hadan was smart enough to see through that…

Zaella made her way back, through cushioned depressions in the stone floor where guests sampled slaves and spice, around buffets that could've fed a small city, toward the peristyle courtyard where Runganna the Hutt conferred with her fellow crimelords. Zaella knew better than to approach the Hutt herself; enjoying the freedom allotted her, she browsed among the groups and collections, imagining herself window shopping along sentient storefronts full of information. Careful not to circle too near the Jedi, she strolled up to what looked like a mercenary crew instead. Tension was obvious in some of their eyes; Zaella browsed for one with more libido than sense.

"Hey there, gorgeous," the Human amongst them greeted her. "Where's your friend?"

Zaella flicked her fingers over her shoulder. "She's all work and…no play."

"How dull," he answered with a grin. "Maybe we could get up to something more…exciting? It's a party, after all."

"Careful, Nakko," a Rodian in the crew warned. "She's a Sith."

"So?" Zaella answered. "Can't I be a Sith and a woman?"

"Damn right you can," Nakko said, and he took his time looking her over.

Zaella leaned forward onto the table so her chimere would lay flat against her back and legs. Lay the bait carefully. "I might be up for some excitement. Tell you the truth, though, I thought we were about to have some 'excitement' with those Jedi."

She looked in that direction without actually looking at them. A Weequay wearing at least four pistols that Zaella could see grunted. "Know what you mean. That crew over there, those Bimms?  'Bout a month ago we were trading shots along the Perlemian.  Now we're all supposed to play nice?  Runganna's playing a dangerous game."

"The Jedi won't cause a problem," Nakko said. "Not with the big auction on the table."

Zaella nodded; that was another intriguing subject, but first things first. Waving a hand and extending the Force out toward them all, picturing half a dozen little tractor beams reeling them in, she asked, "Who are they? Do you know?"

"The Zygerrian's Narasi Rican," the Weequay said. "The Wroonian—"

"He said Pantoran, I think."

"Whatever. The Jedi Knight is…what's his name?"

"Tirien Kal-Di," Nakko supplied, looking at Zaella instead of his crewmate. "Big Jedi hero, I think."

"Yeah, I heard he was at Taanab," a Dug supplied.

"The first time or the second?"

The Dug gave Nakko a withering look. "Take a minute to think about how stupid that is, then get back to me."

Several of the others laughed, though Zaella could hear and feel the tension underlying the mirth; her presence still disquieted a few of them. Taking a moment to soak in that feeling, empowered by their fear, she smiled and toyed with a lock of Nakko's hair before he could retort. "Just two Jedi, for an auction like this? I thought there'd be more buyers, this'll be easy."

Nakko nodded with a grin, but the Weequay said, "I wouldn't start picking targets just yet, Sith. Those two Mandalorians aren't here to wish Runganna a Happy Fatter Day, and I wouldn't put it past some of the kajidics to go up against the Jedi for a prize like this."

And up against the Sith, Zaella thought, but she didn't remark on it. She knew what people thought about Lady Hadan—she had heard the whispers on Ryloth and the full-volume cracks offworld. She knew that if she was Darth Alecto or some other bigshot Sith Lord, every member of this gang would be on his knees begging for the privilege of answering whatever question popped into her head. But she could only work with what she had.

"Well, then we'll just have to be the most…" She traced the tip of her tongue over her top lip. "…persuasive."

"You'd have that superweapon already if it was me," Nakko said. He stepped around the table and wrapped an arm around her waist. His other hand brushed her lekku, soft as a feather, and Zaella shivered despite herself. "I know what Twi'leks like. Gentle here and…less gentle elsewhere."

Zaella smirked, walking her fingers up his chest to push him back. "Tell you what. If my master gives me some free time, I'll come find you.  Until then, get a round in with one of the slaves.  I'd hate to get all worked up for you only to have you…blast off while my engines are still warming."

A couple of the crew members chuckled, and the Dug said, "Smart plan, my lady. His ship's got a short activation sequence, if you know what I—"

"Shut it!" Nakko snarled, and the Dug snickered. Smoothing his hair back and forcing a smile, Nakko said, "I'll do that, darlin'. Trust me, one night with me and you'll remember the name 'Nakko Haiskis' the rest of your days."

"Though not necessarily in a good—"

"I swear, Nuzunga, one more word…"

Zaella slipped away while they were bickering, moving through the partying masses and shaking off a few who tried to slow her down. She toyed with the idea of seeking Nakko out later; he might be fun. But at the moment she had other concerns. She watched Runganna for a while—the way the Hutt interacted with her fellow Hutts, how her bodyguards positioned themselves around her, how the Sakiyan Zaella took for her second-in-command observed all the proceedings as if filing away data for future perusal. She got a look at the Mandalorians, too, until one of them looked back and she moved on.

Runganna's palace's corridors were something of a maze, but having spent her life in the underground warrens of Ryloth, Zaella found her way back to Izkara without difficulty. Her master was still kneeling in meditation and didn't acknowledge her approach, and so Zaella leaned on the opposite wall. She had taken to tossing one of her knives to herself by the time Izkara stirred.

"Well?"

"Two Mandalorians, and maybe some Hutt buyers," Zaella reported. "The Jedi are Tirien Kal-Di and—"

"Kal-Di?" Izkara interrupted. "You're certain?"

"Yeah, why?"

Izkara paced a few meters in the deserted corridor, back and forth. "That explains it. Damn him!"

"Explains what?"

"I tried to sense out the weapon, but he's blocking me! It's like a wall in the Force."

"Who is this guy? The crew I talked to just said something about Taanab."

"He's a Jedi Knight—a good one. The rumors in Kala’uun and Lessu are that he took on Darth Vandak, and Darth Alecto twice, and that he killed countless Sith on Taanab."

Zaella felt her lekku tingling. Not just because Izkara spoke with something other than contempt about a Jedi, though that was disconcerting by itself. But Darth Alecto was…Zaella couldn't say my hero, because Alecto belonged to the Empire, and they were more concerned with serving themselves than serving the dark side, as Lady Hadan did. But Darth Alecto was a living legend, a champion of the dark—the slayer of Phnyong, as well as the one who had finally rid the galaxy of Karr Shadeez and his pretentious crusade. Any Jedi who could go toe-to-toe with her once, let alone twice, was a Jedi Zaella wanted as far away as possible.

"So what do we do, Master?"

Izkara's eyes came back from wherever they had gone, and hardened for it. "What do you mean, what do we do? We get the weapon.  You think I'm going to let one Jedi Knight cause me to fail the Dark Lord?  You think I'm afraid of him?"

Yes. "Of course not, Master."

Izkara eyed her for a moment, but Zaella wiped her face clean of any expression, and in the end the Sith Knight just scowled. "Kal-Di's presence complicates things, but he can't lift a finger against us without offending the Hutt, and he won't risk it. We just have to outbid them at the auction."

"And the Mandalorians," Zaella reminded her.

"Mandalorians," Izkara scoffed. "They're decent fighters in a swarm, like insects. Even alone their sting can be irritating.  But Mandalore stopped being a galactic power a long time ago.  Them trying to buy the weapon is a desperate attempt to grab onto relevance before it escapes them altogether, nothing more.  The Republic has the bigger bank account and is the bigger threat to Runganna; they're all we'll have to worry about."