The perfect job had turned into the perfect nightmare. Jango cursed himself for a fool. He should have been more alert for a last-minute escape attempt from a Guardian. He should have anticipated that, after knowing they were close to landing, she wouldn’t have eaten the last drugged protein bar. His carefully honed perception had sensed the sudden tenseness of her body before she attacked him. That was what saved his life. Her hands had already slipped onto the little skin that showed at the trunk of his neck and unlatched his helmet. He had no doubt that a few seconds later and her deft fingers would have found that weak point at the base of every man’s skull – that weak point where unconsciousness could be induced by a very small amount of pressure. What the Guardian would have done with his unconscious body, Jango had no intention of finding out. He snatched her hands, clenching his fists painfully round her small fingers and she threw back her head and bit him in his neck. Yowling, Jango threw her off, completely horrified. She smashed into the pilot’s seat, breaking her fall slightly by grabbing the console. His hand was reaching for his blaster when she pounced again, knocking him down with the weight of her body and going for his helmet. He swiped her face with the blaster in his hand, throwing her off his body with a cry. Before she could stand again, he trained the blaster at her, cursing himself that it was still set to kill. But he didn’t dare take the blaster – or his eyes – off this one to change the setting. “Don’t move!” he snarled from his open mouth. She had knocked off his helmet. She got to her feet slowly, holding her hand to her mouth. There was blood on her fingers. “I said, don’t move!” he yelled, horrified. He had no idea why the Sith Lord wanted this Guardian but he clearly recalled the instructions he had been given: “…alive and unharmed…” She smiled grimly. Her mouth was bleeding where the blaster had smashed into her face. “Don’t be foolish, Jango. You’re not going to shoot your bounty,” she said. Her voice was harsh, he could tell that she was in a great deal of pain. But she came closer. “Good point.” He pointed the blaster at her with one hand and threw his helmet at her with the other. She dodged the helmet but it was a mere distraction. And it worked. He was on top of her, tackling her to the ground. A brief scuffle ensued as they rolled over the deck floor. Tools fell from their ledges as they banged against the wall. She was a small creature, almost waif-like, but her hands were strong and she fought with nails and teeth, unerringly going for the jugular. If she had been fighting an amateur street urchin, she would have fared very well. But Jango was an entirely different cup of caf and finally with one powerful move, he smashed his open fist into her temple – no need injuring her more than he already had – and she fell back, dazed. Quicker than he would normally have done, he had her on her back, and straddled over her as he tied her wrists firmly to each other with the binders he pulled from his utility belt. “Get off me!” she screamed. A bit late in the day to play the lady, Jango thought silently as he dragged her to her feet with the binders. She snarled. Literally. Her teeth snapped in the direction of his face and her binded fists tried to swipe him. He pushed her violently in front of him, marching her to the door. “Behave yourself. I may not kill you but I can harm you,” he snapped. “I don’t know what Sabé ever saw in you,” she hissed. He threw her hard against the wall. An angry aim that sent her against the ledges. Her already aching body shuddered from the impact and she cried out in pain. He waited for her to turn around and she did so, gasping. She stood, slumped against the wall, her face bruised and bloody, her eyes unforgiving. His blaster was trained between her eyes. “Hurt, didn’t it?” she said softly. “Don’t move an inch if you don’t want me to stun you.” He warned. He walked to the security keypad by the hatchway and started punching the lock code. “She must have had a heart attack when you turned up like a bad penny. I remember when she met you back in the university. Did she tell you that you were her one true love?” Jango’s left fist – the one holding the blaster to her face – clenched fiercely. The right hand was halfway through punching the security lock on the hatchway. “What a joke,” she continued relentlessly. “We used to laugh about it together in school. The Mandalorian vagabond in love with a Naboo academic. I think she found you quaint in her own little way.” “Shut up,” he warned. “But in the end, even water finds its own level. Someone like you never had a chance with someone like her.” He fired the blaster. She was already spinning away from the shot, anticipating just when his rage would snap. The laser struck the console and it sparked. (Neither of them noticed this). “Oh dear, it does hurt!” she said, laughing in gasps from where she crouched behind the pilot’s chair. He fired the blaster again and she dodged once more. She was goading him and he knew it but if he didn’t shut her up soon, he’d wind up killing her. He stalked after her, catching her by her arm when she tried to dodge again. “Shut up or I’ll… Aaaaaargh!” He screamed as, still with her back to him, bending through a clearly painful angle, she struck him with her binded wrists. There was something in one of her fists, something sharp that cut his face. He yowled for the second time that day, and instinctively, he sent his elbow into face. She went down cold, once and for all. (The spark had ignited against one of the damaged console buttons. A small thread of fire was now running along the console.) He staggered back, suddenly feeling unaccountably weak. He raised a gloved hand to his chin and brought out blood. He stared at the woman at his feet, blinking rapidly out of strangely dimming eyes to see what she had struck him with. She had fallen on her side and there was something glinting in her right hand. He leaned over to see and fell on both knees. (On its merry path of destruction along the control buttons of Jango’s ship, the fire was halted by an obstruction. A tool that had fallen during the bounty hunter’s scuffle with his bounty. It was a small lube canister, used for oiling the gears in the trap-door ladder mechanism. A utilitarian piece of extreme flammability that would have normally been kept in cargo if the owner of the ship did not engage in unscrupulous activities) Jango crawled towards to the woman, on all fours now. He could smell something burning but it seemed far away, apart from him. Besides, he didn’t have the strength to turn around. Suddenly the most important thing in Jango’s life right now was to know exactly what his last bounty had struck him with. (The small fire hovered around the canister, as if unable to make up its mind what to do about this obstruction.) He stared at the needle in her hand, one of those long hair-pins he had pulled from her head. Then the canister exploded.
Dally posted:You are the Queen of cliffhangers! Like Vader, Jango seems to have a tiny heart hidden beneath his rough exterior. Very tiny, though. I am thoroughly enjoying this story. I hope to see more soon!
jaina_clan_solo posted: you're just going to leave me hanging there??????
Daenarrah posted:Now Padme', boy she just sticks it to him. Jab and barb as Jango a little more there. Get his ire up a bit more, shall we? Now did Jango really think things were going to go easy with her?
Daenarrah posted:I'd say he should worry that Vader doesn't ream him for leaving a mark on her but making sure they survive the explosion is a more urgent matter here.
jedi_princess18 posted:You know, I would never have thought that Padme would be able to get under Jango's skin with Sabe....
jedi_princess18 posted:She sure does have guts! (which I think she will definitely need when dealing with Vader in the not too distant future)
It was not a memory. More like a mental jigsaw puzzle pieced together from different sources –a vague recollection of her sister’s retelling when she was four, official Imperial records that she had found when she was eleven, and a letter that Matol Jankerrie, Sable’s mother had given Padmé when she was sixteen… Winama, who was probably the only person alive that really knew, never told Padmé how her parents died. Some of the pieces in the puzzle would be missing forever. **** A quiet evening, the mother sleeping by the window, the father and the big sister teasing the baby by the heart. A serene evening in the Naberrie household. Nothing to indicate that their family would soon be destroyed. There had been no warning. “IMPERIAL POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!” The loud knock alone would have broken down a sturdier door. Jobal Naberrie jerked out of her sleep, her eyes wide with shock. Ruwee looked up from his little daughter and his face paled. Over Sola’s surprised eyes, the two adults exchanged looks. “Pa-” Ruwee’s hand went over her mouth at once. “Shhh, Sola…” But it was too late. “OPEN THE DOOR!” Jobal went to her husband, stood by him. “The children,” was all she said. Ruwee looked down at Sola and Padmé. The little girl was five, her sister barely a baby. “Papa,” Sola said quietly, her voice trying bravely to keep steady. “What’s happening?” Ruwee smiled at her, kneeling down so he could look her in the eye. When he spoke, his voice was extremely hearty. “We’re just playing a game, you see…” Behind him, Jobal had gone into the study. Sola’s eyes followed her mother anxiously and Ruwee gently but firmly turned her back to him. “Just like hide and seek…” “WE’LL GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES AND THEN WE’LL BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN!” Jobal came back to the room, a dark object in each hand. Ruwee moved quickly so that his body blocked her from his daughter’s view. “… only this time longer.” “FIVE…” “Ruwee…” Jobal said in an urgent whisper from her post at the window. “They’ve placed a code breaker on the door.” In one swoop, Ruwee picked up the baby on the floor, grabbed Sola by the arm and started sprinting with her through their house. “FOUR…” Padmé started bawling. “And this time, you’ll try hiding somewhere else…” Ruwee said in the same eerily cheerful voice. “Like, in the garden in your school.” “Papa,” gasped Sola, jogging to keep up with him. Everything was happening so quickly. The rude people at the door… This strange game… Her mother holding two blasters in her hand… Papa not bothering to comfort Padmé when she was crying her eyes out. “THREE…” Ruwee took her to the back door, the one that led into the garden. The sounds from the front door faded. Ruwee paused at the door, looking round frantically before they dashed into the garden ahead. They ran to the fountain where before her astonished eyes, he opened up a little cage door buried in its side. Inside the door, all she could see was darkness. There was a tunnel inside that could fit a very small child. Ruwee shoved the crying baby into Sola’s arms. “See it’s a clever game, Sola. Just keep going and you’ll get to the school.” “Pap-” From somewhere in the house, there was the sound that Sola would later know as blaster fire. Ruwee shouted and then he shoved his children into the tunnel. “Take care of each other,” he said and there was no false heartiness in his voice. Then the tunnel door closed and they never saw him or their mother again. **** Naberrie, Ruwee Naberrie, Jobal Husband and wife Found guilty by Imperial Tribunal on three counts of terrorism and occultism. Sentenced to death and executed by order of his Imperial Majesty. **** Eleven-yr-old Padmé Naberrie read the carefully recorded files of her parents’ death. Then she asked the Archivist at the Junior Legislator Academy very nicely for permission to make copies. When she followed Sabé home for the holidays, she sent the copies via anonymous mail to her grandmother. During that holiday, Winama came to visit. Unannounced as always. Padmé went for a walk with her mother, Matol Jankerrie’s worried gaze boring through her back as she left the house. Not one to beat around the bush, Padmé asked her grandmother as soon as they were out of earshot: “Is this why they killed Sola?” Winama’s old eyes closed briefly as pain filtered through her features but all she said was: “Your sister died in an accident.” Padmé stopped walking. Anger like she had never felt filled her. “They killed her and you know it! You are the cause of it!” Winama closed her eyes again. But Padmé was feeling merciless. “That’s why my parents died, isn’t it? That’s why I can never live with you, isn’t it?” Her hands balled into fists. Never had she felt so powerless in her life. “Answer me!” Tears stained the woman’s cheeks but she didn’t open her eyes. “Padmé, please…” “Tell me, Nana, are they worth it? These people that you’ve sacrificed your family to defend? Are they worth me?” Winama opened her eyes and just stared at her granddaughter. “Padmé, my little one…” Padmé stepped away from her grip. “Choose now – me… or these Jedi.” Despite herself, Padmé shuddered at saying the name out loud. It was superstition but it was a powerful one that saying their name would send them coming. Winama’s eyes actually widened at Padmé’s daring but she shook her head, “It’s not that simple. If you can only let me explain.” “No.” “Padmé, please…” The old woman’s hands stretched despairingly for Padmé but she didn’t say a word – didn’t say the words that the little girl so desperately needed to hear. Winama’s hands hung empty for a long time. Then they fell down in defeat. “Padmé.” “No,” said Padmé, choking. Then she turned on her heel and ran all the way back to the Jankerries’. When she got home, Matol took one look at the girl and swept her into a hug. That was when Padmé realized that she had been crying all the way. **** Guardian – Self-proclaimed protector of the Jedi occultists. Could be of any species of sentient. Usually not suffering from the hyper-chlorian abnormality that gives the Jedi their unnatural abilities. Still highly dangerous sentient, with strong connections and influence over widespread Jedi coven. The penalty for anyone professing to be a Guardian, training to be a Guardian or colluding with one is death. **** Letter to my daughters My darling Sola and Padmé My little angels. If you are reading this, I know I must have already gone. Matol Jankerrie closed the door gently behind her. She had barely walked down the corridor, when she heard the first sobs from Padmé’s room. **** Winama stood by her window and watched the sixteen-year-old girl make her way to her house. She was old enough that when her heart stopped, it was not only figuratively. Love and fear warred within her. Was Padmé here for a reconciliation? Or was this a trap? It would not be the first time that a Guardian’s own family had betrayed her. The doorbell rang and Winama went to open it at once. Betrayal or no, she could never turn her only living grandchild away. Padmé stood at the door. She hadn’t grown any taller since Winama had seen her last at eleven. But she was clearly a young woman now. At first, she just looked to Winama like a distorted image of the late Sola. But then the old woman looked closely and suddenly, Ruwee, Jobal and even herself were suddenly staring at her from that face. Emotions suffused Winama but she held them in check. There was no expression on Padmé’s face. “Can I help you with something?” Winama asked. Her voice tried to be cool but it broke at the end. Padmé just stared at her with that expressionless face. Then she ran into her grandmother’s arms. **** There was smoke, and there was fire. And her subconsciousness warned Padmé that she was going to die. It is a pity to die, she decided in that place in her mind that was never fully awake or asleep. But everyone has to someday. And it was good that the one last piece she had of that unfinished puzzle was a happy one…
Naberrie, Ruwee Naberrie, Jobal Husband and wife Found guilty by Imperial Tribunal on three counts of terrorism and occultism. Sentenced to death and executed by order of his Imperial Majesty.
Letter to my daughters My darling Sola and Padmé My little angels. If you are reading this, I know I must have already gone.