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Author Topic: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining, repost)
jedimasterbac  6255 posts
Title: CT and Fan Design Manager
 Registered: Jun '04
24180_Obi-Wan Art
Date Posted: 7/3 2:47pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining, repost) - Date Edited: 7/4 1:48pm (11 edits total) Edited By: jedimasterbac
Title: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One
Author: Brandon Rhea (Jedimasterbac)
Editor: Susan Donnam, Edward Oliver
Characters: Annikin Skywalker (spelling purposely changed), Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Naberrie, Sabe Arcadia, Jar Binks (spelling purposely changed), Jard Dooku, Qui-Gon Jinn, Mace Windy (spelling purposely changed), Yoda, Sarus, Ussej Padric Bac, and other OCs.
Genre: Alternate Universe (Alternative Star Wars Saga)
Timeframe: 22 BBY

Background:

Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One is an Alternative Star Wars Saga fan fiction novel written by Brandon Rhea. The currently-incomplete novel, which re-imagines the canon Star Wars films Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, has been in production since 2007. In 2009, Rhea began rewriting the novel. He is currently releasing the novel chapter-by-chapter on Star Wars Fanon, the Star Wars wiki of fan invention, TheStarWarsRP.Com, a role-playing website on which Rhea serves as the Head Administrator, and here on TheForce.Net. Since the rewrite began, a prologue and eight chapters have been released, and additional chapters are currently in production.

The novel is set during the Invasion of Utapau, a conflict between the planet Utapau and the Trade Federation shipping cartel that is based on the canon Invasion of Nabo. The primary character of the novel is Annikin Skywalker, a nineteen-year-old moisture farmer living on the desert world of Tatooine who will transform into a mild-mannered farmer to being the potential savior of the galaxy. During the story, he also meets Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ophuchi Clan leader Sarus, and Jedi Padawan Padmé Naberrie. Rhea has stated that the novel is a “coming of age story” for Skywalker, although the Invasion of Utapau and the beginning of the Clone Wars provide for action elements as well. (Source: SW Fanon Wiki)

Cast of characters:

A lot of people like to visualize characters faces on their own, but I like to provide a cast for people to visualize. Any canon name you see, unless otherwise noted, is “played” by the same person as in the films. An exception to this is Cliegg Lars, who is portrayed by John Schneider from Smallville. Other portrayers you will need to know are Liv Tyler as Sabé Arcadia, Justin Hartley as Logan Amator, Ben Barnes as Crispin Hadaack, Dame Judy Dench as Rana Quemin, Richard Harris as Silas Lasek, Uwe Ochsenknecht as Sarus, and Alec Newman as Ussej Padric Bac. Also, when you are introduced to a species called the Whills, picture E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. Finally, you will see a character named Jar Binks, based on Jar Jar Binks. His voice should sound regal and British, much like the centurion/horseman guy from the first Harry Potter film.

Also, just as a note, when you see “Utapau”, think Naboo. I just changed the name. It’s not Utapau from Revenge of the Sith.

Dedication:

To my old colleagues Michael Jones and Gregg Tasoulas, the ones responsible for giving me the opportunity to begin my Alternative Star Wars Saga work. Basically, this is all your fault! I also want to thank a former fan fiction writer Brenden J. Whalberg, whose work was a big inspiration for my own. And to George Lucas, for letting people like me play in his universe without consequence.

Pre-Novel teaser:

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, an evil legacy long believed dead has since been awakened. Even the Jedi, guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic, are caught by surprise, their attentions focused on political unrest between the greedy Trade Federation and the Republic. Now, the dark side of the Force threatens to overwhelm the light, and only an ancient Jedi prophecy stands between hope and doom for the entire galaxy.

On the desert world of Tatooine, far from the concerns of the Republic, a young man is being closely but unknowingly watched over by a strange group of hermits from the Dune Sea. These hermits sense that there is something special about him, seeing an aura of prophecy surrounding his life. This young man’s only hope is in the hands of the one that these hermits call the Argus, one who will fall from the sky and help free him from the bind that keeps him in the desert wastes.

In another part of the galaxy, Jedi Master Jard Dooku and Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi are charged with protecting Queen Arcadia of Utapau as she seeks to end the invasion of her planet brought about by the corporate greed of the Trade Federation. It is this quest that brings them to Tatooine, where Obi-Wan too senses something in the young man named Annikin Skywalker. Their only hope is to convince Annikin to leave Tatooine with them and become a Knight of the Old Republic, and join with men and women destined to become legends...

A note on criticism:

Since this board has what seems to be a "no criticism unless asked" rule, please be aware that I will accept any and all criticism that you may have. All I ask is that you keep it constructive. Thanks!

The novel:



With this brilliant image designed by Victor “Squishy Vic” Dorantes, I present to you the first chapter of the Alternative Star Wars Saga: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One.

From the second saga, the Journal of the Whills....

 

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jedimasterbac  6255 posts
Title: CT and Fan Design Manager
 Registered: Jun '04
24180_Obi-Wan Art
Date Posted: 7/3 2:49pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining)
Prologue
THE KEY

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, there existed a realm called Ashlan Four. Said in legends to be a planet shrouded within the vast expanse of the Ashlan Nebula in the far away galaxy’s Unknown Regions, it was truly a land of myth and folklore. It remained a hidden plain of existence, subsisting as a pocket dimension with complexities and truths that proved to be far beyond those of Human understanding. Nevertheless, it was a reality hidden from the universe, a place that could be interpreted in so many ways that the interpretations were infinite. It remained an immense rainbow of every possible color one could imagine, and even some that one could not.

The landscape was lush and vast. The blue and green reality was still one of myths, legends and prophecies that dated back thousands and thousands of years in standard galactic time. For eons, philosophers spoke of a prophecy written by a holy man about a great race of wisdom called the Whills. The Whills, in the prophecy, would follow a great order to a “planet” in the light of the Ashlan Nebula, so the inhabitants could record the story of the galaxy. Of course, there was no planet, but instead a boundless land of mountains, rivers and rolling green hills.

As night quickly turned to dawn near the monastery of the Whills, where the story of the galaxy was kept, the sound of a thousand marching soldiers echoed through the rolling hillside. In reality, however, it was the tremendously echoed sound of one lone horse and her rider galloping over the lush countryside. The rider was draped in a white ornamental robe, a hood covering his head, hiding his face from the bright yellow sun that was rising in front of him. He brought the horse towards the edge of a hill and looked down towards a crystal clear stream a few miles away. Below him, on the bank of the river, he saw one of the small, diminutive Whills performing a task.

Curious, the rider pulled back on the horse, causing it to rear its two front legs into the air and neigh in excitement as if she was aware of its rider’s intentions, and quickly began riding down the gradual slope towards the bank of the stream to find out what the Whill was doing. The wind whipped through the rider’s hood and through his hair, giving him a slight rush of adrenaline just as it always did.

The rider frequently spent his mornings riding his horse, beginning well before dawn and ending shortly after it. It gave him a sense of normalcy, something that had been severely lacking in his life; from the day he was born on Alderaan to the day he arrived on Ashlan Four and beyond, nothing in his life had turned out the way he had expected it to. Unlike how other people would have felt, and like he had originally felt when he discovered what his destiny was, that was fine with him.

Shortly before reaching the stream, upon entering a series of ruins, the rider pulled back on his horse. The slope became steeper from that point on, and because he would have to venture off the path to arrive at the bank quicker he decided to keep his horse waiting in the fading and decaying monastery, where once a group of Whills studying the nature of the universe had housed. The horse seemed to nod in approval as she was left to wait beside a stone pillar, knowing her rider would return for her.

The man stepped away from his horse and made his way down the rest of the steep hill in a running fall, brushing his way past the dozens of trees that grew upon the grounds in the clearing that the small Whill sat in. When he finally arrived, the man slid one leg out and came to an abrupt stop, silently ceasing his fall just behind the pudgy brown Whill that was nestled against a tree that reached out and draped itself over the stream in front of them. Even the trees on Ashlan Four were something special - there was a certain quality about them, a certain air of beauty in the vibrant colors that words couldn’t describe and the way the wind gently wisped through the leaves.

It was these areas of Ashlan Four that, even after thousands of years, made the man happiest. He knelt down, still not letting the Whill onto the fact that he was there, and brushed his hand through the thick green blades of grass. As he felt the still-wet dew between the tips of his fingers, he paused. He closed his eyes and opened a wide smile, allowing memories to flood back to him. The area reminded him so much of his last mortal home, one that he missed terribly.

He could still feel the wet grass between his toe as he played with his beloved son in the fields of Kal’Shabbol. He could lose all sense of self on those lazy summer days, when there no politics, plotting or war. There was only family. He cherished the sound of his son’s laugh as they played make-believe in the forests, remembering what it was like before he had a destiny. Before he was the man he was born to be.

For most people, memories and sensations like that were inextricably linked to childhood, but his childhood was nothing of the sort. There was a time when he was a child and a Jedi on the run, fleeing from the Dark Lords of the Sith who swore to destroy every last living member of the old Jedi Order, the Jedi Order that eventually fell to the Sith when the Galactic Empire came to power. It wasn’t until he met the love of his life and the two had a son, his literal namesake, that he was finally able to have those childhood experiences.

When the man looked back up, the young Whill historian was still staring intently into the stream before them. The creature was so fixated on the water that he didn’t even notice Ussej stand up and approach him, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that someone was behind him. The short, pudgy brown Whill’s oval-shaped head and large circular blue eyes turned to look at him for a moment, trying to figure out who the man was. He was somewhat familiar to the Whill, but the creature couldn’t place him.

“Who are you?” the Whill asked in the ancient Ashlan language of his people, although he understood the language of Galactic Basic Standard which he assumed the Human standing in front of him spoke.

“I’m a friend,” the rider said as he pulled back his hood to reveal his face. “My name is Ussej Padric Bac.”

“The Shaman of the Whills,” the Whill historian said rhetorically, knowing the name from his religious and historical studies although he had never met the man before.

Ussej nodded to let the young historian know that he was correct. The Shaman was a tall man, a few centimeters shy of two meters, with short, dark blonde hair and blue eyes. He had tan white skin and a faint scar across his right eye from a conflict that took place thousands of years earlier far beyond the most distant stars that could be seen on Ashlan Four. There were times when he longed for those glory days, although he was far more peaceful as the Shaman of the Whills, even though he had lived that life for over three thousand years.

“Why are you here?” the young Whill asked curiously, as very few throughout the previous three thousand years had ever seen the Shaman of the Whills in person.

“I saw you sitting down here,” Ussej told him. “I was riding by and thought I might see what you were doing.”

“I was watching the time stream,” the Whill told him, turning away to continue with his studies.

Ussej looked down below the Whill where the stream was. To his left, the winding body of water was still blanketed in mist, and the stream itself faded into the distance. But in front of them, the water shimmered with gold as the sun reflected upon it. The light hit it just right, and Ussej was able to look at himself in the stream. It wasn’t something he could often do, considering he spent most of his time in seclusion away from anything that would let him see himself. Still, as he moved into the shade of the trees, watching as his shadow and reflect disappeared, he wasn’t arrogant enough to think that his reflection was the greatest thing that could come out of the stream.

The story of history was long and, at times, one that lacked of any sense. History was something that could be learned, but whether or not it could be understood was another matter entirely. Kings, warlords, prophets, space explorers, Jedi and Sith, along with numerous others, made their mark on the universe in the strangest of events, such as exoduses, wars and other major and minor conflicts. Historians continued to scratch their heads to make sense of some of it, as they were unable to truly understand the historical figures behind the events.

That was where the time stream came in. Within the large flowing stream just beside them, one could look through the clear blue liquid and realize that not only rocks and fish could be seen. In fact, with a trained eye, it was an entire timeline of universal history; not just of the galaxy, but of every galaxy in the vast void of space and time. Standing in one spot for long enough would have allowed one who had been trained to view it to see the entire history of the universe, although the viewer would need to live for an eternity to watch the slow moving timeline pass by in the same spot.

But simply viewing the timeline was not the greatest achievement of the unexplainable divine tool of time. The river moved slowly, as the weather remained calm and peaceful at all times on Ashlan Four, so one was able to look at one segment of time for any number of minutes. Were they to step within that segment of the river, it would appear to them as if time on Ashlan Four, which was meaningless on Ashlan Four to begin with, would stop. They would become an impartial and unseen observer, unless they wished to intervene; they could watch the events unfold as they had either thousands of years earlier or thousands of years into the future.

There was only man with the ability to enter into the time stream, or bring others into the time stream with him. That was Ussej, which is why he had earned the moniker of the “guardian of forever”. Although it was generally frowned upon, Ussej felt that he had a mandate to make his presence known to certain persons throughout time to ensure that events unfolded without outside interference preventing them from unfolding as they should. After all, as the so-called guardian of forever, it was his duty to protect the timeline. The higher powers of existence had a plan for the universe, but protection was still needed.

Only days earlier by his own personal time, Ussej had returned from a brief intervention. A destructive galactic civil war between the tyrannical Galactic Empire and a band of freedom fighters attempting to restore democracy to the galaxy had just ended, and a New Republic was rising from the ashes of the Empire. A dark lord had been vanquished, and the savior of the galaxy had been redeemed from darkness and fulfilled his destiny. The outcome was as Ussej knew it would be, although the events leading up to it unfolded differently as he had imagined. Ussej recognized that although there would be future conflicts, the galaxy was a far more peaceful place than it would have been had the outcome been tampered with.

“What is your name?” Ussej asked the young Whill chronicler.

“Duseuso,” the Whill told him, not taking his eyes off of the cloth material on which he was writing the history he saw.

Ussej stepped closer to the time stream and fixed his gaze onto what Duseuso was watching. After a few brief moments the image became clear, and Ussej was able to watch a major historical event unfold. A lone star fighter raced down the trench of a planet-destroying battle station, chased by three other fighters. When it looked as if the lone fighter was to be destroyed, a cargo transport attacked the three fighters, sending two of them into a blaze of fire and debris while the other flew out into space. Finally, two proton torpedoes ejected themselves from the star fighter, and in the blink of an eye the battle station was gone. Ussej knew the battle well, and it was a major turning point in the rebel civil war against the Empire.

“May I see what you’re writing?” Ussej asked, curious to see the Whill’s interpretation of what they had both just witnessed.

Although slightly perturbed by the disturbance, Ussej took the cloth, unfolding most of it to read what was written. The document was chronicling the life of Anakin Skywalker which, from Ussej’s perspective, was a misspelling of the name as he had known the man called Annikin Skywalker. From Duseuso’s perspective, Anakin Skywalker was a legendary Jedi Knight during the time of the Old Republic who became a hero of the destructive Clone Wars, but later the oppressor of worlds as an evil dark lord. Ussej kept reading and there was very detailed information on Anakin Skywalker, but Ussej had a different perspective on the similar yet dissimilar Annikin Skywalker.

“Is this for the Journal?” Ussej asked, referring to the collection of historical knowledge known as the Journal of the Whills that was kept in the nearby Whill Monastery.

The Whill nodded his head as Ussej handed the document back to him. The Shaman stretched his long Human legs and arms before slowly sitting down on the bank of the river next to Duseuso, who shifted awkwardly as Ussej seated himself. Duseuso had never seen legs work in such a way, as he himself barely had any legs at all. The Whill pulled back its lengthy neck in defense, although it did not take him long to realize that being fearful of the shaman of his people was illogical. Instead, he slowly returned to his document, waiting for the silent shaman to say something to break the awkward silence that had fallen over them.

“How much do you know about the time stream, Duseuso?” Ussej asked out of general interest, but also because he wished to make a point about how the stream worked.

“I know that it shows one the history of the universe,” the Whill replied, this time not hiding his impatience at the interruption, despite his slow speech patterns.

“That may be true,” Ussej told him, “but it doesn’t look at things objectively. What I see and what you see when looking at it may not be the same thing.”

“What do you mean?” Duseuso asked, the impatience being washed from his face as curiosity took hold.

“The time stream can tell us many things about our past and our future,” Ussej continued, “but the historical events are subject to our own point of view. Interpretation is the key, and more than one interpretation belongs in the Journal so future readers can come to their own conclusions.”

“Are you saying that my interpretation is wrong?” Duseuso asked, not fully comprehending the dynamics of the stream as Ussej relayed them.

“No, no, of course not,” Ussej said as his eyes seemingly popped out of his head, worried that he had insulted the young Whill. “I’m simply saying that I have a different interpretation about the life of Annikin Skywalker, both because I watched the events unfold through the stream and because I associated myself with him on more than one occasion. Even with these associations, my interpretation may very well be wrong, and people might not agree with it. Nevertheless, the interpretation is there, and all points of view need to be understood to fully comprehend history.”

“What is your interpretation then?” the Whill inquired, although he had not yet picked up his document.

“I would be happy to tell you,” Ussej said with a smile, “so long as you are prepared to treat it as a learning experience, look at the story objectively and document it.”

Pulling his cloth document closer and gripping his writing utensil tightly, Duseuso accepted Ussej’s requirements, eager to hear the Shaman of the Whill’s personal perspective on the life of Annikin Skywalker. The Whill knew that it would be interesting to hear first person accounts on what the young Jedi was like, as the time stream could only tell one so much about a person’s personality. Ussej, however, had actually associated with Annikin, giving him a unique, although potentially incorrect, perspective on the matter.

“Before I tell you about Annikin’s story,” Ussej said, the excitement that had been in his voice replaced by one of grim and profound sadness and regret, “you need to know about the murder of a man I once called one of my closest friends...”



The patter of rain was all that could be heard within the ancient, deserted Sith academy on Dathomir. Almost deserted. Located on the edge of a deep and vast canyon containing rivers and deep, dark forests, the academy grounds were a graveyard of members of the Sith Brotherhood of Darkness that had died defending their people during the New Sith Wars; those that had failed their tests of strength before the war even broke out also had remains that littered the ground. Rotting skeletons still rested without peace within the dark forests, serving as a stark reminder of the consequences of failure.

By Human standards, Dathomir was normally a temperate and beautiful planet, but the rain storm that had lasted for days on end disrupted that norm. The world had a diverse terrain that included coastal lakes, thick forests, snow-capped mountains, raging rivers, and broad savannas. There were even small icecaps and rift valleys throughout the world. Even with of that beauty and wonder, nearly ninety percent of the world remained unexplored. It was for that reason that Darth Bane, founder of the modern Sith, chose to use Dathomir as one of his training grounds when he first created the Rule of Two and the Order of Sith Lords.

Standing virtually alone within the academy, Darth Plagueis continued that traditions of Darth Bane as the Dark Lord of the Sith. He had seen many atrocities and failures in his life time, so many would have assumed that he would be used to the darkness and bleakness of Sith academies and temples. That could not have been further from the truth. Even before he became the Dark Lord of the Sith, Plagueis greatly appreciated beauty. In fact, his favorite time of day was when he would be able to catch the first glimpse of the moonlight reflecting off of the distant lakes and rivers.

Even with the normal beauty of the world, the dark side of the Force surged with power. He had heard an ancient legend about a rogue Jedi Knight named Allya who was banished to Dathomir by the Jedi. She took many of her followers with her and forged a friendship with the few settlers that were on the world. She taught them the ways of the Force, and later she taught the ways of the Force to her own children. Centuries later, Allya was credited with transforming the settler society into one led by the women who held the men as their slaves. Despite the numerous other legends about her, the end result was always the same: the society dominated by Force-using women became known as the Witches of Dathomir and their story was used to frighten children around a fire.

Plagueis had encountered those who he believed to be the Witches of Dathomir, but there was an unspoken understanding between them and the Sith where they agreed to leave each other alone. It had worked out for many years, and Plagueis had continued that. Though he would have enjoyed having numerous seductive women under his command, the doctrine of Bane clearly forbid more than two Sith. There could only be one master and one apprentice: one to embody power and the other to crave it.

Alone within his chambers, Plagueis sat upon his flat bed, reflecting on the past as he knew that it would be the last time he would be able to do so. He had lived for nearly four thousand years, but it felt as if he had accomplished next to nothing. Even so, it amazed him how far he had come and how much he had changed. To begin one’s life as a Jedi and to finish it off as one of the most powerful Dark Lords of the Sith in history was truly a rarity.

Though he had the powers of immortality, he knew that his apprentice was prepared to strike him down. Plagueis did not fear losing his power, despite what his apprentice thought, and welcomed death. There was no mystery in it for him anymore and there was nothing more he could accomplish in life. His task was finished and his apprentice held the knowledge that Plagueis was immortal. Even so, it would take great power for his apprentice to discover the secret, as well as the other secrets that Plagueis did not share with him.

At first, Plagueis wondered why he would give up his immortal life. He had fought so hard for it and lost so much. His lover had come to him with a vision of her own death, and her visions had always come true. Plagueis swore that he would find a way to stop those he cared about from dying, and after weeks he was able to. However, he discovered the secrets too late. One of his greatest friends betrayed him and his lover was killed. It was on that day that he began to walk the dark path, though he did not know it at first.

He always assumed that he would have died in battle. The great wars that he fought in always prepared him for that. He defended territories, defended the right to exist and defended the love that the son of another of his greatest friends held for the daughter of a ruthless tyrant in the Unknown Regions. Even with all of that, he would die in his sleep, but he would have the last laugh.

Hours later, Plagueis slipped into the realm of sleep, and his apprentice prepared to make his move. Darkness crept across the marble floor and thunder rolled through the canyon beside the academy. Though night had fallen, something darker than the night’s shadows raced through the dimly lit halls. Not even a whisper escaped the heir to the Dark Lord as he made his way to his master’s chambers.

At long last, Plagueis’s apprentice stood above his master’s bed as Plagueis slept. All remained silent and dark until a crimson blade of pure energy hummed to life. However, the light that it created lasted only an instant. In a flash, the blade pierced the heart of the Dark Lord as the apprentice thrust it into his master’s chest. Like a hot poker through the snow, it slid into the flesh of his self-proclaimed father.

In the beginning, Plagueis felt no pain. No desire for it to end caught his sadistic pursuits. In the end, the absence was not eternal and with a shocking scream his body lurched upright. Plagueis’ cruel eyes peeled open as his face began to turn a shade much like crimson blood. Clawed hands reached up to savage his killer and demonic hisses echoed throughout his halls. Plagueis had to keep up the disguise of feeling betrayed, despite the fact that he knew what was to come.

“You’ve become weak, my master,” the apprentice said as he clutched his mentor tightly, bringing his own face within an inch of Plagueis’. “In some ways, I envy you. You will find that which I will not taste until my own death. Peace, old man.”

As Plagueis’ life-force left him, he knew that he would have the last laugh in the end and that his apprentice would realize that he made a mistake. Within hours, the new Dark Lord would question whether or not he should have snuck up on his master. He would feel ashamed that he did not meet him in combat face-to-face. It would, without a doubt, make him feel as if he were a coward.

However, those emotions had not entered the apprentice’s mind yet. The new Dark Lord of the Sith watched intently while his master welcomed the chilling embrace of death. It would be the new Dark Lord’s duty to carry on the traditions of Darth Bane and, perhaps someday, overthrow the Jedi Order and avenge the lives of all those who had died at their hands. Now the master, Plagueis’s apprentice vowed to end the lives of the Jedi and not give up until he had done so. With that promise, he watched as the final spark of life left the eyes of his master.

“Until we meet again,” the newest Dark Lord of the Sith whispered into the night as he offered one final parting blow to his dead master’s corpse.

 

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jedimasterbac  6255 posts
Title: CT and Fan Design Manager
 Registered: Jun '04
24180_Obi-Wan Art
Date Posted: 7/3 2:53pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining) - Date Edited: 7/3 2:54pm (1 edits total) Edited By: jedimasterbac
Chapter One
FEDERATION HOSPITALITY

Dark. Cold. Desolate. Space was many things to many people, and very few considered it something to be cherished. To most, it was just another place to transport oneself throughout the galaxy, and that’s what the small frame of the Radiant VII was doing as it soared through eternity with its destination of Utapau directly in front of it. The Consular-class space cruiser had been painted red so potential enemies would recognize its diplomatic immunity granted by the Senate of the Galactic Republic, although that never stopped some enemies from taking shots at it.

Even though the ship was one of great importance, its size would not have been an indicator of it. The cruiser was unable to fit many people, far less than most other cruisers of great diplomatic importance. Instead, a great deal of the ship was attended to by droids that did not require normal living facilities. Many of the droids also served as body guards, and half of the sentient crew also served as guards.

As the vessel approached the blue-white terrestrial planet, a great deal of the planet was blocked out to those in the cockpit by the hulking mass of the Lucrehulk-class battleships blockading it on the orders of the corporate Trade Federation. The titanic crafts were nearly three kilometers in diameter and shaped like flattened disk, in the middle of which was a sphere that held the vessels bridge and reactor core. The disk itself was broken in the front to make room for entrances to two enormous docking bays, one of which was supposedly prepared to welcome the Radiant VII.

In the cockpit of the Consular-class Republic vessel was Captain Maoi Madakor and her co-pilot, Lieutenant Antidar Williams. They had both served together during a battle in the Yinchorri Uprising one year earlier, and Madakor personally requested Williams as her co-pilot once she was given command of the Radiant VII. Behind them stood two imposing figures, one an elderly Jedi Master and his younger companion, a Jedi Knight. The Republic crew knew little about the situation that the two Jedi were headed into, although they had been told that the Neimoidian-controlled Trade Federation was outraged by the prohibition of slave labor by Republic corporations in non-Republic territory. In order to try to repeal the recently passed law, the Neimoidians blockaded the helpless Utapau, hoping that it would cause the Republic to cower to the Federation’s demands.

Because the noble and eternally respected Knights of the Jedi Order were the well-known guardians of peace and justice in the Republic, the Republic’s Supreme Chancellor Finis Valorum dispatched the two Jedi as ambassadors in the hopes of resolving the conflict. The rhetoric of the Senate had done nothing for the situation other than drown out the cries for rescue and hinder the diplomatic efforts, so it was understandable to the crew why Chancellor Valorum would call upon the Jedi to serve him, although they assumed it was not Senate-sanctioned as their voyage to Utapau was classified at the highest levels of government.

“Captain,” the Jedi Master quickly interjected, breaking the thoughts of the crew as they were snapped back to attention, “tell them we wish to come aboard immediately. Then contact Chancellor Valorum on the secure frequency and tell him that we’ve arrived.”

“Aye, sir,” Madakor said with a slight, affirmative nod, and within a matter of minutes she received the confirmation signal from the Federation vessel and sent the message to the Chancellor’s office on the capital world of Coruscant.

With the vessel making its way towards the lead blockade ship more rapidly, the two Jedi lifted their heads from the veil of shadows that they had been cloaked in, allowing the crew to see the faces of Jedi Master Jard Dooku and Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. Dooku, who had been Obi-Wan’s master when Obi-Wan was an apprentice, was the taller of the two, and he was seventy standard years old. Obi-Wan, by comparison, was only thirty-three. Both had beards, Obi-Wan’s golden brown and Dooku’s bright white, although Obi-Wan’s hair had grown out longer than Dooku’s.

Obi-Wan looked out the forward window with a degree of hesitancy; ever since they had dropped out of hyperspace thirty minutes earlier, something had not felt right. It was as if there was a disturbance in the Force telling him to be wary of some sort of phantom menace in the very near future, and that it was something that no one could stop. Obi-Wan knew full well that he would be chided for doing so, but he could not help but raise his concerns to his former teacher and bitter companion.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said with a worried sigh.

“I sense nothing,” Dooku rebuffed coldly and without any hesitation, causing Obi-Wan to feel that Dooku had not even tried to see the situation from the Jedi Knight’s point of view.

“It’s not about the mission,” Obi-Wan continued, ignoring Dooku’s belittling tone. “It’s something...something elsewhere. Something elusive. I can’t quite figure out what it is.”

“You’re centering on your anxieties again,” Dooku scolded. “Keep your concentration in the here and now where it belongs or else you won’t be able to effectively carry out this mission. There are times and places for sensing the future, and this is not it.”

“Perhaps if you had taught me to be mindful of the Living Force when I was your apprentice,” Obi-Wan retorted with a frustrated tone, “I would not have to focus on my so-called anxieties.”

“Know your place, Obi-Wan,” Dooku said coldly, starting at him directly in the eye to showcase his disappointment as he used to do while they were master and apprentice.

Obi-Wan wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew that it would only worsen a constantly tense situation between the two of them. Obi-Wan awkwardly walked in front of him in the cramped cockpit, seeing the maze of battle cruisers and the lush, green and blue sphere of Utapau hanging against the heavens. The planet gave off a very peaceful image and aura, but that was raped by the steel beasts that had placed their grip on the world. Nevertheless, although he had some apprehension about space travel, space itself was very serene to him, and he felt a sense of calmness that many other Jedi felt when looking into the heavens.

In space, it was as if Jedi slipped into the future and gazed as far as the Human eye could see and saw a vision of the worlds and stars, and all the wonders that could be. They believed that the Force, the energy field binding and penetrating all living beings, was infinite, and so its universe must have been too. It caused the excellence of the Force to magnify and the greatness of existence was made manifest; the Force was glorified not in one, but in countless stars and celestial masterpieces; not in a single planet, a single world of sentients, but in trillions upon trillions of them. Space was an infinity of worlds, and so far Obi-Wan relished every moment of it.

After a few minutes of docking procedures, the beauty of space was replaced by the image of a shimmering blue force field protecting the entrance to the lead battle cruiser’s docking bay. In an instant, the field dropped, allowing the Radiant VII to slowly and carefully enter the small gap that led to the main docking bay. The battle cruiser’s tractor beam took hold and guided the cruiser into the bay where the magnetic clamps locked the vessel into place. Not wanting to waste any time, the two hooded Jedi began making their way through the bowels of the cruiser towards the main hatch.

Believing it would help in the negotiations that they were about to engage in, the two Jedi had studied the recent history of the Federation quite extensively. It was a shipping corporation and cartel that had deals with countless technological and manufacturing planets within its sector of the galaxy to build its own battle droid army, and because of the army the Federation was able to maintain a monopoly over a large amount of trade routes. Their influence in the Republic was also unprecedented, gaining them a purchased seat in the Senate currently filled by Lott Dodd. Originally controlled by a directorate, the Neimoidian people took full control under it under Viceroy Nute Gunray, who appointed his own puppets. It was Gunray who had been the most vocally outraged over the slave laws, and the Republic believed the blockade was meant to be seen as an example to those who opposed him.

Ready to depart, the Jedi waited for the hatch light to turn green to signal that they could leave the Radiant VII, and once it did the door was opened and the exit ramp lowered. At that point, they stepped into the bright light of the docking bay, which was somewhat ironic considering the dark and dreary situation they had found themselves in. A few meters from the ramp, a silver protocol droid stood waiting for them and approached.

“I am TC-14 at your service,” the droid said in Neimoidian, which the Jedi understood through the use of their universal translators. “We are currently following standard procedure for diplomatic guests. Please wait here for a few brief minutes while escorts are sent down to greet you in-person.”

Dooku, having been standing in front, nodded in acknowledgment. The two Jedi then turned to one another with grins, as they both found it amusing that such a sophisticated droid would be used by the Neimoidians. The Federation was never known to favor elegance or beauty, and protocol droids had a great deal of both. Rather, the Federation was known to favor simple droids such as their lethal B-1 combat droid series. Knowing how arrogant Neimoidians were towards their language and Galactic Basic Standard, they were also not surprised to see the droid speaking Neimoidian.

While they were waiting, Obi-Wan and Dooku took notice of their surroundings. The docking bay was unpopulated with actual life, but it was bustling with many forms of droid technology. B-1s roamed the bay, guarding whatever their masters felt was necessary to guard, and a few droid star fighters also rested overhead. The docking bay itself was a mesh of silver and gray, though they could not see the entire bay as it curved around and seemingly spanned the entire outer portion of the craft. Considering the forces that the Federation had amassed, that did not surprise the Jedi in the least.

Obi-Wan glanced at his former master, noticing that after only two minutes the aging Jedi was becoming impatient. It was a trait he had frequently come to associate with Dooku, and one Obi-Wan felt was unbecoming of a Jedi of Dooku’s stature. Born on Dantooine, Obi-Wan had been taken by the Jedi Order from his young settler parents, and he was trained alongside other Padawans his age by Jedi Grandmaster Yoda. He had a brief relationship with fellow apprentice Siri Tachi when he was nearly thirteen, but nothing came of their forbidden relationship as Siri and her master were transferred to the School of Hidden Wisdom on Baltimn. Nevertheless, he cherished the time he had with her, even during his pre-apprentice studies with notable masters such as Cin Drallig, one of the greatest lightsaber duelists of all time. Obi-Wan’s abilities with the Force and the blade made him somewhat arrogant during his youth, but under Yoda’s guidance he was able to become more humble and reserved.

Despite his potential, when Obi-Wan neared the age of thirteen, it seemed he had little chance of becoming a Jedi Knight as a master had yet to select him; younglings who were not selected by a master to be trained by thirteen were assigned to the Jedi Service Corps. When Obi-Wan found out that Dooku was going to be visiting the Jedi Temple to find an apprentice, Obi-Wan had a fierce duel with one of his competitors, a Zabrak named Bruck Chun, to draw Dooku’s attention, although the fierce offensive caused Dooku to pass over him due to Obi-Wan seeming too dangerous. The rejection caused Obi-Wan to be assigned as a miner on Bandomeer in the Jedi AgriCorps, but fate seemed to give him a second chance when Dooku also traveled to Bandomeer for a mission on the same ship.

En route to the planet, the future master and apprentice realized that Dooku’s old Padawan, Xanatos, had set a trap for Dooku and was plotting to assassinate him. Obi-Wan helped him avoid being killed, which let Dooku see that Obi-Wan was worthy to be his Padawan. Despite the seemingly good start, Obi-Wan and Dooku ended up having very different views on the nature of the Jedi Order and its relationship to the Supreme Chancellor and Galactic Senate, as well as the nature of the Force itself. This caused an inordinate amount of strain in their relationship, and Obi-Wan’s training often became awkward, or downright tense and ferocious. Even so, the Stark Hyperspace War that had ended seven years before the Utapau blockade proved that, when necessary, they could be each other’s strongest ally and that they could work together in most situations.

“How do you think Gunray will respond to Chancellor Valorum’s demands?” Obi-Wan asked curiously, breaking the silence that had awkwardly been created between them.

“These Neimoidians may be ruthless and heartless, but they’re still cowards when you apply the right pressure,” Dooku told him after pondering the question for a moment, eventually repeating what he had read in the Republic’s data files earlier in the voyage. “The negotiations will be short.”



The bridge of the Federation vessel was massive; six large windows adorned the front which let the commanders within the bridge keep watchful eyes on their fleet, and the planet that rotated quietly behind them. Dozens of Neimoidians and droids were stationed at a line of computer consoles in front of the windows, with the commander, first officer and honored guests having large seats behind the consoles. The rest of the bridge was a pit of computers and blinking lights where dozens of droid workers sat and controlled the guidance and weapons system, as well as maintained the signal that powered all of the Federation battle droids in the area.

Trade Federation Viceroy Nute Gunray stood on the main walkway of the bridge in front of a large viewing monitor, just beside his most trusted adviser Rune Haako. Both were Neimoidians of normal appearance, with green sickly faces and large black eyes. Neither had hair, and large ceremonial hats sat atop their heads, with matching robes flowing down to the ground around their shoulders.

Gunray had been a member of the Federation for years, starting as a trade officer, and quickly advanced in rank when he helped force the Pulsar Supertanker Corporation out of the Federation. Gunray was given the empty seat on the directorate and served as the Senator of the Trade Federation, and he was able to aggressively force the Republic into letting the Federation expand its army with help from former Eriadu Senator Ranulph Tarkin.

Many suggested that the Viceroy acted like a coward during the Stark Hyperspace War, where he supported a Republic offensive against Iaco Stark and the Stark Commercial Combine after the group bombed Federation bacta tankers in the Outer Rim. Others, however, gave Gunray the reputation of being ruthless and cold blooded due to his ordering the assassination of Jedi Master Tyvokka, an act which he furiously denied in public. This and more gained him the position of Federation Viceroy, although for a time he did not have full control over the corporation due to the powers of the directorate.

“What?” the now-sole leader of the Federation asked TC-14, who was speaking to him over the monitor, with a shout in his native Neimoidian. “What did you say?”

“I said the ambassadors are Jedi Knights, I believe,” TC-14 responded in the cold metallic voice of a non-personalized protocol droid.

“You said the Jedi would be kept out of this!” Haako shouted. “Now they’re here to force us into a settlement. We’ll lose our trade franchise because of you!”

“I will speak with Lord Maul,” Gunray rebuffed, a chill creeping down his spine at the mere mention of the dark one’s name. “Distract them while I contact him.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Haako insulted, a bold move for someone who was nothing more than a mere puppet. “Those Jedi can twist your mind and turn your own private thoughts against you. Send the droid.”

On the monitor, TC-14 bowed in agreement, and the image faded away as the droid prepared to return to the Jedi ambassadors. Gunray turned around and made his way to the holographic generator on the far side of the bridge. He always hated having to contact Lord Maul, a self-professed Dark Jedi Master; the dark one spent most of his time on board the Federation command vessel in the chambers that the worker droids had constructed for him in the bowels of the ship, but certain times called for the advice of their self-appointed superior officer.

Within moments, the generator kicked in and the shrouded and hooded face of Maul appeared as a blue computer-generated image. Very little was known about Maul, but his face told Gunray everything he needed to know: Maul had no ideals, simply hatred. The dark lord’s face was covered in red and black tattoos, and the bulges emanating from the top of his pitch black hood indicated that he was a horned Zabrak. To some, Maul looked like the devil of Hell spoken of in Corellian mythology, and that was enough to worry many of the timid Federation commanders.

“I told you never to interrupt my meditations,” Maul growled at Gunray, as well as Haako when the latter approached the generator. “This had better be worth my while.”

“It is, my lord,” Gunray assured in as calm a tone as he could muster. “The ambassadors sent by Chancellor Valorum are Jedi. They are here to force us into a settlement.”

“I am well aware of this,” Maul informed them with a sadistic grin that told the Neimoidians that he had known that the ambassadors would be Jedi for quite some time.

“You knew?” Haako demanded to know. “You didn’t tell us they would be Jedi. You’ve betrayed us!”

“You seem more worried about the Jedi than you are of me, puppet,” Maul laughed, the noise created from doing so sending terror into Haako’s heart. “I am amused.”

A subtle smile remained on Maul’s shrouded face. Gunray understood by that and by Maul’s comments to Haako that the dark lord was a man to be feared. Gunray glanced towards his chief associate with an angry gaze that pierced Haako’s eyes and caused him to back down from his tirade, eventually leaving the area so Gunray could continue the conversation without interruption. Haako, however, remained close enough to hear what Maul had to say, not wanting to give up his right to be at least somewhat included in the conversation. After everything he had done for Gunray and the Federation, he felt he deserved at least that much.

“What will you have me do?” Gunray asked the dark one in a consciously submissive tone.

“The Jedi have arrived earlier than I expected,” Maul informed him, much to Gunray’s surprise. “We must accelerate our plans. Begin landing your troops.”

“Is that legal?” the Viceroy asked.

“I will make it legal,” Maul rebuffed coldly and without hesitation. “Let the Jedi do what they need to do. They are crucial to our plans.”

As the hologram disappeared, Gunray breathed a sigh of relief. He had first come into contact with Maul two years earlier, and they became allies when Maul promised to make Gunray the sole leader of the Federation, as well as unlimited expansion for the Federation’s army. Gunray accepted the offer and one year later, during a summit on Eriadu, the Federation battle droids guarding the directorate opened fire on the members, all of whom were not Neimoidian. All of the directorate members were killed save for Gunray and Senator Dodd, both of whom were conveniently absent, and after the assassination Gunray filled the empty seats with his puppets. After the passing of the slavery laws, Maul once again rendered assistance in planning the blockade, which Gunray felt had so far been a tremendous success.

Although Maul had given his orders, the Viceroy had other ideas and motives. He would surely follow the order to begin landing troops on the surface, as that was the moment he had been waiting for since the invasion was planned, but he would not let the Jedi live. His concern was regaining the right to use slave labor in the Outer Rim, not the concerns of Maul and whatever his intentions were with the Jedi. Being the businessman he was, Gunray was worried about the corporate bottom line, and he would not simply sit by and watch as his own interests were threatened by Maul’s outside influence.



The docking bay began feeling colder than it previously had as Obi-Wan anxiously awaited the arrival of their escorts. Normally, he would have been somewhat more patience, but he was beginning to join Dooku in becoming frustrated with the wait. Obi-Wan wondered what the Viceroy was up to, and the Jedi Knight’s thoughts drifted towards the files they had been given on Gunray. The Viceroy, and the rest of the Federation hierarchy, may have been ruthless, but he was also extremely cowardly when it came to external threats. Had he somehow found out that Obi-Wan and Dooku were Jedi, Gunray could have perceived their arrival as a threat, possibly confirming the elusive feeling that Obi-Wan had felt before the ship docked.

“Is it in their nature to make us wait this long?” Obi-Wan asked somewhat worriedly.

“No,” Dooku told him, the feeling of worry being mutual between them. “I sense an unusual amount of fear and deception for something as trivial as a trade dispute. Fear in situations like this leads to rash decisions and bold action, and both of those would prove threatening to us.”

Obi-Wan could not help but agree with his former master, giving him the feeling that there was a much deeper plot in the works than just a simple blockade. He could not help but wonder what the Jedi Council would think when they heard of his suspicions. Many of the twelve members, save specifically for Qui-Gon Jinn and Silas Lasek, did not usually take criticisms of their initial investigations very well. It was the pitfall of the Jedi becoming comfortable and complacent following the extinction of the Lords of the Sith a thousand years earlier.

The Jedi Knight’s fears were seemingly confirmed when he felt another strange, haunting disturbance in the Force, its source very close by. He looked over to Dooku who had a somewhat distressed look on his face, although he could tell the Jedi Master was straining to hide it more effectively than Obi-Wan would have been able to. Within seconds, however, both of them knew what the other was thinking, and they quickly put their hands on their belts.

In the blink of an eye, an explosion rocked the area, sending the two Jedi to the ground skidding towards the wall. They immediately covered their face, protecting themselves from any debris that was flying their way, and after a few moments they looked up to see what was left of the Radiant VII burning in the docking bay. The Jedi leapt to their feet and pulled their lightsabers off of their belts. Obi-Wan had a standard hilt with an azure blade, and he had nearly mastered the defense combat form of Soresu. The hilt was primarily a silver shaft where the crystals that operated the device were placed, and black areas throughout the hilt gave it some character while the red activation button rested three quarters of the way up the shaft. At the bottom were six cubical spikes that Obi-Wan felt added additional character, symbolizing that he was peaceful and elegant yet unpredictable.

Dooku, on the other hand, used a far less common and nearly unused style of hilt for his emerald blade, which made him even better known throughout the Jedi Order. The curved hilt of old-style fencing had been used thousands of years earlier during the Order’s golden age, and it allowed for more precise movements and increased flexibility during combat. The style also proved to be a challenge to opponents, as the user of the blade would be able to strike at different angles than a normal hilt allowed.

Both Jedi looked around the bay as they heard a slight hissing noise and realized that the battle droids that had been nearby were noticeably absent from the area. At first, they could not ascertain where the noise was coming form, but as they whipped around they watched as gas began to slowly flood the room. The flow of gas increased as more poured out, and it was clear to them that they were about to be victims of a desperate assassination attempt. Obi-Wan knew that they had to survive to report such events to the Jedi High Council, as it would prove that there was more to the situation than had originally met the eye.

“I’d say this mission is past the negotiation stage,” Obi-Wan quipped under his breath.

As the two Jedi held their breaths, the yellow-green glass still flowing from the vents, a squad of B-1 battle droids formed up on the other side of the door. The heads of the B-1 line were designed specifically to look like the skull of a dead Neimoidian, and the intent of the Federation was to use the models to frighten an enemy. The droids were also color-coded based on their programmed skills and on their ranks.

The lead battle droid, designated Green One for the assassination of the Jedi, reacted as the holo-emitter it was asked to carry lit up and beeped. At first, the droid raised its blaster, thinking that it was one of the Jedi. It quickly realized, however, that the noise was coming form its own device, and as it activated the holo-emitter the shimmering blue holographic image of Nute Gunray appeared.

“They should be dead by now,” Gunray hissed. “Eliminate whatever is left of them.”

“Acknowledged,” Green One said in Neimoidian as the hologram faded away, after which he quickly turned to one of the other droids. “Check it out, Green Six. We’ll cover you.”

Green Six acknowledged the order and slowly began to make its way towards the door. As the droid approached, it activated its bio-scanners so that it would be prepared for if anything came from within. As the droid cautiously opened the door, the deadly yellow cloud flooded the hall, and the droids cocked their weapons as the smoke moved through the gray steel corridors. Suddenly a humming noise could be heard, and two blades flew out from the smoke, slicing down two droids before flying back into the cloud.

“It’s them!” Green One shouted. “Blast them!”

Within a nanosecond, the droids had raised their weapons and shots rang out into the room. Each shot was deflected back with a graceful and artful ease and skill as Obi-Wan and Dooku deflected the attacks. They emerged from the smoke and quickly began cutting down the droids in front of them. One by one, the droids fell to their Jedi assaults. Green One attempted to back away from the fight, as it knew that Gunray was watching its holo-transmissions through its sensors from the bridge of the ship. As it prepared to contact its master, however, Obi-Wan’s blue blade sliced through its neck, effectively destroying the droid and cutting off the bridge’s link to the small skirmish. Like an unstoppable force, the two Jedi had worked in unison, destroying each of the droids that had been sent to kill them.

The Jedi’s ears caught wind of a metallic sound rolling down the hall on their right side, and they realized that destroyer droids, more advanced than B-1s, were being sent after them. Deciding to flee, Dooku and Obi-Wan thrust their hands forward as if to grab hold of the air around them and made their way into a deep, albeit brief, concentration. Subtly twisting their wrists, they drew the powers of the Force into themselves like a waterfall flowing freely over the Organa Falls of Alderaan. When the power reached its peak, they manipulated the Force and the universe around them, unleashing its power as they burst into a superhuman run throughout the halls; the destroyer droids were left to try and ascertain the location of the Jedi Knights that they had lost.

At the end of the long hall, out of sight of the destroyers, the two Jedi slowed their run, not wanting to waste their energy for too long considering they would need a great deal of it to escape the ship alive. They rounded a corner, hoping to find a way off of the ship, but instead they were confronted by a much larger threat: dozens up dozens of B-1 and destroyer droids standing in front of them, with even more rolling and marching in from behind and from doorways to the side. They were effectively surrounded, but to make matters worse Gunray himself arrogantly strode through the line of droids to see the Jedi face to face. It was clear to them that when protected by well over one hundred droids, Gunray felt no reason to be afraid. He believed the Jedi had been backed into a corner, and that gave him the confidence he needed to confront them.

“Nice escorts,” Obi-Wan sarcastically remarked, partially out of a need to push the Viceroy’s button and partially out of a desire to showcase Gunray’s deceit. “You sure are the hospitable type, aren’t you?”

“I wanted to make sure that the negotiations were as comfortable for you as possible,” Gunray quipped as a retort, still not speaking in Galactic Basic due to his beliefs on the superiority of Neimoidian. “I trust you enjoyed your stay here.”

“It was splendid,” Dooku nodded with a grin. “We really must do this again sometime, but right now we must be going.”

Dooku turned to Obi-Wan and let out a faint cough to get his attention. Obi-Wan turned and saw Dooku playing with his beard, and it took him a moment to realize that the Jedi Master was speaking in code. Dooku was indicating a precise command by stroking his beard and tapping his eye lids, one that Obi-Wan had learned many years earlier during the Stark Hyperspace War. It would be a challenge to carry out, although they had been in worse situations before so he was confident that they would be successful once again.

“Kill them!” Gunray shouted, prompting the droids to raise their blasters.

“Not today,” Obi-Wan forcefully rebuffed before thrusting his lightsaber into the ground.

With Dooku following suit, the two Jedi spun in place and cut two swaths in the floor. The circular holes quickly gave way and they fell to the next level, tucking and rolling to avoid being injured. The battle droids on the floor above them opened fire through the hole, but as Obi-Wan and Dooku anxiously ran they were able to make it out of range. That, however, did not change their situations, as a small squadron of battle droids burst out of a nearby security center, immediately firing upon the ambassadors.

“It never ends...,” Dooku muttered with a sigh, his age beginning to catch up with him.

Getting back into the fray, Dooku joined Obi-Wan in cutting down the half dozen or so droids that emerged to meet them. Noticing the extensive security camera network being displayed in the security room on a dozen different screens, the two Jedi forced passed two other droids and cut down the remaining security droids stationed in the brightly lit security center. Deactivating their lightsabers, Obi-Wan quickly ran to the door and shut it, although he did not have the codes to lock it. In the interest of quick improvisation, Obi-Wan grabbed a blaster from one of the fallen droids and shot out the locking console, which would hold any droids on the other side out of the door out of the security center, at least for the time being.

“Can you find your way through their network?” Dooku asked as Obi-Wan was sitting down in front of the computers, not knowing much about Obi-Wan’s computer skills.

“I should be able to,” Obi-Wan told him. “What am I looking for?”

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Dooku said, which did not reassure Obi-Wan as he took that to mean that Dooku was also attempting to improvise.

Obi-Wan scanned numerous images throughout the ships, but it took him a few minutes to reach a video feed that caught their attention: thousands upon thousands of battle droids and dozens of hover tanks and troops transporters being loaded onto large troop transports to land on the planet. The Multi-Troop Transports especially caught their attention; also called MTTs, the transports were capable of carrying over one hundred battle droids each. A rack would extend from the face of the transport, allowing the droids to be deployed directly into combat if need be. The face of the transport was reinforced with case-hardened metal alloy studs and was designed to smash through enemy walls to reach its target.

“It’s an invasion army,” Obi-Wan gasped, having not anticipated such a course of action.

“This is an unusual move for the Trade Federation,” Dooku expressed, also having been caught off guard by the impending invasion. “We must warn Queen Arcadia and contact Chancellor Valorum.”

“Maybe if we ask nicely,” Obi-Wan suggested, “we could hitch a ride with our friends in that landing bay.”

“Agreed,” Dooku said, much to Obi-Wan’s surprise. “We’ll stow aboard separate ships and meet on the surface. Maintain communication silence until we reach the planet.”

“Understood,” Obi-Wan acknowledged.

“Now find the fastest way to get there,” Dooku told him, prompting Obi-Wan to immediately begin searching a map file that showed the layout of the vessel, although he noticed Obi-Wan looking up near the ceiling. “What is it?”

“There,” Obi-Wan said, pointing to a vent on the far side of the room. “That bay is only one floor below. We can use the ventilation system to get there undetected.”

Dooku let out a faint chuckle, happy to see that the simplicity of something such as a ventilation system would be able to help him avoid being shot at anymore. He made his way over to the vent and Obi-Wan shot up from his chair behind him, and the two started to force a few loose chairs over towards the vent. Dooku was the first to stand up, and Obi-Wan helped him up. Although Dooku would not admit it, he needed the boost due to his age, but he was too proud to acknowledge it.

“I’ll see you on the planet,” Dooku said as he began to crawl up to vent. “For our sakes, let us hope that we aren’t wrong about this course of action.”

“You were right about one thing, though,” Obi-Wan told Dooku with a smile. “The negotiations were short.”

“I’m sorry,” Dooku coldly replied, stopping dead in his tracks after Obi-Wan’s comment, “but were you trying to be funny?”

“I beg your pardon?” Obi-Wan asked, confused as to what Dooku was attempting to insinuate.

“Save your humor for someone else,” Dooku told him as he rolled his eyes and began crawling through the cramped, dusty shaft.

Obi-Wan was not far behind him, although he was sure to give Dooku enough room to where they were not bumping into one another. Obi-Wan felt somewhat defeated by the fact that his former master had brushed him off once again, but he knew that he had to concentrate on the mission and put his disappointment behind him. It was something he frequently had to do, and he always tried to look past Dooku’s remarks and try to see that his former master only wanted what was best for him. Unfortunately, however, Obi-Wan generally came to feel that such ideas were only wishful thinking.



Infuriated that he had underestimated the Jedi, Gunray returned to the bridge where he would await further word for them. He immediately began to pace the walkway once he arrived, but was interrupted when Maul’s dark presence silently but terrifying made its way onto the bridge. It did not take a genius to figure out that Maul, a tool and weapon of absolute hatred and corruption, was entirely displeased with him, and Gunray knew for a fact that death tended to fall upon all those who wronged the dark lord.

“Viceroy,” Maul hissed, causing Gunray to jump as he spoke, “I commanded you not to interfere with the Jedi.”

“Yes, my lord, yes you did,” Gunray told him, “but I thought - ”

“Who are you to think?” Maul growled, albeit calmly and somewhat artfully for someone who claimed to be a Dark Jedi Master. “Your sole purpose here is to do what I tell you, and for betraying me you will be punished immediately. I am temporarily in full command until you return...if you return.”

Maul raised his hands, and two of his guards immediately stepped towards them and grabbed the Viceroy forcefully by his shoulders, dragging him out of the bridge screaming and pleading in agony to be spared. Maul had specific punishment techniques that he used for certain levels of failure, and he was to be sure that Gunray received one of the more severe ones for nearly derailing a plan that had been in motion for years. Though he despised taking command, preferring to keep to his meditations and dark studies, Gunray’s stupidity would force him to acquiesce and assume control over the fleet.

“My lord,” a crew member shouted from the bit below Maul, “there’s an incoming transmission from the planet.”

The dark one nodded his head and the view screen before him came to life, revealing the face of Queen Sabé Arcadia of Utapau. The Human queen, who was twenty-five years old, was tall and slender, her regal elegance showing as she sat on her throne. Arcadia was dressed in a long, pinkish purple robe, one that was more casual than formal in terms of traditional royal clothing on the planet. Her long brown hair fell freely from her head to just below the shoulders, flowing down her beautiful face. Normally a woman who always had a smile on her face, the tense situation caused the queen to stare at Maul with a look of grim determination and resolve.

“Queen Arcadia,” Maul said as he bowed, faking respect for someone he would just as soon kill were it not for the specific plans for the invasion, “I’m honored that you’ve graced me with your presence. It is a great pleasure.”

“You will not be so pleased when you hear what I have to say, Lord Maul,” Arcadia said, brushing him off immediately to let him know what her position on the situation was. “Your blockade of our planet has ended.”

“I was not made aware of such a failure,” Maul said in jest, knowing where she was going with her comments. “If I look behind me, I am certain that I will still see dozens of Federation vessels in position around your planet.”

“I have been given word that the Senate will be voting on the blockade in a matter of days,” Arcadia informed him, much to his amusement.

“And you know the outcome already?” Maul asked in a quip. “With foresight like yours, it’s a wonder why the Republic even bothers to hold votes.”

“Enough of this pretense!” Arcadia shouted, although she quickly retreated and regained her composure. “I am aware that the Chancellor’s ambassadors are with you now, and that you’ve been commanded to reach a settlement.”

“I know nothing of any Jedi,” Maul told her, noticing her surprised reaction at his consciously made slip of the tongue. “You must be mistaken.”

“We’ll see,” Arcadia said with certain finality, although still processing why he would show his hand by mentioning the Jedi, “but the Federation has gone too far this time.”

The queen ended the transmission from her end, and as the picture faded away, Maul turned from the screen with a grin. However, he could tell that the crew did not share in his amusement. Once more emboldened by what he perceived to be a betrayal on Maul’s fault, Haako stormed towards him, his chest puffed up and his confidence having risen.

“You told her that the Jedi were here!” Haako shouted. “Now she knows that you were lying about the ambassadors.”

“I am well aware of the repercussions of my choice of words, puppet,” Maul informed him, “but it was a purposely made slip-of-the-tongue.”

“But - ”

“Trust me, Rune Haako,” Maul said, his yellow-red eyes piercing the Neimoidians as Maul leaned in closer, “everything is proceeding exactly as planned.”

With the queen’s suspicion level raised, Maul assumed that they would neglect monitoring what was happening in orbit and begin deliberating over their next course of action. This prepared Maul to give the Federation exactly what they wanted: a surprise invasion of Utapau. First, the Federation would have to ensure that all communication on the planet was disrupted. Only then would the helpless world be cut off from the Republic, and only then would the planet be Maul’s for the taking. It would be a glorious day indeed.

 

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Lady_Misty  588 posts
Registered: Mar '07
48402_Angel (508091)
Date Posted: 7/3 5:30pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining)
hugs applause

Very good! Very Good!

I especially liked the begining.

I'm sorry that I can't say more, a thunder storm has arrived.

I look forward to the next update.

 

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Proud big sister to BYU-I student, go Shelly!
I sense a disturbance in the Frost. -Get Fuzzy
'King of the funeral!' Hodgins
Froggy whent a'courting. A princess of Landover
Cad Bane is on my bad side; he destroyed Todo for no good reason! *sob*
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jedimasterbac  6255 posts
Title: CT and Fan Design Manager
 Registered: Jun '04
24180_Obi-Wan Art
Date Posted: 7/5 10:03am Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining, repost) - Date Edited: 7/5 10:04am (1 edits total) Edited By: jedimasterbac
Chapter Two
INVASION

Queen Arcadia sat silently on her throne, reflecting on what Maul had told her only minutes earlier. Ever since the blockade began she had feared that war was inevitable, and now that fear was coming to pass. This was all despite every bone in her body telling her that there was no such thing as an inevitable war. Perhaps there wasn’t. But if it was true that war was not inevitable, yet war was coming to Utapau, then only one conclusion could be drawn - she had failed her people.

Her father, Veruna, had told her when she was still a small, optimistic girl that failure was a highway to success, perhaps even more than actual success was. He told her that failure would allow her to avoid such a thing happening again, to allow her to earnestly seek truth and further success.

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Her failure only served to make her feel even worse about herself, especially now. Though Utapau was a peaceful and virtually pacifist society, more and more elements in her government were encouraging their planet into a war of defense. Arcadia herself despised war. To the twenty-five year old queen, war was counter-productive and futile. She felt that, were she given the credits the Republic had spent on its wars in its twenty-five thousand year existence, she could furnish every sentient man, woman, and child with necessities fit for a king.

Even though such a moral outrage angered the queen, she knew it wasn’t the worst of it. The shallow and fraudulent state of fake patriotism supported by the government and carried by the most ignorant of people was the ugliest of things. That wasn’t to say that patriotism itself was bad; it was those who would wave a flag as if it was true courage, deny their government’s wrongdoings and remain ignorant to the reality of the galaxy that disgusted her.

Freedom did not just come through the sword; every war had significant drawbacks to freedom, with rights being chipped away and squandered by the very people sworn to protect them. War in the interest of freedom was hypocrisy, and Arcadia wanted nothing of it. After all, it made no difference to the dead or the people whose rights were stripped away if war was fought for totalitarianism or liberty. In the end, the rights were still gone and the people were still dead.

Utapau itself was the capital planet of the Chommell sector - and it was far too peaceful for war. The planet was a special natural wonder, a planet without a molten core, an enigma to even the most talented of scientists. Its vast plains, thick forests, pristine oceans, and immense systems of flowing waterfalls spoke of an unspoiled purity, one she did not want corrupted. Nor did she their culture.

The Humans of the planet were renowned for their enlightened and artistic lifestyles and for their aristocratic class system of the monarchy, the nobles, and the common class. Though other planets had similar systems, Utapau lacked a lower class. Intellectual maturity rather than biological age governed whether one was capable of leadership, a policy that came about when monarchs were forced to take the throne in their teenaged years.

Humans weren’t the only inhabitants of Utapau, however. Beneath the Aquarian Ocean, north of the royal palace, lay the seat of the warrior-like Gungan Empire. The Humans of Utapau rarely had contact with or spoke to the Gungan people due to disagreements going back hundreds of years, despite the fact that the Gungans were believed to be the original species of the planet.

Arcadia herself was the daughter of the late King Veruna Arcadia, who was assassinated for his highly controversial policies. Many constantly reminded Arcadia of her father’s failures, but she did not like to talk nor think about them. She concerned herself with serving the people, not her or her late father’s interests. The people continued to trust her even after these two years, as far as she knew, and she was determined not to let them down. She was determined not to repeat the mistakes of her father.

The House of Arcadia had ruled Utapau for centuries. Originally a house of warriors that had fought against the Gungan Empire centuries earlier, they eventually became politicians. After filling the void left by an heirless monarch, the Arcadias ruled Utapau from then on, generally holding the respect of the people. There were, however, exceptions. Veruna was the most prominent member of the family to squander that respect after Utapau became a player in the interstellar plasma energy market. When high grade plasma veins were discovered below the streets of the capital city of Ogana, Veruna and Senator Malus Palpatine decided to build a plasma mining and refining center in the heart of the city.

Because Utapau was not fond of trade, however, they allowed the Trade Federation to purchase the plasma only at a fixed cost. But the Federation sold Utapau short by selling it to others at a marked-up price, taking advantage of Utapau’s lack of experience in the interstellar market. Utapau demanded to be freed from the contract, and though Veruna agreed, he feared a military response. To prepare for this, Veruna expanded the Space Fighter Corp and founded new starfighter squadrons to defend the planet. These moves, however, were highly unpopular with the people as it was perceived as an attempt to suppress dissent and expand the size of the planetary security forces, creating a police state. In retaliation, Veruna was assassinated.

Arcadia then took the throne, beginning immediately to override some of her father’s actions by reducing the size of the military. She did, however, despite the unpopularity of the move, keep one of the star fighter squadrons for defense. For this, she received threats, prompting her to create a legion of handmaidens and body doubles trained in defense. Fortunately, the threats subsided and Utapau returned to his peaceful state - before the blockade.

The blockade worried her. It worried or more than anything ever had before. When she rose to power, Arcadia had promised not to allow violent conflicts, but now she knew, she knew she would have to break it. And it was entirely her fault. She had worked with Palpatine to draft the law banning the use of slaves in the Outer Rim; undoubtedly this was why the Federation chose Utapau to blockade. While she did not regret freeing thousands of slaves, she could not help but wonder if Utapau would not have been targeted had she not become involved in the affairs of the Galactic Senate...

“Your majesty?” came a calm, soothing voice that jolted the queen from her reminiscing into the present. “Senator Palpatine has asked you a question.”

The queen smiled sheepishly at Governor Sio Bibble, leader of the capital city of Ogana, too bashful to offer up an apology. Instead, she simply nodded her head, waiting for Palpatine. The senator offered up his own comforting smile at her over the holo-emitter as he continued.

Arcadia considered herself lucky not to have to work with a corrupt senator, a common trend among most members of the Senate. Palpatine was her mentor, someone who was always there, someone who dedicated himself to helping her through the rough parts of her rule and aiding her with her more difficult decisions.

“As I was saying,” Palpatine continued, returning to his more serious expression, “ how could what Maul said be true? I have assurances from Chancellor Valorum that his ambassadors did arrive. It must be the...get...gotiate...bassadors...”

Palpatine’s blue holographic form sputtered and faded away, though for a moment it seemed the transmission would restore itself, but to no avail, finally disappearing altogether. Arcadia hid the worry that filled her mind, though it was evident on the faces of Governor Bibble and her other advisors. The queen licked her lips as she prepared to speak, hoping what she thought wasn’t trust.

“What happened?” she asked, masking the dread in her voice with a stoic air. Captain Panaka, however, was already checking the communication sensor. The dark-skinned, heavily armed man, the queen’s head of security, worked deftly to uncover what had happened.

“Check the communications array,” Panaka signaled to one of the guards at the door, who saluted and left to carry out orders.

“A malfunction?” the Governor Bibble inquired with a suspicious countenance that told Arcadia that he, too, shared in her worry.

“Finished a diagnostic this morning,” Panaka said with all the urgency of a dead rat as he shook his head, checking some more things on a series of witches and wires hidden in one of the throne room’s pillars. “Probably jammed.”

“A communications disruption can only mean one thing,” Bibble reminded them. “Invasion.”

Arcadia already had her hand to her head as her thoughts raced. She had already known this was true, but hearing her governor confirm it... It made her almost faint. A Federation invasion had the potential to destroy the peaceful culture of Utapau. The task would be so easy for the battle droid army. Utapau’s lack of proper military forces, she knew, were insufficient to war against the droid army - an army that would soon be marching to victory. But she would not lose hope. She couldn’t. Hope that Utapau would be victorious, and more hope that the Federation would cease their invasion. She prayed, begged, that the attack would cease.

“I know we are all expecting an attack,” Arcadia told the assembled delegation, keeping her voice steady and calm, “but I still can’t believe that even the Federation would go this far.”

“The Senate will revoke their trade franchise altogether,” Bibble reminded them, as if trying to make himself believe it. “They would not even need slaves because they would lose their right to even exist! If we remind them of this, we may yet be able to rely on negotiation.”

“Negotiation.” Panaka repeated in monotone, shutting the control panel and checking his blaster, which was habitual for him even outside of times of need. “Negotiation...without communication.”

Arcadia sat resolute, forcing herself to weed through all of the possible alternatives, consequences and outcomes in her head. She did not like or approve of any of them, but she particularly loathed the idea of having to wage a war, even if it was one of defense. Were Utapau truly threatened, she would protect her people. She knew when she took the throne that there were things she could not do, but that there were things she could force herself to do...if ever she had to. Until that time came, though, she would only prepare for defense through nonviolent means. Finally, with that in mind, she was ready to give her verdict.

“I will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war...”



It was twilight. The forested coasts of the Aquarian Ocean, hundreds of kilometers from any city, were calm, as they always were. Then the waves began to ripple as three Federation landing crafts dropped from the sky, breaking through the clouds, looking for an empty place to land. Starfighters buzzed through the sky, searching for anyone that might have witnessed their arrival. The Federation had a great deal at stake, so they could not afford being spied on. The element of surprise was crucial.

A C-9979 landing craft wobbled. The elephantine ship carrying its troops slowed, trying to regain its trajectory as a blue beam of light sliced through its underbelly and a waterfall of droids plopped into the water. The craft shook, finally veering off and gaining speed as it plunged to the earth. Before it did so, however, a figure dived into the lake beneath. The Jedi Knight remained below the surface as he swam tirelessly toward shore, hoping to avoid being spotted by any droid patrols - and protect himself. The water turned orange for a moment as the transport exploded on impact with the ground.

Out of breath, Obi-Wan surfaced, gasping in a breath of air before surveying what his little maneuver had accomplished. He grinned in satisfaction before jumping on a nearby bank - then the smile was wiped from his face. The transports just kept on coming, endlessly, so that the loss of the one was as a drop in the bucket. Battle droids rode back and forth across the plains and woods on STAPs, looking for any sign of a possible assailant. To Obi-Wan’s chagrin it dawned on him that the droids would be programmed with enough brain power to inform them that the destroyed landing craft was not a random malfunction. Mumbling at himself for not thinking of that sooner, Obi-Wan turned away from the coast and darted into the forest.



Beside a nearby landing craft, the droid commander known as OOM-9 stood atop an Armored Assault Tank, or AAT, and looked out over the vast army of transports soaring across the ocean and forests. Though OOM-9’s programming did not allow for any form of emotion, the droid knew that it would have felt pleasure at the sight of the invasion force preparing to head towards its first targets. The droid considered how long it would take to accomplish their initial objections before completing their primary goal of capturing Queen Arcadia in Ogana, but OOM-9 became distracted by the diminutive holographic image of Lord Maul that appeared on his tank’s holo-emitter.

“Yes, Lord Maul?” the yellow and tan droid commander asked the figure, who even over a tiny hologram looked as imposing as he did in person.

“What is the status of your invasion, Commander?” Maul asked.

“My patrols are prepared to head to New Centrif to disable the last communications transmitter,” the commander told him. “We will move through Harte Secur and Spinnaker before taking Ogana.”

“Excellent. And OOM-9, the Jedi ambassadors are no longer aboard this ship,” Maul told the commander, his voice harsh yet calm, creating a paradox in the droid’s processor. “If you come in contact with them, your orders are to let them continue on their way.”

“Yes sir,” OOM-9 immediately responded, not understanding why Maul would want two Jedi assassins to continue through a restricted military zone towards what was likely Ogana. Nevertheless, the droid was programmed to follow orders, despite its ignorance as to the reasoning behind the order.



Kilometers away from the droid commander, Dooku could barely catch his breath. He ran as fast as he could through the forest, wheezing with each step. Every bone and muscle in his body ached, an agonizing pain that pierced his legs as he frantically tried to run faster. A series of monstrous troop transports emerged from the mist behind him, knocking down trees and slaughtering countless animals as they lumbered through the forest.

Dooku was one of the oldest Human Jedi Masters in the Order, and he had only been sent on the mission to Utapau because of his skills in negotiation. Had he known that he would be making an escape attempt like this, Dooku likely would not have agreed to make the journey; it had been some time since he used his combat skills in actual action. Unlike him, however, Dooku knew that Obi-Wan was likely having no trouble making his way through the area, considering he was forty years younger than his former master. Dooku envied the Jedi Knight for nearly nothing, but being in the physical prime of life was an exception.

Dooku, who had been born as the Count of Serenno, had known Obi-Wan for many years. When Obi-Wan first became Dooku’s apprentice, Dooku felt that the boy was reckless and arrogant, more so than most students. The Jedi Master tried to transfer his apprentice to another master multiple times during the early years of their training, but each time it was rejected. He had no choice but to train Obi-Wan to the best of his abilities, but Obi-Wan always seemed to resist his master’s teachings.

Obi-Wan had once told Dooku that he considered their mutual friend, Qui-Gon Jinn, to be more of a mentor than Dooku. It did not bother the Jedi Master at first, until he found out that Qui-Gon was teaching Obi-Wan different philosophies than Dooku’s own, but he refrained from saying anything in hopes of spending less time with the boy. Even with Qui-Gon’s training, Dooku did not believe that Obi-Wan would pass his trials and become a Jedi Knight due to the boy’s constant arrogance. Despite his reservations, however, the Jedi Council had knighted Obi-Wan.

Just then Dooku noticed, a few meters in front of him, a young creature squatting down on the ground. The creature was an Otolla Gungan with a long bill and flaring nostrils, dressed in an ornate piece of light armor and cloth littered with broken jewels. The Gungan held a clam that he had retrieved from a nearby pond, and as he began to eat it his fin-like ears perked up. He suddenly noticed the troop transports, and Dooku, headed straight for him, nearly leaping into the air in bewilderment.

Although momentarily frightened, a slight grin swept across the Gungan’s face and his eyes opened wide. Leaping into action just as the machines were about to overrun the aging Jedi, the Gungan dove onto Dooku and held him to the ground while the transports passed over them. The roar of the crafts and the heat of their engines was intense on their ears and skin, but after a few moments the Gungan looked up to find that the transports were continuing on their way through the trees.

“Damn,” the creature said in his native tongue as he stood back up, having never seen anything like the MTTs before.

Looking down at the aching Jedi Master, the Gungan reached out his hand to help him up, but Dooku swatted it away. The creature did not know why Dooku rejected the offer to help after the Gungan had saved his life, but either way the creature knew that what the Gungan gods required of the occurrence. He would not let his first opportunity for freedom in two years pass him by after having sacrificed so much.

Before the Gungan could even speak, Dooku slowly stood up once again and watched as the war machines made their way into the distance. The Jedi Master began to walk again, not even so much as acknowledging the Gungan who had saved him. Although such emotions were frowned upon by the Jedi Order, it frustrated Dooku that some frog creature had to save him when he should have been able to run from the transports himself. He would never admit it, being too proud to admit that he had been saved by what struck him as a lower life form.

“Hey, wait a minute!” the Gungan shouted, this time in the common language of Galactic Basic with what seemed to be a distinctive Coruscanti accent. The Gungan was startled by how fast Dooku whipped around to look at him, and as the Gungan began to speak Dooku grabbed him by the cloth on his clothes and slammed him up against a tree.

“You almost got us killed!” the Jedi Master barked. “Are you brainless?”

The Gungan had little tolerance for someone who showed such disrespect, he never had. He grabbed Dooku by the wrists and pushed him back into the mud, becoming angry that he had ever decided to help such a stubborn person. Then, adding insult to injury, the man dared to question his intelligence as if he was some tadpole that had just crawled out of the pond. In fact, it was the Jedi Master who was unintelligently trying to outrun a war machine instead of simply ducking to the ground.

“I’m talking to you,” the Gungan said as Dooku stood back up and brushed himself off, “so clearly I’m not.”

“The ability to speak does not make you intelligent,” Dooku scowled. “Now get out of here.”

“Who do you think you are?” the Gungan asked, peeved that the Jedi Master was continuing with his tirade. “I’m not some lower life form you can kick around. Besides, I saved your life. You owe me a life debt.”

“You saved my life?” Dooku asked with a laugh that bellowed out of his lungs in a mocking tone that would have stung even the hardest of people, despite the fact that he knew the Gungan had truly saved his life.

“I pulled you away from those steel beasts,” the Gungan reminded him. “You would have been killed. The gods demand that your life belongs to me now.”

Before Dooku could so much as argue the existence of whatever mythical gods the creature believed in, which he fully intended to do, two STAP bikes emerged from the mist, flanking Obi-Wan as he ran furiously through puddles of mud and water to escape them. Dooku immediately noticed that Obi-Wan had his lightsaber in his hand but was not using it. He rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what Obi-Wan had done. As a series of blaster bolts rained towards him and the Gungan, Dooku pushed the creature into the mud and pulled out his own emerald blade, deflecting the enemy fire back to the droids. The two STAPs were quickly startled by the incoming fire and did not have time to maneuver before their bikes exploded form the blaster impacts.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan said after he stopped running, place his hands on his knees while panting which Dooku considered to be poetic justice, “the water fried my weapon.”

“You forgot to turn off the power again,” Dooku told him. “It won’t take long to recharge, but you can’t keep making these careless mistakes. You’re a Jedi Knight now, not a Padawan.”

“Well...,” the Gungan sighed before allowing Obi-Wan or Dooku speak, the creature letting out his frustrated regret as he realized he had lost the chance to gain favor with his people. “I suppose you’ve saved my life now. Our life debt has been settled...”

“Who’s this?” Obi-Wan asked, also believing the Gungan to be a lesser life form, although he quickly sensed that this was not the case when he recognized him to be a Gungan.

“A local,” Dooku said coldly, “now let’s get out of here before anymore droids show up.”

“Wait,” the Gungan said before they could get on their way, realizing that he hadn’t yet lost his opportunity to reclaim his honor and curry favor with the other Gungans. “If you’re looking for refuge, then the safest place would be Otoh Gunga in the Aquarian Ocean. It’s where I grew up.”

“A city?” Dooku asked, suddenly intrigued by what the Gungan had to offer them.

“Could you take us there?” Obi-Wan asked, although somewhat hesitantly as he had no idea what they would be walking into.

“It’s the least he could do after what he just put me through,” Dooku chuckled, finding himself to be funny despite Obi-Wan and the Gungan disagreeing entirely.

Obi-Wan gave Dooku a subtle hand gesture as a way to tell the Jedi Master to back off. Obi-Wan knew that Dooku became easily irritated by those he looked down upon, and it was clear to the Jedi Knight that Dooku looked down upon the Gungan. While the creature did strike Obi-Wan as odd, in both looks and in the regal mannerisms of which he walked and talked, he recognized that the Gungan had something to offer them and that it was not a coincidence that they found one another. The Force rarely made things happen by accident.

“On second thought, no,” the Gungan said with a grin that puzzled the Jedi, although the creature knew full well that he would be able to get what he wanted from them because of their obvious need to find a safe place to hide. “I’ve been banished, so I can’t take you there...unless, of course, you’d be willing to grant me a small favor.”

Before any of them could respond, they all jolted as they heard a rumbling in the distance that sounded to be growing louder and closer. They looked upwards and could see the tops of tress falling and crashing to the ground as the war machines continued to plow their way through the forests. Overhead flew dozens of droid star fighters headed towards the north, presumably on their way to Ogana. Obi-Wan and Dooku both turned to each other and shared the mutual astonishment of seeing so many forces moving through. It was clear to them that the Federation was not simply interested in attacking the planet, but rather occupying it indefinitely. The Jedi would need a safe refuge in order to survive.

“Do you hear that?” Obi-Wan asked the Gungan, moving closer to get in the creature’s face.

“Unfortunately,” the Gungan replied, refusing to back away as Obi-Wan approached.

“That is the sound of a thousand terrible things headed this way,” Obi-Wan told him, exaggerating in order to make his point. “If they find us, they will kill us. Is that what you want?”

The Gungan was nearly offended by what he perceived to be Obi-Wan’s suggestion that he wanted them dead, although he quickly realized that the Jedi Knight was only trying to prove a point. It was, of course, a moot point. The Gungan could easily hide in the forests from the Federation forces for as long as he needed. He had spent two years adapting to and becoming familiar with the terrain. The Jedi, on the other hand, were newcomers. They had no idea how to hide or adapt to the area. They would be killed within days, if not hours.

“Your point is well seen,” the Gungan admitted, albeit with a refusal to grant them what they wanted unless they were to grant them what he wanted, “but you need to do me this favor.”

“What favor is that?” the frustrated elder Jedi Master grunted, effectively humoring the Gungan as Dooku had no real interest in knowing that the creature wanted.

“As I said a moment ago,” the Gungan began, “I was banished from my home. I need you to help me gain favor with my people so I can return without punishment. It’s a relatively simple task.”

The creature had planned to return home with Dooku to show that he had saved Dooku’s life. It might have given him enough of an argument for his return to Gungan society, but Dooku’s actions negated that. The Gungan didn’t want to demand a favor out of them, but he had no choice. Two years was too long to sit around in the forests, especially considering who he had once been within his home. He was more than happy to help the Jedi, but he couldn’t avoid asking for their help in return.

Unsure how they were going to proceed, the two Jedi locked their eyes together, having a silent conversation without verbalizing anything or even using the Force. They both knew exactly what the other was thinking; Obi-Wan was willing to help, Dooku was ready to make his own way to safety without the Gungan. Dooku was about ready to say no, much to Obi-Wan’s disappointment, but the sound of more tanks rolling towards them distracted Dooku, giving Obi-Wan the chance to speak first.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan said, prompting Dooku to snap his neck around and meet Obi-Wan with a piercing gaze that expressed his absolute disdain for Obi-Wan’s actions. “We’ll do whatever we can.”

Oh thank the gods, the Gungan told himself as Obi-Wan agreed. It was a small mercy, to be sure, but it would make a lot of difference. Nothing, at least not right now, felt more fulfilling than the creature’s sense of gratitude, nor did the idea that he would be able to make a difference for his people again. The inward satisfaction it provided would give him added strength, something he would need when he faced judgment from his people.

“Before we leave,” Obi-Wan said, after the creature began to walk towards a clearing in the woods, the Jedi’s words prompting the Gungan to stop walking, “what’s your name?”

“Jar Binks,” the creature said with a sense of righteousness and entitlement, “Crowned Prince of the Gungan Empire.”



Arruinda, mayor of New Centrif, wiped a cold towel across her face, hoping that she could calm the anxieties that were about ready to make her convulse in panic. Beads of sweat poured down her face, her heart racing like a tusk cat on the planet’s western plains. Fifteen excruciatingly long minutes had passed since she received the word that part of the droid army was advancing towards her city. The mayor, a sixty year old woman of plain and wrinkling features and mayor for two decades, knew that there was not an adequate defense force to protect the city, and that the Federation’s goal was to cripple one of the last remaining sources of planetary communication.

In a cruel twist of fate, her people had been frantically trying to make contact with the capital city, which she was sure the Federation wanted to prevent; this could only have been more true once they found out the droid army was advancing. Their efforts to communicate with Ogana increased a thousand fold once the droids approached, but the communications blackout was causing them to have difficulty in doing so.

The elderly woman sighed, letting out all of her pent up frustration at her certain death as she approached the window of her seventh-story office to overlook the streets. The town square below her bustled with frantic activity from her dedicated security forces. They knew the odds of survival as well as she did. Even some armed citizens approached the square, a source of pride for the mayor in such a difficult time. Even so, the Federation army that was approaching numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands. New Centrif was in the dozens. Not even the Jedi’s Force could save them from that.

With a steady precision that would worry even the steadfast of commanders, the droid army arrived at the locked durasteel gate of the city. It was in the center of the wall that surrounded the settlement, though the edifice would do them little good.



OOM-9, atop his AAT, led the force. With the press of a button on a control panel, Maul’s holographic image shimmered to life in front of the droid. Maul did little to hide his eagerness at an update, having invested so much time leading up to this moment.

“Lord Maul,” OOM-9’s cold robotic voice said, “we have arrived at New Centrif.”

“Destroy the communication capability of that settlement,” Maul demanded, his tone reflecting his great satisfaction at what was being accomplished. “These people must not get word back to the government.”

“Right away, Lord Maul,” OOM-9 replied as the hologram fizzled away.

“Open fire!”



From her secure office, Arruinada watched in horror as the droid tanks began to bombard the fortified gate at the entrance to her city. Within moments, the gate exploded in all directions, but the droids remained stationary and quiet. On the ground, Colonel Sotab Jacoma of the Utapau Security Forces stood with his men in confusion. His only thoughts were on the stationary droids, wondering why they were not moving.

But then they started their march. Jacoma’s olive skin was dripping with sweat when the droids were still stationary, feeling that something wasn’t right, but it was once they were on the move that he truly became frightened. Their march, their robotic clinging and clanging, their emotionless features; for droids with such a simple purpose, the horror that they inflicted was most complicated.

Jacoma had seen simulations of battles, but it was nothing like this. He told himself that nothing can truly prepare someone for the horrors of the dead and the dying. Nothing can truly make someone understand just how senseless and cruel life can be, and how easily life could be taken away.

School children playing war games with their friends would talk of the glorious days of the Mandalorian Wars, the Great Territorial War, the New Sith Wars and all the wars in between. Either things had changed since then, or those children were being fed lies. Holo-dramas about ancient wars showed the honorable soldiers rushing into combat against the evil Sith, dispersing their ranks to make sure that no enemy was left alive. The men ran through the battle fields of distant worlds; soldiers helped their fallen comrades and tended to the wounded. They ran to and fro across numerous worlds, defending freedom and liberty.

Utapau was nothing like that. Men were not gallantly running across the battle field. Instead, the droid armies of the Federation pounded their metal heels into the lush green grass, corrupting the innocence of the world. The droids marched side by sound in a cold, calculated formation, so precise that only the computers controlling them could allow for such a feat.

Finally, Jacoma couldn’t wait anymore. Forcing his men to watch the advance was psychological torture. Even he couldn’t bear it. Clutching his blaster, he said a prayer and thought of his wife and infant daughter. He knew, as did everyone, that he would never see the two most precious things in his life ever again. But for Utapau, some sacrifices were worth it. For the freedom of his people, there were things worth dying for. Raising his blaster into the air, which caught the attention of all his men, Jacoma was ready to do just that.

“For the queen!” the colonel’s voice roared as his troops surged forward towards their impending demise.

The band of men, barely enough to fill a platoon in a fully sized army, began advancing. The first few men, shouting with their captain as he sounded the battle cry, charged forward, diving toward any cover they could find. A building to one side, a mass of crates to another, they flew behind anything they could as the first wave of red lances sizzled towards them. The captain himself crouched behind a statue in the midst of his men, keeping his head down as the droids launched their initial barrage. The metal soldiers slowly advanced with a rhythmic clicking of their joints, the thudding of their metallic feet rumbling on the ground.

Jacoma breathed deeply as the first lasers began to thud and sputter about him. Many hit the statue he was crouching behind, its arm cleanly shot off and its stony face decimated. He felt the heat of the blasts on the back of his neck as beads of his own sweat dripped down his face. He slowly peered upwards toward the rest of his men behind him and saw at least five collapse into screaming, bloody heaps of singed flesh and burnt bone. They had been caught in the open by the attackers, and the smell of flesh cooking so close to him made the captain gag. Taking a deep breath of courage, he crouched upwards and spun around the side of his statue, loosing as many shots from his weapon as his trigger finger could muster. As he leaned out, though, the smoke of battle and fumes of lasers stung his eyes. Firing blindly, he kept a steady wave of green lances zooming towards the enemy. As the first billow of smoke that hit him cleared, he began to open his eyes wider, crouching a little more into his cover while losing fewer aimed shots at the oncoming metal onslaught.

Fires burned on both sides of the road, flickering left and right about the corpses that littered the way. Of the fifteen or so men who had charged ahead of him, Jacoma could only see three left alive, and only one of those was still in a pose remotely similar to standing. The man was bent over, cradling one arm close to him, using his other to operate a pistol over the top of a crate he was huddle behind. His uniform was bloody, his face contorted in pain. The two other men that made up the living three were badly wounded. In fact, the captain could only tell they were alive by the way they screamed in pain, their chests shaking. One had only two red stumps where his legs had once been, and he screamed in shock as blood trickled from where he lay. Within a couple of seconds he had passed out, either from shock or blood loss. The third was close to death too, a large metal fixture piercing his chest. His face was contorted in a silent scream, coughing up blood as he tried to call out, but whether it was for help or death could not be made certain. The others were all dead, what was left of them barely recognizable as Human. Pieces of them were strewn across what had once been the grand main road of New Centrif.

Still looking up, Jacoma heard a clank as a metal ball with a small red light bounced on the ground a few feet from the man with the pistol. Jacoma was able to see his eyes widen in shock, before the captain turned away as the grenade exploded. The explosion engulfed the poor soldier, and the wash of heat radiation washed over the captain as he dove backwards. He caught a glimpse of the statue toppling over as he moved, and as he hit the floor he could feel blisters stinging the side of his face that had been caught in the blast.
Realizing he was out in the open now, Jacoma tried to push himself to his feet. He gingerly went to lean on his forearms, before realizing that the statue had toppled over onto his legs. He was trapped. Propping himself up as best he could, he cast a glance with his good eye to what he thought would be the remaining men fighting behind him, only to find the same carnage as before. Just as great a number of corpses and body parts littered the street that led to the mayoral offices. This time, though, he could see only a handful of survivors cradling horrific injuries, and some who were still running from the droids. It seemed the droids had at least put the suffering out of their misery. All except Jacoma himself.

With what little energy he had left, he twisted around to see the droids approaching, Their march was close now, almost deafening. As his gaze rested upon them, he saw them merely feet away. It seemed they either had not noticed him or, seeing him trapped and defenseless, had seen no need to shoot him from afar. As the first row reached him, a droid that bore a slightly different color scheme to the rest, which the captain guessed counted as a rank insignia, stopped, the other rows marching on towards the building. Jacoma would have guessed that this was a lieutenant or captain, having seen the commander direct the battle from its tank behind the marching death bringers.

The droid looked down upon him, its black visual receptors, emotionless, meeting Jacoma’s pained open eye. Without so much as a grunt or titter, the droid angled its rifle down towards the captain. Before it fired, though, Jacoma brought his left arm, which had been by his side, up to reveal a metal sphere nestling in the palm of his hand. He clicked a button with his thumb and a red light began flashing on the top. Three. With what Jacoma could only link to Human alarm, the droid leveled its rifle and shrugged back instantly. Two. Jacoma smiled weakly. One. The grenade exploded, and Jacoma was free of the metal beast that now had his home world firmly clamped between its jaws.

Far above the fray, Arruinada’s jaw dropped as she watched her friends and townsfolk become engulfed in the explosion. The droids cut through the few defenders that were left like they were nothing, fixated on reaching the communications array just past the town square. The large satellite dish would likely be destroyed within minutes, and they still didn’t have a single through to Ogana. With precious little time, the mayor demanded results.

“Do you have a signal yet?” Arruinada asked, forgoing formality and choosing not to hide the terror that rolled off of her tongue.

“A faint one,” one of her technicians replied.

“That’s better than no signal at all,” she told him. “Start sending the signal to Ogana now.”

The technician nodded and began working the computer behind them to prepare the transmission. Arruinada wouldn’t be able to speak directly to the government, but she would be able to send them a message to let them know what was happening, provided the transmission array wasn’t knocked out sooner. It was their only chance to let Queen Arcadia know that the planet was being invaded, so the mayor felt that she had a grave responsibility and could not afford to fail.

“Queen Arcadia,” Arruinada began once the technician gave her the all clear, “this is Mayor Arruinada of New Centrif. As we speak, our city is being invaded by the droid armies of the Trade Federation. They are attempting to destroy our communications array to block out all planetary communication. We do not have the man power to - ”

Just then her sentence was broken as the door to the room burst into pieces, and technician after technician was gunned down by the droid forces that had managed to make their way into the office. Arruinada dove behind her desk and grabbed a gun from one of the drawers, firing back in a desperate attempt to stay alive.

The defense was futile.

 

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jedimasterbac  6255 posts
Title: CT and Fan Design Manager
 Registered: Jun '04
24180_Obi-Wan Art
Date Posted: 7/5 12:07pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining, repost)
Chapter Three
OTOH GUNGA

Humans were interesting creatures. They would go through time worrying away their lives while fearing the future, discontent with the present and unable to take the idea of dying. But as Arcadia’s father used to tell her, things like worry, doubt, and fear were the enemies that would slowly claw away at the Human soul and bring even the strongest of people down to the ground and turn them into dust before they finally died from what they had feared for so long.

The queen could feel herself turning into dust.

Panaka had insisted that she stay in her throne room for protection. She had nothing to do but sit in fear or watch out the enormous panoramic window in horror as the Federation tanks rolled through her streets. It was an outrage, but she could do nothing about it. Droids stomped on the grounds her family had fought to defend for centuries, raping the once-noble Utapau existence. She wanted them to be punished, but there was nothing she could do. The entire planet was completely helpless; their enemy may have been the Trade Federation, but their peaceful ideals had yet to act as their friend.

“Your highness,” Panaka called out, standing next to a computer console on the far side of the room. “You’ll want to take a look at this.”

The queen nodded solemnly, turning away from the window just as more troop transports pulled through the nearby town square. Arcadia lethargically sauntered towards the security captain, wanting nothing to do with what he was about to tell her. Nothing anyone could say would bring any happiness. Nothing anyone could say would bring back the dead.

“What is it?” the queen, impatient and angry, asked.

“We received a message from New Centrif,” Panaka told her. “Pulling up now.”

Arcadia looked away, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening outside before the message appeared, but Panaka was too quick. She immediately looked back at the image on the view screen, her jaw dropping at what she was seeing. Mayor Arruinada, whom Arcadia admittedly did not know that well, was nearly drowning in her sweat, a nervous wreck from whatever was happening. The queen’s stomach tied itself in knots. She prayed for it to not be true, but she knew what was happening.

“Queen Arcadia,” the distraught and overwrought New Centrif mayor began, “this is Mayor Arruinada of New Centrif. As we...city...armies of the Trade Federation. They are...destroy...unications array...all planetary communication. We...man power...”

The signal fell dead, and in Arcadia felt sick. Even though the communications was all that went down, she knew in her gut that the mayor and most people in the small outlying settlement were dead. Every one of those deaths was another failure on Arcadia’s part, and it was becoming unbearable.

How am I going to live with myself after this...?

The young queen let out a sigh and leaned against a thin wooden pillar beside her. She clasped her hands together, her eyes looking downwards in thoughts and prayers for the continuing mess she had gotten herself into. All over the planet, people were suffering. It was all because she had decided to get involved with galactic affairs. Senator Palpatine had nothing but the best intentions when he suggested it, but she wished he had never asked. Too many were dead, Arruinada included. The mayor had given up her life to warn the government that the droids were coming, but that message had to have been recorded hours earlier. It was too late at this point.

Arcadia’s face was one of beauty - but, as with all beauty, there were those that could sully it. The Federation caused her beauty to be replaced by expressions and features of obvious worry and fatigue. She hadn’t slept for days. The sorrow she felt was immense. There was no way she knew of to move forward away from her sorrow, but for the sake of her people she would have to.

How long do I have to be counseled by my soul when my heart is filled with nothing but sorrow? How long will it be hung over me?

Just as she was ready to get back to work, the queen was thrown forward into a wall. Panaka jumped atop her for her protection, and other guards were thrown crashing through the windows to the grounds below. The fall would kill them instantly. A horrid explosion had rang out, scattering all of them. The queen looked up in anger as she saw bits of limbs and clothes near the shattered door from where some of the guards had been scattered. Insult was added to history when a squadron of battle droids stepped over them, pointing their guns at the queen and her advisers.

“Target captured,” the lead battle droid said to the others. “Begin processing.”



Emerging from the thick mass of trees and plants, Jar and the two Jedi finally arrived on the shores of the Aquarian Ocean. The indomitable and seemingly endless span of water seemed to race after the sun that was resting high above the horizon, creating a dazzling yellow reflection that painted itself across the faint blue sea. Some men would travel great lengths to admire the height of mountains or the wonders of the stars, but to so many others, including the Gungans, it was the mighty billowing sea that was the most impressive.

Jar stopped as his feet touched the wet sand, the waves coming in and out around his legs. He inhaled deeply and took in the crisp salt air, listening to the birds sing and the nearby creatures go about their daily routines. There was nothing better than the ocean for him, especially now after having been away from it for nearly two years. It would be difficult for him to return home after so long, but he had to help his new friends.

“Friends” was a term he used loosely. Obi-Wan seemed decent enough, but Jar had listened to Dooku’s mocking remarks for hours, even though the Jedi Master thought he was being coy. The comments served to fuel Jar’s natural anti-Human instincts, instincts that he had taught himself to ignore long ago despite all of the problems that Humans and Gungans had with one another. It was useless to live in the past, even though Dooku served as a constant reminder that the past was much closer to him than he believed.

Gungans were the native species of Utapau. The Humans didn’t come until much later, around the end of the Jedi Civil War nearly four thousand years earlier. A Republic monarch called Elsinore den Tasia, from a distant and long forgotten world, sent an explorer across the galaxy and the explorer discovered Utapau. The Humans settled the planet, and cultural differences caused a great deal of tension between the Gungans and the newly settled Humans.

Open conflict between the two species was rare, but they did engage in a civil war that sent the Gungans to the bottom of the sea, allowing the Humans to rule the surface. The act, while causing much more tension between the two races, did serve to unify the Gungan cities into a stronger alliance, but prejudices developed that cut off the two species from each other entirely. Trade agreements lasted for a few years, but quickly died away.

“How much longer?” Dooku asked as the two Jedi met up behind Jar, the aging Jedi Master doubling over the catch his breath after having walked for so many hours.

“We’re going underwater,” Jar said hesitantly, wondering what type of response it would elicit from Dooku. “I hope you can hold your breath.”

It took him a moment, but Dooku’s eyes flickered with frustration when he realized Jar’s last comment was pointedly directed at the Jedi Master. He didn’t think his opinion of the Gungan could get any lower, but Jar seemed intent on proving him wrong. Jedi were always taught to respect all life forms, regardless of what they were, but after so many years of seeing lower life forms get in his way, Dooku had enough of that teaching.

Jar took a deep breath before stepping further into the water. It was freezing to Humans, but to Gungans it gave a cool and refreshing sensation that seemingly replenished a much desired nutrient that hadn’t been consumed for two years. As the cool tingling that crept up his spine slowly subsided, he took in one final whiff of the salt air and dove head first into an oncoming wave that arched high above the water before crashing down onto the shore. As the sea was momentarily calm, Jar stuck his head back up from the water, just as the Jedi were preparing their breath masks.

“My people don’t like outsiders,” Jar told them frankly, “so don’t say I didn’t warn you if you go in expecting hospitality.”

“Don’t worry,” Obi-Wan quipped, thinking about his brief stay on the Federation ship as he was about to fasten his mask, “this hasn’t been our day for hospitality.”

As another wave came, the three travelers dove within and began their descent down through the waters. Jar swam gracefully, extending his arms longer and faster than the Jedi were able to. The Gungan felt right at home, but after only a few minutes the Jedi began to feel the strain of the swim and the pressure of the water. It was more uncomfortable for Dooku, but the thirty year old Obi-Wan was also having his fair share of trouble with the pressure. The Force could only do so much to aid against physics.

They angled steadily deeper as they swam, and the light was drifting away at an uncomfortably rapid rate. Obi-Wan kept looking behind him, hoping that the light wouldn’t keep disappearing, but he knew it was futile. Turning to Dooku, Obi-Wan could see the lack of amusement written across his old master’s face, and the Jedi Knight couldn’t help but share in the sentiments. The swim was taking too long, and Obi-Wan didn’t know how much more ocean pressure the two Humans could take. It was hard to have second thoughts about what they were doing, considering the alternative meant traipsing around the woods with the Federation, but Obi-Wan was coming very close.

Then, before they realized how close they were, a blinding white flash overcame them from ahead, glowing brighter than the two Jedi were prepared for. Obi-Wan instinctively shut his eyes, and when he opened them again he realized how foolish it was. The ocean’s salt water trapped itself inside his eyes, and it stung in a small yet annoyingly noticeable amount of discomfort. The white aura in front of them was still all-consuming, but they were able to start making out figures in the light.

At last, after minutes of being surrounded by the inescapable luminosity, Otoh Gunga came into their view. The city was a vast web of hydrostatic bubbles, bubbles which kept the water out while allowing life forms to enter through. Anchored to an underwater cliff, the city’s bubbles were interconnected, each one allowing passage to numerous other parts of the city. Each bubble was distinct, and the Jedi were beginning to make that out, as well as the Gungans that were going about their lives inside of the complex.

Jar swam faster to reach the main bubble, and positioned himself upright before slowly gelling through the bubble. Obi-Wan and Dooku glanced at one another, sharing a mutual intrigue and worry as they were unable to determine what was going to happen when they too entered the city. Following the Gungan’s lead, the Jedi swam through the bubble and emerged standing on the other side, somehow only slightly damp.

Light poured out from all directions of the platform that the three now stood upon, as well as the walls of the bubbles which let out more of a glow than an actual burst of light. The air was breathable, which the Jedi had been somewhat concerned about, and as they began to descend from the platform they found that their clothes were drier than they expected. They assumed that it was from passing through the bubble, but there was no way to be sure. What they could be sure of, however, was that Jar’s warning was correct. The Gungans clearly did not like outsiders. The scattering of the Gungans in the area and their cries of alarm told the Jedi that much.

“Home sweet home...,” Jar mumbled in his native tongue as he watched his nearby brethren whisper to themselves and continue to scatter.

“Hey you!” a raspy, inhospitable voice called out before Jar could even begin to admire the city he once called his home. “Stop right there!”

Jar jolted in shock as he heard the voice, spinning around to look into the eyes of the darker-skinned, rougher looking Gungan who approached on an aquatic mount. Jar’s eyes grew narrow in anger as he saw the mounted Gungan, having had a tense history with him in the past. It was this particular Gungan who had helped to exile Jar so many years ago. It was this particular Gungan who helped set Jar up and cause his banishment. It was an act that could never be forgiven.

“You,” Jar nearly growled. “I demand that you - ”

“You’re not in a position to demand anything, Binks,” the Gungan shouted in a sharp and mocking tone, making a pointed and not so subtle jab at the fact that Jar no longer held his royal title. “You’re going to the council, and you’re looking at a lot more than banishment this time.”

Obi-Wan and Dooku looked at one another, realizing that the reception was colder than they had expected. While Jar had warned them not to expect any warm welcomes, they didn’t expect to be confronted by the guards and brought before the Gungan High Council in such a manner. While the council was their destination, they had hoped to arrive more peacefully than being escorted by armed guards. It didn’t necessarily put a kink in their plans, though it significantly altered their perception of the Gungan’s views on outsiders.

“And just who are you?” Dooku asked, directing his query at the mounted Gungan.

“He’s Captain Tarpals,” Jar interrupted in disgust as Tarpals dismounted, “a mercenary hired by the High Councilor to do his dirty work. He’s scum masquerading as an honorable officer.”

It came out of nowhere, a punch that slammed into Jar’s stomach like a charging kaadu. Jar grabbed his gut, the artificial salt wind of the city completely knocked out of him. His knees buckled and he crashed to the ground, having been unprepared for the force of the other Gungan’s fury. Jar looked up at the rogue captain looming above him, a certain anger flickering in the aggrieved prince’s eyes as he did. Tarpals had brought so much pain into Jar’s life that part of him wanted to wrap his hands around the captain’s neck and squeeze the life out of him, but his morals caused him to stay his hand.

“Strong words coming from an exile,” Tarpals scowled, grabbing an electropole weapon from his mount.

A long, pointed spear, the electropole derived its name from its charged tip that emitted a distinct electric charge when placed in close proximity to another object. While an insulated hand-grip protected the wielder from the electric effects, the shock of an electropole could pack a serious amount of punch, and Jar knew it was not a weapon to be trifled with. His resolve stiffened, however, reinforced by the anger within him. He would not back down now.

Like a kettle of Ansionian tea brought to a sustained boil, all of the pent up rage and frustration that were coursing through the exiled prince’s veins rose to the surface. Just as the electropole came crashing down towards him, he put up his arms in a cross and blocked the descending weapon, knocking the other Gungan to his feet and tearing the pole from his hands. Jar brought it towards Tarpals’s neck, but Tarpals kicked his legs outward, knocking Jar backwards. The captain planted his wide, webbed feet onto the ground, using them as a base to lurch forward and whip back up on to his feet in a manner not dissimilar to a suddenly uncoiled spring.

Another guard approached, but Tarpals didn’t give him the chance to help. The Gungan captain ripped the guard’s pole away from him and swung at Binks in a wide arc, the electrified tip crackling loudly as he did so. Jar’s eyes bulged from their eyestalks as he ducked to avoid what could have been a fatal blow to the head. He bolted back up, angling his arms and the pole straight up to deflect another attack by Tarpals. With a swift precision, Jar pushed the pole back and rotated his wrist to prepare for his first attack.

Emboldened by the captain’s tenacity, Jar spun around like a dancer at the Galaxies Opera House performing a pirouette, finally stabbing forward only to have his attack deflected. He surged forward with a duck and slash, catching Tarpals by surprise. As the electropoles collided, sparks flew and the electricity crackled. Tarpals reversed his pole for a swift parry of Jar’s weapon, but instead their weapons and arms locked together in a tug of war that could have resulted in either of their deaths if their blades hit the right spots.

Tarpals stood resolute, firmly gripping the pole with his right hand above the left. The pole angled up and away from his left side, held across his body in a common enough pole-arm stance. In fact, it was too common, and Jar realized this. Just then, Jar saw his opening. It was a risk, but what he could gain from it was tremendous. Finally, he let go, not just of his pole but of his rage, his hope, his fear of exile. All of it fell with his pole, tumbling to the ground in a manner that caught Tarpals off guard. As the captain looked down, Jar’s left foot flew forward with a snap and kick, colliding with Tarpals’s arms. The captain lost the grip on his own pole; as the upper part flew out of Tarpals’s right hand and back towards Jar, the exiled prince lunged forward, planting his extended left foot near Tarpals’s right shoulder while grabbing the upper end of the pole with his right palm.

Holding steady, Jar reached his left hand out and grabbed Tarpals by the earflap, using his right hand to press the tip of the electropole onto Tarpals’s throat. Tarpals completely lost his grip on his pole, finding himself totally at Jar’s mercy. Tarpals squirmed in agony, his eyes stricken with fear that Jar would have his revenge and take the captain’s life, but Jar had no interest in doing that. Tarpals grabbed the pole, hoping to force it out of Jar’s grip, but the exiled prince was determined not to let the captain go. He pulled the weapon against Tarpals’s neck even harder, ensuring that Tarpals would not be able to worm free without inadvertently killing himself. Tarpals was forced to crouch down, although he was not fully kneeling.

“Drop your weapons,” Jar shouted, his voice cracking as he gave the order to the small crowd of anxious guards that had gathered near and around him. “Drop them now.”

The guards had no desire or intention to comply, but Tarpals’s eyes told them to obey. He had no interest in dying, especially at the hands of someone he despised as much as Jar. Besides, Tarpals knew that Jar’s grip on him was not rock solid; all locks could be broken. The captain simply needed to wait for the right time before making his move, and then he would be able to finally bring Jar one step closer to the punishment that the prince deserved.

The two Jedi, on the other hand, stood in stunned silence. Dooku nearly had to reconsider his opinion of Jar. For the few hours he had known the Gungan, Dooku thought he had no skill and no use whatsoever, although for a moment he felt that he was clearly mistaken. Of course, he would not allow himself to be wrong. The new information he had about Jar’s abilities was justified with the thought that primitive creatures living in swamps would have to be physical in order to survive from other predators. Obi-Wan, though, was also surprised. He didn’t doubt Jar’s intelligence like Dooku had, although the Jedi Knight’s wide eyes and cocked eyebrow still spoke to the fact that he had not seen the combat skills coming.

Finally, after a few moments of silence, Tarpals found his opening. Jar, arrogantly believing that he had defeated the Gungan captain, loosened his grip on Tarpals’s ears and pulled the electropole back a few inches away from the captain’s neck. Not hesitating, Tarpals dropped his knees to the ground, causing Jar to inadvertently release his grip on the captain’s ears. With Tarpal’s head safely away from the electropole, he used his moment of opportunity and surprise to dive forward. Landing on his stomach, he kicked his feet outward into Jar’s gut, forcing the exiled prince to the ground.

Tarpals leaped to his feet, running over to where Jar landed. The captain kicked Jar’s electropole, which had fallen out of his hand, off to the side, all while sticking his hand out so one of his guards could throw another electropole to him. Tarpals caught the pole and leaned down, pointing the electrified end of the pole at Jar’s neck in a moment of reverse déjà vu. Jar made little effort to fight back, rubbing his head after hitting it hard on the steel floor below him.

“You’re good, Binks,” Tarpals said, his confidence having returned to him now that the exiled prince had been bested, “but I was always better.”

Jar scoffed weakly at the stinging comment. He wanted desperately to become angry and to kill the captain, which he had desired to do for some time, but it would have been a mistake. Jar remembered well what his father once told him: he who angers you conquers you. Tarpals had already proven he could do that, so Jar felt no reason for it to continue. He would go before the council and hear what they had to say.

Seeing the defeat in Jar’s eyes, Tarpals pulled back on the electropole, albeit somewhat hesitantly. The captain snapped his fingers, and in an instant a guard approached Binks and placed a pair of hand clamps around his wrists. Two other guards did the same for Obi-Wan and Dooku, the latter of whom considered putting up a fight before deciding that he was in no condition to do so considering the strain that had already put on him. He too accepted the fact that the council would be their next venue, and it was something that Obi-Wan, on the other hand, was counting on. The road to Ogana had to carry them through the chambers of the Gungan High Council, as it was their only means of escape.



Gunray stumbled and fell back onto the side of his desk, his face bruised with rivers of dark blood pouring down all sides of his sickly green head. His large eyes were inflamed like balloons, a side effect of the sheer force of Lord Maul’s anger and hatred. Gunray should have expected such torture after he willingly and openly defied the orders of the Dark Jedi Master, but even the pain was not enough to cause him to admit to a mistake. He still worried that the Jedi would disrupt the Federation’s plans, and he had little faith in Maul’s abilities as a commander. That was one thing, however, that he knew not to say out loud lest the torture become death.

The Viceroy coughed, thick patches of green blood flying outwards as projectiles onto the durasteel floor below him. The Neimoidian struggled to get back to his feet, but Maul was relentless. The Dark Jedi picked the viceroy up by the shoulders and struck him in the gut with his knee, sending Gunray to the ground once more only to loop and see Maul’s cloaked frame towering over him. Gunray wailed in pain as he grabbed his aching muscles, the cries furthering Maul’s enjoyment.

The Dark Jedi Master stood firm, his resolve resolute. All he wanted was a simple, albeit forced, apology from the Viceroy, yet Gunray was reluctant to admit any sort of mistake. Maul had no idea why, but it mattered very little to him. The torture amused him and was always disappointed when a session had to end when a victim caved. He was particularly pleased to be able to torture Gunray, something he had wanted to do to the petty annoyance for many, many years.

Maul looked down at the cowering Neimoidian and saw in his eyes the fear that he had seen in so many previous victims. In order for such fear to manifest, Maul always need a dramatic display of force and a mock psychological imbalance to make the victim fear that he was insane and could kill them at any second. It wasn’t all that hard for him to pretend. In fact, he enjoyed every moment of the insanity, as it allowed himself to fully unleash his rage upon those he despised.

Gripping the edge of Gunray’s desk with all of his strength, Maul forced it off of the floor and threw it against a wall. The display let out a loud and ear-piercing crash of distorted and twisting metal as it impacted, the nails-on-a-chalkboard screech caused even Maul to wince. The impact on the wall knocked Gunray’s portraits and ancient relics off of the cold silver plating, the viceroy putting his hands to his ears to dull the noise.

The Viceroy stumbled forward towards the broken desk, using it to prop himself up. Maul nearly went in for another blow, but he stopped himself as Gunray looked as if he wanted to say something. Anything Gunray could say at that point would amuse Maul, so he was willing to let the Viceroy state his piece for just a short moment.

“Do you think you are brave for this, Maul?” Gunray asked spitefully. “Coming in here and fighting someone? Brave men don’t torture one person who can barely mount a defense.”

“Bravery doesn’t exist,” Maul proclaimed with a laugh as he moved in closer, forcing Gunray back up against the mangled desk. “It’s an illusion created by men who wish to anoint themselves as kings. But at the first sign of trouble, these supposed noble men will do anything for one little answer.”

“You’re disgusting,” Gunray said, spitting at Maul’s feet.

“You’re one to talk,” Maul said, ignoring Gunray’s show of disrespect. “Look at you, forcing a blockade on a planet, and for what? Because the glorious Republic told you that you can’t own another man’s life? Because it hurt the bottom line? Maybe I am disgusting, but at least I’m not a hypocrite.”

Gunray, fumbling on the twisted metal as Maul moved closer, did his best to stand up. In his mind he was screaming in absolute fear and he knew Maul could sense it with the Force, but he fought as hard as he could to make sure that his exterior lacked a look of fear. Even if Maul knew about the hidden fear, Gunray could at least show a strength and resilience that was, admittedly, out of character for him and most Neimoidians.

“You surprise me, Gunray,” Maul told him, backing off to let the Viceroy stand up a bit straighter. “You Neimoidians are usually cowards. I would’ve broken any of your men an hour ago, but you’ve held on. Why?”

“I don’t fear you,” Gunray lied, his voice cracking from the trauma to his throat.

“You’re a damned liar,” Maul said in retort. “I can see it in your eyes, and I know you know it. What you don’t realize is that all eyes tell a story, and that story is fear. Fear attracts the fearful and those foolish enough to believe that they’re fearless. It brings out the strong, the weak, the innocent and the corrupt, such as yourself. Fear is my strongest ally. It tells me everything I need to know about a victim. Would you like to know your story, Gunray?”

“Go to Hell,” the Neimoidian spat weakly, barely able to get the words out through his bloodied mouth as the blood continued to stream out.

Maul smiled, giving an out of character gesture of his own by patting Gunray on the shoulder. That hospitality, though, quickly faded. Maul lifted his leg and spun around, his foot impacting the Neimoidian’s face. Gunray fell to the side and let out a loud and deep moan as the pain began to become unbearable. Maul doubted that the surprisingly resilient Viceroy would tell him such.

“I am Hell, Viceroy,” Maul said with a malicious grin, piercing Gunray’s gaze with his yellow-red eyes that served as a sinister look into his mind and story. “Never forget that.”



Deep inside Otoh Gunga, a cadre of Gungan guards led Jar and the Jedi through the halls of the city towards the chambers of the Gungan High Council. The two Jedi were in awe of their surroundings. They had seen many advanced civilizations before with remarkable architecture, some of them under water, although they had never seen anything quite like Otoh Gunga. How anyone, even an aquatic species, was able to build such structures underwater was a mystery to them, but they didn’t dare to ask. Their presence was already causing enough disruption. They had no desire to insult the people.

The city was founded by a Gungan leader named Gallo nearly three thousand years earlier atop the remains of the Gungan city of Spearhead. The construction followed the unification of the Gungan tribes following a war between the tribes. After the unification came, Gungan populations from half a dozen different cities came together and decided to live in Otoh Gunga, which meant “Old Gungan” in the native language. Throughout the years, the population skyrocketed into the millions, necessitating constant expansion in the city. For the most part, they all lived in harmony with one another.

While the Jedi were showing how impressed they were with the city, Jar had a feeling of nostalgia. He had not been in the city for two years, and his warm smile, even in the face of certain death, let everyone know how refreshing it was to be in his home again. He had been raised in the monarchial residences, only a few kilometers from their current location, as the son of His Royal Highness Gorgr Binks, the leader of the Gungan Empire before his death nearly ten years earlier.

Jar had been deemed too young to rise to the throne, so Rugor Nass took his place and always looked down upon him. While Jar’s banishment was a direct result of his own actions, he always suspected that the punishment was intended to solidify Nass’s rule over the Gungan people. Jar always wanted to return and confront Nass, but he never found the courage to do so.

The door to the High Council chambers stood before them, prompting the group to stop and wait for the members of the council to decide that they were ready for them to enter. Jar didn’t expect a warm welcome, although he knew that the Jedi had an important mission to complete and he would do what he could to help them. The odds of the Jedi being able to do anything to fulfill their promise of helping him gain favor was slim at this point, so he figured if he helped them escape arrest they would be able to make good on their vow at a later date. Escaping the city somehow was much better than facing the execution he would likely be sentenced to, but he would face that if need be.

The Gungan guards led the group through the doors and into the chamber once the council finally decided that it was ready to see them. A long circular bench sat all across one side of the large bubble, with one seat higher than the rest for the High Councilor. Each seat was occupied by a Gungan official, every one of them dressed in ornate official robes that represented their respective positions.

The higher seat was occupied by a heavier Ankura Gungan, Rugor Nass, who looked like he had never been as thin and muscular as Jar was. His neck was nearly non-existent, as his head and shoulders seemed to merge together from the fat. The Jedi could immediately tell from the look on Nass’s face that he was not pleased to see outsiders, but an abnormally wide grin stretched across his dark green face once he saw Jar.

“Thank you for seeing us, High Councilor,” Obi-Wan said with a bow, followed reluctantly by Dooku with his own bow. “It’s imperative that we speak with you about the Federa - ”

“Silence!” Nass shouted, spit flying from all sides of his face as he screamed. “You cannot be here. This army is up there is not our concern.”

“As you seem to already know,” Dooku said as he stepped forward, standing side by side with Obi-Wan, “a droid army is about to attack Ogana. We must stop them.”

“We don’t care about them,” Nass said in a tone that told Dooku that he was someone who had been in a fair share of disagreements with the Humans of the planet, “and they don’t care about us. They stole our sacred crystal, but they refuse to even acknowledge that they took it! They cannot be trusted.”

“We sympathize,” Obi-Wan said, giving a warm smile in the hopes of reducing the tension in the chamber, “but once these droids take control of the surface they will take control of you and your people.”

“I do not think so,” Nass said with a grin, almost as if he knew for a fact that the Federation would not do anything to the Gungan people.

“You and the Humans form a symbiotic circle,” Obi-Wan told the High Councilor while scratching his own beard, intrigued that a person of power would reject such an obvious fact that could help those he served. “What happens to one of you will affect the other. You have to understand this.”

“We do not care about the Humans,” Nass angrily shouted, putting a particularly disgusting emphasis on the last word, “or your problems!”

Dooku had little patience for what he perceived to be the arrogance of a completely insignificant person. The Jedi Master moved his concentration away from the discussion that Obi-Wan continued to have with Nass, instead focusing on channeling the Force around him so he could briefly and subtly influence the Gungan leader’s mind. When he had latched onto enough of the figurative universe around him, Dooku subtly and nonchalantly waved his hand in front of him, hoping that the Gungans were truly as weak-minded as he believed them to be.

“Then send us on our way,” Dooku told him as he gestured with his hand, his voice highly suggestive to create added influence.

“We will send you on your way,” the High Councilor echoed mindlessly, prompting looks of concern and surprise from the other members of the High Council.

“We could use a transport,” Dooku continued, still waving his hand as he spoke.

“We will give you a bongo,” Nass decided, not noticing Jar’s confusion behind the Gungan guards. “The fastest way to Ogana is to go through the ocean core.”

“Thank you for your help,” Dooku said as he and Obi-Wan bowed, ignoring the maliciously wide grin on Nass’s face when he spoke of the ocean core. Dooku was satisfied that his trick was successful, although he was not particularly pleased at the attitudes of the Gungan leaders as he and Obi-Wan made their way towards the door.

“What’s a bongo?” Obi-Wan whispered to his former teacher.

“Hopefully a transport,” Dooku replied, not assuaging Obi-Wan’s fears.

“Wait,” Jar shouted, prompting the Jedi to turn from their path towards the door and notice that he was still chained and held by the Gungan guards. “They’re setting you up. You’ll never survive the core without my help. Get me out of this and I’ll go with you.”

Dooku was ready to keep heading towards the door, not wanting to allow Jar to travel with them to Ogana. Obi-Wan, however, knew better. He didn’t know about the potential dangers in Utapau’s oceans, and they had no idea where they were headed. Jar would undoubtedly be able to render much needed assistance if they brought him along. The only other option was to stand by and let him be killed for doing nothing more than returning to his home after so many years.

“We’re short on time,” Dooku reminded him, seeing what was going through his former pupil’s mind.

“Time spent here can help us later,” Obi-Wan said with his own reminder, “and we’ll need a navigator to get us through the ocean core.”

“You’re losing focus,” Dooku said with an edge, becoming irritated over Obi-Wan’s constant need to involve himself in “pet projects” that had little to do with them.

“Your sensitivity to the Living Force is not your strength,” Obi-Wan replied as he turned back towards the council, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “What is to become of Jar Binks?”

“He was exiled from here,” Nass said, “and he broke our laws by coming back. He is to be...punished for his crime.”

“He has been a great help to us,” Obi-Wan informed them, “so I hope the punishment will not be too severe.”

“Pounded until death,” Nass said, cackling with glee as the words escaped his oversized lips. He had no concern for Jar’s well being, only satisfaction in the thought of the Gungan’s brutal death.

Dooku could barely keep his eyes from showing his surprise and disgust. He had expected that Jar would receive some sort of punishment, but not a rather elaborate and painful death. He turned around and saw the look of defeat on Jar’s face, but what surprised him the most was the feeling of concern that had actually manifested itself in his own mind. Only moments before, he had little concern for the Gungan’s safety, but he wasn’t about to let him be executed for, admittedly, helping him and Obi-Wan.

Play along if you know what’s good for you, Dooku said in Jar’s mind. The Gungan heard the call and looked around in all directions, confused as to where the voice came from until he looked back at Dooku. The Jedi Master nodded his head to let him know that the voice was his, and to hopefully lesson the Gungan’s anxiety.

“I saved his life,” Dooku told the High Councilor, hiding the sour taste that the words caused. “He owes me a life debt. Your gods demand that his life belongs to me now.”

“Binks?” the High Councilor asked in bewilderment, noting the surprised looks that crossed over the faces of the other members of the council. “You have a life debt with this person?”

Jar nodded his head, realizing what Dooku meant when he told him to play along. Had he not heard the voice, the exiled prince would have undoubtedly protested simply to clear his name, as the life debts had been cancelled out, but it didn’t matter. He had promised only a few minutes earlier that he would help the Jedi, and if that meant navigating through the ocean core then that was exactly what he would do. Besides, the look on many of the council members faces told Jar that he may have gained some, if not an extraordinarily small amount, of favor with them.

“His worthless life is yours, outsider,” Nass decreed, rolling his eyes and flicking his wrist towards Jar as a sign of disrespect. “Now be gone with him!”



Twenty minutes passed by, and Jar was beyond relieved. Had the Jedi not intervened, he likely would have been sitting in a jail cell by now, if not being pounded to death with the heaviest stones the Gungan soldiers he once served with could lift. He felt that he truly did owe the Jedi a life debt after they stuck their necks out for him, so he would offer them, even Dooku, whatever help they needed.

After the three had boarded, the bio-engineered bongo submersible shot out of the bubble that housed the Gungan dock and made its way towards the ocean core that would take them to Ogana. Jar sat hunched over at the controls, re-familiarizing himself with their functions and abilities. He had not piloted a bongo for nearly five years, but he always felt that he had been skilled with operating them so it did not take long for the necessary knowledge to come flooding back to him.

The small ship was mostly a moving yet shielded electrical generator, as it was the only way that the Gungans could assure its effective operation underwater. It was designed to mimic a species of predatory squid to thwart potential threats, but that species of squid was long since extinct. The long tail of the triangular craft rotated as a propeller, connected to the generator which allowed it to move through the water.

Inside the hydrostatic bubble that created the cockpit, Obi-Wan sat next to Jar while Dooku sat in the seat behind them. Obi-Wan watched intently at the waters ahead to ensure that the Gungan did not miss any of the dangers lurking within the murky deep. Dooku, on the other hand, felt that the entire operation was a disaster waiting to happen. He assumed Jar’s navigation skills would be useful to them, but he couldn’t help but feel as if the Gungan High Councilor had set them all up to die. On the other hand, they both could have been wrong about Jar’s skills, as the only talent the Gungan had shown was the ability to fight, and that came with the territory of living in the forests. Why Obi-Wan felt the need to go out of his way to carry on with these pet projects was a mystery to the gaining Jedi Master.

“Why were you banished, Jar?” Obi-Wan asked, breaking the silence that had befallen them. The Jedi Knight was very curious about why a crowned prince would be exiled from his home, as it was not a story often heard.

“I don’t like to talk about it,” Jar told him. He brushed off the question as if it had never been asked, and his tone hinted at embarrassment.

“Please,” Obi-Wan said in a tone that gave Jar some assurance, as the Jedi Knight was hopeful that the Gungan would share the secret with him. “We promised that we would help you. Anything you can tell us would help us do that.”

Jar’s eyestalks gestured in bewilderment. He had half expected both of the Jedi to kick him out of their way once they reached Ogana. They promised before reaching the city that they would somehow help him, and he assumed that their helpfulness quota with him had been filled when they saved him from execution. It was a pleasant surprise, one that made him more open to sharing his past with them, although not fully open.

“I, uh,” Jar began to admit, but he hesitated before finally conceding to Obi-Wan’s request to talk about his exile. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“You were banished for not paying attention?” Dooku laughed. The Jedi Master was barely able to contain his amusement. He had never before heard of a banishment for something that seemed so simple and foolhardy.

“I was guarding an ancient relic,” Jar snapped, sick of Dooku’s constant mocking of him. “It was my duty as the Crowned Prince. A female colleague named Scortora approached me. I had been watching her for months ever since we started serving together. She said all the right things and....distracted me for too long. When I went back to my post, the relic was gone.”

Jar could still see the orb’s empty case as if it was right in front of him. He had seen Scortora and numerous occasions and believed she wanted to mate with him, which was why he allowed himself to become distracted. When he returned and saw that the relic was gone, though, he realized that she had purposely distracted him and that she was working with the Human government. Scortora was immediately executed for treason, but Jar was still banished from Otoh Gunga forever and stripped of his title of Crowned Prince.

“What was the relic?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You Humans would call it the Kaiburr crystal,” Jar exclaimed, and he quickly recognized that he put too much emphasis on “you Humans”. “My people believe that its healing powers come from our gods, but the Human government claims it was brought to this planet by a minion of a Dark Jedi called Xendor. Whatever the truth may be, the Humans wanted it badly enough to manipulate one of our people into letting them steal it.”

Obi-Wan looked behind him and glanced at his former Jedi Master. The two shared a mutual look of concern when they heard the story. When they were both Padawans, they had learned the tale of Xendor, the first Dark Jedi to break away from the Jedi Order. It was only a few centuries after the formation of the Galactic Republic, so the information on Xendor was limited. It was known, though, that the Kashi-born Dark Jedi was one of the most infamous in history.

Xendor was expelled from the Order because of his intent to practice the dark side, and after his exile he made his way to the Unknown Regions. In the decades that followed, he gathered a group of Dark Jedi and formed the Legions of Lettow, using them in an attempt to destroy the Jedi on Coruscant. The Legions were destroyed and Xendor was killed, with no one knowing what happened to his minions. It was possible that Xendor had found the crystal while in the Unknown Regions. Many mysteries were held in that sector of the galaxy, and a Force-laden crystal with the power to heal could have been one of them.

Before Jar could continue, there was a loud thump on the stern of the bongo and the ship jolted forward. The group spent a few frantic seconds looking all around the craft, finally realizing that something struck the craft again as it lurched sharply to one side. They turned around and watched as a massive opee sea killer hooked onto them with the massive tongue that shout of its abnormally large jaw. The bongo lurched backwards, quickly headed towards the mouth of the immense creature.

“Hit that red button,” Jar shouted to Obi-Wan, who immediately complied when he saw which control the Gungan was referring to.

A rear weapons system activated when Obi-Wan pushed the button, and a massive canon emerged from the metallic structure of the craft’s stern. Jar pushed the throttle of the vessel forward, and while doing so he unleashed an array of torpedoes at the creature’s midsection. The sea killer collapsed onto a rock face in pain, but it was only momentarily stunned. It stood back up and charged at the bongo yet again.

“Well this is fun,” Dooku muttered from the back, wiping sweat from his forehead as he continued to feel that the trip was becoming a disaster. He noticed that even Jar and Obi-Wan were becoming frantic, losing hope in the situation as it continued.

Before anyone could make another move, another larger creature emerged from the shadowy depths. This sando aqua monster caught the sea killer in its own titanic jaw, crushing its skull and devouring parts of the large creature that it dwarfed in size. The long, eel-like predator grabbed the sea killer with its claws before swallowing it relatively whole. As the aqua monster licked its lips, it did not even notice the bongo continue to move past it deeper into the core.

“There’s always a bigger fish,” Obi-Wan quipped. The comment, this time, forced even Dooku to smile considering the implications.

With the threat of the creature gone, Jar banked hard to the left and took the vessel deeper into the abyss. The light in the bongo became darker the deeper they moved, but it didn’t affect Jar. He was relatively familiar with the route to Ogana, and once he found it the vessel dove further and made its way through the entrance to a cave that would, pending no further predatory interruptions, bring them to the rivers on the edge of the city.

 

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Lady_Misty  588 posts
Registered: Mar '07
48402_Angel (508091)
Date Posted: 7/6 12:21pm Subject: Star Wars: Episode I - The Chosen One (AU/re-imagining, repost)
Very good! applause applause

I like that you have rounded out the story more.

 

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