Before - Legends Sword of the Night Sky (Update - Chapter 8)

In the midst of galactic conflict young Mandalorian-born Fionn Katarm has his own struggle to deal with. Accepted into the Jedi order he must cope with the prejudice of a galaxy which feels great hostility towards his race for the carnage and destruction they have caused. When his anger and rage threaten his future with the Jedi he finds himself apprenticed to the mysterious and powerful Jedi Master Oran-Kal Duron. Together they find themselves dispatched on a mission which could have repercussions throughout the Republic.

As always please leave a comment on what you think and if you have any ideas of how to improve please let me know. If you enjoy my writing check the links in my signature to read some of my short stories. Enjoy!


Prologue

The Republic battle cruiser Vornskr turned her mighty hammer-shaped head towards the hail of turbolaser fire splashing across her bow. Her fifty-year old hull, scarred and pitted with the wounds of a hundred battles, groaned with the stress of making such an extreme manoeuvre, taxing her ion engines to the limit.

‘Forwards turbolaser batteries fire! I want that frigate out of my sky now!’ screamed Captain Streye.

The Vornskr’s bridge crew struggled to comply, but the noxious smoke from a damaged plasma conduit made it difficult to see and breathe. The deck pitched as more fire raked the hull and sparks exploded from a station at the rear of the bridge, blinding the officer who had been leaning over it. He shrieked with pain and fell to the floor, rolling and holding his face in agony.

‘Medical team to the bridge,’ said the Captain, glancing over the back of his command chair to survey the damage. ‘Mr Rennels, secure that fire.’

Ensign Rennels staggered as another turbolaser blast rocked the ship, cracking his head against the rim of the navigation console. Swearing, he stumbled to his feet, thinking back to his graduation from the Naval Academy on Coruscant. His instructors had commended him on his efficiency and had told him that a job working at fleet HQ would be of much greater service, and would give him greater options for promotion, than becoming a junior officer on a warship. After two months of dodging missiles and ion cannons aboard the Vornskr, he was starting to wish he’d taken the desk job. It might not be glamorous, but it was safe.

‘Stop lying around Mr Rennels, I need that damn navigational array back online 30 seconds ago!’ said the Captain. ‘And do up your bloody tunic, what do you think this is, a garbage scow?’

‘Aye sir.’ Rennels fastened the brass buttons of his uniform as he stumbled to the back of the bridge. He had heard of Streye’s reputation as a hard-ass, but he had never dreamed he would have his appearance rebuked in the middle of a battle.

Grabbing a fire-suppressor he aimed the nozzle at the flames leaping out of the damaged console and fired a gush of compressed gas into the heart of the blaze. Robbed of the oxygen it needed to survive the fire died. Opening a hatch in the floor he began poking around the damaged circuits, trying to repair the navigational array controls. Without them the ship was flying virtually blind, relaying on the skill of the helmsman. He touched a red-hot piece of metal and snatched his hand away. Sweat soaked into the back of his brand-new uniform. He knew this system back to front but he had never tried to repair it under this kind of pressure before.

The Vornskr had been patrolling the outer rim hyperspace routes when they’d received the distress call that had got them into this mess. A Mandalorian transport ship was under attack by pirates and was desperately calling for help. At first Streye had been reluctant. The Mandalorians might have been defeated in the Mandalorian wars, and more recently in the Rodarch Incursion, but those events and the carnage that had spread across the galaxy was fresh in everyone’s memories. Still, he had decided to investigate.

As soon as they dropped out of hyperspace they’d found the Mandalorian vessel under attack by a heavily armed ship, probably pirates or hyperspace raiders. They hadn’t appreciated being interrupted and had turned their guns on the Vornskr, crippling several of her major systems. Half the bridge crew had been killed in the opening salvo. At first the prospect of battle had thrilled Rennels but after half the bridge crew had been killed in the opening salvo, but now Rennels was wondering just how much of a beating a rust-bucket like the Vornskr could take. Hammer-head class cruisers were built to last, but she was not exactly in her prime and against a superior adversary, Rennels doubted she would be much more than target practice.

‘What happened to my navigational computer?’

‘Just a moment sir, I’m having trouble with the auxiliary—’

‘I don’t care how you do it, just get it done ensign. Helm, bring us around to course 140 mark 80, twenty degrees starboard rotation,’ ordered Captain Streye. ‘Let’s show this pirate scum what a Republic ship can do.’

Rennels managed to re-activate the nav unit in time to turn and watch a double line of emerald turbolaser fire lance into the raider’s ship, causing a series of explosions to bloom along her side. Captain Streye slapped his knee and whooped. ‘That’s what you get you sithspawn maggots!’ he cheered. Nobody could say that serving under the Captain was easy, in fact it was considered by many to be downright suicidal, and Streye himself was rumoured to be insane, but he’d fought in more actions than the rest of the Vornskr crew put together, and won most of them too.

‘I gather the battle goes well Captain?’ said a voice from the rear of the bridge.

‘Just like the old days, eh, Master Duron?’ said Streye with a manic grin.

Jedi Master Oran-Cal Duron laughed. ‘Who’d have thought you’d be risking your ship for a bunch of Mandalorians?’

‘It does have a delicious sense of irony.’ Streye checked the readings on a monitor attached to the arm of his chair. ‘Helm, bring us about. 30 degrees to port, fifty starboard rotation. Fly us right down the bastard’s throat. Give me ramming speed.’

The helm officer paused for a moment, perhaps wondering if Streye had finally tipped over the edge and he shared a concerned glance with the tactical officer before laying in the new course. The Vornskr rocketed towards the pirate ship, which loomed in the viewport, growing larger with each passing second. Rennels felt his grip tighten on the navigation console, resisting the temptation to close his eyes before the inexorable impact… which never came.

At the last moment the pirate ship rolled away, narrowly avoiding the Republic cruiser, exposing her vulnerable belly.

‘Dorsal batteries fire!’ roared Streye.

The Vornskr had only three laser emplacements on her underside but at this range they were more than enough. Rennels felt the thud as they fired through the deckplates. Beams of super-heated energy punched into the pirate ship like a rock through stained glass, splintering the armoured hull and shattering her spine. Bodies and debris blew out of the ruptured hull as the vessel listed to port, rolling away from the Vornskr. A secondary explosion ripped through the superstructure as the pirate ship’s engines exploded, ripping the stricken vessel apart from the inside out. Rennels breathed a sigh of relief.

Captain Streye spun around in his seat and then leapt to his feet and danced a jig of triumph. ‘That’s how it’s done! It’ll take more than pirate scum to bring down Captain Theodosius Streye!’

‘Well done old friend, as usual less head and more heart,’ said Master Duron.

Streye flashed a gap-toothed smile at him. ‘My philosophy saved your life more than once master Jedi.’

‘Indeed it did.’ Duron turned to study the viewport. ‘What about the transport, any sign of survivors?’
‘They were hit pretty bad sir,’ said the officer at the sensor station. ‘Looks like the raiders were about one with them when we showed up. I’m not picking up any life-signs.’

‘So there’s a few less Mandalorian filth around, I can live with that,’ said Streye. He turned to the bridge crew. ‘I want a full damage and casualty report in an hour. Weapons, shields and engines have top priority for repair in case the pirates have any friends out there.’

Master Duron gave the captain a hard look. ‘Sensor readings aren’t always accurate after a battle. There could still be survivors over there.’

‘There might well be some Mandalorians over there, but you’ll find no people.’

‘All life is sacred to a Jedi,’ said Duron.

‘Don’t give me that pious Jedi crap,’ said Streye. ‘I know you better than that.’

‘That was a long time ago, in another life. Now, are you going to give me permission to go over there or not?’

‘You don’t need my permission. As a Jedi you outrank me,’ said Streye, with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

‘This is your ship captain.’

‘Damn right it is,’ said Streye. He crossed his arms and glared at the Jedi. ‘Oh alright then. I need to clean up that mess out there anyway.’

Streye waved a dismissive hand at the wrecked pirate ship which was now adrift. He turned to Rennels. ‘Ensign, I want you to lead a detachment of marines over to that hulk and search for survivors. Take a medical team with you but watch your back. This’ll be a good opportunity for you to see the kind of vermin we have to deal with out here.’

*​

The Mandalorian transport had taken a beating. As the shuttle from the Vornskr approached, Rennels saw gaping holes in the hull, breaches that were left open to space. Debris clattered off the shuttle as they moved closer, forcing them to take a slow approach. Bodies drifted out there as well, rag dolls looking tiny and fragile compared to the vast sea of stars they floated in.

‘This is your first action ensign?’

Rennels turned to see the Jedi Master looking at him.

‘Yes sir.’ At any other time Rennels would have felt nervous around a Jedi, but the rush of battle made him forget his shyness. ‘You and the captain have served together before sir?’

‘During the Rodarch Incursion.’

‘Are the Mandalorians as fierce as they say?’

‘They are formidable opponents.’

‘They’re animals,’ said one of the marines and the rest murmured agreement.

Duron glanced at the marines and they fell silent. ‘They are a violent warrior race, dedicated to battle. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve our compassion.’

‘They didn’t show much compassion on Raxor Prime, or New Telos observed Rennels.

A shadow passed over Duron’s face. ‘They are certainly not to be underestimated.’

Despite the damage, scans showed that the interior bulkhead doors were in place, sealing off parts of the ship where the hull was breached, preserving a thin breathable atmosphere. They found a docking hatch and latched the shuttle onto the transport which looked to Rennels like an old mining ship converted to carry passengers. He inspected the scan results before opening the magnetically sealed door to the airlock.

‘All systems are offline, including life-support. All that’s left is whatever got pumped in before the system went down and that won’t last long. The main reactor has been damaged, it’s leaking radiation.’

‘How serious is the leak?’ asked Master Duron.

‘Serious enough,’ said Rennels, ‘But I‘d say we still have a few hours before the levels become dangerous. I recommend we stay away from the engineering section though, just in case.’

‘Decontamination isn’t my idea of fun,’ said Duron. ‘Let’s get this over and done with and get out. We’ll cover more ground if we split up. Ensign, send one of your marine units towards the cargo decks, perhaps we can work out what this ship was doing out here, and another to search the habitat levels. I’ll head for the bridge.’

‘Um, you don’t want to take any marines with you?’ Rennels glanced at the Jedi’s belt. ‘You don’t even have a lightsaber.’

‘I don’t carry one. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Keep the comm channel open and if anyone runs into trouble don’t try and deal with it on your own, call for backup,’ said the Jedi master, his tone serious. ‘We may be on a mission of mercy, but these are still Mandalorians we’re dealing with. Be careful.’

Privately Rennels was glad to have a full squad with him. The idea of sneaking through a Mandalorian ship, even a civilian one, wasn’t appealing. He rechecked the safety catch on his blaster was off and moved his men out, heading towards the habitat section. Transports of this size weren’t built for comfort. The passageways were tight and claustrophobic and the lack of air reminded Rennels of a cave… or a tomb. It didn’t help that the only light came from the lamps mounted on the marines’ blasters and the occasional flickering emergency light along the ceiling.

They came across the first bodies not far from the airlock. Two men and a woman tangled in death. Their eyes reflected the light from Rennels’ torch. Scorch marks on the deckplates and burns on the bodies showed that they had died in a plasma conduit explosion. Rennels shivered. He remembered an instructor at the Academy telling them about an incident where his arm was doused in plasma from a damaged relay. He said it was like having the limb dipped in molten lava, every nerve ending screaming with pain at once. The cadets had listened to his story, eyes fixed on the stump where the man’s arm should be and the horrific burns on one side of his face.

They moved on. Rennels had become accustomed to the background hum of computer systems and the constant throb of engines through the deckplates. Here it was silent, as if the transport’s heart had stopped. It felt like a violation to be on board, on this ship of death. Without the life-support systems the air was cooling down. Rennels’ breath billowed in front of him and the icy air gnawed at his veins, a reminder of the vast emptiness outside.

A clanking sound came from up ahead. The marines froze, levelling their blasters. They melted into the walls, leaving Rennels standing alone in the centre of the corridor. He slid into the recess of a doorway and peered ahead into the darkness. A movement up ahead was mirrored by the flicker of blaster rifles tensing.

‘Don’t fire until I give the order,’ said Rennels. With a moment’s hesitation he holstered his pistol and stepped out. ‘Who’s there?’ he called in what he hoped was an authoritative and commanding voice. The movement ceased.

‘I’m Ensign Rennels, an officer from the Republic ship Vornskr. We’re responding to your distress call. We mean you no harm.’

For a moment there was only silence and then, with a clack and scrape, a weather-beaten droid stumbled out of the darkness, dragging one misshapen leg behind it. ‘Help, you must help me!’ it stuttered.

The marines kept their weapons pointed at the droid as it approached Rennels. They had all heard stories of the Mandalorians booby-trapping droids and sending them into enemy lines.

‘That’s close enough,’ said Rennels. The droid halted, cowering away from the lights shining into its photoreceptors. ‘Are there any survivors on this ship?’

‘Please, you must come with me at once!’

‘We’re not going anywhere until you answer my question.’

‘We, ulk… were attacked. No names. No warning. The crew tried to, ulk… fight them off but there were too many. Please you must come with me!’

The droids appearance did seem to support its story. Besides the badly damaged leg, one of its arms hung useless by its side by a few wires and there were two scorched holes in its chassis, probably from blaster fire. But the droid didn’t seem to care about its own damage. It stumbled towards Rennels. A dozen blasters tracked it.

‘Wait.’ Rennels held up a hand. The droid plucked at his uniform, begging him to follow it.

‘Stop that, take your hands off him!’ snarled a marine corporal, shoving the droid away from his commander. The poor machine crumpled against a bulkhead, raising its one good arm pathetically to defend itself.

‘Please, please help!’ it begged, waving its good arm down the passage.

‘What’s down there, Survivors? Are they armed?’

‘Please, the children, you must, ulk… help the children!’ moaned the droid.

Rennels felt the blood drain from his face. ‘Show us,’ he said, pushing the droid off down the hall. ‘Corporal, tell your men to keep their eyes open, and tell the medics to be ready for casualties,’ he said quietly, pulling out his comlink. ‘This is Rennels. We’ve encountered a droid who says there are survivors in the habitat section, condition as yet unknown. Be advised there may be children on board. Check any targets before firing.’

‘Copy that, Lieutenant, I’m moving to your position now,’ replied Duron’s tinny voice in Rennels’ earpiece. ‘There bridge crew are dead and the ship appears too badly damaged to salvage. Follow the droid but use caution.’

The habitat area seemed to have been where the Mandalorians made their last stand. Even before the squad of marines reached the main section, there were signs of blaster fire on the walls and bodies. The Mandalorian crew and raider bodies were strewn everywhere. The marines had to pick their way through charred wreckage to get to the main habitant area. Smoke and the acrid stench of burnt flesh hung in the air. Trying to breathe through his mouth, Rennels followed the damaged droid through the winding passages.

‘This must be what hell is like,’ said one of the medics.

‘Shut up, keep your eyes peeled for hostiles!’ hissed the corporal.

As they approached the habitat section, signs of battle became even more desperate, and Rennels found himself almost respecting the Mandalorians and their doomed last stand. They might only have been civilians, but they had fought like demons. The broken forms of men and women alike were scattered everywhere and amongst them the cold corpses of the pirate invaders were almost as numerous. Twisted figures grappled with each other, even in death defiant to the last, lying where they had fallen, usually taking an enemy with them to the grave.

‘They sure put up a hell of a fight,’ he said, half to himself.

‘For all the good it did them, sir,’ said the corporal.

Inside the habitat section was the scene from a nightmare. The Mandalorians were a warrior people, but even Mandalorians got sick, grew old and had children who were too young to fight. All those who had been unable to contribute to the defence had gathered here, and here they had been slain. Rennels stepped over an old couple, whose grey arms were still wrapped around each other. A young woman had died next to them, using her own body to shield an infant, who had been crushed beneath her as she fell. While the marines swept the area for potential threats, the medics picked their way between the bodies, searching for survivors.

Something crunched beneath Rennels’ boot. It was a child’s rag doll and, lying nearby, its owner, silent in death. Bending down, he felt at the tiny girl’s neck for a pulse, but found nothing, just stiff cold flesh. The girl had been killed by a single blaster shot to the chest.

‘I, ulk…I couldn’t do anything to help them,’ wailed the droid. ‘I tried to shield them with my body, but I was brushed aside.’

‘There was nothing you could have done,’ replied Rennels. He turned to look at the droid. Its receptors glowed for an instant and then faded as it shut itself down.

‘No survivors, sir,’ murmured the corporal.

‘Have you ever seen anything like this?’ Rennels asked him.

‘I’m a veteran of the Incursion sir,’ the man replied, resting his blaster on his shoulder. ‘I’ve seen everything. There’s a part of me that says the Mandalorians deserve everything they get. I saw what they did in the war. Terrible things. Things I wish I could forget. But those were crimes of men, of soldiers on the battlefield, not women and children.’

One of the medics, a young man newly assigned to the Vornskr, opened up and wretched the contents of his last meal onto the floor. The stinging smell of vomit pierced the air. Rennels felt like being sick, but his insides were empty. Everything suddenly felt so pointless.

‘Cover!’ roared a marine as a line of blaster bolts spattered off the walls. Around the room, marines and medics flattened themselves against the deckplates, and Rennels felt himself being roughly dragged down by the corporal. A strangled war cry came from a rubble-strewn corner of the room, accompanied by a stream of red energy bolts which lanced out and struck two marines nearby.

‘Supressing fire!’ ordered the corporal as the two men crumpled to the floor. An answering report of gunfire came from the marines. ‘Kaher, Mendez, flanking positions!’

But as the two marines crawled forward, another figure stepped through the scorched doorway. The wild blaster fire arced in that direction.

Jedi Master Oran-Kal Duron raised a hand. The blaster bolts struck his open palm and deflected harmlessly aside. Rennels watched in awe as the Jedi sprang across the room, one hand reaching out to the attacker. The blaster fire ceased as the weapon left the hand of its wielder and shot into Duron’s outstretched fingers.

‘Medic!’ called the corporal. He hauled himself up and sprinted towards his two fallen troopers. Rennels paused for a moment before getting to his feet and following. The two troopers had been lucky, only catching glancing shots, one in the shoulder and the other in the thigh. The medics gave each a dose of strong painkillers and began applying rough dressings to their wounds.

Duron stood over the assailant. Several marines also had their rifles trained on him, but it was an unnecessary show of force. The man, and now that Rennels could see him properly he could tell he was a Mandalorian, had several gaping wounds in his chest, three were blaster shots but others had been caused by a vibroblade or something similar. He was huge and even slumped against a pile of crates, with his blood pooling around his feet, he couldn’t fail to intimidate. Around him lay several pirate corpses. The man’s vanquished enemies. His coarse, scarred face, pockmarked with age and signs of battle was tattooed with Mandalorian symbols.

‘He’s from Clan Lone, an ancient Mandalorian house,’ Master Duron informed him. ‘During the Incursion my brigade fought against them at the ninth battle of Duxn. They were vicious warriors, but they didn’t participate in the slaughters that many other clans did. They didn’t believe there was any honour in such acts of barbarism. The sun and moon glyphs on his temple are the mark of Drak’tuo, their clan’s founder, and the star marks on his left cheek show that he was a warrior, an honoured one. It is strange that such a man would die in here with the women and children instead of fighting the invaders at the door.’

‘Maybe he was just scared,’ said Rennels.

Duron cocked his head to one side. ‘Perhaps. Even Mandalorians aren’t immune to fear, but this man clearly knew battle.’

The giant Mandalorian shifted and grunted.

‘Ne shab'rud'ni’ he spat in Duron’s direction. He looked as though he wanted to get up, to try and continue the fight, but he shrank back and closed his eyes.

‘You fought very well, brother. Many enemies to take with you on the dark path,’ said Duron, crouching down to face the Mandalorian. ‘Ke nu jurkad ti Mando'ade, burc'ya!’

‘Gar serim’ the Mandalorian laughed. A trickle of blood seeped down the corner of his mouth. Slowly his head fell back and a long drawn out breath rattled through his throat.

‘Not gone, merely marching far away. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,’ whispered Duron, placing a hand on the Mandalorians armored chest.

For a moment no-one said anything. They simply stood with heads bowed for the passing of the warrior.

‘Those who live by the sword die by the sword,’ intoned Duron. He didn’t seem to be speaking to anyone in particular, more to himself. ‘I believe our work here is done. The upper decks, like here, are filled with bodies. Unless the detachment in the cargo level has found anything, I think we should be going.’

‘What about all these bodies?’ asked Rennels. ‘Are we just going to leave them like this?’

‘We have a mission to complete. We have already stayed too long. I would like to show them the proper respect, but time is against us. We will destroy the ship to prevent any vultures from claiming it as a prize.’

The two injured troopers were bundled onto stretchers and taken back to the shuttle. Most of the marines, went with them to prepare for departure. Duron had downloaded all the ships records. The transport was called the Vode, which the Jedi’s small knowledge of Mando’a told him meant brothers, or comrades. The ships logs made it clear that it was a civilian transport bound for the core. Most of the passengers had been refugee families looking to begin new lives. Including the officers and crew there had been two hundred and fourteen people aboard. Fifty-six of those had been children.

A sense of emptiness burdened Rennels as he took one final look around the habitat section.

‘There was nothing you could have done,’ Duron told him. ‘The best thing you can do for these people now is to make sure the criminals who wrought this evil are brought to justice.’

‘What is it all for? What could those raiders have gotten out of this that would have justified a massacre?’

Duron shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows? When people become desperate they do things that even they don’t fully understand. When people allow themselves to become blinded by rage and greed they do terrible things. Some people try to justify their actions to themselves, sometimes they even succeed. Those people are just misguided, and eventually their guilt catches up with them. True evil comes from those who feel no remorse for dark actions.’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget what I’ve seen today,’ said Rennels.

‘When mistakes of the past, even those not your own, are forgotten, terrible things can happen. I think it is right that you remember,’ said the Jedi. For the first time, Rennels plucked up the courage to look into the Jedi Master’s eyes. He saw pain there, and suffering. He wondered whether Duron was one of those people who had to face the guilt of his past each day. Once again he shivered, deciding that there were some things he didn’t want to know about.

‘Ensign, we’ve completed our sensor sweep. No survivors found. Captain Streye has signalled that he is ready for us to return to the Vornskr,’ said the corporal.

‘Understood, let’s move out,’ said Rennels. Picking up his discarded blaster he pulled his uniform straight. Somehow, inside, he felt older. He took one last look around the room, at the perverse burial ground, the wreaths of children’s bodies on the blackened deck. It was an image he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Duron stood in the centre of the room, his head cocked to one side as if listening for something. His forehead was furrowed and glowed with sweat, his eyes closed as if in pain.

‘Master Duron, what is it?’ said Rennels.

‘I’m not sure. I sense… something,’ said the Jedi. His eyes snapped open. ‘Quickly, over there!’

He plunged towards the corner where the dead Mandalorian warrior lay. Grabbing the huge man he hauled him aside, dumping him onto the floor.

‘What are you doing?’

‘No time, help me,’ said Duron, heaving aside the large cargo crates the warrior had been slumped over. Rennels grabbed a corner and pushed, topping the crates over, revealing a tiny space concealed between two containers underneath. Inside, curled up into a little ball was a boy.

‘It’s a kid,’ said Rennels. Reaching into the gap he scooped the child out and cradled him in his arms. The boy’s skin was cold and his lips had a bluish tinge to them, but Rennels found a faint pulse in his neck. A pair of blue eyes opened a fraction, hazed with pain but amazingly blue.

‘Clan Lone,’ said Duron, pointing to a tattoo of the sun and moon glyphs on the boy’s forehead. ‘Just like the man. No wonder he wasn’t defending the perimeter. He was guarding his son.’

Rennels looked down at the warrior Mandalorian, slumped in death. ‘He succeeded in his last battle,’ he said.

‘We have to get him to the ship as quickly as possible,’ Duron said, slipping his long Jedi cloak off and hastily wrapping it around the boy. ‘K'oyacyi, little one. Stay alive.’

They began to run in the direction of the shuttle. The discovery of the boy had turned the most crushing defeat into the slimmest of victories. Rennels held the boy close, trying not to bump him around too much as he ran.

‘Promise me something ensign,’ said Master Duron, vaulting over a dead pirate.

‘What?’

‘Hold off giving your report to Captain Streye until I’m there. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he finds out he’s got a Mandalorian aboard his ship!’

 

Chapter 1


Fionn Katarm hated mornings. He said so all the time. This often got him in trouble with his Jedi instructors who told him just as frequently that discipline was part of a Jedi's life. Fionn’s response to this was usually short, rude, and more often than not earned him extra time scrubbing floors or meditating for hours on end with decrepit Master Chin, Keeper of the Halls of Younglings. At the end of each session the aged Jedi Master would always ask him if he had learned his lesson, and Fionn would always reply that yes, of course he had and he would never, ever do it again. A few days later he was usually back for another round of meditation.

So the chiming of the morning temple bells did little more than annoy Fionn. He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head. A soft knocking at his door did even less to improve his mood. He tried ignoring it but eventually the knocking became so insistent that he had to answer.

‘Who is it? What do you want?’

The door swung open and Sakora crept into the room. ‘It’s time to get up!’ she said.

‘Says who?’

‘The bells say it’s time to get up!’ said the little girl, reaching over and poking Fionn hard in the back.

‘You’d better watch out.’

‘Watch out for what?’

‘Don’t you know that bells wake up sleeping RANCORS!’ roared Fionn, exploding out of his bed and leaping at the tiny youngling. He stood on the bed and held her upside down while she giggled helplessly. ‘I wonder what I should do with you. Should I gobble you up for breakfast?’

‘Oh, no, please don’t eat me.’

‘Well then, maybe I should tickle you!’ He dropped her on the bed. The little girl screamed and rolled over the side, taking most of the blankets with her. Fionn tried to chase after her but slipped on a datapad, fell flat on his back, and lay still.

Sakora, pretending now to be a puppy, snuffled up to his pone body. ‘Fionn, wake up, it’s time for training!’ she said. He didn’t stir. She reached out and flicked his ear, something she knew from experience would wind him up but still he made no move. ‘Stop playing around, it’s time to get up. I know you’re not dead.’

She flicked his ear again. Then she put her mouth right up close and shouted ‘I KNOW YOU’RE NOT DEAD!’

Fionn jumped up, rubbing his head, ‘Ow! What gave me away?’

‘You always do that, that’s what gave you away,’ said the little girl, rolling her eyes. ‘You’d better hurry up. Master Chin is getting everybody together for an early breakfast. He says we have to put on our best uniforms.’

‘Why?’

Once more Sakora rolled her eyes, this time even more dramatically. ‘Don’t be silly Fionn, I know you know. It’s the Apprentice Tournament today. You should know, you’re entered in it aren’t you?’

Fionn shrugged, trying to pretend he didn’t care. ‘I guess so. Master Bullrouar said I should give it a go.’

‘Well, what are you waiting for then? Get dressed and come and meet us downstairs for breakfast. Come on slowcoach,’ trilled Sakora, dancing out the door with Fionn’s blanket still wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak.

Fionn sat back on his bed and rolled his shoulders, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He picked up the datapad he had slipped on and tossed it into a corner. Master Chin had given up nagging him to keep it clean, leaving Fionn to clear up the mess when it suited him, which was usually only when the mess prevented him from getting from the door to his cot. A Jedi's life was supposed to be one of devotion to order and discipline and one of the earliest sessions taught to initiates at the Temple was that cleanliness and organisation were the start of their path to the force.

Fionn's cell was littered with dirty clothes and homework datapads and other sundry flotsam. But having an untidy room wasn’t the only thing which set him apart from his fellow Jedi, as a glance in the wall mounted mirror confirmed. The sun and moon glyphs of Clan Lone hung above his left eye, a glaring reminder of his origins. He had lived at the Temple since he was four years old but he still felt like an outsider. It was not just the looks he received from the other Jedi when they glimpsed the Mandalorian clan markings on his temple. His heritage was strong. He was loud where the other initiates were restrained and he was bad mannered where other initiates were respectful.

Although that was part of the problem; he was only an initiate.

Pushing these thoughts to one side as he always did, he dressed himself in the traditional garb of a Jedi. Unlike the Jedi Padawans, Knights and Masters who wore shades of brown or cream, the Coruscant initiates wore robes of light blue or green, depending on which clan they had been assigned to. Sighing he shrugged on his under tunic and trousers, both of which the Jedi made deliberately coarse and itchy. It was supposed to help with the concentration of a Jedi, to help them learn to rise above trivial distractions. Fionn looked forward to becoming a Padawan and being able to choose what he wore. He’d heard that Corellian wool was the softest in the galaxy. Over the under tunic he wore an outer tunic of cotton and a worn leather belt, from which hung pouches containing various tools of a Jedi, such as food and water capsules and a tiny medical kit. Finally he pulled on a pair of leather boots. He winced as he did so, thinking that they were a bit tight. He groaned. For weeks he’d been telling himself that he would need new boots for the Tournament and for weeks he’d been putting it off because the thought he’d have plenty of time. It was too late to do anything about it now, on the one day he needed an edge over his fellow students. The Apprentice Tournament was one of the landmarks of a young Jedi’s calendar. Even to be selected as one of the 32 candidates was an honour. The first round would be held in the second hour of the training day, so there was no time to visit the Temple quartermaster and pick up a new pair. He would have to make do.

Reaching under his pillow he retrieved his lightsaber. Normally Initiates were not allowed their own lightsabers, not having fully mastered them yet, but Fionn’s age coupled with his proficiency had prompted Master Bullrouar to send him to the Temple workshops to build one. There were few masters that Fionn actively listened to, and Bullrouar was one of them. The gigantic Temple Battlemaster had taken Fionn under his wing and pushed him hard, so that no his skill could match many Jedi twice his age. Hanging the lightsaber on his belt, Fionn looked at himself in the mirror. Today would be his day to prove to all the other initiates, and the Padawans that had been promoted above him, that he could be a great Jedi.

This was the first year that Fionn had been able to participate in the tournament. Jedi initiates above the age of ten were permitted to submit their names, but last year Fionn had been recovering from a training accident which earned him a broken leg. He’d had to watch from the side-lines using crutches as he watched other young Jedi prove their worth. Not this time.

For many initiates, the tournament was seen as a fast track to success. Jedi Knights and Masters from all over the Republic gathered to observe the youngest of the Jedi and gauge their skills. Initiates who were seen as worthy were often picked for apprenticeship by Masters within days of completing the tournament and Fionn, who was sick of seeing younger Jedi becoming Padawans before him, was determined to prove himself to all the watching Jedi.

‘This time next week you’ll be a Padawan, and you can kiss the hall of youngling’s goodbye,’ he told himself.

The Jedi temple was a spacious building, with long, wide corridors and glassy marble floors that were fun to slide on but that was, of course, forbidden. In truth most of Fionn's favourite things were forbidden: running, playing games of hoverball, talking loudly and talking with his mouth full were all activities guaranteed to annoy his instructors.

The softly lit corridors of the temple gave way to the hall of younglings and their refectory. Separated from the other eating places of the Jedi it was always filled with the buzz of little kids chattering away about this and that, about their training or gossiping about rumours they heard from the older Padawans. Fionn was eleven, and stood head and shoulders over most of the other kids in the room the oldest of whom was probably nine. Since the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War, and the numerous border conflicts which had plagued the Republic since, the Order had been keen to get its hands on as many young recruits as possible, even though there was a shortage of experienced Jedi to train them, meaning that sometimes multiple Padawans might be apprenticed to a single master. Most Padawans were chosen by the time they reached eight or nine. Except Fionn.

Walking quickly to the serving area he said a polite hello to the droid behind the counter. He liked the Temple droids. They were always helpful and undemanding, unlike his instructors. He also suspected that he got bigger portions because he was nice to them.

‘Morning Spritely,’ he said to the droid in the hatch.

‘Good morning Initiate Katarm. I have your favourite food prepared. Rancor poodoo and snail juice,’ said Spritely in a cheery voice. At some point all the Temple droids must have shared the same programming but decades or even centuries of service had led to them developing quirky personalities of their own.

‘Are you going to wish me luck today?’

‘Wish you luck Initiate Katarm?’

‘For the Tournament.’

‘Oh yes. I think you mentioned it once or twice. A day. For the last three months. I do wish you luck, although the gossip in the refectory tells me that Padawan Invers is the favourite to win this year.’

‘We’ll see about that. Today’s the day Spritely, I’m going to become a Padawan.’

‘I do hope so sir. Serving you each day has become a constant blight on my existence,’ tittered the droid. ‘I just hope when you eventually become Grand Master of the Order you remember your humble servants down here in the refectory.’

‘For sure. I’ll see you later mate.’

‘Just be sure to call when you do become Grand Master. I don’t get out much,’ called Spritely after him as he went off in search of a table.

He didn’t feel like sharing a bench with a bunch of little kids, so he found a quiet spot at the back of the hall where he could eat in peace. Across the hall he could see little Sakora bossing some initiates around and smiled as he slid onto the bench. He had been four years old when he had been brought to the temple and placed in the care of the Jedi, and the hall of youth was the only home he remembered clearly. He dug into his breakfast, which fortunately wasn’t as exotic as Spritely had made out, a piece of flat, flavoured bread, some oatcake and dried ham with a billowing mug of hot chocolate. Fionn didn’t have much good to say about the hall of youth, but the food down here was a lot better than up in the main refectory.

So, Kyph Invers was the favourite this year. The two boys had grown up in the temple together, although Kyph was a year older than he was. It had been three years ago that Kyph had been accepted as a Padawan, and he’d taken every opportunity since then to rub it in Fionn's face. Kyph had always been a strong force user and a keen lightsaber duellist, and the boys had regularly been pitted against each other in training sessions. While Fionn’s skill with a lightsaber was unmatched by many Jedi twice his age, his ability to use the force was weak. Hours of training had been spent sweating and worrying, trying to get something as simple as a rusty nail to move, but in seven years of training at the temple, Fionn’s telekinetic powers were still virtually non-existent, putting him at a significant disadvantage when facing force-users.

He did have one trick up his sleeve: an innate ability to protect himself from force-attacks. Fionn often wondered if this natural ability to shield himself was the main reason he found interacting with the force so difficult. As far as his instructors and fellow initiate were concerned however he was simply a failure. Since the end of the Jedi Civil War and the rebuilding of the Order strength was the key component of a Jedi’s training and the Order weren’t about to waste their resources on a failing initiate. If he didn’t perform well in the tournament today, Fionn suspected that it would be the end of his Jedi career. Instead he would be reassigned to the Jedi Service Corps as a mechanic or an archivist. While still technically Jedi; many of its officers were initiates who hadn’t made it to Padawan stage.

So Fionn was determined. He would become a Jedi today, or he never would. Make or break time.

A shadow fell across his table. ‘We thought we’d find you here, with the rest of the babies.’

‘Hi Kyph, long time no see,’ replied Fionn.

‘Be nice to him Kyph,’ said Talena, another Padawan. ‘I’ve heard those Mandalorians have nasty tempers.’

Fionn looked up at the small group of Padawans. He knew most of them from his time in the temple, but they were all accepted into the order, on their way to becoming real Jedi. Kyph stood in front, a thickset Corellian with a jutting jaw and broken nose set between green eyes.

‘Guys I’m trying to have breakfast,’ said Fionn. ‘I’ll get around to beating you all in the Tournament later.’

Talena snorted. ‘Oh, yeah, the tournament. I nearly died of laughter when I heard you were entered in it. You don’t actually think you’re going to win do you?’
Shrugging, Fionn returned to his food, ‘I guess we’ll see won’t we.’

‘You won’t even make it passed the first round I bet.’

‘You looked terribly lonely sitting down here with the babies,’ sneered Kyph.

‘Have you got a point to make?’ snarled Fionn, standing up so fast that he knocked the bench he was sitting on to the floor. The Padawans laughed.

‘You gonna start something Mandalorian?’ said an Iridonian Padawan named Gaorour, who everyone called Roury. Fionn was hurt. He and Roury had grown up together in the same clan and they had been good friend before Roury was accepted as a Padawan. He looked at each of the Padawans in turn, his cold grey eyes finally coming to rest on Kyph.

‘You’d better all get the kriff out of here if you want to make it to the Tournament.’

‘Be careful Fionn. You know that anger leads to the dark side,’ said Talena in a sarcastic voice.

‘At least it would if he was a proper Jedi,’ added Kyph with a sneer. Fionn came very close to leaping over the table. He could feel his temperature spike as adrenaline coursed through his body and his fingers dug into the wooden bench to stop them from forming fists.

‘I’ll show you who’s a proper Jedi.’

‘Whatever, just try not to embarrass yourself too much at the tournament,’ said Kyph. He waved the rest of the group away and strode off, and Fionn heard them laughing at a joke he guessed was aimed at him. He picked up the bench and sat down, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the curious looks other initiates were shooting in his direction.

‘I’ll show them.’

Fionn ate the rest of his breakfast in silence, not noticing as the refectory emptied around him. The sun and moon symbols of his parentage on his forehead and right cheek had always been a reminder that he was different from the other initiates. Dozens of species became Jedi; Twi’leks, Rodians and Fionn had even known a Dug initiate a few years ago. But they were all part of the Republic and their worlds had all supported the Jedi during their wars, had aided and cared for them until the time was right to return.

Not the Mandalorians. They had done their very best to overthrow the Jedi and the Republic. They lived for war. They would be quite happy to watch the galaxy burn around then, so long as they were the ones who lit the fuse. The Mandalorian Wars had ended decades ago, but memories remained fresh in many people and Mandalorians, mostly working as thugs or mercenaries, were despised throughout the Republic. Even here in the Jedi temple, the heart of peace, they were loathed. Many Jedi Masters believed the Mandalorian Wars to be the cause of Revan and Malak’s fall to the dark side. Of course they never showed disdain towards young Fionn, at least not openly, but the disgust for his race had been a constant shadow hanging over him for most of his life.

Fionn couldn’t help being what he was. He remembered only the most basic of Mandalorian teachings from when he was a young boy, although many of the details were muddled, including his original name. He had come across his currant name, Katarm, whilst searching the in the Jedi Archives many years ago, the name of an ancient Jedi Master, and had stuck with it.

But to almost everyone else he was still Fionn the Mandalorian. Not quite one of his own race, but not quite a Jedi either.

He would prove them all wrong today. Laying his head down on the rough wooden table, he daydreamed of the time when he too would be a Padawan, and then a Knight, gliding between star systems in a tall ship, proving to the galaxy what a great Jedi he was…

*​

‘Initiate Katarm? Initiate Katarm, please wake up.’

Fionn hated waking up. He hated it almost as much as-

‘Initiate Katarm, I know I’m only a simple serving droid, but according to my internal chronometer, you are late for the opening ceremony of the Apprentice Tournament.’
‘What?’ cried Fionn, springing up from where he’d been sleeping on the table, a sliver of drool across his face. ‘What time is it?’

‘Nearly the Fourth hour of training I’m afraid,’ replied the droid shrilly.

‘Crap!’ yelled Fionn and, forgetting all protocol, he leapt out of his seat and began to run towards the temples main hall. The long corridors flashed past as he sprinted through the atrium, robes flying like wings behind him. He skidded into the great hall just as the other participants, a collection of Padawans and older initiates, were lining up to receive the training sabers that they would be using the tournament or else having their own weapons checked to make sure they were set to a non-lethal power level.

‘You are late Initiate Katarm!’ bellowed Master Bullrouar from his position beside the Jedi council. He had been named the Tournament Judge this year. Other judges included the members of the Jedi Council and the Temple Battlemaster.

‘I apologise master,’ mumbled Fionn, bowing first to Bullrouar and then to the Jedi council members, ‘I was busy, um, meditating and lost track of time.’

‘Meditating indeed!’ laughed Bullrouar, ‘You have drool on your face, Initiate Katarm. Do you often drool whilst meditating?’ a few muffled laughs could be heard around the room.

‘No master,’ replied Fionn, blushing. He knew that it was impossible to fool the old weapons master, but he thought that was better than admitting he had fallen asleep in the refectory.

‘I ought to disqualify you for tardiness, but know you’re here you may join your fellow participants,’ ordered the huge man. Fionn bowed again and went to join the rest of the young Jedi. As he passed, Bullrouar caught him by the arm and whispered in his ear. ‘I’m glad you made it lad. Things were always going to be a lot more interesting with you in this tournament.’

‘Now that we are all assembled, we can begin, as you all know, the temple weapon masters have chosen thirty-two young Jedi, Padawans and initiates both, to test their skill to the limit in the Apprentice Tournament. Each of the Jedi you see standing before you will have the chance to test their skills in combat against other promising young Jedi.

‘Jedi do not seek praise or titles, but the winner of this tournament will have proven themselves to be among the most capable young Jedi of this Order. I am sure all the Jedi you see here today will be impressive, but it takes more than theory and practice to excel with a lightsaber, as I’m sure you’ll see. May the force be with you,’ he said, speaking lastly to the contestants themselves.

‘As you are no doubt aware, the first round will consist of one-one one matches. Three touches with an opponent’s blade will disqualify a participant. Let the tournament begin!’


Chapter 2 coming soon...

 

Chapter 2

Much of what Fionn remembered of the Mandalorian ways was lost, viewed through the wide innocent eyes of a four year old. But he remembered the battle circle. Even as a young boy he could remember cheering for his father as he fought to maintain his combat skills, to demonstrate his skills as a warrior, finally standing over his defeated opponent, arms raised to the sky in victory.

‘Mandálii kote, su'van ca'atrë!’ he would bellow, a cry that was taken up by all the spectators. Mandalorian glory, our strength unmatched.

So when Fionn stepped into the arena for his first match of the tournament, he felt the rushing surge of adrenaline fill his body. This was where he belonged. He was pleased to find that his first opponent was to be Roury, the Iridonian boy who had mocked him in the refectory. The rules of the tournament made it very clear that it was not a place for personal vendettas to be played out, but Fionn was looking forward to wiping the smug smile off Roury’s face.

‘Remember the blade comes out this end,’ the Iridonian mocked as they stepped forward and bowed to each other, the ancient custom if duellists.

‘That’s the end you need to worry about,’ Fionn replied. After first bowing to each other they then turned and bowed to the members of the Jedi Council, before stepping apart and taking up a fighting position. The tinkling chime of a bell was the signal to begin.

Roury moved first, spinning his lightsaber in a series of wide arcs he came straight for Fionn, who sidestepped the swinging blade and cut low, hoping to get an early burn. The Iridonian, realising he was being over confident, leapt high and spun to face his opponent.

A vicious kick in the ribs sent him crashing to the floor before he had completed his leap. ‘You ought to keep your feet on the ground,’ laughed Fionn. He cocked his lightsaber to one side and grinned. Only then did Roury feel the prickling sensation on his left shoulder where Fionn’s lightsaber had brushed him.

‘First burn to Initiate Katarm,’ Bullrouar informed the gathered Jedi.

Flipping to his feet, Roury charged once again, hoping to catch his opponent off guard, launching a rapid succession of lunges and slashes. Fionn deflected the attacks with ease and pressed forward with a series of counter strikes, forcing Roury backwards. For some moments the two junior Jedi battled furiously, neither one gaining a significant advantage until Fionn spun around and threw a crushing roundhouse kick to the belly, knocking all the wind out of the Iridonian and catapulting him backwards, but not before a second burn blossomed across his chest.

‘Second burn to Initiate Katarm.’

Fionn didn’t follow up his attack immediately, allowing a moment for his opponent to get to his feet. This was a struggle for Roury, with all the wind knocked out of him; he staggered and had to throw out an arm to support himself. The burns from Fionn’s blade sent waves of agonising pain down his left side. Although the training sabers were not meant to be deadly, they still extremely painful when you got hit by one. Pain was part of a Jedis life, and even from a young age their training reminded them of that.

Approaching more cautiously this time, Roury held his blade in a neutral position, ready to either attack or defend. Fionn spun his lightsaber around, reversing the blade before going on the offensive with a series of devastating slashes. Roury was caught off guard be the speed and ferocity of the attack and barely managed to counter.
Swinging his blade in a high two handed arc, Fionn exposed his left side and Roury plunged forward, smashing his lightsaber into Fionn’s ribs. Too late he felt the harsh pain as Fionn’s own blade swept down and caught him in the side of the neck.

Roury blacked out for a moment. When he came to both Master Bullrouar and Fionn were kneeling over him, their faces concerned. ‘What happened?’ he asked stupidly.
‘I think I might have hit you a bit hard mate, there was a nasty crunching sound and you went down like a drunken bantha. I thought I’d killed you.’

‘Can you move?’ said Bullrouar.

‘I think so.’ Roury gave his hands and feet and experimental wiggle. His neck hurt like hell but it didn’t feel like there was any serious damage.

‘I’ll get a stretcher for you.’

‘No, I’m fine, honest,’ said Roury. He sat up, wincing at the pain. He wanted to retain some of his dignity at least after getting knocked out in the first round in front of a hundred Jedi Knights and Masters. ‘I can walk.’

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Fionn, throwing an arm around his shoulder. Together they staggered over to where a medical kiosk had been set up. The Apprentice Tournament was a trial in every sense of the word and injuries were common, although in the history of the Tournament nobody had died.

‘You put up a good fight, hey?’

‘Not as good as you. I’m starting to wonder why Kyph kept telling us you were rubbish. Then again, he probably wants us all to fail so that he can beat you in the final.’
‘So you think I’ll make it to the final now?’

Roury tried to laugh, but it hurt, so he stopped. ‘If you don’t I’ll be disappointed. If you make it to the final, at least I can say I was beaten by the tournament champion. There’s some dignity in that I suppose.’

A Jedi healer stepped out to meet them and took Roury’s arm.

‘Let’s get you checked out,’ she hummed. ‘That was some hit you took.’

‘Right then, I’d better be getting back,’ said Fionn.

‘Oh no you don’t. You could have broken a rib when you were burned, I want to have a look at you too,’ ordered the healer.

‘I’m fine, I’ll manage.’

The healer turned her wide, violet eyes on him. She was from Cathar, and like all her race she had a predatory feline gaze which couldn’t be argued with. “If you don’t let me check you out now and do something to help you could puncture a lung, then you really will be in trouble,’ she snapped. ‘Take a seat, youngling,’ bashfully Fionn took a seat next to Roury’s bed.

‘So you do listen to some people then?’ smiled the Iridonian.

‘Absolutely not!’ grinned Fionn, wincing just noticeably as he lowered himself into the seat. ‘I’ve just decided to take a short break that’s all. Here seems like a good place.’
For a moment they sat in silence a while the healer fetched a bandage for Fionn’s ribs. ‘I was wrong you know,’ mumbled Roury. ‘You handle that lightsaber good.’
‘I’m a Mandalorian. Fighting is in my blood.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re on our side,’ laughed the Iridonian, holding out his arm.

‘Me too,’ beamed Fionn, taking Roury’s hand and shaking it. ‘Ner vod.’

‘What does that mean?’

Fionn thought for a moment. He remembered his father using the phrase when referring to his uncle, but more often he could remember him saying it to his fellow warriors before his exile.

‘I think it literally means my brother, but it could also be “friend”.’

The Iridonian grinned and took his hand.

*

The first round took some time to complete, but by midday only sixteen combatants were left, the rest had been disqualified. Spectators chattered excitedly about who they thought would make it through the next round. Fionn’s match with Roury was widely discussed, with many of the younger Jedi claiming that Fionn had tried to cut off the Iridonian’s head and broken his neck. In fact the only match more talked about was Kyph’s bout against an initiate called Andre. Apparently Kyph had been down two burns when he had twisted around behind the young initiate, grabbed his arms in a vicious lock and broken both his wrists. The poor initiate, unable to hold a lightsaber, was forced to concede the match.

At the moment Kyph still seemed to be the favourite to win, but several other young Jedi, including the sarcastic Talena and – much to everyone’s surprise –Fionn, were also in the running. Returning to the arena with his left side bound tight with bandages, Fionn found the other match winners waiting for the second round to begin. Over to the side he could see Sakora and the other initiates cheering for him.

‘I call the Jedi!’ bellowed Master Bullrouar.

‘And we answer the call!’ chorused the assembled Order.

‘Every Jedi must be able to cope with unexpected situations, and the second round of the Apprentice Tournament is designed to reflect that. It has become tradition to keep the form this round takes secret in order to test our student’s adaptability.’

As Bullrouar spoke, the arena floor opened to reveal an intricate complex of scaffolding which rose up out of the floor. A series of metal gantries and walkways, ropes, and long narrow beams made up a vertical assault course which towered high over the assembled ranks of Jedi. At the assault courses highest point, atop a slender pole, hung a delicate silver bell.

‘Four participants will enter into the arena together. Their task will be to ring the bell, and to prevent the other initiates from reaching it. If they do not reach the bell inside three minutes, they will be disqualified. At the same time they must try to prevent their opponents from reaching the top. Each of them will be assessed by the Tournament Judges, and only two may progress to the next stage. If the bell is not rung by any of the participants, they will all be disqualified.’

Fionn nodded. Not just testing speed and skill this time, but also resolve and tactical thinking. One thing was certain however, the first person to reach and ring the bell would gain a massive tactical advantage over the others. Still, three minutes was an eternity in combat and keeping up an effective defence during that time would be difficult.

Four names were chosen at random for the first group. The first two names were younger initiates, the third was Kyph and last there was a Padawan Fionn didn’t recognise named Mkhur. He was disappointed not to face Kyph, but glad that he got to see him in action first. The four participants clambered up onto high platforms in the cardinal corners of the assault course. Beneath them a wide net was suspended between the pillars which held the structure up. This was a concession to safety, as it was considerable drop from the higher points of the course, but falling would probably still result in injury. The two young initiates kept glancing in Kyph’s direction. Clearly his performance during his earlier match had been recounted to them. Smiling grimly, Fionn recalled something his father had once taught him; reputations can sometimes be more useful than swords.

A chime marked the beginning of the second round.

All four participants leapt forward, jumping and clambering up the beams and pylons and platforms towards the bell. For a few moments it seemed like Kyph had the lead, but he missed his footing on a narrow pole and slipped, nearly toppling off the structure altogether. A gasp ran through the ranks of spectators below. Only a lucky grab at a hanging rope prevented him from falling.

One of the initiates took the lead. He was a nimble boy and swarmed up the structure, racing towards the top. The second initiate found her way blocked by Mkhur, who landed on a platform nearby and threw a force shove in her direction. The girl dodged it but was sent flying by a swift kick from the Padawan. She crashed down onto a platform below, and her opponent resumed his ascent.

Below, Kyph had regained his footing and, calling the force to him, made a tremendous leap towards the top. Even with the force enhancing his jump, he still only made it about half way, but it was enough to put him on an even footing with the burly Padawan. They clambered up neck and neck, towards the summit. The shrill chime of the bell echoed around the room, rung by the young initiate, a boy named Sorley. The crowd craned their neck back to see him draw his lightsaber and take up a fighting stance, dropping back to a large platform blow the bell, ready for the two Padawans who were rapidly approaching.

Kyph reached the platform first, drawing his own weapon and launching a series of cuts and slashes, trying to push Sorley back and off the edge of the platform. The youngster wasn’t going to give up that easily though and, ducking beneath Kyph’s blade, he rolled underneath the Padawan’s guard and onto his feet. Now Kyph was the one with his back to the long drop. Realising how precarious his position was, he took calculated leap towards a lower platform.

Mkhur gained a foothold on the platform a moment later. Instead of challenging the initiate directly, he leapt high to land on the slender pole from which the bell hung, tapping it lightly with the pommel of his lightsaber. Once more the delicate chime echoed around the room. The initiate was ready for him now though, sending a force push through the air towards the Padawan, who was clutching precariously onto the slim pole. Instead of tumbling off the structure, as the initiate had hoped, Mkhur spun around the pole, using the momentum gained by the force push to carry him towards the initiate. Their lightsaber’s clashed violently as he landed, sending sparks flying in all directions.

Meanwhile, the other initiate had reached the top of the structure and was battling furiously with Kyph, who refused to give up his platform. The young girl looked like she could handle a lightsaber, but Kyph had the high ground and it didn’t take him long to press the advantage, using his superior reach and height to drive the girl backwards. Seeing that she was in danger of falling, the initiate made a move to spring off to another platform, just as Kyph had done earlier. A massive force shove from Kyph sent her spinning well off target and, although she made a desperate grab for a trailing rope, she tumbled off the edge of the platform she had been aiming for and plummeted to the net below.

‘One down, three to go,’ commented Roury, coming to stand beside Fionn. They watched the poor initiate crash into the net and scramble dejectedly onto the floor, where a healer came to make sure she was alright. Roury was wearing a thick foam neck brace and seemed to be having difficulty seeing what was going on above, so Fionn offered to narrate for him.

‘That wee initiate and Mkhur are still going at it. They can’t seem to decide who wants to win most. Mkhur has the kid backing up…he’s right on the edge! Look at that, what an awesome move!’

‘What, what happened?’ begged Roury.

Sorley ducked under Mkhur’s blade and kicked his feet away before vaulting out to one of the closer platforms, a small one where the others can’t follow him. He’s got some moves.’

‘What’s Kyph up to?’

‘He and Mkhur are facing off now. It looks like he determined not to let Kyph get to that bell. Kyph’s on the platform now and they’re at it with lightsabers. I think Kyph might have the edge here, no…yes, he’s pushing other other guy back towards the edge. Oh no, don’t do that!’

Fionn had seen what Mkhur was thinking a split second before he did it. Hoping to catch his opponent off guard, the young Padawan had used the force to leap high, somersaulting through the air, to land behind Kyph, hoping to drive him off the edge. In the split second before he landed Kyph used the force to push the Padawan out, off the edge of the platform. Losing his grip on his lightsaber, the Padawan tumbled down towards the net.

‘Two down, two to go,’ smiled Roury, while Kyph swarmed up the pole and chimed the silver bell.

‘There’s still a full minute to go. Kyph can still try and knock Sorley out of the competition. He looks like he could be trouble if he stays in.’

Above, Kyph and the initiate faced off across a long drop. Kyph said something that none of the spectators below could hear.

‘I’d like to see you try!’ Sorley yelled back.

With a single burst of energy, Kyph dived through the air towards the initiate, who responded with a force push intended to knock the Padawan off course. But Kyph hadn’t been aiming for the youngling. Instead he grabbed hold of a trailing rope and, lightsaber in hand, used it to swoop around the small platform, landing precariously on a steel girder behind his opponent. Spinning to meet Kyph’s attack, the boy wasn’t prepared for the sudden force push which the Padawan sent in his direction. The attack was supposed to knock him off the platform, but the kids footing was good and although he sank to his knees, he stayed upright.

At least until Kyph flew towards him, landing a brutal kick Sorley’s temple. A resounding crack could be heard around the great hall and many in the audience winced involuntarily. The young initiate collapsed off the platform, spinning downwards in a way that told Fionn he’d probably been knocked out. A second crunch could be heard as the unconscious boy thwacked against one of the metal walkways which crisscrossed the structure, before continuing his long descent. A handful of Jedi healers rushed forward to his prone form, which hung limply in the net.

‘That Kyph sure is demolishing the competition today,” Roury said. “Do you think you can beat him?’

Fionn shrugged ‘We used to be evenly matched when we studied in the Temple together, and I’ve had a lot of lightsaber instruction from the weapon masters which he won’t have had, but his practical experience counts for a lot. Plus it looks like Master Haalla has been teaching him some interesting moves,’ replied Fionn. He gazed across the arena floor, looking for Kyph’s master, finally spotting her next to the High Council dais.

Salina Haalla was a Jedi Knight with a fierce reputation. It was rumoured that she had been a bounty hunter for the Hutts before she became a Jedi. Unlike most other Jedi, she wore a suit of flexile fibre armour beneath her flowing brown robes.

‘Shall we go and see if he’s ok?’ suggested Roury, nodding towards the injured Sorley, who was being carried off by stretcher.

‘You go, I’m fighting in the next match,’ Fionn told him.

‘Well, may the force be with you,’ said the Iridonian. He watched Fionn march off towards the arena before ducking through the crowd towards the injured initiate.
‘Heck of a fight you gave him,’ he said, coming alongside.

‘Bloody sithspawn broke my bloody leg,’ groaned Sorley.

‘Don’t worry. Friend of mines’ going to get him back in the next round,’ Roury promised him.

‘Record it for me,’ grinned the boy before passing out again, his head flopping onto the stretcher. Roury was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t been one of the lucky ones, disqualified in the first round. He’d heard that the tournament was brutal and painful, but he’d had no idea it would be quite this brutal and painful. He looked over to where Fionn was clambering up onto his starting platform and then over towards Kyph, standing by is masters side, a smug grin on his face.

‘I hope somebody can beat him,’ he said to himself.

*​

Up on the platform, Fionn surveyed the assault course. From up close it looked a lot more dangerous and tricky, and the drop seemed a lot more terrifying. On the other three platforms the rest of the participants were making ready. He knew the initiate to his left, a short boy called Ryon. The Padawan to his right was a stranger, a tall girl with stunning purple hair, and directly opposite him, on the far side of the arena, stood Talena. The slim Echani girl flicked her long silver hair and gazed across the arena at him as if to say “you’re going down”. At her waist a long slender lightsaber glittered in the dim light cast by the gigantic lamps high above.

‘Ready to begin?’ called Master Bullrouar from below. The four young Jedi nodded.

The starting chime triggered an explosive jump from Fionn. Unlike Kyph, he wasn’t adept at using the force to jump longer distances, but he made up for it with speed and skill. Grabbing a hanging rope in mid-air, he swung to one of the long metal walkways nearby. He found his way blocked by the little Ryon, who raised his weapon and charged forward. Fionn didn’t have time to mess about. Side-stepping the energy blade, he sank a fist into the initiate’s stomach before running on, clambering up a series of pylons. Somewhere above him he could hear the clash of lightsabers. Stealing a quick glance up he was just in time to see Talena slash the purple haired Padawan across the chest and use the force to push her off the platform they were standing on. The girl nose-dived towards the net. Less than twenty seconds had passed and one of the contestants was already out.

Talena reached the bell just as Fionn clambered up onto the highest platform. The silver-haired girl laughed as she spun to face him. The only way to the bell was through her.

‘Come on baby-Fionn, let’s see what the famous Mandalorians are made of!’ Talena jeered. Their lightsabers, blue and yellow, flashed hungrily towards each other. They hammered blows down, parrying, thrusting and cutting. It soon became clear that Fionn was a superior swordsman, with strength and weight in his side, but Talena was quick as lightning, ducking and dodging his attacks and cleverly deflecting every one. It was a good strategy. She had already rung the bell, all she needed to do was keep him occupied long enough to—

A sudden blast of force energy erupted behind the two Jedi. Talena rolled off the platform, grabbed a rope and hoisted herself onto another. Fionn turned to face Ryon, how had sneaked up on them. A look of surprise flashed across his face when his attack failed to even budge Fionn.

‘That’s not going to work on me,’ said Fionn with a smile. He might not be able to move objects with the force or use it to push his opponents around, but he could shrug off the effects of most force-based attacks. It was his secret weapon, one that he had spent hours honing in training with Master Bullrouar.

Talena leapt high over Fionn’s head and darted forward to meet the young initiate. Ryon swung his lightsaber in a wild arc, ignoring the most basic teachings of lightsaber mastery; speed will beat strength every time. All Talena had to do was duck the blue blade, sticking out a leg to trip Ryon as he landed. Instead of kicking the boy off the platform though, she took her lightsaber and jabbed it into the centre of Ryon’s back. The young initiate shrieked with pain. Even on a low setting, a lightsaber burn like that would be agony. Ignoring the kid’s screams she pressed even harder with her blade.

Fionn leapt forward and swung for Talena’s lightsaber hand, but even he wasn’t quick enough. Once more blue and yellow sparks flew as they engaged each other, while Ryon lay groaning at their feet. The two blades screeched as they locked and a test of strength began.

‘Why don’t you just give up, baby?’ puffed Talena.

‘Stop…calling…me…BABY!’ shouted Fionn, putting all his weight into the lock. Abruptly the pressure was relieved as the slim Echani slid her lightsaber back and down, and he felt himself falling forwards. He crashed face-first onto the platform and cried out in pain as Talena seized his arm and forced it into a savage wrist lock, twisting it up behind his back.

‘Baby, baby, baby,’ she hissed in his ear. ‘Mandalorian scum like you should never have been let into the order. You’ll never be a proper Jedi and you know it!’ Keeping his arm locked, she dug her lightsaber hilt into his neck, applying pressure. Fionn’s vision swam, and he began to black out.

Not a proper Jedi!

He didn’t mean for it to happen, but the rage which had been building inside his heart for years broke open. Anger at being despised by his peers and even at times his masters, anger at being passed over again and again by masters looking for new Padawans, anger at having to wear stupid blue robes, anger at his father for dying and leaving him all alone in the universe! The fury which Jedi teachings kept in check exploded inside Fionn.

With savage cry he forced himself to his knees. Surprised at the sudden surge of defiance, Talena tightened her grip on his neck and arm. Fionn wrenched himself away, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling her to the ground. His lightsaber lay close by, forgotten, as he smashed his fist ferociously into Talena’s smug face. A blossom of blood trickled down her chin.

Even caught by surprise, Talena was still a tough opponent. Using a leg to push Fionn away she snatched up her lightsaber, turning to face him once more. She threw and hand in his direction, trying to use the force to shove him away but it had no effect on him. Fionn’s second attack was even more ferocious than the first. He could feel his blood boiling, surging through his veins. After so many years of sitting patiently, being a good little Jedi, the Mandalorian in his blood screamed. He batted aside the lightsaber with a fist, not even noticing the pain, and smashed another punch into Talena’s face. She dropped the weapon, which tumbled out of sight. With a final vicious shove he sent her careening backwards, off the edge, to the net below.

A movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. Ryon had scooped up his dropped lightsaber and was moving closer.

‘Ne shab'rud'ni!’ he shouted. He didn’t want to attack the boy, but the red fire surging though his body acted before he knew what he was doing, springing forward and landing a murderous blow to the side of the kids head. Ryon’s head snapped backwards and hit the platform with a sickening crunch. Fionn descended on the initiate like a mountain, hammering both fists into the boy’s face. He continued raining blows down on Ryon, shrieking incoherently in Basic and Mandalorian until his hands were wet with blood.


Chapter 3 coming soon...

If you've enjoyed this chapter please drop a comment below or check out the links on my signature for my other stories

 

YES! Let the hate and rage flow through you! Give you strength! *Cackles evilly*

On subject this chapter was absolutely wonderful. Of course there were a few misspellings but not to noticeable. The way combat is described is enticing and exciting painting a perfect picture of what forms the padawans are using. Such as Fionn most likely using Djem So since he is dueling oriented and has a decent defense, but an overwhelming offense.

 

So OC + Old Republic + Initiates/Padawans is totally my jam, and I was hoping that this would be a good read - and it certainly was!

I actually really loved the first chapter, it set a real great tone, and I was actually kind of disappointed that the story moved away from the Vornskr. You've got a good knack for describing the horrors of combat that I appreciated.

So Fionn is an interesting character - certainly he seems to straddle both the Jedi and Mandalorian worlds. It's an interesting idea, one that is ripe to be explored. I like how he is written with a real chip on his shoulder - and an arrogance that he can't fully back up - at least not yet.

One thing I would point out is be careful with using phrases that are too 'modern' - like 'slowcoach' or 'mate' or 'crap' - these are not words you'd see often used in the Star Wars galaxy. It's just a little thing that pulls the reader out of the story. Misspellings are whatever, they happen, but word choice is important.

Also, you probably should have stopped to explain what the rules of the Apprentice Tournament were - I knew what they are thousands of years from now, but it never hurts to remind the reader of some of the more esoteric parts of life at the Jedi Temple.

Anyway, this was a very promising start, and I'm looking forward to reading more.

 

Chapter 3

He’d been ordered to stay in his room and, to enforce the point, the Jedi Knight who had escorted him there had locked the door. But something as simple as a lock couldn’t keep a Jedi, even a failed Jedi, in one place for very long and Fionn didn’t fancy waiting around in his room for his inevitable punishment. He paced around the tiny room, the brutal events of the past hour finally beginning to sink in. Each time he closed his eyes he saw again the shocked and terrified expression on little Ryon’s face before his fist had smashed it beyond recognition.

This would be his last evening in the Jedi Temple. The thought churned inside him, overwhelming his entire existence. The Order was all he had known for seven years, the temple had been his home, and he had destroyed it all in one moment of anger. The bitter taste of rage remained, the surge of power still tangible on the edges of his perception. He had wanted to kill Ryon, he now realised. If Master Bullrouar hadn’t stopped him, he probably would have. As soon as he had calmed down, he had asked how the boy was. The answer he got from the Knight who had brought him to his room hadn’t been encouraging.

Recalling now every single brutal blow, Fionn thought it was a minor miracle that he hadn’t killed the boy outright. He hadn’t dared to look at the faces of his fellow Jedi as he was led away. Their shame and disgust was palpable in the air. Even with his limited force abilities, he could tell what they were all thinking; the Mandalorian had failed, this time for good. The expression on Roury's face as he passed him was one of shocked disbelief, and horror. Horror that a Jedi could do such a thing.

But you’re not only a Jedi, are you? The Mandalorian inside him whispered.

Falling on the bed, Fionn tried to find his way through to the force, the way Master Chin had tried to show him so many times. He probably should have listened to the old Jedi a little more, because the force stubbornly left him alone. Perhaps it was angry with him too.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he began to wonder what would happen to him when he was expelled. Would the Order simply throw him out the door? Would he be put on trial for murder if Ryon died? Black thoughts tumbled through his mind, insistent and urgent. Where could he go? Would he be sent to live in a government orphanage? The prospect didn’t thrill him. For a moment he thought about Duxn, the planet of his birth. He remembered very little about it, just the smell of rotting vegetation and the angry howls of the beasts in the jungle outside camp.

Would the Mandalorians accept him? By blood he was one of them but, apart from the most basic rudiments of their language, he knew next to nothing about their culture. Then there were the circumstances in which he and his father had left Duxn under. No, there would be no welcome for him there, not for the bastard son of the Damned. Perhaps he would simply die cold and alone on Coruscants streets. He’d disobeyed the laws of the Jedi Order, used the dark side against a fellow initiate. His fate was sealed.

He certainly couldn’t stay here.

Soon he would be summoned before the Council and they would pass judgement on him, exile him. He had heard that they were even capable of stripping the force away from someone. Once more he looked at the locked door. Why wait? He asked himself. Wouldn’t it be better to simply disappear? If he left now he could be gone before anybody even noticed he was missing. Running away now would mean he would not have to face the wrath of the Council, and worse still the disappointed eyes of his fellow Jedi.

That was it then, he would run away.

But it was easier said than done. First he had to make himself look inconspicuous. He threw aside his blue tunic and pulled on a tattered and stained jumpsuit which he wore when he was helping out the engineers in the hanger bay. He also filled a small pack with various items: first aid kit and ration capsules, and other survival equipment, although most of the Jedi’s ships would probably have an emergency supply of food and water anyway. Lastly he stuffed in the small holoimage of the snowball fight two years ago. It had happened when the Temple’s environmental controls went haywire and froze the south wing. The faces in the picture seemed to laugh mockingly back at him, but it was the only thing Fionn owned for himself. Jedi aren’t supposed to have personal possessions, except of course their lightsabers, and as Fionn looked around the room one last time, he realised that apart from the picture, he had nothing of his own to take.

The door lock was the easy bit. Fionn had worked out years ago how to override such a basic mechanism and it took only a few minutes of probing inside the door access panel to release it. The door slid quietly open. Slipping out, he was relieved to find the corridor outside deserted. Keeping to the shadows as much as he dared, he made his way through the maze of passages which made up the hall of younglings. His aim was to get to the hanger, jump aboard one of the ships docked there and make his escape. He wasn’t a brilliant pilot yet, and he had never actually flown solo before, but after the many simulations he had performed he was sure he knew enough to get safely away from the Temple before the Jedi realised that he was gone.

At this time of day the main hanger was usually pretty quiet, with only a few engineers and mechanics from the Jedi Service Corps on duty, and even they were taking it easy, sitting beneath the massive bulk of a half-repaired star fighter sipping cups of caff and chatting away.

Fionn had spent plenty of time here during the last few years. Jedi were sent all over the galaxy on missions and it was desirable that most of them had at least a passing familiarity with the ships which took them there, so classes in mechanics and ship repair were part of a young Jedis routine. When life in the temple had become difficult, Fionn had often come here to work quietly, focussing on the circuits of a droid component or on the insides of a starfighter engine. He didn’t have a special gift with technology and was often amazed be how all the bundles of super conducting wire, circuits and gizmos made a ship fly through the air. The mechanics and the engineers liked having him around, and Fionn enjoyed listening to the wild and magnificent stories they would tell about the myriad star systems they had visited. It had always seemed to Fionn as though there was more than enough space in the galaxy for everybody to have their own bit, so why were wars constantly being fought? When he mentioned this idea to the mechanics they simply laughed and told him he was very young, which annoyed Fionn intensely.

He sneaked between the hulls of dozens of different ships, from starfighters to orbital shuttles, looking for a design he was familiar with. For a moment his gaze rested on the Dynamic-class freighter which had been brought in for repairs to its hyperdrive last week. He had helped replace the damaged motivators and spent some time in the cockpit. The layout and interface system had seemed simple enough, but he wasn’t sure he wanted something that big, so he turned away.

Close by he spotted an old Aurek-class tactical strikefighter. He’d completed dozens of flight simulations on that class and was sure he’d be able to handle it. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t watched, he scurried over to the small ship. At just over nine metres long, it was hardly a giant ship, but it was fast and well-defended, and it had a class 2 hyperdrive unit. The cockpit canopy was conveniently open and he slipped into the pilot’s chair. Keying the ship to prestart, he cast an eye over the blinking readouts. The ship was fully fuelled and showed it was ready for departure.

The sound of voices close by froze Fionn. He peeked over the rim of the cockpit and saw two mechanics walking straight towards him.

‘What about the repair schedule for tomorrow? They don’t really expect us to get the Crimson Flag operational by midday do they?’

‘It’s not happening, not with the filament damage to the hyperdrive casing. I think we’re looking at a complete overhaul of the drive system, probably the reactor too.’

The voices came closer. Fionn quickly shut down the Aurek’s systems and squirmed as far down into the pilot’s seat as he could. If they were coming to check on this ship, his plan would go up in smoke. He winced as one of the mechanics drummed a fist against the strikefighter’s hull.

‘What about this, shouldn’t this have been shipped out already, it’s been sitting here a bloody week,’ grumbled one of the mechanics.

‘I think they still want to run some diagnostics on the command and control systems.’

‘What for? It doesn’t take a week to run a diagnostic which takes ten minutes. Here, I’ll do it right now and then we can get it shipped out.’

The hull clanged as the mechanic climbed aboard, his heavy boots clanking on the metal. Fionn braced himself, running through combat moves in his mind. He had to take out both men before they managed to raise the alarm. He didn’t like the idea, but hopefully with surprise on his side-

‘Come on! All we’ve got to do is finish re-wiring that shuttles navigation systems and then we’ll be done. It’s late, I want to get home!’ complained the other man. The mechanic standing on the ship stopped and turned to face his companion. Not daring to move, and hardly daring to breathe, Fionn could see him standing above the cockpit out the corner of his eye. All the mechanic had to do was look down…

‘Whatever, let’s get it over with,’ the man sighed, stepping away from Fionn’s hiding place and hopping down from the ship to join his friend. Fionn heard their footsteps moving away, but he still hardly dared to move. It wasn’t until a good five minutes later that he risked a quick look out of the cockpit, finding that he was again alone. For a brief moment he wondered whether this was such a good idea after all. He was in enough trouble as it was, and if he was caught, the consequences could be even greater. There was probably still time for him to make his way back to his room, forget the whole thing…

‘No!’ he hissed to himself and once more he keyed for the engine prestart. The instruments flashed to life once more, and this time he activated the engines. A low groan came from behind him as the strikefighter rumbled to life, sending a judder through his bones that the simulations had never included. The cockpit canopy slid shut over his head, shutting out the sounds of the hanger bay and leaving him alone with the low hum of the ships computer. A flashing light on the display board told him that launch thrusters were ready to fire. Breathing slowly in and out, preparing himself for the jolt of take-off, Fionn reached out and pressed the launch control.

Nothing happened.

At first Fionn thought he hadn’t pushed the correct key, but after double checking he found that he had. Pressing it again, the small ship remained stubbornly on the ground. Then he saw the flashing message on the left control panel.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED FOR LAUNCH: PLEASE ENTER AUTHORIZATION CODE.

A launch code. Fionn felt his head fall back against the seat. He hadn’t thought of a launch or access code, but it seemed ridiculously obvious now. He closed his eyes, searching for a way forward. Ok, the hanger bay had been a dead end, but it was still possible to get out of the temple. He’d make for the under levels, he’d heard it was easy to get lost there. Nobody would know. He hit the button to release the cockpit canopy.

‘Hello Fionn, it’s been quite some time.’

Fionn yelped. The voice, a calm and collected murmur, belonged to a tall man who wore the ceremonial robes of a Jedi Master. There was something familiar about that voice. He’d heard it before, but couldn’t place it for a moment. Then it hit him.

‘Master Duron?’

The Jedi Master smiled. ‘I’m glad to see you remember me. It must be almost three years since we last met; in fact I think that was the last time I was on Coruscant.’

‘Did the council send you to find me?’

Oran Kal Duron shook his head. ‘No, but I expected to find you here.’

Hauling himself out of the cockpit Fionn jumped down beside Master Duron. ‘You were running away,’ asked the older Jedi. It wasn’t a question.

‘To be honest I was hoping to be long gone by now,’ he admitted. ‘You were at the tournament.’

‘I was, and I saw,’ nodded Master Duron.

‘I didn’t mean for it to happen.’

‘We never do.’

‘If you’re not here to take me to the Council, why are you here?’ asked Fionn, looking up at the man who had saved his life. The lines of care had worn even further into his face. It seemed to Fionn as though Master Duron had aged more than three years since he had last seen him. In seven years at the Jedi temple, Master Duron was one of the few Jedi Masters he’d come to respect, and the only one to whom he opened up and spoke to with complete honesty.

‘Your beard has more grey in it,’ he ventured.

Master Duron’s face broke into a lopsided grin. He couldn’t help it when he spoke to Fionn. The boy’s unflinching honesty was always a marvel to him. Leaning across the Aurek’s wing, he spoke in the direction of the computer. ‘Authorization code; 626 XX4/5, enable,’ he said clearly.

‘AUTHORIZATION CODE CONFIRMED,’ responded the computer. Fionn looked up Master Duron in astonishment.

‘I won’t stop you Fionn,’ said the old Jedi. ‘If it is your wish to leave, I will not stand in your way. Just make sure you’re doing the right thing.’ And with that, he turned to leave.

Confused, it took Fionn a moment to find his voice. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked.

For a moment, Master Duron didn’t move or say anything. Once more he looked at the young boy noting his dark, brooding eyes which already knew much pain, and the twin sun and moon runes tattooed on his temples and cheek, forever marking him as different. Pushing a little further, Master Duron got a sense of the boy’s feelings, the raging guilt and pain of today’s events, the self-disgust and, most of all, the deep menacing currant of emotions, well hidden by years of Jedi training but not forgotten. He remembered well the similar sense from Mandalorian warriors on the battlefield, the controlled fury which drove them to war, the pride, and the seemingly unquenchable thirst for blood-

Once more he looked at the young boy, just to make sure he was doing the right thing. ‘You would not be the first Jedi to walk away from responsibility Fionn, and I very much doubt you will be the last. During the Mandalorian Wars the Jedi did terrible things in the name of freedom, committed acts of barbarism to match the enemy we fought. And when it was over, when the Mandalorians were defeated, many of us wavered. Some defected to the Sith, serving Revan and Malak in their dark crusade against the Republic. Many more chose to exile ourselves, cutting off our ties to the Order. Only a handful chose to return and face the judgement of our fellow Jedi and I always respected them for that, for showing strength which I did not yet possess. It was many years before I was ready to face the acts of my past.

‘If it is your wish to leave, I will not stop you. I once left the order behind. But even the very wise cannot know the true will of the force, and here there may still be a place for you, if you choose to seek it. I’m giving you the same choice I faced. It’s up to you what you want to do with it.’ He closed his eyes and for the briefest of moments, his forehead furrowed in concentration. ‘The boy you attacked lives still, I can feel him. He is in pain, but he lives,’ he said at last, opening his eyes.

A surge of relief blossomed in Fionn’s chest. He wasn’t a murderer after all. But Master Duron’s words had left him confused. ‘I don’t understand Master, are you saying I should stay?’

‘I am saying the choice is yours and yours alone,’ replied the tall Jedi, somewhat unhelpfully.

As he walked away Master Duron sifted through a catalogue of memories. The force allowed him to recall every battle he had fought, every mind he had touched and… every enemy he had slain. That was ancient history. Yet he found whenever he approached young Fionn, the memories, so carefully stacked away in the dark places of his mind, would slip out into the sunlight. It was one of the reasons he had stayed away, one of the reasons he had entrusted the boy to the Order here on Coruscant, a place he rarely came.

Perhaps he should have done more. He thought about the choice he had laid at the boy’s feet, the same choice that he had faced all those years ago. Hopefully Fionn would choose better than he had. If his suspicions about the boy were true, then leaving the Order could have far-reaching consequences the Duron didn’t even want to guess at.

Standing by the humming starfighter, Fionn tried to make sense of Master Duron’s words. What had he meant, there might still be a place here for him if he chose to seek it? The relief he felt from the news that Ryon was not dead surged though him, every bit as powerful as the anger which had caused this mess. He stared at the waiting ship, ready to take him away from the only home he had ever known.

Are you just going to give up that easily? His inner Mandalorian mocked. Your father would be ashamed.

Fionn recalled sparring with his father on Duxn, just before their exile. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t land a single hit on the massive man. Tired and frustrated, he had stormed off; the taunting shouts of the Mandalorian men harsh on his neck. “You won’t win any battles by giving up when the odds are against you!” his father had called.

‘I’m not going to give up!’ he whispered to himself, and then louder, ‘I’m not going to give up!’

‘Good for you lad,’ grinned an old repairman carrying a long bundle of cables as he passed.

Reaching inside the starfighters cockpit, Fionn shut down the engines. He would face the judgement of the council like a true Mandalorian.

Like a true Jedi.



Chapter 4 coming soon...

 

Oh the struggle of fighting his inner Mando ways. It makes such a good story and with the large contrast between a Mando and Jedi it creates a interesting character in Fionn. The way you present it is magnificent. Though I do not trust Duron. Something rubs me the wrong way about him. Like he's hiding something and the way he aged over three years. Something not common for a jedi. Hmm.

 

I was actually expecting Fionn to make his escape and that Duron would be sent to track him down, so good work on subverting my expectations. I liked Fionn thinking that the Council had the ability to take the Force away from him - I'm not entirely sure that they can, but it felt like the kind of rumor that would be started by the older kids in the Jedi Temple, just to scare the younglings, so I really got a kick out of that.

The beginning of this chapter was particularly well written, I loved Fionn's introspection and you portrayed it very well. I was wondering why I was having trouble following the dialog when I saw that you were using ' instead of " for your quotations. That might be a copy and paste bug (and its partially my fault for being thrown off by something that minor, because it's written fine, it just has the wrong markings).

Please keep up the good work.

 

[/quote]The beginning of this chapter was particularly well written, I loved Fionn's introspection and you portrayed it very well. I was wondering why I was having trouble following the dialog when I saw that you were using ' instead of " for your quotations. That might be a copy and paste bug (and its partially my fault for being thrown off by something that minor, because it's written fine, it just has the wrong markings).

Please keep up the good work.[/quote]

Thanks for the feedback, I love writing Fionn's thoughts - he can be a bit of an idiot at times but he's got a good heart! The speech marks are correct punctuation in Scotland

 

Chapter 4

For any initiate, waiting outside the Jedi Council chamber was nerve-racking. For somebody in Fionn’s position it was positively alarming.

The wide windows of the council atrium offered an outstanding view of the spires and towers surrounding the temple, spreading out in all directions. The vastness of Galactic City staggered Fionn every time he saw it. It made him feel very small indeed compared with the sheer might and size of the thing.

Beside him Master Bullrouar stirred. Fionn had been surprised when he had offered to stand by him when he faced the council, but secretly glad. On the rare occasion when a youngling was brought before the council to deal with a disciplinary matter, it was custom for the youngling to be accompanied by an older, trusted Jedi. Had Fionn been given a choice he would have chosen Bullrouar, or Master Duron, but the older Jedi was nowhere to be seen. Fionn had half expected him to be here, but he supposed Jedi Masters must have more important things to do.

A soft chime came from within the chamber, and Bullrouar stood up, motioning for Fionn to follow him. ‘You know the rules boy; bow first to the council as a group before you take the floor and to the Master of the Order as you approach. Speak when spoken to. If you don’t understand a question, speak with honesty. Don’t make things up.’
This was the first time Fionn had visited the High Council Chamber. He knew it’s layout from hundreds of holorecordings he had studied in the archives, but this was the first time he had actually been inside. If it wasn’t for the seriousness of his situation, he would have been eager to even get a glimpse of it. The wide space was exactly as he thought it would be, softly lit by the lights of Coruscant, the twelve seats of the high council arranged in a circle around the Malachor Stone in the centre of the room. Legend said stone had been retrieved from the heart of Malachor at the re-formation of the order by Master Kel’Bra Sky, a reminder to all the Jedi of the mistakes of the past.

Even more intimidating than the room were the faces that turned in his direction as he entered. Suddenly he found himself under the penetrating scrutiny of the most important Jedi Masters in the order. Some of them, like Master Rand and Master Kavaren Fionn knew from his studies at the temple, though of course he knew each and every face here from the adventures which every young Jedi grew up with.

Trying to stop the chattering of his teeth, Fionn bowed low to the council before moving to the centre of the room, standing beside the Malachor Stone. Here he bowed to Master Aeon, the Master of the Order.

‘Initiate Katarm has answered the call of the council,’ said Bullrouar, standing slightly behind Fionn.

‘Thank you Jedi Bullrouar. Will you stand for initiate Katarm? Tradition states that it should be the Guardian of the Young who stands for an initiate.’ The voice of Master Salazan was cold. Clad in dark robs against which her steel grey hair stood out starkly, she always spoke sharply.

‘I understand, but Master Chin has accepted my assistance in this matter, and I am well acquainted with Initiate Katarm’s studies,’ replied Bullrouar. Master Salazan nodded, apparently satisfied. Then she looked at Fionn.

‘Initiate Katarm. Perhaps you would like to explain you actions to the High Council?’

Swallowing, Fionn felt the full attention of twelve Jedi Masters bearing down on him, as though they were scrutinising him inside and out. Waiting in his room after returning from the hanger, he had planned what he would say now, but all his words slipped away like sand running through open fingers. All he could do was lick his lips and stare at the floor.

‘We’re waiting, initiate Katarm.’

Fionn wanted to explain the whole thing, wanted to tell them how sorry he was, how the Jedi meant everything to him, how he would never do it again…

‘I got angry,’ was all he could manage.

‘I see. Can you recite the Jedi Code written by our Master Odan-Urr, Initiate Katarm?’

The five line mantra had been drilled into Fionn ever since the day he had arrived at the Jedi temple, seven years ago. He had studied every aspect of it, and had often joked that passing the trails of a Jedi knight involved reciting the code while asleep.

‘There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force’.

As he spoke the words he had heard all his life, Fionn suddenly felt as though he was finally beginning to understand them.

‘There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no emotion, there is peace. I would say you were lacking serenity and peace at the Apprentice Tournament today, wouldn’t you Initiate Katarm?’ said Master Salazan. ‘Can you offer any explanation for your unprovoked and violent attack against a fellow initiate?’

‘No’ whispered Fionn.

‘So that we can all hear you, Initiate Katarm,’ prompted Salazan.

‘I don’t have an explanation,’ blurted Fionn. He could feel a prickling behind his eyes and a lump rising in his throat. He wouldn’t cry. Not here, not in front of the council.
‘You gave in to anger. You allowed your actions to be ruled by your passion and in doing so you nearly killed a fellow Jedi. How is the youngling?’ her last words were directed towards the Jedi healer and historian, Master Mical.

‘His condition is serious but stable,’ replied the slim man, his silver and blond hair shimmering in the reflected Coruscant lights. ‘It may take some time, but I believe young Ryon will make a full recovery.’

‘Thank you.’ Once more Salazan’s stern eyes came to rest on Fionn. ‘That leaves us with you, initiate Katarm. What punishment do you think would be appropriate to suit your crime of disobeying the Jedi code, and of assaulting a fellow initiate? What should your punishment be?’

Fionn felt Master Bullrouar shift slightly behind him, and he realised what a difficult position he was being placed in. If his idea for a suitable punishment wasn’t severe enough for Salazan, he would be treated harshly. On the other hand, if his idea was too extreme, the council might just decide to go with that option. What was the right level of punishment? He knew this was more serious than a round of meditation with Master Chin, but he didn’t want to be expelled. Wild thoughts danced and pirouetted through his mind.

‘We are waiting Initiate Katarm. What is your decision?’

He was opening his mouth to reply when the chamber doors breathed open and a Kel-Dor Jedi hurried in and whispered something in Master Aeon’s ear.
‘Here, now?’ asked the Master of the Order quietly. The Jedi nodded. ‘Well, by all means allow her to enter.’

The young Jedi retreated hurriedly and Master Aeon stood up. ‘This matter will have to wait a moment. Master Shan wishes to address the council.’

Even with his limited abilities, Fionn could feel the sudden ripple of surprise which ran around the room at Aeon’s words, a surprise he shared. Possibly the most famous living Jedi, and arguably one of the most powerful, Master Bastila Shan had retired from the council several years before and was rarely seen by anyone. After her stunning victory against the Dark Lord Malak and her exploits with Revan, she had been instrumental in re-building the order. Many Jedi believed she now sat in constant meditations, searching the force for visions of the future. There had even been a time when Master Shan was called upon to lead the Order, a request which she had denied.

Even though she was well into her fifties, the tall Jedi looked extremely striking as he stepped into the council chamber and bowed gracefully to the assembled Jedi. ‘I apologise for the interruption, Masters, but a matter of some urgency has come to my attention,’ she announced.

‘Of course, Master Shan, you are always welcome here,’ smiled Master Aeon, returning her bow. The rest of the council followed suit, rising respectfully from their seats. One, Master Qu’All’Tak, stepped aside and offered her seat to the renowned woman. Master Shan swept across the chamber and seated herself next to Master Rand. Only then Fionn noticed another figure, her escort, who had entered at the same time. Master Oran-Kal Duron took up a position behind Bastila and surveyed the room, his brown eyes finally coming to rest on Fionn.

‘What is it you wish to discuss so urgently, Master?’ asked Master Dorian.

‘Whatever it is, I’m sure it is not for the ears of a simple initiate,’ interjected Salazan. She motioned for Bullrouar to take Fionn away. ‘We will decide your fate later, young Katarm. Until then—’

A soft cough from Bastila interrupted. ‘Actually, Fionn is the reason I’ve come.’

This time even Fionn didn’t have a problem sensing the pure astonishment which swept through the room. Even the usually stoic Salazan was caught by surprise. ‘I beg your pardon, Master Shan? You want to talk about Initiate Katarm here?’

‘That is correct, Master Salazan,’ replied Bastila in a calm voice. ‘I was in the midst of my meditations this morning when I felt a disturbance in the force. A surge of anger and hatred. You can imagine my surprise when I focussed more and discovered that the source of this anger was not some renegade Sith lord or an echo of far-away Korriban. The anger came from right here, in the Jedi Temple.’

‘Initiate Katarm’s attack on one of his fellow participants in the Apprentice Tournament,’ said Master Dorian. Bastila nodded.

‘Intrigued, I investigated further, reviewing the holorecordings of the incident, however, satisfied that there was no immediate danger to the Jedi, and observing that the matter was being dealt with, I returned to my meditations.’ Pausing in her story, Bastila turned to Fionn.

‘Come here child,’ she said, beckoning him towards her.

Nervously, he edged forwards, until he stood face to face with her. Two pairs of grey eyes, hers a stormy sea, his pale as a winter sky, met. Part of Fionn wanted to turn away. The intensity of Bastila’s gaze made him feel extremely uncomfortable, as though he was naked. For what felt like hours she examined him, and he could feel the force flowing through and around him as she did. The soft touch of her mind erased the last traces of anger, the harmony and tranquillity of her thoughts soothed him.
‘Thank you, Fionn,’ she said at last. ‘I needed to see you to be sure.’ Gently she wrapped her arm around his shoulder and stood up to address the council.

‘Earlier, as I sat lost in my meditations, the force granted me a vision of the Republic’s future. But it was not the Republic as we know it. In my vision I saw a terrible empire of cruelty and despair. Peace and justice were forgotten, their places usurped by pride and malice. I saw our noble order corrupted and twisted beyond all recognition, the despotic rulers of a thousand worlds, reigning in suspicion and deceit.’

Silence followed this grim prediction. Fionn was confused. How could the Jedi, the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy, turn into something evil ?
‘But in the midst of destruction and despair and found hope. I encountered a vergence in the Force.’

Fionn had no idea what Bastila was talking about, but from the way the members of the Council shifted in their seats and looked at one another it was something of great importance.

‘This boy will save us. He will prevent the fall of the Jedi.’

‘What?’ squeaked Fionn.

‘What?’ thundered Salazan.

‘It’s true Fionn,’ Bastila assured him. ‘You will help to save the Jedi Order from falling into darkness. I don’t know how it will happen, but it will.’

Fionn gawped at her. He wanted to laugh. He wanted all of this to be some big joke. Most of all he wanted to be someone else, somewhere far, far away. The council chamber was silent around him, the Masters deep in thought, clearly pondering Bastila’s words. Only Master Duron and Bastila herself seemed unaffected. After a moment, Master Aeon stood up.

‘In light of this new development, the council rules that Fionn Katarm will remain with the Jedi Order. We will settle a fair punishment for his actions at a later date. For now, he will return to his chambers while the council discusses this issue,’

‘Master, I must object. Considering the seriousness of this incident, it is only right that Initiate Katarm be expelled from the Order!’

‘None of us can say we’ve never felt the call of the dark side,’ said Master Rand. ‘What’s important is what Katarm learns from his mistakes.’

‘I respect your judgement, Master Rand, but—’

‘The decision has been made.’ Master Aeon’s voice was hard. He looked around the chamber at his fellow masters and finally at Fionn, who quelled beneath his gaze. It was very scary having his fate argued over by some of the most important figures in the Republic. ‘Initiate Katarm will remain with the Jedi Order.’

‘I also request that he be elevated to the level of Padawan,’ put in Bastila.

This was too much for Salazan. She leapt from her seat. ‘First you decide to keep him in the Order when he should leave, and now you’re going to reward him?’
‘Take a seat, Master Salazan,’ said Master Aeon, his voice cold. He turned to Bastila, his gaze even. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why?’

‘Can you think of a reason why he should not be?’ Bastila’s voice was firm but reasonable. ‘Fionn has been passed over again and again whilst other younger initiates have been accepted by the Order.’

‘Of that there’s no dispute,’ replied Aeon. ‘For the simple reason that his instructors do not feel he is developed far enough to take that step.’

‘He is extremely headstrong and stubborn,’ added Master Dorian.

‘If Fionn is such a poor initiate, why allow him to remain with the Order for so long? He is the oldest in the initiate academy by a full year,’ interposed Master Duron, stepping forward.

‘I don’t need to remind you what a difficult time this has been for the Order,’ snapped Salazan, fixing Master Duron with a stern gaze. ‘We need every force sensitive we could find in the academy to bolster our ranks. Initiates who would have been rejected before the Civil War are accepted now simply because we need all the young Jedi we can get our hands on. Fortunately that is no longer the case. Fortunately we no longer have impetuous young Padawans running off to war.’

Fionn felt the tension in the council chamber stiffen, both in the faces and postures of the Masters and in the force. Master Duron's face was dark, his eyes focussed on Salazan, though when he spoke his voice was as clam as ever.

‘That may be so, but I think you’re forgetting Fionn’s achievements. His long education here had furnished him with a range of extremely useful talents, such as a thorough understanding of mechanics, ranging from droid and vehicle repair to weapons, speaking of which, his lightsaber skills are second to none.’

‘That’s very true,’ spoke up Bullrouar. Fionn had almost forgotten he was there. ‘I have personally instructed Fionn many times in the use of a lightsaber. He is extremely competent and already at a level which exceeds other students his age. That was one of the reasons I encouraged him to enter the apprentice tournament.’

‘He seems to be able to draw on the force, using its energy to keep going for long periods of time. He has incredible stamina,’ Master Rand agreed. ‘I think that with a firm hand he has great potential in those areas. We are always in need of good Jedi guardians.’

Master Aeon looked thoughtful. He stood up and strode to the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of Coruscant. Master Duron watched him in silence, recalling the day he had met the famous leader of the Jedi almost twenty years before. Aeon had struck him as a shrewd judge of character and, despite his youth, had already showed himself to be a powerful Jedi. Even in a difficult time as the Order was once more established after almost being wiped out, he had approached matters calmly and dealt with everybody in a fair manner. Although he lacked the raw tenacity and leadership qualities of other great Jedi he had met, such as Revan, Duron supported him when the Order voted him to become the new Master of the Order.

For some time nothing was said. All eyes resting on the silver haired Aeon. Fionn was struggling to keep up with the flow of the council’s discussions. It seemed half of them wanted him thrown out and the other half wanted him to stay. He sneaked a glance at Bastila. He believed her prophecy. But surely it couldn’t be about him? He was nobody, a Jedi initiate with only minor abilities. And yet she thought he was going to save the Order. It all seemed very silly.

At last Master Aeon turned from the viewport and surveyed the council chamber, his eyes silvery grey eyes drifting from each member to Bastila and Master Duron and finally to Fionn. ‘I agree with Master Shan,’ he said at last. ‘Young Katarm will be trained as a Jedi. He is hereby elevated to the rank of Padawan. A suitable master will be found to train him as soon as possible.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Master. I will take the boy as my Padawan,’ announced Master Duron, stepping forward.

It was the Jedi historian, Mical, who found his voice first. ‘I have tried and failed many times to instruct Fionn in the history and traditions of the Jedi Order. To be honest he’s never shown much of an interest in such studies. I’m not sure that you’re chosen area of study will fully engage him, Master Duron.’

A few chuckles echoed around the room. Master Duron’s position as one of the leading Jedi archaeologists was sure to have a predictable effect on Fionn.

‘He’s young and still has much to learn. Perhaps a few years picking his way through caves will be a pleasant change from the bustle of Galactic City. A little solitude can do wonders for a young Jedi and give them time to focus on the quiet moments.’ He looked across the room at Salazan. ‘We were all headstrong once. It’s a phase that, Jedi or not, we all experience and grow out of. I believe Fionn has a lot to offer the Order, just as I believe that he was waited a long time to at least deserve a chance to prove himself.’

Master Duron finished his appeal and stepped back to allow the council time to consider. He had to consciously remind himself not to probe the force to find out what their decision might be. Instead he looked at Fionn. The young boy wore a bewildered expression, as though he didn’t have a clue what was going on. Master Duron shot him a reassuring smile.

‘The council agrees that Jedi Master Oran Kal Duron will train Fionn Katarm until such a time as he is ready to complete the trials of Knighthood. Fionn Katarm will become a Padawan learner, and a full member of the Jedi order, unless any among the council raise an objection.’

‘Your guidance will benefit young Fionn greatly,’ said Bastila. ‘And I think you may be able to learn from him as well. We all have a long way to go and much to learn.’
‘Very good. It is late. We must let Padawan Katarm retire to his room. He has a long road ahead of him.’

Fionn, still a little confused, bowed to Master Aeon. He still didn’t understand what much of the council was talking about. But Padawan Katarm sounded pretty good.
‘I must remind you that the discussions of tonight must be kept silent,’ Master Aeon reminded him. ‘If you wish to discuss these proceedings, please approach a member of the council. This is not the kind of discussion that should be spread around the refectory. Do you understand?’

‘I do, Master,’ replied Fionn.

‘Good, then I bid you goodnight.’

Bowing one last time, Fionn stepped back and followed Bullrouar out of the council chamber. He was finding it difficult to breathe. He wasn’t going to be expelled! He was going to be a Padawan! Not just any Padawan either, Master Duron’s. The thought filled him with relief. Never again would he have to wear the robes of a youngling, or have Padawans laugh at him because he was still an initiate. Tonight, he was one of them.

‘I’d watch my step from now on if I were you,’ advised Bullrouar.

‘I know. I’m not going to get into trouble like this again. I won’t get angry like that again, I promise.’

‘Excellent. But that’s not what I meant. You’ve made some enemies today. Tread carefully young one.’

The expression on Master Salazan’s face… he shivered. There was one woman he didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. Suddenly he laughed.

‘Do you know what I was going to say just before Master Shan came in?’ Bullrouar shook his head. ‘I was going to say they could get me to clean out the latrines for the whole temple and I’d clean up all the dormitories for the younglings and I’d polish every training saber in the weapons room and anything else they could think of for me to do, just so long as they would let me stay.’

‘When were you going to have time for training?’ chuckled Bullrouar.

‘I don’t know, I didn’t really think it through,’ Fionn admitted. ‘I just knew that being a Jedi means everything to me and I didn’t want it to get taken away.’

‘Well, I for one am glad you’re staying,’ confessed Bullrouar, punching the door release on Fionn’s room. ‘Get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it in the morning.’

For my first day of training. The thought filled Fionn with wild excitement.

‘Thank you Master,’ said Fionn as Bullrouar turned to leave. ‘For coming to the council chamber with me and sticking up for me and everything.’

‘That’s what Jedi do for each other. Goodnight, Padawan Katarm.’

‘Goodnight, Master.’

Bullrouar watched the boy jog off down the halls, practically skipping with excitement, and he couldn’t hold back the smile which twitched at the corner of his mouth. He had always liked the young Mandalorian. There was a sort of rugged honesty about Fionn, the kind of openness that he’d found to be very rare, even amongst the Jedi.

‘You have taught him well.’

Bullrouar turned to see Master Duron walking towards him, hands buried in the folds of his sleeves.

‘Thank you for standing for him.’

Bullrouar shrugged. ‘It’s been hard for him here in the temple, always getting passed over, being looked down on because of his heritage. You’d think that Jedi would be above that kind of prejudice but war leaves deep scars.’

‘It does indeed. I’m glad that he’s had you to look out for him.’

They walked down the corridor together, the city glow falling across their faces from the long windows which gave an impressive view over Galactic City. ‘Fionn has abilities that many other Jedi lack.’

‘Yes, what he lacks in raw force power he makes up for with a natural ability to shield himself from the force. It’s a very interesting talent.’

‘There’s that, but I was referring to something else.’ Master Bullrouar stopped and looked out towards the horizon. ‘Many Jedi use the force as a crutch, an easy solution to all their problems. Fionn doesn’t have that luxury, but he’s trained himself in ways that other young Jedi wouldn’t even consider. He knows how to fire a blaster and repair a starfighter. He’s pushed himself physically and mentally where other initiates would use the force to simply breeze through, and he’s stronger because of it. He knows himself and he knows his limits better than any other Jedi his age. That’s what makes him so formidable as a warrior.’

Duron stroked his beard. ‘I sometimes worry that we put too much emphasis on teaching our students how to fight rather than teaching them when they should fight.’
‘Is that why you don’t wear a lightsaber?’

‘I have other weapons at my disposal.’

Bullrouar grunted. If even half of what he had heard about Duron’s ability with the Force was true then he was a dangerous man, and easily one of the most powerful Masters in the entire Order. He was famous for relying on use of the Force alone rather than resorting to the use of a lightsaber.

‘Do you believe in Bastila’s vision? Do you think Fionn will really prevent the Order from corruption?’

‘I can’t say. He’s certainly different from other Jedi, but destiny isn’t always what we think it will be. Ever heard of a Jedi named Andor Vex?’

Bullrouar shook his head.

‘Well, let’s just say destiny has a funny way of sorting itself out.’



Chapter 5 coming soon...

 

OOH a old Bastilla that get's respect from the order. Now that is excellent. I love how you gave the Council members their own personalities and mannerisms instead of just all acting like monks. It's interesting to see jedi argue. A great nudge to KOTOR history as well with the Andor Vex mention.

 

Chapter 5

The repulsor lifts whined, jolting Fionn’s stomach, and for the first time in seven years he was leaving Coruscant. He stood by the viewport of the cargo ship Shade with Oran-Kal Duron by his side and together they watched the glittering planet grow smaller beneath them while the blackness of space widened around the tiny vessel. The lights of the city that had been Fionn’s home for so long grew fainter and fainter as the ship made its way towards the Coruscant outer markers. He decided he wouldn’t miss them.

‘All crew, prepare for hyperspace jump. Repeat, all crew prepare for hyperspace jump,’ the captains voice crackled over the ships comm. Master Duron laid a gentle hand on Fionn’s shoulder and guided him away.

He was a little disappointed to leave the view. Growing up in the Halls of Youth beneath the dull smoggy clouds, he had never seen the stars except in vids or on the rare nights when Galactic City’s sky was clear enough to see them, and they had always seemed far off and unreachable. He would have begged the Jedi Master to let him stay and watch the jump to lightspeed, to watch the stars warp and twist and finally give way to the mottled sky of hyperspace. He had heard the mechanics and pilots talking about jumps during his visits to the hanger and he longed to see one.

Master Duron had come to him early. Fionn had packed his few belongings and they had left the Jedi Temple through the grand entrance in the grey pre-dawn twilight, stealing a glance up at the towering structure as they passed beneath it, thinking about the friends he was leaving behind, Sakora and Roury and Master Bullrouar. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye to any of them. Master Chin had met them as they left the halls of youth on his way to the meditation chambers. The old man had congratulated Fionn on his promotion and wished him luck. The decrepit Jedi had even given him a hug and told him to keep safe. Fionn hadn’t been able to find any words. Master Chin had looked after him since he arrived at the temple and despite all the constant lectures and scolding’s Fionn had received, the old man was as close to family as anything Fionn had known since coming to Coruscant.

His father had once told him that Mandalorians didn’t cry, and Fionn tried hard not to, but couldn’t help the hot tears which prickled behind his eyes when he said goodbye to Master Chin and left the halls of youth forever.

All his tears had been forgotten when he saw the spaceport. Even early in the morning the docks swarmed with activity. Traders shouted at one another and dockworkers yelled instructions to ship crews. Industrial droids lumbered through the crowd carrying heavy cargo containers, grunting to each other in tinny booming voices. It was quite a change from the dignified halls of the Jedi and Fionn had to remind himself to follow Master Duron and not go darting off into the melee to explore this strange new world.

The ship they had booked passage on, the Shade, was a little disappointing. It was an old deep space trawler converted to carry cargo and a few passengers. The captain, a portly Corellian, had demanded their credits up front. Master Duron told him that he would be paid half now and half when they reached their destination and the captain had grumbled something about fuel prices, but eventually agreed.

The interior of the cramped vessel was as grey and unassuming as its outer hull, a far cry from the republic warships that Fionn had studied at the temple. Pipes and ducts snaked along the walls and the deckplates were rusted and stained with years of use. The Jedi were shown to the habitat area, a small room with a holoprojector in the centre, a gaming table and a number of squishy reclining chairs. Sliding screens led to the equally cramped sleeping bays. The only object of interest had been the viewport, and as the Shade lifted off the planet and Galactic City had grown smaller beneath them Fionn felt a surge of excitement leap through him. He was a Jedi Padawan, off on his first mission.
‘Two minutes to jump. Reactor to full power,’ announced the captain over the ship’s comm.

‘We’d best strap in. Older ships like this can be a little… bumpy,’ said Master Duron. As soon as they had left the temple he had exchanged his ceremonial robes for a grey-brown cloak which hung from one shoulder, fastened by a silver pin. His soft temple shoes had been swapped with knee high leather boots armoured with grey steel greaves and he wore a pair of scarred and pitted vambraces. Fionn reckoned he looked more like a warrior than an archaeologist.

Glancing down, Fionn felt a surge of pride once more. Gone were the blue scratchy robes of an initiate. Now he wore brown and grey, like the other Padawans. A wide leather belt around his waist groaned under the weight of a first aid kit, rebreather device, survival rations, sewing kit, knife, comlink and his lightsaber. He was a proper Jedi now.

They settled into a pair of the lumpy reclining seats just as the hyperspace klaxon sounded. Fionn looped the crash harness over his shoulders and made sure it was buckled up tight. Overhead he could hear the clanking and groaning of the ships systems as they prepared for the jump. He wasn’t used to so many strange noises, and he didn’t like the heavy thrumming of the ships reactor in his bones. He glanced at Master Duron to see if he was nervous too, and then chided himself for thinking something so stupid. Who ever heard of a Jedi Master who was afraid of hyperspace travel?

‘Just lie back and relax. Close your eyes and breathe deep,’ Master Duron said. ‘There’s no need to be scared.’

‘I’m not scared.’

Master Duron opened his eyes and gazed at him coolly. ‘We aren’t going to make a very good team if you can’t at least tell me the truth,’ he said.

Fionn felt himself blush and he stared at his knees. ‘I’m sorry master.’

‘Don’t be sorry. We’re all afraid of something. Even Jedi Masters.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I thought…’ Fionn struggled to find the right words. He didn’t want to make his new master angry before they’d even left orbit.

‘Fear is the path to the dark side? So it is. But only a fool claims to have no fear. Being a Jedi is about mastering your fear, and your anger, and staring it in the face. By acknowledging our fears, by confronting them, we learn to overcome them and grow stronger.’

‘But I don’t understand. If you’re afraid—’

The jolt as the ship broke into hyperspace knocked the breath out of him, and the harness across his chest instantly became very tight. Coloured lights flashed in front of his eyes and he gasped. For a moment his vision tunnelled and he thought he was going to faint, but almost as soon as the nausea had come, it passed. He collapsed forward in his seat and hung limply in the harness, trying to get his breath back.

‘These older model hyperdrive systems certainly make for an interesting experience wouldn’t you say?’ said Master Duron. Fionn nodded. He was shaking, and his head felt funny, kind of like numb and fuzzy. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

‘Just a nose bleed, common for someone your age traveling in hyperspace. Let’s have a look. Head back, that’s it… yes it’s already clotting.’

Fionn unbuckled his harness and slid to his feet. Already he felt better, and the numbness was beginning to pass. He wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand. ‘I never thought it would be like that,’ he said thickly.

‘A hyperspace jump? You get used to them after a while. What did you expect? This ship just accelerated to past the speed of light and jumped into hyperspace, it can be a jolt to the system. I sometimes wonder if humans were even meant to travel in such a unique way.’

‘Does the accommodation disagree with your apprentice Master Duron?’

Salina Haalla looked as though she’d spent her whole life traveling aboard starships. She had the slow, easy stride of someone used to artificial gravity. Fionn reflexively took a step back when he saw her. The young Jedi Knight looked like a bird of prey. She was lean, with hard narrow eyes, a contemptuous air and a sly smile. Beneath her robes she wore her suit of ballistic armour and with one hand she fingered a curved bronze lightsaber clipped to her belt, one of a pair she wore.

‘This is his first hyperspace jump for a long while,’ explained Master Duron.

‘Ah, a landmark event I’m sure, though I wouldn’t have thought Mandalorians were so delicate,’ smiled Haalla. ‘I sent Kyph to pay our compliments to the captain. I want him to get a feel for smugglers and scoundrels like the ones nesting on this scrapheap. It’ll serve him well in the future. The masses like to think we spend all of our time duelling Sith Lords or in quiet gardens meditating, but I’ve always found that it is the lowlife scum that we waste most of our time dealing with. Speaking of lowlife…’ Haalla’s dark eyes turned towards Fionn. ‘I could hardly believe my ears when they told me you had taken a Mando as your Padawan.’

‘Fionn is to be my apprentice, yes.’ Master Duron’s voice was even as he laid a hand on Fionn’s shoulder. ‘His performance at the temple has been impressive and the council agreed that he would benefit from the instruction of a master from now on.’

‘Oh yes, his “performance” at the apprentice tournament was most fascinating,’ said Haalla, her lip curling.

Fionn kept his mouth shut. Master Duron had made it clear that the events in the Jedi High Council Chamber should remain a guarded secret and he had no intention of disobeying, but the smug look on Haalla’s face burned him. It didn’t help that Kyph had gone on to win the Apprentice Tournament.

‘I have no doubt that Fionn will work hard.’

‘I’m sure he will. I’ve heard Mandalorians are famous for their persistence.’

‘Perhaps our limited time would be better served outlining the logistics of our mission to our apprentices?’ suggested Master Duron. Haalla nodded curtly and pulled a comlink from her belt.

‘Kyph, with the good captain’s permission, I would like you to join myself and Master Duron for a briefing.’

‘Acknowledged master, I’m on my way,’ Kyph’s voice crackled out of the tiny speaker.

Master Duron crossed to the holoprojector. Flicking open a pouch on his belt he drew out a data card and fed it into the machine. The lights darkened as the projector flared to life, displaying a grey planet. The image cracked and fizzed for a moment, until Master Duron gave the machine a sharp tap with his boot, muttering something about ‘Damned technology…’

‘Nar Shadda?’ Haalla raised an eyebrow. ‘No wonder the council wanted to send two teams.’

‘The unrest on the smugglers moon has made it difficult to operate there. Ever since the war the opinion of Jedi has dropped, and Nar Shadda teems with refugees and war veterans who harbour no good will for us. For that reason I thought it would be best for us to book passage on an unassuming ship. Hopefully we’ll be able to slip in unnoticed.’

Haalla ran a finger along the rim of the holoprojector. It came away caked with grime. ‘Am I to assume that our presence on this flying death-trap is thanks to you then?’

‘I thought discretion was the best course. Ships like this swarm the smugglers moon, coming and going in their thousands every day. Our arrival will be much harder to detect arriving on the Shade than if we had taken a republic ship.’ He turned to face Fionn. ‘What do you know about Nar Shadda, young one?’

Fionn cocked his head to one side, trying to remember, and wishing he’d spent more time listening in Master Chin’s classes. ‘Nar Shadda is a moon in orbit around Nal Hutta. It’s… it’s like Coruscant because the whole surface is made up of city.’

‘Not city. Factories,’ put in Haalla. ‘The factories of Nar Shadda have made it a major centre for trade, but also cause it to be one of the most polluted planets in the galaxy. Life is short and painful on the smugglers moon and few live there by choice. Since the war it’s become a hub for wanderers and the homeless. They travel there hoping to find work and don’t have the credits to leave.’

‘Recently an epidemic has swept through the undercity, killing millions. Those who can are leaving the planet in droves, and those who can’t have be left behind to die. The council estimates that if something is not done—soon—to combat the plague, the majority of Nar Shadda’s citizens will be dead within the year,’ said Master Duron solemnly.

‘With all due respect master, how are we four supposed to deal with problems on such a massive scale?’ asked Haalla. ‘I agree that the suffering of the people on Nar Shadda is unfortunate, but I really don’t see what we can do to help.’

‘Our mission is not to help the victims of this plague. The planetary government have asked the republic for aid and a fleet is being mobilised as we speak.’

‘And our mission?’

Light spilled into the room as a hatch opened and Kyph stepped into the room. His long Jedi robes fluttered behind him and his lightsaber glittered at his waist. He strode forward and stood beside his master, bowing to Master Duron. He didn’t spare Fionn a glance.

The Jedi master inclined his head and punched another button on the holoprojector. Nar Shadda was replaced with the image of a slender man with wispy grey hair who stared grimly down at them as he rotated on the projector.

‘Professor Torland Way has been one of the mid-rims leading archaeologists for over a decade. He specialises in Pre-Republic civilisations and he’s worked with the Jedi many times. I met with him when he applied to the Jedi Archivists for funding. He had uncovered evidence of some ruins on Nar Shadda which he thought could indicate that the moon had been inhabited by other races which far predated the currant species.’

A new series of images flashed from the holoprojector. They showed groups of diggers probing at the soil and a series of strange looking stones. Professor Way’s image appeared again, this time holding up a long shaft of pure black stone or metal.

‘Way and his team came across a series of ruins beneath the surface of Nar Shadda and uncovered a great number of artefacts that seemed to prove his theory that the planet had been colonised by some ancient race. He was due to bring his finds back to the Jedi temple for examination but not long after we lost all contact with him and his team. Local enforcement agencies have conducted searches but come up blank. Now Professor Way’s family is accusing us of murdering him and taking the artefacts for ourselves. The council has ordered me to find him, dead or alive, and return him to Coruscant. If he is dead it falls to us to discover who his killers are and bring them to justice. Knight Haalla, your familiarity Nar Shadda should prove most useful.’

Haalla stepped forward and regarded the image of Professor Way closely. ‘It’s easy to get lost on Nar Shadda. It’s possible the professor was killed because of his research by the Hutts or one of their pawns. On the other hand it’s just as likely he was murdered by a group of thugs for the credits in his pockets. Either way it’ll be like searching for a Defel on a dark night.’

‘I am well aware of the difficulties. I visited Nar Shadda briefly after the war. I found it to be a very unwelcoming place.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Haalla. ‘What’s so important about Professor Way anyway? Assuming he’s not simply fallen foul of Nar Shadda’s criminal underworld, what reason could anyone have for abducting him?’

‘I suppose to use as a hostage to extort money from the Republic,’ said Duron. ‘His Brother is a senator with a great deal of influence and if he were to be lost while on a mission for the Jedi it could be damaging for our already poor reputation in the Galactic Senate.’

‘What do we know about Professor Way’s operation?’ asked Kyph.

Fionn felt a pang of irritation. He was trying to keep up with what Master Duron was saying, but it was hard to make sense of everything. Kyph didn’t seem to be having any trouble at all.

‘I have a full set of schematics for his digging operation and a list of the archaeologists in his team. Considering the current situation on Nar Shadda, it is quite possible we will need to evacuate all twenty-two members of the group.’

‘How are we going to do that? We don’t even have a ship. Will the Shade take us back to Coruscant?’ asked Fionn, wanting to contribute like Kyph.

‘One step at a time, boy,’ said Haalla. ‘Part of being a Jedi is learning to adapt to different situations. Didn’t they teach you that at temple? For a Jedi the way is never easy, best you get used to the idea before your ignorance kills you.’

‘Haalla,’ said Master Duron sharply.

‘I apologise for my frankness master, but this mission is going to be dangerous enough without having an inexperienced Mandalorian brat along. One wrong move could get us all killed.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ cut in Fionn, forgetting that he was supposed to be behaving himself.
Haalla moved so fast that Fionn didn’t even have time to cry out before he was on the floor. Her armoured knee dug into his chest, sending waves of agony splashing across his bruised ribs. The brittle light cast by the hollow projector flickered off the vibro-blade which pressed against his throat. The Jedi’s face was so close that Fionn could feel her breath, hot against his own cheek.

‘So, you can take care of yourself can you? Down in the undercity there are things that would peel the skin off you piece by piece for a trophy, or slit your throat for your boots. This isn’t the Jedi temple, it’s not a game out here. Out here it’s dark and dangerous.’

‘That is enough Haalla,’ said Master Duron.

Slowly the knight drew the vibro-blade away from Fionn’s neck and slid it back into the hidden sheath on her wrist. Her lips curled into a smile. ‘So much for the legendary strength of the Mandalorians,’ she said contemptuously. He turned to face Master Duron. ‘If you take him with you to the surface of Nar Shadda, he’s going to get himself killed. On a mission like this he will be a danger to himself and to all of us.’


Chapter 6 coming soon...

 

OOH this new jedi HAalla. She's intriguing yet I just don't like her nor trust her. She seems to hate mandalorians as well and have it out for Fionn. Wonder how things will turn out for her if she had to face Durron. This was a really good chapter and I can't wait to see what will be happened on NAr Shadaa.

 

Chapter 6

The smoky atmosphere of Nar Shadda looked almost as bad as it smelled. Fionn picked his way along the narrow street, paying close attention to where he was putting his feet. He had only been here for two days but was already certain he was dirtier than he had ever been in his life. Around him humans and aliens pushed and jostled their way in all directions, their eyes downcast and their faces forlorn. Nearby a rodian was peddling her wares: bits and pieces of obsolete droids and various other junk. Next to her a gran was frying some kind of exotic fish. The meat hissed and sputtered, filling the air with acrid smoke. Fionn hurried passed, the last food he had eaten from a street vendor on this planet had made him feel very queasy.

Master Duron seemed to have no trouble navigating his way through the treacherous mass, he swept boldly along the centre of the street, his robes billowing impressively behind him, walking with such confidence that the people in his path stepped aside and dropped their gaze. For Fionn it wasn’t so easy. Nobody took any notice of him and he was shoved this way and that by the heaving crowd. He had never seen so many people in one place before. The great walkways of Coruscant were spacious and well maintained, whereas the alley he was fighting his way down was little more than a grown man’s arm span wide, and the starscrapers on either side towered into the distance, shutting out what little light the sun shed on Nar Shadda.

‘Keep up Fionn, I don’t want you getting lost down here,’ said Master Duron, glancing over his shoulder towards his young Padawan. Fionn ducked beneath a duros carrying a sack full of broken droid arms and stumbled forwards. They had been walking for hours through the hot underbelly of Nar Shadda without rest and he was tired. His ribs were aching where Roury had slashed him during the tournament and he was finding it harder and harder to draw a full breath of air into his lungs, although that might just have been because there wasn’t much clean air on the smugglers moon. Haalla had warned him about the pollution but Fionn had thought she was exaggerating. If anything the knight had been grossly understating it.

The first thing Fionn had noticed when they touched down was that the air seemed thicker than on Coruscant. He could taste it in the back of his mouth and it made his eyes water. What’s more, it got everywhere, the first night they had stayed in a shabby hotel, and the curtains, sheets and even the food all had the same unpleasant smell as the air. He hadn’t washed since arriving and his brand new robes were caked with grime and sweat. In the poky alleys and closes of Nar Shadda there was not a breath of wind, apart from the hot vents which steamed in the permacrete walkways or the cooling fans from building air condition systems. Between the heat and the constant background noise of the city, Fionn hadn’t gotten much sleep since he arrived.

The throaty roar of a freighter passing overhead caught his attention. He looked up as the shadow of the massive vessel fell across the street and nearly ran into Master Duron, who had stopped abruptly and was staring up at a snapping neon sign suspended above their heads.

‘This is the place,’ he said. ‘Follow me inside, watch and listen, but say nothing.’

Fionn followed his master through a door beneath the sign. The hatch scraped open and a blast of cool air as Fionn stepped over the threshold was most refreshing. The interior was dark, the only light coming from a flickering glowrod nailed to the roof and from the receptors of the protocol droid which was seated opposite the door.
‘Good day sir. Welcome to Grizzly Shipping offices, how may I be of service? We currently have a special offer on deliveries to Nal Hutta and our supersaver discount for all deliveries to core worlds—’

‘We’re here to see Grizzly,’ said Master Duron.

‘I’m afraid the manager is not here at the moment, but I would be delighted to take a message for you.’

Master Duron stepped forward until he was standing nose to nose with the droid. ‘Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. I want to see Grizzly. Now.’

Something brushed against Fionn’s hair. He raised a hand, expecting to find another of the large flies which buzzed through the Nar Shadda streets but his hand brushed against a smooth cylindrical metal object. Something clicked ominously nearby. The safety catch of a blaster.

‘Kapa tonka,’ whispered a harsh voice next to his ear. Fionn didn’t know any huttese, but he knew what a blaster barrel felt like.

‘Um, master…’

‘Pasta mo rulya jeedai! Moova dee boonkee ree slagwa,’ said the voice. The cold barrel pressed against Fionn’s head.

Master Duron turned slowly, lifting his hands to shoulder height. ‘Achuta, Grizzly. Would you mind taking that weapon away from my Padawan’s head? You’re making him nervous.’

‘Kee chai chai cun kuta?’

‘I’ll answer your questions when you move that blaster away from the boy. We don’t want any trouble, I’m just looking for some information.’

‘Information? Secrets you mean! I never met a Jedi who wasn’t interested in poking their nose into other people’s business.’ Abruptly the blaster barrel was gone and a burly human shuffled out of the shadows. In his hands was an old X-e5 blaster rifle that looked like it had seen better days. The man was short, not much taller than Fionn. He had tough leathery skin and a thuggish face, no hair to speak of, but a pair of long drooping whiskers dangled to below his chin.

‘It’s been a long time old friend,’ said Master Duron.

‘A long time to be sure, General. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to Nar Shadda.’

‘Life has its little ironies I suppose.’

‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young companion?’

‘Of course. Fionn, this is Grizzly Chang, we fought in the same brigade during the Mandalorian war. Grizzly, this is my apprentice, Fionn Katarm.’

Grizzly held out a massive hairy hand for Fionn to shake. ‘Sorry about the blaster laddie, but things have been a little tense down here in the underbelly since this damn plague started spreading.’

‘We don’t get much news in the core. Even the intelligence reports have been sketchy at best. Are things as bad as we’ve heard?’ asked Master Duron.

‘Worse,’ rumbled Grizzly. Slinging the ancient blaster over his shoulder he brushed aside a curtain and led them through to a back room. ‘Most of the deaths have been limited to the Canthra District but it’s expanding, whether the government wants to admit it or not. There have already been reports of casualties not far from here.’

‘Is the government saying what it is yet?’ asked Master Duron, settling into a seat near the door. Fionn sat next to him, trying to ignore the trickles of moisture dribbling down his back. The city streets had been stifling but inside the cramped back room the heat was stunning.

‘If they have then they’re sure keeping it quiet. I’ve heard all sorts of rumors: everything from Rakghoul plague to brainrot, but nobody knows for sure. It’s being kept quiet but I’ve heard stories about whole sub-levels being wiped out. Word is the idiots who call themselves our ministers are thinking about demolishing areas of the city to stop the spread, for all the good it’ll do them.’

‘Well the republic isn’t turning a blind eye. I can’t go into detail but there were plans in place when I left for some major relief efforts heading your way.’

‘About damn time. Sometimes I think the republic forgets we exist out here. Anyway, I thought I should warn you to keep your eyes open. These are desperate times and folk will do almost anything to secure a ticket out of here. Just the other day a guy who lives in my neighbourhood shot two Duros smugglers for their credits. I’ve known him for years, nice man, but he was desperate to get his wife and kids off-planet. The local sheriff caught up with him two days later and he was “accidentally” shot during the arrest.’

‘I can handle myself, but thanks for the advice,’ smiled Master Duron.

Grizzly let out a series of grunts which Fionn guessed was a laugh, but it sounded more like a dog gagging. ‘Don’t worry General, I remember well enough! Anyway, I doubt you came down to Nar Shadda’s most welcoming level for local gossip. What can I do for you?’

‘Actually local gossip is exactly what I’m after.’ Reaching into one of the pouches on his belt Master Duron drew out a handheld hollowimager. The tiny gadget flickered to life and displayed the flickering image of Professor Way.

‘This man was an archaeologist working with the Jedi. He disappeared about 3 months ago while working on a site not too far from here. I know you like to keep an eye on the comings and goings around these parts and I wondered if you’d heard anything.’

‘Can’t think of anything off the top of my head,’ said Grizzly, scratching the stubble on his chin. ‘You said he was working for the Jedi? Most likely he’s been kidnapped and held for ransom.’

‘That’s what we thought at first but nobody has claimed responsibility or issued any demands.’

‘Sounds to me like you’re trying to find a needle in noodles. Wish I could help but to be honest it’s been difficult these last few months and I’ve been struggling to keep my own head above water without worrying about what everybody else is doing.’

‘I understand.’ With a disappointed sigh Master Duron returned the hollowimager to his belt and stood up. ‘We won’t take up any more of your time.’

‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ said Grizzly. His thick brow furrowed for a moment. Crossing to one of the he pulled out a drawer filled with odd bits of card. Tipping them out on the table he sifted through the flotsam until he found a small stained business card which he held out to Master Duron.

‘Here, take this. I don’t have the time to keep an eye on things the way I’d like to anymore but I know a pair of droids not far from here who do a roaring trade in information. Folk go to see them whether they’re trying to find cheap parts for ships or to find out if their partners are cheating. If anybody’s heard about this archaeologist of yours, it’ll be them.’

Master Duron took the card. ‘Can they be trusted?’

‘About as much as I trust any droid. To be honest they’re probably both insane. One of em’s a protocol droid who’d sell his own processors for credits and his partners and old T1 unit, a total psychopath. Watch your step when you’re around them General.’

‘I always do,’ replied Master Duron. He stared at Grizzly. Memories he’d rather stayed buried loomed in his thoughts. ‘I still have some contacts with the republic embassy,’ he said. ‘I could try to arrange passage off Nar Shadda for you.’

Grizzly snorted. ‘And just where would I go? I fought in pretty much every major action during the war, and I left too many of my friends behind on sithspawn worlds we’d never heard of and didn’t care about. To be honest I never thought I’d make it this far, always figured I’d end up getting splattered by a basilisk or worse. I’ve come a long way looking for a world I was willing to die for. Never thought it would end up being here. Nar Shadda is just about the only place left for the likes of me: old soldiers too tired and worn-out to be of much use to anyone. Thanks for the offer General, but this is where I belong.’

*​

It didn’t take long to locate the small shop where the droids did business. Master Duron didn’t go in right away. Instead he went to a small café, one of many which lined the street, found a table which provided them with a good view of the street and the shop in particular. For some time they sat, keeping the place under surveillance. After half an hour or so Fionn began to grow bored and his eyes were drawn more to the colourful posters advertising cold drinks above the counter.

While they waited Master Duron got a call from Haalla to say that she and Kyph had run into a dead end at the Professor Way’s accommodation. The place had been ransacked according to the landlord but from Haalla’s tone it was evident that she thought the man had probably taken his budget of credits and gotten into debt with someone who didn’t like to be out of pocket. They did find a couple of datapads lying around but the data on them had been erased.

‘Not just erased, completely wiped,’ said the crackly voice at the end of Master Duron’s comlink. ‘Whoever destroyed these files did a good job, they wiped the system completely. I’ve got Kyph working on recovering the data-stream but this looks like the work of a professional.’

‘Keep trying. We may have more luck with these droid informants. Once you’re done I want you both to talk with the local sheriff, see if he’s managed to dig up anything.’

‘Acknowledged, Haalla out.’

Master Duron returned his comlink to his belt, fixing Fionn with his calm eyes. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Nothing master.’

‘What did I say about being honest?’

‘It’s just…’ Fionn didn’t know how to put it into words. Instead he stared at the grimy table, avoiding his master’s eyes.

‘You’re worried that Kyph is doing more to help the investigation than you are?

Fionn looked up, startled. ‘No I… well, maybe a little bit. It seems like all I’ve done is get in people’s way since the mission started.’

‘I want you to stop competing with Kyph. You’re both Padawans now and we don’t have time for you being jealous of him, certainly not on this mission. I need you to focus on what’s happening right now and not worry about what he’s doing.’

‘Yes master.’

‘Good. For instance, why do you think we’ve been sitting here for an hour?’

‘You want to make sure it’s safe?’

‘Are you telling me or are you asking a question?’

Fionn straightened in his seat. Cocking his head to one side he examined the doorway across the street. ‘You want to see what kind of security system the droids are using. If they deal in information they probably have a lot of enemies.’

‘Good. Why else might I be cautious?’

Fionn shrugged.

‘According to Grizzly this business is run by two droids. If there were two humans sitting in there I would be able to reach out with the force and try to get a sense of their mood or temperament, try to gauge how they’ll react if two Jedi burst in asking for information. Going up against droids can be hazardous because you can never tell what they’re going to do until they do it.’

‘I understand master.’

‘This is important Fionn. I’m not sure exactly what we’re going to be walking into. If something goes wrong I want you to get down and try to get under cover. Don’t do anything brave, understand?’

Master Duron led the way across the street, pushing his way through the crowd which threatened to engulf them. Stooping low he walked through the doorway and Fionn followed, hand resting on the pommel of his lightsaber. This time there was no refreshing blast of cool air. Fionn found himself in what was little more than a disused boiler room. Pipes lined the walls and in the corner was an old T-class astromech droid which looked like it had died in the middle of performing maintenance and nobody had bothered to remove it.

Standing at a desk, the only piece of furniture in the room, was an aged protocol droid. His chassis was dented and many of his parts seemed to have been scavenged from other droids. One of his photoreceptors was green while the other was red and his left arm was matte black while the rest of his body was dull factory bronze.

‘Good day sirs,’ said the droid in a tinny droning voice. ‘I am B-4D4 at your service, how may I be of assistance?’

‘Greetings, my name is Oran-Kal Duron, and this is my apprentice Fionn Katarm. I’m looking for information on a friend of mine who disappeared in this area a few months ago.’

‘These are unsettling times.’

‘His name is Torland Way. He’s a professor from the Coruscant Archaeology Council.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. May I ask what Professor Way was doing to deserve a Jedi bounty on his head?’

If Master Duron was unsettled by the droids accusation, he didn’t show it. ‘Professor Way was a colleague of mine. I want to make sure he’s safe.’

‘If you say so,’ said B-4D4, sounding unconvinced. ‘It so happens that I do have some information relating to this man however it may be difficult to extract the information from my memory banks.’

‘Is there anything I can do to make it easier to extract?’

’10,000 credits should be adequate. Half in standard Republic Dactaries and half in Hutt Trugats.’

Fionn did his best to control his expression. That kind of money could set someone up for life on a place like Nar Shadda.

‘That seems rather a lot for what I’m after,’ said Master Duron, his voice even.

‘The information I possess is most sensitive. If you wish you can depart and consider my offer however I guarantee you will not find anyone else who can supply you with this information.’

Haggling wasn’t a skill that was taught in the Jedi Temple. In the upper reaches of Coruscant everything had its set price and that was that. Fionn’s experience of haggling came mostly from the fragmented memories of travelling with his father. They had moved from space port to space port, constantly negotiating for space aboard freighters or smuggling ships, even shuttles making runs to distant colonies. He watched now as his master used these same skills but realised that the rules were different when haggling with a droid. Everything had to be logical.

Just when it seemed like they might be about to reach an accord a man stepped through the door. His wild hair streamed down his back and his eyes were wilder, darting around the room and at the two Jedi before settling on B-4D4.

‘Mr Pavan, so good to see you again. At the moment I am with a client, perhaps you would like…’

The droid stuttered to a halt as the newcomer whipped a blaster pistol from under his shirt. ‘Don’t anybody move!’ he shouted, the muzzle of his weapon flickering between them. ‘You, droid, I want all the credit chips you’ve got. That goes for you two as well.’

For the second time that day Fionn found himself staring into the cold black eye of a blaster. B-4D4 remained motionless. His left photoreceptor flickered as though he couldn’t quite understand what was happening.

‘Mr Pavan, we do not keep large amounts of currency on the premises.’

‘Shut it droid! Don’t lie to me, there must be credits hidden here somewhere. If you don’t hand ‘em over your clients here are gonna have their brains splattered over that wall.’

Fionn looked sideways at Master Duron. The blaster was still pointing directly at his face, and even a Jedi master’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to stop Fionn’s head exploding if anyone made a wrong move. At this range even a low powered blaster was enough to annihilate him from the chest up.

‘I don’t need much, just enough to get off-world. You damn droids, you don’t know what it’s like, you can’t get sick!’ said the man, running a hand through his matted hair. ‘People are already getting sick here, it’s only a matter of time… only a matter of time…’

‘You don’t need to do this,’ said Master Duron, his eyes fixed on the man.

‘I’m sorry buddy, but I’m not gonna wait here to die with the rest of you, I’m gonna–’

A flash of blue light seared across the room. The man screamed. His arms jerked up and the blaster in his hand went off. Fionn threw himself to the floor as a bolt of energy smashed into the wall behind him, scattering hot chips of stone across his neck and hands.

The man fell to his knees. His eyes rolled back and he stared up at the ceiling, an almost peaceful expression on his face. In what seemed like slow motion to Fionn he toppled backwards, his last breath rattling from his body. The stench of burnt flesh hung in the air.

Behind the man the squat T-class droid Fionn had seen when they first entered was active. One of the plates in its circular cranium had opened to reveal a hidden blaster cannon, something which was definitely not standard issue on a utility droid. The droid bleeped and rolled forward to examine its handiwork.

‘Are you alright Fionn?’ said Master Duron, his voice anxious.

‘Yeah I think so,’ said Fionn, getting to his feet. He couldn’t take his eyes off the massive hole that had been blown in the man’s chest. There was very little blood, the blaster bolt had cauterised the flesh almost instantly. The shattered remains of the man’s ribcage could be seen poking through charred flesh.

‘What a shame. Mr Pavan was an excellent customer. Well done T1-N1, as always,’ said B-4D4.

T1-N1 burbled an exited response, tilting his head at the corpse.

‘Yes, as usual your marksmanship was beyond compare. I do apologise for this unpleasantness, I hope it will not deter your desire to do business? Perhaps you would like to move to another room while my partner disposes of the body?’

Fionn stared at the droid, incredulous. ‘Someone just tried to kill you and you still want to make a deal?’ he said before he could stop himself.

‘My dear boy, if we suspended business every time someone tried to divest us of money or seek retribution then we would not still be practising our trade. Fortunately my partner is more than capable of dealing with such situations. My only concern is that he enjoys such situations overmuch.’

T1-N1 trilled menacingly. Fionn was used to working around utility droids in the Temple hanger and they all seemed fairly placid and eager to please. He knew that droids had to undergo routine memory wipes to prevent their systems becoming corrupted and now he realised why. T1-N1 was insane.

‘It would seem Nar Shadda is even more dangerous than ever at the moment,’ said Master Duron. ‘Even for droids.’

‘We will not succumb to the plague.’

‘Maybe not, but when it reaches here the collateral damage will be extensive. Can your partner defend you from millions of desperate people willing to do whatever it takes to get off-world?’

‘I am afraid I do not comprehend your line of thought.’

‘How about we make a new deal? I have contacts in the republic embassy. I could arrange passage for you and your, ah, friend here,’ said Master Duron.
T1-N1 bleeped something incomprehensible.

‘Although we do not exhibit fear as humans and other life forms do we do understand your obsession with self-preservation. In exchange for the information you seek you will arrange for us to be taken to a safer world.’

While B-4D4 and Master Duron discussed the deal, Fionn watched T1-N1. The little utility droid extended one of his mechanical appendages, a laser cutter. Lowering the tool he probed the corpse, stimulating nerve clusters so that the body went into spasm. The droid uttered a series of noises which sounded to Fionn all too like laughter.



Chapter 7 coming soon...

 

Now that T1 droid is something else! Never seen a droid so twisted before. It's pretty cool. And the rivalry between the padawans may get even worse. Glad to see chapters coming out faster.

 

Thanks, T1-N1 and B4-D4 were only minor characters in KOTOR II but those are the characters I like to work with and develop the most Yes, the tension between Kyph and Fionn is a big part of the story, thanks for reading.

 

I had to go look up T1 and B4 after you said they were in kotor 2 as i didn't remember droids like that in kotor, that's good that you kept to the lore and had them move to Nar Shadaa as was insinuated in the game!

 

Chapter 7

Haalla and Kyph met them in a small café on one of Nar Shadda’s open plazas. A vast expanse of duracrete dotted with imported trees opened up and Fionn blinked in the light. His eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom of second hand light in the narrow streets and walkways between Nar Shadda’s sky scrapers. Vendors stooped over carts, dishing out a variety of hot and cold food to the passing pedestrians. The smell of cooking and spices made Fionn’s mouth water, but Duron ignored the stalls and carts, striding across the plaza with his cloak billowing out behind him. People moved aside to make space for him as he passed, keeping their eyes downcast. The only inhabitants of Nar Shadda they knew who walked with such confidence were members of the various crime cartels or else with one of the bounty hunter guilds which had sprung up in recent years, both of which were best avoided wherever possible.

A blast of cool air washed over Fionn as he and his master entered the café and made their way to the back of the room where Haalla sat drinking from a perspiring glass. Kyph, dressed in a light shirt and three-quarter length trousers instead of his heavier Jedi tunic, was at the bar listening in on the stories being told by some freighter crews.

Duron listened expressionlessly to Haalla’s report. She and Kyph had located the lodgings at which professor Way and his entourage had been staying but they had found little of any use. The landlord was less than helpful and Haalla suspected he had been paid to keep his mouth shut, and well paid too because Haalla had leant on him pretty heavily without result. They had also hit a dead end at the local law enforcement station in the district. After waiting over an hour, they discovered that the paperwork concerning the disappearance of the archaeologists had been lost and probably deliberately destroyed, although Haalla admitted that it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for reports to go missing in the overworked and undertrained police forces of Nar Shadda.

Fionn sipped a very welcome icy drink made with blended fruits while Duron related their encounter with B4-D4 and T1-N1. Haalla listened, her narrowed eyes focussed on Duron.

‘What do droids even need credits for? How many spare parts can they possibly need?’ asked Kyph, who had left the bar to listen to Duron’s report.

‘They deal in information. On Nar Shadda credits loosen tongues so it makes sense for them to accumulate as much wealth as possible in order to maintain their business,’ said Haalla. She shot her apprentice a crushing look. ‘Try and think before you open your mouth next time.’

‘Yes, master,’ said Kyph, glaring at the table and Fionn felt a stab of triumph that, for once, it wasn’t him being told off for saying something stupid.

‘At the moment passage off Nar Shadda is the one thing everyone wants. Even droids.’

‘I don’t like it.’ The words popped out of Fionn’s mouth before he could bite his tongue. Haalla glanced at him as though she was noticing a particularly ugly piece of furniture in the room for the first time.

‘We are not looking for your opinion youngling.’

Duron cleared his throat. ‘Fionn is my Padawan. If he has something to add to the discussion I want to hear it.’ His voice was quiet, but Fionn didn’t need the force to sense the strength behind it.

‘Master,’ said Haalla, dipping her head.

‘Fionn?’

‘It’s just that I don’t think we can trust them. That little droid enjoyed killing that man.’

Duron frowned. ‘Even without regular memory wipes, it shouldn’t be possible for a droid to develop that kind of personality. I did observe the droid’s odd behaviour. If I didn’t know better I would say he was gleeful.’

‘I heard from one of the temple mechanics that sometimes if a droid has too many memory wipes it can induce a sort of psychosis.’

They all looked at him, as if surprised that a blunt-faced Mandalorian boy would know a big long word like “psychosis”.

‘I have heard that theory,’ admitted Haalla, obviously reluctant to agree with Fionn on any subject. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that they have information we need.’
‘At least they say they do,’ mused Duron. ‘You’re right Fionn, I don’t trust them either and if we had any other avenues of enquiry I would pursue them first but we don’t have that luxury. I suggest we listen to what the droids have to say and stay alert for any signs of hidden agenda.’

Haalla nodded, her eyes hooded, still staring at the Jedi master. ‘What now?’

‘I’ll inform B4-D4 of our decision and he will send me details to rendezvous with him in a secure location.’

‘Good.’ Haalla threw a glance at her apprentice. ‘Kyph, why don’t you and Fionn take a look around outside. The plaza will be a good place to observe the population and I would like to have a little talk with Master Duron.’

‘Yes master.’

‘Bring me back something useful. Keep your ears open.’

‘Yes master.’ Kyph slid out of the table and headed towards the door. Fionn looked at his master, received a slight nod and followed, pausing a moment beneath the cooling fan before stepping out into the heat.

Kyph stood facing him, his face dark.

‘This is your fault.’

‘Huh?’ Fionn raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you talking about?’

Kyph threw up his hands. His robe drew back and Fionn caught a glimpse of the lightsaber hanging from his belt. ‘They’re going to be talking about the mission, discussing important stuff, while we’re stuck out here people-watching.’

‘And how is that my fault?’

‘Master Haalla doesn’t think you’re ready for that kind of thing. So that means I’m out of the loop too.’

‘Shut up.’ Fionn curled his hands into fists and fought down the familiar tingle of anger surging through his body. ‘That ain’t true.’

‘Whatever.’ Kyph spun around and stomped off, heading for the shelter of a withered tree in the plaza.

Fionn followed, trying not to get annoyed with Kyph. He was probably right. Haalla didn’t like him, so it wasn’t surprising she didn’t trust him. He’d always thought that once he became a Padawan things would start slipping into place, but everything seemed so much more complicated out here than it had back at the temple. For a moment he experienced a pang of homesickness, thinking about what Sakora and the other initiates would be doing right now. Perhaps they were meditating with Master Chin in the observatory, underneath a blanket of stars or else they could be training with master Bullrouar in the weapons wing. A smile tugged at the corner of Fionn’s mouth.
Considering the time difference between Nar Shadda and Coruscant, they were probably tucked up in bed right now, dreaming about the day when they would be fully fledged Jedi Knights.

Kyph wiped his forehead. He seemed just as hot and bothered as Fionn and when he turned back, some of the irritation had left his face.

‘I hate the heat,’ he said, with a slight grin. Fionn decided that was about as close to an apology as he was likely to get and he decided he might as well accept it for what it was. ‘It’s wet and windy on Corellia.’

‘Yup. I thought Coruscant was bad but this…’ Fionn waved a vague hand at the plaza.

‘Yeah, but this is nothing. On my first trip out of the temple master Haalla took me to a remote planet on the outer rim to deal with some Hutt clan members who were stirring up trouble. The whole place was one big ball of sand. It had two suns and the heat in the middle of the day was so much you could hardly go outdoors. And the sandstorms…’

He smiled at Fionn. ‘It’s nothing like you expect. The temple doesn’t really prepare you for what’s out here.’

Fionn scuffed his foot on the duracrete. ‘What did Master Haalla mean about bringing her back something useful?’

‘It’s part of my training. She says that you can pick up a lot just by listening and observing the people around you. If things are slow she usually sends me off to have a good look around and she expects me to bring her back something interesting.’

‘What kind of things is she interested in?’

Kyph shrugged. ‘Anything. You give it a try.’

Fionn looked around the plaza. It was similar in many ways to the wide open spaces on Coruscants upper levels and was flooded with the same colourful wash of aliens, many of whom he didn’t recognise. He noticed that the people here moved differently to the population of the capital. There everyone moved with a purpose, keeping their eyes down, walking along in their own little worlds. On Nar Shadda the people watched each other, casting surreptitious looks around them as if they were afraid of something.

‘Well?’

‘They’re different from the people on Coruscant.’

‘How?

Fionn suddenly felt that Kyph was giving him a lesson as an experienced Padawan would to a novice, and he experienced a flash of annoyance. He swallowed it, concentrating on the mass of noise and colour moving around the plaza.

‘It’s like they’re suspicious of something. They watch each other.’

‘They’re probably afraid of this plague that’s been moving through the under levels. Probably looking to see if anyone looks ill.’ Kyph snorted. ‘Judging from the state of this tree I’d say everything on Nar Shadda is rotten to the core.’

‘It’s more than that.’ Fionn struggled with the idea in his head. ‘They’re doing it without even noticing they’re doing it, like they’re used to being suspicious.’

‘Makes sense. This isn’t exactly a nice place, even up here. I suppose everyone on Nar Shadda must be used to watching their back.’ Kyph pulled a smile. ‘That’s exactly the kind of thing Master Haalla likes to know. She says it’s important to get to know the places we visit, cus they’re all different in their own way.’

Fionn couldn’t help smiling too. ‘Let’s see what else we can find out.’

They started winding their way through the crowds, keeping their eyes and ears sharp for the little details which would tell them more about these people.

‘I’m sorry you got disqualified.’

‘Huh?’

‘From the tournament.’

‘Oh.’ Fionn looked at the ground. ‘I deserved to be.’

‘Yeah, but it’s a shame we never got to face each other. I reckon you would’ve given me a run for my credits. In fact, if you had stayed in… who knows?’

‘Don’t forget I used to beat you all the time when we were initiates.’

‘Don’t get cocky. I let you win most of the time.’

*​

Master Duron watched the two young Jedi walking across the plaza laughing and talking and the left side of his face, the only side which ever smiled, twitched a little. He was glad they seemed to be getting on a bit better. The hostility and animosity he had felt rolling off them since the mission started was beginning to ease. He wished he could say the same for the woman sitting opposite him.

‘Well?’ Haalla’s voice pulled him back to the conversation.

‘What else do you want me to say?’

‘I want you to tell me why the council has us chasing halfway across the galaxy to rescue an archaeologist. I also want to know why Professor Way has such a high security clearance level.’

Duron took a long sip of his drink. It tasted bitter. ‘I don’t believe what the council does or doesn’t know is for me to say.’

‘Don’t play games with me. I know that you aren’t the scholar you pretend to be.’

‘Then you are very perceptive. However, I am not at liberty to reveal certain… aspects of Professor Way’s work. Unless absolutely necessary.’

‘Oh it’s necessary. Do you know why the council asked me to come on this mission?’

‘You grew up here.’

‘That’s right. I was born on this ball of filth and I know it very well. People disappear on Nar Shadda all the time. Sometimes they’re pressganged into serving in the belly of a slave ship. Sometimes they get knifed for the handful of credits in their pocket, or simply because they have a nicer pair of shoes. But when they disappear without trace like our professor has it means someone high up the chain is involved.’

Duron dabbed at the ring of condensation his glass had left on the table top with a napkin, his face unconcerned. ‘Do you have a point to make?’

‘Just that if you are going to get me and Kyph killed I hope there’s a damn good reason for it.’

A flicker of emotion passed across Duron’s face. He leaned in, peering at Haalla over his steepled fingers. ‘That’s one of the problems with the order today, isn’t it? We all want to die for something. We want to be remembered. If we go down fighting it should be against impossible odds, lightsaber in hand, isn’t that right?’

‘If I’m going to die for something I want it to be purposeful, yes.’

‘Quite right. You want it to have meaning. But tell me…’ Duron waved a hand at the milling crowd of freighter crews and starship pilots and ground crew which frequented the café. ‘Would you die to save one of these people here?’

‘Perhaps. It would depend.’

‘On what?’

‘On whether they are worth saving. You know the kind of wretches that swarm on Nar Shadda.’

‘But what if I told you that a true Jedi doesn’t care whether his death has meaning? A true Jedi would perish alone and unrecognised in the darkness trying to save a single life, no matter how wretched. We have become arrogant.’

Duron was standing now, looking disdainfully down at Haalla. ‘I don’t mind that you don’t understand. Don’t try, I doubt you ever will.’

His gaze once more flickered to the window, to where Fionn was standing at the edge of a circle of men playing some kind of gambling match with carved stones. ‘You wanted to know why I chose him as my apprentice. I chose him because one day he might understand.’

‘You want him to die a meaningless death?’

‘Sometimes the most meaningless death can have the greatest impact.’ Emotion flashed across Duron’s face but he quickly hid it. A noise from the comlink at his wrist. ‘That’s our signal from the droids. Collect the apprentices and follow me.’

*​

The coordinates the droids had furnished them with directed them to an old factory building which had been re-purposed to serve as living quarters for the lowest class inhabitants of the smugglers moon. The drab building, stained with the greasy soot which smothered nearly all of Nar Shadda, extended down into the underbelly. It had few windows, only hastily constructed platforms perched on its walls where a few residents sat enjoying the weak sun or playing games of hoverball.

Inside the heat was unbearable. Without adequate ventilation and with thousands of warm-blooded sentients all crowded together in one place the atmosphere was thick and heavy. Fionn reckoned he could feel the stale air tumbling around his lungs. The smell of dozens of different species, all stinking, hung in the air.

Fionn found himself thinking about his cramped cell at the Jedi Temple, a palace compared to the squalor and poverty he was seeing now. He had always hated living on Coruscant, his heart yearning for the open spaces and dampness of the Duxn moon where he had been born, but he realised now that he had taken so much for granted. He watched as a scrap of skin and bone who could barely be called a woman huddled further into the shadows as they passed. She couldn’t know who they were. All she saw was the danger of the unknown.

‘Do people live like this on Coruscant master?’ asked Fionn.

‘People live like this everywhere,’ said Kyph and Fionn was surprised by the hint of anger in his voice. He glanced back at the young Corellian, but Kyph was staring at his boots and didn’t look up. After the brief flash of humanity he’d shown at the plaza he had returned to his normal surly self.

‘The lower levels of many cities are refuges for the lost and homeless people of the galaxy,’ said Duron. ‘Billions were displaced during the Mandalorian and Jedi Civil Wars. Numerous smaller engagements such as the Core Wars and Mimbir Insurrection have meant there has been little in the way of rebuilding since then.’
‘It doesn’t matter. There will always be people like this,’ said Haalla. ‘That is the way the galaxy works.’

The directions given to them by the droids led them to the door of a slum apartment identical to the hundreds of others in the block. Duron punched the door-chime and immediately it slid back. T1-N1 sat in the hallway, obviously the little droid had been waiting for them. A plate retracted from the droid’s cranial disc and a wicked-looking blaster popped up. Fionn caught the hum of power that might belong to a compact shield generator and who knew what other deadly equipment T1-N1 had packed into his boxy frame.

The droid studied them for a moment, photoreceptor dilating as it examined each of them in turn, before backing into the apartment and warbling for them to follow. Duron stepped in and proceeded down the narrow mould-streaked hallway into a windowless living space. At some point a resident had installed a hollow-projector into the wall designed to give the illusion of an outside view, but now the unit was inactive, power cables hanging loose where it had been raided for spare parts.

‘Greetings.’ B4-D4 raised a hand and gestured to a pair of seats, the only pieces of furniture in the room. ‘Please sit. I apologise for the poor accommodation but we prefer to be discreet.’

‘Do you have the information we require?’

‘Yes. May I first ask how you propose to fulfil your promise to have us taken off world?’

Duron reached into his cloak. T1-N1’s cranial plate twitched in his direction. He withdrew a datacard and held it out to the protocol droid.

‘Present this to one of the Republic embassies. It grants you full diplomatic clearance to leave the system for a destination of your choosing. They always keep ships on standby and they won’t ask questions, the pass has a Jedi authorisation code. This will get you off planet, after that it will expire.’

B4-D4 examined the datacard. ‘This is sufficient.’

‘Now then, your information concerning Professor Way?’

B4-D4 turned to his companion. The astromech droid tootled and projected a holoimage onto the floor. The image was blurry, obviously taken from a security cam, but Fionn recognised Professor Way as well as several other members of his archaeological team.

‘This recording was taken some months ago by local security forces. It has since been erased. We were able to obtain a copy before the individuals responsible for taking the human known as Way were able to cover their tracks.’

Duron leaned in trying to get a closer look at the image. The professor and his team were shackled and surrounded by a group carrying blasters. He frowned and glanced at his Padawan.

‘Mandalorians.’

Fionn felt his stomach tighten. He recognised the armour, the hoods which obscured the warrior faces of his people. His people. He watched the armoured figures surround the professor’s team and lead them away.

‘I thought the Mandalorians were defeated,’ said Kyph, throwing an awkward look at Fionn.

‘They are a splintered people,’ said Haalla. ‘They live nomadic lives, exchanging their skill as fighters for credits. Most are employed as mercenaries by crime syndicates like the Exchange. Others serve petty warlords on backwater moons. They’re scum.’

The image froze and B4-D4 extended a stubby metal finger at one of the armoured men in the recording.

‘We have identified this as Maars, the chief of security for a human known as Lourz. He trades in illegal goods, although he has several legitimate business ventures as well. He also deals in slavery.’

Fionn felt a shockwave of emotion through the force. He turned to look at Kyph. The young Corellian’s fists were bunched, his knuckles turning white, but his face was expressionless.

‘So this Lourz abducted the professor.’ Haalla rubbed her chin thoughtfully. ‘It’s a start, but this is an old recording, he could easily have been moved off planet by now. Or he could be dead.’

‘If Lourz knew that professor Way was worth capturing then it’s unlikely he will harm him. He’s much more valuable alive.’

‘One of these days perhaps you’ll tell us just why he’s so valuable,’ sneered Haalla. She turned back to the droids. ‘Do you know where he is now?’

‘We suspect the captive humans remain at Lourz’s stronghold here on Nar Shadda. It is one of many structures we keep under constant observation and we have no reason to believe that he was been removed. Lourz has one of the most secure detention facilities on the planet, it is illogical for him to move such a valuable asset.’
‘Whether the professor is still there or not isn’t the issue. This is the only lead we have. Where can we find Lourz?’

‘At his sky palace.’ The image of the professor and his Mandalorian captors vanished and was replaced by the hologram of a tall building. The roof seemed to be composed entirely of glass and it was tall enough to rise above the surrounding starscrapers. Fionn had never seen a building, not even on Coruscant, that deserved to be called a palace as much as this one.

‘Impressive,’ said Haalla. ‘Most impressive. You don’t get to live in a place like that on Nar Shadda without grinding a lot of other people into the dirt. He must be an influential man.’

‘I’ve always wanted to visit a Nar Shadda sky palace,’ said Kyph.

Haalla smiled. ‘Well you’re about to get your chance.’

Duron opened his mouth, perhaps to give the younger Jedi a word of caution, but he was cut short by the sound of an explosion.



Chapter 8 coming soon...

 

Gawd such good writing! However I just despise Haalla and her prejudice against Mandalorians. Let's see her take one on without her space magic!

 

Good stuff.

Duron makes a salient point about a Jedi and sacrifice. You would think that a 'good' Jedi would be willing to sacrifice themselves for any of the people that surround them at Nar Shadda. However, if every Jedi adopted such a selfless stance, I think you'd run out of Jedi pretty quickly. So while Halla is a bit over the top in what she perceives as a 'good death,' Duron's seems equally flawed.

Very interesting that Fionn will get to confront Mandalorians on his first mission. Nothing like going from the safety of the Jedi Temple to Nar Shadda and then going to confront his past. It should be very interesting to see how other Mandalorians react to him, feels like Fionn might be seen as 'Too Mando to be a Jedi, yet too Jedi to be a Mando.' A man without a nation, if you will.

Keep up the good work!

 

Thanks for the feedback, yes, a lot of the story is about self-identity and belief, both on a personal level for Fionn trying to overcome his demons and for the Jedi in general. I was always interested in how they would handle the post war era after almost being destroyed and how that would effect their philosophy. It didn't exactly go smoothly for Luke and the NJO!

Thanks for reading!

 

Chapter 8


The riot had broken out near an emergency med-station. Citizens stormed the facility, demanding a cure for the plague. Local enforcement had been called in to subdue the unrest and when the crowd refused to disperse they opened fire. Nar Shadda was beginning to come apart at the seams.

Fionn gulped in his first breath of clean air for the first time since he’d arrived on the smugglers moon as he stepped through the door and into the Sky Palace. Cool air wafted over him, scented to mask the stench of the pollution. Combing a hand through his greasy hair he looked around, blinking in the light. After being stuck in Nar Shadda’s midlevel twilight for days his eyes took a while to grow accustomed to the brightness.

Massive windows provided an impressive view of the cityscape around them. The sky palace rose out of the filth like a glittering spear aiming towards the stars, it’s peak standing high above the clinging belt of smog which hung over the city. He felt embarrassed to arrive in such a place with three days’ worth of dirt sticking to him, trailing dirty footprints across the marble floor. Everything that wasn’t clear glass or crystal was white, so that the light bounced and refracted, making the whole palace shine. Never in all his life, even in the richest districts of Coruscant had Fionn imagined such a place.

A silver-plated protocol droid shuffled forward and greeted them with a jerky bow. ‘I welcome you on behalf of Count Lourz. He is expecting you. Please follow me.’
Fionn shot a glance at Master Duron, but the older Jedi’s face was expressionless as he set off after the droid. A fountain in the centre of the entrance hall jetted water into the air and as they passed he caught a glimpse of several golden fish with long fins swimming in the clear water.

The droid led them to an upright medical scanner which seemed out of place compared to the grandeur of the palace. ‘If you would please step into the scanner one by one. I’m sure you are aware of the epidemic currently ravaging the surface of Nar Shadda.’

Duron nodded and stepped into the scanner, which hummed for a moment, scrutinising his body for traces of infection. Fionn glanced sideways at Kyph, who had a look of utter disgust on his face. Kyph caught his eye and the expression softened but didn’t go away completely.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. It’s just that the surface of Nar Shadda is tearing itself apart because of this plague while the wealthy and powerful can just sit in their sky palaces in safety. It’s sickening,’ said Kyph in a low voice.

‘Be careful what you say,’ said Duron. ‘This whole complex is probably under constant surveillance. Let Haalla and I do all the talking. This is an opportunity for you to observe and to learn.’

‘What are we supposed to be learning?’ asked Fionn.

‘As Jedi you will often encounter people of great influence, learning how to talk to them is essential.’

‘But isn’t this Lourz just a criminal?’

‘On Nar Shadda, and many other planets, criminality is influence,’ said Haalla. ‘Don’t forget that.’

After the medical scanner cleared each of them of any signs of the plague – which relieved Fionn intensely – they were ushered into a high domed chamber to await their audience with Count Lourz. The room reminded Fionn of the Galactic City Museum on Coruscant, which had had visited many times on field trips. Pedestals dotted around the room displayed a collection of relics and artefacts, many of which were from cultures Fionn didn’t recognise. Above them, suspended from the dome was a gigantic Mon Calamari Whaladon skeleton nearly thirty meters long. He leaned in closer to examine a clay pot with images of dancing figures painted on it. A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ said Duron.

‘I was only looking.’

‘I know, but that is an urn from the Rodian system, probably around two thousand years old and absolutely priceless. In fact this is one of the finest private collections I’ve ever seen. There are some artefacts here that predate the Republic. This for example…’ he pointed to a stone tablet. ‘This is an ancient Evocii manuscript. They were the original inhabitants of Nal Hutta before the Hutts displaced them. They’re believed to be extinct and their culture lost except for a few precious relics like this one.’

‘It’s always nice to meet someone who appreciates my little collection.’

Fionn spun round. A door had opened at one end of the chamber and a tall figure had swept into the room. Fionn blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting a criminal warlord to look like, but it certainly hadn’t been the thin handsome man who approached them and bowed respectfully to Master Duron. His skin was very pale and he wore a crisp suit.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Count Lourz. Have you been offered some refreshment? On a hot Nar Shadda day I feel naked without a cold drink in my hand,’ said Lourz with a smile. He had perfect white teeth evenly spaced in his mouth and his eyes flashed as he turned to look at the two Padawans.

‘No, thank you,’ said Duron.

‘What about your apprentices?’

‘They’re fine too.’

‘Really? This one looks like he’s going to faint from the heat.’

‘I don’t feel faint,’ snapped Fionn, then he bit his tongue, remembering that he was supposed to keep quiet. ‘I mean, I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Polite and honest. I love that about Jedi. I insist, however, that you have something to drink, some water at least,’ said Lourz. He snapped his fingers and the droid servant scurried from the room and returned a moment later carrying a tray with five tall glasses of ice water. Fionn sneaked a sidelong look at Duron, who gave him an imperceptible nod, as the droid proffered the tray.

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a glass and sipping the icy liquid. Most of the water on Nar Shadda had been processed and reprocessed and chemically sterilised a thousand times, giving it a gritty, think texture. Unsurprisingly the water in the Sky Palace tasted like it had just been drawn from a mountain stream. Lourz waved them towards a long squashy sofa and Fionn plonked himself down next to Kyph.

‘There now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? I believe you were admiring my collection, Master Duron?’

‘It’s very impressive. It must have taken a long time to accumulate.’

‘It is my pride and joy. When I find the material world beginning to overwhelm me I come here and find peace amongst these treasures. They remind me that while life can be transient and brief the things we build can leave a legacy long after we have turned to dust. Please look at this.’

He gestured to a glass display cabinet which featured a worn leathery scroll. ‘Parchment from ancient Tython. This scroll is one of my favourite pieces, a treatise on early lightsaber forms. I believe you would find it quite fascinating.’ He smiled and took a sip from his glass. ‘Ah, but you didn’t come to discuss history, did you. I apologise. I sometimes get carried away with my enthusiasm for the past. What can I do for you?’

Duron leaned forward and interlaced his fingers. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of Professor Torland Way.’

Lourz’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back, resting an arm on the back of his seat. ‘I have always admired the Jedi for their tenacity. I’m glad to see you haven’t disappointed me.’

‘You have him?’ said Haalla.

‘Of course. I have no wish to deny it, although I would be interested in where you came by your information.’

‘We’d like to see him,’ said Duron. ‘He is a Republic citizen and you have no right to hold him captive.’

‘Captive?’ Lourz acted shocked, but Fionn sensed only a cool, ruthless control emanating from him. ‘Who said anything about captivity? The professor and his team are my guests. We’ve been holding various scientific discussions.’

‘Well if the professor is not a captive there doesn’t seem to be any reason not to let us see him.’

‘Of course, but unfortunately he isn’t available. He and his colleagues are on a trip to the southern continent of Nar Hutta, examining some Evocii ruins.’

‘Perhaps we could join them?’

‘Perhaps. However first I’d be very interested to hear why the Jedi Council has dispatched you. It seems to me there must be far more important things for a Jedi Master to attend to than a few missing scientists.’

Duron held the man’s gaze for a moment. ‘Why don’t we get to the point?’

Lourz got to his feet and walked to the case containing the ancient Jedi scroll. ‘That’s the wondrous thing about history, isn’t it? Nothing ever completely vanishes, no matter how complete the destruction. There are always clues left behind, fragments for us to follow.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Don’t try to hide it. You’re like me: an explorer of the past. There are secrets out there we cannot even imagine. All we have to do is look for them.’
‘Is that why you abducted Professor Way? To explore the past?’ said Haalla.

‘I and my associates are more interested in the future.’

‘Your associates?’

‘I’m a simple man. I have no political motives and I certainly have no interest in galactic domination or any of that rubbish. My associates on the other hand have… broader ambitions. I confess that while I am content with the slice of galaxy I’ve carved out for myself, I’m always interested in expanding my interests. The professor was able to supply me with certain information which will be extremely valuable to my clients and profitable for myself.’

Lourz turned to face them, still wearing his perfect smile. ‘I have no wish to earn your animosity. However I cannot allow you to jeopardise my plans and if you try I can assure you I am more than capable of protecting myself.’

Haalla’s hand twitched towards one of the twin lightsaber hilts on her belt, but Duron shot a warning look at her. He got to his feet, not taking his eyes off Lourz. There was something ominous about the crimelord’s utter calm as he drained his glass and set it down on a table.

‘The professor was able to erase most of his work before my men took him. I’ve had droid analysers working on the fragments of data left behind to piece together what they can about his research. So far all we have are partial logs and some indexing of the artefacts recovered in the ruins. But there was one piece of data which caught my attention…’

Lourz snapped his fingers and a droid scuttled forwards holding a portable hologenerator. At the touch of a button the projector came to life and displayed an image. Fionn felt a sharp spike of emotion from his master. He peered at the image. It looked to him like an enormous space station, with three vertical arms enclosing a spherical core. Tendrils of energy rose from a star beneath the station, feeding it power.

Duron leaned back, drawing in the Force to calm himself, and looked warily at Lourz. He had feared this. It was the reason the Jedi council had sent him in the first place. He sensed the confusion in his fellow Jedi and out the corner of his eyes saw Fionn and Kyph exchange a mystified look.

‘We’re leaving.’ Duron got to his feet, not taking his eyes off Lourz. He clenched and unclenched his fists, blood pounding in his ears.

Lourz smiled his perfect smile. ‘It frightens you, doesn’t it?’

Duron spun and began to walk, Haalla and the two boys trailing after him. He barged past the chromed droid still standing with its tray of drinks and headed for the door. Behind them, standing in front of the slowly rotating hologram, Lourz called after them.

‘Why does it frighten you, Jedi?’

*​

The muggy heat of a Nar Shadda summer hit Fionn like a huge clammy durasteel wall, so that within minutes of leaving the Sky Palace he was drenched with sweat. He flicked a stand of hair out of his eyes and jogged a few paces to keep up with Master Duron’s long strides.

‘What the kriff is going on?’ said Haalla. ‘What was that space station in the hologram?’

Duron ignored her, ploughing into the mass of humans and aliens. They crossed a busy intersection and cut into a side street crowded with vendors advertising shade and cool drinks.

‘We need to contact the Jedi Council,’ he said without slowing his pace.

‘What are you so afraid of?’

The question left Fionn’s mouth before he could stop himself. He really had to work on that habit. Master Duron whirled on him.

‘It’s none of your business.’

Fionn stopped in his tracks, feeling like he had been physically slapped in the face. He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry master.’

Duron dragged a hand across his face. ‘No I’m sorry. There are some things you need to hear, that all of you need to hear, about this mission. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be necessary but you were right Haalla. What you don’t know can get you killed, and I think it’s time for some answers.’

He led them into the open mouth of an alley, looking around to make sure nobody nearby was listening and stretching out with the Force to make sure.

‘The image in the hologram was an installation known as the Star Forge. It was a weapons factory, used by Revan and Malak in the wars to build their fleets. It was built by an ancient civilisation called the Rakata, who ruled a vast empire long before the Republic was formed. They used a Force-based technology to enslave hundreds of races which made them virtually invincible. The Star Forge was their crowning achievement, an installation so strong with the Force it became partially sentient.’

‘Wait, a living machine? How is that possible?’ said Kyph.

‘It used the Force to sustain it, specifically the dark side. The more the Rakata used it, the greater its need became and it eventually led to the destruction of their empire. The Star Forge itself was eventually destroyed by a Republic fleet led by Bastila and Revan after he turned away from the Dark Side.’

‘How come we’ve never heard of it?’ said Fionn.

‘Its existence was classified as top secret by the Jedi Council. In fact any information regarding the Rakatan Empire is closely guarded.’

‘Why?’

‘Because think about it,’ said Kyph. ‘Revan and Malak used this Star Forge to try and overthrow the Republic.’

‘I guessed that,’ huffed Fionn.

Haalla waved a hand to shut him up. ‘But you said the Star Forge was destroyed, right?’

‘Yes, but if we allow that technology to fall into the wrong hands it would be disastrous.’

‘So the ruins Professor Way was excavating here are Rakatan?’ said Kyph.

Duron nodded and folded his arms. ‘Only a very few people in the Republic are aware of the Star Forge’s existence. The Rakatan Empire had outposts on many different worlds, that’s how Revan and Malak were able to track down its location in the first place. We must prevent Lourz from discovering any more of the technology.’

Haalla snorted. ‘So this is why you were assigned to the mission. To prevent that technology from falling into enemy hands.’

Fionn felt a surge of pride. He was apprenticed to a Jedi Master that the Council trusted to deal with top secret information and now he was one of the chosen few who shared that secret.

‘Do you think the Sith are behind all this?’ he said.

‘What makes you say that?’ said Duron.

‘Well, who else would be interested in a Force-based technology?’

Haalla groaned. ‘I hate to admit it but the Padawan had a point. It does seem likely that Lourz’s “associates” would have ties to the dark side of the Force.’

‘Then we’re in trouble,’ said Kyph.

Fionn looked up at Duron. Perhaps this was it, the prophesy that Bastila had made about him. Perhaps he helped save the Jedi order by helping stop the Sith.

‘We need to move quickly,’ said Duron. ‘At all costs we must…’

A blaster shot rang out, screaming across the crowded alley. Fionn’s danger sense exploded and then a force push threw him to the ground and felt Kyph land next to him. He scrambled behind a couple of plasteel cylinders and looked around, searching for the source of the danger.

‘Master!’

Fionn followed Kyph’s gaze and felt a stone drop into the base of his stomach. Haalla was lying on the ground, eyes staring sightlessly up at the polluted clouds, a blaster burn smoking in her forehead.

Chapter 9 coming soon...

 

Ooh! I've been waiting on this chapter and it did not disappoint. Lourz is quite the character and may end up being one of my favorite so far. And whoever had caught Halla must be good.

 

Well, just based on the 300 word Saga Awards excerpt for 2015...

****!