Before - Legends To Skin a Gundark (Trett) --COMPLETE

Hello, all! Sword class tonight, so this will be short. (My mom was nudging my dad while they were watching some special on the making of ?Last Samurai,? saying ?Your daughter can do that!? Yes, but not quite so well?)

LOL, Kitara! Was Amut much of a trouble target as Trett when he was a padawan? Have you forgotten that ?Padawan? is an ancient Jedi word for ?attracts trouble like an electro-magnet??

Actually, KD, Galactica wasn?t a bad piece of sci-fi, though I miss some of the more mythic, visionary themes of the original. Be glad you missed the Femmebot, though. At least she wore more clothes in Part II.

Let this be a warning, Jane?: Trett and the slaves really are headed to the meatgrinder! YUCK! Never watch Chicken Run when you?re thinking of SW!

Hm, yeah, Ty-Gon, if I start writing NOW it might be finished by next Halloween!

Oops, gotta run or I?ll be laaaate?

* * *

Hunger and thirst he could deal with, but Trett was definitely feeling the effects of boredom now. There was only so much meditation he could do, after all. He was in a holding cell apart from the others, so he couldn't even communicate with them. The only thing to do was think about his signal, wondering if the Temple had received it, wondering if they would send someone, wondering when help would come. He'd tried to get free of the heavy manacles, but they were well-fastened, and he had no sort of pick to work on the locks. He'd only succeeded in chafing his wrists, and making himself more uncomfortable. There was nothing in his pockets that could help him, and he couldn't reach them anyway, in his position. Now he was just bored.

A faint sound caught his attention, and he wasn't surprised when the cell door opened. Mistral, Coio, and the furry creature reappeared. He remained still, not struggling while they unfastened his ankles and dragged him to his feet.

"Come on," ordered Mistral. She led the way, teetering on high heels, while Trett followed along. It occurred to him that he should be putting up a fight, but there wasn't much point. In fact, it felt good to be able to walk and stretch his legs and back muscles. Besides, he might learn more that could help him get away.

He glimpsed a few doors with grillwork peepholes, leading to the holding pens. The smell of slavery and sorrow was strong in these corridors. Soon, however, they went up a short flight of stone steps, turning to the right down a dimly-lit corridor, and right again, stepping down into a circular stone room. There was a platform in the center, and he was pushed up to stand on this. Mistral activated a forcefield, and he was held there, captive to the beam. Vhan and a large, obese Sitharnn stood near a flatscreen. On the flatscreen was a dim image, a man? Humanoid, but not human. Trett couldn't see much; the man wore a black cloak, with the hood pulled forward, shadowing his face. It was almost Jedi in appearance. Trett could see the tip of a pointed chin, a nose, a thin-lipped, cruel mouth. Hands with long fingers, and sharp, pointed fingernails painted black tapped impatiently on a shiny black table. Except for a silvery cloak clasp, he could make out nothing else.

"This is the boy?" said the mysterious figure.

"Yes. He is a Jedi," said Vhan. He glanced at the Sitharnn. "Enlarge the image."

The figure leaned forward, and Trett took a deep breath, fighting down a sudden unease. He realized that this person was scrutinizing him very carefully, and he didn't like that idea.

"Turn him," ordered the man.

Mistral kicked a control on the base of the platform, which rotated slowly. Trett made himself stay calm as the person surveyed him from all angles.

"A Jedi," mused the figure, cocking his head to one side as the platform resumed its original position. "Did he have a lightsaber?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Vhan. He pulled Trett's lightsaber off his belt, fumbling with it for a moment. Trett wondered briefly if he should call out a warning; Vhan could accidentally impale himself

 

Uh oh. Now comes the exploding transmitter...

 

Oh dear. It's time to start thinking about escape, Trett. Of course, he wouldn't recognize a Sith - after all, they've been dead for a millenium.

Good job....

 

Well no one here probably remembers me, but I'll post anyway.
I'm so glad to see a new story from you, Renata! And a young Trett story at that. Very interesting what you've done with the idea of slavery in the Republic, I especially enjoy your attention to detail, it makes the story come alive.
Can't wait to see how things turn out!

 

I remember you Sari

My take on Galactica was: cut the gratuitous sex scenes and they might have been able to squeeze in more plot. Overall, it wasn't bad; and you have to acknowledge their zinger of an ending scene.

Trett's about to be sold to a Sith and he is worried about boredom? typical teenager...

 

TO the first part, I am feeling awfully smart right now considering the faked pirate raids for insurance fraud.

Poor Trett...few people can handle Jedi alright. Hutts think they can, but as Lukie proved in ROTJ, they can't. I am thinking either Sith or Dark Jedi. Mayb even Darth Sidious? :-o (My Lord could imply Dark Lord, or Prince, but, well, I usually associate those with Charming. )

Can't wait for more!

 

"And let me tell you... kidnapped Padawans are not a common occurrence."

Amut snorted. "That's not what I remember from my Padawan days," he said. "We'd better hurry."

*laughs mid-nose-blow... yuk* My condolences to all other sickies out there (especially you, Renata). I am an unhappy flu victim just now -- or else this is just a cold run completely amuck...

As for Trett: since things simply weren't bad enough, now he's being handed over to a sinister, cloak-wearing, black-nail-polish-using, dark Jedi! Or maybe that last is assuming too much. Perhaps he's just one of those queer highschoolers who enjoy impersonating vampires, and he has a penchant for collecting unique slaves. Yeah. Right.

It seems that no bad situation can arise without some pessimistic doomsayer present to make things worse! Which isn't to say the old slave guy might not be right (I dearly hope he's wrong), but one must seriously crush the desire to shake him senseless for being unhelpful. Here's hoping Myron and Amut manage to intercept them before they get sold off.

And the case finally comes to light! Nice to see we weren't too far off; it would have been highly embarrassing to bark up the wrong tree completely. My congratulations to the greedy little sleeze-buckets for their clever scheme. Now bust 'em, Myron. Bust 'em good.

Lucy is pleased that the distress signal worked to such great effect. Her soft spot for Rendell isn't quite as big and her soft spot for Arwen (could have something to do with who the cat lover is here), but she does like him a lot.

I need to go find more Kleenex now... Quessy: how long have you been doing sword fighting? Never thought to ask about it, though I envy you exceedingly.

Sarah >^,,^<

 

Of course I remember you, Sari! Welcome back! I?m glad you?re enjoying this. This is, of course, the story behind Myron?s ?Bantha feed? line back in B&B.

Exploding transmitter, TG? Trett?s middle name is ?Trouble,? not ?Danger,? and I guarantee he?s got no ?shagadelic? plan to get out of this!

Lunetta (and dianethx and Kitara, IIRC) guessed right about the insurance deal. [PeterFalk]You're very smart.[/PeterFalk]

dianethx is right; the Sith are ancient history (would a modern teenager recognize a Green Mountain Man if he bumped into one?)

Sorry, Sarah_K, sounds like I gave you my cold! I started sword practice the summer after TPM came out? was looking for any exercise class that wasn?t aerobics, and spotted ?Kendo.? And thought to myself? ?Kendo. Isn?t that? lightsaber fighting??!!!? Being the Poster Child for Couch Potatoes, it is a personal victory that I?m still at it, and only one degree away from black belt! As soon as I learn how to turn a cartwheel, that is?

And Kitara, what would it take to convince you to be a story editor at the SciFi channel? I agree with you 100%!

FYI to anyone who hasn't been following Invisible Enemy... I'll be out of town 'til Sunday, at a con. Don't get ideas, though; Kit & Amidala_S are still on duty!

* * *

There is no fear, there is calm. There is no anger, there is peace. Trett took deep, calming breaths, opening himself to the Force, feeling it flow around him and through him, strengthening him. He was aware of a ripple moving, a coldness, an energy... he opened his eyes and came alert as the staccato clatter of boots on polished stone came to his ears. Moments later, the cell door opened with a rumble. Vhan Danktarr stood there, quivering with rage, his pale eyes wide in fury.

"What is this?" he demanded, holding up a small item.

Trett couldn't decide whether to shiver or to smirk. "My commlink," he said.

"And you 'accidentally' lost it."

"No," admitted Trett. Mistral stepped around Vhan, and Trett eyed her. Her lips were compressed, and her hands were clenched on the handle of a long, cruel-looking whip.

"It seems to be transmitting," added Vhan, gnashing his teeth.

"Yes," agreed Trett. "A distress signal."

"A distress signal." Vhan stared at the innocuous looking item while the other pirates exchanged uneasy glances. "And just how long has it been transmitting this distress signal?"

"Since we dropped out of hyperspace." The pirates stared at Trett, who had to grin. "I estimate that the rescuers will be showing up by tomorrow morning," he added. "Assuming they use the designated Temple ships. If they have to borrow, it could take a little longer."

Vhan dropped the commlink on the ground, smashing his boot heel down on it, trying to grind it to pieces. Trett suppressed the urge to snort. The unit was Jedi-designed and made; it would take more than that to destroy it.

Vhan whirled to face his colleagues. "Put him on the carrier with the others! We move out now."

"But... but what about the buyer?" gasped Mistral. "Ten thousand credits...!"

"Which we won't get until the end of the month, and that's assuming the Jedi don't get us first, something I'm not about to risk my life on." He bared his teeth and glared at the Padawan. "He's been trouble from the start, he's now lost us the biggest deal we'll ever see with his cute little tricks, and I, for one, want some payback. He can go into the machine with the others."

Trett tensed as the pirates came towards him and grabbed him. So he wasn't going to be the property of the creepy guy, but...The Machine? I don't like the sound of that.

 

Well, from the frying pan into the fire.... the machine. Oh, dear. That doesn't sound good at all. And I believe that it is what I thought it was. Yeck! Of course, when this infomation hits the holonet, slavery should be shot to smithereens and I'll be shouting hurray with the rest. Of course, that assumes that Trett will survive. You wouldn't do an AU on your own universe, would you Renata?

Have a good time at Philcon.

 

The machine? OMG- the Bantha feed pellet[face_nauseaous]

 

Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the exploding transmitter that Anakin had, not anything like Mr. Powers'.

Though I would think that this is an "overly elaborate and escapable death scenario" for our young padawan if he can do some quick thinking and Myron can get there in time.

 

I am back, and had a great time at Philcon! I have to give a ?shout-out? and a huge Thank You to the folks at the Philadelphia FanForce, who were kind enough to invite me to their party, and it was a blast!!! Music, food, silly Star Wars games, good company? the best kind of party! You guys are great!

Would I do an AU of my own universe? Well, this one IS a bit AU, as far as I can tell, but maybe not THAT AU!

* * *

The fastest starfighter designed would not have satisfied Myron. He was anxious, he was worried, he was angry, he was afraid... all the things he wasn't supposed to be. Deliberately he pushed those feelings away, and focused on his breathing, on his heartbeat.

A Jedi may not know love. Love, in all its forms, was dangerous to the calm and detachment that one needed to master the Force. Love could be a powerful weapon, and love led to fear. Fear of losing the thing that was so loved. Like a boy who was more of a son than a student.

Myron contemplated this. He'd been fond of his first apprentice, and close to him. And Dallen was now roaming the Galaxy, a powerful, confident Jedi Knight with his own Padawan learner. Rendell was so different. Things didn't come easily to him; he had to struggle to master the skills of the Jedi. But he did get them, in the end. And all the qualities that Myron felt were critical for a Knight... compassion, courage, justice, humility, generosity... the boy had all of those in full measure. Rendell would never be legendary, the subject of song and story, would probably never have a statue gracing the corridors of the Temple to awe and inspire future generations of Initiates... but he would be competent and efficient, a hard-working all-arounder, which was really more important to the Order than all the Saber Masters and Mystics combined.

If he was still alive.

The Master clenched and unclenched his teeth, his dark eyes straying to the chronometer on the console, ticking off the minutes until they came out of hyperspace. In the other ships his colleagues were resting, or perhaps having a light snack, so that they would be fresh and ready on their arrival.

Why would the pirates be at a Bantha feed factory? Myron tried to stretch in the cramped cockpit. Would that many workers be needed? Would elderly slaves be capable of the physical lifting and work required in a factory? The Corporate Sector and the Industrial Unions were slowly switching over to droids, now. Slaves required too much maintenance... they needed to be housed and fed, needed rest, while droids, although an expensive initial investment, quickly made up for it by being able to work without the need for breaks.

Unless Cessarin Agricultural was a very small company. But they couldn't account for the need for so many slaves.

He leaned back in his seat, suddenly weary, staring out at the nothingness that was hyperspace. He was not looking forward to the talk he'd have to have with Rendell when he caught up with his errant Padawan, even though he understood why the boy had acted as he did. But for a Jedi to deliberately decide to break the law...! At least it looked as if he hadn't succeeded.

Myron's eyes strayed to the chrono again. Three hours left, at just past lightspeed. When would they invent a ship that could go faster?

 

Actually, I was imagining an AU of your universe where Trett really is bought by this mysterious buyer and taken to Naboo ... twenty five years later, he shows up in politics with a new surname ... Rendell Palpatine!

So they found the comlink? I liked the way Rendell couldn't decide whether to shiver or smirk. He should smirk -- it might be the last chance he gets!

I also had to laugh at the way Vhan wanted to stomp on the comlink and Rendell was thinking that it was Jedi-made and that it would take a lot more than that to destroy it.

I loved this paragraph: Rendell was so different. Things didn't come easily to him; he had to struggle to master the skills of the Jedi. But he did get them, in the end. And all the qualities that Myron felt were critical for a Knight... compassion, courage, justice, humility, generosity... the boy had all of those in full measure. Rendell would never be legendary, the subject of song and story, would probably never have a statue gracing the corridors of the Temple to awe and inspire future generations of Initiates... but he would be competent and efficient, a hard-working all-arounder, which was really more important to the Order than all the Saber Masters and Mystics combined.

Yes, Myron's absolutely right. The Temple needs hard-working all-arounder knights. And it's so much more interesting to read about "normal" people with strengths and weaknesses and struggles to overcome.

Now come on, Myron, think! Make the connection between slaves and bantha feed!

 

Glad you had a wonderful time at Philcon. That's about the first time I've heard that the Phila. FanForce showing up there. Maybe next year...

Myron needs detachment, does he? Bah, I never could understand that. Seems to be that droids are detached and not human either! Good thing I'm not a Jedi. I hope Myron can cope with his "detachment", especially when he gets to see what the slaves are really for....

 

And Myron's wondering why they were headed to the Bantha Feed, too...

This is gonna be messy, I tell ya...

 

Rendell Palpatine! LOL, heavens forbid, Jane!

Ah, dianethx, you should know Myron better by now. He knows how to be detached, but he also knows when to admit he?s human.

Ty-Gon, you might want to send for a few buckets?

Now to rescue this from page 2?

* * *

It was useless to wish for Myron. He would not be coming. Rendell Trett peered through the darkness of the cargo hold at the others, at Seph. The other boy was pasty white, licking dry lips and looking around, as if hoping that an escape route would miraculously present itself.

When the carrier stopped, Rendell joined the shuffling queue of slaves as they made their way down the ramp, urged on by the cries and lashes of the pirates.

He emerged into the bright sunlight, blinking, and could see Vhan Danktarr striding towards a short, round Mimbnit, green skinned, with his wings a blur.

"Captain Danktarr," said the male, spitting a wad of dark green juice on to the dust, "you got another conzzzignment for me?"

"Prime material, Siral."

The alien fluttered along the line, hovering when he came to the disabled Abyssnan. "Prime?" He spat again. "Na, na! Theez lot's worzz than the lazzt one! No meat on them!"

Trett frowned. He wasn't that skinny.

"Price's going up for the best, Siral."

Siral snorted. "Pricezz? Ah, ya freebooterzz got no cauzzze to complain about pricezz!"

"We got this lot legitimately, but we need to unload them, fast."

"Ahh..." The creature's face twisted slyly. "If they are zzo...'legitimate,' wazz the rush, hi?"

"Just a little...Jedi trouble."

"JAY-DI trouble?" Siral's head snapped around to stare at Vhan, then he looked at the ragged cluster of slaves curiously. He moved closer to stare at Trett, who lifted his chin, defiant.

That's right, he thought. You know what I am. You don't want any part of this.

"Na, na, I don't want no Jaydi 'round here!" squawked Siral.

"We gotta get rid of him, Siral, with no trace. Your operation is perfect."

The Mimbnit scratched his chin. "Ayy, all right," he said. "zzame azz allwayzz. Zzeven thouzzand for the lot."

"That's it?"

"Ayy, I'm takin' a rizzk, here!"

Vhan gestured to Trett. "He's Jedi. He'll cost extra."

Siral sneered. "Na, you give me a dizzcount! He maht change the formula."

Formula? Trett couldn't figure that out.

"We turned down ten thousand for him alone!"

Siral snickered. "Aaay, you better go back to the buyer, then, hi?" He ran a practiced eye over Trett's athletic form. "I give you an eztra hunnard craiditzz, zzince he's got more meat on him dain the others. But that'zz it, take it or leave it."

Vhan growled low in his throat, but spat in his palm and held out his hand. Siral did likewise, and the two shook on the bargain. A few of the slaves began to cry softly.

 

I'm looking over my shoulder... waiting for the Jedi to come to the rescue. Hope they arrive before it's too late. Yeck, it's going to be messy. Meesa no watchin!

 

Okay, that's it. I'm definitely going to need a bucket.

 

Oh no!! *gasps.*

 

Jedi might change the formula... I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

 

Ack...The Machine doesn't sound good...particularly the "formula" part. I don't know if I want to start guessing *frets*

 

I won?t let you dangle on this cliffie too long? We are getting near the end; I think we?ll be done by Christmas.

* * *

Trett struggled, wondering if he should try the mind trick. It wasn't going to work; it almost never worked for him anyway. A droid came up to him, clamping a talon around his wrist and another around the back of his neck. Mistral grabbed at his shirt, tearing it off him, and began to tug at his waistband.

"Leave it," said Siral. He motioned to his other workers, mostly droids, Trett noted, who were beginning to move around the frightened slaves, herding them into some sort of line.

"Won't it clog up the machine?" asked Coio, frowning.

"Na, it'll come off with the zzkin," explained Siral.

WHAT? Trett still didn't know exactly what was going on, but he was beginning to get an idea. And it wasn't a good one. He struggled harder, then, suddenly inspired, he bent forward, throwing the droid off balance, and jumped, kicking out hard with his left leg. It caught Mistral hard in the hip, and she fell with a grunt. He was able to break loose of the hold, but his arms were still pinned by the binders, and before he could do anything else, Vhan pulled a stunner from his belt, and jammed it against the boy's ribs.

"Ah!" The jolt knocked him to his knees, and the pirate yanked him up hard by his hair.

"I will enjoy the next twenty minutes, Jedi," he hissed. "You've given us a lot of trouble."

Coio and Vhan had his arms, and Siral gestured to several other droids, who rolled forward and scooped up his legs, carrying him into the warehouse. It was hard to see much. But there was a lot to hear.

Screams. Screams of terror, from a hundred throats, male and female, sobbing and... and abruptly cut short. And underlying it all, a deep rumble and methodical thumping noise, with the hissing of gaskets, and the gurgle of liquid moving through pipes.

The smell hit him next. Blood. It was unmistakable. What is this place? He squirmed, trying to see around his captors. He couldn't see much except for the ceiling, and Siral thrust the stunner against his torso, causing his body to jerk in helpless spasms of pain before going limp.

He caught a glimpse of faces, slaves, staring past him in terror, with tears streaming down their cheeks. But he couldn't see much else. Was it the Machine? What was this place?

But he was being lifted... something, binders, clamped around his ankles and they released him. He was hanging upside down, which was definitely not comfortable. They stood back, and he could see now, Siral gesturing to someone out of sight. Vhan and Mistral, smirking to one side. A group of handlers, holding a line of terrified slaves at bay. Their arms were bound beside them, too.

He looked to each side and blinked as he realized he was on some sort of track, and it was moving. To his left, a short distance away, an older woman hung upside down, twisting and screaming in utter terror.

"Hey," he said. "Hey!"

The woman was paying no attention to him, or to those watching. Her terror, the fear and horror of the others was so powerful, so overwhelming that he had to take a deep breath, and force his own fears down, trying to find a way to shield himself from those emotions.

Peace. Find the peace within.

He had to ignore the woman's fear, forget about the watching pirates. A door was opening to the left, swallowing the woman as they moved along the track. He tried to look around. It was almost like an assembly line. A machine. Bantha feed. The smells. The screams. Trett caught his breath. He suddenly realized what kind of a factory this was. And he had a terrible idea what the raw material was. And now he was being pulled through the doorway into darkness.

There was a sudden soft hiss to his left, and the woman's screams were abruptly cut short. And then all he could hear was the methodical sounds of the machine. He looked quickly to the left. Legs. A torso. And the head...no head.

Trett caught his breath, felt the skin on the back of his ne

 

*screams in terror and covers her eyes.* I can't watch.

 

Oh, man.

Bucket! Where did I put the bucket?

 

Oh gosh. I think I'm going to have a relapse...

Okay, granted, that was just about as awful as I could have possibly considered (or maybe avoided considering). The upshot of Rendell not getting sold to a black-nailed psycho is slowly sloping into a downshot. Yup. Let's just leave it at that.

For the rest, you did a great job with poor Myron's distress! Let us replay all the old protests against the Jedi order for trying to plant such an impossible notion as avoiding love in its members... Clearly, the tricks aren't working anyway. I really liked the summary of Rendell there too -- it's people like him that make the Order function and I've always enjoyed him as a welcome break from the prodigies that generally lace fanfiction.

That is so awesome; kudos on your progress thus far! Hope you manage that cartwheel. Do you use kendo for anything other than exercising (meaning: what recitals are to musicians, or games are to basketball players)?

Lucy is looking a little green (can a black cat look green?), but she says she's eager for the next post anyway.

Sarah >^,,^<