#so he goes back to the Republic of Pirates just to check that the place is still standing

[alex51324]

The fuck does that mean? If his death was supposed to be a fakeout, they A) shouldn't have included a funeral* and B) should have signaled that within the episode, similarly to how the season-1 ending showed Stede reuniting with the crew. Oh, and C), the conversation with Con that he described in the EW interview doesn't make sense if that conversation also came with an assurance that he'd be in Season 3 if it happened.

(*Although I did just notice that we never actually saw the body??)

My money is on DJenks realizing that he shat the bed & now furiously trying to write himself out of the corner he's in.

(My second guess is that he basically already knows there won't be a Season 3, but there's some network or business-related reason for not announcing it yet.)

Now all I'm imagining is OFMD Season 3 as a queer pirate Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)

[all-hallows-evie]

Chapter 1: Marooned

Rating: T, for language, Canon Typical Violence/Action. Honestly, this chapter isn't that bad, the T rating is just in case I forgot about something lol

Wordcount: 3,776

Warnings: Canon typical violence and adventure, female OC with name × Tech slowburn, but not too slow lol, NOT BETA'D, because if I have to stare at this first chapter again I'm not going to post it.

A/N: HAPPY TECH TUESDAY, LOOK I'M FINALLY POSTING SOMETHING, WHEEEEEEEEEEE

There were bad ideas, really bad ideas and then there was this.

The ship hums under her feet as it trudges through the far corner of the mid rim, chugging along on it’s route without any sign of trouble or disruption from it’s preplanned course.

It should have been a routine pillaging, something she had placed firmly in the ‘great ideas’ list but instead it had turned into a routine mutiny and finished the day as a routine marooning. She sighs as she lays her head back against the seamless panel behind her.

Fucking pirates. 

She has been stranded on the old freighter for at least two moons, but it was hard to say with certainty. The droids that man the ship have no need to eat so more often than not they forget to pass along anything to keep her mounting hunger at bay, adding along to the lack of any kind of panel to the outside world, getting her bearings is proving to be more difficult than usual. 

She hisses a swear to drown out the low growl of her belly and focuses her gaze on the far corner of the room. Another day, another chance to count the diamond shaped tiles above her cell, she swears the number changes every other time she counts. She doesn’t get farther than eighteen when the door of the maintenance room blows open. 

The dust fills the room, hiding everything under its grimy shadow. The grit in the air crackles as it’s pushed against the red of the electron walls that keep her prisoner with the ships cooling coils and a water filtration unit that has calcified and has never been fixed.  

"Well look at that, we found it! Lucky break!"

"Luck had nothing to do with it, if you had studied the schematics of this cruiser like I had asked-"

"Yeah yeah yeah." The first figure, a hulking shadow in the doorway brushes off the smaller one as he stomps into the suddenly too tiny room.

"The memory core should be at the end of the-" the smaller of the two figures stops in front of her cell as the big one charges towards the end of the room without stopping. They launch themselves into the piles of junk thrown haphazardly inside, "That's concerning."

"Concerning? You see someone in a cage and you go with ‘concerning’?" She replies as she pulls herself up to standing. She takes in his armor, modified clone armor from the looks of it painted pale with a bright red stripe down his chest, his eyes slightly magnified by the goggles on his face, the rest hidden by the elongated helmet.

"According to the intel we were provided there weren't supposed to be life forms aboard." He seems irritated to see her.

"Good old Republic intel, still living up to its reputation."

The other clone approaches, he rips open the metal box in his hands and yanks out the core as if the casing was made of thick flimsy and nothing more, "I've got the thing, time to go!"

She watches, dumbstruck for a moment as her ticket out starts to head for the gaping maw that used to be a door, "Wait, you're taking the old database?" The two of them stop and turn, "It's not complete! It's missing pieces of the coordinates!" Firefek she didn't want to sound desperate but she was.

"Likely story-" The big one chuckles.

"I was trying to steal it too, I almost got all of it before my crew turned on me!"

"A mercenary or a pirate? No matter, I trust you even less now."

She had never wanted to punch anyone's face as hard as she wanted to punch his, "Check the core Goggles, I swear to you! It's missing pieces!" He hesitates and in that baited pause she knows she has him, "Please, just let me out and drop me off wherever you dock next. You can have my data chip. No harm, no foul, just get me out."

The one with the goggles glares at her, the yellow tinted transparisteel of his visor snapping downl before he turns to the bigger man. Klaxons ring all around as he scans the core with a handheld device, but it's taking up time they do not have.

The two clones share a look, silently deciding her fate.

The bigger one caves first, "Aww c'mon Tech, we can't leave her! You saw what's on this ship, she'll be a goner on some mining planet!"

"Under normal circumstances I might agree but she's caged for a purpose, and I'm disinclined to put any trust in her."

"How much damage can she do? She’s smaller than you are!" 

Tech, the one in the goggles, sighs before he turns back around to face her, "If we spring you, you play by our rules. You follow our orders, no complaints, no rebuttals and if you put one toe out of line-"

"Out the airlock, understood." She nods furiously, hands pressed against the panel as she watches Tech short out the electron wall holding her hostage, the panel shudders and then it spews sparks on to the ground as the red fades and she's finally able to step through. 

"Lets go shortie!" 

"Wait, let me just grab-" She scrambles to the other side of the wall, trying to pull at something from the top of a shelf. The bigger clone reaches over and tosses the crate to the floor. She throws open the top and snatches out a bantha leather bag and a helmet.

"Run!"

Tech doesn't have to tell her twice, the three of them bolt out of the door and into the corridor, the lights above flash in time with the klaxons. There is a low rumble that joins the hum of the hyperspace engine, as whatever security droids are on board begin to activate.

"Back to the ship, short stuff!" 

The three of them book it down the darkened halls, ducking behind walls and crates as the first cluster of security droids pass through.

She tosses her bag across her shoulder, slinging it against one side of her hip, clipping it into place with snaps sewn into her jacket. They watch three more droids pass them by before she speaks again, "My name's Nox, by the way." 

"Doesn't sound like a girl's name." The big one chuckles, so deep and rumbling it almost feels like a growl.

"Well it's the only name I've got. My parents named me a bit of a mouthful, Nox just works better."

"Clear." Tech calls out and they continue on their way heading to the service hangar where their ship hopefully was waiting for them.

"How'd you end up out here?" The big one asks, with every flash of light above them she can see more of the large scary face painted roughly on his helmet, lines thrown on haphazardly only to be scraped away by carbon scoring.

She is about to answer when she is shoved back into a corner by Tech. He slaps a hand over her mouth before she can yelp, the leather slightly singed, it smells of electricity and grease.

“Wait.”

"I'm getting tired of all this sneaking around, I say we blow our way outta here!" The big one growls.

"We’re almost there Wrecker, it would be pointless to try now."

She shoves Tech's Hand away, "Blow your way out of here, are you insane? With the amount of baby on board you'd blow us into the next dimension!"

There are a few beats of silence before both helmets turn towards her.

"Baby?" Wrecker repeats but is shushed by Tech.

"You don't mean baradium-"

"Bisulfate? I absolutely do! There were containers of the stuff in the holding bay."

"This Imperial ship is headed somewhere to mine thorilide?" He repeats, tone stressed over every syllable in the word ‘Imperial’.

"That or some unlucky planet is about to be wiped from existence."

"The location of the Republic thorilide mines have been kept under the utmost security for ages, not even the Jedi Council was ever advised of its location."

"Can’t say I blame them, I barely trust them with those glowy sticks of death." She murmurs, making lightsaber sounds with her mouth as Wrecker snickers.

"Stop that. Do you know where this ship was heading? Do you have a copy of the manifest?"

"What, your amazing Republic recce didn't get you that information shiny?" He glares back at her, brows pinching together behind the dark frames of his goggles, "Maker! Did those cloners take your sense of humor? Yes, I know where this ship is going."

"Bet Cid’s contact would pay more for that bit of info." Wrecker’s grin can be heard even through the plastoid of his helmet.

Tech meanwhile has typed something to a com on his wrist, "Hunter, there's been a complication."

"What kind of complication?"

"There is more on board this ship than just the republic database-"

"What do you mean?"

"This ship is a mining vessel, out to mine thorilide."

Tech’s wrist comm goes silent, just quiet static while the voice on the other line thinks, "Ordinance?"

Both clones look at her, she nods emphatically, "Ordinance, med supplies, if there was coaxium on board I wouldn't be surprised, this place is the motherlode."

"Quite a bit of supplies on board, it would seem."

The comm goes quiet again for a few moments, "We don't have time for this, it's only a matter of time before they realize that your cruiser is stolen. Grab what you went in for and leave."

Tech shakes his head, it's so tiny and quick that if she wasn't looking at him in that moment she would have missed it, "Where is it being kept?" 

"Up, five or so floors unless I've miscounted."

"Tech, Wrecker, Get out of there, now!" The voice on the other end grows more and more irritable as they stand around in silence.

"We'll be out as soon as possible." Tech replies curtly as he cuts the comm. He makes it sound so easy like they were stopping by the nearest market to pick up fruit, instead of about to hijack high quality explosives from Imperial custody, "Lead the way."

"What? Just like that?"

"Are there, or are there not these items on board?"

"Yes." 

"You swear?" Wrecker leans in close, hovering over her.

"Yeah."

Tech nods, "Vital signs are stable, no signs of heightened stress-"

"What if I'm just a really good liar?"

"You can try all you want my dear, but the data doesn't lie."

"Does he do this to you too? I'm finding it a bit creepy-" She asks Wrecker as her eyebrow raises.

"You get used to it."

"Weird, so weird…" she mutters to herself as she turns and peeks around the corner. She looks around for anything that is familiar, when she sees a maintenance lift at the very end of the hall to the right. She motions them forward, and silently they sneak their way closer to the lift. She turns her attention to her side as she digs in her bag, her fingers grasp at the odd collection of junk in her pockets until her hand finally wraps around the cool metal of her code cylinder and she can finally stop holding her breath.

Tech's hand on her shoulder pulls her back to the task on hand as he drags her back a few steps. The catwalk above them from here to the lift is no more than a shoddy looking set of grates that creak as a group of security droids march along their patrol, oblivious to the three of them below. 

“The maintenance lift?" Tech sniffs as they come to a stop at its doors. He raises hand to push his goggles back into place, "Perhaps you have failed to notice but none of us are maintenance droids, the moment you try to access that panel they will -”

“They’ll what?” She asks as she jams the cylinder into the port, the lift clicks open silently and she steps inside. 

“The alarms-”

“What alarms? According to this," she snaps her code cylinder from the panel and drops it back into her bag, lost again to the chaos of the random junk held within, "I'm a maintenance droid doing routine inspections. How stupid do you think I am?”

"Hey hey, this one's pretty smart huh Tech?!" Wrecker is thrilled.

"Pirate." She reminds, "You don't see many my age that aren't intelligent and I'll give you one guess as to why."

The doors silently click open and before they can step out a team of at least half a dozen well armed sentry droids roll past. 

They all leap from the inside of the lift and fall into a crouch behind a stack of supply crates. They wait for a few moments before Tech quickly peeks over, "They don't seem to have spotted us."

"Fuck, there weren't this many when we tried this the first time." She swears a few more times under her breath.

"We should do this my way." Wrecker offers.

"What's that mean, what does he mean?!" Nox looks nervously over to Tech, "He doesn't mean-?"

"Explosives and violence? He absolutely does," Tech sighs, “ and I'm afraid we are running low on options and even lower on time. Wrecker, what does your ordinance look like?"

“But you said I couldn't bring any?”

“Yes, and when was the last time you actually listened?”

Wrecker, the fun if not absolutely homicidal one, pulls out a couple of detonators, a roll of plastic tape, a half dozen hand grenades and three droid poppers.

“Great, nice to know you could have turned us into a small sun if I hadn't told you about the baby on board.”

"Everything save for the poppers is far too dangerous to use around those crates." Tech hisses, "Any more of those brilliant pirate ideas floating around in your head?"

She chews on her lip for a moment, wracking her brain for anything else that might be useful as she ignores Tech's sarcastic tone. Apart from the crates on this floor littered with treasure, there didn't seem to be anything of any use...except for the busted water filter. “How big of a distraction do you think it would take to get all those sentries away from the haul?”

“It would need to be something quite large or destructive enough to threaten the integrity of the ship.”

“The water filtration system on board is completely calcified, I don't think it was ever fixed since there are only droids on board. If you could flood that with enough pressure the entire pipe should burst-”

“And flood the entire floor, along with the engine room, that might just do it.” He’s on his data pad before the words are even out of his mouth, he scans the room all around and matches it with the wireframe schematics on his screen. He stalks his way backwards until he finds the panel he is looking for. He pops it open easily and then begins to slice into the mainframe of the ship, “On my count, take Wrecker to wherever the baby is, let him handle it. You get your hands on as much of the medical supplies as you can, the security onboard is a little tighter than I would have preferred so I will have to stay here and continue to flood the filter.”

“Oh, easy.”

“Think you can handle all that tiny?” Wrecker’s thundering chuckle threatens to give away their location even with the steady moan of the alarms overhead.

She grins, Wrecker is back to being the fun one, “Try and keep up.”

There is a sound of roaring water all around them as tech funnels every liquid on the ship into the filter, then a sound like an explosion a couple of feet below them rocks the ship like a lightning strike. 

The sound of the alarm overhead changes as every droid on the floor turns away and heads to a lowering platform, all instructed to assist with the burst pipe.

“That’s our cue!” 

She shoves Wrecker forward playfully before they both break into a sprint toward the storage rooms where their bounty is being held. She points to one of the rooms as they approach, "This one's your big boy!"

The door is sealed shut, but not for long. Wrecker doesn't slow, instead he hunches low, bringing his shoulders down and tucking his chin into the collar of his armor before he barrels straight through, punching a hole through the doors with enough force to make even her teeth rattle.

She dips into the storage room across the hall, thanking the stars that her haul wasn't locked away like his was. She rips open any crate within arms reach, tossing open the tops and letting them scatter around the room wherever they land. She snatches bacta patches and hypos by the handful and packs the crate as full as she can, slamming her entire body weight against it to get it to close. She drags it out into the hall, placing it by the door before she bolts into the room right beside the one Wrecker is standing in. 

Wrecker watches her disappear into the room, the four small crates of explosives tucked carefully under his arms, “Wait, where are you-”

His question is answered as another crate hits the floor beside him. She comes running out of the room, grabbing this second crate by the handle and yanking it along, “Perfect! Not a single explosion! Love that for me!”

Wrecker bends down to offer her a hand but she has already snatched up the first trunk and is flying down the hall with them. She's faster than Wrecker would have believed she would be capable of with the two crates almost her height. She almost trips over herself as she stops and with a swift kick, the second crate lands at Tech's feet, “Come on 20/20, cut her loose, let's go!”

“What’s in that- I specifically ordered you to only carry medical supplies.”

“Yeah well, it sounds like you are used to not being listened to so, ship. Now!”

Wrecker races past, hopping off of the side and down to the level below, the halls are empty as all hands are called to help with the floor that is flooding. 

Nox peeks over the side, she watches as Wrecker sets the small boxes of baby down beside him, "Toss your crate!" He calls up. She nods and yanks the crates handle, flipping it up and off of the edge with a nudge from Tech. 

She helps him in turn, as they gingerly haul the crate full of ordinance over the edge before tossing it below. 

Wrecker sets the crates to one side before turning back to catch Nox, but she's already climbing down. Her fingers dig into spots on the wall where she should not be able to have any grip. She finds her own way down and with a little hop, lands right beside Wrecker as Tech lands beside her. The clang of his boots echoes down the empty hallway. "We'll need to make our way through the flooded floor of the ship in order to get back to the hangar." Tech types away at his data pad again before picking up the side of his crate.

Nox follows close beside the two clones, tossing the crate up onto her back to avoid making any unnecessary scraping sounds as they get closer to the flooded area, the sound of pouring water gets louder and louder with every floor. The next floor they walk through has the water barely deep enough to wash over the toes of their boots, but it rises rapidly after that. By the time they are on the same floor as the hangar, the water has risen up to their knees and Nox has a harder time trying to distract her mind from where all of this stagnant water has been hiding this whole time.

“Holding out ok over there tiny?” Wrecker chuckles. 

She turns to answer, when everything becomes...not alright. Her next step slips out from under her and she goes flying forward, crashing face first into the dark disgusting water, the crate on her back keeping her under the surface as she struggles to pull herself back up to standing. 

A hand at the back of her collar pulls her back up into fresh air, slimy water pours from her mouth and nose as she gags. She doesn't need to clear the water from her eyes to know what the dark figures that are starting to line the hallway are. Tech and Wrecker are on either side of her, blasters raised as the sentry droids file in.   

“I'm hoping you can fight better than you can swim.” Tech calls over as Wrecker leaps over them both and charges straight into one of the sentries.  Tech keeps a few of the others at bay, clipping them with bright bolts from his twin deecees, but it's not enough. She rubs the slime from her face and charges right behind Wrecker, using her entire body to check a droid in her path, she grabs the blaster from its hands as it goes tumbling backwards and into the water. Techs shots ring out around her as he stays behind, watching over the crates behind him. Wrecker tears through any droids that get within reach, sparks flying on to the water before they sizzle and die. She concentrates her fire on any droids Tech misses until the hall is clear.

"There'll be a second platoon on their way, we better get a move on." Tech calls back to them, she tosses the almost empty blaster into the water beside her.

"Are you always just, you know?" She makes growling and ripping sounds at Wrecker.

He laughs, "Not often enough." 

She stifles her laughter behind her hand as she walks back to where Tech is to retrieve the case of medical supplies, for a brief moment the last couple of days are forgotten and even the slime on her skin is the last thing on her mind. For a brief moment she was back with her men, waiting for that score of a lifetime, but when she grabs the handle of the crate and looks back it’s the clone armor that reminds her she is in fact alone. The sudden quiet of sadness doesnt last long as the doors behind them open and a new series of drods begin their march towards them. 

“Incoming!”

-----

Tag list: @themarvelbunch @agentwhiskeysdarlin @pascalisthepunkest @ashotofspotchka

[jasontoddiefor]

Would you ever write a senator skywalker au where the jedi refused to take anakin?

You are my worst enabler I love it. Yes!

Okay so Anakin doesn’t get taken in by the Jedi so Padmé says he can become a ward of the Naboo.

Anakin stays in Theed at court and gets the best education possible! And when he doesn’t understand something, he asks his tutors or Padmé or Sabé or Eirtaé and so on. He wonders what he should do with his future as he pretty much can do whatever he wants. Nobody has any expectations of him in Theed except that he gives whatever he chooses his everything and is happy. They even helped him free his mother. Anakin could live amongst the great green hills of Naboo for the rest of his life, just tinker away, invent ships and droids. He’d certainly enjoy it, but he was meant for more, he always knew it

So at like age 16, with experiencing Mid Rim politics close up for 7 years, Anakin sets out what he ever meant to do: free the slaves of Tatooine. And Jedi or not, the Force is with Anakin (sometimes more openly and he can let knives soar through the air) because it loves him. So with all that determination, it still takes time, but at the end of it? Tatooine is free. The fact that Anakin has managed to negotiate a standing trade agreement for water with Naboo while eating dinner with Padmé has helped a lot.

The planet can manage itself more or less well, but nobody there has the experience needed for Coruscant and there is no way Anakin will let the Hutts come back to Tatooine, so they need the backing of the Republic. So here’s to Anakin becoming Senator of Tatooine with a very strong hatred for corruption in politics and one person amassing a lot of power.

(“Yes, of course we’re employing pirates and smugglers to keep our atmosphere safe, this is still the Outer Rim, but at least my delegates don’t take bribes!”)

And the point of this is that Obi-Wan Kenobi at one point doesn’t just have to babysit Padmé “I don’t need a bodyguard, I need to attend this hearing” Amidala, but also her ally, Anakin “I’m down to do aggressive negotiations in the Senate building if that means you will stop fucking over my planet” Skywalker

He could be watching them on a very remote and peaceful place on Naboo, but no. Anakin had a dream? Vision? About Jedi dying somewhere so they must go to that planet now! Please imagine AOTC but twice as much disaster because there is no Jedi self-control keeping Anakin in check. They’re going to track down the assassin together with Obi-Wan.

And then the Clone Wars start and oh boy. Remember how Tatooine is close to so many hyperspace lanes???? Anakin Skywalker suddenly rises considerably in power in the Senate and it’s the most horrible thing for Palpatine because Anakin literally couldn’t care less about getting rich or whatever. He’s actually in the game to do good. But Skywalker??? Won’t die????? And also couldn’t care less about learning more about the Force because he works rather close with the Jedi and sees the sheer stupidity they get into and goes “no thanks” (and proceeds to throw his blaster at Grievous like that’s a rational decision)

Anakin probably also calls Dooku a stupid old bastard with a shitty fashion style and an absolute disgrace to Qui-Gon’s memory and also fuck you in particular and your shitty worthless dumb droids that can’t even operate a children’s toy-

Obi-Wan also curses the day Ahsoka meets Padmé and Anakin because both of them have no self-control and a bad influence on his Padawan - why are they his friends again?

[stylishanachronism]

Could I request either dialogue prompt 3 or 11 for whichever characters you feel like make them work?

lmao like a month later, here you go babe, thank you so much for the prompt. 3 was “I can’t see anything.” “Hold on I’ll set something on fire.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Hold on, I’ll set something on fire.”

Alys sighs at him, but doesn’t protest, hiking Vela higher on her hip. She, he squints, just puts her thumb in her mouth, her other arm tight around Alys’ neck, wide-eyed and clingy to the point her mother can’t put her down, though she’s not looking so steady herself. 

From the half sunk rowboat moored at the end of the rotting dock, this place hasn’t been occupied in years, but a little groping at a likely shadow gets him a crude torch, a replacement for the one mounted at the wall that never got used, better than the broken crate he was expecting.

“It seems awfully empty. Do you think he even came this way?”

“Nowhere else for him to go.” He clicks his sparker together, lucky that was still in his pocket, cursing under his breath as the damp rag won’t catch. She frowns, but not at his language; she’s squinting out into the dark herself, turning so Vela’s away from the stream, closer to the cave mouth.

“See something?”

“Mm. It might be nothing, but- Beodul?” She calls, to no response.

“Maybe it’s the locals.”

“I’m fairly certain the pirates left, dear.”

He clicks his sparker again, pressing it up against the resin this time, and the resulting bloom of light catches on steel, a skeleton wobbling towards them, still dressed in rags and rust.

“Looks like at least one of them didn’t.”

It’s a nasty little surprise, Alys accepting the torch as she backs away, but it comes apart at the barest swing of his sword, which is somewhat alarming, but better it be extra fragile than the other way around. Alys frowns at it, eyes going hazy in a way he doesn’t like for a moment, and then she’s ignoring it again, lifting the torch higher and peering down the passageway. 

The sand’s too mussed to give any hint of which way Beodul went; there’s at least two more bodies, so to speak, in here, from the tracks on the floor, though if he had to put money on it the right fork looks like it’s seen more movement recently.

“Which way, do you think?”

He takes the torch back from her, not the smartest idea, given he’s the one with the sword, but he’s also taller, and it’s awful dark in here, and the extra reach shows what might very well be a boot print in the spill of sand ahead of them.

“Right.”

She lets him take the lead, murmuring to Vela in low tones, trying to coax her sweet again, at a guess, she’d never much liked the dark before all this shit happened, but she screamed when they tried to leave her behind, and Alys is just as clingy, considering, so it wasn’t like she resisted too hard, and he follows the bootprints as best he can, pausing at another fork. This place must be a misery when the tide comes in, given the rotting bridges everywhere, light from some distant crack in the roof enough for him to know they aren’t setting foot that way, that particular bridge well out, but there’s a passage ahead, and another squeezed between that one and the water, and nothing in the sand to say which one’s a better bet.

“Beodul?” Alys calls again, coming up to his elbow, free hand cupped around her mouth, and it’s hard to tell, what with the echoes, but he thinks the answering cry comes from ahead of them. It sounds pained, or at the least terrified, so with a quick glance at Alys, whose mouth has set in a grim line, clearly they’re thinking the same thing, he presses forwards, passing the torch back to her as he goes.

The skeleton that comes careening out of the dark is not Beodul, but it is wearing boots. A boot. Its friend has the other, its breastplate buckled in in a way that makes a frankly horrible noise every time it moves, the same noise that brought them this direction, he realizes, so at least if Beodul isn’t dead, he wasn’t screaming either. 

It’s a trickier fight than the last, there’s two of them this time, and he can’t back up, or see much of anything, so it’s luck more than anything else that lets him shoulder one of them into the wall hard enough it crumbles before it can get past him. He catches a glimpse of Alys stomping its skull in from the corner of his eye, something about the way she moves unsettling and strange, but he doesn’t get a good look, and can’t spare the attention anyway, as the one in the breastplate, the one still standing, claws at his face. At least it doesn’t have a sword, like the other one did.

One of them is a simpler proposition, even though he still can’t see shit; he feints for its knees and then smashes its skull askew, ducks as it doesn’t give up and grabs at him again, and settles for doing some grabbing himself, hooking his fingers under its jawbone and yanking until it comes to pieces. Alys stumbles in his peripheral, Vela sliding off her hip with a wail, but they’ve both got their feet under them by the time the skeleton collapses into itself and he’s able to turn around.

Alys is chalky, what little color she’d regained well gone, the graze on her temple dark and sticky again, and she’s ice cold when he catches her chin to get a better look, but the torch is still steady in her hand, and it looks like she just moved too fast or something, since the graze is already clotting up again, so that’s something, at least. 

“You’re alright?”

“Should be asking you that, Nineteen.”

Her smile’s more like a grimace, but it counts.

“I’m fine.” 

She pulls away then, ducking to check on Vela, whose eyes are wet and whose lip is wobbling, but otherwise looks unharmed.

“Sweetheart?”

Vela bursts into tears, flinging her arms around her mother’s shoulders again and smearing her snotty face into her neck, Alys rocking back on her heels to catch her.

“Oh, my heart.”

He takes the torch back so she can gather the girl close, stroking her hair and murmuring to her as she cries, keeping watch.

“Do you want to go back to the beach? We have to stay and find Master Beodul, but I’d feel much better if you were safe outside.” She asks, cupping her cheek as her sniffles peter out. Safe… isn’t the word he’d use, between the wildlife and the fact she’d probably be the healthiest person at their little camp, for all she’s six years old, but it’s a tossup, considering what they’ve found in here so far.

“No!” She shakes her head vehemently, braids flying, and Alys gives him a helpless look. 

“Vela—“

“No!!!”

She’s back near tears again, probably also on the verge of screaming her head off again, which is really the last thing they need, and Alys pulls her back against her shoulder, listening intently as her daughter sobs her way through her fears. He can’t actually understand what she’s saying, for the most part, though Alys is looking distinctly alarmed as it goes on, but he’s had the ‘what if Mama doesn’t wake up?’ discussion with her enough times over the last month he can guess the gist of it.

“Oh, Vela.” She sighs, when she starts crying too hard to speak. “Oh, my girl.” She cradles her head, stroking her thumb along the line of her skull. “Not even the gods know what might happen tomorrow, but I promise I will always do my best to come home to you.”

She gives him another look, cutting her eyes away behind him as she lifts her again, and yeah, if they have to settle Vela he doesn’t really like this spot to do it.

The skeletons came out of a sharp turn in the wall, opening into a small chamber, the main passage veering away to join the other one, he thinks, lining up the space in his head. If they died here, the evidence is long gone; from the waterline on the posts holding up the platform that covers most of the room, this place floods most every day, at least. It’s rotting like everything else in here, but it holds his weight when he tries it, and he’s half again as heavy as Alys and Vela together so that should be fine. This was where the previous occupants slept, if he had to make a guess, or maybe where whoever was in charge did their work, since there’s a table, mildewed papers strewn across it, and a rickety chair that amazingly doesn’t look like it’ll collapse into dust if he drops them in it, though he leans on it himself just to be sure, but it might have been something else, given the piles, probably once neatly organized, around the edges of the thing. 

Vela has progressed into hiccuping by the time Alys sits down, looking highly dubious about the state of the platform and everything on it, settling Vela into her lap and holding her close as she starts to hum, and he leaves her to it, kicking through the mouldering treasures stacked along the wall of the platform instead. Most of it’s beyond salvaging; blackened paintings that tear at a breath, bolts of fine fabrics rotted into a single mass, sacks of what was probably grain gone to dirt, but there’s a little coin, a handful of jewelry, some deeply tarnished silver candlesticks, and the candles themselves are fine, poured beeswax tapers that were probably tied neatly into bundles at some point, but no longer, and at the back, half buried under the rest of it, a pile of something wrapped in sturdy oilcloth, miraculously preserved against the elements. 

“Something interesting?” Alys comes to lean on him, Vela clearly feeling better, looking over his shoulder as he drags it out, and then her fingers tighten into his shirt as she gets a good look at it.

“You know what it is?”

She leans further forward, Vela, quiet again, squeezing between them to cling to his shirt too, and he can hear the smile in her voice as she starts listing it off.

“Three, no, four bolts of dyed wyrwool broadcloth from the Pearl Coast, out of a lot of two hundred, two bolts of violet from the Pales, out of a lot of ten, a special order for…. someone from the Republics, I don’t recognize the name, and a bolt each of samite and cloth-of-silver, from a Master Caligari’s workshop in Old Valia, from the same order.”

“How do you figure that?” She’s a Watcher, sure, but no mind hunter, and this is a bit of a stretch.

“Aelere’s always been thorough. And you ought to recognize Aloth’s spellwork, honestly.”

He leans forward, careful, and yeah, now that he’s looking it’s familiar, not that he could have placed it, but she seems certain, except-

“Aelere?”

“My cousin. I’ve not gone mad, stop fretting.” She stands up again, tugging Vela away so he can get to his feet as well.

“How’d Aloth get involved, then?”

“He had a very expensive education, and he’s good at this sort of thing; she probably bullied him into it on one of his visits.”

“Like you bullied him about the rations?”

“That was just common sense. He needed to eat too, so he might as well have gone to the effort.”

The second he’s standing, Vela’s back to clinging, one hand fisted in his shirt, the other tight in her mother’s skirts, like the minute she couldn’t see him’s convinced her he’ll up and vanish on her, which is not going to be doable once they’re out of this nook. Which. On the off hand, he’d really like to find Beodul and get the Hel out of here before anything else happens, but Alys sitting down for a longer spell is probably a better idea, she’s still an icon of Berath, but breathing, and they really ought to see if there’s anything left in those papers, maybe get an idea of what the Hel even happened in here before they run headlong into it. Given her luck he wouldn’t even be surprised by a dragon somewhere in this mess.

“I don’t think a dragon could get in here, Edér.” She sighs, letting him shuffle them back to the table, clearly having read the look on his face. Vela’s brows draw together, but her eyes aren’t wet, good, so she’s probably thinking about her little friends, who won’t be too big to fit anywhere until the rest of them were all long dead and gone.

“Not the kittens, my heart.” Alys agrees, dropping back into the chair and peeling open the logbook set pride of place in front of her, wafting a dirty, vegetablely scent that makes Vela scrunch her nose and press closer to him. He snags a scrap of parchment for himself, pinned to the desk with a pitted, rusty eating knife; wasteful, that, the point would’ve never been the same even before whatever the Hel went down happened. The handwriting’s atrocious, even without the bleed, and the mildew’s not helping any neither, but the gist of it seems to be somebody was pissed and proper worried about something the headman, whatever they called him, had bought as added security, plus the fact that they apparently don’t have an Aloth to hand to keep the tides from wrecking everything.

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

“Well, if we’re lucky, the construct our friend from the storm picked up somewhere will have rusted to pieces.”

So this was that asshole’s stomping grounds. Whatever guilt he might have felt over making off with what wasn’t already destroyed dissolves instantly.

“I don’t know why he picked it up, he was already behind on his taxes and those aren’t cheap to maintain, or easy to control, for that matter.” She wrinkles her nose, probably thinking about the little animat they’d picked up all those years ago, probably still kicking under the rubble of the house. That thing was tough as nails, but clearly this is a different beast.

“Pirates don’t pay taxes.” At least, he’s pretty sure they don’t pay taxes, given the whole ‘outside of the law’ bit.

“Tithes to the Principi council, who mostly use it to maintain their little fort as I understand it. Same thing really. In any case he was well behind on them.” She frowns at his accounting, the wet really hasn’t improved the state of that asshole’s books, then closes it again and pushes it away.

It might just be the torchlight, but it looks like she’s got a little color back when she glances up at him, eyes flickering between the parchment in his hand and his face, and he drops it back on the table.

“Construct probably killed everyone in here, somebody was complaining about it ‘giving them the eye’, best as I can guess. If we see crystals, keep an eye out, apparently it liked them.”

“Adra, not crystals, if I had to guess. I’m no animancer, but I’ve never encountered a construct with a particularly stable or well anchored soul.“

She accepts his hand back up, leaning into his shoulder when she sways on her feet, and honestly he doesn’t know how she’s still standing. She was asleep for a long time, and then the fight, and then the storm, and then they all escaped drowning by the skin of their teeth, and now this shit. She gives him a dry look as she steps away, mouth twisting, but doesn’t say anything, taking the torch back again and tugging Vela to follow, though she scowls and doesn’t let go of his shirt.

“I’m fine, Edér.” She says eventually, leading them back into the tunnel.

“You aren’t, but nothing we can do about that now.”

They make a funny little parade, Alys leading though she ought to be behind him, Vela clutching at them both with a grim determination that would be cute in any other circumstance, and he never liked any of this to begin with but he likes it less now. Hopefully they’ll find Beodul and get the Hel out of here before anything else happens, they’ve got to be running out of cavern if the map he’s put together in his head’s any good.

It’s a little drier, as they get further in, the tunnel sloping up just enough to let things dry out a smidge, which only serves to make the sand slippery, exactly what they needed right now.

The gleam of adra gets him by surprise, knocking him out of his grumbly thoughts as they come around another corner, this time into a proper cavern, and this must be where those assholes lived, not the little one, he can see the remains of a couple of hammocks tangled up with a pile of bones that’s not trying to kill them, heaped up near the dull, dead stone. It’s somehow creepier than the live stuff, sort of empty and shadowed, and really, he hasn’t liked any of this, but this is the last straw. A quick glance says Beodul’s not in here either, and even if there might be information they can come back for it, it’s not like it can end up in worse condition, so he chivvies them towards the tunnel leading out again; it should loop around to meet up with that broken bridge they saw earlier, which now that he thinks about it seems like it might have been Beodul’s doing, so if he’s anywhere, he’ll be there.

They almost make it out. They’re steps from the exit when Alys slips, windmilling back as her legs go out from under her, and what he’d taken for a particularly salty pile of rocks scrapes itself to its feet, lumbering at them faster than they can get past it.

Alys scrambles backwards, the torch flying out of her hand as she grabs Vela and drags her away, and its all he can do not to trip over her himself, doing an awkward little hop that just means when the thing swings at him it’s all he can do to duck, a broken edge on its arm drawing a line of fire across his shoulder, but his shirt doesn’t tear so it can’t be that bad, and he spares a thought for that old door, probably still leaning up against the wall in his cottage, where it does them all a fuck lot of good, as he dodges away from the girls, trying to keep its attention.

It’s limping, for lack of a better word, something wrecked in one of its legs, what he’d taken for salt more like mold, great holes eaten away in its shell, and despite that it’s still faster than he’d like, with more reach, and a sword is not the thing to be fighting it with, but it’s all he’s got so it’ll have to suffice.

The first swing just clatters off it, getting its attention well enough but not actually doing anything, and he has to dodge again as it swings its other arm at him, but the second catches one of those moldy patches and punches straight through, overbalancing him, and it, fortunately, though it nearly takes the sword right out of his hand, and then Alys is singing, whipping the memory of this place into something tangible, and the bones huddled near the adra pull themselves into the semblance of whoever they were before they died.

They, whoever they were, had a gun in life, which is also less than ideal, but it lets him swing around behind the thing and kick another of the moldy patches in, the machinery inside grinding out little sparks where bits of it have rusted nearly together, and the delicate little lattice of adra and copper looks important, so he swings at that, misses, has to back away as it decides he’s a better target than the person it already killed, and Alys makes a horrible, breathless noise and the lattice explodes in a flash of light that leaves purple-green-gold spots in his vision.

There’s a finality to the way the thing crashes back to the floor, solidified when it doesn’t try to get up again, but he doesn’t have time to do more than kick it’s innards away, because Vela is screaming, for real this time. Alys is crumpled on the ground, and for a long, heart-stopping second he thinks this is it, whatever it was she did finally killed her, gods, why did they even come in here, and then she’s scrabbling at the floor, trying to heave herself back up as Vela shrieks in denial, patting at her shoulder as the closest thing to hand.

He has no memory of crossing the cavern back to them, it happens so fast, going to his knees and hauling her to hers, Vela darting under her mother’s arm as soon as she properly reaches for her. She’s lost all color, for true this time, the blood in the whites of her eyes not helping that impression any, staring out into the dark in a way that’d make all his hair stand on end if it wasn’t doing that already. The soft, greenish glow of the adra isn’t helping any, painting everything in sickly shades of grey with the help of the still guttering torch, the blood in her eyes and on her face, nose and temple and her lip is split, to boot, black in the dimness, pupils blown to pits, and she’s breathing like she can’t get any air in her lungs.

“Alys? Alys?”

“Mama!!”

Alys chokes, gasping, and then gives up on talking and flings her arm around his shoulders, fisting her hand in his shirt with an unpleasant squish, dragging Vela to her breast, and starts to cry.

[adickaboutspoons]

Point of order - Arson is on the FRONT of the poster (along with Theft, Brigandry, Larceny, & Tax Evasion).

And I did say that the time-stamped raid montage SUGGESTS a raid-a-day, not confirms it. Fair play to the rest of it, though 😉 Ready for me to make it worse? I don't think Stede's part of episodes 1 & 2 are happening at the same time as Ed's. I'm think that Stede's part of 2x1 -2x2 takes place at the beginning of Ed starting his run for the Ned record just after he's racked up all the crimes on the back of his wanted poster. That's why in 2x2 Stede thinks he can track him based on those reports ("I'm using this long list of crimes and dramatic upsets to basically triangulate where he's most likely to be"). During Ed and Stede's date in 2x7 on the Republic of Pirates, Stede says "We've been living around here for weeks. Can't believe I didn't know about this place." That suggests to me the crew spent maybe a maximum of a month working for Jackie, and then the balance of the time, the crew is on the Red Flag. Stede's part of 2X2 necessarily has to take place immediately after 2x1 because he's shown as being unaccustomed to the wake-up bell, suggesting that's the first night they spent on the ship, but I think there's a time-skip between 2x2 and 2x3 where Stede starts implementing his scented towel routine, with 2x3 picking up where Stede & Ed's timelines meet up. Ed's story, on the other hand, picks up at the END of the 5 months, just as he's nearing the end of the record run (as evidenced by the tally marks in the background when Izzy is telling Ed that the crew are feeling the strain of the raid schedule, and Ed responding by asking if everyone got cake.

There might be a timeskip between the end of this scene and Izzy ordering the crew to throw the treasure overboard, but I'm not 100% sure, and I'll get to my evidence in a second.

Because I'm a bit more convinced that there IS a timeskip between Izzy getting shot and the Impossible Birds speech. Ed says "We've got a record to break" as he steps over Izzy, suggesting they're not quite at 90 yet, meaning they've got some more raids/days before they're done. Just before the Impossible Birds speech, Frenchie comes to ask Ed "what the plan is, because, as first mate, [he] thinks [he] should be doin' something." I'll admit it's mostly vibes to me, but if the they've got a record to break, the plan is to find the next vessle and continue the streak, right? - so this kind of feels like a "well, we broke that record. Now what?" convo to me. Since they were on their way to intercept a ship (hence the need to dump the booty), though, I'm willing to accept I might be wrong about this one, and they were just on their way to the last raid needed to break the record and the Impossible Birds convo takes place that night. My evidence, for a timeskip being there at all though? The little groom dolly. He goes from looking shiny and clean in the "did everyone have cake" scene:

To lightly smutted up after the Impossible Birds conversation:

As though someone has been taking him out and rubbing him like a worry doll and awful lot.

I think there's ANOTHER timeskip between 2x2 and 2x3 for Ed, because when Ed is playing with them on his "very rough night", groom dolly is looking EVEN MORE worse for wear:

Additionally, when Ed asks for confirmation that Frenchie killed Izzy, Frenchie's response is "Certainly did. Ages ago." Weird way to respond if it was just, like, yesterday afternoon. But what about "Fuck you, Stede Bonnet" and "Good night, Ed Teach" and the shared moon? Surely that means both of their timelines are matched up at the end of 2x1, right?!?!?! I'm glad you asked, hypothetical inquisitor, because that's something that actually supports my non-contemproaneous time theory. Check out the moon during that scene:

Now check out the one from 2x5:

You see how the later moon is a LESS full waxing gibbous? 2x4 picks up right after the events of the end of 2x3, and there might be a SHORT timeskip between 2x4 and 2x5 (long enough for Wee John to sew up Ed's potato sack penitence onesie and for the guidelines by which Ed must abide in order to be permitted to stay to be finalized), but I doubt v. much it's more than a day or two. In Ed's timeline, all the timeskips amount to maybe 10 days maximum (4 days to complete the record-breaking run since there were already 85 tallymarks on the wall, 2 days for Frenchie to have killed Izzy "ages ago" without Izzy ACTUALLY dying of gangrene, max 3 days for Ed's coma, and then a day for sewing the penitence onesie). But moons don't wane from left to right - so there has to be at least a couple days shy of a month between the moon in 2x1 and the moon in 2x5. Also, in the 2x1 collage, I matched up the clouds from the pan as best I could, so you can see how the moon is far closer to Stede than it is to Ed. My suspicion is that the moon belongs in Stede's timeline - almost full, just as his heart is full of hope that he will soon be reunited with his love, but uncomplete because they are not together. The clouds belong to Ed's timeline - indicative of his tempestuous, troubled mind, and the true storm to come.

hi! I've come back to posting on tumblr just cause of OFMD and your blog is amazing thank you!! I have a question I might have missed- do we know how much time has gone by from the ending events in s1 to the beginning of s2?

nope. that's the sort of thing the show just kinda shrugs about lol

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 4

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 4 - The Ruins

The Razor Crest descended on Siskeen and soared over the emerald jungle, scanners working to find a place they might be able to land in the sea of green.

Sinead felt it in her body when they entered Hutt space. Old and new fears mingled and turned into a hard knot in the pit of her stomach, making her body slump and turn in on itself. She had it on good authority that the Hutts thought she died with Slezza, but one could never be too sure when it came to remaining free.

Somewhere in the knot of fear was a small flicker of hope. She doubted Kyen was there because when had she ever been that lucky, but if she found just a tiny trace of him, it'd all be worth it.

She took a deep breath and tried to relax. The last time she'd tried going near Siskeen she'd almost been discovered by a passing ship bearing Hutt colors and sent back to the palace. This was the closest she'd been to Kyen in over five years.

The child cooed, and Sinead looked at him in his improvised seat. He reached out after her, and Sinead leaned across the gap to let him grab on to her finger. As she watched him examine a button on her sleeve, a little tension seeped out of her body. There was a glimpse of pink as he stuck his tiny tongue out in concentration, managing to wedge a stubby finger under the button.

Sinead pulled her arm back before he could tear it off. "You are a force of destruction," She told the kid solemnly, who giggled and reached for the button. Sinead dodged his hand and pulled on the brown robe he was wearing, a couple of sizes too big by the look of it. "How'd you feel if I started pulling off all the buttons on your clothes, hm?"

The child babbled.

"That's right, you're not wearing any buttons. Foiled again."

Mando cleared his throat, and Sinead straightened up. She'd almost forgotten him, quiet as he was.

"The scanners picked up a structure to the north." He turned the ship slightly, and soon it flew over a great lake, which was the only body of water they'd seen since descending on the planet; everything else was an impenetrable wall of green.

On the monitor, there was indeed a little blip in the middle of the jungle.

"Is it a settlement?" She leaned forward to get a better look.

Mando flicked a row of switches. "Mhm. Five klicks due west."

"You think it's the Hutts?"

"I don't know. Let's see."

The ship touched down in a clearing a good hour from the settlement, far enough away that they wouldn't be spotted coming. Metal groaned as shock absorbers struggled with keeping the ship in one piece.

It was clear the clearing had been made by sentients; it was a perfect circle carved out of the trees, and it didn't look like there had been anyone for some time.

As the ramp opened, a blast of hot and humid air hit Sinead, making sweat break out under her clothes. The air tasted thick and earthy, and an unknown animal screeched in the distance.

Sinead stretched as she reached the ground and looked up at the blue sky. A formation of birds made their way across, small dots in the distance. The forest teemed with life.

She already missed the coolness of space, the smell of metal and stardust. Here everything smelled old and rotten as if the ghosts of long-gone fruits still hung in the air.

As she came to terms with being back in a murky hell, the Mandalorian was busy trying to get the kid to stay in the ship, but every time the little green child would waddle after him, grunting in a decidedly offended way and trying to keep up his long strides.

"No," Mando said, grabbing the kid and placing him back in the ship. "It's too dangerous."

Sinead turned her head to hide her smile.

The kid wailed as the ramp started to rise and it halted for a second before becoming stuck with a grinding sound. His ears were flat against his head, face scrunched in a pout. Mando sighed and turned his helmeted face towards the sky.

"Why don’t you just bring him along?" Sinead said after getting her facial muscles under control. "We're just checking out the place, right?"

The Mandalorian glanced at her before looking back at the kid, whose ears started to perk up again. He sighed deeply before pressing a button on his wrist, making the ramp go back down. The kid babbled excitedly as the Mando grabbed him and went back into the ship, coming out a few minutes later with the child in a sling strapped to his chest.

Sinead scratched her nose to once again hide the smile that threatened to break out on her face, but Mando wasn't fooled. He rolled his shoulders and grunted a "c'mon."

The ground outside the careful circle was covered in dense undergrowth that slowed them down as they made their way to the settlement. Vines hung from the trees in suffocating loops, and thick roots broke through the ground and formed treacherous holes that just waited for someone careless enough to step in it. Strange animal calls filled the air, and high above them, the green canopy rustled as small monkey-looking creatures watched the three of them struggle their way over a fallen tree, so old that it was completely covered in moss and ferns.

Sinead discarded her outer jacket, tying it around her waist and drawing a hand across her sweaty forehead. The humidity made it feel like she was breathing in soup, and her shirt clung to her back. She wondered if the Mandalorian was struggling in the heat, but if he did, he didn't show it. The kid seemed fine, his head swirling around to take everything in.

After a few paces, the ship disappeared, and everything was in a shade of green or brown. Sinead followed Mando, trusting that he knew the way through the overgrown hell. Once she found Kyen, settling down on a jungle planet was out of the question.

As Mando squeezed between two trees, a wet leaf swung back and smacked Sinead in the face. She broke it off with a snarl. "I hate this," She said through gritted teeth, squeezing past the trees that were slick with moisture. "Why did someone bother making a clearing if they didn't make a path as well?"

"Just walk."

Sinead scowled at the Mandalorian's back and bit back a retort that sounded whiny even to her. Her feet sank into the soft ground with every step, making the trudge even slower. She felt like she was back on Nal-Hutta, an experience she’d rather not think about.

She scoured her mind for anything to distract from the fact that they were slogging through a murky hellhole.

"You ship, it’s Old Republic?" She asked after they edged around a black pool, the still water perfectly reflecting the tree crowns above them. She wondered what kind of monsters lurked beneath the surface. They had to be pretty terrible to live in a place like this.

"Save your energy for walking."

Sinead made a face. "It's either this or I start flinging curses left and right, and since there's a child present ..."

The Mandalorian glanced back at her, and Sinead could feel the heat of his gaze.

"It's too old to be New Republic and not enough of an eyesore to be Empire," Sinead said and ducked under a low-hanging vine.

They stopped as Mando made sure they were heading in the right direction. Sinead had all but given up getting an answer when he said so quietly that it was nearly swallowed by the jungle, "it's Mandalorian."

"Makes sense I didn't recognize it, I've never been. How is it?"

He didn't answer. Of course.

Sinead barrelled on. "I met a Mandalorian once. She was extra security back when the Meram sector was overrun with pirates. I heard they're mostly gone now, but you couldn't swing a dead tooka without hitting one back then. It didn't take long before word spread, and we were mostly left alone. She did not fuck around."

The Mandalorian made a sound that might have been an agreement.

"Expensive, though I guess not as expensive as you."

Mando cleared a rocky outcropping, and Sinead was surprised when he turned and offered his hand to help her over. The kid swung around and cooed happily when he saw her.

"How do you even know about the Nau'orar?" he asked once they were back on the spongy ground. The forest opened a bit, making it possible to walk side by side.

"I only know what I overheard, that it’s an old Mandalorian weapon. Why, do you know more about it?”

The silence that met her could cut glass.

Sinead scratched a mosquito bite on the back of her neck. “You know, under any other circumstance, I would’ve returned it to Mandalore.”

He glanced at her. "How generous of you."

"Don't give me that," She said, shooting him a look. "You'd do the same thing."

"I wouldn't wait five years."

Sinead's hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, making them both stop in their tracks. He tensed up, staring at her until she let him go.

"You have no idea what I've been through the last five years," Sinead said hotly, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to keep it even. "Or before that. You have no right to judge me, bounty hunter." She stalked past him in the general direction of where they were headed. Her anger surprised even herself; heat flushed through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The Mandalorian followed behind her, keeping some distance between them. The child cooed now and again, but a tense silence had fallen between the two adults.

Slowly, the terrain rose up in a gentle slope, the ground becoming drier and lose with each step, the trees thinned out, sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Sinead reached the edge first, out of breath and now wholly drenched in sweat. Below, the ground dropped away abruptly into a caldera that stretched almost a kilometer across, which was dotted with ancient ruins, grey pillars rising from the earth like jagged bones. The jungle grew between the pillars, trees and great big fronds rustled in the wind. A large structure stood in the middle, taller than the caldera's edge, a pyramid made of the same stone as the pillars. The top had caved in, and big cracks stretched across the surface. Sinead's breath caught in her throat. Looking at it hurt her eyes like trying to stare directly into the sun.

Mando came up beside her, his shoulders heaving, and Sinead was glad to see that she wasn't the only one winded from the trek. The kid chirped when he saw the caldera in all its glory.

Mando scanned the area below with a compact scope. "Doesn't look like anyone's home. I see scorch marks on the walls. Signs of fighting."

"Any bodies?"

"No, this looks old. There’re some crates by the main building, doesn't look like it's been touched in a long time."

They were too far away to see anything with the naked eye, so Sinead just had to take his word for it.

"We should check it out.”

Mando lowered the scope and seemed to weigh the options. He looked up at the sun, which had reached its apex and was slowly descending towards the horizon. "We stay out of sight. If anyone's there, do not engage, got it?"

"Got it."

Stairs cut into the stone led into the caldera, the steps worn smooth and slippery by centuries of feet, and Sinead had to grip hold of the slimy rope attached to the cliffside so she wouldn't careen over the edge.

As they descended into the caldera, the sounds of the jungle faded; ever since they stepped out of the ship, there had been the sounds of hundreds of critters moving through the undergrowth, of monkeys calling to each other, and birds swooping across the sky, but now they were replaced by a low and insistent hum that reverberated between the rocky walls.

"Do you-"

"I hear it. Stay alert."

They reached the bottom of the caldera, and the sound got louder, caught somewhere between the buzz of an angry swarm of bees and a distant bird screech. The high cliff walls acted as a funnel, trapping the wind and sending it into a wild spin with the giant pyramid at the center.

Sinead looked around, her brows furrowed. Save for the wind that bounced between the walls, there was no movement at all. No birds, no bugs, no ants crossing the ground in a straight line. As they descended into the caldera, they were cut off from the rest of the galaxy.

"What is that? I've never heard wind make a sound like that," Sinead said, her voice sounding weak.

"Just stay close." Mando pulled his blaster and held it at his side, his head going side to side as he scanned the ground.

The kid whimpered and sank further into the sling until only the tip of his ears were visible.

Sinead reached out and patted the kid gently on the head, his sparse hair tickling her hand. "I don't like it either."

The child cooed in response but stayed in the relative safety of the sling.

As they went further into the caldera, the buzzing died down, but the silence that emerged in its place was almost worse. They moved slowly, staying on a faint path that wove between trees but always in the direction of the pyramid. As they came closer, it became clear that it was a temple of sorts, abandoned a long time ago.

The pillars that looked so much like bones from the caldera's edge were much larger as they came closer. Strange shapes had been carved into the stone, most of it had been worn away by wind and the passing of time.

"You ever seen anything like this before?" Sinead said, moving closer to the Mandalorian. The blaster was heavy in her hand and she felt eyes on her from every direction.

"No.”

The trees fell away abruptly, and they reached the foot of the temple, where charred debris and broken droids littered the ground.

"It must've happened some time ago," Sinead said, bending down to examine a security droid with a hole straight through its main circuits. "I wonder who attacked them."

Mando rooted through a small pile of debris, standing up holding a piece of blackened armor.

“New Republic,” he said, showing Sinead the sigil imprinted on the plasteel before throwing it aside.

“Of course. I guess they raided this place after the Empire fell. I wonder when exactly.”

Something caught Sinead's eyes and she weaved through the battlefield. Half hidden behind a fallen pillar, a cluster of cages stacked haphazardly was in the process of being reclaimed by the jungle; vines snaked through the bars like tentacles.

Sinead grabbed a ropy vine, but no matter how much she pulled, it wouldn't budge. Still, there was no mistaking it.

"I know these types of cages," she said, turning to the Mandalorian. "The Hutts use them to transport their captives."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." She glanced at the cages. "I'm sure."

This day was just lousy with rotten reminders of things best left in the past.

Mando looked up at the ruin towering above them, the sunlight reflecting on his helmet. "They're long gone by now."

Sinead looked up at the temple with unease. This close, it looked dark and malicious, a void in the greenery where sunlight didn't reach.

"There might be clues in there, leads to follow. We can't just go flying blindly through the galaxy, hoping to trip over Kyen on the way." She could feel his indecision as he looked down at the kid. "Look," she said, pressing a hand to her damp forehead, "you can stay out here while I search the place, okay? Won't take long."

She was halfway up the stairs when the Mandalorian came up beside her, the set of his shoulders betraying just how on edge he was. Wordlessly, they continued to the top.

... ... ... ... ...

Din didn't like this place. The further they went towards the temple, the surer he was that this was a bad idea. An underlying menace grew with each footstep, and the child seemingly felt the same way, as Din saw two dark eyes staring up at him, the little face etched in a frown.

"Is he okay?"

Din looked at Sinead, her hair plastered to her face and neck.

"The kid, I mean." She nodded towards the sling.

"I think so. He doesn't like this place."

"That makes two of us."

They reached the top of the stairs, and Din turned to look across the caldera. Up here, it almost seemed peaceful.

As Din and Sinead passed under the great stone arch, the temperature dropped in an instant, making Sinead's breath crystallize in front of her. She shuddered and pulled on her jacket.

"It shouldn't be this cold in here."

"No."

Din scanned the area, but his sensors didn’t pick up any movement. They found themselves in an antechamber that led into a large atrium where the same strange symbols on the pillars were carved into the wall.

The smell of mildew and rot was overwhelming and thick moss grew on old and broken furniture. Their footsteps echoed between the stone walls.

Inside, the signs of battle were even more apparent. Plasteel cases and wooden tables had been used as improvised cover, their surfaces covered with scorch marks. The ceiling had caved in, littering the ground with debris. A lone droid slumped against an overturned table, its armor plate torn apart by blaster bolts.

The entrance was the only light source, only reaching a few meters into the ruin. Din attached a torch to the side of his helmet. The moving light made the shadows twist and turn.

A set of stairs led down into the bowls of the ruins. Din threw out an arm to stop Sinead in her tracks.

“We don’t know what might be down there,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Be careful.”

Sinead pressed her lips together in a thin line and nodded once. Din lowered his arm and let her pass, following her deeper into the temple.

The air went even staler the further they went, the stairs winding down until they were deep in the ground. Din’s breathing was loud in his ears.

At the bottom, another antechamber opened into a bigger hall, exactly like the one above. The difference here was it was clear that a great deal of people had lived there for quite some time; two long tables stood in the middle surrounded by chairs in various states of disarray. Half-empty bottles piled up on the tables or lay dusty and forgotten on the floor. At least one of them was broken, and the contents had long since evaporated. Containers filled with scrap metal lined the walls.

“Looks like they had to leave in a hurry,” Sinead said, grabbing a bottle from a table and peering at the label. "They'd never leave Kowakian rum behind unless it was absolutely life or death." A small cloud of dust rose when she placed the bottle back on the table.

“C’mon,” Din said and turned down one of the two solitary corridors that led away from the chamber. He walked slowly, watching for any movement in the gloom while keeping an eye on the kid, who silently watched him from his little cocoon.

They hadn’t gone more than a few paces before Sinead drew in a sharp breath. Rows of cells stretched into the darkness, no bigger than the cockpit in the Razor Crest. It would take a thermal grenade to get through the thick walls, and if they did, the occupants would suffocate under a mountain of dirt and rubble.

“These are new,” Din said, examining the bars that made up one side of the cells. Made of durasteel and outfitted with electronic locks, they looked wholly out of place in the damp dungeon.

“So the Hutts found an abandoned ruin and made it their own. Nobody ever said they weren’t crafty.” Sinead grabbed hold of the bars and tugged on it. “Impressive.”

Din watched Sinead from the corner of his eyes, keeping some distance. Her jaw was set and her dark eyes seemed bright in the low light.

“Look for a convor carved into one of the walls,” Sinead said before sensing his confusion and adding, “we agreed that if we ever got separated, we’d leave a sign for the other to find.”

“And that sign is a convor?”

Sinead’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Yeah, well, neither one of us knows how to draw a Sarlacc."

Continuing down the corridor, they strained their eyes in the dim light to look for any sign of a convor.

Farther ahead, there was a steady drip of water and a new kind of dampness snuck in under his armor. This was a dismal place, even by prison standards. Being frozen in carbonite was preferable to this.

“What do you think this used to be? Before the Hutts took over.”

“Probably a prison.”

Sinead huffed. “I can see that. Who do you think it was meant to imprison?”

Din sighed. He just wanted to get this over with. “I don’t know.”

“You’re quite the talker, you know that?”

They walked on in silence.

Suddenly, Sinead rushed forward, and Din raised his blaster, turning slightly to shield the child.

"Look!" She put her hand through the bars of the nearest cell, pointing to the far wall where an oval had been scratched into the wall. If he put his head to the side and squinted, it could charitably resemble a bird. “He’s been here,” she breathed, her eyes fixed on the convor. She pulled on the door, but it didn’t budge.

Din realized with mounting horror that her eyes were filling with tears, and he looked away, unsure of what to say.

He left her alone, wandering farther down the corridor, wanting to give her some semblance of privacy. Besides, he had no idea how to comfort a crying woman; comforting the kid was hard enough.

Now and again, the cells were broken up by archways that led into small rooms, most of them caved in and the rest empty. Din looked in every room, but when the Hutts cleared out, they did so without leaving anything useful behind.

Up ahead, a noise cut through the darkness.

Din froze and turned to shield the child, his free hand going up to turn off the flashlight, leaving them in the pitch black.

Carefully, Din snuck along the wall, pressing a protective hand to the child, who hadn’t made a sound since they entered the ruin. As he got closer, the noise turned into a low whirr.

Soft light shone through an archway, painting the opposite wall golden. Din leaned against the stone wall out of sight, and he heard whatever making the sound moving around in the alcove.

Blaster at the ready, he stepped into the light and pulled the trigger.

A droid collapsed in a cloud of dust, a smoking hole in its head.

Further down the corridor, Sinead swore, and Din heard her splash through shallow puddles as she ran toward him.

“What the fuck happened?” She looked at the droid. “Did you shoot that? We could’ve used it!”

Din’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent. He didn't want to spend a moment more than he had to trapped in here.

Sinead blew out a long breath as she looked around the room. “They must’ve forgotten this one.” Her eyes were red, but otherwise, she looked composed. “A shame we can’t take it with us.” She glared at him.

“I don’t want any droids on the ship.”

“Right. And I’m sure if I ask why you’re just gonna ignore me.”

Din did just that, shifting some rubble with his foot but found nothing but rotted wood and ancient cloth that looked like it would crumble if exposed to direct sunlight.

There was a sound of groaning metal, and Din turned to see Sinead trying to pry the droid’s chest plate apart with nothing but a small knife and determination.

“What are you doing?”

Sinead glanced at him. “I’m trying to find the memory bank since you would rather shoot first and ask questions later.” She stuck out the tip of her tongue as she worked.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“At least I’m doing something."

She managed to get the knife under the plate and wrench it up, making the metal shoot away with a clank.

Din kept his distance as she shifted through the droid's innards, looking for the memory bank.

The child moved for the first time in what felt like hours, and a small green hand appeared from the sling. He reached out, and Din let him grab one of his fingers. The contact, even through his glove, comforted him. The kid’s dark eyes looked at him, unblinking, in a way that made Din feel like he could see right through his helmet.

Sinead let out a sound of triumph, and the kid let go of Din’s hand.

She held up a small black box, fraying wires trailing after it. “I got it,” she said, getting up. “Now we just gotta find someone who knows how to extract the data. That shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Let’s go.” Din gave the child a small pat on the head before moving towards the door, stepping over the droid with its wires spread across the floor like black entrails.

When they emerged out in the world, the sun hovered a few inches above the horizon, bathing the jungle in a golden light.

He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the stale, dusty air from his lungs. The ruins felt like a presence behind them, trailing after as they returned to the ship.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[keldae]

Drastic Measures -- Chapter 29

“Your brother told us part of what had happened to you,” Lana shook her head as they walked down the killik tunnel, leaving the rest of the new arrivals from Dantooine to scatter into the rest of the cell, “but the full story is even more insane.”

“Tell me about it,” Xaja muttered. “I’m considering switching career paths and becoming an author.”

Lana’s lips twitched in a smile. “You would have to market this as fictional, I'm afraid. No one would ever believe it to be true.”

“If I hadn't just lived it, I wouldn’t either.” Theron looked over at Xaja and lightly nudged her arm. “As co-star of your future bestseller, do I get royalties?”

Xaja laughed as she followed Lana around a curve in the tunnel, opening up to what seemed to be the main command hub of the base. “Naturally. Hopefully this story gets a happy ending.”

“We’ll do our best to make certain that happens,” Lana reassured the Jedi with a smile. “Keeping you alive and out of Arcann’s hands is our goal.”

“And pissing Arcann off with our continuous survival is my current objective in life.”

On Lana’s other side, the Zakuulan officer she had introduced as Koth Vortena grinned. “That’s a good objective to have. Assassin or not, you’re all right, Outlander.”

“I do my best,” Xaja smirked, deciding she liked Koth already. Her first instinct upon Lana introducing him as a Zakuulan defector was one of caution and worry, but within a few moments of meeting him, she and Theron both relaxed. She resisted the urge to ask what had driven him away from Zakuul. That could wait… for now.

Beside her, Theron lowly whistled as he looked around the base. “I knew there was a cell here, but I didn’t realize it was this expansive. This is all Thunder’s network?”

“To the best of my knowledge, most of it is.” Lana nodded in confirmation as she led them up the ramp of one of the larger command platforms. “We’re reconvening here to plan our next movements. Thunder still has assets across the galaxy, but they’re remaining in place for the time being.”

“Any thoughts as to those next steps?” Xaja asked as she flopped into a metal chair beside a table covered in datapads and flimsi pages. 

“Take stock of our losses from Dantooine; determine how many of us can still move freely without attracting a legion of bounty hunters; and then find a new location to serve as headquarters. Thunder has indicated that they want to increase the rebellion’s power base, which will mean more resources than we can accumulate by having several scattered little cells. Tatooine served as the last major base, but with your brother attacking the Star Fortress bunker there, the system’s now too dangerous for us to hide in.”

Xaja felt a little burst of pride that Korin, her renegade, responsibility-dodging brother, had led the strike team that landed such a successful hit on one of Zakuul’s most visible assets. Being an active leader in the rebellion might make a responsible adult out of Korin yet. “But between that hit, Theron and I dodging capture this long, and the loss of the Zakuulan forces on the ship on Dantooine…”

“He’s gotta be furious,” Theron finished with a grin, leaning against the table beside Xaja. The bond rippled with a feeling of smug satisfaction.

A grin pulled at Xaja’s mouth, only to fade at the thoughts of what could come of Arcann growing vindictive. “Is he taking it out on anyone else?” she asked. Stars, if he was anything like Darth Angral had been… 

“Not yet -- or at least, not as far as we know.” Koth sat down in another chair and scrubbed long fingers across his goatee. “Besides the attack on Dantooine, and reinforcements arriving as we were leaving Tatooine, nobody’s heard of another conflict recently. My crew -- they deserted with me when I left Zakuul —  they’re keeping an eye on things from a distance.”

“There are still Eternal Fleet ships stationed at Coruscant,” Lana added. “And after learning you had been on Dromund Kaas, Arcann sent some of his forces there to investigate. But with your brother having fled already and Acina having no idea about you being on the planet, the pressure has lessened there… from Zakuul, at any rate.”

“Last I’ve heard,” Sorand added as he walked up the ramp, having been held back by Shara and Corey for a few minutes. “The tensions between the Republic and the Empire are escalating. Saresh is calling you both traitors to the Republic — sorry about that — and claiming you’ve been working with me since the Revanite crisis. Which technically isn’t wrong…”

“The schutta ,” Xaja hissed as she felt Theron settle his hand on her arm. “She’s saying that publicly?”

“And kriffing over any chance you might have had of being able to disappear into the Republic,” Sorand muttered as he frowned down at a datapad in his hands. “From what I’m reading, it’s full-blown propaganda. She’s probably hoping for any loyal citizens who see either of you to turn you in as traitors.”

“Which gets Arcann off her neck,” Theron muttered. “The Empire?”

“While she might, in other circumstances, do so, Acina’s acting thoroughly insulted by the notion that she would ever have an allegiance with a Jedi.” Sorand rolled his eyes. “Besides naming me a traitor, and putting Lana and Dad about a step below me on the most-wanted list, she’s made a comeback at Saresh along the lines of calling her a slave-race coward who can’t admit she can’t find two high-profile war heroes-turned-traitors.”

Xaja winced at that. Theron’s own cringe echoed along the bond as he spoke up again. “Dare I ask what Saresh said in response to that?”

“Probably not,” Koth commented. “But if this keeps up, it’s going to turn into a galactic-stage catfight.”

“I’d find that more amusing if we weren’t stuck in the middle of it with Zakuul tearing the galaxy apart looking for us,” Xaja muttered.

“Both Saresh and Acina will be hesitant to go to open war,” Lana interjected with a frown. “With Commander Malcom walking away from the Republic, and Acina missing the two top assets in Sith Intelligence and one of the surviving Dark Council, they’re both strategically crippled. And that’s without mentioning how few Jedi remain, or how many soldiers from both sides have followed their chosen leaders into rebellion.”

“They just have their own fleets and militaries, and more resources to their names,” Koth grumbled. 

“But while they’re threatening each other with said fleets,” Sorand started, “this is the perfect time for the resistance to vanish. Considering we’re not sure how long Alderaan will be safe, I feel like we should find a new base soon. Arcann’s not going to greatly care about the Republic and Empire clawing at each other, not while he’s still looking for you two.” He nodded at Theron and Xaja. 

“There’s too many high-value targets here, and too many civilians who could be endangered by us,” Xaja muttered. “Worst case scenario, how long could the resistance keep running?”

“Perhaps another few years. But I’d rather not see it come to that.” Sorand hummed in thought. “The galaxy is vast enough that we should be able to find an unpopulated planet, or one with a low population. Perhaps Rakata Prime?”

“Force knows there shouldn’t be too many live Rakata left there after Revan bombarded the place,” Xaja said.

“Not Rakata, but there have been Republic historians exploring that world since the fall of the Revanites,” Theron spoke up. “Not to mention that it’s near to the Core.” And too close to Coruscant went unspoken.

“That one ice ball from hell -- Hoth, maybe?” Koth offered. “Distant Outer Rim, and nobody sane goes there.”

“Aside from both Imperial and Republic forces trying to raid the starship ruins, and pirates crawling all over the place. Rumour has it there’s a new Star Fortress being constructed in the Hoth system as well.” Lana frowned at her crossed arms, then looked up. “I don’t suppose there are any other abandoned Jedi planets like Tython to be reclaimed?”

“If Ahch-To or Ossus had been found, it would have been all over the Holonet by now,” Sorand mused, running a hand over his own scruff in thought. Xaja barely had time to be surprised by the fact that her brother seemingly was familiar with Jedi history, or to remind herself that his academic leanings and his insatiable curiosity about the Jedi would have pushed him to learn all he could about the near-mythical Jedi worlds. “Yavin is the only other system I can think of that might work, but it’s uncomfortably close to Imperial territory. It’s something we’ll need to think about while we plan our next moves. Maybe we can find an uninhabited moon somewhere.”

“Cipher Nine may also have contacts who can help us,” Lana suggested. 

“That wouldn’t surprise me. I swear my father knows at least half the galaxy, and there has to be a decent number that don’t want to shoot him… somewhere.” A grin flickered across Sorand’s face for a second. “When he gets in, I’ll talk to him, see if he has any suggestions.”

That was a reasonable strategy. Xaja was pretty sure Sorand wasn’t exaggerating the claim of how many people their father knew. And Force knew the old spy could be… persuasive. “When is he expected?”

“Within the next couple of days, I think.” Sorand straightened up from where he had been leaning against a console. “Anything else that anyone wants to discuss right now?”

Silence answered him for a moment before Koth shook his head. “I dunno, I think that got just about everything important. I’ll send a ping out to my crew on Asylum, see if they’ve got any leads for uninhabited planets they’ve found.”

“Thank you, Koth.” Lana stood up and gave Xaja and Theron a smile. “Corey’s been in contact with Mandalore; I had best check in with her latest updates. We’ll have a chance to catch up soon.” 

Theron nodded as the blonde Sith took her leave of the platform, then looked back at Koth. “So, former Zakuulan Navy, huh?”

“Yep. Captain and only decent pilot in my crew…”

Xaja looked away from the conversation, making eye contact with Sorand. He subtly nodded, indicating the far corner. She rose and fell into step with him as they stepped off the platform, leaving Theron and Koth to talk.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sorand let the worried frown show on his face. “You said things wound up… complicated?” he softly asked, touching his forehead. “You feel… better, almost like normal.”

Xaja nodded. “The Dreamwalkers had been wiped out,” she quietly answered, and saw Sorand’s shoulders slump at the news. “There were other Voss healers who helped me as much as they could.”

“But…?”

“He’s still in my head.” Xaja shuddered as Sorand sighed in worried disappointment, raking a hand through his hair. “They think they’ve managed to suppress him for the time being.” She hesitated, worrying her lower lip for an instant. “You know that bond I had with Theron before…?”

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Annya froze as her boot touched down on the duracrete floor of the Republic-friendly spaceport. Ignoring Jonas bumping into her back, she stretched out her focus, closing her eyes. She could pick up on Jakar Forseti’s nearby Force-signature as he landed the Balance of Justice, and could recognize a few Organa civilians whom she’d met on earlier visits. But right then, she didn’t care about that.

It was what she could sense a couple of kilometres distant that demanded her attention. Her brow furrowed slightly when she recognized her aunt’s presence — what the blazes is Aunt Mairen doing here? But that was quickly put to the side, to think about later. 

A slight nudge confirmed Xaja’s presence, and Annya grinned as her cousin reached back, just able to feel the other Jedi’s delighted surprise. She lightly pushed again, getting a read on her cousin’s well-being. The younger woman felt alright — no flares of pain, no lines of grief or rage. There was a strange darkness clouding part of her signature, and beside that, a small thread of light that Annya was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. But that was something to worry about later. Xaja wasn’t physically hurt, and if she wasn’t being consumed by grief, Agent Shan had to be here too.

She turned to face a confused-looking Jonas and gave him a delighted smile. “Xaja made it. She’s here. And I’m pretty sure Theron is too.”

Jonas’ eyes widened in relief as he let out a breath. “Good!” He nodded before his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Theron better be here. That asshole has a punch coming that he deserves.”

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Xaja suddenly fell silent mid-sentence as a bright Force-signature she knew made itself known only a short distance away. Ignoring Sorand frowning in confusion, she reached out, and felt a familiar nudge pressing against her mind. Joy flooded through her as she recognized her cousin, a delight she could feel echoed in the Force.

She turned her attention back to the present as Doc made his way over to her and Sorand. “Annya’s here!” she exclaimed, turning to Doc with a happy smile.

“Annya? That cousin of yours on Corellia?” Doc grinned. “Hells, today’s full of good news, Red.”

Sorand blinked in surprise. “Wait — we have another cousin?”

“Yes! Annya is a Green Jedi who—” Another presence made itself known on the planet surface; the recognition of that presence sent shock flooding through Xaja’s veins, her words dying in her mouth again. Impossible! He was killed months before Zakuul hit… unless he…

Shock turned to confusion, then joy, then what could be best described as indignant fury. “I’m going to kill him,” Xaja hissed. She ignored Theron’s sudden confusion over their bond, or the slight hint of subtle, smug amusement from the new presence.

Doc frowned for a moment before his eyes widened knowingly, a grin appearing under the mustache. “Only one person would make you react like that, Red. Jakar isn’t dead after all?”

“Not yet, he’s not,” Xaja growled as she turned and began stalking toward the central hub of the hive, still inwardly debating if she was going to hug the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order before strangling him.

Behind her, Doc took a step to follow, stopped by Sorand’s hand on his shoulder. “Not to interrupt,” the Sith slowly said, “but would you mind explaining what the Hells that was all about?”

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“I’m relieved you’re all right,” Senya said as she walked through the killik tunnels with Satele, their bootsteps echoing in the cave. “From arriving here and realizing nobody else knew where you were…”

“I’m relieved to be alive too.” Satele smiled and offered Senya’s arm a squeeze. “I was pleased to hear you had made it here with no problems.”

“None to speak of,” agreed Senya. She gave Satele a sidelong look as they walked for a few paces further. “While I was here, I did not find a way to heal my children, but I did learn something about… about your son.”

Satele’s eyes were cautious when they looked back at Senya, but she did finally nod. “So you know who he is,” she finally said. It was a statement, not a question.

Senya nodded. “I hardly blame you for keeping that quiet.” 

“I am not convinced that he was planning an attack like what Arcann claims.” Satele pursed her lips as the two women rounded a corner in the tunnel, coming across a busy crowd. Apparently more rebels had just arrived. “I don’t know what he was doing there, but terrorism wasn’t on his agenda. It’s not his style.”

“It could be argued that freeing someone accused of regicide is terrorism,” Senya commented.

“I’m not sure that he would care in that respect.” Satele strained to look out over the crowd. “Not when he was…” She paused, a frown marring her features. “Watching him after Master Taerich was declared killed in action��� I didn’t know if he would ever be happy again. He was devastated.”

Senya slowly nodded as she followed Satele’s gaze. Her eyes landed on a handsome young man in a bright red jacket, currently talking with Captain Vortena and Lord Beniko— Lana, as the Sith had insisted on being addressed. She knew his face well from studying the bulletins, but seeing him in person, she could see now how much he favoured his mother in terms of appearance. He certainly didn’t look like the type of person to orchestrate a plan to blow up an entire city, especially not when he smiled and his amber eyes softened. 

A commotion off to her right stole her attention. Turning away from Satele’s son, the Knight focused immediately on the girl who had reportedly murdered Valkorion. Senya’s first impression was of brightness — vivid red hair, a blazing, almost-familiar presence in the Force, and a delighted smile as she ran to embrace another redhaired woman in Jedi clothing who had entered the cavern. She certainly didn’t resemble a coldhearted assassin. If anything, her bright presence almost reminded her of Vaylin… or how Vaylin had been before she had been taken to Nathema. 

The former Knight of Zakuul sighed and dropped her gaze from the Jedi girl. “I can’t blame you for not telling me their names,” she quietly said, low enough that Satele had to strain to hear her. “I can hardly judge.” She took a shaky breath and looked at the former Grand Master, watching the Jedi’s eyes go wide with shock at her next words. “Not when my son is the one hunting them down.”

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Fury raged through Arcann’s veins as he stalked back and forth in front of the Eternal Throne. The next person to deliver bad news to him was likely to be thrown off the walkway, run through with a lightsaber, or perhaps simply crushed to death with the Force.

The teams sent  to Tatooine turned up little more than exhaust fumes from the departed rebels. The inept Paladin had been far too slow to catch the resistance as they fled from the Fleet. For all that Arcann knew, Thunder themselves had been in that base, escaping before they could risk capture. Taking down the reputed coordinator of a sizable resistance group would be almost as great a boost to morale as capturing Taerich or Shan.

And that was another subject that enraged him. The few fragments of data collected from the ruins of the Dantooine outpost hinted that the two fugitives had been there; the former Jedi Grand Master had been confirmed by the presence of her personal ship. And yet, the Eternal Fleet patrol ship and its entire crew had been destroyed. He was still no closer to knowing who was responsible.

Had it been the Republic, coming to save their precious Jedi? The Empire, seeking Jedi playthings and not wanting to share? Imperius, or forces loyal to him, rushing to aid his Jedi sister and her people? Thunder’s forces? Arcann scowled behind his mask. There were too many options, too many variables, and not nearly enough answers.

“Brother.” Vaylin’s voice finally cut through the cloud of rage in Arcann’s mind. Judging from her tone, and her raised eyebrow and crossed arms, she had been trying to get his attention for some time now. “If you’re done stomping about for now?”

“There had better be an update,” Arcann growled as he stormed back up to the Throne, practically throwing himself into the seat. One eye glowered up at her. “What do you have?”

“Republic agents were seen on Dantooine, going through the ruins. Judging by the communications we were able to intercept, the poor idiots had no idea the outpost was even there.” Vaylin shrugged. “Clearly the Republic is even more inept than we thought, or it was a classified black-ops mission of sorts.”

The Republic, by all accounts, did have a few elite black ops teams who had survived the war and occupation. They had not been a priority of late, but Arcann filed that notion away for later consideration. His thoughts then lit on the one completely capable Republic commander he knew. “And Commander Malcom?”

“House Organa claims he’s been an honoured guest at their estate on Alderaan, this whole time. The spaceport records seem to support the claim.” Vaylin shrugged. “I suppose he really doesn’t care about his bastard son. Or he’s as stupid as the rest of the Republic and didn’t know about the Jedi outpost, or where Shan was last reported.”

That sounded like something Valkorion would have done, had he been in the same position as Malcom with the knowledge of where his offspring were. But if the Republic’s intelligence services hadn’t known about the Jedi hideout, perhaps the former Supreme Commander simply hadn’t known, either. “Has he been seen by any of our people?”

“He’s withdrawn into the castle after hearing about the raid.” Her voice was thick with contempt as she continued, “He’s reportedly in mourning .”

That was definitely not something Valkorion would have done. Arcann shrugged to himself. Malcom was clearly weak. “Anything else?”

“Still no news from the Empire regarding Imperius. But I do have one more little thing.” A smile pulled at Vaylin’s lips. “A diplomatic envoy from the Republic has contacted our diplomats, requesting parlay. Apparently the Senate believes that, since Satele Shan’s ship was on Dantooine and her body wasn’t, she was taken prisoner.” For a moment, the smile vanished in a frown. “Of course, this could be terribly awkward if news gets out that we don’t have her.”

“If news gets out,” Arcann said, grinning under his mask. This, he thought, could be a useful advantage. If Taerich and Shan had been on Dantooine, they had to know that the Grand Master wasn’t a captive. But the Senate didn’t need to know that, and it was doubtful Taerich or Shan would be in contact with the Chancellor. Then again, if the two fugitives hadn’t been on Dantooine at the time of the attack...

Yes… yes, he could use this.

[gffa]

Master and Apprentice | by Claudia Gray I said to myself, okay, don’t go on about this anymore, move on to something else for awhile!  But, at the same time, I still don’t feel like I’ve full articulated what I wanted to say, how I wanted to present everything, so it still itched at me.  (Also, I really like talking about what I like talking about, as do most nerds!  XD)  So, I have the audiobook on in the background, I’m enjoying Jonathan Davis’ reading, his Qui-Gon voice with the Space Irish accent is a delight, and I’m just casually enjoying hearing the story over again and I come to the above. There’s also an interesting bit not long before it, The original scheme must’ve been to report the two Jedi “missing under unknown circumstances,” in order to cover up their assassination. But not even the Hutts were brazen enough to openly kill Jedi Knights.  We’ll come back to that. Now, I’ve done a fair amount of talking about this book, for establishing meta:

The Jedi’s role in the galaxy and why they can’t just ignore context.

Qui-Gon’s statements and why they’re so hypocritical in this book.

Qui-Gon’s actions are part of a bigger pattern of behavior.

And there are some interesting Dooku parallels and connections.

The Jedi are fucked no matter what they do.

Further meta that also establishes what I’m talking about here:

Padme trying to make effective change in the Republic while it’s her full time job to be a politician is incredibly difficult in Queen’s Shadow.

The Republic is a place just waiting for people to abuse their power and many just cannot understand intrinsically motivated people, from Mace Windu: Jedi of the Republic.

The Galaxy Far, Far Away, really doesn’t get what the Force is, why people would be devoted to it, and really kind of fears it.

The state of the Jedi’s position in the GFFA is hella complicated.

Force-sensitive children are in danger in the galaxy just for existing.  Jedi stuff attracts pirates just for being Jedi.

Trying to serve the greater good doesn’t always make you popular.

Playing vs Not Playing The Game isn’t so simple.

Not mine, but a fan-fucking-tastic breakdown of the Jedi’s role in the galaxy that lays it out so well.

Dooku: Jedi Lost contains a scene where the Jedi are trying to get the Senate to do more and it goes exactly as well as you think it will.  He directly says that they don’t have enough Jedi to police the Outer Rim!

This is in addition to how we see the Jedi try to resist things Palpatine and the Senate want, but get slammed back down for it, in the comics like Obi-Wan & Anakin and in The Clone Wars itself.

That’s a lot of reading, I know.  But this is a book where multiple storylines are winding together, that not much exists without context, and I’m linking the above because it’s all part of the background for why this specific moment is sort of the epitome of what I’ve been yelling about, in addition to that the GFFA is a complicated place. Why the above quotes?  Basically, I’ve been yelling a lot about how these three books--Queen’s Shadow, Master and Apprentice, and Dooku: Jedi Lost--may, on the surface, seem to be showing how the Jedi failed or lost their way or whatever, but in actuality when you read them all together and consider the consequences of what some characters are calling for, it paints a rather startlingly detailed picture of how there was no real way out of this and stepping too far to the right or the left would have left people utterly fucked. Add in other elements from the comics and you realize why the Jedi were in an incredibly precarious position just by the mere existence of their abilities, even beyond what others were.  And that, ultimately, trying to burn down the current system was not the answer and Qui-Gon himself knows it.  He doesn’t leave the Jedi--despite that he could take his own advice, could just run straight at the Czerka Corporation on Pijal, he could run straight at Watto on Tatooine, but doesn’t.  Because the numbers aren’t on his side and it would ultimately, in the grand scheme, fail.  In this book alone, he saves the day through the might of the Republic, that being part of it and working within the system is what allows for a lasting happy-ish ending for the people there. Let’s say the Jedi did what Qui-Gon wanted, that they just went in lightsabers blazing.  What happens then?  (And I want to pause and say, consider it in this vein:  Imagine the US Army just unilaterally deciding, without oversight of the people they’re under the jurisdiction of, just completely on their own, to invade another country to go do whatever they wanted there.  They can’t negotiate with them, because it’s not backed up by legal authority.  They have to go in with physical might.  Imagine the US Army just deciding, on their own, to go invade North Korea because they decided they didn’t like something that was happening there.  Even if we agree that the thing that justifies the invasion absolutely bad, the thought of going in without checks and balances is fucking terrifying.)      - Queen’s Shadow shows us that the Senate would blacklist anyone who went around them, would make anything they tried to do ten times as hard.      - Queen’s Shadow and Age of Republic - Qui-Gon Jinn both show us that the Senate and the galaxy at large doesn’t trust anyone who does things with genuine intrinsic motivation.      - This is double for those with a connection to the Force that the rest of the galaxy doesn’t understand why they’re not misusing that ability for personal gain. I mean, Revenge of the Sith also shows us that the galaxy was very willing to stand by while the Jedi’s Temple burned and their children were murdered. What would happen is that the Jedi, who are under the jurisdiction of the Senate because that’s the only way they’ll actually have the authority to do anything, because no way is anyone trusting them not to abuse their powers if they don’t have oversight, would at best be kicked out from their granted authority to go around helping people, and at worst the rest of the galaxy would band together to hunt down the Level 100 Psychic Space Wizards They Don’t Understand And Instead Fear Them and murder them/lock them away for “safety”. But, hey, maybe they could run and hide, take their children with them (because they couldn’t keep their Temple or stay on Coruscant) and hide from literally the entire galaxy that would either turn their backs on them or outright hunt them for sport or auction them off to experiment on or torture, but, as Qui-Gon notes, the Hutts don’t openly come after Jedi Knights.  You take away the weight behind the Jedi?  Where they’re 10,000 in a galaxy of quadrillions?  Where there is one Jedi for every seven to twenty billion people?  It’s suddenly going to be open season on Jedi and they can’t take on an entire galaxy. And the salt in the wound is that it wouldn’t even do any good, because, as Qui-Gon notes, it would just be replaced with a new set of crime lords in a few months.  And then the Jedi wouldn’t even be there to help anyone else at all ever. The only way to effect any real change is to do so with a system of government in place to support it so that, even when you’re not actively right there, those who would oppress and hurt others know that they couldn’t get away with it.  The Jedi do not have the numbers to police the entire galaxy themselves.  Any change they make has to be Republic-approved or it’s just going to be undone within months (or less).  They’d love to go in with lightsabers blazing, but it wouldn’t change a single thing, they’d be fucked, and Qui-Gon himself knows it, that’s why he stays and tries to work within the system.  Even if it’s an uphill battle to try to work within the system (and we see that the Jedi do try to talk to the Senate, talk to Palpatine, etc.) that’s the only way forward, because burning down the system wouldn’t work (at this point, it’s still better than every other feasible alternative) and going around it would fuck them all over, very much including the people they’re trying to help.

[alexsmitposts]

“Mobbed up” American Policy, the Global Shakedown Those who accept the policies of the Trump administration, cancellation of the JCPOA with Iran, seizing oil fields in Syria, endless sanctions on nation after nation, Europe blackmailed, endless threats emanating almost hourly from Trump’s iPhone as “national policy” or even criminally deranged is simply not paying attention. There is a method, and it isn’t the madness it appears to be. Trump and company have remade the “business environment of the world” in a way Americans are quite familiar with. We call it “organized crime.” Currently, representatives of American political leaders are operating in over 60 nations. These aren’t diplomats, though some actually are, technically at least, but most are simply “business agents,” often with long criminal histories. They sell “the friendship” of the United States in return for anything of value and the buyers, nations terrified of the United States, are ready to sign anything, give up anything. From the film, The Godfather: Michael: Well when Johnny was first starting out, he was signed to this contract with a big-band leader. And as his career got better and better he wanted to get out of it. Now, Johnny is my father’s godson. My father went to see the bandleader, and offered him $10,000 to let Johnny go, but the bandleader said no. So the next day, my father went to see the bandleader again, only this time with Luca Brasi. Within an hour, the bandleader signed the release, with a certified check of $1,000. Kay: How did he do that? Michael: My father made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Kay: What was that? Michael: Luca Brasi held a gun to his head, and my father assured him that either his brains or his signature would be on the contract. Today, Luca Brasi has been superseded by a drone assassination or, just perhaps, a color revolution at the hands of Google and Facebook. Some of what you read is almost common knowledge. Despite broad censorship, it is relatively commonly known that Jared Kushner’s shaky personal finances received a generous bailout from Saudi Arabia, real estate loans but also broad partnerships for his father in law also, including Saudi Arabia’s first official brothel. There is also the glaring issue of Netanyahu’s corruption, of which only the most minor areas are subject to his current criminal indictment in Israel. In truth, Netanyahu has made billions, receiving kickbacks for military contracts from the US, Germany and other nations, but going much further as well. Netanyahu, while prime minister of Israel, has been co-employed by the Adelson casino operations group, making presentations on their behalf tied to trades for stolen American intelligence and technology. The list of political leaders in the Middle East profiting from ISIS and al Qaeda would be frightening but it began much earlier. The vital Baku-Kirkuk-Ceyhan oil pipeline that services 30% of the world’s oil reserves and passes through a number of nations began pumping stolen oil a decade before ISIS existed. ISIS simply took over operations from the American occupiers of Iraq, or, more likely, “partnered with,” adding new players to existing pirate operations that included Exxon and BP in what Iraq estimates as $1 trillion in stolen assets. There are stories that are told, in part at least, told then buried, pushed out of sight and considered unimportant as an endless flow of wild conspiracy theories fabricated by “official sources” dominates the fake information flow. It is impossible for someone working in banking, oil, defense or even in relatively innocent NGOs, though few exist today that are not turned subverted or controlled by intelligence agencies, without stumbling over ham-handed resource looting around the world. In recent days, moves against Nigeria by Trump have been directly tied to oil deals where hefty commissions are demanded by American politicians, in some cases up to 3% of gross sale, based on Platts Marketscan prices. In Sudan, for instance, many members of the current government still face international criminal charges tied to Darfur atrocities. Moreover, Sudan is still “terror listed” and is being financially choked by American sanctions. Most recently, representatives, albeit “private” of the White House demanded and received $350 million in diamonds from that poverty-stricken nation, in trade for “efforts” on behalf of leaders facing prosecution seeking US intervention. In fact, the original division of that nation, the separation of South Sudan, was predicated on negotiations between Washington, Khartoum and the UAE over “delisting” then President Omar al-Bashir as a war criminal. I acted as intermediary in those negotiations and continue to consult with the Khartoum government. Similar shakedowns are going on in Malaysia, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Ethiopia, Egypt, Libya, Algeria, Morocco, and the list can go on forever. When it gets to the Western Hemisphere, into Central and South America, Smedley Butler’s words again serve us well. Nothing done today is without historical context. Excerpt from a speech delivered in 1933, by Major General Smedley Butler, USMC. War is just a racket. A racket is best described, I believe, as something that is not what it seems to the majority of people. Only a small inside group knows what it is about. It is conducted for the benefit of the very few at the expense of the masses. I believe in adequate defense at the coastline and nothing else. If a nation comes over here to fight, then we’ll fight. The trouble with America is that when the dollar only earns 6 percent over here, then it gets restless and goes overseas to get 100 percent. Then the flag follows the dollar and the soldiers follow the flag. I wouldn’t go to war again as I have done to protect some lousy investment of the bankers. There are only two things we should fight for. One is the defense of our homes and the other is the Bill of Rights. War for any other reason is simply a racket. There isn’t a trick in the racketeering bag that the military gang is blind to. It has its “finger men” to point out enemies, its “muscle men” to destroy enemies, its “brain men” to plan war preparations, and a “Big Boss” Super-Nationalistic-Capitalism. It may seem odd for me, a military man to adopt such a comparison. Truthfulness compels me to. I spent thirty- three years and four months in active military service as a member of this country’s most agile military force, the Marine Corps. I served in all commissioned ranks from Second Lieutenant to Major-General. And during that period, I spent most of my time being a high class muscle- man for Big Business, for Wall Street and for the Bankers. In short, I was a racketeer, a gangster for capitalism. I suspected I was just part of a racket at the time. Now I am sure of it. Like all the members of the military profession, I never had a thought of my own until I left the service. My mental faculties remained in suspended animation while I obeyed the orders of higher-ups. This is typical with everyone in the military service. I helped make Mexico, especially Tampico, safe for American oil interests in 1914. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefits of Wall Street. The record of racketeering is long. I helped purify Nicaragua for the international banking house of Brown Brothers in 1909-1912 (where have I heard that name before?). I brought light to the Dominican Republic for American sugar interests in 1916. In China I helped to see to it that Standard Oil went its way unmolested. During those years, I had, as the boys in the back room would say, a swell racket. Looking back on it, I feel that I could have given Al Capone a few hints. The best he could do was to operate his racket in three districts. I operated on three continents. As close as we come to Butler in recent times is General Wesley Clark. In 2007, Clark, former Supreme Allied Commander of NATO, made the following statement: “About ten days after 9/11, I went through the Pentagon and I saw Secretary Rumsfeld and Deputy Secretary Wolfowitz. I went downstairs just to say hello to some of the people on the Joint Staff who used to work for me, and one of the generals called me in. He said, ‘Sir, you’ve got to come in and talk to me a second.’ I said, ‘Well, you’re too busy.’ He said, ‘No, no.” He says, ‘We’ve made the decision we’re going to war with Iraq.’ This was on or about the 20th of September. I said, ‘We’re going to war with Iraq? Why?” He said, ‘I don’t know.’ He said, ‘I guess they don’t know what else to do.’ So I said, ‘Well, did they find some information connecting Saddam to al-Qaeda?” He said, ‘No, no.” He says, ‘There’s nothing new that way. They just made the decision to go to war with Iraq.’ He said, ‘I guess it’s like we don’t know what to do about terrorists, but we’ve got a good military and we can take down governments.” And he said, ‘I guess if the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem has to look like a nail.’ So I came back to see him a few weeks later, and by that time we were bombing in Afghanistan. I said, ‘Are we still going to war with Iraq?’ And he said, ‘Oh, it’s worse than that.’ He reached over on his desk. He picked up a piece of paper. And he said, “I just got this down from upstairs’ — meaning the Secretary of Defense’s office — ‘today.’ And he said, ‘This is a memo that describes how we’re going to take out seven countries in five years, starting with Iraq, and then Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and, finishing off, Iran.’ I said, ‘Is it classified?’ He said, ‘Yes, sir.” I said, ‘Well, don’t show it to me.’ And I saw him a year or so ago, and I said, “You remember that?” He said, ‘Sir, I didn’t show you that memo! I didn’t show it to you!’” Conclusion It isn’t just the United States or Israel, running “shakedown” or “protection rackets” like Meyer Lansky’s Murder Incorporated or Al Capone’s Chicago based operations from the 1920s. It isn’t just the United States, but it is mostly the United States. A small army of “hungry travelers,” representing the private interests of the White House, Pentagon and Congress, fully backed by the CIA and the militarized social media and internet giants that can and have put thousands of paid rioters (and the snipers to kill them) on the streets time and time again, in nation after nation. The weapons, terror lists, sanctions, advanced arms to unfriendly neighbors or, now at the top of the list, crushing the value of a national currency as we have seen in Lebanon, Syria, Iran but also in Pakistan. A longer list? Venezuela, Argentina, Turkey, Brazil, India and the Philippines, but the vulnerable nations include any with significant debt, collapse the currency, apply sanctions, begin orchestrated social media warfare and then send in the clowns, the bagmen for Washington. The long and short of it? There is no more American foreign policy, only power and influence, money laundering, bank accounts in the Cayman Islands and a nation whose political and even military leaders are tired of working for gangsters. They have decided to be the gangsters.

[janestrider]

As an addendum to my last post, I feel like even a scenario where they didn’t take Kuron’s body to bring Shiro back would be super depressing too. 

If they could have gotten Shiro out of the Black Lion with a body of his own because Altean magic bullshit, what would happen to Kuron? With how little they cared about him in canon... Would he still be dying? Would they try to save him? If he died anyway would they still not mourn him? 

And what if he did survive? What then? They wouldn’t trust him. They all thought he was an evil clone. Even Shiro called him a “thing.” Would they take him with them because they don’t know what to do with him? Would they just leave him handcuffed to a bed/wall inside one of the lions? Would they argue over which lion he stays in because no one feels comfortable having him there? Would they suggest leaving him on the next inhabitable planet? 

Would he plead with them? Beg their forgiveness? Beg that they get rid of him because he’s too dangerous? To leave him on a planet rather than leave him chained up? Or would he just... silently accept it all? He hurt them. He deserves it. They should be cautious. He’s compromised and dangerous and they can’t take chances. He can apologize and say it was Haggar controlling him, but what grounds do they have to believe him? They have no reason to believe he’s not still being mind controlled or that he won’t be mind controlled again, so they should keep him locked up. It’s what he would do (it’s what the real Shiro is doing). 

Maybe they have Allura check him over to confirm he’s not still being controlled and completely sever the link if need be. Maybe eventually they stop being afraid of him and start treating him like a human being again. They give him things like books to read or games to play or puzzles to pass the time. Maybe they get to the point where they untie him and let him roam around the lion while they’re flying. Maybe little by little, they trust him fully and become friends with him. Maybe there’s a happy ending. It’s just a long hard road to get there.

Or maybe they decide not to trust him at all, no matter how sincere he seems. They made that mistake already with Lotor. 

Then when they get back to earth (or even before that), he escapes the first chance he gets. None of them really have the time or the heart to go searching for him. Maybe they’re happy he’s free because they felt bad about locking him up, or maybe they’re happy because he’s finally out of their hair. But he goes off and makes his own life, gets a new non-Galra prosthetic, takes odd jobs, traveling from place to place, planet to planet. Maybe he seeks out other cloning facilities in an attempt to help them. Maybe Haggar’s already destroyed them, but he finds a few alive. 

Then maybe they become their own team of clone space renegades, traveling the universe, saving planets from Galra pirates and anyone else who would harm the innocent. He gets to be a part of a team and a family again, taking in not just other clones if they find them, but others with nowhere to go, who want to help and fight and be a part of something greater. And with the leadership and charisma and skill of not one, but multiple Shiros, they inadvertently build their own coalition of planets, which then becomes it’s own republic of planets. And their pocket of the universe rebuilds itself after millennia of oppression. 

Then maybe one day they happen upon team Voltron while fighting some Galra pirates, and they help Voltron out. And after, Keith hails them to thank them for their help, and Kuron just turns on the audio so he can hear Keith’s voice one more time, but he doesn’t respond. He wants to. He wants to tell him who he is by saying something only they know like “as many times as it takes, right?” or “i love you.” But he doesn’t. Those words were never for him to begin with. Keith is still talking, asking if someone is there, can they hear him? But Kuron closes the channel before jumping to hyperspace. 

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Someone’s Playing the Pink Panther Theme, Right?

Summary: Carolina infiltrates Locus’ squad. There are some close calls.

This comes from two places: one, me joking about how Locus is oblivious and failed to notice Carolina infiltrating his squad, and the other, me pointing out that Carolina infiltrating his squad means she potentially witnessed some fucked up shit before revealing herself. I didn't go all the way with the second one, because I wanted to write something on the lighter side. Hope you guys enjoy!

Also on Ao3

Carolina’s method of stealth relies on two things:

One, a standardized system of armor so that her camouflage can do the rest of the job for her.

Two, no one to talk to her directly.

It’s not that Carolina’s bad at espionage. Or stealth. Or…

Look, she’s not bad at it, okay?

She’s not.

Shut up, Epsilon.

So she’s tripped some motion sensors in her day. So what if she can never come up with a good excuse whenever someone asks her why she’s not on patrol?

She can just fight her way out of the situation, okay? She’s fine.

She’s fine.

Really.

Look, at least she’s not Tex, okay? Tex blew up places to make sure no one ever saw her.

She’s fine, Epsilon.

Stop fussing, Epsilon.

The point is, infiltrating Locus’s squad is going to go fine. The helmet she’s wearing is one that belonged to one of the pirates, even if it’s not standard-issue. A voice-coder, one unconscious body hidden behind one of the warthogs, and the pounding sense of too-late later, she’s awkwardly standing in front of Locus for inspection, alongside a dozen other soldiers.

She’s using the old method from Freelancer to avoid attention, one that she’d seen York use a dozen times. She’d never needed it of course, and it had never been possible. The Director’s attention had never been hers to determine if she received or not. She was either hyper-visible, all her flaws exposed under his keen gaze, or completely invisible, no matter how good she was. There was no state of in-between. No amount of hiding or deflection could have concealed her when she was tired, or injured, or late.

York, however, had taught her that the best method to avoid detection was to be after the most likely to be trouble in a squad. Not directly after, he’d explained once, over a bottle of beer after a mission gone sideways in the early days, because then the CO is hyper-on-edge, looking for something to critique in the next person too, but one spot after that, or even two, if it’s been a bad mission.

<This is a bad idea, this is a terrible idea, why are they having an inspection we just got here this is the WORST idea ever oh god oh god we’re gonna get caught>

<Epsilon.>

<Right, sorry, okay, focusing.>

Sometimes, she had to wonder if Alpha had been as anxious as Epsilon.

<Rude.>

The guy she’s chosen to stand two down from is a man who failed to fasten the shoulder plate of his armor correctly. If the data she and Epsilon have gathered on Locus is correct—and Epsilon hums, annoyed in her mind, insistent that it is correct, how dare she assume otherwise, the two of them are the best at gathering intel—he won’t tolerate that. Her own armor is in perfect shape, maintained with the help of the best A.I.—Epsilon glows with pleasure at that thought, adjacent to but not interrupting her internal monologue—so she’ll be fine there.

The one danger is that Locus does know all his people, that he has read every file, or worse, that he’s read the file that Epsilon spoofed up for Carolina’s alias and realizes that something’s wrong.

Anxiety trickles down her throat, choking her for a moment before sinking down, hard and slow, like a rock into her stomach, and she can’t tell if it’s Epsilon’s or her own.

Everything depends on her succeeding here.  

Locus goes down the line, efficient and brutal in his pace. He unbraids three soldiers for miniscule problems with their armor or weapons, he dresses down another for having missed a check-in—oh shit he does pay attention to his soldiers, oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.

He’s just about to get to her, and Epsilon is frantically buzzing in the back of her mind, planning escape routes, searching for ways out, and she’s barely able to breathe, just trying to stop radiating guilt and fear and anything else that could tip him off.

He’s turned that strange, eyeless helmet towards her, and she feels herself about to fall over the edge, the anxiety turning into adrenaline, flight becoming fight, when the door slams open and a man in orange armor arrives.

“Locus!” He shrieks, and she places the voice. Felix. The traitor within the New Republic.

He’s… shorter than she expected, after Locus. Locus is the largest man she’s seen since Maine, larger than Caboose or any of the other pirates. Locus is broad and wide, built for close combat but a sniper. A contradiction.

But Felix… oh, there’s no mistaking what he’s built for. Skinny but muscled, shorter than Locus but average height overall… bristling with pride and knives alike.

He’s the one to watch for. He fights dirty.

Locus’s attention skitters away from her, refocusing on something far more relevant, and she’s left on the edge, her fingers inches away from fists.

“How far out are they?” Locus demands.

“Not here yet,” Felix says, crossing his arms. “But I saw the battle plan you had drawn up, and I’ve got complaints.”

… a battle plan?

Fuck.

She hadn’t known there was an actual plan yet.

Neither had Epsilon, apparently.

“Dismissed all of you,” Locus snapped, freeing Carolina from discovery. She can’t help but breathe in relief, and smirk to herself, knowing that he’s just doomed his whole operation, letting her go like that. Locus turns his entire focus towards Felix, but doesn’t say anything, while the pirates turn and scatter.

<He doesn’t want anyone to see Mommy and Daddy fight.> Epsilon sniggers in the back of her mind

<Very professional of him.>

<Ugh, seriously? The guy’s a dick.>

<Still a professional.>

<Is that approval? You better not have a crush!>

<Don’t be stupid. Now where can we get those battle plans?>

Epsilon doesn’t know, but he’s got a few suggestions, which Carolina supposes is better than nothing.

The two of them dart through the halls, still careful about the pirates.

<Careful, camera!>

<Can’t you short-circuit it?>

<Well, yeah, it just takes a second, so stand still!>

<Getting slow, are you?>

<Hey, hey, if you were better at watching your corners, I wouldn’t have to!>

They locate a control room, which will hopefully have… something, at least. Data of some kind, if not the actual battle plans.

Battle plans for how Felix and Locus intend to murder all their friends.

The humor, the banter, the comradery within Carolina’s mind evaporates in an instant at that reminder.

Their friends are in danger. The guys are in danger.

The fact that Felix and Locus have been close for so long… Carolina doesn’t know details—communications are hard to listen into on Chorus, even with Epsilon’s wide-sweeping abilities. But Locus has been mirroring Wash’s location for a while, and there are rumors about Felix and the Simulation Troopers.

Close enough to trust, close enough to hurt, close enough to kill.

Carolina’s fingers clench into fists at the thought.

There’s an irony to her position here, an infiltrator amid the infiltrators, the double agent within the double agents, the traitor of traitors.

She finds some satisfaction within that… but not as much satisfaction as she’ll find beating Locus and Felix’s faces in for daring to plan to hurt her friends.

She remembers Wash’s shouts on the radio, his pleas for help, for rescue.

Things went wrong, so quickly, and she hadn’t even realized it at the time, thinking they were safe, or as safe as anyone could be during this civil war. Once she took down the pirates, she’d be able to secure a ship for them and get them all to safety, but she had to make sure that Freelancer’s toxic legacy wasn’t going to claim any more lives, and the pirates were the source of that, and they were keeping the ships down too, so really, she was helping them—

Her excuses putter out in her own mind, hollow.

She should have gone to them earlier, and she knows it.

She’d needed space, needed to try to make things right, to shake off her father’s ghost, she’d seen a chance, and she’d taken it, not saying goodbye and damn the consequences.

And now… here were the consequences.

She has to live with that.

Carolina reaches out to try the door, secure in the knowledge that Epsilon had unlocked it already and grins to herself.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Fuck.

A pirate turns the corner—the one she’d been planning to use as a human shield earlier, clearly on edge, his armor now in place, bristling from the reprimand.

Oh, of all the—she is so fucked.

“Huh?” She asked, trying to channel Maine’s ability to fake nonchalance. No one ever questioned Maine.

<That’s because he was eight feet tall and literally made of muscle!>

… right.

Carolina wants to take a moment to curse the unfairness of the entire situation, because honestly, she is way scarier than Maine, or at least Maine-before-Meta.

But she’ll have to do that later, because right now she’s being caught red handed.

“Isn’t this, the uh,” she says, trying to think of what Wash would do. “Ladies room?”

Carolina hadn’t known she could literally feel it when an A.I. facepalmed, but she could, apparently.

“What? No!”

“Oh, sorry,” she says, stepping away. “I—I just—”

He’s recovered from his bafflement at her excuse and is about to ask her in more detail, or even worse, ask for help, when Locus comes on the intercom. “Assemble,” he orders. “There’s been a change in plan.”

The pirate groans. “Great. I bet Felix made us scrap the landmines, so he could monologue.”

“He does like to do that,” Carolina says, trying to keep her tone light. She… she can use that. Monologuing. That gives her time. That means he has to keep them alive.

Thank God for mercenaries who like to hear himself speak and can annoy their professional partners into letting him have his way.

“You’re telling me,” the pirate mutters, stomping his feet heavily as they head back into the main room.

Carolina swallows, then follows him.

They get their orders and Carolina tastes bile.

She kills her partner, the man who’s supposed to help her murder the Federal Soldiers, and she sets off the fire alarm in the barrack she’s supposed to execute, so they run.

(She’ll learn later the second wave of pirates caught them in a crossfire before they could make it out, and she throws up until there’s nothing left.)

She’s getting mixed reports, she doesn’t know where the Reds and Blues or Wash are, and so she runs into the infirmary, because she’s heard a rumor that Wash was injured.

She doesn’t find Wash, but she does find a very angry doctor.

“Stay down!” Carolina pushes her down, her heart racing, because another squad was assigned the infirmary. “I can get you out of here, just—”

A scalpel presses against her neck. “And why should I trust you, sweetie?”

“Because otherwise, you’re dead.” She swallows. “Get out of here and find the Reds and Blues, okay?” She shows the doctor a way out through the vents, and then tries to see if she can get any other survivors out.

She doesn’t find any other survivors.

She does find a group of pirates.

Fuck.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She’s looking down the barrel of a gun, and man, she really doesn’t like that. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?” There’s just enough of a sneer, enough of a leer, there, that Carolina doesn’t even have to hesitate before channeling South. She should draw from Connie, or York, or Florida, or really anyone else, really, but Carolina wants to knock this guy down a peg, and she’s itching for a fight, itching to put this fucker in her place.

There are dead bodies in the room behind him, because Carolina couldn’t protect them, and she can’t avenge them yet, not if she wants to save her friends, but she wants to… something. She needs to make amends, somehow.

“I saw someone run out of here,” she says, lifting her chin in the air, like she’s not scared, like she thinks they’re being stupid, like they’re beneath her. “I killed her and came in to see if you guys needed help blowing your noses or wiping your asses too.”

The gun lowers. “Bitch,” the pirate mumbles.

“Hey, do your job, so I don’t have to,” she says flippantly, even though Epsilon is screaming at her not to make fun of the murderers, they have guns, Carolina, they could kill you, Carolina.

“We just got the word from Locus,” another one says. “Get ready for the box.”

“Alright then,” Carolina says. “Let’s get this over with.”

She carefully gets herself placed right next to Locus, who looks her over one last time.

“You, soldier,” he says. “What’s your name?”

Fuck.

“Carol—Carol. Carol—” Shit fuck. “Church.” Fuck.

Epsilon is dead quiet in her brain with disbelief at how bad she fucked that up.

Locus, however, simply nods and turns his attention. “Remember to use your camouflage,” he orders them, and Carolina can’t believe she’s getting away with this.

<How are you getting away with this?>

<I don’t know.>

The two of them activate the active camouflage in sync with everyone else and walk forward towards her friends.

<Be careful you don’t trip,> Epsilon says, sulky.

<Shut up, Epsilon.>

<I’m just saying, this is why we don’t do stealth missions!>

<We did it, didn’t we?>

He has no response for a moment.

Then, as they decloak, aiming a gun at their friends, he finally speaks up again.

<I guess we did.>

Carolina grins and allows herself to stop being scared that things are going to go wrong.

She’s made it this far. Locus and Felix are going to pay.

[the-firebird69]

The Rum Runner Island Hopper 500

500 miles of mixed terrain and it is sand and dirt to water to sand and dirt to Pavement to send in dirt to water across many islands to the Dominican Republic where the finishes but tomorrow is just to the Grand Bahamas the West Grand Bahamas actually and we have the airport as a landing place and we're setting up now with real buildings which are ancillary for health and for rest and recuperation and to ship the bikes back I think we're going to do it one way because just to see how it goes and the next day we might do it both ways but we are setting up Hilo pads and other things for emergency services and we're going to have cooling base buildings and cooling cuts and we can have a whole bunch of camp Sim campers out there and it's going to be very nice but it is a formal race and tomorrow is an exhibition only and there's no prizes and there might be some private wagers and but it's just for fun and to work The kinks out and to sit and meet and figure out how to make the race work.

As of now I'll agree that it's limited to the Hard knock kicker 5150 three Enduro version only and that is because of the look and the style but mainly it's because on the Dominican Republic we have several plants there and we're building this bike and one of them is up tonight and it's a mass production line and we're also producing parts there and we are producing tons of them for up in Orlando Florida for Sebastian and others who are running the plant same people we mentioned and their assembling the bikes there and all sorts of Hard knock kicker 5150 and it is a business and they're making money and they're opening them in other places as well now it is a very smooth operation you supply the equipment and we supply other things that are ancillary Jackson lifts and all sorts of products that are for safety and health and intercoms and practically the whole building system and we can retrofit in an old building or provide a new one and they are running theirs and they built several of them all over Florida and they're building more now and it's going to be a bike that he'll probably be able to buy because he's sort of had the idea to have them do it and Sebastian's been pretty kind and he's been kind enough to drive them around and for a rather than a small money and Chris decided to give him a little bit more then Chris said I don't have much money but he understands that it's ridiculously small amount of money he has and people trying to get him his money but it's proven to be difficult and here we go tomorrow for the race we've agreed on a Time 11:00 a.m. for a check-in and we're going to start the race at 12:00 noon and at check-in we're going to inspect the bikes we're going to inspect the gasoline and make sure that the bike is safe and make sure it's sturdy and make sure it will of course do the job pretty much the whole distance we don't want unfortunately it's not an amateur race you may practice on your own and you may try afterwards like the English channel but we we really don't want a lot of amateurs down there this is for a professional race and we are welcoming sponsors the other riders for welcoming sponsors and if you need a spark plug or Red Bull or Budweiser or Wicked ale and he's going to sponsor her and The witches Brew and she's smiling and laughing because she's never had a sponsor from us and he said that's okay I just want something else but most of my advances are kind of cookie Antonio my invention you can put a patch on and she says okay and we're going to do that too and they atonium sponsor and it's the toy making company so my husband's doing it and I agree I accept thank you and you're welcome and I think invited several bikes and outfit them several different ways and by the time you sign up to do the exhibition you'll be on the fastest one and I agree so we'll get back going and of course I'm going to sponsor you with poor pirate that would be for all these poor Pirates going to be following you and seeing the big poor pirate emblem in the back that's for one on mine if you want to sponsor me no I can just put it on there...lol. no I will I'll pick a sponsor you'll like it okay and I'm going to leave room for women's products I guess I forgot about that almost and then we have something to make up maybe Kat Von D could her tat shop. I agree with that one too and Ken wants to put a sponsor in and accept it so getting all these sponsors because I probably need some help and you can help me engineer and design it we'll work on it together you have several ideas and it has to lock up and it has to go fast you have to be aerodynamic so I sort of understand what you're saying it's going to have lift to go fast in the road 80 miles an hour I'll take it off

Hera Zues

We like it and Fred is sponsoring me I feel great I feel like just sitting here and waiting for something like some beef stew or something not beefing it though so I'm getting psyched and we're going to spend it on some r&d and might do this idea and making a few bikes and testing them see when which one's work and the dirt end of it will come later but we really need to account for that and she's right and he's right so they're kind of fly bike if you put the right paddle in

Thor Freya

What kind of idiot is coming up with this race and there's going to be these bug legs address they're Wicked far down so I'm going to go ahead and sponsor myself no here comes Lori she's sponsoring me she's got her a book company and she's going to buy a bike and I'm going to have a few she says that I can buy one and I'll fit it and another sponsor from her a big company and she's going to buy one and build that and I'm going to sponsor her and we're going to wear these outfits with the sponsors on them it's going to be a lot of fun it's going to be a famous race and he's got alcohol on there and I just discovered something this is where Rum Runner comes from that blows up one of my ships so I better get in there okay who's Rum Runner I think it's this gay boy next to me Chris says I might have to get you a gay boy

Mac daddy or it could be Jason so Justin's helping with that

I'm in all in and it's going to help out because it's pointing out this thing that's going on probably tonight and it's going to help us out with the issues oh you're good we're going to drink her own blood no no he says this is a Rum run so each of us probably has to have a little rum case attached to the bike and it's not with rum in it probably has some emergency flotation device but it'll look like rum and we suddenly agree with him it'll float the bike and you can hang on to it so we're going to go ahead and do that make it sturdy and design it and build it we'll have it for tomorrow tons of people have site I've never seen anything like this it's going to be so damned weird it's not Tommy doing it quite a bit alone but this is a race and it's a race it's going to be across several islands all the way to the Dominican Republic it is the weirdest thing they've ever seen so he's going to call his brother on the joker line it is going to ask him to pump out a whole bunch of Hard knock kick her 5150s after you use the spies to steal the design cuz he got him out of jail and from Dominican and if he does that he's going to ship over the cigar so he can sell them from there it's agreed to he can send over like 5 million refugees and see how many make he says that sucks and he says I'm sorry old friend I can't accept the cigars from off Island it's just tradition that they have to come from here Cuba and he agrees with the JC says. So we're going to do this it's going to be a lot of fun this is an amazing race what an amazing race it's like the Baja 500 but it's a lot more fun like that humbug

Thor

What an idiot but he's our idiot and no I mean you CAA

Freya

Okay hold the phone why are you calling you an idiot he's a genius

Hera

It's very smart but he's got us doing this stupid stuff instead of work but he says that you need a break and if you don't have one we're going to turn into the evidence or Scrooge and Scrooge everybody so I don't like that and he's right it's a little bit forward and odd and I should have said it but I did and I kind of meant it but now I see what you're saying it is in a weird time and it's going to a decent idea it's a little bit off but we have engineers and stuff you know but we're racing it's only exhibition okay

Freya

Ok close enough we're going to have to Ward you off I'm going to have to get involved he's waiting like a lady or something so I get that Jesse can pull it off cuz ghwv can help you agree with that it's kind of a cool idea that other stuff too that'd be great

Hera Zues

[beaconsardis]

Resisting the Resistance

I receive a transmission.

They’ve encrypted it so I can’t tell who sent it or from where, so I have to take the transmission at its word that it was sent from someone in the Resistance.  They want to meet.  They give me coordinates and a time frame in which I will find them there.  I don’t take meetings.  They’re never not traps.

I move to delete it but something needles me.  A wordless something in the back of my brain is telling me to respond, to take the meeting.  The galaxy’s a dangerous place, I reason.  And I’m the captain of the ship.  Taking the meeting would not only be putting me at risk, but I’d be endangering every single one of my crew.

I type back my response.

I take the meeting.

I’m pleasantly surprised that I don’t have to explain myself to the crew.  Turns out they’re used to the reckless and unexplainable things I ask them to do.

I plug the the coordinates into the navicomputer and plot our course.  There’s something about the coordinates.  Something familiar, but I can’t pull what it is.

“At least tell me why you’re doing this,” Fordsy says from behind me.  “So I can explain it at your funeral.”

I don’t have an answer for him.  I can’t explain why I feel compelled to do this.  I throw the ship into hyperspace and turn to face my oldest friend.  F4-DC is a white and blue A9G-series droid I inherited when I was left home at fourteen.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“It’s most certainly a trap.”

“I know.”

“Seven of the last eight meetings you have taken were traps.”

“I know.”

“Then why go?”

I shake my head.  I still don’t have an answer for him.  A warning signal goes off, rescuing me from this conversation.

We drop out of hyperspace.  Something must be in our way.  This is why people travel the space lanes.  They’re clear of debris.  Our ship, the Nexu, is dropping out of hyperspeed to prevent a collision that would atomize us.

I sigh.  We have come face to face with an asteroid field.  I hear the servos in his neck whirring as his head slowly turns to face me.  He plays a flat, recorded laugh.

It’s the Guuntar Belt.  That’s why I recognized the coordinates.  The Guuntar Belt is con men and assassin’s favorite place to send pilots when they want to make it look like an accident.  The unknowing and trusting pilot plots the course, enters hyperspace, and splashes themselves across multiple asteroids before they know what hit them.   The Guuntar Belt has more wrecked ships than rocks in it at this point -- or so they like to say.

It’s gutsy, but it makes sense.  The Resistance is on the run.  They need a temporary headquarters, a staging ground, to prepare for whatever comes next.  It’s close to the Interior but no one would think to look for them here.  If they did, no one would be crazy enough to follow them in.

I think for a moment.

“Trying to find the words to-”

I hold up a finger to silence Fordsy.  I check the coordinates again.  I call Humaira to the cockpit.  

“You’re not actually going to fly into that, are you?”

“No,” I say.  “Humaira is.”

The door behind us hisses open and Humaira stands there, hands on her hips.

“Humaira is what?” she asks.

I point to the asteroid field.  “Think you can get us into the heart of that in one piece?”

I can fly.  Humaira can pilot.

Her eyes light up and she pushes me out of the way.  She looks out the windshield, down to the coordinates, and then back to me.  “You serious?”

“I am.”

She sits down in the pilot’s chair and pulls her hair back.  “Who says you never take us any place nice,” she says, her amber eyes alive with excitement.

I hit the comm.  “This is your captain speaking.  We are, as per usual, about to do something incredibly stupid and foolhardy.  Grab onto something firm and make peace with your gods!”

I watch Humaira’s eyes flick back and forth between the rocks.  She’s watching them move, taking in on how they tumble, and predicting where they will go next.  A smile dimples her cheek as she finishes tracing our trajectory in her mind.

She shoves the thrusters open wide and we rocket into the asteroid field at full throttle.

Humaira doesn’t give anyone a moment to react or respond.  She punches it and we fly into the asteroid field at full throttle.  Fordsy cries out as he flails and falls backward, rattling across the floor and out the door.  Humaira laughs.  We corkscrew through the starship graveyard.  We dive under and then flip over rocks the size of small moons.  We escape one hurtling danger only to fly into the face of another.  We are constantly nanoseconds away from sudden and immediate death.  In anyone else’s hands I would panic.  I wouldn’t be able to watch.  But Humaira was born to be behind the helm.  There’s no other hands I’d rather be in -- a statement that can be taken in a variety of ways, none of which would be inaccurate.

“There it is!” 

I point to a moon-sized boulder looming off our starboard.  A temporary port has been set up there and three ships are docked, presumably waiting for us.  If Fordsy were still in the cockpit, I’d ask for his apology.

Humaira sets us down gently on the asteroid.  I clap her on the shoulder.  She’s beaming with pride.  I exit the cockpit step over Fordsy, who’s still trying to get up off the floor.

“This is still a bad idea,” he says.

“You’re welcome to come with me if you like,” I say.

“I don’t like,” he says.  “I don’t like at all.”

I descend down out of the Nexu and am met by two Resistance guards.  They check me for weapons.  I left my blaster onboard, but I don’t go anywhere without my lightsaber.  The guard on the left, the one who discovered it, looks over at the other.  They both stare at it in shock and then back up at me.  I wait for them to tell me to leave it, but instead they just nod for me to follow them.

The guards lead me into one of the docked transport ships.  The crew of the ship looks haggard.  They’re beaten and bruised.  It looks like they haven’t slept in days -- maybe weeks.

By now everyone has heard about the bloody aftermath of the Battle of Starkiller Base.  The haunted, hollow look in these fighters’ faces say the reports were not exaggerated.  The Resistance is running on fumes.  I don’t know how that makes me feel.

I’m led to a room.  It’s a small room, a meeting or conference room.  There’s a table and a handful of chairs.  No drink or food on the table.  Probably can’t afford it.

A door opens and a woman marches in.  She’s short, strong, and determined.  She has the look of someone who has had to fight for everything she has and shows no sign of stopping that fight any time soon.  She’s wearing grease-stained coveralls, with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows.  

I’m reminded that, unlike the First Order, the Resistance doesn’t have uniforms.  They’re a ragtag group of people brought together with a common goal.  The few uniforms you do see are those New Republic veterans who joined the cause. 

She looks me up and down and nods, “you’re Captain Sardis?”

“Friends call me Beacon,” I say.

“We’re not friends,” she snaps and then stops. With a forced smile she says, “sorry, Let me start over.  My name is Rose Tico.”

“Beacon Sardis,” I smile back, willing to start over.

“Thank you for seeing us,” she says.  She’s trying to sound congenial, but her voice is strained and focused.  

I see through her.  There are a thousand things she would like to say to me but is holding back.  She doesn’t want to be here.  She thinks she’s wasting her time.  I cut to the chase.  These sorts of meetings are always inspired by something -- usually a ship I recently plundered.

“Which one was it?”

“What?”

“It was the cargo ship,” I remember, “the one with the medical supplies.”

“The Cerulean Slipstream.”

I shrug. I don’t remember the name.  I remember the ship and I remember the crew protesting my relieving them of their cargo, saying they were Resistance fighters.

Rose’s eyes burn.  “You have any idea how many people died because we didn’t have the medical equipment we needed?”

“Do you have any idea what’s going on in the jungles of Uhhrloc?” I counter.

Rose is caught off guard. “What?”

“Uhhrloc.” I repeat. “Ever hear of it?”

“Uh . . .”

There’s no reason for her to have heard of it.  There’s no reason for anyone to have heard of it.  

“It’s a dwarf planet on the outskirts of the outer rim. It holds no strategic importance for the war effort and it is devoid of any resources you might find useful. What it does have is a population caught between two bloodthirsty warlords vying for control of the planet. Their civil war has been raging longer than you or I have been alive, but nobody cares.  Nobody’s thinking about them or sending aid. They are on nobody’s scanners.”

Rose is silent.

“So if you’re asking me to weigh the lives of soldiers who have knowingly put their life on the line against families who are just have the rotten luck of being born on the wrong planet at the wrong time . . .”  I don’t finish my sentence.  I don’t have to.

“The First Order-”

I cut her off.  “The First Order doesn’t care any more about them than the New Republic did.” I wait before adding, “or the Resistance does.”

“But-”

“What’s the offer?” We now agree on something. We both think she’s wasting her time. “What’s on the table?”

Rose clears her throat and slides a datastick across the table. “We provide you intel. The Resistance has connections with many trade federations, conglomerates and unions. We can tell you who is shipping what where when.”

I’m stunned.  This is not the sort of shady under-the-table transaction I’d come to expect from the Resistance.  I’ve had the First Order approach me on several occasions, floating proposals such as this my way.  I’ve turned them all down.  This is the kind of deceit and duplicitousness I’ve come to expect from them, not the scrappy do-gooders standing against evil.

Which means they trust me.  I’m a pirate.  I’m a thief.  I’m a liar.  I’m not a murderer.  I may take your cargo, but I have no use for your life.  That must be what makes this little parley okay.

Taking all this in, I look up at Rose.  “In exchange for?”

“You leave Resistance transports alone.”

“That’s it?”

“And,” Rose stalls, “you give us first dibs on any supplies we may need.”

I don’t have to think about it for long. “So we put our necks on the line with no guarantee we’ll gain anything for it?  Should the Resistance decide they need whatever we find, we forfeit it?”

“There are plenty of transports and cruisers for you to plunder. If you’re half as good as they say, you stand to make a fortune — even if we take half of what you find.”

“Half?”

Rose winces. She spoke too quickly. I can see it on her face. She’s mentally  cursing herself.  She picked a number at random. I can see that.  But the seed has been planted.  It’s taking root and pushing every other thought out of my head.  Should I take this deal, what would prevent them from claiming everything we plundered?

I’m tempted to take the datastick and leave.  Take what’s being offered and give nothing back in return.

I shake my head.  “I’m not a smuggler,” I say.

“We don’t need anything smuggled,” she says with a definitive shrug. 

“One does not become a pirate to enlist in a chain of command.  I go where the stars lead me.  I’m not for hire.”

Rose rolls her eyes.  “We’re not asking you to do anything you’re not already doing.  We’re helping you and are asking, in return, for you to help us.”  Then she adds, “but honestly just you not stealing from us would be enough.”

I shake my head.  “You have no idea who I am or why I do what I do.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she says, “I know the galaxy isn’t black and white. I know that we aren’t going to enter some grand utopia after this war is over. I know that probably, for you, it doesn’t matter who wins or loses. You’re still going to be out there robbing the space lanes.”

I don’t say anything.

“Am I right?” Rose asks. “Tell me I’m wrong if I am. Tell me I’m not asking you to care about something you don’t care about. Tell me you’re not nearly as selfish as I think you are.”

I didn’t come here to be lectured. I nod, give her a smile, and wish her and the Resistance luck.  They’re going to need it. Then I turn to leave.

“Wait!”

I don’t wait. I head straight for the door. Before the door opens, though, the room is suddenly awash with a flickering blue light. 

“Captain Sardis?” 

I turn around. Standing in front of me, from lightyears away, is a young woman in a sleeveless tunic. Her hair is pulled back away from her face, some of it in a bun and some of it falling down over her shoulders.

“My name is Rey.”

I don’t move. I’ve heard of her. She’s being hailed as the last hope of the Resistance. They say she’s a Jedi. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t a young woman with wide, hopeful eyes and a small, eager smile.

“Beacon,” I say.

“Beacon then,” she smiles. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

“What?” I can’t believe she knows who I am.

“You’re the infamous Jedi pirate.” Rey bristles with excitement. “Everyone knows who you are -- are you really a Jedi?”

“No,” I say, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Did you build that,” she points at my lightsaber, “or did you steal it?”

“A little bit of both,” I admit. “I found it and I fixed it.”

“Can I see it?”

I unclip my saber and hold it up. She leans forward to get a better look and I’m not sure that’s how holocomms work.

“That’s beautiful,” she marvels, “you said you found it?”

“It was floating in a derelict ship we came across years ago.”

“In all the vastness of space, you just so happened to come across a derelict ship that contained a lightsaber from the Old Republic?”

“Pfft,” I hear Rose hiss. I can see her through the hologram. She doesn’t believe me.

I nod.

“That’s amazing,” Rey says. “If you don’t mind me saying so, I don’t think you found that lightsaber on accident.  I’m not an expert on how the Force works,” she admits, “but from my experience . . . Lightsabers like to have owners.”

I look down at the hilt, with its intricate, swooping bronze and gold designs.  “You think it dates back to the Old Republic?”

“Again,” Rey laughs, “I’m not an expert on the subject, but from what I’ve seen and what I’ve read, if it isn’t that old, it was certainly made to look it.”

I hadn’t thought to ask that. “I’ll see if the holocron can help-”

“You have a holocron?” Rey bursts. “A Jedi holocron?”

“I found it with the lightsaber.”

“And it still works?”

I nod.

“Whose was it?”

“An Kaminoan Peacekeeper called Oh Lin.”

“I haven’t heard of them but that’s amazing.” Rey shakes her head, her eyes wide with wonder. “I’d really like to see that some time. Maybe we can meet up some time?” She suggests. “If you’re going to be helping us maybe I can coordinate to be at one of the drop-offs?”

To my knowledge, I’ve never met another Force-sensitive person before. The idea of being able to sit down with someone like me and compare notes is truly exciting.

“That would be great,” I say.

“Great!” Rey smiles back. “Well then, I hope to see you soon, Captain Sardis.”

“You too.”

“May the Force be with you,” she says as the hologram flickers away.

Rose looks at me with a cocky smile. She’s won and she knows it. I take the datastick.

“You’re never allowed to claim over half,” I say.

She holds out a hand.  “Shall I tell the general we have a deal?”  

I clip my lightsaber back to my belt and take her hand. “We have a deal.”

Fordsy is less than pleased with the deal, but the rest of the crew sees the benefits outweighing the cost -- though none are too excited about the likelihood that this will put us directly into the crosshairs of the First Order.

[mimicsecretdiary]

Star Wars oneshot

[beware: long post ahead] Introduction

The Galaxy,for the first time,seems to be at peace: the Republic and Empire have reached a stall and acceptable agreements and both of them are not pinching and nabbing at each other too much. This is also thanks to the just-ended great war, lasting the incredible short period of 5 years, which had ended with a large-scale schism of the Sith order that destabilized the Empire. There are those who say the Sith "rebels" were supported by the Republic, some say they were headed by a Sith lord with powers comparable or even higher than the Emperor himself. The fact is that now the intergalactic forces are more or less in peace. [Characters introductions here]

The scene opens with a Chiss pilot in space. Janos has just finished one of his regular smuggling jobs and he's relaxing while the most recent member of his "one man crew" is being the paranoid of the bunch and he's checking the ship for any evidence or problems that might have happened during the mission. They receive a call on holo from a "private number" basically, and Janos, before letting his "co-pilot" paranoid human hacker answer, checks from where it arrives. It's from Korriban. "AH. EXCELLENT". They are a bit on the defensive but Jaydkan,the hacker knowns as "cresto", or hacker, or paranoid, or simply J says that "curiosity makes him curious" (he's a hacker, not a poet) and they respond. It is a rattataki that calls Janos by name (OK) and tells him that it is the apprentice of his "employer" (GREAT) and that has a job for him, perhaps the last "mandatory" one (actual good), and she basically wants me to pick up two Night Sisters( G L O R I U O S) and a couple of jedi ( SPEC TA CU LAR) to help her Master in a thing. "ah ok, so now I'm taxi service". Of course I accept, I do not have the right to refuse, and I head to the coordinates. The scene moves to the Night Sisters, who are briefly informed about the matter by teh same rattataki woman, even if they already knew what they had to do and they get informed about who and where and when they will be taken to do such work. Madea and Winter are of few words and many facts so when the "taxi" arrives, they introduce themselves - more or less- and they go quietly in their ""lodgings"" on the ship to meditate. New change of scene and we are on Typhon, known planet of jedi temples. Three jedi are digging and working in an archeologic site when one of the three, Sa'Vin, recieves an holo call. From a "private number" She moves away from the tent and answers, finding the same rattataki as before. But she knows her by name ("Tiraka"), and knows who she is and who her Master is, as she had had "dealings" with him in the past. There is a strenuous conversation where Tiraka asks for support from Sa'Vin, and she deduces that it must be a great deal if it is her and not her Master who calls for help. The sith apprentice confirms the situation it's as such. With a sigh, Sa'vin accepts the caller's request for help and closes the call, speaking soon after privately with her padawan Milisendis asking if she would feel comfortable doing a "special" mission. The Miraluka girl seems to be interested academically speaking and, when asked, the other Jedi, a Givin called Iad-aan, appears to be interested as well (there is a samll player-death here bcs the charcter vocie od Iad-aan made me die laughing.). Iad-Aan asks if it is an illegal thing, and when it is confirmed that it is not "technically" he lightly accepts. Sa'vin drives in speeder the two colleagues / companions to the place of randevouz for Tiraka had confirmed that she had already arranged somebody to come and get them near the place of need. The three await the ship in a open grassfield and when the said transport arrives after a a couple of hours, Iad-Aan uses the Force to "see" who is inside and percieves clearly two strong sources of Force not fully trained on but mostly Dark Ways. On the other hand, the Night Sisters perceive themselves to be observed. Landing, Janos comes down from the ship to check his "cargo" and remaining pleasantly surprised by (re)Seeing Sa'vin, cordially greeting Millisendis and remaining a little shocked by the welcoming of the Givin, makes them jump on board, urgently asking not to provoke quarrels with the other two young ladies in the ship. There is a brief chat between Janos and Sa'vin, where she asks him to use the name with which she presented herself and where she whispers that she would like to know where he had met this current employer of his (The sith master she also knows). "I could ask you the same question, Counsellor Sa'vin" "it is not obvious that i will not answer". On the ship they all meet up with a young blue twi'lek and a jawa, who is promptly threatened by Janos who warns the small alien that he is "keeping an eye on him (Zili.. Don't let it touch my droid)". It's obvious that this kind of conversation is now routine on the ship. [Sa'vins player was feeling ill so she left after this point] Before taking off, on the datapad that gave Janos the coordinates for the variosu landings a message compose itself and it suggests to ask the Nighsisters to explain the problem to the new arrivals of the ship. Janos hurriedly gets up (complaining that it could have wrote the message in the 5 seconds before i had sat down on the pilot seat) and he goes, but before he could hear the Night sisters' negative answer, he's already gone. The journey starts... without any of the main groups exchanging covnersations. We arrive at the coordinates set: a moon that looks more like a cemetery of buildings than an inhabited place, with several craters created or from large battles or frequent meteorites. When the ship docks, the landing pod blocks my supports and I find myself very frustrated at the idea of ​​not being able to just get the fuck out. The jedis and the non-Force-users get off board looking at a pyramid liek tomb, stil lwondering what we are doing there since miss onehanded -shotgun-loading-sound Madea has not told us anything about the job yet. Looking around the landing pod we see the door of a pyramidal tomb that is closed by two statues with hands and arms joined. The scavengers notice also some computers with soem data running on the screens and the hacker + twi'lek are observing with great interests the tech there: it's an automatic station for archaeological finds' analysis. J downloads a bit of the just finished analysis on the device and Yewzili pockets some various paddles. I'm like "kid don't do it" and she "it's to repay you: 3" "if you want to repay me by sicking 45 angry Siths because I stole their precious antique night vases, i'll gladly skip that" "they will never notice." While the three smuggler-type pirate things, the jedis use the Force to open the doors, after Madea said, very caustic, that their employer is literally just locked inside (janos: "AH he called us because he got stuck a tomb, this is AMAZING"). The jedi open the door of 50cm and let pass the two Night sisters in front of line, then they go in and finally the mere blaster-holders go at the rear. As soon as we get all inside, Iad-aan uses the Force again to perceive dangerous creatures and finds two or three BIG clustersof negative energy plus a more powerful one of inestimable suffering in the depths of the tomb. We assume that's out quarry. Trying to avoid the clusters of life forms perceived by the mathematical jedi, we start our descent. At the first junction we are attacked by a Kath who is severely mistreated by the force-users (Medea jumps behind him using the wall as a lever hitting his back, ian-aad splats it on the ceiling, Zili electifies it with the vibrosword and finally Medea eviscerates it while iad -aan overkills it with a Force-beheading. Janos kinda just puts away the blaster shrughing). A little further on we find another forkin the road, with both ends going downhill, and an obelisk at the center of a small opening in the cave. The jedi interact with it- in whisper - while Janos  -"feeling lucky" in whisper - gets a very bad feeling from the way on the right. Iad-aan says that the obelisk has "spoken to him" and that we must continue in the way right but "without touching the dead" - something along these lines. There is a brief pseudo-philosophical discussion between iad and medea where medea does not seem particularly inclined to speak, while janos and zili are having an heated covnersation about some potential good stored in Janos' ship that zili may or may not have"resold" or used (spoielr: it was spice. (context: spice in sw its drug basically)). In the fustration, Janos does not realize that he is walking right in the direction of the bad feeling. We arrive in a room full of stacks of skeletons and Iad-Aan assumes these are the dead not to be touched, so with nonchalance levitates wit hthe Force across the room (he's usign a lot of Force powers, he should be more careful). Madea comments caustically that "some" people REALLY like to show "how many things they can do"; the Night Sisters make show of their great agility and the others (Milisendis Zili, and J) simply walk - janos needs a few seconds before deciding to cross the room .  The "bad feeling" really gets to him- [J's player is prone to be very sleepy so he left as well at this poing] Just as we are getting out the blasted room, 6 huge and disgusting humanoids, Rakghouls, jump on us and we start a fight. Janos  -last in the line so first to be attacked- slips his entire arm into the mouth of one of these monsters as it growls and he like unloads his blaster charge in the skull of the disgusting thing, causing it to burst from within. The creature falls to the ground coem a fish without bones, ("Ah ... he bit me ç_c ...") biting janos' arm on the way down; Iad-aan unleashes his levitate to lift himself up into the cavernous room and not get caught by two of them; medea uses, according to old tactics already tried, Winter as jumping pad and twirling in the air with feline grace and shoots in the head to another of the creatures with the blaster incorporated in her mechanical arm; zili jumps back while the attack of the jedi padawan Milisendis doesn't go as good as she would have wanted. In the second round with a bit of Force pushes and blaster shots an classical Force-beheadings, we take the rest out. Medea snaps a bit of acid words to Zili ("Cowardice will not keep you alive") and we contine along the path down (zili is quite offended: "it actually works pretty good to me"). Around the corner we hear heavy steps and Mili, Yewzilin and Janos peek the corridor while Iad-Aan perceives it with Force: it is a fairly large creature known to feed on the Force + force users altogether. Janos comments that "hey, at least three of us are safe!" readily correct that they are nonetheless creatures carinvore and the Force flows in all of us. yadda yadda jedi shit. Janos promptly takes zili for an arm and literally sprints silently across the corridor to where the creature is eating some corpse or carcass. Zili does not make a sound but Janos almost slips and schatters a bone by mistake. Luckly the creature does not seem to care too much. ("DAMN IT YOU OLD MAN" Zili whispers angrly. "Ehy watch your mouth kid, the thing didn' saw us anway!!") Janos was "arguing" with Zili to use the Jawa as a distraction while Milsendis and Medea convinced Iad-aan that usinf the Force -again- to move soem rock in a far away corridoir would have not distracted the creature because it would have felt the source of the Force-usage. Some more or less sucessful sneaking made us avoid the creature complitely. We find now in front of a dor not much different from the one we met earlier and Medea with Winter brute-forcibly try to push it open (Medea: "will you others help us or not?". Janos and zili, together:"no no i think i'l lstay here watchign you two." zili:"I could watch them all day * eyes emoji *") while the jedi reuse the Push to Force it open. The initially percieved source of pain becomes it stronger once we enter the next room. [And hereby we ended the oneshot]

[lurkingcrow]

A little bit more in the “Pirate Jedi AU” featuring Captain Jinn, Menace to Monopolies, Friend of Freedom and general headache to Senate and Sith. Sorry, it got long again. Many thanks to @albaparthenicevelut @tygermama  and @resistancepilots for their contribution to the crack!

So we left off with the Not-Clone Wars in full swing (albeit much more slowly and at a slightly smaller scale as neither side had as much time to build up resources), and Mandalore, Naboo and a few other systems sitting it out in “Neutrality” while Qui-Gon and his vigilantes continue to make a nuisance of themselves by, you know, actually attempting to do some good where it’s needed. Between their own resources and their contacts with other disreputable groups (*cough* Hondo) they manage to become quite a thorn in the side of the Hutts, CIS and Republic alike. Which is why Qui-Gon shouldn’t really have been surprised when the bounty on his head suddenly became large enough to actually tempt the big players. As a Jedi he was used to the idea of being worth something in ransom or as revenge, but this is ridiculous! You could buy a small moon for that price!

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and points out that that the council probably would think it worth purchasing a moon if they could get Qui-Gon to promise to stay there quietly with his menagerie so they never have to hear his name ever again. Besides which, why is Qui-Gon surprised- his bounty has been increased despite his diplomatic immunity as the husband of a planetary ruler, and not-so-little Ani has to be the most valuable teenager in the galaxy. Speaking of which has Qui-Gon had a look at some of the fine print?

Qui-Gon glares at him before taking off his eyepatch and putting on his glasses. Huh. Sure they’re all worth a lot to the Hutts dead, but the price for capturing them, and particularly Anakin, alive is extraordinary and… wait.  Dooku makes sense. He has made no secret of the fact that he wants Qui-Gon and his apprentices to join him, and will not hesitate to hold them captive until they turn. (He’s managed to take them prisoner once or twice, but between Qui-Gon’s stubbornness, Obi-Wan’s preparedness, Anakin’s creativity and their typical uncanny luck, the wily old Sith has had little success). But why in the name of the Force does someone on Coruscant want them, and in particular Anakin, alive so badly? It makes Qui-Gon very uneasy.

But the show must go on, and foiling kidnapping attempts by various bounty hunters simply becomes a part of their lifestyle. So far Cad Bane is the only on to even come close, and even he left swearing never again - facing Qui-Gon Jinn in combat is one thing, facing Qui-Gon Jinn on a mission to retrieve his sons is another thing entirely ( He has a very particular set of skills. Skills he has acquired over a very long career)! One day Obi-Wan notices that there is a name conspicuously absent from the list of those who’ve tried to collect on the bounty. And somehow he doesn’t think it’s respect for his wife that’s preventing Jango Fett from giving it a shot. Since he has his own ship he takes the opportunity to do a little bit of digging and find out what the man is up to these days…

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon is having a very interesting conversation with a certain small green gremlin. Let’s take a step back. For the moment Palpatine is content with keeping the war at a slow boil, the point being to slowly consolidate power while whittling away at his enemies until the pieces are in place to really step things up. After all the longer the conflict goes on the less resistance he’ll have when he makes his move, and Sidious is nothing if not patient.

So unlike in canon, the Jedi have managed to avoid being pulled as deeply into the war effort, but it is an ongoing struggle. Their primary argument, apart from (“we are peacekeepers, not soldiers”) is that they simply do not have the numbers to participate in full scale conflict. As a result, they have primarily been involved small scale tactical missions where a handful of Jedi can make a difference to the outcome of the primary battle or in campaigns where a Sith presence has been confirmed. It’s still costing them heavily though, and the Senate is constantly pushing for greater involvement.

So tensions are strained, and right now they have a problem that perhaps Qui-Gon can help them with. Ryloth is under blockade and there is a desperate need to get humanitarian supplies in - it has been suggested that Jedi pilots might be able to run the blockade but the bigger problem is the lack of supply staging post - Toydaria would be ideal, but allowing the Republic in would break their neutrality and the negotiations would take time that Ryloth doesn’t have. Qui-Gon groans because he can see where this is going, and Anakin’s excitement at the prospect of combining his favourite pastimes of piloting and heroics is palpable.

While he’s more than happy to help out the people of Ryloth, Qui-Gon is a little hesitant - while transferring the supplies at Toydaria shouldn’t pose a problem, particularly if they make it look like smuggled goods, showing up and smashing through a CIS fleet would make him and his fleet a legitimate target. Yoda points out that he already is. Qui-Gon complains that’s not the point - he is not about to ally with the Republic and he refuses to give any suggestion that he ever will. Especially given the precarious balance he and the planets under his protection are keeping in order to not be crushed by either party’s military might. They agree to think it over and talk again in a day or so to make a final decision.

So the last thing is Qui-Gon needs is a slightly garbled message from Obi-Wan ranting about Mandalorian bounty hunters, clones and a Jedi army. As it happens Quinlan Vos had been on the trail of some suspicious rumours and on finding a link to Jango Fett had happily teamed up with his old friend to track him down. This had eventually led them to Kamino, and while Quinlan remained out of sight so as not to tip off Fett, the lightsaber and a bit of quick talking was enough to convince the Kaminoans that “Master Kenobi” was here to check on the progress of the Army, which is still some time away from full operational capacity, but the first units are ready for deployment if necessary.  Vos is shocked. Obi-Wan is horrified. Neither of them can quite believe the council would have ordered this, but both can see the potential implications.

Forgetting the moral dilemmas involved, the presence of an Army designed to serve the Jedi can only lead to bad things. For a start, there’ll be no keeping away from the front lines, and the long term nature of the project will make it appear as if their previous stance was only stalling for time until they could provide the Republic the military force it needs. Great for morale no doubt, but it welds them intrinsically to the will of the Senate. And if they do use this army? While large it’s not going to be enough to finish the war quickly, and as a result the scale of the conflict will only ramp up so much higher. This is bad. Very bad. Master you need to find out immediately if this really was the work of someone on the council!

This, unfortunately sounds like the kind of conversation you can't​ have over the comm, so Qui-Gon hastily arranges to sneak himself on to Coruscant in the entourage of an “outraged” Queen Amidala ( Padme had plenty of diplomatic issues to use as a pretext, she just couldn't be bothered to lodge them in person before now). He leaves Anakin with the fleet and instructions listen to Obi-Wan and relay any messages as necessary. Given that bounty there is no way his apprentice is getting anywhere near this vipers nest!

Mace Windu is having a nightmare. That is the only explanation for why he is being woken up by the image of Qui-Gon Jinn in an obviously stolen robe standing over him and demanding to speak to the full council. Immediately. When the council is convened he learns the nightmare is real and even worse than he could have imagined. An army of sentient beings commissioned in the orders of a paranoid Jedi Master missing for years whose very existence will spell disaster. And without Jinn and Kenobi they might never have known until it was too late to do anything but react! A nightmare.

Relieved that the council has not suddenly become less sane than usual, and that there's nothing he can do to immediately solve the problem Qui-Gon figures it’s probably time to head back before his apprentice does something ill-advised… and then Anakin urgently comms.  Obi-Wan and that Reprobate Knight Vos apparently spooked Fett into revealing evidence that Dooku is up to something major and have gone to Geonosis to investigate. They've already missed one check-in. Sithspit.

Qui-Gon begins to rush off but Plo Koon points out that a credible report of Dooku's location is enough to justify sending a team of Jedi to report back, and if he can wait for them to assemble they'd be happy to give him a lift. So Qui-Gon heads to Geonosis accompanied by Masters Koon, Ti, and Tholme, and oh dear. It seems Vos and Kenobi were right - those droid factories do not bode well. Suddenly the visions Sifo Dyas had make a lot of sense. Unless they want full-scale combat they need to take out those factories ASAP. But they also need to find out what happened to Vos and Kenobi.

Of course, narrative timing means they catch the bulletin advising that there is a dangerous spy on the loose -  the execution of his partner will take place the following day in the main arena but until his capture the planet is now on lockdown and all ships exiting atmosphere will be fired upon. Great. That explains a lot - and makes their lives so much more difficult.  They split up. Shaak Ti and Tholme head towards the factory, Qui-Gon and Plo towards the city via their ship - if they don't make it out then the Jedi need to be warned.

So who does Dooku have? You guessed it - it’s Obi-Wan who is really getting tired of the whole “join the dark side” spiel. After all, what could he possibly gain from from it? It's not like the Sith has any leverage. But then Dooku gets a message and Obi-Wan doesn't like that look. He has a bad feeling about this. Dooku smirks and in walks Jango Fett holding a murderous looking Anakin in cuffs. He’s here for his bounty.

Obi-Wan audibly groans. Anakin protests that it's not his fault! He stayed with the fleet! It's just that the fleet ended up engaged in a skirmish over Tatooine and in the chaos Fett managed to sneak on board! Obi-Wan frowns and raises an eyebrow - and the reason he didn't retreat to the safe room they installed specifically for this type of scenario was? Anakin looks at his feet as Jango laughs and says the kid was too busy pointing the lightsaber at him and demanding to know what he’d done with Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan sighs. Forcedammit Anakin! Can't you listen for once in your life?!

Meanwhile in the catacombs beneath the droid factory Shaak Ti and Tholme run into an injured Quinlan - he’s been using his psychometry to navigate but he hasn't been so good at avoiding all the patrols and is beginning to tire. As he explains, he has a stash of explosives courtesy of Obi-Wan - if placed correctly the “Skywalker Specials” should be capable of bringing down the entire complex. No-one quite wants to think about why Kenobi would be carrying around that much firepower, but they're not about to look a gift eopie in the mouth. With two Jedi Masters to back him up Quinlan sets about finishing the job. Then they can collect the rest of their party and blow this joint. Literally.

Back with Qui-Gon and Plo, who have been slowly infiltrating the complex and they’ve found the prison cells and by proxy Anakin and Obi-Wan. Plo stays back to watch for guards while Qui-Gon attempts to break them out. Unfortunately Dooku was expecting this, and was lurking in the shadows - he knows his former padawan, and there’s no way he wouldn’t come running to the rescue. The trap has been well baited.  Now it’s very simple - Qui-Gon puts down his lightsaber and the boys don’t get hurt. Anakin swears in impressively vugar huttese. Obi-Wan admonishes him - insults should be given in a language your captor understands! Cue the lightning. Qui-Gon’s anger is immense and Dooku revels in it- come now, feel your power!

They duel, hard and fast, and are so focused on one another that they don’t notice Plo cutting power to the restraints and Obi-Wan and Anakin wriggling their way out. Battle droids prevent their escape however, and after an impressive display of lightsaber skills and a frantic chase through the complex they all end up trapped in that infamous arena watching as Qui-Gon and Dooku battle it out in the stands above. And they’re getting worried - the droids seem never ending and Obi-Wan swears he can almost see a flash of gold in Qui-Gon’s eyes...

And then the air seems to explode.

Skywalker Specials are nothing to joke about.

Destruction and debris rains down everywhere and there is chaos. Of course at just the worst moment Jango Fett shows up again - if he takes back his prize he might still collect on the Coruscant bounty - only to be taken out with a single stroke by the sudden arrival of scorched and burnt, but still completely composed, Shaak Ti. Behind her is the transport which has landed in the arena - they weren’t counting on quite that blast radius, but the ship is still space worthy if they can find a way to make it through the lockdown.

Qui-Gon and Dooku’s battle has been disrupted by the collapse of the area they were standing on, and a frantic call from Anakin has Qui-Gon racing back to the rest of the group and they take off. Despite Plo’s expert piloting (Anakin is impressed) they reach an impasse where they cannot make it through the cordon, and Dooku hails them telling them they have fought well, but escape is impossible, and if they set down immediately perhaps he might find it in himself to be merciful...

Only to be cut off in an instant and for a new transmission replace him. It’s Shmi, and she’s brought the rest of Qui-Gon’s fleet. Dooku obviously hasn’t learned his lesson yet, do they need a rescue?  Honestly she can’t leave them alone for a week without this sort of thing happening, and what’s this she hears about a Jedi made slave army!?

So they’re back to relative safety, many hugs and lectures on reckless behaviour ensue, but all is not done. The droid factory (and much of the capital) is destroyed, but the war goes on, technically Qui-Gon has outright attacked a CIS planet in conjunction with Republic forces which could be construed him choosing a side,  and they still have a clone army to deal with. Whatever they do they need to move quickly, before certain things become public knowledge and political factors come into play.

It is in the holoconference with the council that Yoda and Mace reveal that they think they might have a solution. They are grim, but there’s a twinkle in the old frog’s eye that Qui-Gon doesn’t trust. He really begins to worry when Mace gracefully tips his head to Padmé (who is currently with them in the council chambers) and thanks her for her assistance in working out the details.

As Mace points out, the clones have been made for the Jedi. Not, technically, for the Republic. Additionally, to their knowledge the only ones outside the Kaminoans (whose discretion is unimpeachable) that know about the circumstances of the their creation are part of this conference. Further production has been immediately halted and measures put in place to ensure no further orders can be made, but there still remains the question of what to do with the existing clones. They will only serve the Jedi, but they can’t exactly keep them in the temple without anyone noticing. Mace then smiles. On an unrelated note, you do realise don’t you Master Jinn that you never formally resigned from the Order?

Qui-Gon protests - he’s a pirate now! He lies, cheats and steals! He hasn’t been beholden to the Council’s orders in years!  Mace gives him a look because honestly there’s nothing new about any of that, but before he can say anything Yoda butts in.

“Follow the Force, you do not?”

“What? No, the Will of the Force is ever my guide but…”

“Then serve the Dark, you do?”

“Never.”

“Our teachings entirely you forsake?”

“No…”

“Then a Jedi you remain. Unless that title you would reject?”

And Qui-Gon is torn, because yes, he doesn’t consider himself a member of the Order any more, but he is still a Jedi at heart. He may have incorporated more than a few old ideas considered heretical these days, but fundamentally it is Jedi training he teaches Anakin and Jedi philosophy that guides his decision making. And, looking at Obi-Wan’s wide eyes, he is not the only one to have been holding on to old notions of identity. So he does not deny it.

“Then resolved it is.” Yoda finishes smugly. “Sad, it is, that our records are incomplete. Missing, are the records of Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker. Remain so, they will.”

Obi-Wan gasps. Qui-Gon glares. “That’s cheating.”

“Learned much from me, your old master did.”

“We’re not going to suddenly start following the Order’s edicts again. For a start Satine would kill me if she lost her husband.”

Yoda looks very old, and more than a little weary.

“Tumultuous times these are. Not for all is our path. But rigid, we always were not.  Perhaps a new approach is needed hm? Jedi we are, not machines. Remember that we must. Interfere, we will not.”

Qui-Gon is speechless. That is… groundbreaking. And brain breaking. And says something about how worried they are if Yoda is even considering this.   

Mace interrupts the shattering of centuries of tradition to bring them back on track; they can discuss the legalities later. What is important is that technically they can give Qui-Gon the authority for the clones, even if it remains off the books in all but the sealed council records. That puts them outside Republic control, but still under a command the clones likely to accept and will support their rights to self autonomy (Shmi starts beaming in the background. She’s already making plans on how to adapt the existing support structures). Obi-Wan pipes up - that still doesn’t answer the question of what exactly they are going to do with all these trained soldiers.

Queen Amidala coughs delicately. The Kaminoans were paid in advance from a hidden fund large enough to create, train and equip millions of clones. Even taking into account the penalty for early dissolution of the contract and the portion needed to pay for those still in training, there are sufficient credits in the fund to support the much smaller number of existing batches for some time. And Ryloth does remain under siege... Perhaps once the pressure is off they might be amenable to a similar arrangement to that which Mandalore and Naboo have? Aggressively enforced neutrality in exchange for unofficial support? Their resources should be able to cover the extra system and her sources on-planet suggest that the people have grown cynical about their importance to the Republic.

That.. might just work, Qui-Gon thinks. Providing of course that they succeed in taking Ryloth. It would even dispel any attempts to accuse him of consorting with the Republic - after all you don’t go an steal planets from governments you’re allied with. And it does seem like appropriate retaliation for the head of the CIS taking his family members captive. The only issue is preventing the Jedi from being involved in the backlash. After all, Quinlan’s face had been plastered all over Geonosis, and the Senate will no doubt want answers.

This time it’s Master Gallia who smiles and asks the Jedi on board the “Will of the Force” how they feel about taking up a life of piracy? After all, if they’re going to be transferring the clones to Qui-Gon’s command, he’s going to need a few more Jedi to help coordinate things...

So that is the story of how Qui-Gon and company gained an army, another planet under their protection, and three more Jedi recruits (Tholme wasn’t spotted on Geonosis and decides to stick with the Order for now - too many masters leaving would be suspicious and he can take the opportunity to tag other Jedi who might benefit from exploring a new career. Aayla Secura is top of his list, and there’s a youngling in the creche who Plo has told him to keep an eye on too).

They fit right in. Shaak Ti and Shmi are fast friends, and promptly adopt all the clones, who watch them corral the unruly mess of Mandalorians/Freedom Fighters/Pirates that make up Qui-Gon’s fleet in awe. Plo steals a couple to teach Anakin about the intricacies of flying in formation, inadvertently creating the beginnings of the Wolf Pack. Quinlan Vos was born to be a pirate and revels in the freedom to finally take out some of the sleemos he’s been wanting to deal with for years, but couldn’t without risking his covers. He makes Obi-Wan tag along - it’s so nice to have his old friend at his side! Qui-Gon is torn between being happy to have other Jedi around and the despair of realising that he has now become the de facto grandmaster of his own pseudo-order. He can hear Mace’s laughter half the galaxy away.   

Satine is exasperated. Why does her family do things like this without telling her! On the other hand it all worked out in the end; she now has an entire clan of fairly sensible babysitters (both for the children and the Jedi who act like them), a new set of Twilek friends to talk revolutionary politics with, and an entire new set of legends to keep her people happy. She should probably have a chat to Padmé though - they may need to adjust their long term plans a little. After all, they now actually have a chance at changing the galaxy within their lifetime...  

Ok, that’s enough for now! The stage is set- all parties are in place just in time for the shenanigans of the true Clone Wars to start once Anakin is fully grown! Because there are still plots to discover and Sith to foil, and a galaxy in need of sorting out. But that’s a story for another time. :)

[dasha-nova]

David Wong ‘John Dies at the End’ Quotes – P. I

“Hello?” “Dave? This is John. Your pimp says bring the heroin shipment tonight, or he’ll be forced to stick you. Meet him where we buried the Korean whore. The one without the goatee.” That was code. It meant “Come to my place as soon as you can, it’s important.” Code, you know, in case the phone was bugged. “John, it’s three in the—” “Oh, and don’t forget, tomorrow is the day we kill the president.” Click. He was gone. That last part was code for, “Stop and pick me up some cigarettes on the way.” Actually, the phone probably was bugged, but I was confident the people doing it could just as easily do some kind of remote intercept of our brain waves if they wanted, so it was moot.

Shelly lived in a simple two-story farmhouse, black shutters on white siding. It sat on an island of turf in a sea of harvest-flattened cornfields. We walked past a mailbox shaped like a cow and saw a hand-painted sign on the front door that read THE MORRISON’S—ESTABLISHED 1962. John and I had a long debate at the door about whether or not that apostrophe belonged there.

“You see, because John and I have this thing where we’re both seeing completely different versions of you. Now, John has eyesight problems because of his constant masturbation, but I don’t think—” She burst into snakes.

I heard Molly plop down on the floor below. I reached down to pet her and she licked my hand the way dogs do. I wondered why in the world they felt the need to do that. I’ve often thought about trying it the next time somebody got their fingers close to my mouth, like at the dentist. John came back twenty minutes later, wearing what must have been the smallest towel he could find.

The man-shaped arrangement of meat rose up, as if functioning as one body. It pushed itself up on two arms made of game hens and country bacon, planting two hands with sausage-link fingers on the floor. The phrase “sodomized by a bratwurst poltergeist” suddenly flew through my mind. Finally it stood fully upright, looking like the mascot for a butcher shop whose profits went entirely to support the owner’s acid habit.

Molly came by just then, trotting along like everything was just A-OK in Dogland. Then she noticed some meat standing nearby and started happily chewing on a six-inch-wide tube of bologna serving as the thing’s ankle.

They say Los Angeles is like The Wizard of Oz. One minute it’s small-town monochrome neighborhoods and then boom—all of a sudden you’re in a sprawling Technicolor freak show, dense with midgets. Unfortunately, this story does not take place in Los Angeles. The place I was sitting was a small city in the Midwest which will remain undisclosed for reasons that will become obvious later. I was at a restaurant called “They China Food!” which was owned by a couple of brothers from the Czech Republic who, as far as I could tell, didn’t know a whole lot about China or food.

“Hey,” I mumbled. “Are you Arnie?” “Yeah. Did you doze off there?” He shook my hand. “Uh, no. I was just tryin’ to rub somethin’ off the back of my eyelid. I’m David Wong. Good to meet ya”.

He said, “Okay. Your family live around here?” Getting right to it, then. “I was adopted. Never knew my real dad. You could be my dad, for all I know. Are you my dad?” “Eh, I don’t think so."

It squatted and peed on the grass, ran over to another spot and peed there, too. Marking this whole new world as its territory. It came toward me at a trot, the chain hissing through the grass behind it. It sniffed around my shoes, decided I was dead, I guess, and began snuffling around my pockets to see if I had died with any beef jerky on me.

A brass tag, on its collar. Etched with a message. I’M MOLLY. PLEASE RETURN ME TO . . . . . . with an address in Undisclosed listed below. At least seven miles from home. I wondered how long it had taken the animal to etch that tag.

The Jamaican turned his gaze on me, trying to pull off the piercing stare of the exotic voodoo priest. It was an expression that was supposed to make me hear theremin music in my head. “You gotta love the skeptic, mon,” the guy said in a rubber accent that was part Jamaican, part Irish and part pirate.

His gaze froze on me. I had a familiar, nervous sensation, one that goes all the way back to elementary school. It’s the simultaneous realization that I may have talked my way into another fistfight, and that I had not spent any time learning to fight since the last one.

“Do you dream, mon? I interpret dreams for beer.” That’s the town of Undisclosed in a nutshell. This run-down half city with more weirdos per capita than you’ll find anywhere outside of San Francisco. We should have that printed on the green population sign coming into town: WELCOME TO [UNDISCLOSED]. DREAMS INTERPRETED FOR BEER.

I almost launched myself at the guy. But, once again a probable trip to the hospital was avoided by physical cowardice. This guy could probably kick my ass even without magical powers. I was so wired at this point I had the insane urge to punch one of those girls instead. Probably lose that fight, too.

“You know what, mon, why don’t you take your fake Jamaican accent and get back on the boat to Fake Jamaica,” is another thing it would have been cool to say, had I thought of it. Instead I sort of mumbled and made a dismissive motion with my hand as I stumbled into the crowd, acting like the conversation failed to hold my interest.

“You like so few people, Dave. He’s cool. He bet me a beer he could guess my weight. Got it on the first try. Amazing stuff.” “Do you even know how much you weigh?” “Not exactly. But he couldn’t have been off by more than a few pounds.”

TELLING THE STORY now, I’m tempted to say something like, “Who would have thought that John would help bring about the end of the world?” I won’t say that, though, because most of us who grew up with John thought he would help end the world somehow.

But I told him if he ever got into that kind of trouble again without telling me I would not only kick his ass, but would in fact beat him until he died, then pursue him into the afterlife and beat his eternal soul. So John being spaced out on crank or crack or skank tonight wasn’t reason to declare a national holiday, but at least he came to me this time.

From day one it was like society was this violent, complicated dance and everybody had taken lessons but me. Knocked to the floor again and again, climbing to my feet each time, bloody and humiliated. Always met with disapproving faces, waiting for me to leave so I’d stop fucking up the party. They wanted to push me outside, where the freaks huddled in the cold. Out there with the misfits, the broken, glazed-eye types who can only watch as the normals enjoy their shiny new cars and careers and marriages and vacations with the kids. The freaks spend their lives shambling around, wondering how they got left out, mumbling about conspiracy theories and Bigfoot sightings. Their encounters with the world are marked by awkward conversations and stifled laughter, hidden smirks and rolled eyes. And worst of all, pity. Sitting there on that night in April, I pictured myself getting shoved out there with them, the sound of doors locking behind me. Welcome to freakdom, Dave. It’ll be time to start a Web site soon, where you’ll type out everything in one huge paragraph. It was like dying.

“Woof!” “Shut up!” “WOOF!” “Hey! I said shut up! Get your feet off my car!” “WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!” “Shut up! Shut up! Shut! Up!” This went on for longer than I care to admit, and it ended with me getting out and leaning my seat forward so Molly could jump into the back. Yes, the entire spiraling trajectory my life took since that night was because I lost a debate with a dog.

John was always bitching about “Wally” and how greedy “Wally” was and how he should have given me a raise by now. He didn’t realize that there was no person named “Wally” in the Wally’s organization. That was the name of the DVD-shaped mascot on the store’s sign. I never had the heart to tell him.

“That bratwurst was three bucks? Holy crap. Okay. Give me a second. All right. Check between the sausage and the bun. You’ll find a hundred dollar bill folded up in there.” Encouraged that maybe all this black magic could actually produce something positive, I fingered around under the sausage for a few seconds. “Nothing here, John.” “Okay. I guess I can’t do that. Do you have your ATM card?"

A round, frosty lump the size of a coffee can tumbled out of the freezer, fell to the floor, rolled to a stop two feet away from me. I stared at it, stared into the open, empty freezer. I steeled my courage— —then turned and ran my ass off.