Chapter 60 (Patreon)

The Rodian spaceport looked as though it had been built right into the dense greenery: just beyond the perimeter fence rose a wall of jungle, its broad leaves glistening in the humid heat. Landing pads stretched between low buildings of dark metal and greenish stone. Above them towered maintenance cranes, fuel towers, and landing beacons flickering through the warm haze. The air smelled of wet earth, rotting vegetation, machine oil, and something spicy—a scent distinctly local to this world. Engines hummed constantly, sentients (mostly Rodians) chatted among themselves, droids whistled and beeped, and cargo carts, both wheeled and repulsorlift, bustled back and forth between the ships.

“We have to admit we let him slip away this time,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said with a resigned sigh, regret audible in his voice.

“We…?” Anakin glanced sidelong at his master.

“We,” Obi-Wan replied with an unruffled nod.

“We…” His apprentice raised his right eyebrow skeptically.

“Yes, we.” Kenobi was the picture of calm and serenity.

“So it wasn’t YOU, Master, who decided to ‘wait for a better moment’—it was US?”

“Is there something you’d like to say, Padawan?”

“Oh…” Anakin rolled his eyes skyward. “Sometimes I have a lot I’d like to say, but today I’ll keep it to myself. Out of my immense respect for you, of course.”

“How noble,” Obi-Wan said, with just a trace of irony in his voice.

“Still,” the young man said with a heavy sigh, “our target got away, our ship is out of commission, and the locals don’t seem particularly eager to help Jedi for free.”

“I expected more nobility and selflessness from the Rodians…”

“Master,” Anakin said, unable to hide a slight grimace. “Joking aside, could we maybe start bringing enough credits on missions for more than food and one quick patch-up of the ship? I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve come up short.”

“You place too much importance on money.” Obi-Wan gave him a faint smile.

The Padawan didn’t protest. His master hadn’t meant that he was greedy.

“Credits are a resource,” Anakin said with a shrug. “A resource that would make things much easier if we had enough of it.”

“But if you rely on nothing else when things get difficult…”

“I understand, Master.” The young man nodded in agreement with a quiet sigh.

The older Jedi was right, too. They had discussed this before, more than once. As far as Anakin’s training was concerned, it really was better to resort to money as little as possible. You could say the Jedi were making things harder for themselves, but that was the point: to learn to find other routes to a goal instead of simply paying for the easiest one. To use a little cunning, show some ingenuity, negotiate, make contacts, and build relationships.

Of course, Skywalker’s restless nature drew him more toward action—chases and thrilling battles. But Jedi work didn’t always involve… the exciting stuff. Take their current mission, for example: find one slippery character and ask him a few questions. Then, based on his answers, decide what to do with him—let him go on his way or bring him back to the Temple for further investigation.

Their target was a man with a rather shady past. Smuggling, fraud, theft. Now he was traveling from world to world, conducting some sort of propaganda campaign—unusual work for him—aimed at stirring up separatist sentiment across Republic space. Of course, a single sentient was unlikely to have much effect on the situation in the Republic. But that situation was already volatile, for one thing, and for another, he was hardly the only agitator out there.

For Knight Kenobi and his Padawan, though, the easiest place to start was their current target. Find him, get some answers, and ideally learn who had hired him. Sure, it was obviously someone among those stirring up trouble, but they needed actual names (Anakin would have bet on that vindictive Neimoidian bastard Gunray, though he admitted he wasn’t exactly impartial on the subject)… or at least the names of the organizations involved. The Jedi needed to know whom they should be dealing with if they hoped to calm things down in the Republic. Other Jedi were dealing with the other sentients who, like Kenobi and Anakin’s target, were stoking discontent.

There were, frankly, very few Jedi to go around, but they had to make do. Right now, almost everyone, from investigators to diplomats, was working to contain the growing crisis. They were looking for ways to calm things down, smooth over tensions, find the instigators so they could…

Anakin couldn’t say exactly what came next: negotiate? Arrest them? Find out what all this was meant to achieve? What did the corporations—and sometimes even the governments of entire star systems—ultimately want? Why was this… unrest being whipped up more and more across Republic space?

Unfortunately, the slippery character Anakin and Obi-Wan were after had no intention of making the Jedi’s lives easier. Rodia was the third planet they had reached in pursuit of their target, and along the way they had faced a string of setbacks and obstacles almost certainly arranged by the man they were chasing. The most serious setback had been the recent sabotage of their shuttle, which ruled out a quick repair and any immediate resumption of the chase: some of its equipment was now mangled scrap, while other parts needed extensive repairs that could take three or four days.

“I can feel your frustration, Padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “Don’t let it get to you. Now we know for certain that Eric Tichke is running from us, which means he has a reason to. In a way, the mine that went off aboard our ship has given us a free hand.”

“Before, we were pursuing a suspect,” Anakin agreed.

“And now we’re pursuing a criminal.” His master nodded. “He was hardly a model of virtue before, but now he’s given us grounds to take decisive action.”

“Now we just need a way to do it,” the Padawan remarked with a sour smile.

“You’re too skeptical, Anakin. We only need to open our eyes a little wider and listen closely. The Force will present us with an opportunity.”

To be honest, young Skywalker would have preferred something… more tangible. He wanted to control the situation himself, rather than rely on something that…

“A-a-a-ni-i-i-ka-a-ay!” someone suddenly shouted, making the Jedi apprentice stumble in surprise.

“Listen closely, huh?” He glanced at his master, who merely smiled as he turned toward the voice. A woman’s voice, to be precise.

A short figure in a hooded black robe waved frantically at the Jedi with her right hand while pulling back her hood with her left. It was Karray—the daughter of the sorcerer from Jabiim, a girl a few years younger than Anakin whom he had met only a couple of times. Even so, he thought of her as a very close friend.

They had kept in touch, too. Not often, but Karray sent him letters. They never mentioned Mom, so as not to… hmm… worry the senior members of the Order. But from the calm tone of her letters, Anakin could tell that his mother was all right. From the girl’s latest letter, for instance, he had learned that Alto Stratus and his family were vacationing on Shili. Beaches, oceans, plenty of meat, and the friendly relatives of his mother’s friend, Romri Tano.

Each message from the girl brought Anakin peace and joy. Mom was all right; things were going well for her. Anakin’s own letters to Karray were much the same. He left out the details of his missions and assignments, but tried to convey the main point between the lines: he was healthy and wasn’t having any trouble.

Of course, the senior Jedi probably wouldn’t have encouraged this correspondence, but Anakin and Karray exchanged messages infrequently, and their contents were neutral. They never touched on anything someone else might interpret as… hmm… a violation of the Order’s rules. And since the JMG and the Temple were on fairly good terms now, Anakin quite reasonably figured no one would have any serious objections.

“Your tour guide from Jabiim,” Obi-Wan stated the obvious. “And company,” he added, studying the two sentients walking beside Siith’khara’Dziha’s daughter.

“Yeah,” the young man replied sagely, waving back. He and his master headed toward Karray as she hurried to meet them, flanked by a Gungan and a Togruta.

The red-skinned woman was probably Romri Tano—the pilot of the cruiser Rung, a mage with a remarkable fondness for money. Beautiful and graceful, like all Togruta, she was dressed rather lightly and wore two blasters at her belt.

DH-17. Anakin recognized the model at once. Good little guns: cheap, low-maintenance, and ideal for fighting aboard a starship. There was one small catch: civilians weren’t allowed to carry them on many worlds. The Padawan was certain, though, that any issues with carrying weapons on Rodia had already been settled.

The same went for the girl’s other companion and his Gungan military shock spear, which looked traditional at first glance. The young Jedi’s keen eye easily spotted a couple of modifications to the thrusting polearm. And the heavy DL-44 blaster pistol at his belt. A powerful weapon that civilians were likewise forbidden to carry.

Those two are obviously acting as her bodyguards, the young man concluded.

Besides, the Padawan knew of the girl’s other companion, the Gungan. Not personally, but Karray had written to him about “Uncle Koit,” who “totally makes people go kaput with his spear.”

“Anikay! Hi!!!” the sorcerer’s daughter exclaimed happily when the two groups met. “And hi to you too, old man!” Her next broad smile was for Anakin’s master.

“My name’s Anakin,” the Padawan said with a smile. The girl was always mangling his name, even in her letters. He’d… gotten used to it by now, probably? Besides, childish jokes had never bothered him. “And don’t call him ‘old man.’ He’s my Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. And yes, hi, Karray. I didn’t expect to see you on Rodia.”

“I’m here on a business trip. Guild business,” the young sorceress announced, lifting her nose with an air of importance that nearly made Anakin laugh. The little redhead, her face under attack from a swarm of impish freckles, didn’t look nearly as important as she hoped. “Dad entrusted me with some very serious adaptation work… Oh! Wait! I forgot! Mostest esteemed Jedi, allow me to introduce my companions! This is Romri Tano! My friend and the pilot of the Rung. And this is Uncle Koit. He’s awesome! Like, super awesome! He took down the Morgukai who took down your Master Tholme—with one hit!”

“Me, I had help from my friends, though,” the Gungan added modestly. At the same time, he struck a dramatic fighting pose and thrust the tip of his spear at an imaginary opponent.

The Gungan, incidentally, had given a thoroughly professional demonstration of a thrust from a half-crouch. Fast and forceful. Koit’s deft, fluid movements were nothing like those of the comically clumsy Jar Jar, Anakin’s friend from back on Naboo. Even if it was all for show, his attack on empty air looked… like the work of a professional warrior.

“Yes, yes, that looked good.” The Togruta nodded a couple of times with a weary sigh. “Uncle Koit really showed what he could do that day.”

“Hey, I’m not much older than you, though!” the Gungan protested at once, flicking his long ears. “Auntie Romri!”

“Who, me?!” The woman with the montrals and lekku bristled. “Auntie?! Now you’re gonna go completely kaput, you amphibian!”

“Fight!!!” Karray cried gleefully.

“No fighting,” said a new face in a voice that brooked no argument… or rather, a new helmet. A Mandalorian fully clad in beskar’gam placed one hand on the Togruta’s shoulder and the other on the Gungan’s. “We’re on the job. You can have your fun later.”

“Who’s having fun?” the girl with the blasters grumbled, adjusting her lekku.

“Greetings, Jedi.” Ignoring the Togruta’s muttering, the armored warrior nodded to Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“Arvik?” Anakin’s master asked, returning the Mando’s nod.

“That’s me.”

“I’ve heard about you from Knight Bol Chatak.”

“Hmm…” The warrior went still for a moment, apparently thinking. “The Zabrak Jedi from the Hammerhead? Sensible girl.”

“What Zabrak? The one from that cruiser Dad captured and then sold to Uncle Alto?” Karray, briefly disappointed that there would be no fight, immediately switched topics, curiosity glinting in her scarlet eyes.

“Yes,” the Mandalorian answered curtly. “You know them, microboss?”

“Hey, don’t call me that!” the girl protested, planting her hands on her hips. “This is Anakin Skywalker and his master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Oh, Shmi’s son.” The Mandalorian’s voice warmed by a degree or two. “Anyway, microboss, did you get what you wanted from the Rung?”

“My name isn’t ‘microboss,’” the girl muttered. “Yes, I did, and no, we’re not going anywhere right now! Can’t you see I ran into Anikay?”

“Anakin,” the Padawan corrected her.

“I’m not rushing you.” The Mandalorian shrugged his armored shoulders. The Jedi apprentice sensed a trace of displeasure from the warrior. He clearly did want to hurry her along, though…

“Good! Ani, what are you two doing here on Rodia? Secret mission? Fighting crime? Catching a Sith?”

“Um…”

“Wait, wait—aren’t you the Jedi whose shuttle got half blown up a couple of days ago?”

“Technically, it wasn’t half the shuttle, just half its guts…” the young man said with a slightly embarrassed sigh. “Word’s already gotten around?”

“I heard Grandpa Ot talking about it with a friend. He’s a minister here on Rodia and the head of a clan. Like, the hunters weren’t happy that somebody was making the spaceport look bad when Maru clan warriors help guard it. Grandpa was really mad at some… um… Eric Chickie?”

“Eric Tichke,” Obi-Wan corrected her.

“Yeah, him! There’s already a bounty on his head. I heard Uncle Chon, Grandpa Ot’s son, has started putting together a team of hunters to catch this Eric guy.”

“Well, I didn’t expect us to cause such a stir,” Obi-Wan said, surprised.

“Nah, it’s not because of you.” The girl waved a hand. “The Grand Protector happened to come by and saw a plume of smoke rising from your starship. Apparently, he wasn’t happy about saboteurs doing whatever they wanted at Rodia’s spaceport. He made his displeasure known to the clans that were in charge of security at the time. So that guy trashed your shuttle and then ran off?”

“Looks like it,” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Liiisten, Old Man Obi, Anakin…”

“Karray, that’s a bad idea,” the Mandalorian cut in at once.

“A very bad idea, though,” Koit the Gungan agreed.

“If it’s for free, a hundred percent,” the Togruta said with a nod.

“So you guys don’t have a ship now, right?” the sorcerer’s daughter asked, completely ignoring her bodyguards.

“No, but Karray, this isn’t a job for children,” Anakin said, his master nodding in agreement.

“Why?!” the Togruta cried, throwing up her hands.

“Kaput…” the Gungan sighed.

“Erk,” the Mando grunted beneath his helmet.

“Look who’s talking.” The girl folded her arms. “You’re not much older than me yourself. What is it, three years? Four? Anyway, if you don’t want to come with us, we’ll fly out and catch that Titchy guy for Grandpa ourselves.”

“Karray… ahem, ahem…”

“Bless you, Old Man Obi. Try not to cough,” the girl said with a broad smile. “If you’re sick, I can heal you! For free!”

“But what would Master Siith say about your plan?” Ignoring the “generous offer,” Anakin’s master sighed. It was a familiar sound: Obi-Wan sighed like that whenever Anakin brought up certain plans of his own.

“What? Same as always: put on all your protective artifacts, listen to Uncle Arvik, and don’t cause too much mayhem.”

“Uncle Arvik says this is a bad idea,” the Mando observed.

“Nah, the idea’s fire! We’ll bring Pancake, Uncle Chon and his hunters… By the way, where did that Birdie fly off to?”

Anakin was about to argue further, but his master beat him to it.

“We don’t know.” “Old Man Obi” shook his head. “After sabotaging our shuttle, he’ll most likely lie low. Smugglers often have two or three quiet places where they can wait out trouble.”

“Smuggle-e-e-ers?” The girl perked up and pulled out a comlink.

Ten seconds later, she selected one of the contacts on the holographic display.

“Listen, Karray…” Anakin began, but a look from his master and a hand on his shoulder silenced him.

“Wait, Padawan.”

“But…”

“I have a feeling young Karray won’t let this idea go.”

“She won’t,” the Togruta agreed with a sour smile and a nod. “And she might very well go looking for Titch on her own.”

“She might, though,” the Gungan confirmed.

“But isn’t she supposed to be here on a… business trip?” Anakin made one last attempt.

“Oh, big deal. I’ll finish later. Besides, the other mages are working on it right now.” The girl waved off his objection as she listened to the comlink ring. “Oh!”

The holographic call screen vanished, replaced by the head of a horned Devaronian. From the look of him, the sorcerer’s daughter had woken him up.

“Hi, Uncle Villie!”

“Mmm…” The Devaronian ran through a whole range of emotions: irritation at being woken, surprise, uncertainty. Finally, his face broke into a broad, professionally warm smile. “Ahhh! Little Karray! Uncle Villie is so happy to see and hear you! Did something happen?”

“Yes! Uncle Villie, I’m looking for a man. A smuggler!”

“A smuggler?” the Devaronian repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, his name’s Eric Tichke. But he’s hiding. You don’t happen to know where that jerk might have holed up, do you?”

“Mmm… Villie knows Tichke,” said “Uncle Villie” with a nod. “What did that Coruscanti do?”

“Can you believe it? He called me… ME! A fat bantha! And ran away! Then he blew up my friend’s shuttle, too! Seriously! He made Grandpa look bad, and now Grandpa’s in trouble! Anyway, Uncle Villie, will you help me find that Titchy guy?”

“Mmm… Karray, sweetheart… Villie would help, but we… extreme traders have certain rules…”

“Uncle Villie, a pass to get any ten ailments cured, and I won’t ask how you got them.”

“Make it twenty, and you don’t tell Shelly a thing,” the Devaronian said quickly.

“Deal!” the girl agreed at once.

“Wonderful.” The horned man beamed. “Villie will send you the coordinates of that scoundrel’s hideouts. Calling you a fat bantha—the nerve of him. He must be out of his mind…”

“Yeah, yeah, a total jerk.” The redhead nodded quickly. “I’ll be waiting, okay?”

“You’ll have them in ten minutes,” the Devaronian said with a solemn nod.

“Thank you! Bye-bye!”

“Good luck, little one. If you need anything…”

“Call Uncle Villie!”

The hologram went dark, and the girl gave Anakin a sly look, a satisfied smile on her face and mischief in her red eyes.

“See?”

“I’m impressed,” the young man sighed—and realized, to his surprise, that the sigh was familiar. It sounded exactly like his master’s.

“But Master Siith…” Obi-Wan began.

“Right! I need to call Dad!” Without letting the Jedi finish, the girl poked at the holographic display again and selected another contact.

“He’s not going to let her, is he…?” Anakin looked at the Gungan with a sense of impending doom he couldn’t quite explain to himself.

“Boss-sa, you mean?” The “awesome Uncle Koit” rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Want me to get the Rung ready for takeoff?” Romri Tano jabbed the Mandalorian in the side with her elbow.

“Do it.” The warrior in beskar’gam dipped his helmet in a curt nod.