DbD Thirty-Three: Brentaal, Part Two (Patreon)

Ali’ya huffed as they were dismissed from class, shouldering her bag. Long strides led her out the door before the rest of class.

“Excuse me?”

Ali’ya turned at the voice, stopping in the middle of the hallway. A student--male and human, probably late teens and good twenty centimeters shorter than her--bumped into her. Ali’ya barely moved, her eyes following the glaring student as he stalked off.

She turned back to the voice who caught her attention. Another human, though older. “Yes?”

“Ali’ya, correct?” the human asked. “Alyse Dajaal, of the Dajaal family. She/her.”

Not just of them, Ali’ya thought as she shook the human’s hand. The head of them too. “She/her as well. It’s an honor to meet you,” Ali’ya said politely. “I can’t help but ask though . . .”

“Why I’m here?” Alyse smirked. “I heard tell of a new student that was making waves at the Academy. An old friend of mine passed along your essay about the effects of free trade on intra-planetary firms. I found your analysis insightful.”

“I--thank you,” Ali’ya smiled, trying not to blow it. “I had no idea my essay was being passed around such high circles.”

“Oh, just something between old friends,” Alyse dismissed. “Though if you don’t mind, I would love to hear your thoughts on the new treaty with Denon? I’m hosting a gathering next week, perhaps you could attend.”

“I’d be delighted,” Ali’ya agreed, taking the invitation (written on actual paper, thick and glossy cardstock). “Zhellday?”

“Indeed,” Alyse agreed. “I’ll have someone pick you up around seven post-meridian, local time. I trust you have formalwear?”

“Both traditional and modern,” Ali’ya agreed. As part of her disguise (the daughter of a successful merchant on Togoria who hoped for better connections with the wider galaxy) Ali’ya had both formal dresses and the traditional Togorian robes.

“Traditional, perhaps?” Alyse suggested. “It is such a delight to see the many cultures that come to our dear planet, and I would very much like to see some of that famous Togorian craftsmanship.”

Ali’ya nodded. “I’ll bring the best example I can.”

*

Ali’ya arrived at the campus gates early. Wrapped around her and belted at the waist was the tradition Togorian robe, brocaded with Tyrannosaurs, anvils, hammers, and gusting winds in honor of her accomplishments and abilities. For all her clothes hailed from a planet some twenty-thousand lightyears away as the purgil flies they fit well with the surroundings. Despite its location at the heart of Cormund (Brentaal’s capital city) the Academy was filled with greenery. Native grasses and elm trees lined the walkway, spaced around neatly manicured beds of flowers that ranged from blue irises, crimson tulips, pinks, yellow daffodils, and dark orchids. The sky, freed from pollution thanks to millenia of carbon-scrubbing machines, was a beautiful blue as Brenta smiled down upon them.

A speeder--shining grey with red trimming--flew down the street, coming to a stop just in front of Ali’ya. The window rolled down. Ali’ya quirked her brow at the sight but stepped in, sitting down in the passenger seat.

“I didn’t expect you to pick me up personally,” Ali’ya said. “Thank--”

“Save it,” Alyse cut her off. “Can you scan for bugs?”

Ali’ya frowned. “I’m not sure--” She halted, staring at Alyse’s hands as she spelled out the word Jedi in Basic Handsign. How? Ali’ya wondered, but discard the question for now. If Alyse Dajaal had reason to believe she was being bugged, the speeder wasn’t a safe place for the conversation. Not before she could clear it. Ali’ya forced herself to relax, letting go of the tensions of school and the questions Alyse Dajaal’s actions. She slipped into the Force, not deeply, just enough to sense the intentions around her. There was the loud anxiety, desperation, and hope coming from Alyse. She could feel the fear, concentration, determination, and desperation--as well as a healthy mix of lust, love, affection, and distaste--from the people of the college. She could feel the soft, steady presence of the elms, the unyielding oak trees further into the campus, the whisper-thin presence of the grass. Ali’ya pushed forward, looking for the light touches of intention that clung to technology. There was listen-wait-hunt near the dashboard. Fear-confirm-confusion in the console. Hurt-use-turn in the back seat. Ali’ya shifted. Opening the glove compartment was enough of a cover for her to extend her claws, tearing through synth-leather to get to the first hidden bug. The second was torn from the console in a similar fashion while the last she managed to dig out without breaking anything.

“Three bugs,” Ali’ya told the shocked noblewoman. “Now, tell me how you knew who I was.”

The noblewoman had the audacity to roll her eyes, something that had Ali’ya on the edge of growling. “As soon as you started making waves I had someone look up your name. Your cover held well, but you didn’t even both changing your name. Between the Mandos and the Trade Federation it wasn’t hard to learn about the young Jedi.”

“And you decided to talk to me instead of my Master because?”

“Your master is on planet?” Alyse asked incredulously. “Where--”

“He’s busy defusing the bombs your group keeps planting,” Ali’ya hissed.

Alyse shrunk back at that. “I--I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. That’s not what I wanted. I just . . . my family makes electronics. The rest of the Houses might be fine with the Denon trade agreement, but we’ll be swamped. Denon factories pay less than a quarter of what we do, there’s no way we’ll be able to compete, but all anything else sees in profits in imports and exports. I--I just wanted someone to listen.”

“And someone did.”

Alyse nodded, gulping slightly. “I don’t know who they are. But they connected me to people. Powerful people. I--I can’t turn back now. I need you. Please, Jedi, help me.”

Ali’ya breathed in deeply, seeking guidance from the Force. She pushed a brief description towards her master. The further away they were, the harder it was to communicate over the bond though the years had strengthened their ties. Confront-danger-come quickly.

“Fine,” Ali’ya said. “Let’s get this over with. Explain on the drive.”

*

Alyse Dajaal had numerous residence, both on her homeworld of Brentaal and throughout the galaxy. Of them all, the palace outside Cormond was one of her favorites. That she was forced to cede it to terrorists and gangsters, that she was now forced to meet them there, as if they owned it--well, it grated to say the least. Hopefully now that the Jedi was there things would go smoothly. Even if she was just an apprentice.

The thugs had changed things. Even the entrance hall, once the epitome of Brentaal culture featuring tapestries from Hapan and statues from Serenno, had been turned into a gaudy display of power. Armored thugs stood watch over shattered vases of ancient porcelain. One of them tapped the side of their helmet as Alyse and Ali’ya entered, no doubt alerting the higher-ups to their presence.

They had to climb eighteen flights of stairs to reach the meeting room. The Jedi didn’t seem to mind (her expression remained infuriatingly serene throughout the trip as well) but Alyse was madder than ever. She knew her home had an elevator. Three of them, in fact, each of them capable of climbing the twenty floors of the building. To be forced to use the stairs instead was degrading. As soon as these thugs were dealt with, Alyse would take great pleasure in reminding them of their place.

After the exhausting climb, Alyse entered the residential area of the palace. Large bedrooms were left with their doors open, no doubt so she could see their disheveled state, unknown fluids staining the Aeien silk sheets. It would take her servants months to clean up the mess and no doubt Alyse would have to triple their pay just to keep them quiet.

At last they entered the room for the meeting. Guarded by two massive Trandoshans, the intended intimidation was severely undercut by the Jedi’s presence, the young Togorian having a few centimeters on the taller of the two. The Trandoshans made no move to protest their arrival, instead opening the large greel-wood door.

The room was a large one, enough for the fifteen family heads of the Dajaals to meet at once. Stuffed armchairs, loveseats, and even a sofa were arrayed around a large caff table at the center, made of wroshyr wood acquired some three thousand years ago by a particularly daring member of the Dajaal family. Her self-proclaimed ‘allies’ were already seated. The three men did not bother to stand, though their five guards--two armored, three not, all but one of them human--watched as they entered the room.

Alyse sat opposite the thugs, even though it placed her back to the window, dragging the Jedi to sit next to her.

Their leader, a man they all called Uncle despite being younger than the other two (one of whom wasn’t even human, though Alyse couldn’t quite tell the species) leaned back into his seat. “So,” he said, infuriating smirk painted wide across his lips. “You seek to betray us. Why, I thought everything was going as planned?”

Alyse’s heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, she looked at the Jedi.

“What?” the Uncle asked. “You thought we wouldn’t recognize a Jedi?”

“I’ve heard its wise not to overestimate the mental capacities of the Black Sun,” the Jedi replied.

“What?” Alyse exclaimed, her heart pounding as she looked over at the Uncle. “You--you’re Black Sun?”

“Why, I thought it would be obvious,” the Uncle smirked, and oh how Alyse hated that expression. “I may prefer the Basic translation to the Old Tionese, but the original is Vigo.”

“Yes, yes,” the Jedi said, as if waving away Alyse’s panic. “But why are you here? What interest does the Black Sun have in trade between Brentaal and Denon?”

The Uncle--Vigo--stared at the young Jedi. “Why in the galaxy would I tell you that?” he asked. “It’d just be a waste of time. Kill them.”

The room exploded into movement. The five guards opened fire, as did six more hidden in the recesses of the room. A massive, transparent shield emerged as the Jedi sprung into action, deflecting the blasters though it appeared to be taking much of her concentration.

“Stay down!” the Jedi ordered, and as much as Alyse despised being ordered around in her own home she had no inclination to do otherwise. The Jedi kicked out and the caff table went flying, crashing into the three leaders and sending them sprawling towards their five guards. At the same time she managed to pull her lightsaber from somewhere (the inside of her robes, Alyse would later realize) and ignited it. The deep blue blade was longer than Alyse would have expected, but that seemed no hindrance to the Jedi. As the shield dropped the lightsaber turned into a blur of motion. Dozens of blaster bolts were aimed at her, yet none landed and one by one the thugs started to fall.

“Close in!” the Vigo shouted, despite hiding behind an overturned sofa. His people obeyed, rushing towards the Jedi, who turned. She lunged, the aggressive movement unexpected. The lightsaber pierced one chest, then split the arm off another. Both men crashed to the floor in agony. In a burst of movement the Jedi continued her line of attack, dismantling the men.

From the corner of her eye, Alyse saw the leaders edging towards the door. A cry brought the Jedi’s attention, though it distracted her enough for a blaster bolt to land. Alyse felt slightly bad about the injury, but it was well-worth it if it meant the thugs couldn’t get away. A blast of power--that mystical Force of the Jedi was impressive and terrifying at equal turns--placed the caff table against the door. Wroshyr wood was dense as some metals and it would take more than the three thugs to lift it.

As quick as it started, it was over. The thugs (many of them regrettably alive) littered the ground, along with missing limbs. The deep blue lightsaber hummed, held mere millimeters from the Vigo’s face.

“Surrender,” the Jedi said, her voice in a low growl.

“We have others here,” the Vigo replied, feigning bravery. “Dozens.”

“My master is on his way,” the Jedi replied. “If I can defeat nine of your best with only a scorch mark, what do you think a Weapons Master of the Jedi Order can do?”

The Vigo projected an uncaring air, but the same could not be said of his second, who desperately reached for his communicator. “Activate plan--AHH!” he screamed as the lightsaber moved slicing through his hand and the communicator. The vigo leapt at the opening, crashing into the Jedi with admirable strength, sending the both of them to the ground. The strange alien jumped into the fray as well, throwing their body against the Jedi’s arm, forcing her to let go of her lightsaber. The Jedi growled in protest, bucking upwards but the Vigo remained on her. He punched her jaw, only to recoil, screaming as his hand suffered the worst of the blow. The Jedi laughed, shifting under him and kneeing his crotch. The Vigo fell to the side, but the alien was not willing to let go so easily. He scrambled, picking up the lightsaber and activating it. It warbled but lit, and he held it out, pointed towards the Jedi.

“Put down the weapon,” the Jedi stated.

“No,” the alien said, voice shaking. “I--”

There was no warning. One moment he seemed to hold the power, laser-sword in hand. The next he was slammed against the walls of the room, depowered hilt rolling from his hand. It zoomed across the room, landing with a thunk in the Jedi’s palm.

“Last chance,” the Jedi growled. “Surrender.”