DbD Thirty-Five: Phindar, Part One (Patreon)

“Just in time for the New Year celebrations,” Master Bulq remarked. Ali’ya nodded, peering out the ship’s viewscreen. The capital city certainly seemed to be having a good time as fireworks lit up the sky and music rang so loud in could be heard even within the pressurized cabin.

“You seem stressed.”

Ali’ya nodded, grimacing. Syndicat. She had heard the term before, in her past life. It was harder to recall now, but she remembered it being something important. Something evil. That was certainly what the Force indicated. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“About the mission, the planet, or the Syndicat?”

Ali’ya hummed. Following her Master’s implicit instruction, Ali’ya closed her eyes. She loosened her hold on the mortal coil, slipping ever so slightly into the Force. Hello, she greeted, and the Force replied in a wave of feeling. Ali’ya relaxed. She did not feel the seat under her nor the fireworks by the window, but spotted the glowing light of the celebrating Phindians. She did not hear the music being played but recognized the melody from how the Force danced from the joy being put into the world. Slowly, reluctantly, Ali’ya slipped back into her body. Sight and hearing returned. Her sense of the Force, far from gone, was smaller. Less all-encompassing.

“The Syndicat,” Ali’ya answered. Spotting her master’s confused look, she frowned. “I have a bad feeling about the Syndicat.”

“We shall need to watch out then,” Master Bulq agreed. “Something feels wrong with regards to them. Something more than a simple criminal organization, even one in control of a planetary government.”

“I know what you mean,” Ali’ya agreed, then sighed. “Much as I dislike the method, I cannot deny that a Force Suggestion would be useful now.”

“Perhaps something to look into when we return to the Temple,” Master Bulq mused. “Though I would caution you against using it.”

“Only in extreme circumstances,” Ali’ya agreed. “It is far to close to controlling another. But to save a life, many things can be excused.”

“So long as you continue to uphold the Jedi Code I will not object, but keep this in mind padawan: There is no death, there is the Force.”

Ali’ya bit back her wince, though from her master’s frown he certainly caught something in her Force presence. Tempting as it was to issue a counter argument (and she had so many of them) they were on a mission. If such a thing as a Force suggestion could be excused when lives were on the line, then surely she could drop the argument.

“What’s the plan Master?”

“The First Minister has agreed to meet with us in an hour,” Master Bulq said. “No doubt he is trying to hide the shameful acts of a government official from the populace, but it works quite well for our desires as well. While I speak with the First Minister and his councilors, I am trusting you to sneak into their data rooms. Find whatever you can, but do not be caught.”

Apparently her exposure during the last mission wore on them both. “Yes, Master.”

*

Ali’ya did not leave the ship immediately. When she did--half an hour after her Master’s departure, she left slightly hunched and with a hefty Force cloak as well as the traditional Phindian cloak, shifting attention from her. Her head hooded and looking down, she could almost pass as another--if abnormally shy--Phindian home for the holidays. The Force cloak more than made up for that almost and hid her hefty backpack. Stealth was far from her highest skill, but she was saving the skill points for when she needed to slice into the database.

Moving through the crowds was the easy part. The streets were crowded with bodies and littered with confetti, empty bottles, and crushed cans. People danced and laughed and sang in the dim light of street lamps, speeders prohibited for use for the entire week. Ali’ya slid by them, dodging offers to dance and drink and make merry the night for who knows what the morrow brings. The air was intoxicating, filled with love and hope and joy, even the regrets and anger that alcohol could bring subsumed by the festivities. For one night Phindar shone in brightness that peered through the scar-like cracks in its Force presence.

Only a skeleton crew guarded the entrance Ali’ya felt herself drawn to. She slipped past them, using the Force to hide her presence. Light bent around her form, making her seem invisible as she approached. As she came between the two sets of guards she leapt and spun, Force enhancing her limbs as she made a classic Teras-Kasi whirlwind kick, knocking out all four guards before they managed to sound the alarm. Stealing the guard’s identification tag, Ali’ya approached the door, locked with a thick metal device. A swipe of the identification tag raised a metal screen, revealing a keyboard. Closing her eyes, Ali’ya reached out to the Force. What the Syndicat was doing was clearly evil. From the planet’s darkness Ali’ya wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But she needed to, if she was to stop it.

The Force seemed to agree, for it guided Ali’ya hands as she typed in the fourteen digit passcode. The door unlocked with a sharp click.

Stepping through, Ali’ya found herself in a hallway of bright, pale lights. Just ahead were a set of doors, though more were to the left and the right. Stepping through the first one, Ali’ya immediately spotted what she was looking for. Data cores, she thought. Now, if only I could tell which one houses the information I want.

Stepping towards the core that hummed with energy, Ali’ya connected the first of many datapads to it. The first obstacle came up, and immediately Ali’ya knew she wasn’t ready for this. She was many things in her old life and many more in her new one, but an expert coder had never been one of them. Immediately she dumped all 378 of her free skill points into Slicing. Knowledge emerged from her mind, as if it had always been there. It was not the best, though it was enough for this particular data core. Scanning through some of the documents, Ali’ya found nothing interesting. Certainly nothing that mentioned Syndicat, other than a brief reference to their existence in a complaint about the lack of farmers. Ali’ya didn’t think it’d be useful, but it wouldn’t hurt to download it. Of the many benefits of being wealthy, access to a ludicrous amount of hard-drives and storage devices was but a minor part. Thanks to her Togorian physique she could even carry them.

Ali’ya entered the second, third, and fourth rooms. Each of the data cores near the entrance seemed to hold innocuous information. Official complaints, agricultural data, intragovernmental reports, necessary supplies–all things that were important, but none that needed to be secured. Sighing, Ali’ya stepped towards the double-doors that led deeper into the complex. These were locked not only with the same metal device as before, but with a set of traditional locks as well. Ali’ya smiled. It seemed she had been training for this moment, intentionally or not. Reaching out with the Force, Ali’ya closed her eyes, using Force-granted sensations to form an image of the lock’s interior. Then, with a bit of telekinesis and a great deal of patience, she started to take the lock apart. It came undone with a soft click, followed immediately by the sharp click of the device.

A Phindian sat behind a large counter. Enhancing speed and agility in the force, Ali’ya dashed over and leapt across the counter, forcing the woman away from any silent alarm buttons.

“What–”

“Where is the data for Syndicat?” Ali’ya demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman said quickly, her eyes wide. Lie, sang the Force.

“Yes, you do. Tell me what you know.”

“They’ll erase me.” Ali’ya frowned at the phrasing, old memories coming up.

“I’m a Jedi,” Ali’ya revealed. “I will protect you.”

“You--you’re here to help us?” the woman asked, wide eyes pleading. “Please Master Jedi, the Syndicat, they took my cousin’s husband, they take everyone who objects, they run everything here.”

“Show me the data core and my Master and I will ensure that they are brought to justice,” Ali’ya promised. If what I’m starting to remember is true, they might not make it that far.

“They’re in the back. There’s droids there, war droids. And passcodes. You--”

“I’ll handle it,” Ali’ya interjected. “Though I might have to do so loudly. You should leave.”

“The guards at the entrance . . .”

“Are unconscious. This is your chance. Take it.”

The woman hesitated, fear and hope waging a war in the Force around her. “Thank you Master Jedi. I wish you the best of luck.”

“May the Force be with you.”

The interior receptionist had certainly told the truth. War droids guarded the entrance. HK-2000s, a failed attempt at rebooting the old HK-line of assassin and battle-droids. While capable of firing, fighting, and standing guard the droids lacked the processing capabilities of the ancient HKs despite being sold for the same price. Combined with the relative lack of warfare in the post-Ruusan Republic, few of the droids sold. Production was cut off within two years, though it was rumored that the manufacturers were still trying to get rid of the parts.

They were also one of Kazdan’s favorite models to experiment with. As he put it, “Everything about them is functional, even though nothing is actually good. So I can alter whatever I want without worrying about it exploding. Too much.” As Knight Yolin said, when working with droids the most important thing to know was where the off-switch was.

Were she a master of esoteric Force skills, Ali’ya would have used Ionize to neutralize the droid’s electrical charge. Were she a typical Jedi she would have crushed them with the Force, or used her lightsaber to cleave through their durasteel casing. But as Kazdan’s friend she knew where the off-switch was, and Ali’ya had not practiced fine control with the Force for nothing. Using no more strength than a grown man, Ali’ya push down on the pair of switches. Their eyes flickered. They dulled, the electric hum around them coming to a halt.

The doors to the Syndicat’s data storage was well guarded. Three metal device, and below them three locks. Praying that she was not wrong, Ali’ya reached out to the three devices. Simultaneously she pressed down with the Force, the gentlest touch she could manage, typing in the same passcode as outside. She slipped on one pad, forcing herself to delete the letter--and accidentally deleting it for all three. Ali’ya bit off a curse. She’d lost her place, and started again. As she finished typing in the codes, the metal devices hissed, screens coming back up. Nothing happened. Hoping for the best, Ali’ya reached out with the force and observed the three locks. None of them were the same, though by the wiring they all needed to be opened at the same time. She began to study them when a warning flared across her training bond.

Something wrong, her Master hissed, and she received an image of guards running through the halls. Throwing caution to the wind Ali’ya ignited her lightsaber, carving through the locks and granting herself access to the room. Quick as she could she began downloading the files from each data core. The first ones she found were finances, at that alone was enough to arrest them on tax fraud. After that were drugs. Spice deals and forcing farmers to grow cash crops rather than food, then piracy, theft, and oh no.

Memory wipes. Ali’ya looked up from the screen. They . . . how DARE THEY? Erasing an entire being, personality, memory, even Force presence would be set to blank, how could they think this was--

“Ma’am--”

Ali’ya turned, her eye sharp as she glared down at the Phindian captain, ignoring the flashing Quest alert. “I am Jedi Padawan Ali’ya,” she declared. She hurriedly sent a message through her bond. Trouble, demagolka, arrest him. “As of now, the government of Phindar is dissolved pending a full review of their actions and connections to the criminal organization known as Syndicat.” She felt the fear running down their necks. Of the group of thirty, only two seemed relieved.

“Syndicat is Phindar,” the captain hissed, and Ali’ya lit her blade. They were demagolka. Crimes against humanity, as her old life called it. If they enjoy fear so much, a dark part of her mind thought. Perhaps they should feel it. Ali’ya pushed back the thought, forcing herself to release her emotions into the Force, to bring calm to herself. To chill her fury, forging it into determination.

“Surrender,” Ali’ya warned.

“Open fire.” The blasters came in a hail, yet Ali’ya was more than ready. Her greatsaber ignited at once, spinning through a set of overhead guards that deflected each of the blasts back. Dozens hit the floors and walls of the room or the hallway behind, yet with each set of shots came another death, an injury or two. The guards fell and Ali’ya remained strong, steadfast against their vollies. Fourteen of the thirty guards were collapsed on the floor when the captain reached for a new charge-pack, and Ali’ya acted. The Force swelled in the palm of her hand. She pushed out, and the world moved. Each of the thirty guards and bodies were hurled through the air, landing deep back into the hallway.

“Surrender,” Ali’ya warned again.

“Nev--” a blaster sounded. Ali’ya pivoted, yet she felt no danger. The Captain slumped forward, falling to the ground.

“We surrender,” a man in a Sergeant’s uniform stated.

Ali’ya nodded sharply. “Place your weapons on the floor. You--” she gestured towards the woman who’d seemed reluctant at the start of it all. “Bind them.” The woman nodded, hastening to obey. She grabbed cuffs from each of the guards’ belts and handcuffed them, one to another rather than one-by-one. Ali’ya decided not to disagree with the arrangement, though she found it strange.