The Weaving Force: Chapter 32 (Patreon)

Chapter 32:

Dennis:

Ever since he’d gotten his ship, Dennis had been to a lot of places in this galaxy. Tatooine, Mandalore, Nar Shaddaa, Bespin, small and large space outposts and asteroid colonies. He’d even visited Kuat in the Core, seen the sprawling, planet-encompassing shipyards there.

But he could admit seeing a city built inside of a sinkhole, who’s building materials consisted of bones was… rather unique, even by his standards.

It was an odd juxtaposition in this subterranean city of theirs, feeling claustrophobic and almost neighborly all at once. Their roads, elevators, walkways and buildings honeycombed a dizzying network of spaces between the seventeen primary levels layered into the mountainside, and the center chasm of the sinkhole was open to the pterodactyl like creatures that made the sinkhole basin and cliffsides their home.

Walking near the edge of sub-level 12-B, he could lean over the side and juuuust spy the hangar bays on levels one and two. Peering down, he followed the paths of the cascading waters, trailing down from the various aqueducts above into the basin below.

It made for a pretty, somewhat primal scene, as odd as that was to say surrounded by technology like this.

In fact, if you told him Mandalorians lived here instead of on Mandalore, he’d believe it. They were definitely the types to build structures out of the bones of their kills or whatever. At least, back in the old days.

“Dennis!”

Miss Militia’s call made him turn around, seeing that the primary lift had arrived

The woman jerked her head towards it. “Come on. One level down, and we should find Guriwik.”

He nodded, stepping away from the edge to join the throng of people entering the primary lift on this side. It was a bit of a hassle using multiple lifts, but the Count cautioned that it was possible that Guriwik might have one tagged. And people arriving from level one, heading straight to level 13, and then immediately towards his district might alert him if he had any surveillance software illegally implanted in the Utapau security system. Or paid vagrants or street urchins to watch for such things.

A fair precaution, but using multiple different lifts had slowed their descent significantly. What could have been just a handful of minutes turned into a few hours as they left one primary lift only to make their way over to another to go down between one and three levels more before repeating the process.

But still, the runaround was done. Now, finally, they’d make it down to platform thirteen, and from there, a straight shot towards Guriwik’s “smoke shop”.

Stepping in beside Miss Militia, he took a spot by the ‘wall’ of the lift, keeping a spot for her free as she negotiated her own way through the crowd.

Finally, as she settled into her spot beside him, he spoke up.

“If we find him, how’d you like to play this?” he asked, then grinned. “Good cop/bad cop?”

She rolled her eyes. “We are not doing good cop/bad cop.”

“Awww,” he needled. “You always say that.”

“Because you’re still horrible at it,” she retorted with a smile.

“‘Cause you never let me practice!”

“Practice with Rugess. He’s a much better good cop than I am.”

He chortled under his breath, trying to imagine their gentle, far too nervous friend trying to play any kind of cop in an interrogation.

“Seriously, though,” he started again, “we do need to think of an approach. Can’t really just walk in and accuse the guy of money laundering for a dead Munn.”

“Let's simply talk with him,” she suggested. “Play it by ear.”

“Fair enough,” he answered with a shrug. “And this Sith thing?”

“IF,” she stressed, “there is some… whatever… there, treat the encounter like a hostile cape from back home; Trump classification until we know more.”

“Standard E.R.?” he asked to verify. “Play keep away defense until backup arrives?”

She nodded. “Dooku claims he’s trained to fight Sith, so he’s our best bet if the Sith arrives.”

He offered a salute. “Orders received and understood.”

The lift came to a stop. Dennis barely felt the inertia even through the large superstructure of the machine. He glanced down at his feet, noting the white, porous floorboards that were not wood.

He shook his head, ignoring the queasy feeling walking on actual bones was giving him, as he made his way off the lift alongside Miss Militia and the rest of the crowd.

(X)(X)(X)

Vicky

The Zygerrian palace was beautiful, at least in terms of its architecture.

Vicky didn’t consider herself a connoisseur or anything, but she could appreciate a well designed building.

It had been agreed (by Yoda and Gallia) that Gallia would take the lead during the diplomatic negotiations with the King and his heir, the Princess. Mostly (entirely) out of the wish to avoid any… potential missteps. A concern that may (or may not) have anything to do with those slanderous rumors about Vicky’s own skills (or lack therof) in the delicate art of diplomacy.

Slanderous rumors that were (entirely) Tay’s fault. And were not based at all in any form of reality…

Tay really needed to stop exaggerating.

She was giving people the wrong idea…

…

The Wookies liked Vicky just fine!

“And these will be your rooms.”

The Majordomo opened the doors into a hall, through which Victoria could see three rooms in this particular wing of the residential section of the palace.

“Our thanks you have,” Yoda said, nodding as he hobbled past the servant.

The cat-man offered a half bow, his arm going across his chest. “Of course. Do not hesitate to summon the staff if you require anything, Master Jedi.” He rose from the bow before continuing, . “If that will be all, I shall take my leave.”

“We’re good, thanks,” Vicky answered,  her senses to brush across the surface thoughts of the servant. Impatience, general annoyance. Not unreasonable. But she didn’t sense any particular hostility.

Again, he gave a nod, straightening before turning sharply on his heel and marching out of the hall and shutting the door behind him.

Vicky eyed the door for a moment, then turned towards the still hobbling Yoda, grinning.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked.

Yoda laughed. “A plan, I have?” Oh he definitely did. She knew that voice. “Your trial, this is. Not mine.”

“Well yeah…” she hedged, “but I don’t know. That whole ‘Do not leave the palace grounds without our approval’ thing is a rule that’s just dying to be broken. If I go out by myself, I get in trouble. But if I’m escorting the Grandmaster so he can get some fresh-air…”

Yoda’s little smirk was particularly impish.”Foolish, we must not be.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” She agreed with a solemn nod that was completely undercut by the smile that would not budge from her face.

“The rules, Jedi must follow. Difficult, we must not make Master Galia’s task.”

“Yes. But investigating is what we’re here to do.”

“A conundrum, to be sure.”

They held their smirks and their silence- Not laughing… very loudly.

(X)(X)(X)

Dennis:

“Is this it?” Hannah asked, eyeing the picture on the dataslate, comparing it against the building in front of them.

He couldn’t blame her for the question. The picture seemed to have been taken at night, with the shop lit up in bright neon colors and moving holo images. In the daylight, this place looked tame by comparison.

Still… “The sign matches,” he said, shrugging.

Hannah squinted, looking over the letters. The written characters of Galactic Basic were still strange to both of them even after the last couple of years, and it took time to read them properly.

Eventually, though, she seemed to agree with his assessment. Collapsing the dataslate and stuffing it into her pocket, she marched forward to head on in.

He followed after her, and a little chime tune played when the door whooshed open, the local equivalent to a bell hanging overhead to rattle by the door.

‘Hello?” Hannah called, stepping inside. Dennis cast his eyes around the little shop. He recognized some things here: smoking pipes,bongs - or at least the local equivalents. Apparently stoners were everywhere.

Some things, he didn’t recognize. He supposed they were the equivalent pieces for alien physiology, but they could be bombs for all he knew. There was still so much he didn’t know about this galaxy, even after all his time spent traveling.

“Hello!?” Hannah called again, and the lack of answer a second time made him start to worry.

Hannah tossed him a look, but still didn’t draw a gun. The green energy by her hip remained a blade, little more than a combat knife.

She stepped past the front counter, towards a back room. “Hello, we’re looking fo-”

The knife at her hip was suddenly in her hand; then it was a small hand cannon.

His own hand went to his blaster.

“Call the Count,” Hannah demanded, not looking his way.

He inched forward, peeking past her shoulder to see a very dead Rodian.

“Shit,” he cursed. “Don’t suppose you know the time for rigor to set in for Rodians?”

She shook her head. “No. But my guess, an hour or two, tops.” She pointed, and on the floor he saw a long pipe of some kind. Smoke was still wafting from its cup.

He reached down to his waist, plucking free his full helmet and shoving it onto his head. “Let’s go. I’d rather the local cops didn’t exactly find us with the dead guy.”

Hannah agreed, though he saw the moment of hesitation: the instant where she had to remember she wasn’t Protectorate anymore, and this wasn’t the US. He didn’t know how Utapau treated its criminal suspects, and, if possible, he’d rather avoid finding out.

“Let me take some pictures of the scene,” she suggested suddenly. “There might be something the Count sees that we don’t.”

Not a bad idea. “Alright, I’ll wait outside. Let’s leave quick.”

She didn’t like it, but she didn’t contest. They’d call Utapau security later, when he was back on his ship and either with the Count, who had some pull for being a Jedi. Or, well… a Count. But not here, isolated from any social or political support.

The door to the outside whooshed open, and Dennis was knocked flat on his ass as a blaster shot smashed into his helmet.is head rang and the world spun as he crashed into some display cases behind him.

“Dennis!” he heard Miss  Militia scream through the ringing in his ears.

He didn’t have Beskar. He’d never joined any clan. But Mandalorians made good armor, so the shot that should have been fatal merely scored a deep gouge across his helmet’s crown. Before any more shots could fire through the door, he was stumbling and rolling his ass behind cover!

He pressed his back against the wall, the spike of adrenaline sending a tingling through his fingers. His breathing was sharp and rapid, his chest rising and falling quickly, and yet not enough air was coming into fuel his racing heart as his shaking fingers took firm hold of his blaster.

He heard screams outside, the rapid pounding of feet as hundreds ran away from the shooter.

“Ya know, I thought you’d be a tougher contract Kronos.”

His breath stilled, as his gaze turned to Miss Militia, who was equally wide eyed at that.

The shooter was here for him?

How?

“Didn’t know I had admirers,” he answered back, if only to fill the silence and center himself.

“Oh, you’ve got plenty. Enough for them to foot the bill for the Bando’Gora to come after you.”

Chatty. That was good. He needed chatty right now.

He shifted his arm, just a bit. The warped reflection of the silvery metal plate let him see around his cover without exposing too much of himself.

Three, four, six. Six men.

He made a signal towards Militia, falling back on that old Wards/Protectorate signal system he’d memorized all those years ago.

Six minimum, confirmed.

She nodded.

“Never heard of ya,” he answered. “But you must be worth something; how the hell’d you find me here? I didn’t even know I’d be here!”

That’s the part that was most concerning. Of course he had enemies. Lots of enemies. Jabba the Hutt on Tatooine had sworn he’d see him boiled alive for that run where he freed seven hundred slaves from a single bulk shipment. (They stopped sending shipments that size, now; shame.) He could see them hiring hit men to kill him. But Utapau wasn’t anywhere near his usual stops. And this shop wasn’t even known to him until a few hours ago ago.

So how in fuck!?

“Sorry, kid, secrets of the trade. Now. You gonna be a good sport and make my job easy?”

“Nah,” he called. “Hard way’s more fun!”

He chucked something out the door.

“Grenade!” Someone shouted.

Note to self- He thought as he rushed out the door ‘Keep actual grenades on hand’

The small container of fragrance oils shattered against the cover the assassins were hiding behind, and by the time they realized the deception and moved to point at him again; the rather large welcome mat he’d picked up from the floor was now a timelocked slab of cover between him and all those blaster shots as he rushed into a flanking position.

The mercs rushed to reposition, or maybe to get an angle.

A single deafening BANG that popped his ears and damn near kicked him in the ribs exploded out from the shops window behind him and to his right, and he saw someone -  along with the cover he’d been hiding behind and whatever had been behind them- get completely pulverized by whatever monster weapon Miss Militia was firing from inside the building’s window.

The assassin exploded into gore, body parts and bits of blood flying everywhere. The assassin closest to the exploded corpse stumbled, seemingly wondering what the hell happened before Dennis took the moment to duck out of cover and land a shot on the man’s chest that knocked him on his ass.

Not dead; their armor wasn’t cheap. But he was definitely hurting.

Dennis ducked back into cover. A second massive shot rang out from Miss Militia’s perch; someone else died.

The assassins were scrambling now, abandoning their thin cover of bone benches and thin road signs for thicker support pillars and speeders.

He poked back out of cover, and was lining up a shot when someone crashed into him from behind.

Dennis pitched forward. Old CQC training and experience in a handful of brawls kicked in, letting him catch his fall and simultaneously twist in his attacker’s grip.

His gun fell out of his hand, though, clattering across the floor as Dennis landed on his back. His enemy was to his side, so the time-stopping Hero lashed out with his armored elbow, cracking it against a helmeted and masked head.

He got two punches in the kidneys for his effort that sent bolts of rolling agony through his entire side, robbing him of his strength as his enemy drew a knife; it was pure reflex and instinct that had Dennis’ hand whip out to grab hold of the blade, the edge slicing his palm open before he froze it in place.

“Wh-What the he-”

Taking advantage of the surprise, Dennis twisted  on the floor, facing his would-be assassin as he drew his holdout blaster and fired two shots right into the man’s chest!

The two shots punched through the armor, and the Bando’Gora assassin let out a gasping shout. Dying if not dead.

“There!”

Dennis’ eyes snapped up.Two more enemies with fully automatic rifles were lining up their shots.

Fuck!

He jerked forward, both hands planting themselves on the dying assassins chestplate before he yanked him close and twisted so his enemy was all but draped over him.

Then he froze both person and armor.

The two other assassins started firing, but the deluge of green blaster fire failed to burn through their time-frozen friend, leaving Dennis very much alive.

A third shot from Miss Militia’s gun rang out. With a third enemy dead, the rain of blaster fire let up, letting Dennis reach for his holdout blaster. Firing two shots, he caught the remaining of that pair of assassins in the foot; he yelped and scrambled away.

Sirens started wailing, drawing closer.

There was a sharp, high-pitched whistle. Dennis dared to peek up, past his dying cover, to where he saw the Assassin’s leader and two others making tracks as fast as they could away from here.

Dennis sagged, relief flooding through him. It had been a while since he’d been in a serious firefight like that.

A hand clamped down on his arm, and he damn near jumped out of his skin before he recognized Militia’s face through his helmet visor.

“They’re after you!” she said. “Your ship!”

His brain stuttered for a moment, then realization hacked through his fogged up brain.

“Rugess!” He scrambled to his feet, jumping over the still time-frozen assassin, grabbing his main blaster off the floor and sprinting towards the primary lift to get them back up to the hangar bays.

A security patrol speeder was fast approaching, its siren blaring loudly, bright yellow lights flashing. It swerved, using the whole speeder to cut them off before Dennis jumped onto the hood. As he walked, stumbling, over the vehicle, he reached down, fingers brushing the car roof.

The vehicle froze.

One door was half open , the passenger squawking in surprise as he slammed his head into a windshield and door that wouldn’t budge. Other shouts of alarm and surprise echoed out of the tiny opening in the door as he and Militia ran as fast as they could away from the crime scene.

(X)(X)(X)

Vicky

Looking out towards the twilit sands beyond the city walls, Vicky could see the desert turning from shades of fire to purple ice. It glimmered like a mirror of the stars above.

It was pretty. If the planet wasn’t a potential hub of slavers, she’d consider it a gorgeous place.

“Yes, of course, Prime Minister. I will be more than happy to continue discussions in the morning.”

Master Galia sounded exhausted, even though her face and posture didn’t betray any hint of that. Hell, to most, her voice probably sounded perfectly calm and neutral, but Vicky had interacted with the woman enough to note the subtle change.

She tried not to wince in guilt.

At the main entrance into the common area between their respective rooms, the Jedi Master sighed, rubbing at her forehead. After a moment, she opened her eyes and looked towards Vicky, who offered a smile and a wave.

“Hi, Master.”

“Padawan Dallon.” She sighed again then paused.

It didn’t take her very long to notice something a weeeeee bit off.

Namely, Vicky’s clothes.

“Padawan…” Galia hesitated. “Why are you dressed as if you’re ready to leave the palace?” she asked warningly.

Vicky laughed. Not nervously.

“You first,” she deflected. “You find out anything? And how far can we investigate? Any suspects?”

Master Galia raised a slender eyebrow, staring Victoria down like a parent about to scold a naughty child.

She was not a child. She was twenty. Yup. Totally a grownup.

“The King,” she began carefully, “could not meet with me for very long. His health has taken a turn for the worse. I met primarily with the Princess and the Prime Minister. As far as our investigation goes, the Prime Minister is prioritizing Zygerria’s sovereignty over anything else-”

“I’ll bet-” Vicky muttered but Adi continued in spite of the barely there interruption.

“For now,” the Tothlothian Jedi stressed, “our investigation is limited to the financial records of the various officials and courtiers in service to the King. I will work on getting those parameters officially expanded, of course, but, should we discover anything in those records, it would help grant us leverage.”

“That’s good to hear,” Vicky said, nodding agreeably. “Any suspects?”

Gallia’s gaze sharpened. “At the moment, a suspicious Padawan who is neither dressed in Jedi robes, nor seemingly any kind of casual or normal sleep wear, but rather boots and nondescript traveler’s clothing. Seemingly getting ready to explore in spite of the fact that, per the Zygerrians’ request, we are to stay within the palace.”

She laughed. “Oh! Look! Master Yoda!” she cried, very definitely not relieved.

The little green Master stepped out of his room, marching over towards them. “Good good. Very good,” he muttered, smirking. “Aware of the rules, we are. Caught, we must not be.”

“Master!” Gallia gasped, appalled.

Vicky sagged in relief- Greenbean was here to back her up. “Look, Master, there might be perfectly reasonable reasons for the Zygerrians to want us to stay in the palace, but my gut says it's just to give them time to clean up their act and sweep all the dirty laundry under the rug. We go out there now, unannounced, and we’ll likely find some kind of suspicious activity they haven’t yet had a chance to hide..”

“I don’t dispute the logic. I am, however, concerned about the consequences if you’re caught!” Adi Gallia hissed. Then, she visibly reconsidered who to include in her assessment. “If either of you are caught!” It looked like she couldn’t believe what she was saying,  scolding the Grandmaster like this.

“Then caught, we must not be,” Yoda answered again, almost giggling as he reached Victoria and clambered up to settle into the by-now familiar position on her shoulder. “Padawan Dallon’s trial, this is. Of Insight, this is. Her Insight says that hiding something, the Zygerians might be. Within the rights of her trial, this is. Supervise, I will.” He was definitely not cheeky. Nope. Not at all.

The look on Gallia’s face was priceless as she stared at the Jedi Grandmaster as though she’d never seen him before.

…

Somehow Vicky knew she was gonna get blamed for this!

That was totally unfair.

Little green was the bad influence here! Not her!

Even so, she floated off the ground, slipping out of the balcony and into the night air. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” she promised

Gallia opened her mouth, shut it, sighing in aggravation. “One hour!”

“Two!”

“One.”

“One hour, and a quarter,” Yoda volunteered.

She could feel his stupid little smile somewhere over her shoulder.

She offered Master Gallia her own beaming smile.

Adi Gallia’s palm smacked her face, and Vicky took that as consent.

She felt a tingle of excitement tickling the back of her mind.

Adventure!

She laughed at the intrusive thought from the Fragile One as she flew away into the desert twilight.

(X)(X)(X)

Dennis:

“He’s still not answering?” Miss Militia asked, the green energy of her power flick-flickering from weapon to weapon in her hands, almost dancing between her fingers.

“No,” Dennis hissed, hastily-bandaged fingers squeezing the holo in his hands so hard he might just crush it.

“Don’t worry,” she tried to reassure him. “Rugess is resourceful and smart. He’s ok.”

Dennis tried to convince himself of that. Tried to listen to what she was saying, and make himself believe it.

The elevator stopped.

He pulled his blaster. Miss Militia’s own power formed a solid gun in her hand, something that could punch through armor and flesh in a single shot; her own Beskar plate would keep her wrist from snapping from the recoil.

The second he caught sight of his ship, his heart fell into his feet.

Vista had been torn open. Cutting lasers and grinding tools had shredded the sealed landing bay door, and what he could see from the inside looked no better. The attackers had damaged everything they could.

They wouldn’t be flying off Utapau any time soon.

Still, all that was secondary.

“Rugess!” he shouted, his head moving on a swivel even as he rushed across the hangar bay towards the ship. “Rugess, answer me!”

His heart started pounding in his chest, desperation and anxious fear making him sick as he walked up Vista’s gangplank and found no sign of his friend.

He rushed through the hallways, checking doors and empty rooms. Most had been ransacked. The hyperdrive was blasted to shit. They even managed to find the hollow spaces where he hid slaves to smuggle them past the occasional blockade.

He searched everywhere. But no Rugess.

He felt queasy; his stomach was doing flips in his gut.

Miss Militia’s hand fell on his shoulder.

“He’s alive,” she reassured him again. “If he’s not here, that means they kept him alive.”

He nodded, grabbing hold of that thought. Trying to arrange his brain into something resembling coherence.

“We-we have to-”

“What happened to the ship!?”

Dennis’ heart flipped again, surprise shutting his mouth as he and Miss Militia shared a look, then both of them rushed towards the torn open entryway.

Looking down the ramp…

Rugess was there.

Pushing a grocery cart.

Looking very confused and concerned.

Dennis let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry. “You-You weren’t here?”

Rugess shook his big ol head.

“We needed groceries.” He gestured towards the cart in front of him, full to the brim with supplies. Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he showed off the grocery list. “Count Dooku was very specific regarding what meats would be acceptable for the journey… Now, what happened to the ship?!”

“Why weren’t you answering your comms!”

“I left it charging. It was out of battery. What happened to Vista!?”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Dennis, an almost full-bodied shudder stealing what little energy he had left as he sagged against the wall.

Then, his relief melted away, becoming muted as his concern over the last few minutes returned to the forefront of his mind.

He turned his head, looking at Miss Militia. “You think the Count set us up?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I… can’t think of any other suspects,” she answered carefully. “No one that could have known where we’d be ahead of time to set up an ambush like that. Or attack the ship. But…” She looked to Rugess. “If he basically sent Rugess off to the grocery store so he wouldn’t be here…” She trailed off.

Yeah. Didn’t make sense.

Still. Once burned, twice shy. And better overly-cautious than overly-dead

He fingered his blaster. “Let's ask him, then.”

(X)(X)(X)

Unknown

“Well,” the voice crooned, somewhere between amused and bored. “You were half right, at least. The target our slaver patrons want dead was present, but Dooku was not. Perhaps I should charge extra for the waste of my time.” The woman chuckled. “I’m not someone who’s time is to be wasted.”

“I assure you: Yan Dooku is present on Utapau. He may not have been at the smuggler’s side, but he is there, all the same.”

“And how are you so sure?” she asked, fingers making her weapon dance in her grip. “I admit, your knowing exactly where they would go gives you some credibility, but I think I’d know if Count Dooku were here.”

“I know because I know what he is seeking. And you have not sensed him because your training was never completed, young Vosa.”

The lightsaber went still in the woman’s hand, her silver yellow eyes turning towards the hologram. “You’re too familiar…old man,” she sneered. “And I don’t do well with Masters.”

“We can both achieve what we want,” Sidious drawled. “The Count is a nuisance. His death benefits me, and gives you your revenge. Now, do we have a bargain? Or should I leave you and your… Bando’Gora to your… mediocrity?”

Again, the weapon danced on her fingers, and he could see the wheels turning behind Komari Vosa’s eyes before she finally came to a decision.

“Fine, then. But I want proof that Dooku is here. If he is… then I’ll be willing to… see what else you have to offer.”

Sidious kept himself from smiling.

“Good. Now. Listen carefully…”

(X)(X)(X)

I have so much fun writing Yoda :DAlso, remember there is a discord server available to discuss these chapters here :https://discord.gg/hGpnbJnSSee you all again; next week :)