BoogieWoogieBrightLandShowdown

Lynli stared pensively through the forward viewport at the rocky brown Outer Rim world standing out against the star-speckled backdrop of space. As it slowly grew from a disk the size of her fingernail to a massive sphere looming over her, her lekku twitched anxiously in time with her racing heart. Beside her, Buruk’s hands danced across the controls, seemingly oblivious to his partner, flicking a switch on the comm to mute the standard prerecorded Message to Spacers welcoming them.
        “Hey.” She jumped, tore her attention away from the viewport, snapped her head around to face him. “Everything okay?” he asked, though his tone said he already knew it wasn’t. He’d turned his head toward her while he kept the steering yoke steady, holding her gaze with his. He had a look of… what? Concern?
        Lynli sighed, leaning back heavily in the copilot’s seat. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She had mixed feelings about coming here, to Ryloth, her species’ homeworld. She wasn’t even sure it was her homeworld. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this.”
         “I understand,” he said. “It’s an ugly business I’m getting myself into here. You don’t have to—”
         “It’s fine.” Typical, self-centered Buruk. He thought she was talking about his reasons for coming here, but while she didn’t like those either, it wasn’t what bothered her now. She turned back to the viewport.
        Down there would be a million people who looked just like her, but she felt no connection to them. Did she have family somewhere down there? Parents? If so, why did they giver her up, cast her away, and—more to the point—why was she sold into slavery? There probably weren’t any answers for her down there anyway, in the narrow twilight band running along the planet’s terminator line. That didn’t preclude her from looking, but it wasn’t the reason she and the Cuun’yaim’s crew were here.
        Somewhere down there was a Jedi, one of those responsible for massacring the Mandalorians on Galidraan. And Buruk had come to repay her in kind.

        Slavery: it had plagued the distant Outer Rim world of Ryloth for many thousands of years, beginning—as it had for many cultures across the galaxy—with prisoners taken as the spoils of tribal warfare. Once the Twi’leks established contact with other planets, they inevitably began selling their captives offworld, attracting the attention of interstellar crimelords who sought a piece of the action.
        Slavery had brought Shoaneb Zaruul, Jedi Knight, to Ryloth as well. Senator Orn Free Taa had lobbied for Jedi representation to convince the Twi’lek Clan Council to strengthen their cooperation in enforcing the Republic’s antislavery laws. Shoaneb, as a former apprentice of Master Anoon Bondara, the system’s Jedi Watchman, had been chosen to go in his place, allowing him to concentrate on his duties as the Temple Battlemaster.
        She strode now, elegant, waiflike, into the high-ceilinged Council Hall in the city of Lessu, her head held high and her steps confident despite her lack of sight; as a Miraluka, she’d been born without physical eyes but possessed an innate ability to see through the Force. As was customary for her people, she wore a simple strip of cloth over her face, giving her the appearance of an innocuous, blindfolded human.
        Representatives from the five ruling clans gathered in the Hall, sitting cross-legged on soft cushions upon a stone platform and seated according to rank. She could sense their contempt and pomposity as she approached the raised dais. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. A sighted being may have been more easily affected by their withering stares, Jedi discipline or not, but they were nothing more to her than a vulgar gesture made in the dark.
         “Esteemed councilmen,” she began the moment she reached the speaker’s platform, “let us not dither; the matter I’ve come to discuss with you is the subject of heated debate, both in this hallowed chamber and in the galactic capital.” As she spoke, Shoaneb turned her sightless gaze from one Twi’lek to another until she’d made “eye contact” with each of them in turn. “It is my hope that we may reach a fair compromise that will satisfy all parties involved and safeguard the dignity of your people.”
        Off to a good start, she thought as the councilors conferred amongst themselves. She took a moment to stretch her awareness outward, getting a feel for the shape and texture of their thoughts and emotions.
         “Jedi Zaruul,” the spokesman, a corpulent red male named Fibb Koma, thundered. “Do not think to fool us with your words of compromise and fairness. You come before us as an agent of the Republic.”
         “The Senate has requested I speak for them but I assure you, Councilor Koma, that I shall remain impartial during these proceedings.” She made a point of mentioning his name so that he knew that she knew who she was speaking to. “I swear this to you on my honor and that of the Jedi.”
         “Very well,” he conceded, nodding, his fat lekku swaying gently with the motion.
         “Ryloth has adhered to the Republic’s laws concerning the slave trade since our world was granted admittance,” spoke another councilor, Lohpa Mohona. “Certainly we cannot be blamed for the actions of kidnappers and outlaws.”
        Shoaneb turned in his direction. “This isn’t an inquest, Councilor Mohona, nor is blame being laid before any member of this august body, nor the Council itself. What the Senate seeks from you is a stronger commitment to thwarting these brigands and brining them to justice.
         “Furthermore, many covert slaving rings on your world operate under the guise of legitimate businesses, labor organizations, and talent agencies.”
         “And these agencies contract their employees,” Mohona pointed out. Shoaneb could feel the satisfaction he felt at bringing up that particular fact. He smiled malignly down at her from his cushion. Satisfied? He was downright proud.
         “Not precisely,” she countered him. “The contracts these ‘employees’ enter into invariably require terms of service which are outrageously long, for payment in a lump sum pension upon completion, under working conditions so harsh as to ensure they never have the chance to collect.”
        She could feel him growing irritated as she spoke, anger rising up in him. “This does not alter the fact that those seeking employment with such organizations do so voluntarily, despite the drawbacks you point out.”
         “Again, not so,” she replied, drawing smothered laughter from his surrounding councilors. His anger flared at being contradicted once more but she gave him no chance to interrupt. “Many are either coerced outright or maneuvered into a situation by criminal agencies working in concert with these covert slavers to leave them no option but to sign one of these so-called contracts.”
        Mohona opened his mouth but she pressed on, driving the Senate’s point home. “These methods of recruitment and the conditions under which they are forced to work, regardless of any means taken to legitimize such actions, clearly violate the Republic’s Rights of Sentience. Businesses operating in such a way are illegal and their contracts null and void.”
        That did it. “Do not come to our world, Jedi, and presume to dictate to us how we are to conduct our business!” Mohona snapped, leaning forward. His fat-laden body positively quivered as he gripped the edge of the dais with white-knuckled fingers.
         “Ahem,” Councilor Koma cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should take a short recess to cool our tempers.” He rose, and his fellow councilmen did likewise, following him out of the room.
        Before he went, Mohona’s hate-filled gaze lingered on Shoaneb. She merely inclined her head in a respectful bow.

        The world of Ryloth was tidally locked with its primary, so that as it orbited the star, the same side always faced toward it. This sun-baked half of the world was known as the Bright Lands, home to hardy predators and deadly heat storms that swept across the rocky desert, scouring it clean. The Night Lands, the world’s dark side, was home to an ice cap that comprised the planet’s only surface water. Overall, it was a desolate, wretched little planet at the end of the Corellian Run and one of the few actually farther out from the Core than Tatooine.
        To avoid notice, they’d landed in the small city of Sal’kaasa, near the sunny edge of the planet’s terminator. The unfamiliar air bit at Lynli’s nostrils, electrifying her senses as she stepped off the cargo ramp onto foreign soil. Beside her, Ganhuff inhaled deeply, letting his breath out in a dreamy sigh. Turning to her, he smiled charmingly and said, “Welcome back, darling. Smell that rich, spicy air. Missed it, I’d wager?” The corners of his eyes were tinged with blue; he’d taken a hit of glitterstim a few hours ago and was in that middle realm between being completely stoned and trembling from oncoming withdrawal. It wouldn’t last.
         “Can’t miss a place you’ve never been, right?” she replied with mock cheerfulness. She hadn’t even left their docking berth yet and already she felt like everyone were staring at her.
        Buruk came along behind them, pushing his swoop bike toward the ramp, a grim look on his face. “I want you to stay with Lynli and do what she says. While I’m gone, she’s acting captain.,” he told Aerek, his voice indicating there was no room for discussion.
         “Why can’t I go with you?” the boy protested anyway, storming along in the Mandalorian’s wake.
        Buruk stopped, bit his lower lip, unsure just how much to tell him. Eventually, he just knelt down and hugged him. When he pulled back, he said with a wink, “Someone has to look out for her tayli’bac?”
        Aerek looked hard back at him, fully aware he was being patronized. Smart kid, Lynli thought, though it struck her how protective Buruk was acting.
        Aloud, the boy said seriously, “Elek. K’oyacyi.” Come back safe.
         “Elek alor,” Buruk replied with a chuckle. Then he stood, pushed the swoop out of the cargo hold and stopped beside Lynli at the bottom of the ramp. “Take care of him,” he whispered, eyes plaintive.
        Lynli nodded once and he straddled the bike, placed his helmet over his head, and sped off without another word.

        Shoaneb stood like a statue in the courtyard before the Council Hall, simultaneously aware of the stares she received from passersby and ignoring their presence as she cleared her mind. Slowly, she raised her left hand, positioned it before her face with index- and middle-finger held vertically. Then, with a flick of her right thumb, she ignited the emerald blade of her lightsaber. As slowly as before, she flourished the blade in a graceful arc, listening to its hum and feeling its resonance in the Force as it pierced the air. She slashed and spun, kicked and wove, acting out a highly structured pattern that appeared to be more dance than combat to the growing crowd of spectators gathering a safe distance around her.
        She had no desire for the public attention; she just hadn’t been given a set of private lodgings in which to meditate between council sessions. She considered the routine an active form of meditation rather than simple lightsaber practice. Master Bondara had always said that if a Jedi must sharpen their mind, body, and spirit, why not do all at once? Like any Jedi, Shoaneb felt an intimate attachment to her saber, but to her it was so much more. She felt centered by it, enlightened and strengthened. It was a shame that so many considered it a mere weapon with which to do violence.
        A greater shame she’d been forced to use it as such, to cut short precious lives on that snowy world, now so distant and so long ago as to seem to have been another person entirely. She’d felt dirty afterward, sullied. She refused to take on any new assignments for over a month, sequestering herself within her quarters in the Jedi Temple and constructing a new, pure lightsaber. Once completed, she’d felt relieved, as if a weight hanging from her neck was removed.
        With another flourish, Shoaneb sharpened her perception, peering deeper into the Force as she felt beads of sweat trickle down her forehead, dampening her blindfold. She could see the Force itself within the bystanders, flowing through them along pathways she would describe as similar to a human circulatory system. In most, it was barely a trickle, but in some, it flowed with a health and vigor to rival the mightiest rivers.
        Through the Force, she could perceive the existence of nearly every sentient being on the planet, for it also surrounded them, a glowing beacon giving them a sort of aura, each one unique to its owner, like a fingerprint or retinal pattern. Most appeared greyish, dull, with a propensity to neither light nor dark that made it harder to distinguish between individuals. She felt no shock at this, for most sentients, without the awareness of the Force’s touch, fell into that murky middle ground where good and evil seemed to be relative. Some auras, however and these were very special people to her mind, shone bright and glistening, like a star, while others, like Councilor Mohona, positively smoldered with darkness.
        Suddenly jarred by a particular aura, her steps faltered. Shutting down the lightsaber, Shoaneb caught herself with the Force, regained her footing, and focused. There it was, several thousand kilometers away, a presence she recognized, though it had been faint then, weak and fading, on the brink of death. A shiver ran up her back, threatening to overtake her entire body. There is no emotion, there is peace… she thought to herself. But she couldn’t deny there was fear in her heart.
        Shoaneb had heard that only the most powerful Jedi masters could return from the netherworld of the Force as spirits, but she never forgot an individual’s aura. There could be no mistake; one of the dead had come for her.

        The crew of the Cuun’yaim, sans Buruk, had piled into one of the ship’s two shuttle craft, flying off to the major city of Kala’uun to see the sights. Their first stop was a small café, not overly luxurious, but not a simple greasy spoon. They sat in a booth discussing what to order for some time, Lynli unsure what to try; her palate didn’t exactly include cultivated molds or fungi. Furthermore, their Twi’lek waitress, an attractive female with pale olive skin, wrinkled her nose as the sound of her accent.
         “I don’t know…” Lynli said, brows arched indecisively as she looked over the menu. “It all looks so… good.” She didn’t want to say “unappetizing.” “Can you just come back to me?”
         “Maalku is fine, thank you,” the Gand buzzed through his vocoder.
         “Gruuvan shaal,” Qate said, setting down her menu. “Bal ni copaani buy’ce gal.” Then, catching herself, she cleared her throat and repeated in Basic, “And a pint of fermented fungus ale.” Lynli had to suppress a face.
         “I’d like a bowl rycrit stew, gedet’ye,” Aerek ordered with a smile. “Vor’e.”
         “I… I guess I’ll have the rycrit munch-fungus stir-fry,” Lynli ventured cautiously.
         “I’ll have the munch-fungus sauté, extra spongy,” Ganhuff said with a sly grin, eying the waitress lasciviously. Then he whispered, “And can I get that with a light dusting of ryll, Beautiful? Thanks.” He winked and patted her on the backside as she left, turning back to his companions with a wide grin.
         “You’re a pig,” Qate said disgustedly.
         “Come on,” he protested jocularly. “We’re in spice central; you can’t expect me not to enjoy myself. That’d be inhuman.”
         “And we’re nonhuman,” the Zabrak replied with a mirthless smile. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, the doctor quieted down.
        Their food came and they ate in silence, Lynli poking her fungus about her plate unenthusiastically. She looked around the dining room, at other Twi’leks seated in twos and threes at tables scattered all over, waitresses and busboys tending to them. Somehow, she felt like an amoeba under a microscope, as if they were all watching her every move, silently judging her. Her lekku twitched, betraying her nervousness.
        The silence was broken by the Findsman. “When you’re through eating, Maalku was hoping you would not mind if we went to see the Floating Rock Gardens. I hear they are beautiful and Maalku has wanted to take the opportunity to meditate there for some years now.”
         “I don’t see why not,” Lynli answered. She still hadn’t touched her food. “What do you all think?”
         “Kitschy tourist trap,” Qate said dubiously, taking a long swig from her stein. Then with a shrug, “Sure, I’m in.”
         “Okay,” Aerek replied, shoveling stew into his mouth with the large wooden spoon given him.
         “I don’t know…” Ganhuff hesitated. “I had planned an outing or three for myself… High class and such, you all really wouldn’t be interested.”
        Without missing a beat, Lynli asked, “You’re going to an Oobalah den, aren’t you?”
         “A distinct possibility.”
         “Well fine,” Lynli barked in frustration, angrily stabbing her fork into the plateful of fungus and taking a bite. No sooner had it touched her tongue than she gagged, instantly spitting the wad back out onto the plate. “Ugh-blegh,” she sputtered, wiping her mouth and pounding down a glass of water.
        When she looked up, she found that all eyes in the restaurant really were on her now, curious stares from nearby customers cutting into her from all directions. Pushing away from the table, she stood, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and said, “Let’s go, shall we?”

        Shoaneb stood atop a chimney rock, overlooking the vast, sun-soaked wasteland that comprised Ryloth’s dayside. Had she eyes to see, she’d have been awestruck by the view, the rugged beauty of the desert stretched out before her in shades of earthy brown, dirty yellow, and dusky orange. Blistering wind whipped at her robes, snapping the fabric about her arms and legs as she looked out from her perch and sought out the malign spirit that in turn sought her.
        He was an elusive spirit, his thoughts shrouded in an enigmatic game of numbers. Counting sabacc cards, she realized. Certainly, a good trick to mask one’s thoughts and emotions on the surface, but to Shoaneb Zaruul, who saw through to the essence of all things, it was nothing more than a cheap veneer over a malicious heart.
        Come spirit, she thought, sweat breaking out on her brow, and not entirely from the steadily rising heat. Let us finish what was begun at Galidraan.
        Drawing her lightsaber and igniting the green blade with a snap-hiss that echoed across the desert, she waited, for he would find her in due time; she knew it to be true. Meditating, she focused on the lance of energy in her hand as she slowly wove it through her familiar pattern, feeling the Force flow through it, through her, filling her with its light and taking with it her fear. If this Mandalorian dragged her soul, screaming, into Chaos, she would be ready.
        She suppressed a shudder as the wind picked up.

        They had to pay an entry fee to get in.
        As she stepped through the archway into the Floating Rock Gardens, the sheer size of the cavern stole Lynli’s breath away, taking with it whatever complaints she may have had for the admission price. The cave had to be at least half a kilometer in diameter, gargantuan stalagmites growing up from the floor like tree trunks that tapered to points at the top; it sure made a sentient feel small. Her companions shouldered their way past where she stood agape, heading off into the open spaces where rocks ranging in size from pebbles to boulders floated majestically on the wind currents. As she took in the scene, Lynli silently mouthed, Wow.
        She drifted deeper into the cavern after the others, still gazing up at the enormous stones sailing through the air like clouds, wondering how they managed to defy gravity without any kind of repulsorlift generator. Suddenly, someone laid a gentle hand on her arm, interrupting her technical musings. She turned to look and found it belonged to Maalku, who tipped his straw hat back off his grey-green head.
        As though he had read her mind, he said, “Tunnels on the surface channel the strong winds down from above into the chamber. The heavy stones float on the breeze like heavy thoughts across a cavernous mind. So it is with you, Maalku suspects.”
         “That’s very, uh, profound,” Lynli said, clearing her throat. She looked around to find the others, saw Qate poking at passing stones, sending them shooting off on random trajectories around the garden while Aerek was busy spelling his name. “Surprised you’re not meditating by now, Findsman.”
        He inclined his head respectfully, casting his multifaceted eyes down to the floor. “Maalku wished to invite you to meditate with him,” he said, voice buzzing through his breath mask’s vocoder. “Perhaps he could help you lighten some of those thoughts of yours.”
         “Sure,” she replied, turning back to him. “What do I do?”
         “Join me,” he said simply, sitting down and crossing his legs. She did likewise, lekku twitching, as she threw sidelong glances at the few other tourists wandering about. Only a few others were Twi’leks like herself. “Now… look inward. What is it that troubles you, Flower?”
         “This whole karking planet,” Lynli answered. “I can’t figure it out; everywhere I’ve been in the galaxy, there’ve been Twi’leks, but this is the only place I’ve felt nervous around them.”
        The Gand took a deep breath of his canned ammonia, exhaled slowly, and replied, “You feel you don’t belong.”
         “I know I don’t belong. Did ever since I set foot in the system. They know it too.” She waved her hand, encompassing the world with the gesture.
         “Yet you expected to find a place here among your people.”
         “I didn’t… I…” she stammered, fidgeting. Then, shamefacedly, she admitted, “Yes. I don’t know why—I never lived here, at least not that I can remember.” She sighed, then, borrowing a word from Buruk’s vocabulary, said, “Shab, I may as well be a human for all I know about my culture.”
         “The Great Tortoise is human,” Maalku pointed out, “and he holds his culture closer to his heart than some Gands I have known. He is also very generous with it, willing to share it freely.”
         “Yeah, through his blaster,” Lynli chuckled, nodding, then silently wondered how a particular “cultural exchange” was fairing for Buruk just then.

        Finding the Jetii had been easy. An infochant in Lessu set up a meet between Buruk and a councilman named Mohona, with whom she’d apparently made enemies. Away from prying eyes, the scroungy little sha’buir tried to make small talk about ibic’ibac and some such osik about the free market economy. Once Buruk had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested in crime and politics, he proved very forthcoming about where she could be found; apparently, he’d had spies watching her and was already planning to order her assassination when the Mandalorian happened along. He’d certainly been perplexed when Buruk declined payment.
        He came upon her outside the city, well into the Bright Lands where off in the distance he could see the wind kicking up more burning sand than usual, the beginnings of a heat storm. The rising temperature was already taxing his beskar’gam’s regulators. How she could stand it with nothing but her plain robes was a mystery to him.
        Buruk circled around on the swoop, keeping his distance, observing her through the macrobinoculars embedded in his visor. She was slightly built, a laandur, with her hair done up in a single topknot and pinned in place with a pair of chopsticks. A strip of brown cloth covered eyes but he knew better than to think her handicapped; he’d heard of the Miraluka and their inborn abilities, and had watched her butcher more than ten of his comrades. She perched atop a chimney rock, apparently dancing with her lightsaber, sweeping the green blade about her one-handed in slow, graceful arcs, her other hand moving in concert for balance.
        Deciding he’d seen enough, Buruk leveled his gauntlet at her, sighting through his helmet’s rangefinder, and fired a wrist rocket. She was in the air before it even halved the distance between the two, twirling away from the blossoming fireball that engulfed the peak of the rock sculpture she’d been standing on only a moment prior. Immediately he steered the swoop directly at her, accelerating, and leapt clear just as she sidestepped, neatly lopping off the forward control vanes and sending it spinning away to a fiery crash.
        In less than a heartbeat he was back on his feet, shouldering his blaster carbine and flicking the selector over to autofire. The Jetii swatted his shots away, sending them ricocheting harmlessly into the surrounding rocks, chipping off hot shards that flew through the air.

         “There is meaning in them,” Maalku buzzed. “The formations of the rocks as they flow naturally through the air currents. If you look, you will find it.”
        Lynli stared dully into the swirling vortices of stones as they meandered by, straining her vision to see something. “All I see is rocks,” she replied after a beat. “No great mysteries of the universe there.”
         “Quit trying so hard,” he admonished. “Forget the universe—look for the mysteries of your inner self.”
         “Whatever you say,” she rolled her eyes and turned back to the swirling rock formations.

        The Mandalorian was a diabolical spirit; his initial attack had been lightning fast, trying to throw Shoaneb off balance. Taking the offensive, she closed the gap between them, deflecting his shots as she made her way toward him. As soon as she reached striking distance, he fired the jetpack he wore, rocketing through the air, firing as he went. She tumbled away, fear fueling her speed, while blaster bolts kicked up dirt as they stitched a path in her wake.
        He landed lightly on his feet several meters away and tossed a grenade. Taking hold of it with the Force, she plucked it out of the air and threw it right back at him. He dove for cover behind a boulder as it went off, showering the area with hot metal fragments that buried themselves in the surrounding rocks. A few whizzed by Shoaneb, mere centimeters from her face, but she twisted easily out of their path.
        She leapt forward over the rock he cowered behind, stabbing downward with her lightsaber. He tumbled away, a clatter of armor, and rolled to his feet as her blade hissed angrily upon striking empty ground. With a thrust of her hand, she pushed with the Force, hurling him backward into the base of a spindle rock growing up from the earth.
        The Miraluka darted in, slashing horizontally for a decapitating stroke that missed entirely as he ducked below the sweeping arc of her weapon. The blade sliced off a length of the spindle, about the thickness of a child’s arm, which the Mandalorian snatched up in one hand and swung at her, intent on dashing in her skull. Shoaneb raised her lightsaber to block and he succeeded only in slicing his own bludgeon in half on the blade. He was quick to change strategy, however, and thrust forward with the piece that remained in his hand, jabbing her in the chin with a dull thwack and staggered her back a step.
        Firing his jetpack again, the Mandalorian dropped a second grenade at her feet before putting some distance between them. Her head still spinning from the blow to the skull, Shoaneb’s reaction was late; summoning the Force about her, she somersaulted backwards into the air just as it went off, peppering her with fragments that dug into her shoulders and the backs of her arms. Scrambling behind cover, she shut down her lightsaber, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She had to reassess the situation.
        The heat was rising much faster now, the storm getting close, and sweat poured down her face, soaked her hair and robes so that they clung to her uncomfortably in places. Her heart raced, adrenaline burning like acid in her veins, and in a moment of weakness she gave in to a rising emotion. Her fear began to whisper at the back of her mind. He’ll destroy you, it said.
        Immediately she stamped down on it, regaining control of her senses. “As my feet walk from the ashes of Katarr, I shall not fear,” she gasped, reciting an ancient litany passed down by her people. “For in fear, lies death.”

         “There’s noting there!” Lynli protested, massaging her temples. She’d been staring into the mass of stones without blinking for too long and had started to develop a headache. “Nothing at all!”
         “No?” Maalku asked calmly. “You don’t feel a connection to any of them?”
         “They’re just rocks.” She was getting frustrated with his unflappable stoicism.
         “Hmm… Strange,” he ruminated, scratching the top of his head carapace. “That one there was just beginning to remind me of you.”
        She swung her head around, lekku flopping over her shoulders, searching through the mass. “Which one? Where?”
        He pointed with a three-fingered hand. “That one. Off by itself, distancing itself from the others.”
        Lynli looked where he pointed; it wasn’t a rock but a chunk of deep purple amethyst. She cast a sidelong glance at him and wondered if he didn’t make all connections to his visions based on color.
         “It’s an impure specimen,” the Gand continued.
         “What?” she snapped. Did he just insult me?
         “If you observe closely, you can tell it’s softer than most that are out there, and the color is milder as well. Not something you’ll find in a jewelry store, probably a synthetic out of some nick-knack store.”
        She glanced down at her chest, blushing a little. They’re not synthetic, she thought, embarrassed.
        Maalku didn’t even notice. “Polished enough to catch the eye but still a little rough around the edges. Obviously something someone just left behind when they had no more use for it. A lonely little gem, like a flower in the desert.”
        She looked at the amethyst differently then, considering Maalku’s assessment of it, really of her. She reached out to touch the little crystal, only to have him grab hold of her wrist. His hand was surprisingly strong for an old bug.
         “You mustn’t interfere with the natural flow of things if you wish to see your destiny unfold.”
         “Fine,” she said with a huff. Jamming her hands into her jumpsuit pockets, she impatiently watched the gemstone as a cluster of stones all shapes and sizes and colors of the rainbow approached, floated past it, and left it all alone again, course unchanged. Well, that was disappointing, she thought, rolling her eyes.
        Soon a piece of red granite came hurtling along, on a collision course for the amethyst Lynli identified with; she tensed up unconsciously, but before they hit, a piece of sandstone intercepted the rock. The two stones ricocheted off each other, the granite spiraling off into the swarm, while the sandstone began to orbit her gem, never leaving its side, revolving around it as they continued on course together.
        She blinked several times, looked between the floating rocks and the Gand, and back again. The sandstone remained with the amethyst, still in its orbit. Then another stone appeared next to hers, and another and another. Soon a whole cluster of seven drab, dirty rocks traveled alongside her until they passed out of sight.
        Lynli blink. She had seen enough; she got up and left the gardens.

        Buruk was breathing heavily and he sweated under his armor despite the cooling unit. The heat storm was practically on top of them now, buffeting him with cyclone winds that pummeled him with a billion abrasive granules of sand. He worked fast to set the trap; it probably wouldn’t catch the Jetii but it could as least serve as a distraction so he could deliver a killing blow. Maybe he’d even get lucky and keep her distracted long enough to shoot her in the back. Things were getting desperate now, for both of them, he could tell. She’d held herself in check when he’d first attacked but as the fight wore on, she released herself more and more, throwing herself into the battle with a rising passion, probably getting scared.
        She should be afraid, he thought, pulling a third grenade from his thigh plate. The chakaaryc demagolka deserved it. Pulling the pin, he let it cook off a few seconds, then hurled it over the low sandstone rise he took cover behind. It burst in the air, showering the area with shrapnel, and he leapt to his feet, on the move again.
        Rising from behind cover, he hefted his carbine left handed, spraying blaster bolts in a broad sweep as he circled around toward her last known position. She rose to meet him, parrying his shots easily, adjusting to stay facing her attacker. When he had her where he wanted her, Buruk thumbed the reel on his whipcord, retracting it back into his right gauntlet. The initial snap pulled the cable taut, actuating the trigger of the hidden blaster pistol he’d tied it to, and firing it right at the Jedi’s back.
        She twirled, swatted the shot away, as Buruk closed in, holding down the carbine’s trigger and not letting up. But his shots didn’t even come close. She threw up her hand as she turned, and his weapon reoriented itself away, firing harmlessly into the stormy sky. Osik! he thought, trying to bring it back in line, but to no avail; it held fast. Shab! Shab! Shab!
        When she turned back to him, she swept her lightsaber through the carbine’s body, bisecting it in his hands, then followed up with another thrusting hand gesture, slamming him to the ground hard enough to elicit a shocked outcry. Raising her hand, he lifted up from the ground, legs kicking futilely in a desperate attempt to break free. It couldn’t end like this, not at the very beginning!
         “You cannot hide your cheap tricks from me,” she hissed, ignoring the gusting sands that bit into her exposed skin. “I see everything! The Mandalorian armor you hide yourself in, the mark of a lightsaber over your eye, the terrified racing of your heart.”
        She splayed her fingers and his arms and legs spread eagle where he hung in midair. “You going to talk me to death or put that shiny-stick to work?” he spat defiantly.
         “I even see your hatred for me,” she continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “Without it, you are a hollow thing, empty and pathetic. The shell of a man encased in the shell of your armor.”
        A flick of her wrist and Buruk flew backward, back into a cave where he rolled to a rough stop on the rocky floor. She stood in the mouth, backlit by the intense waves of solar radiation warping the sky, her robes whipping about crazily. He didn’t hesitate. He fired his wrist rocket, an incendiary round. It whooshed up the tunnel toward her, where she reached out and pushed it aside. It collided with the wall and exploded, splashing her with jellied fuel that ignited on contact with the air.
        Fire crawled across her sleeve faster than he could blink, engulfing her. She screamed, flailing her arm about and stumbling back into the open. Seconds later, the full force of the heat storm hit, billions of hot, sharp grains of sand blasting her skin open as the fire spread, exposing muscle and fat to the blistering temperatures, drying them out and igniting them in turn.
         “Bet you didn’t see that,” Buruk muttered as he watched with a mix of relief and horror as she was swiftly incinerated until all that remained were bones and a lightsaber.

        Hours passed and Lynli was well beyond worry. She was outright panicking, pacing back and forth within the Cuun’yaim’s cargo hold. Word hadn’t come back from Buruk yet and the local news said a heat storm hit near Lessu shortly after they’d arrived on Ryloth. Let him come back, she thought. Please let him come back.
        Aerek waited with her, casting a worried look at the airlock every few minutes. “He’ll be back soon,” he said. He’d repeated it about six times now over the last hour. Lynli just nodded and kept pacing.
        Suddenly there was a loud bang against the airlock door. Lynli ran to it, threw it open, and there he stood, very much the worse for wear. For a moment, she just stood and stared into that blank T-shaped visor, just grateful to see him again. Then she threw her arms around him, hugging him. His armor was uncomfortably hot but she didn’t care. Aerek ran up and hugged him too, throwing his arms around Buruk’s waist.
         “So… did you miss me?” the Mandalorian asked sarcastically, placing a hand experimentally on each of their backs.
         “What happened to the swoop?” Lynli asked into his shoulder.
         “It sort of… exploded,” he answered sheepishly.
         “I can’t fix exploded,” she chuckled.
         “Yeah. Did you know it’s a long walk from Lessu to Sal’kaasa?” When she threw a glance over his shoulder, he added, “Jet pack ran out of fuel after about a klick.”
         “Next time call,” Lynli said. Then, finally disengaging herself, she asked, “You got what you came for?”
        He nodded. “You?”
         “No,” she answered. Then, she punched him lightly in the arm and said, “I got something better.” With that, she turned and skipped up the stairs to the upper catwalks.
         “So no Vairns in the comlink registry?” he called up to her.
         “Not a one,” she replied.
        Shrugging his shoulders, Buruk looked down at Aerek who still hadn’t released his hold on him. Ruffling the boy’s hair with one hand while he removed his helmet with the other, he said, “Woman is a fickle creature.”
         “Elek,” the youth agreed, then looked up into the man’s face and burst out laughing.
         “What?” Buruk asked, oblivious to the T-shaped tan line over his otherwise pale face.

        The members of the Clan Council sat on their cushioned throw pillows, having reconvened several hours after the initial recess. They waited restlessly for the Jedi Zaruul to return, Councilor Koma checking his chrono every few minutes. Eventually they dispatched a messenger to locate the Jedi and squire her back to the chamber.
        Once an hour had passed with no word, Councilor Mohona spoke up. “My fellow councilors, I think we’ve waited long enough. The Senate wishes to interfere in our economy and dictate business ethics to us.” His words met with muttered agreement from the others.
         “The Jedi wished to impose sanctions on legitimate organizations to cripple their business simply because they viewed their methods as distasteful. And their view is based on their high-and-mighty Core mentality and the endowments of Old Money!” The councilors voiced their support more loudly now.
         “They would have promised assistance and support in enforcing their economic sanctions, which would have amounted to an occupation by the Judicial Forces. However, I believe we’ve seen the extent of the Jedi’s and indeed the Republic’s sense of commitment to its outlier worlds. Were we to acquiesce to their demands, we would no doubt be left to once again fend for ourselves and our time arguing the point will have been wasted. I say we declare this issue to be closed.”
        As the three other councilors applauded, Koma had no choice but to say, “Agreed. We shall neither ratify nor enforce any sanctions brought forward by the Senate’s Jedi ambassador.” He frowned. “No changes shall be made to Ryloth’s antislavery laws or in the manner with which they are carried out.” He struck the dais with a gavel. “Council adjourned.”
        Mohona, the corrupt bureaucrat that he was, smiled triumphantly as he stood and left the chamber. Koma watched him go, shaking his head ruefully.