Chapter Nineteen

The door out of the ‘prison’ had been left open, and there wasn’t a guard, which let them escape all too easily. The door had no handle on their side, which would’ve made escape impossible without the force, and the electronic lock meant that, while he could probably have forced the mechanism open, he also very likely would’ve set off an alarm.

A quick check of the other cells showed almost all were unoccupied. He darted inside the one that wasn’t, containing the girl Jorel had carried out of the burning building. It’d complicate their escape, yes, but he’d gotten captured trying to save her, he wasn’t just going leave without her.

However, even as he got close, he knew it wouldn’t matter.

She was dead.

Her burns had been bad, but, with even the tiny medpack he’d had in his belt, he could’ve stabilized her long enough to get help. Hell, with how well his healing had progressed under his master, he could’ve done so without it, if they’d found transport and Hisku had driven. However, left untreated for hours, she’d died, long enough ago that there were no ripples of it in the Force, at least nothing discernable past the general malaise that hung in the air of the prison, worse than the slums, but not by much.

However, that thought made him turn to his minder, companion, partner, whatever. “Hisku, you need healing?” he asked, already hallway into the mental state required. From his fingers, beads of blue phantom dew formed, real in the Force, if almost entirely intangible otherwise. He wasn’t very good at the technique, thoughts tending to slip if he wasn’t careful, but they both needed to be at their best.

“No, I’m fine,” she deferred, and he shot her a disbelieving look. “Chiss are hardier than humans,” she commented, with some pride, and, looking more closely at her, he noted that, past the soot and grime, she didn’t actually appear injured. His skin, however, was still a little red, and, focusing the healing inwards, he finished up bringing himself back to, if not perfect health, then close.

The bit of fatigue from using the Force quickly faded, and, looking over her once more, he found she was, indeed, completely healed. He’d thought, given how cold-aligned her species was, fire would affect her worse than humans, but that apparently wasn’t the case.

“Are you going to keep staring, or are we going to leave?” the Sergeant asked, looking past him to the dead girl. “There’s nothing more you can do for her, unless Jedi can bring the dead back to life.”

“They can’t,” he said, reaching over and closing the dead girl’s sightless eyes, hoping she’d been unconscious when she died, not knowing enough about medicine to determine how she died. It was all Jorel could do to hope she found peace in the Force. “Alright,” he agreed, standing, “let’s go.”

Very quickly, they found what kind of building they were in. It was a factory, and one that still seemed somewhat active, though at a much-diminished capacity. Passing through another door, they entered the working area, Jorel taking the lead while Sergeant Hisku followed behind him. Slinking past workers, at first, they found suitable, if bare, disguises. With those, the two of them picked their way through the complex. The windows, high and out of sight, were all shuttered, and, lacking a saber and time, would not make for good exit points, even if they could get to them, which they could not easily.

More important than the factory itself though, was that the compound full of what were obviously gang-members, more organized than he’d expected. Thankfully, the building wasn’t packed, and moving carefully, they were able to avoid detection.

Stealth, while not exactly his forte, was not the act of moving unseen, but unnoticed. Almost no one, not even most guards, paid attention to everything around them, at least for not any length of time. An enemy’s attention could be roused, in a state where they, for a minute or two, became hyper-aware, knowing something was wrong. But for a dozen? For an hour? For eight? No, it was only things that looked out of place that attracted attention.

The most skilled infiltrators could walk into a place without so much as raising an eyebrow, so obviously belonging there that even the most secure door could be bypassed as someone else held it open for them. A less trained agent would have to observe an area, figure out patterns, derive strategies.

Jorel was barely trained, only having his own experiences to fall back on, as well as the Sentinel classes he’d attended with Anaïs, if only to stave off boredom. A not very nice part of him also liked the fact that, while she could master the Force techniques faster than he could, and use them more effectively, this kind of mundane use was something that escaped her, and was one of the few areas, other than direct combat, where he proved her better.

A master infiltrator could have ghosted out without anyone the wiser, and, while he lacked the training and experience of such a person, he had the basics, and he could cheat.

“I look ridiculous,” Sergeant Hisku muttered, wearing the same smock as he was, as he handed her a large, empty box, grabbing a couple of smaller ones he stacked in front of him, a whisper of the Force guiding him.

“You look annoyed, which works,” he shot back. “Now follow me.”

Carrying the boxes, their faces, especially hers, were blocked from the line of sight of most of the workers and some of the gang-members. The overgarment they both ware broke up the form of her uniform, just as it helped hide his padawan garb, the boxes adding to that effect. Most of all, though, was the subtle veil he drew about them in the Force.

Not exactly a Mind Trick, it followed the same principles, only instead of taking a battering ram to another’s Presence, forcing it, in a way, to conform to the will of the user, this was more a starship’s prow, diverting attention around oneself. The part of someone that would go ‘you aren’t supposed to be here’, which reached out towards the user, in a manner of speaking, would be turned aside, and then rationalized away.

True Mind Tricks required words because of how specific they were, with greater control reducing the need to say exactly what one wanted. He was pretty sure a Master at the Temple was so skilled she could do so with just a look and a raised eyebrow.

Or Master Wayam was just that good at disapproving stares. Despite having no eyes.

However, weakened as the veils were compared to a true Mind Trick, they could be more easily pierced, something compounded by Jorel’s lack of skill with the technique. That’s why he took the other steps, as the less out of place they were, the less the veil had to do.

They made their way across the production floor, unremarked upon, until one man, without looking at them, yelled in their direction, “Calren, that you?”

Jorel didn’t miss a beat, knowing the veil remained intact, grunting, and shaking his head as he continued to carry the boxes.

“Well, tell him his break’s been over for ten minutes!” the random, strong-willed man directed, and Jorel grunted noncommittally, carrying the boxes to the doorway.

Exiting, they smoothly, but unhurriedly, made their way down a hall, past several armed men who were lounging around, stepping, not with purpose, as that would attract attention, but with the bored, almost slow steps of someone who knows that, the second they put down their current cargo, they’ll just have to go get more.

His destination was deeper in, two of them, now that they were closing in on them. However, they had to stop, turning to enter a storage room, and drop their boxes off first. He did so, coming face to face with a brown haired boy smoking a death stick, sitting in the back of the room, staring at him as he did so.

“Who the crink are you?” the boy demanded, trying to sound tougher than his immature voice would allow, the veil breaking as they were both focused on fully. Jorel subtly reached over to keep Hisku from putting her own boxes down, her distinctive appearance the exact opposite of what they needed.

“You Calren?” Jorel asked, sounding bored.

The boy scowled, “What’s it to you, nerf-herder?”

“Your break’s over,” the padawan told him.

“So? Why should I care? And who are you?” the kid asked, louder.

“I’m the one passing on the message,” Jorel replied, looking unimpressed. “And Bi, put those down over there,” he directed, pointing to a far corner, making her look less conspicuous as she was no longer just standing there with the box. “So you gonna go, or should I go back and tell him you aren’t coming?”

The teen scowled dropping the mostly burned narcotic, and stomped out, slamming his shoulder against Jorel’s as he passed and muttered, “Don’t need to be a drukhead ‘bout it.”

The jedi, following his instincts, resisted slightly, but let the kid go, the room empty. Looking to the Sergeant, she waited in the corner, blaster out. “You didn’t need that,” he said, moving over to the boxes, opening them up, looking for something, though he didn’t know what.

“I wasn’t sure he was going to leave,” the Sergeant replied levelly.

“And when the sound of Blasterfire drew the rest?” Jorel asked, causing the Chiss woman to pause, scowling.

“Stupid stealth ops,” she muttered, holstering it and moving over. “So, why aren’t we leaving. We passed an exit.”

Jorel shook his head. “Trapped, or something.” It’d just felt. . . off. Like the doors in the Temple from behind which a Jedi Knight waited, when he was sneaking around after curfew. “Bingo,” he smiled, finding a box full of random junk, including a face-covering helmet, tossing it to her. “Wear this.”

She hesitated, but did so, complaining, “It stinks.”

“What’s wrong, Sergeant, not used to a little smell?” he smiled, finding a cloak and tossing it to her as well. “Over the smock.”

She complied, and he grabbed a datapad. It had random stuff, a list of prices for various goods, and a mail program, full of junk messages. “When I say, ‘Can’t I just,’ take your pistol out and motion at me with it, but keep the smock hidden. Other than that, follow me,” he instructed, coming up with a plan on the fly, the Force not objecting, or not caring, he really didn’t know which. All of this ‘trusting in the Force’ thing left him flying blind, but if it got him into this mess, it could get him out of it.

“. . . Fine. But someone shoots at us, we’re leaving,” she agreed, after a moment of consideration.

Knowing that was the best he was going to get, he shot her a grin full of confidence that he didn’t feel, and nodded. Taking a second to center himself, closing his eyes, he tried to change mindsets. Not a bored worker, but a somewhat nervous one, not sure why he was being called. Nodding to the Sergeant again, he walked out, none of the thugs hanging in the hallway looking their way as they walked away from them, turning a corner into another hallway, at the end of which was a doorway with a guard.

They approached, the guard, a wrinkled Weequay man, looking up at them, eyes focusing on Jorel. “Workers not allowed in,” he commanded.

Jorel laughed nervously, not exactly faking it, holding up the datapad, flashing the screen to quickly to be read. “I was told there’s a problem with the report. That I need to talk to the boss. If you want to take it, that works, but they’ve got questions. Trust me, if I could stay outside, I would.”

Hisku stared impassively at his back, not saying anything, just as he’d asked, while the other alien stared at them with narrowed eyes. “No workers allowed in,” the guard repeated.

He’d hoped he could save it for later, but Jorel used his trump card, glancing back to Hisku, plaintively asking, “See? I can’t go in. So can’t I just lea-”

His partner pulled out her blaster pistol, pointing it at him.

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly, turning back to the Weequay. “Come on man, I don’t want to get shot.”

The guard stared, before reaching over, putting in the code, and opening the door for them. “Good luck,” he commented maliciously as they walked in.

The door closed behind them with a slam, and the guard’s chuckle, and the pair found themselves in a much nicer looking hallway. “I can’t believe that worked,” the Sergeant announced quietly. “But now we’re locked in. In a base full of criminals. With Blaster Pistols.”

“We’re not locked in with them, they’re locked in with us,” Jorel quipped, but even with a helmet, his partner’s unamused stare was just as potent as normal. “Right, this way.”

Moving down a hallway, walking past doorways, a few open, with normal strides, Jorel felt a sense of danger from around the corner. Infusing his body with the Force, he turned the corner, practically running into another man, supernatural strength allowing him to not break stride, slamming a palm into the man’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. A second blow to the man’s his head knocked him out. Jorel caught him smoothly, footsteps regular, not the panicked shuffle that would draw attention from nearby rooms.

Shaking a little, not having expected that, Jorel carried the now unconscious criminal, wearing body armor, and with a familiar looking blaster pistol, but, thankfully, no helmet, along with them. Making their way to a particular doorway, the Force indicating it was their destination, they entered what was very obviously a waiting room. Dropping the body off inside, stripping Sergeant Hisku’s confiscated pistol from the criminal and returning it to her, he took in the room. It was empty, thankfully, and there was a door on the other side of the space, ajar, voices coming from within.

“Now, what is it you think’ll make up for our training house getting torched,” a woman’s voice, harsh, and very annoyed, questioned.

With the sense it wouldn’t matter anymore, Jorel motioned for his partner to take off her helmet, creeping forward to listen.

“It’ll more than make up for it, boss,” a man’s voice, smooth and sly, replied, raising goosebumps as he remembered the last time he’d head such a voice.

“And that would be? It’s not good to keep a lady waiting,” the woman, presumably the leader of these criminals, almost purred, though it was a predator’s sound, not happy, but waiting.

Focusing in the Force, he could feel Hisku’s presence behind him, not quite as clear as he could feel his Anaïs’, wherever she was, but still better than most. She was full of trepidation, fear, but also curious interest as she crouched down behind him, along with a smidgen, so small it could be overlooked, of trust in him.

He hoped it wasn’t misplaced.

On the other side of the door, there weren’t two presences, but three, a guard standing not even a few feet away from them, his presence low, and muted, at the ready, but not engaged.

Of the other two, the man’s Presence, who he assumed was closer to the door, felt a little like Puckrev’s, though not nearly as infused with Darkness. Whether that was because the man hadn’t done as much, hadn’t had the opportunity to commit the same acts as the pirate leader, or possibly was just not as bad as that man, Jorel didn’t know. However he was still touched by the Dark Side, his Presence not standing as strongly, but with an oily, slippery feel to it.

The woman’s Presence, however, was worse. Like a predator, one that could never be sated, but still cautious. Her presence was sharper, more defined, nothing on Hisku’s, but he instantly knew she was the greater threat.

“Well, I have this,” the man commented, the Guard’s Presence defining itself a little as it firmed slightly, ready to strike at a threat, before calming down.

“A lightsaber? I know they’re hard to come by, but that’s not quite enough,” the woman commented, the distinctive snap-hiss of Jorel’s saber activating.

“Not a lightsaber, a Jedi,” the man pressed. “We caught him there, carrying one of the girls out and everything! Think about it! Slap a slave collar on him, or a transmitter chip, and we could make more than everything we’ve lost combined!”

The woman sighed, “That’s what I liked about you, Julmat. Your ambition. You were a real go getter. Never knowing when to stop.”

“Uh, just tryin’ to help, you know?” the now named Julmat laughed nervously. “But think of it!”

“Do you know what happened to our normal middleman, Julmat?” the woman asked idly.

Jorel could feel the fear, Dark and stinking, in his Presence as he replied, “Um, he pissed off some Republic bigwig? Someone with his own fleet?”

“No, Julmat, he ‘pissed off’ a Jedi. One that doesn’t match the description of the one you’ve somehow managed to capture,” she informed the man, his fear deepening. “Yes, Julmat, you managed to capture his Padawan. And you’ve seen the holos, they can find their ‘Padawans’, like they’re living trackers. You managed to bring a tracker into my operation. Now, what kind of person would do that?”

“I, but, those are just stories!” the man objected, fear growing. “Jedi can’t actually do that! Besides, he’s my cousin’s age! Baby Jedi are, like, brats!”

The woman tsk’d, “Some are your age, Julmat. But don’t worry. He’s already dead, along with the other one you brought. He’ll still be of some use. We’ll drop their bodies in Redclaw terrirory. With any luck, that’ll take care of them completely.”

It wouldn’t work, Jorrel thought. A Jedi’s death created a ripple in the Force. It wouldn’t be where his body ended up that Er’izma would hone in on, but the location where he died.

“Oh, okay, see! That still helps!” the man announced, desperate. “I didn’t mean to put you in danger, I’m not a traitor, I could deliv-“ snap-hiss “gurk.”

Jorel winced at the death, full of panic, fear, repressed anger, and more Dark feelings, billowed out with more force than he was used to. Feeling a momentary warning, he turned, seeing Hisku looking just as surprised as he was, and he grabbed her, a hand over her mouth, as he was directed.

“This was some time coming, Julmat,” the woman commented, smile evident in her tone. “Though I do thank you for the wonderful toy.” She waved it a few times, before deactivating it. The Sergeant gave Jorel an angry look as the boss said, “Come, Xudarr. You know how killing gets me going.”

A leonine voice, inches away from them, rumbled, “That I do, Adossa.”

Without Jorel holding her, Hisku’s shocked gasp would’ve alerted them, but, covered as she was, it was only a momentary suction against his palm, and a small vibration completely smothered. Someone large, but with a soft tread, walked away from them, following the woman away, a door closing elsewhere in the room after they left.

Carefully letting the Sergeant go, she slowly, and silently, took a few deep breaths of air. “Why did you bring us here!?” she hissed quietly.

Trusting his instincts, he opened the door, revealing a very nice office, the smell of burned meat in the air. Still, with half his attention in the Force, he could feel the twin spikes of Lust that poured off from the other room, and the sound of something hitting the wall. He quickly payed more attention to the here and now.

A man, who still wore the uniform of Law enforcement, sat, dead, in a chair, a hole burned through his heart, with the wound track moving upward to take out his throat. Looking around, on shelves sat what could only be described as trophies, from scraps of flags, to weapons, some half-destroyed, to a couple well preserved organs. Jorel spotted what looked like a thermal detonator, a weapon that would set off a magnetically bound nuclear reactor that’d destroy everything in a perfect sphere, and had a thought about grabbing it, priming it, and tossing it into this ‘boss’s’ bedroom, but had a feeling that would be bad.

Instead, he left them alone, grabbing his saber, and checking the dead man’s pockets, finding among other things, a keycard. With that in hand, he felt he had no reason to stay here.

This time, he went with the feeling.