Star Wars: Scourge

by Jeff Grubb

  The Jedi ran into the open, toward the swoop gang leader. The gang leader had produced a long, curved blade and was piloting the swoop one-handed, intent on cutting Mander down before everyone.

  Mander felt the pain of a twisted ankle radiating with every step, and favored the leg as he ran forward. The swoop leader saw the limp and screamed again, his face twisted in a spasm of Tempest-induced rage. Mander waited for the last second, then brought his blade up to match that of the leader.

  The lightsaber cut through the blade effortlessly, but the blade was not Mander’s target. Instead he followed through to dig into the leader’s torso—and the seat itself—cutting through the couplings and thrusters. The swoop let out a shriek and pitched sideways, dragging its dead rider across the sand before impacting into the side of a ruined starship engine.

  Blaster bolts cut around him, and Mander deflected what he could, but limped toward Reen and Eddey’s position as they lent him cover. The attackers were down to less than a dozen, but only a couple of Nikto bodyguards were still standing. The surviving swoops spun around for yet another pass. Removing the leader had done little to shake their resolve.

  Then Mika’s own skiff rose from behind the wreckage of the freighter, the small Hutt manning a forward-mounted gun. The weapon swung in a smooth, practiced arc, shots falling among the swoop bikes. Two of them went up in flames, and the concussions flipped another pair of swoops. The survivors turned tail at that, fleeing up the hill, Eddey and Reen firing a few shots at their retreating backs.

  Mander turned toward the Hutt’s skiff. The small Hutt saluted the Jedi, but as he did so a last swoop bike rose behind the skiff, its wounded rider training twin guns at the Hutt’s back. Mander tried to shout but the blasters erupted too quickly …

  And the Hutt ducked. It happened in an instant, too fast for even Mander to realize. The Hutt slumped and threw himself to one side, so that the blaster shots ripped through the forward housing of his skiff and one of his guardian Niktos, but left the Hutt unscathed. In a moment shots from Eddey, Reen, and the surviving Niktos cut the biker down.

  As soon as it had started it was over, the battlefield nothing more than corpses and smoking blaster scoring. Mander checked out the Niktos, to find only one or two still alive. Of the swoop riders, none survived the encounter. Their dead faces were twisted in rigid snarls, mapped by the tracery of Tempest-swelled blood vessels.

  Eddey and Reen came up to him, and Mander shook his head. “No survivors.”

  “I didn’t know you wanted to question them,” said the Bothan.

  Reen shook her head. “Maybe you should have kept one alive yourself. Of course, your lightsaber doesn’t have a stun setting.”

  Mika slithered out from the shade of the shelter, two Niktos trailing behind him.

  “Thank you,” Mander said to the Hutt.

  “Your excellent service will be rewarded,” replied the Hutt. “You weakened them sufficiently for me to act. If I had brought the skiff out too early in the battle, it would have just drawn all the fire. You know who they were?”

  “The Tempest addicts we ran into earlier,” said Mander. “They probably followed us.”

  “Probably,” said the youthful Hutt, but he did not seemed convinced. “What happens now?”

  Mander looked around at the debris. “If you have nothing else going on here, I’d like to head back to our ship. Quietly.”

  “We can load our wounded on one of the skiffs, and I can go with you on the other,” said the Hutt. “Do we leave then?”

  “We will send word to your father once we reach our ship,” said Mander. “But if we don’t have any more trouble, we should stay a few more days. The CSA is distributing the spice your father gave us to the infected populace. It would be easier to wait until the quarantine is lifted.”

  “Hang on,” said the Hutt, looking skyward. “I think there is going to be a change of plans.” Eddey growled as well, hearing something above human recognition.

  Reen looked up at the dust-filled sky. “What? I don’t hear anything.”

  Mander scanned the horizon. “You’re right. More visitors are incoming.” He had just managed to get the words out of his mouth when the IRDs came screaming across the sky. They were three of them. One of them banked toward Tel Bollin while the other two circled over the campsite, looking for a place to touch down.

  “The cavalry arrives,” muttered Reen. “Once all the fighting is over, of course.”

  “More likely the fighting is what drew them in the first place,” said Mander.

  “Do you have a recommendation for our next action?” said Mika, looking sidewise at the Jedi.

  “Let’s play nice,” said Mander, and Reen growled at the concept. “After all,” he continued, “your father did ask the CSA to find you, and now they have, after their own fashion.”

  Flight Officer Lockerbee was in his cleanly pressed uniform, though more cautious and officious than Mander had previously thought possible. He stood farther away from the Jedi and the others as he spat out orders: Everyone will remain in the campsite. A shuttle will be dispatched from the Resolute for them and their wounded. The other IRD is tracking the fleeing swoops. No, they will not be allowed to return to the New Ambition, at least not until Lieutenant Commander Krin has had a chance to speak with all of them. And one more thing: she wishes to speak with Mander Zuma immediately.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  REPERCUSSIONS

  By saying that she “wished to speak” with Mander Zuma, Lieutenant Commander Angela Krin apparently meant to say she “wished to lock him up and throw away the key.”

  For the next two days Mander was provided with comfortable but secure quarters aboard the Dreadnought Resolute. It was a pleasant set of rooms, which would qualify as a suite on many worlds, with a separate bedroom and bath. These wonderful accommodations were only marred by the carbine-wielding CSA troopers posted outside his door, visible only when food was provided. He was not allowed visitors or contact with others. He was also denied any access to communications or to the ship’s library.

  He was left alone with his thoughts, which at first blush seemed to be punishment enough.

  He meditated and slept between meals, and if there were any spycams in walls—which he assumed likely—it would show for most of the time the Jedi engaged in eating, sleeping, and resting in a state that looked like sleeping. In reality, Mander was reviewing what he knew and what they had learned from Endregaad.

  The plague was tied to the Tempest trade, which meant that it might show up on other, more populous worlds. Perhaps it already had broken out on other planets and would most likely disappear among other, more virulent diseases or be handled by medicines that were regularly prescribed in more urban areas against a host of ills. No, an isolated outpost on an otherwise lightly populated planet was a perfect place to come down with a new disease.

  So had this ship of unknown provenance and origin berthed previously on the disease’s original homeworld, or did the Tempest itself come from a plagueworld? Mander reminded himself to ask the lieutenant commander if she could check the spice and the disease to determine an origin point. That is, if he ever saw her again.

  Of course they would let them go, eventually. It was too much trouble to keep a Hutt incarcerated, particularly one whose family was interested in his release. And once Mika was returned to his family, the news that Mander was a guest of the CSA would likely spread—the Anjiliacs would sell that information, if nothing else—and the Order would ask for his release. And he would refuse to go unless Reen and Eddey Be’ray were released as well.

  Patience, then, was the best medicine. Though he wished he could get a message to the two of them, Reen in particular. He could not imagine her taking this confinement to quarters in good spirits.

  He thought about her and Eddey, and wondered if the pair had anything in their permanent records that might make the CSA bring other charges against them. He decided that it was unlik
ely. Reen was reticent to admit she and the Bothan had previously engaged in smuggling, so the Jedi assumed that it was a relatively rare matter, and the fact they got burned on it and lost their ship indicated that they probably had not been doing it as a fulltime profession. More than likely it was something the Pantoran had agreed to on an impulse, or had decided that the reward was high enough to make it worth it.

  Reen reminded him much of her brother Toro in that degree. Impulsive. Emotional. Ready to take the big risk without considering the outcome. With that impulsiveness came an ability to think beyond the standard responses, which was an advantage. But by the same token, that ability had often led the younger man into the trouble that required that kind of thinking in the first place.

  Mander Zuma thought of their last duel together, as Master and apprentice, at the praxeum on Yavin 4. What had begun as training exercises had blossomed into a friendly and weekly rivalry, in which Toro would try out new tactics and moves that he had been developing. Mander found himself spending more time in practice, researching old holotexts on fighting styles and understanding their underpinning. Usually one of Toro’s new moves had been discovered, exploited, and countered centuries before by some Jedi. Still, the young Pantoran was eager and enthusiastic, and showed no regret that a previous Jedi had walked that path long before he did.

  Apprentice Toro Irana had brought his own lightsaber as well that day. He had crafted it by hand, with crystals that he himself had harvested, as Mander had done before him. His blade had a blue-white purity to it that reflected off his deep blue flesh. The handle was shorter than Mander’s, but he wielded it with a fluidity where the blade led and the body followed effortlessly. Mander noted with regret that Toro would soon leave the Praxeum and act as a Jedi Knight on his own. He had not realized at the time how soon that would be.

  The pair saluted and began to spar, their blades sliding off each other as they touched. Both were holding their blows, Toro waiting for the moment to unleash his latest supposed discovery, Mander waiting for his student to try something. Toro pressed, Mander retreated a few steps and turned aside the attack, riposted, and forced Toro back as well.

  Then Toro saw something that Mander never did in the heat of combat—some weakness in Mander’s responses that opened the older Jedi to an attack on one side. Suddenly Toro seized the opportunity, pressing with a series of wide swings. Mander knew his peril in a moment, and quickly parried the blade, but Toro had already pulled back and unleashed another onslaught, this one culminating with a double-handed overhand smash.

  Mander recognized the series from a set of old holos in the archives—it was used two hundred years previously, primarily for its flashy nature. This was an assault that played to the crowds, but had several counters, the most effective being a steering block.

  Mander brought his blade up and the two lightsabers crackled as he caught the descending blade squarely with his own. The force of the blow staggered him slightly, but Mander gave with the knees and resisted the blow. Despite being beneath his opponent’s blade, Mander now had the advantage. He could steer the attacking opponent, who was overextended and could not keep the pressure up beyond the initial blow. Mander could move him easily to the right or left, breaking the contact and putting Toro at a disadvantage.

  Instead Mander held the blades for a long moment. Through their clashed lightsabers, he could feel the pressure of Toro’s blade shift first to one side, then the other, trying to slide past the block. Always Mander countered these attempts, keeping Toro in the blocked position. The apprentice was trapped. His only choice was to release the pressure and fall back, surrendering the momentum, and perhaps the match, to Mander.

  Toro knew all that, Mander realized. Using the steering block to trap your opponent’s blade was a basic maneuver, and no Jedi would hold it once it became clear that his opponent had that level of control. What was he planning?

  “Master,” said Toro, the Force flowing into his voice, “you want to drop your weapon.”

  A wave of the Force swept over Mander, and it felt like his mind was a ship, riding up that wave. For an instant he thought this was a reasonable request, and he reduced his pressure on his student’s upper blade. Toro grinned and pressed his assault.

  Then suddenly the boat of his mind crested the wave and Mander knew what Toro had tried: he was using the Force to weaken him—a simple mind trick. Mander’s own resolve rose within him, and he pulled back farther, causing Toro to overbalance now and fall toward him, losing the control that his mind trick had temporarily given him. Mander guided his opponent’s lightsaber to the right and stepped away, executing his own push at the last moment and sending his student sprawling. Mander finished his disengage with a twist of his wrist, and Toro’s short-hafted lightsaber flew from his fingers.

  Toro rolled to one side and tried to rise, his hand reaching out to pull his lightsaber to him. He stopped when he realized that Mander was standing over him, lightsaber pointed at his apprentice’s chest.

  Toro raised both hands in surrender. The match was over.

  Mander, however, did not move. He fought the sense of anger within him.

  “That was incredibly foolish,” he said, trying to make his words sound less furious and more instructive. He failed utterly. “Do not use the Force like that on me!”

  Toro’s eyes went wide, and for the first moment Mander saw something that he had not seen before in his student—fear. Slowly, Mander Zuma raised his lightsaber and shrank the blade back into its hilt. He reached down and offered Toro his hand. Toro hesitated for a moment, half a second at most, then grasped his Master’s hand and got to his feet.

  “I am sorry, Master Zuma,” said Toro Irana. “I did not mean to anger you.”

  “You didn’t,” said Mander, and knew it was a lie as soon as the words left his mouth. “You did surprise me, which I assume was your intent.”

  “It was,” said Toro, looking for forgiveness in Mander’s face. “I didn’t know it had been tried before.”

  “It has,” said Mander, his voice softening as he moved from upbraiding to instructing. “And that’s why you don’t use it. When you attempt to use the Force to manipulate the mind of another of similar ability, that attempt is clear to your target, and will probably be met with extreme resistance and retribution. And that includes them using the Force to manipulate you as well.”

  “Then,” Toro said—and Mander could see that the young Pantoran was digesting what he had said, looking for a way around it, “I could use it as a tactic against opponents who were not strong in the Force.”

  “If you could,” said Mander, “you probably would not need to draw your lightsaber in the first place. ‘The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded.’ ”

  “That was a quote,” noted Toro.

  “Yes,” said Mander. “From my Master’s Master’s Master. And an apprentice’s mind tricks should not work on the one who taught them to him. Should you find yourself in a situation where someone uses the Force on you in this way, try the Meditation of Emptiness. It clears your mind, and with it the influence of others.”

  “I will remember that, Master,” said Toro, smiling now, sure he had been forgiven.

  Mander managed to smile back at his student, though his mind was neither empty nor clear on the matter. “Come,” he said. “Let me tell you of the dangers of using the Force in that way. We can spar again later.”

  But they never did spar again, and Mander knew that would be the case. Even without his attempt to use the Force, Toro was more than capable of taking Mander’s full measure and the older Jedi knew it. So when the opportunity appeared for Toro Irana to leave the Praxeum on Yavin 4, he took it, and his travels thereafter never took him back. The next time Mander saw him, the young Pantoran was dead, lying still in a Swokes Swokes mortuary, his body ravaged by the effect of the Tempest and a fall from a great height.

  Was it his fault? Mander wondered. If he had not reacted in such anger, humiliated
the young man, would he have stayed? Would he have been a better Jedi with more training? Or if someone else had trained him? Or did he let the young man pass into the greater universe without sufficient training, because he himself lacked anything else to teach him?

  Or, Mander thought, was the fact that Toro took Tempest simply the young Jedi’s own doing? Was he looking for that edge? If Tempest increased the resistance to the Force, then was he looking for something that wouldn’t let others manipulate him as he could manipulate others?

  There was a knock and the hatch slid open, shaking Mander from these musings. Lieutenant Lockerbee appeared with two guards. “The commander wishes to see you at your earliest convenience,” he stated. He and his companions did not move from the entrance, indicating that they would wait for that time to arrive.

  Mander let out a sigh and pulled himself to his feet, reaching for his formal outer robe. “I was having trouble meditating anyway,” he said, following Lockerbee as the two guards fell in behind them.

  As they approached the command conference deck, the door hissed open and another lieutenant, escorting Reen Irana, emerged, followed by two more guards. There was a brief moment as the two groups sought to move past each other in the hallway without breaking protocol.

  “It seems she wants to talk to all of us,” said Reen as she passed near Mander.

  “What did she ask you about?” said Mander.

  Reen made a face and said, “What do two women always talk about?” Seeing the confusion on his face, she answered her own question: “Men.” And then the changing of the guards was complete and she was gone, back to her own private, guarded suite. Mander was issued into the lieutenant commander’s presence.

  The command conference deck was as spartan as Mander remembered it. Only one chair was before the large desk console. Mander noted that the holo-chess game was paused in mid-game to one side. Behind Lieutenant Commander Angela Krin, Endregaad spun slowly on the viewscreen, unchanged from the time when the plague held that world in its grip.