"Whatever you say, boss."
"And while I have your attention, run a code check on a 10-96."
"That's easy. It's listed by Imperial enforcement protocol as a
mentally imbalanced person."
"No, there's got to be something more to it," he contemplated.
"There must be something else. Research the dead files on all 10-codes
with that designation."
"That could take some time."
"Good!" he snapped. "I want every description for a 10-96, everything
from Imperial databases to Old Republic records."
Resistantly, Kierra replied, "Affirmative, boss."
Accompanied by a low hum, the hyperdrive cue flashed intermittently,
recalculating the jump to hyperspace.
Checking the onboard systems, Ross observed hyperactiv-ity in the
library programs, where Kierra was researching the peculiar 10-code.
"Stand by, hyperdrive engaging," he announced, piping into the
ship-wide intercom. Bracing himself against the acceleration chair,
Ross activated the motivator, propelling himself, his passenger, and
his ship into the multicolored explosion of hyperspace.
In the lower cradle of the ship, Ross sat in the swivel gunner's chair,
swinging side to side, absently strumming his fingers against the
turret firing controls. He closed his eyes and massaged a muscle spasm
in his shoulder, wincing as the clenched tendon tightened then
released.
Oblivious to the spectacular display of light and color beyond the
narrow viewscreen, he relaxed against the cool leather brace, drifting
into the serenity of sleep.
"You know," Kierra whispered, "you make the cutest faces when you're
asleep."
"I wasn't asleep," he lied, suppressing a yawn.
"Well heads up, flyboy! I have some intriguing data for yOU."
Ross sat up, rubbing the circulation back into his ears.
"Let's hear it."
"Well, it seems that your mysterious 10-96 dates back long before the
10-code setup even existed. Now, according to the description, and I
must admit I'm perplexed, the 10-96 came from an Old Corellian word,
ke'dem."
Staring into the hyperspace vortex, Ross mentally mouthed the word.
"Go on."
"Go on?" Kierra snorted. "That's it! Since before the Empire, a
10-96 has had two definitions, an imbalanced person and a ke'dem."
Hesitant, she whispered, "Now without over-inflating your ego . . .
what's a ke'dem?"
"It's a variation of Old Corellian that means condemned or fallen."
"Well that would explain the modern terminology."
"Yeah," he whispered, "it would also explain what happened down there
on the planet." The smuggler cupped his hands together, supporting his
head and neck.
"Kierra, darling, Adalric Brandl is a Jedi Knight."
"A Jedi? That would explain a lot of things." Momentarily, her optic
sensor dimmed. "Stand by. Hyperdrive about to disengage. Three .
.
.
two . . . one."
Leaning against the gunner's panic bar, Ross felt the vibration of the
ion drives, set to ignite once the transition was complete. "Easy on
the drive coils, Kierra."
"Aren't you coming to the bridge?" she asked.
"On my way," he replied, "but first I have to collect our unusual
guest."
Blanketed by a protective cloud layer, the planet Trulalis was richly
embellished with a spectacular landscape of verdant green. A mosaic of
rolling grasslands, sprawling forests, and spacious oceans stood as an
invitation to paradise for the space-weary traveler.
Crisscrossed and separated at irregular intervals by feral wilderness,
Trulalis offered innumerable flat fields for small transports to
dock.
Ross made a mental note to mark this planet as a potential checkpoint
on his smuggling runs. A brief sensor scan pinpointed the closest
suitable landing field.
Compensating for the subtle shifts on the ground surface, he set down
near a small hamlet.
On the surface, Ross shouldered his travel tote and secured an extra
power pack to his holster. From the top of the ramp, he hesitated in
the corridor, glimpsing Brandl from the corner of his eye.
The eccentric Jedi was waiting for him outside on the trail, shadowed
by the towering visage of the black trees. A seemingly invincible
statue, the strange man stood with solemn conviction, staring into the
hazy silhouette of the late afternoon sun.
"Kierra, I'm still not sure what Brandl's up to. Keep your eyes
open."
"Keep your comlink open," she replied. "You know how I worry."
"That's my girl," the Corellian chuckled.
Testing the soft earth beneath his boots, Ross strolled up to the
familiar silhouette of his passenger. For the first time since leaving
Najiba, he noted that both of Brandl's hands were visible, one of them
swathed haphazardly in a black bandage. Through gaps in the makeshift
dressing, he saw the tender pink of raw flesh and yellow seepage
draining into the thick fabric.
Before Ross could question him, Brandl turned and started along the
trail. "What did the Najib tell you about me?"
"He said you killed a Twi'lek girl," Ross blurted. After a moment he
pressed, "Did you?"
The Jedi's reply was abrupt and forthright. "Yes." Brandl hesitated
as the Corellian snorted reprovingly.
"Please Captain, your contempt is small reward for a repentant
pilgrim."
"You call murder a penance?" Ross spat.
"When it has become the least of one's crimes," the Jedi paused
dramatically, "yes."
Brandl's apathy toward the woman's death was chilling, sending shudders
throughout the Corellian's body.
"How? You never touched her." Ross grasped Brandl's sleeve and
pulled. "How did you do it!".
"I asphyxiated her."
"She suffocated? In an open room?"
"A sophisticated talent," Brandl sneered, "not meant for the faint of
heart."
"You sound proud of yourself, Jedi!" Ross spat with contempt.
"Makes you feel good to kill an innocent woman?"
"Evil springs from weakness and weakness from ambition; by this grand
order every ambitious man is undone!"
Deliberately, the Jedi challenged, "Tell me, Captain, you too are an
ambitious man. Which of us is truly innocent?"
"Should I applaud now? Ross taunted.
"If you wish!"
"Well before I hand over your accolades, tell me something.
Was that a real line or just something you made up to ease your
conscience?"
Petulant with the smuggler's indignation, Brandl turned on him.
"If it's retribution you wish for me, Captain Ross, then I suggest you
stay close at hand." Scowling furiously, he stared down his long
nose.
"You may yet have your satisfaction."
Provoked by the sinister edge in Brandl's voice, Ross drew his
blaster.
The Jedi apparently heard him, and spun around to face the blaster.
Ross fired a three-round burst at the Jedi. Honed by several seasons
as a bounty hunter, he centered the bolts to explo
de in the square of
Brandl's broad shoulders. Before the deadly energy could land its
mark, Brandl deftly snatched a cylindrical object from his belt.
Momentarily, a narrow shaft of white brilliance ignited from the base,
feinting and parrying with the precise motions of the Jedi's wrists.
Deflected by the lightsaber, the blaster bolts were harmlessly shot off
into the field.
Aghast, Ross could only watch as the destructive rounds dissipated into
oblivion. Abruptly, he felt the crushing pinch of invisible fingers
clenched against his throat, constricting his airway and lungs.
Choking, the smuggler dropped to his knees as the serene landscape of
Trulalis blurred before him. Gradually, the sensation faded, leaving
the Corellian gasping to catch his breath.
"There is one rule of theater that applies to real life, Captain Ross,"
Brandl declared. "Only heroes die. Villains and cowards are left to
suffer." Turning his back on the panting pilot, he snarled, "Now come
along."
Ross shook the haze from his vision. "Is that another line?" he
slurred lethargically.
Brandl trembled, visibly drained as he disengaged the lightsaber with
required effort. "Not just a line, Captain, but an astute warning to
the less-than-humble pilgrim."
Securing the lightsaber to his belt, the Jedi momentarily scanned the
pale skies. "The settlement is less than a kilometer away. We had
best move along. It will be dark soon."
Swearing off bruises, Ross bitterly wedged his pack against his
shoulder and jammed his blaster into the holster.
Quickly brushing past Brandl, he hissed, "Can't imagine why you'd be
afraid of the dark."
Nestled within the dominant embrace of a mountain range, Kovit was
well-protected from the harsh weather conditions of the northern
highlands and the windswept plains of the coastal region. Staring down
the mound into the modest farming community, Ross could vaguely discern
movement in the dusty streets. Drawn by diminutive banthas, wagons
creaked through the wide avenues. Dozens of people walked the streets,
pausing to chat with a neighbor or to haggle over the local street
merchant's wares. From a side alley, three boys grunted and sweated
behind a battered landspeeder, coaxing the vehicle's engines to briefly
ignite. Nearby, above the sporadic choke of the repulsorcraft,
laughter betrayed a trio of children playing with an obsolete astromech
droid.
Brandl hesitated at the crest of the mound, staring down into the
settlement, as if reconsidering his options.
Wilted, the Jedi's shoulders exposed a reluctance to continue.
"Where are you from, Captain Ross?"
Startled by the abrupt question, Ross stammered, "CoreIlia
originally."
"Do you find returning there difficult?"
"Homecomings are always hard." The Corellian shrugged, pursing his
lips doubtfully. "At least for some of US."
Without further reply, Brandl continued down the trail, deliberately
slowing his stride. Vacillating, he stepped through the settlement
gates, as if expecting some invisible force field to bar his path.
Nostalgically passing through the prudent rows of farm cottages, the
Jedi admired the mastery of native architecture, as sculpted from
the indigenous lumber. Herb gardens and prized flower beds adorned the
private lawns, each tenderly manicured and maintained with fastidious
care. As they approached the dry, dusty oval of the settlement common,
Brandl covered his eyes, protecting them from the fading sun, as he
stared into the rich, agricultural outback of the settlement, which
extended far beyond the limits of the community to the base of the
mountains themselves.
From the near center of Kovit, a macabre specter of architecture loomed
above the rustic rooftops. Flyaway buttresses supported the main
construction of the theater, unfurling like stony wings from the
base.
Packed with chalk-white limestone, the obelisk was unequivocally
straight, seeming to elongate into the obscuring skies. Established
waning rays of the sun, momentarily stealing the glory from the
picturesque village. There was a somber sense of belonging that drew
Brandl toward the structure, ignoring the startled glares of the
settlement denizens.
As they passed through the outskirts of the community, Ross nervously
observed a makeshift hangar and the crude snout of a Z-95 jutting from
the narrow bay doors.
The starfighter appeared operational, though crowded by its diminutive
shelter, and eager for a skirmish. Distracted by the presence of
strangers, several men gathered just beyond the shadows of the small
livery, watching intently.
Thumbing the restraint from his blaster, Ross cautiously whispered,
"Your adoring fans?"
"Neighbors, patrons, old friends." Brandl abruptly paused in the
street, as if awakening from an illusion.
"But that was another lifetime."
"Where do they stand in this lifetime?" the smuggler growled.
"Strangers."
Weaving through the haze of the fragrant gardens surrounding the
theater courtyard, a woman and a young boy moved along the grainy,
stone paths. The echo of
their voices Chimed with laughter as a private joke was shared between them. Brandl watched intently as they
walked through the haze and into the dusty streets.
Fiery, auburn spirals cascaded from the woman's head, crowning her oval
face. Unusually pale skin flushed in the faded brilliance, betraying
an 'aversion to excessive sunlight.
Tall but gangly, the boy was no older than 11 or 12 years. Broad
shoulders framed his upper torso, seemingly too heavy for his slender
form. Coordinated and rhythmic, his long legs showed nothing less than
the promise of sharp, steady growth.
Startled by the dark apparition of Brandl, the woman hesitated and
stood motionless in the street, meeting the Jedi's friendless eyes.
The smile parting her full lips was quickly forgotten. Puzzled by her
peculiar behavior, the child swept his gaze from her stony face to
Brandl. Registering nothing more than a stranger, the boy leaned over
his mother's arm and whispered something in her ear.
Obviously distraught, she pulled the child snugly against her and
hurriedly continued their trek across the common. Brandl sighed
remorsefully, then without explanation, resumed his walk toward the old
theater. Beyond the archaic gate a decade or more of wild flowers had
claimed the inner recesses of the theater yard, staggering the once
straight path to the massive bulkhead doors. Residing over the
darkened antechamber, bronze statues and sculpted metalwork lined the
interior corridor.
Adalric Brandl moved gracefully into these familiar shadows,
intuitively stalking the darkened corridors and spacious hallways
beyond. The hollow shell of his memories traced the outlines and
silhouettes of each molded tapestry, a display case of tar
nished prop
swords and shields, and finally the grand hall, where past audiences
had come to experience the stage productions.
Ignoring the Corellian behind him, Brandl quickened his steps, moving
into the immense auditorium. Deafening, the familiar resonating of
applause and encouragement thundered and echoed inside his ears; but
this
illusion was short-lived. There was no audience to applaud, no actors to bow, no stage settings, nor props as he remembered them. The
yawning mouth of the stage was disgracefully bare.
"Who is there?" a voice whispered from the darkness. Brandl faltered,
supporting himself in the elaborately carved doorway.
A thin, frail figure emerged from the darkness of the inner aisle.
"Come closer," he gently commanded.
From the shadows along the back wall, Ross scanned the theater for
other signs of movement. Thumbing the restraint from his blaster, he