Chapter Eighteen
Jedi Sentinel: Cult of Fear
The Force isn’t everything, but it’s in everything. It’s a part of everything. It’s in the ebb and flow of events, every action and reaction. By a slight margin, it favors justice over chaos, peace over violence, life over death. It’s the only reason there’s something instead of nothing, a vast galaxy teeming with life, rather than just clouds of dust and gas slowly falling in on themselves.
It’s also the only reason that, several days later, Jedi Sentinel Xen could walk up Debtor’s Run with his head held high, not pursued by the law or crazy-eyed cultists or monstrous water fowl. In fact, he was kind of a big deal. Tourists pointed and gasped whenever he ventured out. Children asked him to autograph their wooden lightsabers. He’d started wearing his blade again, if only to forestall the endless questions about where it was and what it looked like and would he let them see it please?!
As he shuffled past Repose on this particular morning, ignoring the excited whispers of those loitering outside, Tullum ran out and greeted him. Not just greeted him, but threw an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and gave him a manly squeeze. Very chummy-chummy.
And then he asked the Jedi for booze money. “Just a few credits, for old time’s sake?” the elderly swindler schmoozed.
“Our old times were earlier this week and didn’t you recently steal a camtono case of the cult’s money?” Xen inquired. He would’ve kept on walking, but his new bestie was just so, so heavy and Xen’s legs were just so, so sore.
Tullum laughed heartily. “Easy come, easy go, Master Jedi.”
“I’m not a master,” Xen corrected him.
“You are in my heart.” The grifter put out his hand and Xen noticed it was missing a ring or two.
“I’m such a sucker,” Xen begrudgingly admitted before slipping the sleemo a few coins.
“Money well spent.” Tullum’s fingers snapped shut and he patted Xen too forcefully on the scapula before scurrying away. That gaggle of tourists hanging out in front of Repose welcomed the con man back.
“You are friends with the Jedi!”
“Will he levitate something for us?”
“Can I hold his lightsaber?”
“Absolutely, my friends!” Tullum purred as he shepherded them inside. “When he returns. He eats here all the time. Until then… you’re buying!”
Xen shook his head. Conned again. He caught Skeeves watching from The Wishing Tree, eyebrows like judge’s benches. The old-timer pointed at his timepiece. Xen excused himself by exaggerating his limp and cradling his ribcage as he hurried up the hill toward the spaceport. He’d stop for brunch on the way back. The place was still under construction, but Skeeves always made room for his regular.
Further up the rough-hewn and crowded street, Tooka was performing her latest ballad for an audience from a dozen worlds. They stomped their feet, paws, and hooves; clapped their hands, claws, and flippers. But they all tipped in Republic credits and Tooka was cleaning up.
When had she learned to play the valachord? That was a tricky instrument, but the spikey-haired musician played it with spirit. She was a real talent, far too good for this lonely rock. The fact that she was singing a ballad about Xen did not influence his assessment in the least.
“That old Cathar dug in his claws; victory tasted sweet!
That old Cathar tried to crush him… so Xen cut off his feet!”
Uncle Xen hurried along before any of her fans noticed him. He’d hate to steal her spotlight. And he could always catch up with his Tooka Cat later.
That treehouse! He’d heard what happened with the hooded intruder and couldn’t help wondering if it was the same mystery man who put the whammy on Taos. Had he really been dragged off by terror birds, as Gatts believed? If so, what might that mean for the cult? Maybe Brigg would finally be exposed as a charlatan. Or maybe he’d just double down on his false promises. A problem for another day.
Today was for walking. Gatts felt the same and joined him as he hobbled up the hill. She’d traded her duster for a white linen shirt and durasteel armor over one shoulder. The morning was too steamy for even one such as she to dress in layers. Still had the hat, though. Always the hat.
“Genti’s been singing your praises,” she told him.
“So has Tooka,” he replied. “Did you know she plays the valachord, now?”
She smirked. “Old news, my friend. Where’ve you been?”
He smirked back, as hard as he could. “Making trouble. Same old.”
“Well, Genti says you waged a one man war against the forces of anarchy. Says you tried your best to save his family and he doesn’t even blame you for what happened to his house.” Gatts slugged him in the arm.
Xen winced. “I hope Sabra didn’t treat them too roughly.”
“Sounds like Sabra wasn’t even there,” she confirmed. “Her fanatics only wounded Genti’s pride, locked them in a maintenance shed overnight, but everyone’s fine. Point is, there will be no criminal charges against you.”
“I wasn’t worried,” he shrugged.
“Of course you weren’t.” Gatts cleared her throat uncomfortably. “You know, your friends promised me no more idiot shenanigans. In return, I promised to stand between them and the company. The way it should be. I’m hoping you’ll sign on to the same deal.”
A seabird cackled somewhere in the mist, laughing at him. “I thought you liked me because I’m a troublemaker.”
“Maybe I wanna get in on the troublemaking, too,” she pushed back. “Ever think about that? I thought Jedi were supposed to be wise.”
It was Xen’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not a very good Jedi.”
“Liar.”
They passed the Serenity Self-Help Center. It looked like Xen felt. Angry rich folks had basically rioted in the streets after Sabra’s night of terror. They’d hurled stones through the Center’s windows and tried to light it on fire, though Gatts had put a stop to that. He’d heard Tullum was out that night, selling them the rocks.
This morning, Daros Briggs’ perfect teeth were plastered all over the facade, not to mention his lustrous hair and steel-gray eyes. The propaganda posters disguised the damage and let everyone know that Serenity would bounce right back very soon, better than ever and under old management.
“I know,” Gatts read his mind. “It would’ve been nice to see him suffer, even a little, but it looks like the only real loser was the lawyer. With Genti and Daros taking your side, everything’s falling on her. I mean, it was all her doing, so that’s right as rain, but I hope you two weren’t friends.”
“No, she wants my head on a pike,” Xen confirmed. “I’m sure we’ll be able to look back on this and laugh one day… when one of us is dead.”
“This is my stop,” the sheriff announced as they approached the jail. It’d become a halfway house for drunken cultists and rich folks alike. They’d been brawling in the streets for days. “Busy, busy.”
“See you later, Gatts.” Then, as an afterthought, “I’ll take your deal.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she winked.
Crossing through the straights of the crater’s ridge and into the spaceport, Xen found another welcome sight: Taos repainting her ship. It was the final touch after the new airlock door was installed and all the carbon scoring had been removed. She seemed to be throwing every color at it, in splashes and spatters and long, wild strokes. Must be in a good mood.
The pilot waved to him, face and fingers covered in pigment, orange flight suit quickly becoming a rainbow. He waved back, but did not stop to chat. Today, he had eyes only for Stobi’s workshop.
Old Overalls herself was hard at work when the Sullustan darkened her door. The end of the off-season always brought a rush of overdue repairs as procrastinating pilots readied their ships for the rush. Stobi’s workstations were littered with hyperdrive actuators, alluvial dampeners, power coils, compensators, and a hundred starship parts whose names hadn’t crossed Xen’s mind for years. The air that wafted out to meet him was thick with the comforting, homey smell of engine grease.
“You’re late!” the Bith chuckled. It was a strange and unsettling sound. “How long you been out there chewing Taos’ ear?”
Xen disabused her of the notion. “Not at all, actually. I’m just a bit slow, these days. That’s the cost of thrilling heroics, at my age.”
That softened her tone a bit. “I’ve heard all about it. Several different versions, actually. It’s all anyone can talk about.” She wiped off her hands and walked into the back room, then returned with a long package. “I could’ve had someone deliver this, you realize. Maybe you should be resting.”
“I like to get out of the house,” he told her, but it ruined the mood. She knew all too well what had happened to his house. Xen accepted the long, rectangular box and slung it over his shoulder. It was reasonably light, even for an injured senior like himself. “You should forgive her, Stobi,” he blurted out, unsolicited. “She wasn’t in her — “
“Right mind?” she finished. “I know, Xen. I’ve heard several versions of that, too. And you know very well I’m gonna forgive her… just not yet. If I let her off too easy, she’ll never respect me again.”
“That’s pretty bleak.”
Stobi’s dinner plate eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You can run your failed relationships any way you like, Jedi. Besides, she knows I’ll forgive her. Don’t you worry your wrinkled head about it.”
Xen massaged his scalp. “Seems like the polite thing would be to not point it out.” She laughed again, mood lightening at his expense, as was the local custom.
“Use that to get some rest, hero,” she instructed, returning to her work. “Anything else comes for you, I’ll have it delivered.”
Brunch was waiting for him at The Wishing Tree: eggy toast and crispy meats with sweet breads and itty bitty cakes Xen had never seen before. “These are something special, Skeeves,” he gushed about a mouthful of frosted goodness. “Where’d you get them?”
“Never you mind where I got them!” The barkeep was in a mood. Judging by the noise in the back, an army of carpenters and plumbers was trying to take the kitchen by force. Whatever they were doing, Skeeves apparently didn’t think they were doing it right. “All you need to mind are your manners.”
Xen swallowed before continuing. “You’re gonna make a killing, is all I’m saying. When the work is done, I mean. The new menu is to die for.”
“If it gets done,” the Yarkora grumbled.
“It’ll get done,” Xen tried to console his friend, but Skeeves was already charging through the kitchen door, hollering for somebody to be careful with something.
The morning fog was beginning to burn off, admitting a warm shaft of sunlight that angled across the floor and set the Uneti tree ablaze. Figuratively, of course.
Xen was working on a side of ham when the dark silhouette of a gunslinger appeared in the door. Minus the gun. Sabra Mul’s belt held only jewels and ornate scrollwork, but she stood there with all the confidence and menace of a killer for hire.
“Thought I’d find you here,” she growled. “Our opposition research was extremely thorough.”
“I’m armed,” he warned her, clearing his throat with a fruity beverage.
“Just stopping by for some refreshment on my way to the spaceport.” She still hadn’t come inside. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m being exiled.”
Xen kicked out the stool next to him while fetching a bottle of Andoan White with The Force. A pair of fluted glasses also levitated down from the overhead rack and settled on the bar. “It’s on me.”
“It had better be,” the litigator muttered. For someone leaving in disgrace, the Pantoran was remarkably put together. An asymmetrical, gilded skirt hung from her enormous, bejeweled belt. Concentric necklaces of gold and other precious metals ringed her neckline like armor plating. Her lavender hair was bound up with a turquoise comb.
And yet, there was something ragged around her golden eyes. She carried a tension in her body, like a fault line ready to crack. She smoothed her skirt and accepted Xen’s offer, taking a seat on the stool.
He poured them both a drink. “Think you’ll come off well in Ostia’s book?” he needled her, probing the limits of this truce.
“That’s not even her real name,” Sabra shot back. “Want to know what is?”
Xen was deflated. “Naw. I’ll find out when I find out. Hey!” he perked up, as if having the thought for the first time, “We’re gonna be famous together.”
“I’d rather be famous alone.” Sabra made a face as she tossed back her drink, but poured herself another all the same. “You really should’ve let me have Brigg. It was only after your theatrics at that ingrate’s house that the wealthy donors turned against me. Now, you’ll have to deal with an invigorated Daros Brigg, drunk on his own power and feeling untouchable. I hope you’re enjoying his largess.” She looked pointedly around the restaurant. “It won’t last.”
“Actually,” the Jedi beamed, “I have you to thank you for that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. If not for your petty scheme to put Skeeves out of business, Brigg would never have felt compelled to pay for these renovations. In a way, this is all on your tab, Sabra. Cheers.” He lifted his glass.
She ignored it. “Happy I could help.”
“And that meant I could use my settlement — which he also wouldn’t have offered if not for your attack — to buy off the rest of Taos’ loan. She owns her ship now, free and clear, so that’s two life-long dreams you helped realize this week. You’re a miracle worker!”
Sabra changed the subject. “Can anybody leave a wish on that tree?”
Xen nodded in the affirmative and gestured toward the end of the bar, where Skeeves kept a bin of pens and long strips of paper. “Help yourself.”
Sabra retrieved one of each and started inscribing something. Her handwriting was clear, meticulous, and in a dialect Xen did not understand. Not that he was spying. And while she worked, Sabra told Xen a story…
“Back in finishing school, I had this rival. We competed for top marks, first chair, awards, even lovers. He was the more talented, I can now admit, but I was the more driven. Talent counts for little without ambition.”
“If you say so,” Xen commented, “but I’ve always found cooperation to be the superior strategy.”
“Agree to disagree,” Sabra shut him down. “Our rivalry pushed us both to excel. I was nearly top of my class. You’ll never guess who beat me.”
Xen chuckled knowingly. “I guess that killer instinct wasn’t so essential, after all.”
“Quite the contrary. Without me pushing him, that fool would have accomplished nothing. Whatever the case, we graduated and went our separate ways. No love lost between us, but when I got my first position with Serenity and needed to build out a legal team… I looked him up.”
“You gave your nemesis a job?” Xen gagged, choking on his dessert. “Weren’t you worried he’d just show you up? Again?”
“Not really. As his superior, I’d be taking credit for all his work.”
“Of course you would.” Xen was losing his appetite. The rest of these tiny cakes would have to go home with him. “So, you work with your rivals. And you’re kind of a jerk. Half of those things, I already knew.”
“That was the story until about a year ago,” Sabra teased. “I’d denied him a few promotions, whilst advancing myself to Chief Litigator, just waiting for the right moment. It came when the fool fell in love and decided to start a family. You see, he came to me looking for a raise. He wanted to buy a house for his wife and unborn child… so I fired him.”
That was it. Xen was getting the rest of this to go.
Sabra smiled. It was unsettling. “All those years without a promotion had made him dependent on the company. No one else would take him; he looked like a layabout, lacking ambition. And without the company, he’d become exactly what he would have been without me… nothing.”
“You gave someone a job, just to ruin their career?!” Xen summarized. He disliked the taste of his own tongue as he said it.
“I gave him a job to ruin his career and advance my own,” she bragged. “I’m a multitasker.”
Xen turned toward her and rested one hand on his lightsaber. “So, this isn’t you extending an olive branch, then. It’s you taking the long way around to threatening revenge.”
“It’s neither, Jedi. I just stopped for a drink on my way to the spaceport, but before I leave this sweaty armpit of a planet, I wanted you to understand.”
Xen cocked his head. “That you’re definitely a jerk?”
“That I might not always get ahead, but I do always get even.” With that, Sabra pushed away from the bar and walked over to the Uneti tree. She tied her wish to one of its strongest branches, turned on her heel, and left.
Xen took his package, and his take-out, back home. Such as it was. He’d been living in a lean-to near the tree line while he cleared the ash and debris from what used to be his house. His lovely beach house. Taos and Stobi and everyone else had offered to help, but he wanted to take his time. Most of the hardware in the garage would be salvageable, with a thorough scrubbing.
Rebuilding wouldn’t be easy, but he had all the necessary skills. And he’d done it before. It was good to be a jack of all trades.
Xen walked around the pyre. At least the view was still spectacular. Sunlight danced on the waves, flaying fish flocked in the surf, and a whalebird breached near the horizon. A warm wind blew across his scalp. He’d had worse days.
Proceeding down the beach to a small copse of trees, he opened his package and dragged out a colorful mass of cloth and rope: a brand new hammock. With more energy than he’d felt in days, Xen strung it between two trustworthy trunks and settled his old bones inside.
Whatever tomorrow might bring — the desperate tantrums of a megalomaniac cult leader, the machinations of a secret society of darksiders, a stampede of terror birds with a taste for humanoid flesh — today was about much-needed resting meditation.
Today, napping was the Jedi way.
Written by Daniel Bayn
Cover image by Midjourney
