Chapter Fifteen
Jedi Sentinel: Cult of Fear
The Uneti tree was many things. To most people, it embodied the interconnectedness of nature through The Force. It was spiritual, serene, and beautiful. To others, it symbolized longevity and stability. It was stately, stalwart, and eternal. Long ago, the Uneti tree was a signpost along a trail across the stars. To these pilgrims, it was a dream realized, a promise fulfilled. Travelers hung their hopes on them, written on ribbons and tied with care. They sent goodwill to other pilgrims, family and friends, the galaxy in general.
The wishing tree on Parassis had grown from a sapling planted a thousand generations past. Its branches had sheltered kings and queens, seers and shamans, scoundrels and outlaws, but none of them knew its true secret. The roots of the wishing tree had grown in an unusual way, leaving a hollow place directly beneath its ancient trunk. And it was in this sacred space that Xen sat with Taos, trying to undo whatever had been done to her mind.
Deep in meditation, he could feel the shape of it. Taos had been distanced from part of herself, and thereby also separated from The Force. Something was missing, but nothing was gone. He understood how it worked, but not how it was done… or how to reverse it.
That wasn’t all he sensed. Taos’ threads trembled with regret and fear. Regret for her actions, fear for their consequences. The thread connecting her to Stobi was taught as a garrote wire. The dark side gathered around her future, but its grip was loosening.
Xen turned his attention back to the displaced thread and tried to follow it, find whatever had been taken. The connection was weak, cold, and thin as spider silk. If he pulled too hard, it might break. There was something familiar about that cold; he’d felt it in the dark side cave beneath Serenity Corp tower, where he’d seen the other Xens. Somehow, Taos was entangled with it, too.
Whoever did this was a master. Real Xen was outmatched yet again.
He opened his eyes. Light from the cellar cast the Uneti roots in stark relief, streaks of bone white against the black earth. They framed Taos’ sweet face, weighed down with worry. She’d gathered her hair over one shoulder, a cascade of loose curls. It still smelled of smoke.
“I’ve done all I can,” he told her gently. “Basically nothing. I’m sorry. Whatever was done, it’s already starting to fade. You’ll be back to yourself in no time, I’m sure.”
She didn’t look relieved. “I know. It already wore off once and I went back for another ‘treatment.’ I don’t really want it back, now that I know what it feels like to be free.”
“Ignorance isn’t freedom,” the Jedi assured her. “Now that you’ve seen it clearly, I’m confident you can face and conquer your fear.”
Half a smile flashed weakly across her face. “Thanks, Xen. Did I mention that I’m sorry?”
“Only every time you speak.” Xen made an old man noise as he got to his feet. The week’s shenanigans had taken a lot out of him.
“You alright?” Taos asked, concerned.
“I’m wanted by the law and an insane cult, so I’ve been better,” he admitted. “The Force is a powerful ally, but it doesn’t do much for the joints.”
She closed her eyes again and let out a long breath. “I think I’ll stay here a while, if that’s alright. It’s… nice.”
“Take your time. We’ve got nowhere else to be.”
Skeeves regarded Xen expectantly as he ducked through a concealed door and into the cellar. He shook his head sadly. “Poor thing,” the Yarkora lamented. “That cult is a blight upon the galaxy. I wish you’d just tear the whole place down.”
Xen leaned against a stack of dusty casks and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not the place that’s the problem. What am I even doing, Skeeves? Sabra’s always two steps ahead of me. Perge very nearly killed me. Now, it seems even my knowledge of The Force isn’t up to the challenge.”
“You blew up their blackmail thing,” Skeeves offered helpfully.
“I sure did!” he agreed, but his satisfaction didn’t last. “Lot of blasted good it did. You were right, we need to hit them in the wallet. What if we — “
“Did you hear that?” Skeeves cut in, bitty ears twitching.
Xen did hear that: the telltale squeak of tiny feet on the aging floorboards above their heads. Someone was in the restaurant. He reached for his lightsaber, but Skeeves gestured for him to stand down. The old-timer was surprisingly stealthy on his own stairs, as if he knew them like his own children. If he’d had children.
Taos crept into the cellar behind him, then quietly slid a rack of preserves back over the entrance to the Uneti shrine. “What is it?” she mouthed. Xen shrugged.
They heard a soft thud and a mechanical squeal. Moments later, Skeeves returned carrying a pit droid by one leg. “Caught this bugger clattering about the kitchen. My binary’s not great, but I think he’s looking for Xen.”
“OB-1!” the Jedi greeted his friend. “You looking for a new job already? Spaceport seemed like a great fit for you.” A stream of high-speed beeps and whistles issued from the little cyclops as he thrashed against his captor. “Put him down, will ya, Skeeves? He’s delivering a message from Ostia.”
Skeeves screwed up his long face. “That rude, bald girl from Tooka’s?” He dropped the pit droid without ceremony. It landed on its flat head and wobbled like a top before righting itself.
“Yeah,” Xen answered. “She’s undercover inside Serenity. There’s been a coup? And Ostia needs help smuggling out… Daros Brigg?!”
“CEO Daros Brigg?” Taos gasped.
“Brainwashing megalomaniac cult leader Daros Brigg?” Skeeves snorted.
“The same,” Xen confirmed, still listening to OB-1’s narration, “and Ostia’s got him by the short hairs.”
“You’re gonna need another evac, aren’t you?” Taos beamed.
The gate was unguarded when Xen arrived. He’d been preparing himself to use a mind trick on Comedy and Tragedy… even though he found it morally repellent. And also he was terrible at it, but it would’ve made Tragedy’s day. Instead, he drifted through the open gate on a stolen swoop bike without even a stiff breeze for resistance.
The commercial sector was a ghost town. Confused tourists wandered empty streets and pressed their faces against unlit storefronts, utterly unequipped to comprehend this turn of events. They watched Xen ride past as passively as dreamers expecting to wake.
It was too, too eerie.
Loose trash blew across the cobblestones as Xen pulled up to the tower. He would’ve brought his own speeder, but it’d been in the fire. The upholstery was going to need all kinds of work. Only the lax security of Jerash’s delivery boy saved Xen from a long walk through the jungle. Hence, a crate of Ardennian ale had tagged along on this caper. The bottles jangled like a serpent’s rattle as he dismounted in front of the main entrance. It was hard not to take it as a warning.
Rather than the security droids he’d expected, the tower disgorged a mob of armored, red-clad, dead-eyed malcontents. Xen’s lightsaber hissed to life, but something stayed his hand. It wasn’t The Force, it was what The Force wasn’t telling him. There was no moment of violence approaching. Xen decided to make a different wager.
He lowered his weapon and raised his voice. “You’re not going to kill me. You’re not murderers. And I am not going to harm you, understand? But I am walking through those doors. Someone inside needs my help. Where I come from, when someone needs your help, you help them.”
With his lightsaber back in its holster, Xen put his hands in the air and waded into the crowd. None of the cultists would meet his gaze, but neither would they pull their triggers. Rifles lowered here and there. A few even fell to the ground. “Feel free to take my bike and ride out of here,” he told the parting throng. “There’s a great import in the back! Sweetest ale you can find outside a mynock roast.”
They didn’t seem the bantering type, so Xen shut his pie hole and listened to The Force as he crossed the tower’s threshold. He waited for that telltale premonition… but it never came. The doors closed behind him. Gambler Xen would be proud.
Ostia’s message had not included any hint of her whereabouts, besides inside this tower, so Xen reached out with The Force. He’d find out where the trouble was and Ostia would be right in the middle of it. The place was buzzing. People were terrified, furious, elated; trapped, free, and tightening their grip on others. Xen followed the thickest braid of threads deeper inside the building, past rows of conference rooms and catering stations, until the richly carpeted floor gave way to sterile, white tile.
At least the view was pleasant: two-story windows overlooked a patch of black rock, veined with gray. By contrast, the interior was a disaster area. The mess hall looked like a food fight had escalated to trench warfare. Every table was overturned and bristling with silverware. The walls and floor were stained with either blood or condiments. Possibly both.
Most importantly, Sabra Mul and a legion of her devotees were gathered behind the service counter, trying to open a kitchen door with a circular saw. If that wasn’t where Ostia was holed up, Xen would order a hat to go.
“It’s the Jedi!” someone tattled on him before Xen could even think of using his second self. Probably shouldn’t have been so distracted by the view.
“What?!” Sabra wailed from the center of the mob. She stepped up onto a counter to get a better look. “Everyone assigned to the main entrance is excommunicated!”
He put up his hands and marched into the open. “I come in peace?” he ventured.
“Hold your fire!” Most of her soldiers hadn’t even raised their rifles yet, but they sure did then. “Jedi don’t use blasters,” she told them. “If we don’t shoot, he’s harmless at that range.”
Xen let her keep thinking that. “What are you up to, counselor?”
“Process improvement initiative,” she obfuscated. “I’m going to deliver on all of Daros Brigg’s broken promises.” A cheer went up from the ranks.
“And what does that mean right now?” Xen pressed. “Public flogging? Hanging? Or are you going to turn these innocent people into a firing squad?”
“That depends on Brigg,” the attorney countered.
“Nothing like that has to happen today,” Xen asserted, more to the mob than to its leader. “Let me take Daros and my friend, and anyone else who wants to leave. Anyone who wants to stay, can stay.”
“Your generosity is an inspiration to us all, Jedi, but I have a better offer.” Sabra waved for one of her faithful to join her atop the counter, a slim young man with big, hooded ears that twitched nervously. She asked for his blaster and he handed it over.
Then, all too predictably, she took him hostage.
“I know a kind-hearted Jedi like yourself won’t allow any harm to befall this poor boy,” she shouted, one arm locked around his throat, blaster barrel pressed to his head. “So get over here and use that antique of yours to cut through the door and deliver Brigg to me! Then, we’ll decide what to do about you and your friend.”
Xen wasn’t buying. “Counter proposal: You do what you’ll do, I’ll do what I’ll do, and nobody gets coerced by anybody.” Before she could respond, the Jedi reached out a hand and Sabra’s blaster flew into it. He flipped the switch to stun and popped off two precise shots. The first got the hostage out of the way. The second caught Sabra full in her arrogant face.
Gunslinger Xen would’ve been proud.
“Why does everybody think Jedi don’t use blasters?” he asked the room. They answered with a wall of crimson bolts. Xen’s emerald blade twirled like a pinwheel, spraying deflected fire into the walls and ceiling.
Suddenly, he broke right and took cover behind a table… or his second self did. While the cultist concentrated their fire in the wrong place, Real Xen broke left and ran around the side of the crowd. He vaulted over the counter, slashed the kitchen door with his antique, and knocked the saw-wielding cultist into the salad buffet.
He rushed through the open doorway and asked The Force to block it with whatever was available. A shelf full of pots and pans leapt off the far wall and slammed into the opening, crushing itself into a solid barricade. “That should hold for a minute or two,” Xen congratulated himself.
“The blasted door would’ve held longer than that!” Ostia yelled from across a gleaming cook prep table. Next to her, a blond gentleman with the whitest teeth Xen had ever seen was making himself a sandwich. Daros Brigg, in the flesh. And looming over him, Xen’s latest nemesis, Coba Perge.
“Let her go, Perge!” the Jedi demanded, lightsaber in guard position.
“Are you kidding me?” the Cathar smirked, but it was Ostia who replied.
“He’s with me, you idiot. They both are. And I called you in to help us get out, not to get yourself trapped in here with us!”
“Sir Jedi,” the cult leader cut in, “I want you to know that I was not in favor of any of the actions taken against you or your associates by Sabra Mul.” He paused to take a bite of his sandwich. Then, with his mouth full, “She’s been acting outside of her authority for months. I was marshaling my resources against her, but then…” he waved his hand dramatically, as if to implicate the entire planet.
“Which was mostly your fault,” Perge added, boring a hole through Xen’s jowls with his mind. “I should kill you right now.”
Xen put his weapon away. “Before we get to murdering each other, shall we deny Sabra the opportunity?” He turned to Ostia, pointedly ignoring the others. “I have an escape route, but Perge won’t fit through the droid hole.”
Brigg nearly spit out his lunch. “I won’t go anywhere without him!” Perge crossed his massive arms in silent assent.
“Fine,” Xen conceded, “but I don’t want to hear any complaints about the smell.”
“What is he talking about?” Brigg asked Ostia, swallowing hard.
“It won’t work,” she told the Sullustan, anticipating his plan. “Going down the compost chute only gets us to the basement, which is even further from an unguarded exit than we are now.”
“And we don’t want to go to the basement,” Brigg agreed, ashen-faced.
Xen waved them both off. “The compost chute gets us into the basement, which gets us to a scrap recycling crate, which gets you out of the tower.”
“And inside a locked crate headed for the compactor,” Perge finished.
“Which I’ll intercept,” the Sullustan promised, “since I can sneak out past the guards on my own. From there, I’ve arranged for a ship to pick us up at a predetermined location inside the compound. So, unless any of you have your own starship on the way…” Xen waited for any smart comments, but his hecklers were out of material. “Then hold your noses and get in that chute.” The whine-screech of a circular saw underscored his point.
Brigg stuffed the rest of his meal into his face before nodding consent. Perge growled deep in his chest, but did not object. Ostia, of all people, was the last hold-out. “I just want you to know, I do not need to be rescued,” she wagged one finger in the Jedi’s face. “Brigg does.”
“Loud and clear,” Xen acknowledged.
After that disclaimer, she was the first one down the chute. Xen held the pull-out door while Perge hoisted Brigg inside and let him go. Once dear leader was out of earshot, “This does not make us even,” he scolded, pointing toward his mechanical feet. “Not remotely. We’ll settle up later.”
“One thing at a time, Perge.” Xen watched the Cathar squeeze his way down the greasy chute with some satisfaction. Before he followed, Xen slashed open the back door and Force pushed the cultists guarding it into the wall hard enough to knock them unconscious. That should confuse their trail somewhat. They could use a head start.
The composter itself was an onslaught of foul sensations: soft and wet underfoot, searingly noxious in the nose and throat. Brigg was still depositing his sandwich when Xen joined the group. He had no desire to see what he was standing in, but he lit his lightsaber anyway and began carving their salvation.
“Careful you don’t ignite all the methane in here,” Perge warned him. “But do go faster.”
“If that were going to happen,” Xen groused, “we’d have been incinerated by now.”
“That’s a thing that could’ve happened?!” Osita was hunched over, covering his nose and mouth, trying not to join Brigg in the vomitorium.
One push with The Force and a plasteel disc shot out of the wall, leaving a molten ring between them and freedom. Fresh air flooded in as it cooled. Brigg shoved his way past everyone and climbed out first, his white shoes nearly catching fire. “Worth it,” he declared, blowing on his hands.
Ostia leapt through without touching the sides. Perge made a point of stepping right on the red-hot metal with his prosthetic paws. Xen tried not to look impressed. The area outside was cramped with pipes and conduit. They weren’t far from the scrap loader, which meant they weren’t far from…
Brigg was already staring at it. Into it. The dark side cave. Its chthonic doors were open wide. The abyss inside stared at them, unblinking. Whatever Brigg saw in those depths, it chilled his marrow.
Gently, Xen pulled the suddenly very old man away from that siren shadow and over toward the recycling crate. Perge was digging out a space for the three of them, hurling busted pipes and droid parts like firewood.
Ostia gave Brigg a side-eye as he and Xen caught up. “We’d better see you out there,” she warned Xen. “If I end today crushed into a cube, I’m gonna be sorely disappointed in you.”
“Noted,” he grimaced, handing Brigg off to his bodyguard. Perge hoisted him into the hollow like a baby into a cradle. Ostia crawled inside without any help.
“You’d better be out there — “ Perge began.
“Ostia already threatened me,” Xen stopped him right there. “Now get in the blasted crate.” The Cathar wedged himself inside and Xen sealed the hatch. It began its journey to the compactor automatically.
The rest was cake. Xen left through the stairwell and emergency exit, using his second self to distract Sabra’s guards. He intercepted the crate well before anyone was crushed into a cube and let everyone out. Only Brigg had the good grace to thank him. They proceeded through the jungle with minimal threats or sarcasm, which was nice for everyone.
Smuggler Xen would’ve been proud.
But before all that, Xen made sure the doors to the dark side cave were safely closed. As he approached, the impenetrable shadow receded, revealing row upon row upon row of his alternate selves, stretching into infinity. This time, Xen didn’t feel estranged from them, separate. Instead, they felt like fragments of a whole, as if his life encompassed all of theirs. Like he was looking at himself in a broken mirror.
He’d smiled at them as the doors ground closed, but the dark side had one more card to play. A young Sullustan girl peeked out from the steadily vanishing space between the doors.
Genti and his family were having dinner when Xen vaulted over the back wall of their estate. He could see them sitting around their dining room table, overlooking the yard from the second floor, spoonfuls of soup halfway to their open mouths, frozen in disbelief. Genti looked ready to throw down his napkin, march out there, and give Xen a piece of his mind… until Perge tossed Brigg over the wall. That changed his disposition considerably.
“What an honor!” Genti gushed as they approached. He’d come downstairs to greet them on the patio, apparently unwilling to cross the lawn in his very fine slippers. “What brings the great man himself to my humble home? In such an unorthodox manner? In such… diverse company?”
The smell must have hit him, then, because Genti suppressed a gag and pulled out his cravat to cover his nose. His girls’ many faces were pressed against the glass above them, lined up from shortest to tallest.
“Malcontents have temporarily taken control of my tower,” Brigg admitted, as if confiding in an advisor, “and my Chief Executive in charge of security insisted, quite against my best judgment, that we should withdraw to a more secure location.”
“Sabra’s doing a coup,” Xen summarized. “A friend of mine will be here momentarily to pick us up. Apologies for volunteering your place, Genti. I’m sure Brigg will make it up to you.”
“Oh, no need,” Genti mumbled through his makeshift mask. “It’s a privilege to host such esteemed guests. Can I offer you a cocktail? We have a warm pot of Ronto stew. It’s an acquired taste, but my girls are quite fond of — “
Ostia, still pinching her nose, stuck out her tongue as she shoved her way into the house. “I can’t even think about food right now.”
Xen preempted Brigg’s reply. “We won’t be staying long. We just need access to your roof. It’ll be like we were never here,” he promised.
“By all means.” Genti ushered Brigg inside with a deep bow.
“Now, now. None of that,” the cult leader feigned humility. “We are happy to accept your hospitality.” Genti shooed his daughters away as they climbed the stairs, making obsequious small talk with Brigg all the while, but he broke off to corner Xen as soon as they reached the rooftop patio.
The sky blazed above them, thick with storm clouds and painted in a thousand shades of orange. “A little advance notice would have been appreciated,” he scolded the Jedi. “I’m practically in my pajamas!”
“And we just walked through the jungle after sliding down a compost chute into a pile of rotting vegetables, so don’t sweat it,” Xen advised him, eagerly scanning the heavens.
“That explains that,” Genti conceded, “but my home is not yours to volunteer, Xen. Remember your place.”
“My place?!” This time, the Sullustan turned his massive eyes toward his host and former client. “We’re people in need, Genti. Are you really the sort who would turn us away, rather than interrupt dinner? And if common decency isn’t enough… I’m a Jedi!” He brandished his jade-and-silver lightsaber. “What, exactly, is my place?!”
The rich man backed off, unwilling to press the matter, not in front of his betters. Ostia took his place beside Xen. “That was tactful.”
“Him or me?” Xen asked.
“I meant you, but both, now that you mention it.” She’d found a cocktail somewhere and raised it to him in celebration. “To a job well done.”
“I’ll toast when we’re in the air,” he cautioned. Something was wrong. The change in plan — from riding the conveyor belts to a long slog through the jungle on foot — had put them behind schedule. Taos should’ve been here by now.
The Force whispered to him. Something was about to happen, but it wasn’t their escape. “How many times am I gonna be left holding the bag on a rooftop in this blasted place?” he wondered.
“Woohoo!” Ostia hooted, not paying him any attention. Instead, she was focused on the three lights approaching them across the canopy, from the direction of the tower. “That’s our ride!”
Xen wasn’t so sure. He didn’t sense Taos’ presence or hear The Free Ticket’s engine’s rumbling. “That’s no starship,” he muttered.
A trio of surveillance drones swooped down on them like hungry vultures. “Get Brigg inside!” Xen yelled, igniting his lightsaber. He leapt onto the roof ledge and ran along it, knocking blaster bolts back at their attackers. Perge was already on it, shielding Brigg with his body and rushing the old fraud back down the stairs. The rest of them followed close behind, protected by Xen’s emerald shield.
“Mind if we borrow your speeder?” Xen asked Genti, though he was going to take it regardless.
“I’m sure I could spare the Sorosuub — “ Genti began, but Brigg already had his eyes on the limo.
“Was that a Pandleflot I saw in the drive?” he inquired.
Genti gulped. “Of course, your eminence. I’ll have the droid sent out immediately.”
“I’ll drive,” Perge countermanded. “We can’t trust droids, right now.” Xen glanced pointedly at the Cathar’s clanking feet. For one terrifying moment, he thought Perge was going to bite his head clean off, but the fugitives thundered down the stairs and blew through the garage like a gale.
The limo was a sleek and spacious affair, all black leather and tinted windows. Strips of silver light warmed up to greet them as the unkempt crew scrambled for seats. Perge crammed himself into the copilot’s chair, next to the empty droid port. He slammed his meaty paw on the starter and the limo lifted up, its engine a polite and understated thrum. They were pressed into their seats as Perge opened up the throttle and raced toward the gate… but it was already too late.
Xen sensed them and barked a warning, which was the only reason they didn’t drive straight into a wall of blaster fire. Sabra’s army of brainwashed brigands had already occupied the road. They raised their rifles and let loose as Perge spun the limo around, forever ruining the finish.
The gate closed behind them, either an automatic response to weapons fire or Genti keeping an eye on them from the house. The surveillance droids were still circling and fired down at them from flanking positions. Perge slid sideways into the garage, using the limo as a barricade. The left side soon matched the right as blaster bolts pinged off the chassis.
“This rescue is going really well,” Perge congratulated Xen through too many teeth. “Got any more winners up there?” He jabbed the Sullustan’s forehead with one claw, drawing blood.
“At least we’re not still trapped in the kitchen!” Somehow, Ostia pushed the two men apart. “I’m sure his friend will be here to pick us up, right Xen? We just have to hold out a little longer.”
The Jedi paced back and forth across the foyer, assessing the structure, the number of windows, the sight lines… “We’d better prepare for a siege.”
“This place is fifty percent glass!” Perge erupted. “You and I can’t defend it for long!”
“Hey, standing right here,” Ostia objected.
Perge looked down his snout at her. “Yes, you are.”
“Fortunately,” Xen cut in, “I’m not a bad engineer. I’ve lived many lives and Sabra Mul’s not about to make this one my last.”
Written by Daniel Bayn
Cover image by Midjourney
