Star Wars - Series Fan Fiction ❯ The Wayside ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

The Wayside

By Gan Xingba

Chapter Four

 

The hanger is dark and quiet as I enter it, but as I approach my ship and punch in the security code to lower the boarding ramp, it becomes quite apparent that I am not alone. It's not as though I suddenly hear footsteps, or see the tail end of a cloak darting around a corner. No, it's that ripple again, and it's coming from inside my ship. Before the ramp even hits the ground, I draw my blaster pistol and hold it at the ready, eyes darting around as I step onto the boarding ramp and enter the small ship. Due to it's minuscule size, it takes but a moment for me to enter the ship's cockpit, where I find the cloaked figure from earlier standing there and waiting for me. To be perfectly honest, drawing my blaster pistol in the first place had been a rather unnecessary precaution, for the cloaked figure had been the one I had been expecting when I entered the ship. As they say, though, it's better to be safe then sorry. Now that I know that I am safe rather than sorry, so to speak, I slowly holster my pistol.

 

“Raise the ramp, if you would. I would like to make sure that we are in private,”

requests the female voice from beneath the hood of the cloak.

 

I comply, and as soon as the boarding ramp closes with a hiss, the cloaked figure removes her hood. Her face suddenly makes me pause and look very hard at her for a moment. Her blue eyes have a look to them that one could call serious, but it's something more than that, like a kind of pride…it's almost…regal.

 

“Bastila Shan!” I blurt out, suddenly connecting her face with the one seen on so many holo-casts at the end of the Jedi Civil War. “You're supposed to be dead…”

 

“That was the idea,” states Bastila matter-of-factly. “Until the order is rebuilt, it has been decided that it would be best for me to remain hidden, for the most part.”

 

I quickly catch myself before I can open my mouth and ask if she was the one probing my mind in Admiral Onasi's office. Asking such a question would give away my past, and besides, it is quite obvious that it was indeed her; otherwise she would not be here assisting me now.

 

“So, you were sent by the Republic to help me then?” I ask instead, not letting her sense my hesitation.

 

“Not the Republic exactly, no. Although, it was Admiral Onasi that sent me, if that's what you mean,” she responds, her tone all business. “And, judging from that incident with the Mandalorian, it seems that you need all the help you can get.”

 

“I do appreciate your assistance back there, but I do believe I would have found a way to manage without it,” I counter, slightly offended by this sudden haughtiness.

 

“Perhaps you may have, but even then, you still need someone to translate that Mandalorian data for you,” she rebuts. “And it just so happens that I am proficient in that language.”

 

She has me there, though it pains me to admit it. I'm sure if I knew her personally, this superior tone would not be nearly as irritating to me, but right now it's taking me completely off guard. Still, I must maintain my composure. She is a Jedi of high renown and is offering to help me. I'll not dispose off my manners simply because I find her attitude unappealing.

 

“In that case, perhaps you could translate it for me now, if you don't mind?” I ask, pulling out my datapad from my pocket and cueing up the information I had taken from the Onderonian prison before handing it over to my newfound ally.

 

“You're not curious as to how I know the language?” she replies as she begins to pour over the data.

 

“That would be a foolish question. Most upper tier Jedi are able to translate an extensive number of languages if given the proper training and if they have made contact with someone who already knew the language,” I answer, although at this she looks from the datapad with a raised eyebrow and I hastily move to correct my error. “I specialize in Jedi matters for Intelligence. There's nothing that republic records has recorded about Jedi abilities that I haven't been forced to read at one point or another.”

 

Once I have explained myself, she looks at me for just a split second more before turning back to the datapad. If she's anything like the holo-casts and intelligence files say she is, than she has already figured out that I'm at least Force sensitive. If I play my cards right, I may be able to fool her into thinking that I have no knowledge of this, or that I'm self taught. If she finds out that I attended the Jedi Academy, I have a feeling that I'll be dragged down a path that I have no interest in even seeing.

 

“There's a lot of useless data in here, specs for the Basilisk and the like…” she says after a short silence. “Ah, here we go…it looks like we've gotten lucky, it was on auto-pilot to Onderon, meaning that it still has the coordinates of its launching point.”

 

She turns abruptly on her heel and walks over the navigation computer, where she types in some coordinates. I walk over and look down at the screen over her shoulder as the computer processes the data. With a small beeping sound, a map of the sector is brought up, and with another beep, the section of space surrounding Onderon is highlighted. The map zooms in, revealing several moons surrounding the planet, and with a third beep it highlights on of the moons and zooms in once more, bringing up a geographical map of the moon. With a final beep, a small yellow dot appears on an exact point on the map, where I quickly surmise the launching point for the Basilisk is.

 

“Dxun,” I say, reading the name of the moon from the top of the screen. “Uninhabited and covered in jungle. The local wildlife is rated at the computers highest threat level as well…perhaps the data is a fake meant to throw us off.”

 

“No, I can assure you it isn't,” disputes Bastila, and I notice a certain irritated quality to her voice, as though she had both been expecting and ruing this. “In fact, I daresay that this moon looks like a Mandalorian paradise.”

 

“A paradise? Perhaps if you're a madman…” I reply stepping back politely from Bastila to give her room to move.

 

“The words “Mandalorian” and “madman” mean exactly the same thing, Mical. I know from experience,” she says as she sits down into the copilot's chair, still grimacing.

 

I smile both at the jest and at Bastila's sudden mood swing. A Jedi as powerful as she is supposed to be would not act in such a matter over a simple hike through a dangerous jungle. However, it is neither my business or of any true interest for me to inquire as to the true source of this irritability, so rather than inquire on it, I simply walk towards the back of the ship to activate the pilot droid. Not that I'm in any rush to get to Dxun, but at this point, Onderon isn't much more appealing.

 

000000000000000000000000000000000000

 

I haven't been to Tatooine, but I highly doubt that even its legendary desserts could be much more unpleasant than the Dxun jungle. It is hot, humid, and because it has absolutely nothing resembling a path in sight, I'm constantly getting scratched by one form a plant life or another. However, while this may be unpleasant, it is certainly better than being blasted into nonexistence, which is most certainly what would have happened if we had chosen to land anywhere near where the Basilisk's launching point had been. As a result, I am left trying to hack a path through the jungle with a small vibroblade in this Force forsaken place while Bastila walks behind me, and I strongly suspect she is enjoying this.

 

“Tell me again why you can't use your lightsaber or use the Force to clear a path?” I ask irritably as my leg gets cut by some unpleasantly sharp grass.

 

“Because that would attract attention. Honestly, you'd think someone with Republic Intelligence would know about that sort of thing,” she replies, and while I cannot see her expression behind me, I'm sure she's smirking.

 

I don't bother to state that the simple presence of two humans on a supposedly uninhabited jungle moon would be drawing attention enough, seeing as she'd never admit to that, and keep trudging forward through the jungle. After several more minutes of misery, I at last spot a clearing, and hastily change course to reach it. Unfortunately, I am only treated to several moments of blissful rest, for almost immediately what's left of my Force senses are going mad with warning. Bastila, of course, already has her lightsaber out as she follows me into the clearing, although she is keeping it deactivated for now.

 

Slowly, I draw my blaster pistol from my hip, and just as I have it out, I hear a loud roar to my left. I whirl around to see a massive lizard-like creature charging out of the brush. Its teeth and claws look like they could tear through dura-steel, much less human flesh. I manage to dive out of the way just before the beast's jaws clamp down on the empty space that I had just occupied, firing of several shots from my pistol as I fly through the air. The blaster bolts just splash off the creature's hide like water, not even leaving a scorch mark behind. They do, however, serve the unwanted purpose of drawing its attention towards me, and it quickly turns towards me with the clear intent of paying me back.

 

It never gets that chance. The beast had made the mistake of disregarding Bastila, and it's paying for it in the form of a large wave of Force energy slamming into its side. Now, I've seen plenty of Force powers in my life, enough to not be impressed by a simple “push” using the Force. Seeing a lizard the size of a small landspeeder being hurtled thirty meters through the air, though, is enough to leave me awestruck as I slowly rise to my feet. To add to that, Bastila zips through the air after the creature so quickly that by the time the signature snap-hiss of her lightsaber hits my ears, she has already driven it through the beast's jugular. Well, now I know why she's considered a hero among Jedi. I holster my pistol and walk over to Bastila as she deactivates her lightsaber and attaches it to her belt, but she cuts me off before I can say anything at all.

 

“Put away your pistol,” she says quietly as I approach.

 

Were she not a Jedi of considerable experience and skill, I would ask for a reason as to why I would want to be weaponless in an obviously hostile jungle, but seeing as she is indeed that, I comply. Moments later, I here a strange thrumming sound from nearly every direction around me, and the answer to my unasked question is provided in the form of seven fully armored Mandalorians pointing weapons at me.

 

“Well, looks like we've caught ourselves a Jedi, boys,” says one of the Mandalorians mockingly. “And she `aint too bad on the eyes either.”

 

“Zan, shut up,” snaps a large Mandalorian in worn red armor, obviously the leader of the troupe as the other Mandalorian immediately followed his order. “You two, hands above your head. Zan, make yourself useful and take any weapons that they have.”

 

That's good news. If they're bothering to take our weapons, then they may be taking us to the base themselves. Granted, we'll be prisoners, but at least we'll be at our intended destination. After a few moments, Zan finishes patting the two of us down, although Bastila is obviously using some kind of mind trick so that his hands don't stray where they aren't wanted, and then backs away with my pistol, my vibroblade, and Bastila's lightsaber in tow.

 

“Now that we're done with the formalities, you're coming with us,” states the troupe leader. “And don't try any force tricks on me, Jedi. I've had to deal with way to many of those for one lifetime, and I would kill not to have to deal with them again.”

 

And so, once again I begin hiking through the unpleasant jungle of Dxun with Bastila. The good news is that this time I'm not constantly hacking through the brush since the two Mandalorians ahead of me are taking care of that. I think that being surrounded by members of a notoriously violent race that are pointing deadly weapons at me overrides that bonus, though. Bastila, oddly enough, seems perfectly calm, although I detect that same aura of irritated anticipation that I had felt on the ship earlier. There is something important that I am being left out of the loop on here. Hopefully, I will be able to figure out just what exactly that is.

 

000000000000000000000000000000000000

 

How to describe the base that the Mandalorians have set up on Dxun? It's essentially constructed out of salvage and some remaining structures from the Mandalorian war, so “rag-tag” comes to mind. Yet, there is a certain simple practicality to it that makes it seem more…“economical” in the end. Not that I have much time for sight seeing as Bastila and I are being led hastily through the camp before coming to a stop in front of the largest building in the base, which at first glance looks like a simple communications bunker.

 

“This is where you get off, Jedi,” says the leader, motioning to the bunker's doors. “I don't know why, but when we described you to Mandalore, he said that he wanted us to take you to him. Consider yourself lucky that a Jedi like you gets to meet a man like him.”

 

Bastila mutters something so quietly that I can barely make it out, and it almost makes me lose my composure and grin. It sounded as though she doesn't agree with the Mandalorian on her supposed luck. What is it that she is so…wait a moment, what are they going to do with me?

 

“I need to see Mandalore, too,” I blurt suddenly, drawing glares from my captors. “It's urgent, and frankly it's the only reason I came to this moon in the first place.”

 

“Well aint that a shame,” says the leader menacingly, and I suddenly begin to get very bad premonitions about my fate. “As soon as the Jedi steps through the door, you're gonna' get a nice tour of our prison facilities instead.”

 

“In that case, I'm not stepping through this door,” snaps Bastila suddenly, and now all eyes are on her. “You heard me, I'm not moving an inch unless he comes with me. I require his presence if I am to meet Mandalore.”

 

For a moment, we, that is, the Mandalorians and I, all stare baffled at Bastila's sudden demand. Jedi or not, she is an unarmed sentient in the middle of a base filled with Mandalorian soldiers. Just what cards she thinks she's holding is beyond my comprehension.

 

“Sorry, not happening,” replies the troupe leader finally. “If it was up to me, even you wouldn't be getting in there, and even if I would agree to let your little friend in there with you, I can't. Orders are orders.”

 

“Then you can tell that brutish oaf of a man that you call Mandalore that Ill be standing right here until he agrees to let this man come in with me,” stated Bastila stubbornly. “And tell him that I called him that, too.”

 

Thankfully, they have orders to keep Bastila alive; otherwise I'm positive that the Mandalorians around me would be firing their weapons instead of just growling and brandishing them. The fine line between bravery and stupidity seems, to me at least, to be exactly the spot that Bastila is standing on right now.

 

“Get…in…that…door,” growls the troop leader, just barely holding back unbridled rage.

 

“I told you, I'm not moving until I'm allowed to take this man with me,” the defiant Jedi continues, crossing her arms and raising her chin slightly. “Now, are you going to go tell Mandalore my request or not?”

 

The troupe leader's gun is shaking as he grips it tighter and tighter to the point where it seems his hands might shatter from the effort. With a final resigned growl, he storms past Bastila and into the bunker, leaving Bastila, the five other Mandalorians and I all waiting outside. Of all the places in the universe, I remember thinking to myself that this would be a very bad place to die as we touched down on this wretched moon. I think I may have jinxed myself.

 

Maybe not, though, for from within the bunker, I hear the unmistakable sound of deep, bellowing laughter. All I can do is stare in astonishment at the door, a state that I assume the Mandalorians guarding me are also stuck in, until it eventually opens and the Mandalorian in the red armor walks out, shaking his head in what I would guess is dismay.

 

“He says you can both go in,” he mumbles as he trudges past Bastila, his voice then lowering in volume as he proceeds to inquire what the hell Mandalore is thinking.

 

Surprisingly, Bastila makes no gloating gesture at all, and simply motions for me to follow as she moves to enter the bunker. I quickly catch up and fall in step beside her. However, before I can ask her just how she knew that we weren't going to be blasted and or pummeled by those Mandalorians for making such demands, the small entrance hall to the bunker gives way to a large, empty room filled wall to wall with equipment, ranging from communications consoles to a workbench littered with armor and weapons parts. In the middle of the room stands a large figure, wearing shining black silver Mandalorian armor, although the helm is most definitely different than that of a standard Mandalorian soldier. Immediately, I know that this is Mandalore, standing proudly in front of us with his arms crossed. Come to think of it, Bastila had carried a similar regal aura when I had first met her. At last, I know why Bastila felt such dread in coming here.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the spoiled Jedi princess,” he states in a deep, gruff voice, and I can tell that from behind the helmet, he is smirking.

 

“And if it isn't the rude, barbaric Mandalorian thug,” returns Bastila with a far less pleasant sound to her voice.

 

I'm beginning to think I would have been better off in a Mandalorian prison cell.