At a shipping depot, just outside Mos Espa, Tatooine. Roughly forty-eight hours after Emryc Thorne’s broadcast.
Maarik disembarked from his old friend Tobi's land speeder and slung his satchel over his shoulder. The speeder sputtered, hesitated, and then suddenly bolted away while Maarik waved. Tobi had dropped him off at a freight depot that belonged to Fring, a friend of Tobi's that ran a small export and shipping operation. He had assured Maarik that Fring was trustworthy, discreet, and could arrange passage for him wherever he needed to go. No reason not to take Tobi at his word, he'd known him for close to fifteen years.
Maarik pulled back the hood of his earthy brown poncho and the heat from Tatooine's twin suns beat down on his fair skin. Packed sand and little bits of gravel crunched beneath his scuffed leather boots as he walked some fifty yards to the open bay door of Fring's hanger. There were a couple of light freighters inside with their boarding ramps deployed. A few pallets of cargo loaded onto hover carts were scattered throughout the hangar, as if someone had been interrupted when they were in the middle of loading them.
"Excuse me! Is private property! What are you doing here, cannot be here, very busy!" Someone cried in accented Standard.
Maarik whipped around. A short, stocky Twi'lek man emerged from the office with his arms thrown in the air. Fring wasn't a Twi'lek. Maarik's brows furrowed slightly and he met the Twi'lek in the middle of the hangar bay floor. No pilots or deckhands to be seen and partially loaded ships sitting idle. Very busy, indeed.
"I'm looking for Fring," Maarik said matter of factly.
The Twi'lek flashed pointy teeth and shook his head. His Lekku flopped over his shoulders. "No, come on man, Fring is busy, ah? He is running big operation, come back later!"
Maarik shook his head back at the Twi'lek as he felt a hand at the small of his back. The Twi'lek was trying to usher him out of the hangar while he went on, "See, lots of cargo we are to be loading and shipping today!"
"Fring is expecting me, tell him Maarik has arrived and would like to meet with him." Maarik swatted the hand away from his back and took a few strides toward the office. "Surely he's not too busy to see me, I'm a friend of his." A little bluff. He felt a pang of anxiety radiate from the Twi'lek. Maarik's guard went up.
"Oh!" The Twi'lik feigned an embarrassed chuckle and waddled his way in front of Maarik. "Yes! Of course, of course! Will get him, wait here for him."
Maarik bopped his head gently at the Twi'lek and watched him hurry to the office. Why wasn't there anyone else on the hangar floor? He had arrived in the middle of a business day. The Twi'lek was growing more anxious, Maarik could feel it and he could see it in his body language. He could tell there were others in the office, but the blinds were shut. Maarik centered himself and closed his eyes as the Twi'lkek disappeared behind the office door. Anger, fear, regret, impatience, danger.
A few minutes passed.
"This guy will be problem, can’t talk him out of here,” the Twi'lek said to his three partners as Maarik broke the lock and swung the door open.
There was his stocky little new friend, a couple of dangerous looking Rodians, a man cuffed to a chair who must've been Fring, and an especially bulky Besalisk. One of the Rodians said something in Huttese, and two of the Besalisk's four hands were at Maarik's collar before he could react. Why wasn't he prepared for something like this? He already knew there would be something wrong when he opened the door. Why him? He wasn't a guardian, he was a medical doctor! Though he might be leaving that behind for a while once he got himself to Ajan Kloss. Those thoughts briefly ran through his mind as the Besalisk's two free hands gripped Maarik's biceps, hoisted him up, and tossed him through the office window.
There was a hearty belly laugh from the Besalisk as the window shattered and Maarik slammed into the duracrete hangar floor, tangled in the blinds that had been drawn over the window. He didn’t know where his satchel landed.
"A Jedi! Never killed a Jedi before!" Another laugh. "Just a puny little bantha poodoo man in a funny cult!"
Maarik's cloak and rode up exposing his lightsaber. He was outed. He freed himself from the broken blinds and heaved himself to his feet, but it was too late. A devastating gut punch brought him back to his knees. He tasted a little blood. He reached for his saber hilt, but an instant later it was gone and Maarik was sliding across the floor and into a hover cart full of pallets after a monstrous right hook. The gravely laugh from the Besalisk and cheering from his accomplices rang in Maarik’s ears. Where in blazes was his lightsaber? There, across the hangar! knocked out of his hand when he was hit for the second time.
"You picked the wrong day to interfere in our business, Jedi!" the Bealisk snarled as he lumbered toward Maarik.
"I can assure you, friend, this is not how I intended to spend my afternoon," Maarik said with a strained voice. He rolled away from the hover cart and sent one of the pallets and its cargo barreling at his attacker with the force. Four powerful arms smashed the pallet and flung the cargo boxes aside. Maarik was staring at a big yellow toothy grin.
"Oh bloody-" Maarik was hauled upward again and tossed across the floor. He was a plaything. He slammed into the far wall, and by chance, was only a few yards from his lightsaber. He thrust out his arm and called for it. The hilt collided with his palm and he leapt to his feet, the emerald blade crackling to life.
The Besalisk stopped in his tracks and growled. He needed to stop toying with his prey. He reached for two heavy blasters holstered at either shoulder and squeezed the triggers when he had a bead on the Jedi. One blaster bolt whizzed by Maarik's face, and the other was deflected toward the hangar ceiling. It hit a light and sparks washed over the hangar floor. It wasn't possible, nobody could deflect a blaster bolt with a blade. Even a laser sword! It was a myth that drunks used to embellish their cantina stories when they lied about facing off with a Jedi. The Besalisk fired again, but the Jedi was gone. No, not gone, in front of him! How had he moved that fast? The lightsaber blade sliced through the barrels of both blasters in one stroke.
Maarik locked his eyes onto the Besalisk's chest, watching for any tells on where his arms were going next. The lower right hand reached for something at his side. A vibroknife. Maarik cut the interior of his opponent's lower right forearm with the tip of his saber. The wound was just deep enough to do permanent muscle damage, he'd never fight with that hand again. The Besalisk screeched and dropped the knife, recoiling in pain and lunging away from Maarik.
The Besalisk dropped the disabled blasters and reached behind his back for his second set of pistols. He gripped the handles, whipped them around, and then- There was nothing. He was cold, the back of his head was a little wet, and his vision faded.
Maarik exhaled as his foe dropped face first onto the floor. The crate that had smacked the Besalisk in the head dropped when Maarik opened his fist. It had been a long time since he had been in a scuffle like that and he was damned sore. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. He felt a threat coming from the office and locked eyes with one of the Rodians through the broken window. His hand dropped from the blaster at his hip. Wise decision.
"One of you care to explain?" he said as he walked back into the office, lightsaber humming.
The Twi'lek spoke up, "Is no more problem here, ah? We were not with knowledge that Mister Fring under the protection of highly esteemed Jedi Knight like yourself," a nervous laugh, "Master Jedi!"
Maarik turned to Fring, who was still cuffed to a chair and gagged. "Free him."
The Twi'lek spoke Huttese and the Rodians complied with Maarik's request. Fring gasped for more air once the gag was removed and looked at the floor. He was thin, probably over sixty, and had a dark complexion. The Jedi aimed the tip of his saber at the Twi'lek.
"His debt, it will be wiped, you see? Mister Fring always have credit with us!" The Twi'lek pleaded. So that's what it was about, then. They worked for a Hutt, it didn’t matter which one.
"You underwrite lines of bad credit and collect for your master?”
“No, no, you see is my operation! My master, he will get cut- This is good legitimate business, I am always needing talented men like yourself. . .”
“Shut up.”
The Twi’lek nodded and the Rodians were still frozen.
“Mister Fring owes you no debt, and he has no credit with you. You will leave him be from now on, and if you ever return, I will know it.”
“Yes master Jedi, as you wish,” said the Twi’lek through a forced smile and laugh.
“One more thing.”
“Of course, what is it Master Jedi?”
“You should reconsider your line of work.”
“I should reconsider my line of work,” droned the Twi’lek.
The Rodians exchanged confused glances.
End, part I
Maarik disembarked from his old friend Tobi's land speeder and slung his satchel over his shoulder. The speeder sputtered, hesitated, and then suddenly bolted away while Maarik waved. Tobi had dropped him off at a freight depot that belonged to Fring, a friend of Tobi's that ran a small export and shipping operation. He had assured Maarik that Fring was trustworthy, discreet, and could arrange passage for him wherever he needed to go. No reason not to take Tobi at his word, he'd known him for close to fifteen years.
Maarik pulled back the hood of his earthy brown poncho and the heat from Tatooine's twin suns beat down on his fair skin. Packed sand and little bits of gravel crunched beneath his scuffed leather boots as he walked some fifty yards to the open bay door of Fring's hanger. There were a couple of light freighters inside with their boarding ramps deployed. A few pallets of cargo loaded onto hover carts were scattered throughout the hangar, as if someone had been interrupted when they were in the middle of loading them.
"Excuse me! Is private property! What are you doing here, cannot be here, very busy!" Someone cried in accented Standard.
Maarik whipped around. A short, stocky Twi'lek man emerged from the office with his arms thrown in the air. Fring wasn't a Twi'lek. Maarik's brows furrowed slightly and he met the Twi'lek in the middle of the hangar bay floor. No pilots or deckhands to be seen and partially loaded ships sitting idle. Very busy, indeed.
"I'm looking for Fring," Maarik said matter of factly.
The Twi'lek flashed pointy teeth and shook his head. His Lekku flopped over his shoulders. "No, come on man, Fring is busy, ah? He is running big operation, come back later!"
Maarik shook his head back at the Twi'lek as he felt a hand at the small of his back. The Twi'lek was trying to usher him out of the hangar while he went on, "See, lots of cargo we are to be loading and shipping today!"
"Fring is expecting me, tell him Maarik has arrived and would like to meet with him." Maarik swatted the hand away from his back and took a few strides toward the office. "Surely he's not too busy to see me, I'm a friend of his." A little bluff. He felt a pang of anxiety radiate from the Twi'lek. Maarik's guard went up.
"Oh!" The Twi'lik feigned an embarrassed chuckle and waddled his way in front of Maarik. "Yes! Of course, of course! Will get him, wait here for him."
Maarik bopped his head gently at the Twi'lek and watched him hurry to the office. Why wasn't there anyone else on the hangar floor? He had arrived in the middle of a business day. The Twi'lek was growing more anxious, Maarik could feel it and he could see it in his body language. He could tell there were others in the office, but the blinds were shut. Maarik centered himself and closed his eyes as the Twi'lkek disappeared behind the office door. Anger, fear, regret, impatience, danger.
A few minutes passed.
"This guy will be problem, can’t talk him out of here,” the Twi'lek said to his three partners as Maarik broke the lock and swung the door open.
There was his stocky little new friend, a couple of dangerous looking Rodians, a man cuffed to a chair who must've been Fring, and an especially bulky Besalisk. One of the Rodians said something in Huttese, and two of the Besalisk's four hands were at Maarik's collar before he could react. Why wasn't he prepared for something like this? He already knew there would be something wrong when he opened the door. Why him? He wasn't a guardian, he was a medical doctor! Though he might be leaving that behind for a while once he got himself to Ajan Kloss. Those thoughts briefly ran through his mind as the Besalisk's two free hands gripped Maarik's biceps, hoisted him up, and tossed him through the office window.
There was a hearty belly laugh from the Besalisk as the window shattered and Maarik slammed into the duracrete hangar floor, tangled in the blinds that had been drawn over the window. He didn’t know where his satchel landed.
"A Jedi! Never killed a Jedi before!" Another laugh. "Just a puny little bantha poodoo man in a funny cult!"
Maarik's cloak and rode up exposing his lightsaber. He was outed. He freed himself from the broken blinds and heaved himself to his feet, but it was too late. A devastating gut punch brought him back to his knees. He tasted a little blood. He reached for his saber hilt, but an instant later it was gone and Maarik was sliding across the floor and into a hover cart full of pallets after a monstrous right hook. The gravely laugh from the Besalisk and cheering from his accomplices rang in Maarik’s ears. Where in blazes was his lightsaber? There, across the hangar! knocked out of his hand when he was hit for the second time.
"You picked the wrong day to interfere in our business, Jedi!" the Bealisk snarled as he lumbered toward Maarik.
"I can assure you, friend, this is not how I intended to spend my afternoon," Maarik said with a strained voice. He rolled away from the hover cart and sent one of the pallets and its cargo barreling at his attacker with the force. Four powerful arms smashed the pallet and flung the cargo boxes aside. Maarik was staring at a big yellow toothy grin.
"Oh bloody-" Maarik was hauled upward again and tossed across the floor. He was a plaything. He slammed into the far wall, and by chance, was only a few yards from his lightsaber. He thrust out his arm and called for it. The hilt collided with his palm and he leapt to his feet, the emerald blade crackling to life.
The Besalisk stopped in his tracks and growled. He needed to stop toying with his prey. He reached for two heavy blasters holstered at either shoulder and squeezed the triggers when he had a bead on the Jedi. One blaster bolt whizzed by Maarik's face, and the other was deflected toward the hangar ceiling. It hit a light and sparks washed over the hangar floor. It wasn't possible, nobody could deflect a blaster bolt with a blade. Even a laser sword! It was a myth that drunks used to embellish their cantina stories when they lied about facing off with a Jedi. The Besalisk fired again, but the Jedi was gone. No, not gone, in front of him! How had he moved that fast? The lightsaber blade sliced through the barrels of both blasters in one stroke.
Maarik locked his eyes onto the Besalisk's chest, watching for any tells on where his arms were going next. The lower right hand reached for something at his side. A vibroknife. Maarik cut the interior of his opponent's lower right forearm with the tip of his saber. The wound was just deep enough to do permanent muscle damage, he'd never fight with that hand again. The Besalisk screeched and dropped the knife, recoiling in pain and lunging away from Maarik.
The Besalisk dropped the disabled blasters and reached behind his back for his second set of pistols. He gripped the handles, whipped them around, and then- There was nothing. He was cold, the back of his head was a little wet, and his vision faded.
Maarik exhaled as his foe dropped face first onto the floor. The crate that had smacked the Besalisk in the head dropped when Maarik opened his fist. It had been a long time since he had been in a scuffle like that and he was damned sore. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. He felt a threat coming from the office and locked eyes with one of the Rodians through the broken window. His hand dropped from the blaster at his hip. Wise decision.
"One of you care to explain?" he said as he walked back into the office, lightsaber humming.
The Twi'lek spoke up, "Is no more problem here, ah? We were not with knowledge that Mister Fring under the protection of highly esteemed Jedi Knight like yourself," a nervous laugh, "Master Jedi!"
Maarik turned to Fring, who was still cuffed to a chair and gagged. "Free him."
The Twi'lek spoke Huttese and the Rodians complied with Maarik's request. Fring gasped for more air once the gag was removed and looked at the floor. He was thin, probably over sixty, and had a dark complexion. The Jedi aimed the tip of his saber at the Twi'lek.
"His debt, it will be wiped, you see? Mister Fring always have credit with us!" The Twi'lek pleaded. So that's what it was about, then. They worked for a Hutt, it didn’t matter which one.
"You underwrite lines of bad credit and collect for your master?”
“No, no, you see is my operation! My master, he will get cut- This is good legitimate business, I am always needing talented men like yourself. . .”
“Shut up.”
The Twi’lek nodded and the Rodians were still frozen.
“Mister Fring owes you no debt, and he has no credit with you. You will leave him be from now on, and if you ever return, I will know it.”
“Yes master Jedi, as you wish,” said the Twi’lek through a forced smile and laugh.
“One more thing.”
“Of course, what is it Master Jedi?”
“You should reconsider your line of work.”
“I should reconsider my line of work,” droned the Twi’lek.
The Rodians exchanged confused glances.
End, part I
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