#knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure

[zargsnake]

maybe Vader someday later

#anakin skywalker #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 16: Reprogramming

Word Count: 1755 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Obi-Wan lands the Bori back at the Temple and, before he does anything else, takes Anakin back to his room so he can sleep. Obi-Wan attracts plenty of stares in the bloody death match armor with the garish logos, but he doesn't care.

“Shouldn't I come to the debriefing, too?” asks Anakin, as Obi-Wan tucks him in.

“No. I shall recount it all. I will tell them how brave and clever you were. Your place is here, now.”

Obi-Wan shuts the blinds in Anakin's room. Streaks of bright sunlight still creep in, but the warm, welcome darkness presses down like another blanket. Anakin watches his master hurry out, then shuts his eyes and quickly falls asleep. Obi-Wan senses this, and it relieves a great amount of stress from his mind. He orders a med-droid to attend to Anakin’s shoulder, then changes into something sensible, washes his hair -- without the Pothkrie shampoo -- and goes to see Tila and the Council.

Anakin dreams that he is the one in the death match uniform: the bulky, tan pads that don't look good on anyone -- but they look good on him. And instead of logos, his armor is covered in ancient, powerful runes, the kind only the wisest can read. He can read them, and they say his name. All around him, thousands of people chant “Skywalker!! Skywalker!!” just as they chanted “Kenobi!!” today, and “Spartak!!” years ago. He is tall, and strong -- taller, and stronger, than Obi-Wan or Crix. He waves and they cheer. He salutes and they cheer. He falls on his face, and they still cheer. He can do no wrong. They love him too much. Everyone loves him, but the only people who really matter are Obi-Wan and Padme.

Obi-Wan is old, with white hair, but the same smile. He sits in the chair that Anakin was tied to in Knightkiller’s arena, but he sits there by choice, to get a better view of his amazing student.

Anakin’s lightsaber is the same, but a yellow ribbon is tied around the end of it, just as Crix tied a piece of Anakin's mother's apron around his weapon when he went into battle.

Padme sits in the front row, in a balcony fifteen feet above the sunken arena. She wears a yellow dress, with yellow ribbons in her hair. Anakin leaps up, grabs the railing and swings onto the balcony. Everyone scatters like bugs from him as his powerful feet crash down and shake the whole structure -- everyone except Padme. She stands and rests her head on his great shoulder, and holds his giant hand, and he holds her with his other arm, and now there isn't anyone else. He's strong enough for her, old enough, good enough for her. Everything is for her.

He wakes up, and a face is seared into his vision, a face that puts a lump in his throat and a burden on his chest. But it isn't Padme's face, though he wishes it was -- it's Fenn Gallowk’s. He’s got to save him. He needs to, now, quick. What kind of hero is he, if he can't even save his own savior?

He activates the commlink that he keeps by his pillow.

“Master?”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Where are you?”

“In the library.”

“Can I come?”

“Yes, of course.”

Anakin sits up and notices his arm has been numbed by painkillers and put in a sling. With his other hand, he quickly washes his face and combs his messy hair as he dashes to the library. It was daytime when he fell asleep; it looks like it's late at night, now. He’s never been out of his room so late. The Temple lights are dimmer; the night colors everywhere are so blue and green, eerie and alien compared to the warm colors of his apartment on Tatooine.

To assist Master Juna’s new mission, Obi-Wan was reading up on the history of death matches. “Hello, Anakin.” He puts the book down, adjusts the tilted collar on Anakin's robe and checks the sling. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Master, we've got to save Fenn Gallowk.”

“Yes, I know. But it isn't that simple. I've learned more about his master, the evil Senator Dinv. He has a lot of allies in the government, including the support of the Chancellor himself. He's hoodwinked them all.”

“Don't we have evidence against him?”

“Yes. Master Juna is compiling it now, with everything else Glagret sent her.”

“She must make that part top priority.”

“Anakin, it is not your place to determine a master's priorities.”

“We need to save him, now. I promised I would.”

“I don't like your tone, young man.”

“I -- I'm sorry.” He tries very hard to stop his tears, but he can't. “He's in danger.”

“I know. But think, Anakin. We must be careful. His master could kill him, if we act too hastily.”

“He c-could kill him if we act too slowly!”

“Hush.”

“He saved my life and yours. Don't promises m-mean anything to you?”

“I made a promise to Qui-Gon to make you a Jedi. That promise means everything to me.”

Obi-Wan's stern tone and words render Anakin silent. He stands there, shaking with guilt and fear.

“There is no emotion…” starts Obi-Wan.

“There is peace,” finishes Anakin in a quiet mumble.

“Gallowk will be freed, Padawan.”

“But when?”

“Master Juna is in charge of the project.”

“Can I ask her, then?”

“I'll ask her, on your behalf.”

“When?”

Obi-Wan wishes he had Qui-Gon's awe-inspiring confidence and decision-making. But he does not. He hesitates, and Anakin sees him hesitate. It feels awful.

“I'll ask her now.”

“I don't think she even knows about Gallowk,” says Anakin, trying very hard to speak without bitterness.

“No, perhaps not. I'll convey his situation to her.”

Anakin stares at him.

“Put this book away, won't you? I'll go find her.”

Anakin takes the book and reads the number on the spine. He tries to figure out what these library numbers mean as Obi-Wan takes his leave.

That could have been handled better... Blast it, Kenobi. I can't cave into his personal wishes like that. Ah, and I hurt his feelings by bringing up my promise to Qui-Gon. Everything I said was wrong. -- But more importantly, it is our duty to free that slave. -- I think I shall get him a job as a Guardian. He deserves a life of peace. I must look him up, and attach a face to his name in my mind.

Obi-Wan goes to Master Juna's room to deliver Anakin's message. She listens to him, but seems distracted. Obi-Wan looks pleadingly at the Padawan sitting in the corner of the room; the girl nods at him. Tila listens to Zlinky; she will make sure this Fenn that the humans care for is protected. Grateful and overwhelmed by it all, Obi-Wan leaves the aliens and goes back to the library, where he left his boy awkwardly waiting for him. Obi-Wan tells Anakin to go back to bed since it is late.

Anakin is not tired, but he obeys. He is hungry, but he doesn't say so. He lies in bed and thinks about his dream. It makes him feel so vile. That armor is evil, not honorable. The people in that chanting crowd are bloodthirsty criminals. And Padme... He will never be good enough for her. She is a queen, and he is not allowed.

No one has explicitly told him so, yet. But he suspected. And he overheard something about it, once, from older students. Jedi aren't allowed to get married. Just like slaves aren't allowed, unless they're bred. He had no idea. It is so unfair.

They give him food and freedom. Adventure. A wonderful, powerful teacher. Security. Purpose. Fun. He cannot complain about their rules. The rules must be important. He can't have a wife, or even a girlfriend, just as he can't have a mother. He trusts that that will make sense to him, one day. It makes sense to everyone else. It has to do with controlling their powers and keeping everyone safe.

But it doesn't matter. She could never love him, anyway.

   *   *   *

Zlinkgwal sits in the corner of her master's room, with Jane in pieces all around her. She cleans and polishes each part, and she carefully unscrews the blasters and grenades from her hardware and sets them aside to be melted down into something useful to the Temple. It is highly dangerous work; Jane’s neglected explosives could go off and kill them all. Tila watches carefully, prepared to isolate anything dangerous with her powers in a flash.

With the rust and paint removed, Jane’s outer plating is quite beautiful, in Zlinky's opinion. But she fears she might be influenced by her affection for this droid.

Zlinky feels happy, if guilty, to take parts of Jane away. The droid will feel much lighter when she wakes up; hopefully she will like that. And Zlinky feels even happier to add parts onto Jane: a brand new memory core, blank except for routine Jedi programs of peace and security. This is the purpose Jane craved.

Zlinky’s dearest hope is that, when Jane wakes up, she'll still remember her ... and she won't be a completely different droid.

But if she is, it's for the best. The droid she used to be was evil. Jane has never been good; this is a lucky opportunity for her.

Zlinky installs the software into Jane's nerve-center that officially redubs her the name Zlinky negotiated from the Temple's chief engineer: Jedi Neutralizer-1. On the fresh, scannable label, Zlinky engraves Jane's new information:

ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴊᴇᴅɪ-ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴇʀ-1 [ᴊɴ-1] ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʀᴇᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ: ᴄᴏʀᴜꜱᴄᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴇᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴇɴɢɪɴᴇᴇʀ ꜱɪɢɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ: ᴢʟɪɴᴋɢᴡᴀʟ ᴢᴀʟᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍ: ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀꜱꜱɪɢɴᴇᴅ ᴊᴇᴅɪ [ᴀᴊ]

She adds the rest of the basic programming into Jane's core, thought it is not engraved in the label:

ꜱʜᴜᴛᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ: ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴊ'ꜱ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ꜱʜᴜᴛᴅᴏᴡɴ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀᴜᴛᴏᴍᴀᴛɪᴄ ᴍɪɴᴅᴡɪᴘᴇ ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜱʜᴜᴛᴅᴏᴡɴ: ᴏɴ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ᴀꜱꜱɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴀᴊ-1, ᴀʟʟʏ-2, ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ-3, ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ-4, ᴇɴᴠɪʀᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ-5, ꜱᴇʟꜰ-6

ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴇᴅɪ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ “ᴀʟʟʏ” ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ “ᴀᴊ” ᴏʀ “ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ”

ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢꜱ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ “ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ” ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ “ᴀʟʟʏ” ᴏʀ “ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ”

ᴀʟʟ ɴᴏɴ-ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇɪɴɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɴᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴏʀ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀꜱꜱᴜᴍᴇᴅ “ᴇɴᴠɪʀᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ” ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ “ᴀʟʟʏ” ᴏʀ “ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ”

ᴊᴇᴅɪ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱᴏꜰᴛᴡᴀʀᴇ: ᴇxᴛʀᴀᴘᴏʟᴀᴛᴏʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʟɪʙʀᴀʀʏ ᴅᴀᴛᴀʙᴀꜱᴇ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ᴀꜱꜱɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:

ᴀᴊ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-1.1, ᴏʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ-1.2

ᴀʟʟʏ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-2.1, ᴏʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ-2.2

ᴄɪᴠɪʟɪᴀɴ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-3.1

ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-4.1, ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ-4.2

ᴇɴᴠɪʀᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ: ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-5.1

ꜱᴇʟꜰ: ᴏʙᴇᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇ-6.1, ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ-6.2

ɪɴᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇᴏʀɢᴀɴɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ᴏꜰꜰ

#the end! #my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #zlinkgwal zalt #tila juna #jane #fenn gallowk #scifi #drama #epistolary

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 8: Priorities

Word Count: 2565 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Anakin hears the cheers for Obi-Wan turn sour, and he soon figures out why. It is no fault of his master's, who fights beautifully -- but there is a transparent dome-shield around the arena, and whenever someone in the angry, heavily-armed audience shoots at it, ripples of white electric shocks cross the dome and obscure the fight. Anakin is relieved that the audience is booing each other, not his master, though he worries that Obi-Wan will think they're booing at him.

Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder, trying to locate Anakin in the audience, and a blade suddenly whizzes by his neck. His reflexes protect him and he jerks out of the way, but a moment later he feels hot blood on his skin. He hadn't moved quickly enough -- the blade cut him sharp and swift. It hurts a lot more than he expected. It could have easily killed him.

He was so focused on finding Anakin in this crowd that he forgot Anakin's own words to him, his warnings about this opponent. Obi-Wan hadn't taken Anakin seriously about Tiango. Of course it was sad about Anakin’s “cool” gladiator friend, but Obi-Wan defeated a Sith lord not long ago. The experience buoyed his confidence to a fault. This Tiango -- not a Sith, not even a professional, just an ex-science experiment, just a Yooro -- landed a blow on him -- a pretty good one, too.

Obi-Wan rapidly teaches himself a lesson. Connecting with Anakin doesn't mean knowing exactly where he is. It means listening to him. Believing him. That's what teachers do. It's what friends do.

This isn't the Outer Rim, but these people are. This is Anakin's haunt. Obi-Wan will train it out of him, will make him a man of the Core. But for now, Anakin is the expert here, and his words must be Obi-Wan's textbook.

With his heart opened wide for Anakin, and his guard up because of Anakin's warning, Obi-Wan realizes he will have to hunker down in defense for a while. Tiango's assault is brutal and inhumanly quick, though Obi-Wan remembers that Yoroos do get exhausted -- eventually. What Obi-Wan lacks in comparative strength, he makes up for in endurance -- patience and energy, the long game, care -- these are Obi-Wan's secret weapons.

Anakin watches Obi-Wan deflect the same moves that once ruthlessly whittled down Crix Spartak, the gladiator who he had loved. The memory of that death match sends chills up his spine. He is certain that some of these blows must hit his master. Part of him is certain that Obi-Wan is doomed, too. Anakin had believed Crix would win, and he had been wrong. It is asking too much to have hope again, against the same, utterly evil man.

Though Obi-Wan has great endurance, his vibroblade does not. Out of habit, he treats it as roughly as if it were a laser weapon, depending on it for deflection, as a shield. Tiango's barrage strikes the metal and bends it back and forth into a zigzag, then into a knot. Obi-Wan is slowly disarmed as his blade becomes less and less tenable as a weapon. He has no choice; he has no other shield. The biggest bother is his own hand: the damn vibroblade is aptly named -- it quivers like a leaf in the wind, wearing out his wrist and weakening his fingers.

The crowd cheers enthusiastically for the graceful Jedi, chanting, "Kenobi! Kenobi!" Anakin does not join in. Obi-Wan could almost be dancing with his expert moves, but Anakin is not in the mood to learn from him. He gazes in hopeless terror at the duel. He watches bullets, lasers and slingshotted electrostones bounce off the dome, as well as gifts, toys and even people’s underwear. All such wild debris from this crazed crowd trying to reach out to their beloved or hated athlete, his poor, wonderful master.

The fastest or biggest bullets send fuzzy waves across the dome, but the dome quickly repairs itself. Anakin follows the arc of the dome, calculating the sources of its projection points from subtle distortions in the waves.

He moves the layers of fur in his stolen disguise to peek at the recharging screen on his hidden acid-blaster: 52%. No other weapons are making a dent in the dome. But no other weapons are quite like this one, and no one else seems to have figured out where to shoot. Could he crack the dome? What would he do then?

Anakin looks away from Obi-Wan for a second and scans his narrowed eyes over the happy rabble. He does not understand them. Are they seeing what he's seeing? They all shout and cheer, laughing and clapping, as if Obi-Wan is triumphant, as if he is playing. He looks back at his master. He sees that Obi-Wan is in great pain. Dying, even. How can the information from his senses, and the conclusions from his feelings, be so different from everyone else's?

Is he connecting, mentally, to his master -- using his supposed Jedi powers to see things for how they truly are? Is he seeing the truth, better than they are, because he is a Jedi, a Jedi Padawan? Is the Force giving him a special message -- because he, unlike the rabble, is a Jedi -- because he, unlike everyone, is the answer to a prophecy -- because he is closer to Obi-Wan than anyone else is?

Or ... is he, Anakin, wrong? Is everyone else right? Is his sight blinded by irrational fear, brought about by his utter dependence on this man? Did Obi-Wan really stumble, just now? No one else seems to have seen it.

Is he, Anakin, perhaps, confusing the past for the present? Crix for Obi-Wan? Death for life?

Is it all in his head? Or is it real?

   *   *   *

Below the arena, Zlinky has memorized the map from the computer. With Jane, she trespasses through the employee quarters. They reach a large, important-looking office which Zlinky guesses is Knightkiller's.

She hears voices inside and shouts at the door, “Hey boss! There's fried fluunies in Rec Room 3!”

She backs off as the door opens and two people exit. Zlinky creeps inside and Jane blusters along behind her. Too soon, they hear the people coming back and Zlinky shoves Jane under the slick metallic desk; the robot is so big that two of the desk legs lift a few inches from the ground. There isn't much room left for Zlinky; she has to nestle right up against Jane's bazooka. A belt of detonators falls across Zlinky's lap.

She peeks over the edge of the desk and sees the people more closely. They look more decorated than the other guards, with sashes and medals, as if there was some kind of made-up military ranking among Knightkiller's cronies, a worthless army dedicated solely to this evil entertainment. 

“These fluunies are great,” says one crony.

“I’ve had better,” says the other.

The hidden Padawan hears the gross sounds of chewing, and then the rather more alarming sound of Jane powering up her neutralizers. Zlinky quiets her and gestures for her to stop. Stealth has worked so far; it would be best to avoid violence, especially since these two seem important.

“I can't wait to run the missing Jedi kids through with this,” says the first one, as he ignites a lightsaber.

Zlinky stops gesturing, but Jane has already powered down.

“The Jedi kids must still be on the ship. No one's been allowed to leave and no shuttle pods have activated.”

“You think Jedi could survive in space?”

“No. Only the boss can do that. You saw them in those Coruscanti space suits, idiot.”

“Oh right.”

The second crony ignites another lightsaber. Even without looking, Zlinky recognizes the sound as her own. She feels something very powerful and uncomfortable. Taken aback, she identifies it as jealousy, one of the very worst emotions. Afraid of her own feelings, she is frozen, unable to act, unable to know if she is behaving rationally, according to the light side, or irrationally, which will lead her off the narrow path into darkness.

“They're real nice suits. I called dibs on the man-size one for me and the little one for my daughter.”

“Yeah...the gigantic one and the lady-size one are pretty useless.”

“I'll take the lady one for my kid to grow into.”

Zlinky thinks, I'm twelve! I’m not a lady! Though I am much taller than Anakin. So they say Anakin is missing, too? That means he's not dead! If only I was strong enough to detect his presence!

Jane pokes Zlinky and gestures to her blasters. Zlinky shakes her head.

We can't kill him! He's a dad!

They hear the two men walking closer and closer. One of them accidentally hits something with the lightsaber; the girls hear them cursing and smell melting plastic.

Zlinky feels time running out. This hiding spot is bad. She ran in here without a plan. She knows her decision-making is impeded by fear, jealousy, and access to a murder-droid, but she must decide something.

Zlinky quickly examines the settings on Jane's weapons. All these numbers and charts are too confusing to parse right now. She dials one dial back, but it only causes some numbers to rise and others to fall. She puts it back where it was, though the numbers are still not the same. The last time Jane shot someone, it wasn't fatal. At least not immediately.

The girl feels tears pressuring her eyes and throat. She doesn't want to hurt anyone. She has learned through stories and lessons that the darkness within is far worse than the darkness without. She is more frightened of doing wrong than she is of dying. There is no death. But there is evil.

She can't get out of her head a discussion she overheard from some of the older Padawans. This group of twenty- and thirty-somethings is the pride of the whole Temple. Everyone adores them -- the strongest, most beautiful, best students in school. Once they are knighted, then they leave the young people’s social circle to rub shoulders with the teachers, and have no time for their old friends -- but before they are knighted, they rule the school from the inside, and everyone lets them get away with a little more fun than knights are allowed. In those last years of Padawanship, they are the most free a Jedi can be.

Just last month, when Zlinky fetched the group snacks from the mess hall in order to bask in their presence, she found them in a very strange state. When one of them returns from a mission, the others crowd around to hear the stories and see the new scars. The latest conquering hero, a human named Sara Chid-wun, did not have a physical scar. But she had such an aura of bitterness around her that the whole group was affected, including the young interloper Zlinky.

Sara explained how she and her Master Kayji were caught in various difficult situations, and each time Kayji had neglected to act, so each time Sara had been forced to act herself, often with violence. It felt like a test that she continuously failed. And yet, ultimately, they succeeded in their mission. Sara claimed that Kayji would not address her concerns with anything beyond platitudes.

The whole experience led Sara to, hesitantly, conclude that Masters often take advantage of their students. Masters refuse to move, and claim they are trusting in the Force, or allowing evil to collapse in on itself, or some such excuse, while in reality they are leaving the sensible but nasty work to the impure, young Padawan tagging along.

The group discussed each example, and more from their own adventures, each trying to explain away their masters’ -- sometimes -- confusing actions, each unwilling to support Sara’s conclusion -- including, of course, Sara herself. But the group found that, if they were being honest, she might be right. Sometimes. So they had moved on to finding the moral lesson in this seemingly cruel behavior -- something about knightly violence being worse than non-knightly violence, something about power and purity.

And maybe they came to a satisfying explanation among themselves; Sara herself seemed as cheerful as normal the next time Zlinky saw her. But Zlinky hadn't felt comfortable sitting in on their important big-kid conversation any longer, so she had left at the darkest part of it.

Tila has never forced Zlinky's hand before. Zlinky has never had to kill anyone before. But now the master is indeed the one sitting out, while the student is the one doing the work.

Is it okay to stray off the path when you are only a Padawan? Is it, in fact, expected, and necessary? Must she walk in the gray area beside the light, until she is a master herself, and can savor the light all the time, and never have to do any more wrong? When she is knighted, then she can delegate that dark stuff to someone else, someone young and obedient?

The thought occurs to Zlinky that she is not the one who would do the killing -- that would be Jane. But she knows that is a flaky excuse. Jane is her responsibility. Just as she is Tila's. The blood is on all their hands.

Zlinky turns to Jane and nods. Jane immediately stands up and neutralizes the guards. Zlinky pokes her head over the desk, sees the smoking bodies, and fears the worst.

“Are they dead?”

“ɪ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ɪᴛ. ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴀʀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ.“

“I'm pretty sure your full capacity is overkill.”

She tiptoes over to the guard's bodies. One seems to be breathing. The other, she can't tell.

She can't alert anyone to the danger, and she doesn't trust the medical facilities here anyway. But she has nothing to give them, to help them. She puts her hand on the soft, sandy hair of the one whose life is unclear to her, the one who has a little daughter.

“May the Force be with you.”

Her voice is a shaky whisper, but she's never meant those words so much as she means them now.

Please, please, live.

She pulls the lightsaber from his hand and turns it off, and does the same with the other guard. She finds three more lightsabers on their belts. She recognizes hers and her master’s; two of them must be Anakin’s and his master’s; the last one could be Glagret’s, a.k.a. Knightkiller’s. It's green, and of the same old fashion as her master’s. She is surprised and glad that it isn't red. But maybe Knightkiller carries her red one on her person. Or maybe, just maybe, the Sith are not at all involved. She prays that they aren't.

Zlinky and Jane hide the bodies behind the desk and lock the door behind them. Zlinky turns away from the door and does not look back.

They were gonna kill me. They still will kill me, if they figure it out. I have to act in self-defense. And I have to save the other three Jedi. These people may be people, but they are low-lives, murderers, and lawbreakers. It wasn't my choice that they got in my way.

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #chahlee tiango #zlinkgwal zalt #jane #scifi #adventure #drama

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 12: Reunion

Word Count: 925 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Zlinky, like everyone else, is startled by the dissipating dome and Tiango’s grisly death. But as a Jedi, she gets over her shock faster than average. She tears a hole in the weak webbing with her two lit lightsabers and throws them into the arena.

Obi-Wan, who was rolling further away from his opponent’s melting corpse, sits up and catches the sabers in both hands. Through the chaos in the crowd he can still hear the chant, “Kenobi! Kenobi!”

He doesn't know who sniped the dome and the Yooro, but he does know they’re not out of trouble yet. Ten blaster-droids remain trained on the great, wise, trapped Tila, and before he can free her, all ten fire at once.

He holds his arms out and uses the Force to freeze the ten lasers. It’s too much for him alone, but he senses the Padawan girl in the audience helping him, and Master Tila too.

We could also use your help, Anakin. I sensed you in the audience earlier. Where are you?

“...ₐₐₐₐₐaaaaaaAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!!!!”

Obi-Wan looks in either direction, then up, and sees a tiny figure with flailing limbs falling from the balcony seats.

“ANAKIN!!”

He has no choice -- he releases his Force-hold on Tila’s lasers and flings his arms up to focus on Anakin instead. The lasers jitter in the air, but, fortunately, Tila is far more powerful in the Force than Obi-Wan. She continues holding the lasers steady -- with Zlinky's help, of course.

Anakin slows, a little -- enough -- and Obi-Wan runs to where he is falling to catch him. Anakin crashes on Obi-Wan and they both topple to the ground.

“Anakin! Are you hurt?”

“AERRUGH! -- I'm okay! -- AUEERUAAGH!!”

The boy clutches the shoulder which Knightkiller had dislocated hours ago. But there is no time for that now; Obi-Wan stands and pulls his Padawan to his feet.

“Well come on, then, young one!”

Obi-Wan runs toward Tila, and Anakin stumbles along behind him. The blaster-droids swivel toward Obi-Wan, and now, armed with a lightsaber -- not his own, but still a lightsaber, and with his charge to defend -- he mows all ten of them down.

The audience loves it, besides the ones who hate it. With the dome falling apart, there is nothing to keep the people out. They start to climb over each other to enter the arena. Zlinky and Jane push their way to the front.

Obi-Wan cuts Tila’s bonds and helps her up. The Jedi release the suspended laser beams, which explode into each other where Tila’s head was just a moment ago. Obi-Wan gives her her lightsaber, and Zlinky hands out the rest of them. Obi-Wan switches with Anakin, so that they are all armed properly.

The four Jedi and Jane stand in a group as the wild audience and well-paid guards press in around them. Obi-Wan automatically moves into a back-to-back, four-squad defensive position, but the children just stare up at him, and Tila doesn't bother.

As Obi-Wan swats more laser beams away, Zlinky looks for an exit. All the gladiator doors are sealed, but the wall under the acid’s strike has begun to melt.

“Jane!”

Jane cranks up both her arms with an unpleasant screech and shoots at where Zlinky points. The people in her way scream and duck to avoid the shots. Jane's barrage increases the size of the hole.

“Come on!” shouts Zlinky as she leads the escape.

“Who's the droid?” asks Anakin.

“Jane! I fixed her! She's with us!”

“Wizard!”

“Where are we going, Padawan?” asks Obi-Wan.

“Um -- I don't know!”

“Thank you for saving us, Zlinky!” says Tila gently.

“You're welcome!”

“Oh yes. Thank you!” Obi-Wan repeats.

“I --” Before Anakin can speak up, a laser from behind grazes his hurt shoulder. He grits his teeth to avoid screaming again.

Obi-Wan senses Anakin get hurt and feels horrible.

“Anakin, stay here in the center. Droid, you run in front. You two, either side. I'll hold the back.”

“I'll take the back, Obi-Wan,” Tila says in her deep, humming voice. “This hide can stand a lot more fire than yours can.”

The masters switch positions. The heroes run down the dark hall, trying to lose the crowd and to keep their littlest one safe in between them all, unaware of what he has done for them. 

The announcer’s familiar voice booms over the hallway’s speakers:

“The great Chahlee Tiango is dead! And the victor was NOT fan-favorite Jedi Number Two, Obi-Wan Kenobi! A mysterious blast from above melted Chahlee's helmet into his face, suffocating him! But not before single-handedly dismantling the arena's shield!

“Now, Chahlee's slayer -- you hardly play fair -- but, we can't deny that you've got style! Knightkiller extends her gracious invitation to you. Play in our tournament for free! No one has ever received such a deal! Bring your astounding weapon as proof of the deed. Approach any Knightkiller's Tournament employee, and we will happily show you the way backstage.

“As for everyone else -- return to your seats. There is much more programming for you to enjoy. The Jedi have been recaptured. Make yourself comfortable! Up next -- the terrifying Canderla Cralter, versus the eerie daughter of Dathomir, Jwelth Meoite. And soon -- one Jedi versus another, and the winner of THAT battle versus Knightkiller herself!”

The Jedi hear through the walls some of the chaos ebbing down and some of the people settling back into their chairs. Not all of them, but many -- more than the Jedi would have expected. They aren't used to dealing with such flighty cowards.

Chapter 13: The Old Ladies

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #zlinkgwal zalt #tila juna #jane #scifi #adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Deleted Scene: Extended “Aboard the JON-Bori”

Word Count: 821 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

Chapter 14 was already the longest chapter by far (if you can believe it), so I cut out the second half of their conversation in a futile attempt to salvage the story’s pacing. This part is indulgent, but it still ties into the themes, and it’s lowkey my favorite part of the story.

*   *   *

Anakin feels a little uncomfortable, and disloyal, with Obi-Wan's words -- his assertion that he is his master, not Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan was not the one who freed him. Obi-Wan didn't speak to Watto and his mom. Anakin has grown to like Obi-Wan a lot, but he feels borrowed, like a library book. His true loyalty, his true master, is Qui-Gon, after all. He doesn't want to have to pick sides. He doesn't want them to be different. He wants Obi-Wan to be Qui-Gon. And if he behaves differently, Anakin doesn't want him to say so. 

He knows that's foolish. But it's still what he wants.

Qui-Gon rescued Obi-Wan from the unmoored, diffident anxieties of puberty; he gave him things to do, things to think about, direction, confidence, purpose. Obi-Wan, when he was very young himself, was too bright to be happy, too ambitious to be satisfied with a sheltered Jedi child's lot in life, and too wise to be controlled by an imperfect system, no matter how fond of it he was. He was impressionable, vulnerable, and oppressively bored until Qui Gon changed everything.

But Obi-Wan’s rescue was nothing like Anakin’s. Obi-Wan's gratitude for Qui-Gon is not Anakin's devotion. Qui-Gon shaped Obi-Wan, but he dazzled Anakin.

Obi-Wan saw Qui-Gon as a man. He saw him fall; he saw him fail. Over years, he saw him be made a fool; he heard him make inaccurate guesses and tell jokes that fell flat. He questioned him constantly, and argued at any chance, skirting the line of impudence, testing his own powerful intuitions -- curious, usually; purposefully annoying, sometimes.

He felt, often, that he was right and his master was wrong. He rarely won arguments out loud -- Qui-Gon was not interested in debate -- but he won them all the time in his head.

His love for Qui Gon could not possibly be deeper or more real than it was. But it was not a blinding love. Obi-Wan knows his own cleverness, and he trusts his own gut. And now that he's a teacher himself, that natural independence forces him to walk straight, and not bend toward a path that he senses Qui-Gon may have, perhaps, taken.

Grief makes it hard to diverge from the dead man. He wants to be Qui-Gon, too. But he wants to be Obi-Wan more.

He feels completely confident that he will never diverge TOO much.  

“Did Master Qui-Gon ... make mistakes?” asks Anakin.

“Of course he did.” Obi-Wan’s teacherly habit compels him to think of an example; it hurts too much to think of Qui-Gon's mistakes. “But he trusted in the Force, above all. That level of faith is ... not easy, not for me, anyway. Success, failure -- he did not see either outcome as his own, but as the will of the Force. Still I wonder, if he, not I, had been on the Comet with you, if he would have lost you as easily as I did. Faith alleviates guilt, but only if you are confident you did everything you could... You used all your potential. You were not distracted. Qui-Gon did not lose focus, and I'm afraid I do.”

“Master Qui-Gon was not greater than Master Juna. She lost Zlinky too.”

“That's true.”

Anakin swallows. “Knightkiller got me with a mind-trick. I obeyed her instantly.”

“Yes.”

“But then she tried again, when I was in a cell with Zlinky, to get me to walk to the arena. I didn't, that time.”

“You didn't obey her? You resisted?”

“Y-yes.”

“I felt you resist her, later, as well. When she commanded you to attack me... You did not go for your lightsaber, as Zlinky did.”

“No.”

“Do you know why?”

Anakin shakes his head.

“That's alright. This is dangerous territory. Very advanced. Did it hurt you?”

“What?”

“The mind-tricks. The two you resisted.”

“Uh... I don't know.”

How can I take care of him if he doesn't even know what hurts him?

“That's alright, Padawan. That's very impressive, that you were able to resist. I think, more than anything else, that that mental experience was the most draining for you.”

“... I guess so.”

“No wonder you look so pale. You'll be alright at the Temple.” Anakin nods. “Think of how safe it is. There is no way to hurt you there.”

Anakin puts his head in his arms. Obi-Wan is silent. He prodded enough information out of the boy. He could tell there was plenty on his mind. He hopes one day soon Anakin will be confident and articulate enough to bring these things up on his own.

Obi-Wan cannot suspect that the opposite will one day be true -- that Anakin will come to him directly, with worries, with nightmares, with wishes, and Obi-Wan will be the one who shuts him down, mocks and dismisses him, until Anakin shuts Obi-Wan out for good. For now, in this Bori, he wishes Anakin was more grown-up. All Obi-Wan really wants is a friend.

Chapter 15: Older and Wiser

#my story #deleted scene #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #scifi #drama

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 13: The Old Ladies

Word Count: 2025 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

“Master?”

“Yes, Anakin?”

“Someone helped me escape. Fenn Gallowk. She -- er -- he’s a slave; I promised him we'd free him.”

“Indeed, we owe him a great deal.”

“But his master is Senator Dinv of Raktu!”

“Senator?”

“Yes!”

“Hey!” interrupts Zlinky. “That's the name of the guy sponsoring this tournament!”

“Aha! Good job, Padawans. It seems the situation isn't as complicated as I thought.”

The Jedi turn a corner and almost run into twenty murder-droids. They look like Jane, but without any of her rust and broken parts.

“You were saying?” says Zlinky.

“Other way, other way,” says Tila.

The heroes turn around as the robots begin to march toward them, but a crowd of guards and patrons blocks their return.

In response, Tila turns to the wall and body slams into it, cracking the structure. The force of her movement shakes the whole hallway, which makes all of the non-Jedi fall on their butts.

Anakin laughs. “Your master is so cool, Zlinky!”

“I know!”

Well I'm cool, too. -- Did I really just think that? thinks Obi-Wan.

Tila throws herself through the hole in the wall and pulls the smaller Jedi and Jane after her. They barge into a VIP lounge with soft pink lighting and cute little snacks on fancy tables. Most of the wealthy visitors are in the arena watching the game, but the lounge still hosts a few dozen spectators taking breaks, family members who have no taste for violence, a couple secret meetings, and other odd stragglers who clutch their pearls at the sight of the filthy intruders.

Anakin stares at the food and feels his stomach rumble.

Jedi control their hunger. This is an obvious temptation. Any other Jedi my age would resist it.

He stares ahead of him, hardening his expression.

Tila turns her head with an abrupt motion.

“Glagret! I feel her presence. This way!”

The great Lollian bounds across the lounge to a black door, shedding fur in her wake. The others follow after her on their little legs. In this room no one is shooting at them; in fact, many are hiding their faces, afraid of being recognized.

The door withstands both Tila's body slam and Jane's barrage.

“Let me try,” says Zlinky. She draws her little screwdriver and swiftly picks the lock.

“Well done, Padawan,” says Tila.

“Thank you, Master!”

As their scrappy pursuers commence their own invasion of the VIP lounge, the Jedi and Jane hurry through the sturdy door and shut it behind them.

It is another pitch-black room. Only Zlinky, with her third eye, can see Knightkiller sitting upon a plain chair, her great face resting on her claws, a few of her legs crossed casually. Knightkiller moves one of her claws in a sideways motion.

“Padawans... Kill your masters.”

Zlinky ignites her lightsaber and swings it toward Tila. Tila quickly disarms her with her own weapon.

“I--I'm sorry!!” says the young girl.

“Resist, Padawan,” says the old lady.

“Yes, Master!”

Zlinky balls up her fists and regains control of her mind. Jane whirs her torso up and down, unsure if she should shoot someone. Zlinky senses her confusion and tells her no.

Obi-Wan feels Anakin's hands on his throat. He instinctively brings up his hands to pull them off, but he feels nothing there. The boy must be using the Force. In the darkness, it is impossible to tell the difference.

But almost as quickly as he feels the small fingers grab his neck, they are gone. He hears Anakin breathing heavily beside him. Obi-Wan puts an encouraging hand on Anakin’s non-dislocated shoulder.

“Great plan, Master Juna,” Obi-Wan says sarcastically. “We've fallen right into her clutches.”

“Hush, young one. Glagret. My old friend.” Tila holds her weapon up. “Turn on the lights, won't you? This darkness is perfectly ridiculous.”

Knightkiller snarls with a hair-raising clicking sound, like a cog in an old-fashioned word-processor, a sound that reminds Anakin distinctly of his mother. Obi-Wan feels him shudder. Soft yellow lights illuminate from the floor, casting shadows on their faces.

“Much better,” says Tila. She turns off her lightsaber and clips it onto her belt. Obi-Wan also takes his hand off his weapon. He observes Tila closely.

The Council sent me here precisely to prevent this scenario. They did not want Master Tila's former friendship with ex-Master Glagret to interfere with the mission. Tila is wise, but if the Council second-guessed her judgment... I may have to step in.

“Officious as always, Master Juna,” says Knightkiller.

“Yes, I haven't changed a bit, Master Glagret. I wish I could say the same for you.”

Knightkiller sits up. “I'm sorry I don't fit in your pretty little puzzle anymore.”

“This isn't about me.”

“No. It isn't. You weren't even there when it happened.”

“So…” says Tila, very gently. “That is what this is all about. I thought so…”

Everyone else besides Jane thinks, What are they talking about?

Jane thinks,  ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙɪɢ ʟᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ. ᴏɴᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴛ. ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ꜰᴜᴇʟ! ɪ’ᴍ ꜰɪɴᴇ!

“Of course it is. She is what everything is about. She was my daughter, and my sister. My life. She was all of it. You can't understand,” says Knightkiller.

“I can. I do. My first Padawan passed, too. I know that sorrow.”

“No. It's not the same. Your boy did not die as my girl died.”

By now most of the people hunting down the Jedi have moved on, either back to the match or to the VIP snack tables, since they successfully chased their prey right into Knightkiller's office. But the most obsessed and audacious remnants bang on the crime lord’s door.

A holo of the announcer appears above Knightkiller's armrest.

“My lady, Chahlee's slayer has come forth.”

“Send them into battle at once. And make it mandatory for ticketholders.” She shuts off the holo.

Almost immediately, the announcer’s voice floods the speakers again: “Ladies and gentlemen! The one who sniped the battle dome and poor old Chahlee has revealed herself -- Ash Laia of Farilin! Witness her in her first ever death-match against current champion Jwelth Moeite! See the unusual acid-blaster in action, the blaster which could do what Kenobi could not! This match is MANDATORY -- check-in at the doors in the next five minutes, or forfeit your tickets! No refunds!”

The mob at the door finally hurries back to the arena, which leaves the heroes with just one opponent.  

“My boy--” begins Tila.

“Your boy died in peace. He had a fatal case of being human. The luckiest humans live barely a Lollian decade. He died of nothing.”

“And you think that makes it easier? Everything yours is to you, mine is to me. His time came when he was just ninety human years. But not a day goes by that I don't want him in this life with me again. Do not mock my grief; don't say it's less than yours.”

Knightkiller rips off part of the fabric of her armrest. The unleashed stuffing floats through the air like lazy flies. “It is less than mine. You say you grieve, but you remain with them, the stone-hearted, the liars. You wouldn't claim this pain if it didn't serve your ends.”

“I keep it silent. I don't feel the need to speak of it. But it's there, even if you can't see it. I know you believe me.”

“I don't understand you… How you can stay with them.”

“And I don't understand you -- you joined them! The very people, the very game that killed your girl!”

“Yes, but I told you… You cannot understand me.”

“My heart is open to you. I am listening.”

Knightkiller gazes ahead of her. Her six eyes seem focused on nothing, or on something known only to her.

“What happened on the Comet? Did death match gangsters find you? Capture you?” asks Tila.

“No.”

The room is silent. They hear the newest match roiling down the hall and the humans’ stomachs gurgling with hunger.

“I left,” says Knightkiller. “When Willo died in that first death match, I felt nothing. And not the controlled nothingness of the Order. Real nothingness, beyond my power, beyond my knowledge. A year passed. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was assigned a mission on the Comet. Out there in deep space, I faked an explosion. I killed whoever got in my way. I left.” She shifts her position. “Then I took over the whole game myself.”

Tila slowly shakes her silver head. “But why?”

Far away, the audience cheers.

“...The Order ... In the Order, you think the Order is the one way. Not just the best way. But the only way. But that's not true... This game has a power beyond what the Order can provide. Glory. Money. Fun.”

“Fun.”

“Yes... Willo died for fun,” says Knightkiller, without a hint of emotion.

“But she didn't want to. She didn't mean to,” says Tila, her own emotions also under check.

“The Force doesn't care what we want or mean to happen. All that matters is the flow of its power. And the Order does not follow in its current.”

“But the game does?”

“Yes. It does.”

“Just because this ghastly sport killed your Padawan does not make it the most powerful constant in the galaxy.”

“Doesn't it? ... As I said... she was everything. She is everything... Nothing matters, without her.”

“That’s not true.”

Knightkiller leans back in her chair. Her tone betrays a hint of almost gleeful satisfaction. “I told you. You can't understand.”

Zlinky, who knows Tila the best of any of them, can tell the Lollian is deeply frustrated. To Anakin and Obi-Wan, the wise woman seems as serene as always -- but her student can read the truth. Zlinky reaches out and puts her hand on her master’s arm, soothing her as she has soothed Jane, over and over. Tila, who even now had been considering a surprise attack with her lightsaber, reconsiders.

Tila thinks, Every time, the child is the wiser one. Every time.

“My friend,” says Tila, hesitating, “I am trying. I believe you. I accept your conclusions... It is not complicated.”

“You know me. I never was complicated.”

“Tell me what it is you want. Do you want to keep fighting?”

Knightkiller is silent.

“Do you want to keep playing the game?”

“The game is in my hand, now. I control it all -- the fans, the patrons. The players. The spirit of it. No tournament is half as big as mine... The game is mine.”

“Yes... But do you want it?” 

Knightkiller is silent.

“Is it fun?”

“... It is mine.”

“Yes...The thing that killed your Padawan. It is yours. Yours to keep... or yours to kill.”

Obi-Wan feels a chill run down his spine at Tila’s words. To him, Knightkiller seems hopelessly twisted, destroyed by grief and lost to the dark side. But to Tila, she is none of those things. Only with caution, wisdom, and endless compassion can a Jedi see the truth. Only with eyes opened to the future, not hostage to the past, can a great master such as Tila foresee what must be done.

Yes, it matters how Glagret fell, how Knightkiller came to be where she is. But it matters more what she will do, now that she is here. From her position of such great evil, she can do good. She can be greater than her power. It is not too late. It is never too late.

“...Go,” says Knightkiller.

Tila turns around, opens the door, and strides across the lounge. The others follow in her huge footsteps.

“But how will we get off this station, Master?” asks Zlinky.

“I'm sure we will be provided for, at the docking bay,” answers Tila.

“Wait!” says Anakin, “There's someone we have to save -- a slave called Fenn Gallowk --”

“Anakin -- you know better than anyone we can't very well whisk a slave away from his master,” says Obi-Wan.

“Then --”

“We will save him. I assure you. Once we bring the Senator down.”

“But what if Fenn dies in a death match first?!”

“I don't think anyone will die in one, ever again.”

Anakin feels tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Knightkiller made no such promise. And even if one was implied, Anakin doesn't trust her at all.

Chapter 14: Aboard the JON-Bori

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #zlinkgwal zalt #tila juna #jane #knightkiller #glagret #scifi #adventure #drama

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 11: Revenge

Word Count: 1298 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

His master does stumble. Anakin doesn’t imagine it.

Obi-Wan thinks, This is ludicrous! I killed a Sith Lord. I defeated the Yooro leader in hand-to-hand combat. Am I really so dependent on my lightsaber? Am I really less of a Jedi without it?

Tiango rushes at Obi-Wan with a fiery burst of speed, shoving him down onto the ground.

Yes. I am.

Tiango stabs at Obi-Wan's throat with his knife. Obi-Wan moves his head out of the way. The knife catches in the collar of the padded armor. Obi-Wan chops the knife-wielding arm, detaches the knife, and catches it himself. He turns it around with a flourish and stabs it at Tiango’s throat. Tiango moves away, but Obi-Wan anticipated his action -- the blade lands at a weak point in the shoulder armor, dislodging the joints that keep the plates together. Mandalorian armor is ancient. Their tricks do not change, and Obi-Wan knows them.

The Jedi reaches up and yanks the pauldron and upper-arm plate off the Mandalorian, revealing the area where Tiango’s arm was cut off to make room for the blaster attachment -- a weapon that has thoroughly damaged Obi-Wan's sword, armor, five or so ribs, and several points on his shins. If Obi-Wan had his lightsaber, he could slice the blaster-arm off right here, right now.

But he doesn't. And he can't very well rip Tiango’s blaster-arm off with his bare hands.

Obi-Wan attempts to reach around with the knife, but he has lost the moment of advantage. Tiango swings his arms around and clobbers Obi-Wan on the head, pins him down with his knees, and pulls the knife from his momentarily stunned fingers. The crowd boos and hisses to see their favored champion losing the fight. Tiango looks up and pumps his fist into the air in an attempt to garner support, but the people just boo louder.

“Killing me now would be quite unpopular.”

“I beat you fair and square.”

“Doesn't matter to them. They like me.”

Tiango scowls. “This is for Mandalore, you lying, milk-blooded, coward-loving, spoiled little Republic stooge.”

Tiango leans back and readies his exposed blaster-arm, aiming it directly at Obi-Wan's face. Obi-Wan looks sideways at Tila, but the white brightness of the charging blaster blurs his vision.

I can't die here. I have so much left to do...There is no death. I will be with Anakin in the life beyond this life, behind this life. I will be with him always in the Force. Anakin. My Padawan. Hear me, now, Anakin, listen to me, as it ends.

   *   *   *

Zlinky and Jane don’t know about the dome. They should have snuck in through the gladiator doors to bypass the dome’s field, but instead they take the quickest possible path to Tila: through the audience door. Zlinky and Jane elbow their way to the front, to the closest, most expensive seats in the very first tier, just slightly above the level of the arena.

Zlinky finally sees her master and the ten droids pointing blasters at her. They must be pushed away all at once. It would surely require at least two Jedi working in sync. Before she can come up with a plan, Zlinky is startled by the audience screaming and booing and stamping their feet. She watches the Mandalorian knock the knife and the sword from the human Jedi's hand, pin him down and prepare to shoot him right in the face.

Zlinky screams with all her might to be heard over the din: “MASTERS!!!”

Tila of course recognizes her voice at once, and turns her head to look at the guard standing in the front row, blocking all the richest patrons. Obi-Wan does not recognize the voice, but he recognizes the word. Spurred on by the childish desperation in her voice, he Force-pushes Tiango in a last attempt to survive -- not for his own sake, but for the little girl calling for him. The power is enough to knock Tiango back a foot, and to free Obi-Wan from under his knee, for a moment. Obi-Wan rolls away, but Tiango pounces back, and pins him down again, now with Obi-Wan's face to the floor. Obi-Wan feels the heat of the blaster on his back. The Mandalorian will shoot him in the back, just as Anakin said he would.

Zlinky reaches forward and feels the transparent dome in the way. She hadn't expected that, but there must be a way through. She's bypassed every other door so far. She ignites her master's lightsaber, and one of the blue ones, taking a 50-50 guess that it is the other Master’s. She guesses wrong, but Obi-Wan recognizes the sound of Anakin’s lightsaber just as well as his own. She strikes the dome with the lightsabers, but they bounce off with a clash of sparks.

“No!” she cries in frustration.

   *   *   *

More than a hundred feet above the three other Jedi, sitting in the front of the cheap seats on the upper balcony, Anakin sees his master losing. He has to restrain himself from leaping off the balcony to help him, or to at least be at his side. If not for the dome, he definitely would. Years of podracing have completely vanquished any natural fear of heights in the boy, and months of -- really, really quite fun -- falling-and-catching practice with his master at the Temple have trained Anakin to trust utterly in his Obi-Wan’s ability to catch him, and in the Force to keep him safe, and in his own powers to fall really well.

Anakin sees what looks like lightsaber sparks on one end of the dome. No, no, that's not where to hit the dome to tear it down!

By examining the waves on the dome's surface over several minutes, Anakin has narrowed down its sources of projection to a few weak spots protected by solid durasteel boxes. The key here, the things keeping all of them apart, are those boxes. His acid-blaster could melt the metal walls of his cell. Surely it could destroy a metal box.

He stands and withdraws the acid-blaster from the folds of his cloak.

Recharging: 100 percent.

He aims it at the closest projection-box and fires.

The silent, glowing goop rockets down the stadium, illuminating the crowd as it passes with its eerie, green light, which glows brighter and brighter as it gathers speed. It starts to whistle like a teapot just before it strikes the railing a couple yards from the box -- a near miss. Acid bursts from the striking point in a big, messy bubble. The nearest spectators run and avoid the worst of it, but a large splash ricochets onto Anakin's target, melts through the durasteel, damages the projector, and short-circuits the dome. The transparent bubble flickers white and unweaves into strings and waves and webby tentacles, flashing in the bright arena lights.

The spectacle distracts everyone, both fighters and audience. Tiango looks away from his opponent, up at the writhing remnants of the dome, for a moment. Obi-Wan rolls away again.

Anakin hadn't fully expected to hit his target. But he did. And now he's got a better idea of how to aim with this thing.

Recharging: 50%.

He aims directly at Tiango and fires. The hurtling acid is the first thing from the audience to pass through the destroyed dome. This time, he does not miss.

Tiango’s scream is short as the acid quickly fuses and corrodes his cyborg body. His Mando armor may as well be paper.

Anakin watches Tiango die. His first murder. Then he tosses the acid-blaster to the side, throws off his disguise, and jumps off the balcony.

Chapter 12: Reunion

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #chahlee tiango #zlinkgwal zalt #jane #tila juna #scifi #adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

Word Count: 1493 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

With all five lightsabers hidden in a case, Zlinky takes Jane up the elevator from the bottom floor to the arena floor. There is another crony already in the elevator, a Devaronian, whose horns poke out of poorly-broken holes in his helmet. He looks at Jane with unease, but addresses Zlinky in a friendly tone.

“Did you get any fried fluunies?”

“Uh... I'm allergic,” she replies.

“Oh. Okay. Sorry about that.”

“It's not your fault.”

“Right, I know, I meant ‘sorry’ as in, uh, I'm sympathetic.”

“Er, okay.”

“Not, as in, uh, I'm guilty.”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Uh. Sorry.”

The elevator door opens and Zlinky turns toward the arena -- then she pivots and walks with the crony instead, against the tide of people. They've already got a conversation going; she might as well get some information out of him.

“Hey!” she calls.

“Ah! Uh, hello.”

“What's your name, anyway? I'm new here.”

“Oh, um, I'm Gafia Chumpi. What's yours?”

“Zliiiiiiisl Watl.”

“Zlisl Watl?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh. You must be very new. I haven't heard of you at all.”

“I am. So!” Zlinky clears her throat. “Uh, what made you go into the, uh, Jedi-killing business?”

“Oh, uh, well, I never really meant to. It's not that great a story.”

“Tell me.” She practices her mind-trick; against this guy, it’s fairly easy.

“Uh...well, I aged out of an orphanage on the fifty-thousand-ish-layer of Coruscant. It’s about in the middle. And I had a kinda hard time finding a job there. Plus, it's really not that great a planet, if you're not on the top layer.”

“Oh, I know. I'm from Coruscant too.”

“Really? Where?”

“You first!”

“Er, okay. Well. So I got a ticket offworld, to a place called Dantooine. Cuz I read a book, once, about some guys who, uh, sort of, herded kath-hounds there, and they had these great hats in the illustrations, and I thought, ‘Well, hey! I could do that!’”

“Uh huh,” says Zlinky.

This is nothing. I should go... 

Gafia can tell he's boring her. “Uh… Well…” He speaks faster. “So, I got to Dantooine, which is a really nice place to live, but uh, unfortunately, I wasn't really that great at kath-herding either. Still, I was set on getting that hat. So I was staring at this one hat in the store window, wondering how I would ever afford it, when these big goon-type guys approached me and asked if I wanted to make some money. Uh… That's, I guess, when things really started to go downhill.”

“Well. There's a universe where you said no, and then there's this one.”

“Huh?”

“Nevermind,” Zlinky mumbles.

“Er. Yeah. Uh. -- Well apparently, and I didn't really figure this all out until later, but they picked me out cuz I'm a Devaronian, and at the time I looked a lot like this other Devaronian, who was a Padawan at the Dantooine Temple. So they gave me a script and made me record this holo, saying I was in big trouble and all this stuff. And they sent the holo to the Padawan’s Jedi Master to lure her out, and I hid in this cave, and when she came to, uh, quote-unquote ‘rescue’ me, the whole cave turned out to be a ship and they blasted all of us off into space. Which … hadn't, really, been part of my plan. Such that I had one…”

“What happened to the Padawan Devaronian and his master?”

Gafia starts to turn into a busier hall, but Zlinky turns more confidently into an empty one, so he follows her.

“Well, I think the Padawan Devaronian is still on Dantooine. But her master ... I mean, Knightkiller gets what she wants, doesn't she?”

“I thought she only had the Lollian, the human, and their Padawans.”

“Huh? Oh, well, for the tournament, yeah, those are the only knights we've rounded up so far. But before that. Before Senator Dinv of Raktu gave us his sponsorship, and we got this big and legitimate.”

“This is hardly legitimate.”

“I mean, compared to what it was.”

“What was it like?”

“I've only been here, like, a year -- er, I guess, two years -- three, almost -- eesh -- but back before we got this station, we had a real dinky ship, a Corellian something-something with a big warehouse glued on top for fighting. Knightkiller would go toe-to-toe with any Jedi we could find for her. She used to do all the fighting herself. We went all around the galaxy to avoid detection, but that also made it harder to, uh, advertise, of course. I mean, those in the know, were uh... in the know. But that was only the top two-percent of death-match fans, the people who go to every game, who devote their lives to it. To casual fans, we were really unknown. We did get a bit of extra income from selling the lightsabers.”

Zlinky feels like there is ice in her heart. “How many Jedi have died?”

“...Er... I'm not... a hundred percent sure... usually we couldn't get a real Jedi; usually we'd just dress someone up, and give them a lightsaber, if we hadn’t had to sell it yet... How many real Jedi? ... Ten, I think...Twelve? Since I've been here.”

“How can you stand it? How can you do this?”

Gafia stops in his tracks and stares at her. “Well how can you stand it? You work here, too.”

“I -- I didn't know how awful it would be. I -- I had nowhere else to go.”

“... Well... Same with me, sister.”

She holds his arm. “We should both run away.”

“Run away? We can't. No one will forgive us. Everyone loves the Jedi.”

“Not everyone.”

“The courts certainly do. We'll be executed.”

“But maybe that's the right thing to do. We turn ourselves in, accept the consequences -- but we help the authorities track down this awful station and stop this awful sport.”

“...This sport is a lot bigger than you think it is, Zlisl,” Gafia says, more solemnly, taking his arm from her. “That's the first thing you learn in the biz. We can bring down one station, but it'll continue somewhere else. The corporations who sponsor these fighters -- they're household names.”

“But this--” Zlinky points at the ground, “-- is the only death match station killing Jedi.”

“Er ... As far as I know, yeah.”

“Why? Why's Glag-- I mean -- why's Knightkiller doing this? What's she got against Jedi?”

“That's the big question, isn't it? You wanna ask her?”

“Yes, in fact, I do.”

“Well, you won't. She'll kill you before you open your mouth. She can read insolent thoughts.”

“Why do you think she's doing this?”

“I…”

“You must have a guess. Tell me!”

“Alright, alright.” He keeps walking and speaks quietly. “Uh, well the rumor among us guards is that she used to be one. One of our lightsabers, we never sell. The rumor is, it's hers.”

“She never uses it?” Zlinky walks close beside him.

“Never.”

“But what happened?”

“Nobody knows.”

Zlinky grits her teeth. “Yeah, I get that. But what's the rumor?”

“Er... Well, they must have wronged her, right? Maybe they kicked her out. Or maybe she just got sick of their stupid rules.”

“Our rules are sacred.”

Gafia freezes, lifts up his comlink and presses a button. Zlinky can’t see his face under his helmet, but she senses his anger at being tricked.

“Jane!” says Zlinky.

With a loud cranking sound, Jane aims her arm-blaster at Gafia’s chest and neutralizes him.

Zlinky had led Gafia far from the crowd; the few people nearby stop and stare at the scene.

“Death match business! Carry on!” Zlinky insists in her deepest voice. She waves at them to continue walking, then she picks open the closest broom closet with her trusty screwdriver and drags the Devaronian inside. She checks his pulse; it isn't exactly steady, but it isn't completely still.

“I really, really need to talk to Tila...”

“ᴀᴍ ɪ ꜱᴇʀᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀᴛɪꜱꜰᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ?”

Zlinky pats Jane’s tall shoulder plate. “You're doing a great job, Jane. I'm sorry you're still missing parts.” She props up Gafia and takes off his helmet so he can more easily breathe. He’s very handsome, which affects her more than it should. “I’m missing parts, too,” she says and instantly regrets how dramatic that sounds.

“ɪ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ɪɴꜱɪɢɴɪꜰɪᴄᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴄᴋ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴀɴɪɴɢʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ,” says Jane, with no such compunction.

Zlinky pats her shoulder again. “The Force connects everything.”

“ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ?”

“The... Look, you're not going to remember, so I'll just explain later. You've got a purpose now, anyway, you're protecting me. I'm sure I'd be dead without you.”

“ᴇʜʜʜʜʀr҉r҉r҉g҉g̴̣͆̀̔g̴̨̭̗̠̱̩̖̙̽̓̈́̒͝,” Jane says, unsatisfied and anxious.

Zlinky reaches up, grabs Jane’s face, and pulls it down so they are eye to eye. Jane's neck moves with a clicking sound.

“Thank you,” Zlinky says earnestly.

“ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ, ɢᴜᴀʀᴅ.”

“It's Zlinky.”

“ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴊᴀɴᴇ, ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄᴜꜱᴇ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛɪᴢɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ.”

“You're excused. Come on. My master is in that arena. I'm gonna try to get her lightsaber to her. The human in the tan armor -- that's the other Jedi. And Anakin is somewhere, too…”

“ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴄᴀᴘᴀᴄɪᴛʏ: ꜰᴜʟʟ.”

“Nevermind. Just follow me and do what I say.”

They head toward the arena. Zlinky's mind races for a way to get the lightsabers to the two Jedi masters. It's the only real goal she has right now. The only purpose, as Jane would say. After that ... the real knights can figure out something.

Chapter 11: Revenge

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #zlinkgwal zalt #gafia chumpi #jane #scifi #dramedy

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 15: Older and Wiser

Word Count: 1533 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

As soon as Jane is turned off and plugged into the Bori's extravagant charging system, Zlinky throws off the upper parts of her armor. She realizes her emotions are getting the better of her actions and removes the rest of her armor more calmly. She looks at herself in the giant mirror in the Bori's main cabin. She adjusts her sweaty shirt, pulls her long dark hair out of its braids and combs it with her fingers.

“Master?”

Tila is sitting calmly at a holo screen. Glagret has started to discreetly transfer to her thousands of documents on the state of death matches: the big players and payers, locations, businesses, everything. Tila watches it flood in, calmly, humming disapprovingly at some of the famous names that whizz by. She knows this project will consume the next years of her life, and Zlinky’s as well. It fills her heart with pride, because she saw the horror of the sport herself, and now she will get to bring it to its rightful end. The prospect is thrilling, but, though Tila is not easily overwhelmed, the scope of this project does perturb her.

More than that, she wonders if Glagret herself will ever be able to return to the Order, to her home. For now, Glagret must stay where she is, deep inside the darkness, secretly leading it to its destruction. But she is a Jedi. In a good world, she will return. Tila trusts in the will of the Force, but she wants the old woman back, too.

However, when Zlinky addresses her, all her concerns about the sport, the darkness, and her old friend become second priority. She faces her Padawan immediately.

“Yes, my Padawan?”

Zlinky walks toward her master ... stands quite still ... and reaches out her bony claw. Tila takes it in her huge paw.

“I sense much sadness in you. Why? You saved us all.”

“But at a cost. I hurt people on my way back to you. Maybe even killed some of them.”

“‘Maybe?’”

“First I escaped my cell; I released the other prisoners in the way. The guards were armed; they were not. I fear for them.”

“You cannot control everything, Zlinky. You are not the Force. You gave them a chance to escape. You succeeded -- perhaps they did too.”

“The Force is stronger with me.”

“The Force is with everyone. And they also have their cunning and stealth.”

“Well, that's not all. After I stabbed a guard to escape him -- it was not fatal, I'm sure -- then I found Jane and repaired her. That's where the real trouble starts.”

“Trouble, yes, but also heroism.”

“I don't … feel heroic.”

“Hm. Many masters would advise you to always trust your feelings... I’ve noticed a lot of these masters are men, or humans. Even in the paradise of the Temple, we women, and we aliens, have it a little harder than they do.” Zlinky wrinkles her nose in distaste. “As a result, when we accomplish something, we don't appreciate it as we should. We doubt and question ourselves... Everyone feels doubt, but the human men tend to pretend they don't. And the rest of us let it drag us down. Despite what you may have read, or heard from our greatest teachers, you should heed the wisdom of me, your master, instead. Do not always trust your feelings. When you feel doubt, as you feel now, try to find where it comes from. Sometimes, many times, it comes from nowhere.”

Zlinky wipes her eyes. “Thank you, Master, but I'm not sure that doubt is what this is about. I feel guilty because I sicced Jane on four people. I took armor off of the first one. I took our lightsabers off two more. And I had to take out another guard because I accidentally told him I was a Jedi. When they fell, I reached out to them with my feelings, but I couldn't tell if they were alive or not. I feel awful, because if only I had repaired Jane better, I could have made her better at not killing. She's made to kill, and I didn't have the smarts to reprogram her all the way.”

“No. You have the smarts. Master Joj tells me you are excellent at robotics. All you lacked was the time. And that, again, was beyond your control.”

“B-but…”

Tila hands her a giant handkerchief which she had hidden in her robe. The girl lets go of her master's hand and blows her nose in the enormous fabric that goes past her elbows. “You see, it is your doubt. You doubt your skills in repair. But what you accomplished with what little you had is incredible. You fulfilled my vaulted expectations, as always.”

“But what about those four lives?”

“Even if they died, you must make peace with yourself. I was forced to end lives, too. You saw me. Six of them. And in our escape, more may have been lost. I know you acted with decorum and self-control. But you were in terrible danger. And you had great responsibility on your shoulders.”

“Yes…”

“Darkness comes from relishing in violence and pain. There is darkness in self-defense, too -- I don't deny it -- but it is only the darkness of balance, of necessity.”

“Is it suitable to categorize darkness like that?”

“Of course it is. There are shades of darkness and light. And everything depends on the angle you look from. My job is to be your beacon and your binoculars. And I say you behaved heroically.”

“Thank you… But are you sure you're not biased? I don't want to get off easy.”

Tila ruffles the fur around her neck in subtle annoyance. “I am sure, Padawan. I value our bond, but I would not lie to you. I am a teacher, not a parent.”

Zlinky is not remotely frightened of her master's annoyance. She finds it very charming, and she appreciates how seriously her master takes this. “That's a relief.”

Sometimes Zlinky wishes she had a younger master, like Master Kenobi -- she knows they are more fun, and have a fresher, more relatable understanding of schoolwork and teachings. But she loves her master too much to prefer anyone else. Older masters may not behave so by-the-book -- they may act strange and eccentric, and say things that would sound sacrilegious from a young master -- but their words come from a place of deeper wisdom. They are more trustworthy, and much stronger. And often kinder. 

“Master, some of the older Padawans were saying…” Zlinky trails off.

“... What?” says Tila.

“Sorry, I... er ... were saying they think that sometimes Masters -- sit back or -- sit out on -- decisions, and -- fights, and -- that kind of thing -- and force their Padawans to do all the work, and to -- to get their hands bloody, so they can stay -- so they can stay -- pure.”

Tila’s voice is deeper and colder than before. “You think this?”

“No -- no I don't think this, I... I was just …”

“You were just ... ?”

“I just -- not you, Master, but -- well, I've never got my hands bloody before. I've never hurt others like that before…”

“No one's hands are bloody, young one, no hands in this ship, anyway. Why can't you appreciate how violent our enemy is?”

“I do. I do. But still I've never hurt anyone like that before. So I was just -- I was reminded of overhearing that conversation. A-and no I don't think you were -- purposefully -- sitting out -- of course you weren't -- but I -- well, since I've heard that, it's been my greatest fear.”

“That I would take advantage of you, for the sake of my own purity?”

Trembling, Zlinky clutches the giant hankie nervously. “Sort of... Yes.”

Tila harrumphs and sighs. She shuts her eyes, opens them slowly. “Your issue raises concern for me, Zlinky... This seems like something Padawans say to each other in fear, but no one brings up to their masters.”

“... Yes, I... I think so.”

“Hm... I do not like the sound of this fear. Not at all... Zlinky, in my experience...if ever this happened to me, to my students... It was certainly not intentional. If it ever happened...it was the result of unchecked privilege. However, indeed, I feel like I spend far more of my energy reigning in overzealous students. If ever I take even a moment aside to think, a headstrong student rushes in to save the day. This must be trained away from students.”

Zlinky nods.

“I think, nearly every time, this is the case, not some cruel plot. I cannot fathom a teacher using a student as you fear.”

Zlinky nods.

“... I think you are unique, Zlinky. You are not overzealous. You are exceptionally cautious. You are gentle... If I were a wicked teacher, you would be easy to boss around. But I am not. I have never had a student like you. But I will make you a great knight, as I have many others. Do not fear.”

Zlinky nods, wipes her eyes, and reaches out her hand for her master again. Tila takes it, and then Zlinky comes closer, and hugs her tight. Tila hugs her back.

Chapter 16: Reprogramming

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #zlinkgwal zalt #tila juna #jane #scifi #drama

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 9: Crix Spartak

Word Count: 2309 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

*   *   *

Two Years Ago

Shmi sits at a desk by the windowsill in Watto’s shop, composing fake documentation for a shipment to a more legitimate planet. She used to do this kind of thing all the time for Gardulla on Nal Hutta, and she's very good at it. Forging and faking are probably her best skills. She knows legal-speak and formatting; she has a knack for coming up with random numbers and convincing names. When she has a sample of handwriting or writing style from a real person, she can imitate it flawlessly, which she has done for business leaders, crime lords, and even Senators. When she doesn't have anything from anyone real, she invents someone. She has no honest idea what the closest Senator's name really is, but she's invented a self-serious personality and a squiggly autograph that has tricked docking-receivers as far away as Rodia.

Watto has little use of this power of hers for his day-to-day needs, but he sometimes comes up with plots to trick his neighbors using Shmi’s forgeries. And, sometimes, like now, he needs her tricks to get rid of stuff, like these ten tons of toxic waste he ended up with from a bad bet, and that he now wants to pass off as fertilizer and sell to a gullible offworld farmer who won't be able to trace it back to him.

Writing isn't bad work. It’s challenging, and, malicious as it is, she knows she could enjoy it, if she let herself: getting into people's heads, living other lives, for just a short while. It is like solving a puzzle, to figure out how to make other people believe something that isn’t true. The cruel intention of the trickery is not her own, it never is, so she doesn't let that aspect of her work bother her, not anymore.

The only bad part, from her point of view, is the knowledge that her words get to go somewhere that she does not.

And the only good part, really, is that she gets to look at her little boy as she writes. He sits on the desk, next to her cobbled-together, whirring word-processor. He is carefully cleaning a fragile hyper-carburetor with a rag, putrid green gear-soap, and a very serious expression.

Suddenly Crix Spartak pokes head through the window: “Skywalkers!”

“Crix!!” Anakin nearly drops the carb, but of course his reflexes are too fast. He spins around on the desk and grins at the gladiator.

Crix leans on the windowsill -- then lifts his arm quickly from the heated clay, and leans just one calloused elbow on the sill. “Good morning, Ani.” He reaches across and tussles his hair. The boy nearly glows with happiness.

Shmi raises her eyebrows at the man her son admires so much. “Good morning, Crix. Can we help you?”

“D’you wanna go for a spin on the old speeder?”

“YES,” answers Anakin.

“We have a lot of work to do. Not all of us have 6 free days out of 7,” answers Shmi.

“I don't have any work, Mom!”

“I can think of one or two things for you,” she tells him.

“Just a loop round the block, Shmi? You'll be back in a minute.” Crix rests his head on his hand and smiles at her, looking just like a puppy.

She looks at him with a very deliberate expression. “I can't.”

“Take me!” says Anakin, heedlessly.

“Ani! You need to stay with me while I work. I don't want you zooming around, testing the limit on your tracker-bomb.”

“I've calculated for that,” says Crix. “Your tracker-bombs are the same as mine. The loop I planned wouldn't go anywhere near the limit.”

“Please, Mom? I'll work twice as hard.”

“No need for that.”

“I'll bring him back in ten minutes.” Shmi does not look convinced. “Five minutes.”

“Please?” Anakin begs again.

“Ten minutes,” she concedes.

Anakin sets the half-cleaned carb down, crawls off the desk, moves the carb onto a shelf, and climbs back onto the desk and over the word-processor into Crix’s arms.

“I'll bring him right back to you,” says Crix.

“If you don't, I will kill you,” says Shmi.

“I'm more afraid of you than any gladiator alive!” he tells her, laughing.

“Good! You should be!”

“Is that YOUR speeder?!” Anakin interrupts them.

“Yup! -- Well. Not really. But I won it, anyway.”

“It's BEAUTIFUL!”

“Ani!” Her son looks at her. “Keep it down.”

“Sorry!”

“Have fun.”

“I will!”

Crix grins at her, drops a big yellow flower on her desk, and points at it. She rolls her eyes and he blushes and carries Anakin to the speeder to drive him around. Shmi can't compose at all without her little muse at her side. She sits there, worrying, as they drive somewhere out of sight. A minute passes, and she picks up the flower. She doesn't recognize it. It must be an import. He must have won this, too.

They return in just eight minutes.

   *   *   *

One Year Ago

Anakin is not supposed to be in the audience of the death match. No one wants him here, not his master, not his mother, not even Crix himself.

But he just had to come. Everyone is talking about it. He’s never known anyone so talked-about, so famous. He feels so proud. Crix is like family. And everyone, all over town, is raving about him, how unstoppable he is, what a bloody, powerful killer he is. And now Crix’s master has rounded up a spectacular squad from faraway worlds, incredible people who are paying huge amounts for the chance to fight him, to fight Crix, to fight his mom’s cool boyfriend.

They say there’s monster-men, like Wookiees, and there’s even a Mando, whatever that means. Everyone is saying they’re crazy. Everyone is saying all his opponents are gonna die, shot by Crix’s bespoke mega-blaster or crushed in Crix’s bare fists. Anakin can picture it, but he can’t really believe it; he has only ever seen those hands used for good. It'll be Crix’s grandest fight yet, maybe even the grandest fight that's ever happened in the universe. No one can keep Anakin away from such a prospect!

He has an average amount of chores, but he sets his droids on them. His newest and, by far, most ambitious droid, C-3PO, isn't much for cleaning or repairing, yet, but he can speak, a little, and write, a little more. His mom bought Anakin a fairy-tale book and assigned him to copy out the letters to improve his handwriting. Anakin sets Threepio on the task instead, and hopes that his mom won't be able to tell.

He does feel guilty, but he's too excited to feel that guilty. He sneaks out without telling her. There was a sandstorm this morning; fortunately it has passed, but the leftover wind keeps kicking sand into the air.

The arena is in a different neighborhood than the slave houses. Anakin lifts up the tarp of a delivery truck and hides in there to hitch a ride. To his surprise, the truck is full of gross little creatures called gizka. They crowd around him and rub their big faces on his legs. He pulls one onto his lap and pets its soft horns and noses.

“I wonder why they're taking you to the arena? ... Oh, I bet the gladiators are gonna slaughter you.”

He finds it kind of funny, in a sad way, that these little animals are so cheerful; that their doom is close, and they have no idea. He pretends his hand is a sword and chops it on their heads, making them coo and squawk. He laughs.

Once he hears a crowd outside, he sneaks out of the truck and hides among the people. He is far from the only urchin running around, but he does not pick pockets. His mom forbids it, and they wouldn't be allowed to keep the money, anyway.

He follows the other children and soon finds the hole in the arena’s wall which they use to sneak in and out. He fits inside the thin crack without too much difficulty, and flits around the dirty, dark area behind the stadium seating. He finds a spot with a good view, between the legs of some pink-skinned person. He leans on the bench and rests his head on his arms, and watches the battles with wide eyes.

He almost doesn't recognize Crix, in a ridiculous helmet with a big feather, but the nasty red scar across his shirtless torso gives his identity away. He's touched that scar; it feels rough and scratchy.

Crix is more than just a killer; he is a performer. He yells and growls and taunts; he makes obscene gestures and even takes bites out of his opponents, both animals and people. Anakin feels shocked and uncomfortable to see him this way, but it does not lessen his affection for him. It only increases his amazement, that one person could contain two such different personalities.

Just as the pilots and farmers had predicted, Crix wins every battle with ease. His main strategy involves shooting to stun, weaken, and disarm his opponents, and then taking them down with glamorous, bloodthirsty wrestling moves. Anakin has never seen such gratuitous and extended violence before, though he has seen plenty of people die, from podrace explosions to mechanical accidents. Until today, the bloodiest thing he ever saw was someone's tracker-bomb explode their head, but some of these deaths far surpass that one. When he starts to feel dizzy, he looks away and takes deep breaths, but he is too invested to look away for long.

Something about all this murder makes him feel cold. But it isn't a real cold. And it isn't nearly as bothersome as this heat or this wind. He rests his sweaty forehead on his arms and swallows his own spit, but it is a weak comfort. The bench shakes under his arms as the audience bangs their feet on it. Anakin marvels at their energy. He wishes he was having as much fun as they are. He really is trying to enjoy himself, and he sort of is. The thrill of it all is similar to podracing, and the triumphs are satisfying. He supposes he will grow into liking it.

After forty minutes of this action, the host announces the next opponent -- the Mando, Chahlee Tiango. Anakin watches the helmeted warrior posture and pose as the audience frantically cheers and boos.

The little boy is starting to feel bored. This would be much more exciting if they were flying around on fast ships, not shooting and punching each other. The only real difference anymore is the color of the blood. But Chahlee looks like a human, meaning he'll just bleed red, which isn't anything new.

Anakin looks at Crix, whose helmet cracked in half in the last battle. Now that his face is visible, Anakin can enjoy his confident smile. He wishes his mom were here to see her boyfriend winning so much. He supposes she would hate it.

As Anakin's thoughts wander, the audience jumps to its feet and screams uproariously. Anakin fastens his eyes back on the battle.

Crix was shot right in the chest. He crumples. A wave of sand lifts from the ground and nearly covers him, like a blanket, hiding him, as if he were never there. Tiango takes a gleeful lap around the arena.

The audience is screaming far too loudly to hear anything from the announcer. The bench is shaking too much to remain a suitable armrest. Anakin stands up straight and stares ahead.

The pink legs that had framed Anakin's view now jump and move around with everyone else, obscuring the arena with cloaks and pants and boots. The other children in this hideaway start moving around, their own views also disrupted, trying to find better spots. Some of them move in front of Anakin. He lets them. He backs off further into the shade.

“Crix…” His initial shock starts to wear away, and he feels tears cross his parched face. “You were supposed to win! They all said you would!”

He had to lose eventually. No one can win every time. Mom told me he would lose, sooner or later. Everyone dies. It's okay.

It really doesn't feel okay. But this feels like podracing, too. Failing. Losing the game. He has been close to death himself a few times, especially when Sebulba is in the match.

He wipes his eyes and holds his fingers in his ears, which are popping from the terrifying decibel level of this audience. He squints his eyes and waits for the volume to settle and the people to sit back down.

What am I waiting for, though? They'll just continue with Tiango as the new champion. I don't want to watch that.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to get another good view, but one of the other children accidentally brushes up against him, and the feeling of being touched makes him deeply angry. He doesn’t trust these other kids. He doesn’t like them. They can’t understand. That wasn’t their friend who just died. It’s too loud here. And it isn’t going to get quiet. Not for a long time.

He worms out the crack in the arena wall and sees a truck that looks similar to the one he used to get here. He hides under the tarp again -- it is now empty inside. The truck jostles along, though it doesn't take exactly the same route back. It takes Anakin a little closer to home, but then it makes a turn he did not expect. He wonders if the truck will eventually come back around to the slave houses. He has no way of knowing. He fears it will wander out of range of his tracker-bomb. He jumps off the cart and walks the rest of the way home.

Chapter 10: Gafia Chumpi

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #shmi skywalker #anakin skywalker #crix spartak #chahlee tiango #scifi #action #cw violence #cw gore

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 7: Jane

Word Count: 2217 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

 *   *   *

Freed, with the help of the little screwdriver Anakin gave her, on the lower floor of the space station, Zlinky uses the nearest control panel to disable the local electricity. The already dark lower-prison hall turns completely black.

As an Akarn, Zlinky has a third eye in the middle of her forehead which can adapt to almost any environment. Many droids have night vision too, but Zlinky has observed from her time in captivity that droids are poorly kept here. Knightkiller, with her telepathic powers and abundant riches, holds sway over the organic beings in her employment; the guards and patrons here are all devoted to her. But Knightkiller has neglected her mechanical servants. They are all falling into disrepair, and Zlinky has even detected them grumbling among themselves.

People forget too easily that droids, nowadays, have extremely advanced personalities. Adults underestimate how independently-minded their droids can be. But children understand. They have never known droids to be any other way.

Zlinky sneaks down the hall, past the fumbling guards. Other prisoners soon realize that their own electrobars have become deactivated, and they start to emerge into the hallway too, their arms outstretched in front of them, tripping and feeling their way through the dark. Zlinky maneuvers through them with a small measure of grace and a large measure of scrutiny.

Lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers. I must find all four. Once we've found them, we'll be unstoppable.

Suddenly, a guard grabs her from behind. A Togruta -- he must have used echolocation. Zlinky squirms against his arms, then stabs behind her wildly with the screwdriver. She isn't sure where she hit him -- the stomach, possibly. But he howls in pain and loosens his grip. She slithers out and leaps, calling upon the Force to help her. She hits her head on the hallway ceiling, but the ploy, otherwise, works. Holding her head, she stumbles around the corner and sees a door marked “Storage.”

Maybe our lightsabers are here? Well, SOMETHING useful must be in here! All I have now is this flimsy little tool.

But she does feel extremely grateful for the little screwdriver, and she hopes Anakin will let her keep it. She would call it good luck, if she believed in that stuff. Instead, she'll call it exceedingly useful. She picks the lock to the storage room with the screwdriver, which takes a frighteningly long minute, dashes inside, and shuts the door behind her.

Zlinky sees cabinets and closets and boxes full of files and records, piles of office and medical supplies. Who would think running a death sport would be so bureaucratic? The haphazardness offends her Temple-trained sensibilities.

But most importantly, she sees, in the corner, a rusted old murder-droid, missing much of its plating and bent over in disrepair. Its shape is about as humanoid as her own, though a couple feet taller. Compassion moves her to approach it. She sees that someone has scribbled a face with two X's for eyes and a frown on a little yellow piece of paper and taped it over the murder-droid's face to signify its death. She yanks the paper off and examines the droid’s busted innards.

There's a flipzipter. A gavel gear. A pair of old-fashioned mono-trammers. It's really not too different from the diner-droids on which she learned robotic engineering. A gunky substance has clogged its gears; she tries to scrape it off with the screwdriver, but she can't get a grip on it with that. She takes a nervous glance at the bulky laser blasters on its back, then plunges her own claws into its chest and scoops out the goop. She pulls out a burnt-up square of metal which was caught in the goop; upon closer inspection, she guesses that it used to be a memory chip. Oh well -- it's useless now. She bends the flipzipter back into its standard position, and reattaches the wires that had become unplugged from it.

With a tiny jolt of electricity that shoots through the Padawan and makes any hairs loose from her braid stick out, the murder-droid wakes up, its red eyes the only light in the darkness.

“ʙʟᴢᴢᴋᴢᴢɢᴀᴀᴀᴀᴀ! ᴀᴀᴀᴀʜ!! AAAAAHHHH!!!! ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?! ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ?! ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ?!”

“Shhh!” Zlinky pulls her sticky hands out of its chest and throws them on top of its mouth-slot -- her mouth-slot, she supposes, since the droid has a feminine voice. “Keep it down! The badguys are looking for me!”

In a muffled voice, the murder-droid responds, “ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ YOU! ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ME?”

“Well you SHOULD care about me! I just saved your life!”

“ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ?”

“Yeah, I repaired you, you ungrateful bucket of bolts!”

The murder-droid issues whirring noises from several parts. “ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏ ʟᴇɢꜱ!”

“Well I'm not finished! I just started! And if you don't keep it down I never will!”

The murder-droid narrows the dots of light that project her eyes. “ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ?”

“Well... I'll check your brain-text, but I'm not optimistic.” Zlinky unscrews a panel on the side of the droid’s head. “Yeah. It's like I thought. You've been pirated. They scraped off your original ID number.”

“ᴡʜᴀᴛ?! ʙᴜᴛ -- ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ!”

“Nobody's nothing. They must have called you something. Unfortunately, at least one of your memory chips has melted. I think.”

With a squeaking sound, the murder-droid raises her claw to her forehead. “ᴏʜ... ᴍʏ ꜰʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴍɪɴᴅ…”

“Hey, don't worry about it. These bozos didn't respect you, but you're with the Jedi now.”

“ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇᴅɪ?”

“Yeah, like me! I'm a Jedi! My name is Zlinky Zalt.”

“ᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴜᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴜɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ.”

“Uh, sorry. Well, let's find you a name; what do you do--?”

Zlinky accidentally zaps herself with an open wire and bites her lip in a grimace.

The murder-droid’s eyes become scattered dots that beep quickly and softly. “ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ᴍᴀɪɴꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ ... ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ: NEUTRALIZE.”

“Neutralize?”

Her eyes flicker back to solid red. “ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.”

“Neutralize what?”

Her eyes become scattering dots again. “ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ᴍᴀɪɴꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ ... ʜᴀʀᴅᴡᴀʀᴇ ... ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ ... ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ ... ʙᴢᴢᴛ ... ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ‘ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ’ ... ‘ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ’ ... вzzт ... b҉z҉z҉t҉ ... ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ: ERROR.” Her eyes flicker back to red, but with the sides tilted down in sorrow. “ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ.”

“Hey, it's okay. The Jedi can get you a new purpose. As long as your programming isn't hopelessly violent…”

“ᴡʜᴇɴ? ʜᴏᴡ ꜱᴏᴏɴ?”

“Well I don't know. As soon as I can get you back to the Temple.”

“ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ɢᴏ.” The murder-droid stands up straight.

“Wait!” Zlinky pulls some wires apart.

“ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʟᴇɢꜱ! ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪxᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ!”

“Yeah, I did. Your purpose right now is to stay put.”

“ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.”

“Deal with it. Patience is an ability, too.”

“ɪꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴇᴅɪ ᴀʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ.”

“Fine. Do you want me to shut you down again?”

“ʙᴜᴢᴢ ʙᴜᴢᴢ ʙᴜᴢᴢ, ɢʀᴜᴍᴍᴍm҉m҉m̵̧̌̍͋̆b̸̧̙͈͈̓̌̌ĺ̵͕͔͇͔͎̠̗͈͍ͅe̷̖͎̳͖̬̅́…”

“I'll take that as a no.” The droid is silent as Zlinky works on her. “I'm sorry we're not at the Temple right now. Believe me, I want to be there far more than you do.”

“ɪ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ꜰʟᴜx.”

I have to repair her mind AND her body! thinks Zlinky.

“Uh, okay, listen. How about I give you a temporary name and a temporary mission right now. Just to tide you over until we get back home. Er, I mean, back to the Temple.”

“ʜʀʀᴜᴍᴍʜʜᴘᴘʙᴢᴢᴢ ʙᴢᴢᴛ ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ.”

Zlinky spins a cog and sees a panel of lights in the droid’s guts turn on. She thinks she’s nearly got her -- then she hears the weapons on the droid's back powering on. The young girl swallows nervously.

“Okay, your temporary mission is to protect me and the three other Jedi: my master Tila Juna, a 500-year-old gray Lollian with one broken horn -- Anakin Skywalker, a 9-year-old human with pink skin and yellow hair and blue eyes -- and -- uh -- his master too.”

“ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴꜱᴛᴀʟʟɪ-- ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ. ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ᴊᴇᴅɪ!”

“I can't! I don't remember their name! I'll know them when I see them.”

“ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰ��ʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ��ᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟʟʏ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴊᴇᴅɪ?”

“Well, first of all, only neutralize when absolutely necessary.”

“... ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ... ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ ... ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ.”

“Oh gimme a break!”

Maybe this is a mistake, thinks Zlinky. I don't want to go on a rampage. But I must get out of here! I have to get back to Tila! That's my top priority!

“Look, I'm very sneaky,” Zlinky says, reassuringly. “You might not have to neutralize anyone. You just have to protect me.”

“... ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴀꜰᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇꜰᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ.”

Zlinky replies, smugly, “Well I do it every day. That's what being a Jedi is all about! Protecting the innocent, defending the law!”

“... ʙʟʀʀʀɢɢɢɢ.” The droid’s eyes become one annoyed horizontal line of dots. “ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ... ᴀʟɪɢɴɪɴɢ ... ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴꜱᴜꜰꜰᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ.”

“Oh come on, grow up. It's good to be the hero.”

“ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ‘ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ,’ ᴛᴏᴏ.”

“Yeeeah. I did. Um ... Jedi ... Jedi ... Temple ... Temple Bot? Teebee?”

The murder-droid shudders. “ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪᴅᴅɪɴɢ? ᴛᴇᴇʙᴇᴇ?”

“What's wrong with Teebee?”

“ɪ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ.”

“Beggars can't be choosers.”

“ɪᴅ: REJECTED. ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ: ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ. ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ.”

“Jedi Bot? Jaybee?”

Goop dribbles out of the droid’s mouth slot.

“Alright then... Neutralize. Neutralizer. Jedi ... Jedi Neutralizer. No. Wait. That sounds wrong.”

“ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ,” the murder-droid says quickly.

“Ah, wait!”

“ᴊᴇᴅɪ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴇʀ.”

Zlinky sighs. “Fine. Jedi Neutralizer. JN.”

“ᴊɴ. ᴊᴀɴᴇ.”

“Jane?”

“ᴊᴀɴᴇ. ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ,” the droid repeats.

“Me too,” Zlinky responds, truthfully.

As soon as Jane is functionally repaired, Zlinky finds her a battery pack, since they have no time to recharge her. She looks around for a new memory card, but finds nothing. Oh, well. Jane will just have a very short-term memory until they find new hardware for her. Without the card, she can't have any more than one gig of memory. Zlinky will just have to keep reminding her that her name is Jane and her purpose is to protect the four Jedi. Zlinky fears that Jane will forget this and kill her on accident. That would be very ironic. But for now, Zlinky is glad to have her.

Once they leave the storage room, Zlinky points to a guard and begins to command Jane to knock them out, but Jane has already blasted them.

“Ah! Are they alive?” Zlinky whispers in terror.

“ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ?”

Zlinky cautiously approaches the body. “...They're alive. Keep your blaster at exactly that setting, okay? Don't change anything.”

“ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.”

“Great.”

She tugs the armor off the guard and puts it on herself. Together, they quietly leave the lower prison in absolute chaos and locate the space station employee break room and quarters across a hall. Zlinky finds a station map on the employee computer, which someone had, happily, left logged in.

She finally gets a good look at the layout of the station. The lower floor has a prison and under-arena logistical areas; the main floor has the arena, gladiator rooms, and the best seating; and the upper floor has another prison and the balcony cheap seats.

She searches for where Knightkiller could be. Tila recognized Knightkiller as her old friend Glagret, and told her Padawan so before they were separated. Zlinky knows that the key to escaping, and to stopping this whole evil enterprise, is Glagret. Why has she turned evil? Why did she gather all these crooks together? Why is she mind-tricking Jedi children?

Zlinky figures there must be something controlling her. She imagines striking the implement off the old alien’s brain and rescuing her, restoring her to her true, good self.

What happened 400 years ago on the Liberated Comet? If she was alive, why didn't she come back?

One Padawan and one droid probably don't stand a chance against her.

Zlinky sees in the screen projection that Obi-Wan is fighting in the arena, and Tila is being held as bait. Zlinky wonders why Anakin isn't. She guesses, with a heavy heart, that Obi-Wan was so stubborn about playing along that they killed Anakin in retribution. She feels her guts writhe with fear and anger at the thought. The boy was so kind, and clever, and so very strong in the Force, strong enough to resist a mind-trick -- unheard of at his age -- even though it was stupid of him to try. Perhaps his last legacy is the screwdriver. She will not let him die in vain.

Unless, of course, he's still alive. She wonders if, perhaps, he escaped, just as she has…

She hears an ominous whirring sound, drifting away.

“Jane! Don't wander off.” Zlinky grabs Jane’s rifle-barrel and pulls her back to her side. “Stay with me. You must protect me; it is your purpose.”

“ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?”

“... Call me Guard.”

“ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ.”

Zlinky looks around nervously at the other guards. She grabs Jane's head and whispers into her audio-slot. “Zlinky Zalt. But don't say so. I'm in disguise right now. So shhh.”

“ᴀʜʜʜʜ. ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ.”

“Uh, good.” The confidence in Jane's voice makes Zlinky doubt that Jane has any idea what's going on. She shakes her head and continues looking at this map.

Chapter 8: Priorities

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #zlinkgwal zalt #jane #scifi #adventure #comedy

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 6: Tila Juna

Word Count: 1659 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

  *   *   *

As he is meditating, several guards burst through the curtain into Obi-Wan's room.

“Alright, Jedi, what did you do?” asks a Rodian.

“Do?”

“Where is your boy?” asks an Ithorian in his steady, peculiar language, which the cosmopolitan scholar of course understands perfectly.

“Oh, dear. I thought he was with you!”

The Rodian smacks his insolent guts with her staff. “He's run off! What did you tell him? What did you give him?”

“Nothing. I know nothing about this station. And I haven't left this room.”

The Rodian whacks him on the head. “Sneaky Jedi rat.”

The Ithorian wearily halts his coworker’s attack. “Juna’s girl will work just as well for your death matches. Your boy was only ever extra bait. Now he has proven himself to be only trouble.” His gaze is imperious and bland. “When we find him, we shoot on sight. Then we’ll slice off his head before you can pull any of your magic tricks, and divide the spoils between the upper officers.”

“You underestimate him. He cannot be found if he doesn't want to be.”

“We shall see,” the third guard, a Zabrak, threatens.

Obi-Wan feels no fear at her appearance. She looks far more like his Zabrak friend Master Koth than the Sith. No one looks like the Sith.

But, for Anakin, he feels great fear. What did Anakin do? Where did he go? What is he thinking? Anakin amazed Obi-Wan with his knowledge of these low-lives. But on his own, in a place like this? With all the street smarts in the world, he won’t last an hour.

I have lost the Chosen One. Qui-Gon would kill me.

Nevertheless, the bold knight tuts and laughs. “You would love to hear our master plan, wouldn't you? Ah. I pity you all for what's about to happen to you and your little tournament.”

The Rodian hits him again.

“Alright, then,” says Obi-Wan, grimacing. “If you want answers, you'd better bring in your boss. I'll only talk to Knightkiller.”

“Not likely,” the Ithorian responds. “You'll only fight Knightkiller once you’ve defeated all the others. So many of our athletes are paying through their noses for the chance to kill you.”

“In that case, please do drop a line if my Padawan turns up.”

The guards leave, irritated.

A minute later, they return, now practically hysterical.

“Alright!” yells the Rodian. “Something IS up! Where's the girl, Jedi?!”

“What girl?”

“Juna's Padawan!”

“Goodness gracious. Can't you keep a better eye on us?”

The Rodian moves to hit him again, but stops since he doesn't seem affected. “We know you're behind this.”

“It's almost like the most highly-trained warriors in the galaxy can just slip through your nasty little fingers.”

She hits him again.

“The teachers will pay for their students' disobedience,” says the Zabrak, who pulls the other two guards out of the room and slams the door.

The warriors beside Obi-Wan have gone quiet, intimidated by his taunting, in awe of his unknown abilities and those of the other three Jedi. Obi-Wan wonders how long that awe will last, if he can't escape as the clearly more competent children did.

Suddenly, the door to the arena opens up. He hears the crowd chanting his name. When he steps out, his arm shielding the brightness from his eyes, they all cheer for him. He feels disgusted to be a source of admiration for people like this, for doing the worst thing in the world. The sand underfoot is congealed with spots of blood. An attendant hands him a clean sword.

As the announcer speaks, and Obi-Wan's eyes adjust to the light, he sees that his opponent is that boyfriend-killer Tiango. The Mandalorian flexes and poses for the audience, but they are not swayed in their support for Obi-Wan.

In the same chair on which they had bound Anakin, now they have bound Master Juna. Where Anakin was terrified, Juna is peaceful, even content. She is a tall, large, fuzzy alien, a Lollian. Centuries ago, so he’d been told, her fur was bright orange with brown stripes, but he has only ever known her to be gray and silver. One of the two horns curling around her head is broken, but that was not from this death game; it has been like that as long as Obi-Wan can remember. The woman seems entirely unfazed and unharmed by the experience. He knows this cannot be remotely true, and yet she hides her pain so well -- or else, the Force is so strong with her that she sits on a plane of existence above it all, unbothered. She nods at him and he feels as one blessed.  

Obi-Wan instinctively reaches out for his own master. The years of physical peril and spiritual confusion in the life of a Padawan trained Obi-Wan to reach out to Qui-Gon as an immediate reaction, utterly replacing his natural fight-or-flight instinct, the ways of the Jedi overcoming evolution itself.

But of course he cannot reach him. Grief strikes him harder than any of these crooks could, harder than even any Sith could.

He's got to replace that instinct himself, this time; he's got to do it himself. There's someone else he has to reach for now, someone who feels entirely different, strange, and small, still smarting from a bad first impression. And -- more than that -- he, Obi-Wan, has got to be ready for Anakin whenever Anakin needs him, for whatever, just as his master was for him. The weight of this responsibility could crush the young man.

Anakin is here in the audience. Obi-Wan can sense his presence.  

Obi-Wan glances over the crowd -- Tiango seems to be posturing still -- but he can’t locate his Padawan. Anakin seems panicked, urgent. He has seen Tiango kill before, kill someone he cared for. He must be worried Tiango will be too much for Obi-Wan to handle. But Obi-Wan took down several Yoroo Soldiers less than one year ago. Sure, they're not an easy fight, but he knows their tricks; he knows their evil cybernetic enhancements.

Chahlee sends a laser, suddenly, at Obi-Wan, from his blaster-arm. Obi-Wan deflects it deftly, causing the audience to gasp, but the impact bends his vibroblade. Obi-Wan stares at it. He forgot they did that.

   *   *   *

Freed, with the help of Fenn Gallowk and his acid-blaster, on the upper floor of the space station, Anakin knows he needs to hide his Jedi robe and Padawan hair. These people might even know his face. He got lucky with Fenn -- the next person who recognizes him from the Boonta Eve race probably won't give Anakin a chance to talk it out.

Anakin wonders if anyone here bet ON him. He doubts it. But it's a big galaxy, and maybe someone out there took a chance on him.

He remembers Qui-Gon's confident face, and how the man had picked him up to put him into the podracer, and then picked him out of it in the end and carried him on his shoulders. If Anakin is honest with himself, he knows Qui-Gon was, really, the only person who believed in him. His mom, Padme, and Jar Jar had supported him, and hoped beyond hope he would make it out alive. But Qui-Gon was the only one, probably in the whole universe, who believed -- foresaw, even -- that Anakin would win.

No, that's not true. Anakin had believed that too. How could he fail, when they all needed him so badly? When there was absolutely no other way, no choice?

Anakin hurries down the prison hall. The cells are closed on all sides; it is impossible to see who is being kept in them. He hides behind the flap of a garbage chute as a security droid passes; he sits with his back and legs pressed against opposite sides of the chute, careful not to fall down into who-knows-where. It smells awful. He jumps back into the hallway and finds the door to the public area ajar. He pushes his way out and tries to blend in with the crowd, keeping his head down and arms crossed around his blaster and the front of his robe.

Recharging: 3%.

Of all the blasters he could have stolen...

Just around the corner, he sees a big green alien at a desk and, behind them, a coat-check. Anakin ducks under the desk and sneaks into the room full of these criminals’ coats and cloaks. It smells even worse than the garbage chute.

He holds his nose and searches for something bulky, obscuring, and somewhat in his size. He finds a fur cloak, the pelt of a pink monster with its horned face still attached. He puts it on and ties the lower part around his waist so it doesn't drag on the floor. With the hood up, he can hide his own face inside the monster's mouth. He hides the blaster in the copious folds of fur.

Maneuverable? No. Inconspicuous? No. Unrecognizable, and able to hide his weapon? Yes.

Exciting? Yes!

Now he's got to get to Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan will know what to do. Even if he doesn't, it's Anakin's duty to be at Obi-Wan's side.

The loudspeakers announce the fight between Obi-Wan and Chahlee Tiango. Anakin feels afraid, and tells himself Jedi do not feel afraid, but it doesn’t help.

He sneaks back out from under the desk and finds two large furry aliens on the way into the arena, arguing with each other and paying no attention to anyone. He sticks close to them and pretends they are his parents. Once the hairy family has entered the arena through this upper-floor entrance, Anakin separates from them and waddles through the balcony seats, trying to get as close to the arena as he can. He sees Obi-Wan and the Mando have already begun to fight. He takes a seat on the floor at the very front of the balcony and holds onto the bars with his shivering hands.

“Come on, Master.”

Chapter 7: Jane

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #tila juna #anakin skywalker #scifi #adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 1: Aboard the Liberated Comet

Word Count: 1888

   *   *   *

“Anakin. Don't touch anything.”

“Yes, Master.”

The boy lifts his lightsaber up and illuminates the dark, low ceiling of the old ship. The Jedi wear Temple-issued space suits: bulky and ancient, but spotless and built to last. This ship’s life support hasn't functioned in a very long time, though its artificial-gravity plates still do. Most of them.

The ship, the Liberated Comet, went missing over four hundred years ago, along with the venerable Master Glagret. Though her species’ lifespans extend much longer than that, she was presumed dead until just last week when the Comet drifted into the monitored space over a secret Temple surveillance post on Rodia.

The Council sent another Jedi, Master Juna, and her Padawan to investigate the wreckage first. Juna is over five hundred years old herself, and she remembers Glagret well. The Council thought these memories would make it easier for Juna to find her. But something went wrong out here, now Juna and her little one are missing, too.

So the Council decided to change strategy, and send someone with absolutely no recollection of Glagret at all. The idea was that the Force would guide such a rescuer more objectively, without the bias of attachment, without the dangers of fear and hope. They sent the dashing young Kenobi, who has never failed a mission, and his wide-eyed new Padawan, who has never been on one.

Anakin has been a challenge to assimilate. In certain topics, he must learn with the beginners: a nine-year-old among three-year-olds, ignorant of the most basic truths about logical decision-making and proper knightly priorities. His teachers are suspicious of Anakin's core beliefs, since he has been tarnished by the capitalist brutality of the frontier. They worry that he will never learn to think as they do, with charity and selflessness first; they wonder if he will ever truly understand a Jedi knight’s responsibility to speak up against injustice and unkindness. Even Anakin's quietness is a cause for alarm.

In other topics, like droid-programming and self-defense, he is advanced for his age. His instincts are swift, and his cleverness is remarkable. He is rarely caught by surprise, and usually has some trick prepared. He can even type more words-per-minute than many far more educated scholars. Of course, geniuses are nothing new to the Jedi Order; it is essential that they are not treated like they are special for their talents.

Obi-Wan appreciates the challenge. He wants to make a strong impression on both the boy and the Council. He has elected to grant Anakin an above-average amount of responsibilities to impress upon him the seriousness of his new life and to simply fill up the gaps Anakin creates with his restless efficiency.

For example, Obi-Wan lost his lightsaber during his duel with the Sith on Naboo; when he built a new one, he had Anakin build one too, at his side. Nine is quite young to have a lightsaber, but it is also young to have a Master. Unlike most Jedi, Anakin knew his Master before he even knew the Temple. Obi-Wan knows that he himself will always be Anakin’s most powerful connection to the Order, its most important representative in the boy’s fast-sharpening mind. Not the swords, nor the buildings, nor the rules -- not Qui-Gon, not even the Force -- but Obi-Wan.

“Use your wrist-light instead. I have my weapon drawn; you should not.”

“Yes, Master.”

Anakin turns off his lightsaber and feels the strange, cold way it stills in his little hand. Normally there is a slight change in odor as well, as the lasers stop frying the air -- but there is no air here, besides the sterile stuff in their helmets. The only way they can even hear each other speak is through a wireless comm-system linking their suits. He hooks the hilt back onto his belt; it’s tricky in these gloves, so he has to stop walking and stand still as he does so. Obi-Wan stops walking too, patiently. Anakin flicks on the laser light on his left glove. It is bright and practical, but it isn't part of him, as his master says his lightsaber is. It also isn't a weapon. Obi-Wan limits how much Anakin ever turns his sword on, for safety. It is odd to be treated like a child in that way. To be protected from dangerous things. Anakin faced death in every podrace. He isn't scared of his own sword. Certainly he isn't scared of hurting himself. But he obeys his master -- not because he is right, but because he is in charge.

“Master Juna didn’t leave a single trace. It still feels like no one has been here in four hundred years,” says Obi-Wan.

“Yeah. She could have left the lights on.”

“I ought to be able to sense at least a shadow of their presence. But I truly feel nothing. It is like open space in a husk…all life whisked away by the infinite, dark vacuum.”

On his next step, Obi-Wan feels his foot bounce lightly off the ground. He holds Anakin's shoulder.

“Be careful, little one. The art-grav plating in this next section is faulty. You might feel a little light.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Mind your steps. There must be a trap in here somewhere.”

They walk further down the hall. Anakin is quite taken aback by the feeling of failing artificial-gravity. He holds onto Obi-Wan's arm in surprise.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes…” And a minute later: “This is kind of fun.”

“It is, isn't it? A long time ago, this is how space travel always felt. Even today, art-grav can sometimes break, even in the very best ships.”

Anakin imagines Padme bouncing off the walls of her top-of-the-line spaceship. He imagines fixing it for her.

“At the next asteroid cluster we pass, remind me to pull over,” Obi Wan continues. “You can find a lot of great natural low-gravity on asteroids. It's a great way to practice jumps... I haven't bounced around asteroids since I was a boy. I reckon you'll have a grand time with it.”

“Thank you.”

Anakin feels more lightheaded with excitement at that idea than with the actual lightness of his surroundings.

A slight movement catches Obi-Wan's attention; he looks away from the happy boy to the dark hall. He sees another flicker around a corner.

“Hello! ... Stay two steps behind me, Anakin, and be silent.”

Obi-Wan proceeds down the hall, weapon drawn. Anakin peeks around from behind the tall man. Then he hears a voice coming from behind them.

“Anakin…”

Anakin thinks, Who said that?! How does it know my name?! -- Oh, Obi-Wan just said it. -- But why does it want ME?

He looks at his master, but Obi-Wan seems to not have heard it. Anakin obediently remains silent. He wonders if it was just in his head. Sometimes things are. He looks behind his shoulder, but sees nothing.

“Anakin... Come to me.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose and sticks close to Obi-Wan. They turn the corner. On one side of the hall, there is a great window looking into open space; on the other side, a mirror. Obi-Wan shines his lightsaber on the mirror.

What a pair we are. My, he is so small, even in this suit. I'm glad we had one small enough for him. I don't think they make them any smaller. Imagine a baby in a space suit! I suppose we'd just put them in some sort of pod.

Not long ago, he would have at least spared a glance at his own face and hair, his old Padawan braid and his crisp beardlessness. After he lost Satine, he cared less. But since he gained Anakin, he hardly cares at all.

He looks out the window at Rodia as he walks. The Jedi surveillance system is not sanctioned or even known by the Rodian government. But the Jedi know what's best for them. And it was essential in finding this ship and beginning to solve this ancient mystery. Usually when something is lost in space, it's lost forever. Obi-Wan wonders if the Liberated Comet drifting back into their detection was due to the will of the Force or a nefarious plot by some unknown outsider, luring the Jedi into a trap and then snatching them away for their own mysterious ends. A few steps further down the hall, he senses another mirror on the wall and looks away from the window. He sees only one space-suited figure in the reflection.

“Anakin?”

He looks over his shoulder.

“Anakin? ... Padawan! Where are you?”

He shines his lightsaber down the hall; the blue light bounces off both mirrors, illuminating the empty hallway. Obi-Wan puts his weapon down, signaling that he does not want to fight. He turns up the sound-projection technology on his suit.

“I must say, well done, whoever-you-are. You took him from right under my nose. But a kid like that is lousy pickings. Show yourself. We can settle this like civilized creatures.”

The hall is silent.

“If you hurt a hair on his head, be prepared to answer for it. He is under the protection of the Republic, the Jedi Order, and me.”

The hall is silent.

“And at least one of those things can get fairly vicious.”

“How vicious?”

Obi-Wan's eyes dart to the end of the hall, where the voice seems to come from. But there is nothing there. The speaker must be using ventriloquism through the Force.

“Vicious enough,” he answers. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight. Dare I ask for your name?”

“...You may call me... Knightkiller.”

“I'd rather not.”

“You are different from the last...You are hardly older than a child.”

“Yes. Really not worth your time, I'm afraid.”

“We shall see…”

Obi-Wan senses movement behind him. He turns around on his heel. A giant, armored alien slithers into the light of Obi-Wan's weapon. He sees his Padawan slung over their shoulder; the bubble of Anakin's helmet droops down between the boy's arms, which float a little upward in the meager gravity.

“Anakin!”

Obi-Wan holds his hand forward to sense Anakin's presence -- no, he is not dead, just unconscious.

“Who do you think you are, to treat a Jedi so shamelessly?”

They -- she -- speaks from where she stands. Her voice is the same, but now it is no trick. She tilts her head to the side, her orange eyes narrow.

“You're not much to look at... But you'll do, I suppose. Follow me.”

She slithers down the hall, twenty or more tiny legs scuttling from her long scaly body. Anakin sways with her movements; she holds him still with her claw. Obi-Wan winces at how close her claw extends to Anakin's oxygen tank.

He follows her to a part of the ship where the escape pods used to be; now, the hull has been blasted open. He sees, through the hole, the Temple ship he and Anakin took to arrive here. As he watches, a newly arrived ship fires upon it and demolishes it. This new ship is quite large, as if it was once part of an alien space station. The woman who calls herself Knightkiller jumps from the hole and hangs there in open space. She looks over her shoulder at Obi-Wan. He sets his jaw and follows her out. A blue tractor beam pulls them into the vessel.

Chapter 2: Zlinkgwal Zalt

#my story #my art #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #scifi #adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 3: The Death Match

Word Count: 1393 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

  *   *   *

Tied to the chair, gagged with golden tape, and with ten blasters held around his head by a bevy of tiny droids, Anakin blinks in the brightness of the arena. He is reminded distinctly of podracing. He is confident that a large portion of this wild audience knows exactly who he is; his victory on Tatooine, he knows, ruined the economies of interplanetary gangs and entire systems run by gambling types. He hopes the short hair and fancy robe conceal his identity a little. 

Anakin hears a gleeful, showy voice echo through the arena.

“The rumors you have heard -- they are all true! A new Jedi knight has fallen into our mighty leader's trap! And the warrior lucky enough to have first go at him is the ferocious, bloodthirsty monster-wrangler, the Scourge of the Delta Sector, the nasty, horrible -- VINGO MAKLARIAN!!!”

A heavily-scarred, 7-foot-tall Twi’lek cyborg runs out into the arena, theme music playing. The fighter throws small explosives from a tray attached to his mechanical shoulder; one of the sparks lands on Anakin's face. He winces in pain but can't move his arms.

Anakin evidently isn't the only one struck by a stray explosion, as evidenced by the scream and shrieks of laughter behind him.

The announcer’s voice booms, “Have we had our first casualty?” There is more laughter. “Keep your heads up, my lords and ladies in the front rows! You will get wet! You may get soaked!”

This guy is so annoying, thinks Anakin, between sobs.

“And here he is, the Big Event -- Jedi Knight Number Two in the First Galactic Jedi Death Match! He might not look like much, but his pedigree remains to be seen -- Oooobi-Wan Kenoooobi!”

The door on the other side of the arena slides upward with a squeaking rumble, and Obi-Wan emerges. Anakin feels a wave of relief. He is safe now.

“MFFFSFFR!!”

Obi-Wan hears the muffled call above the din, and his head swivels to his student. He sees Anakin sitting across the sandy arena, bound and gagged and ringed by blasters.

“Anakin!”

Anakin shuts his eyes -- the light glinting off Obi-Wan's sword is too bright to bear. He opens them a sliver and peeps through his eyelashes and tears. They took away Obi-Wan's lightsaber, too, of course, and they gave him a plain weapon instead. Anakin recognizes it: a Hutteese vibroblade. He recognizes the outfit they've put him in, too: padded tan armor, covered in logos.

He saw a death match on Tatooine, once. It is unnerving to see the trappings of his old life upon the hero of his new one.

“Have no fear, Anakin!”

Anakin nods and tries his best to obey as Vingo approaches Obi-Wan, flinging explosives at the Jedi. Obi-Wan deflects them easily. As Vingo draws closer, Anakin sees Obi-Wan put on the serene face he makes when faced with a difficult decision.

You have to do it, Master! It's not your fault!

Anakin sees Obi-Wan look at him with a very hard, stern face, as if to say, “This is wrong, but I have no choice.” Anakin trusts his moral judgment, just as he used to trust his mother’s. This is a bit of a trick, since they are quite different.

Obi-Wan turns his face back to his opponent and kills him with one swift blow to his guts. The corpse falls to the side and the people gasp, cheer, and boo. Anakin shivers to have seen his master kill someone. Obi-Wan scowls at the bloody sword and wipes it off on his sleeve.

The announcer’s voice rings out, “Incredible!!! The shortest death match that we have ever seen!! This Obi-Wan Kenobi must not be underestimated! But can he handle the terrifying, mysterious maiden of the shadows, CREEL CYBALO?!!”

The crowd roars as another opponent steps out, a great apelike humanoid beating her chest -- but she is again no match for Obi-Wan. For the third match, Obi-Wan stretches it out a bit more, trying to cross the arena to get closer to Anakin, but Obi-Wan remains in control the whole time. Anakin winces at the flashes of light and grunts of pain by the doomed opponents. Obi-Wan mimes for Anakin to shut his eyes, but Anakin disobeys. At the end of the third match, the announcer walks onto the field, followed by three women carrying golden boxes.

“Unbelievable! What a gladiator you are! I've never seen anyone fight like you. You far surpass the other Jedi!” The crowd roars and claps. “As per the official rules, after three victories you are granted one prize. Will you take…” The first woman opens her box. “A Corellian blaster -- next year’s model?” The crowd cheers.

“Or perhaps …” The second woman opens her box. “The deed to the moon of Qualkori?” There are gasps of amazement.

“Or, best of all …” The third woman drops her box and holds her arms apart. “This beautiful slave, the loveliest pearl of the Vappiax Sea?” The crowd laughs and cheers and applauds as the announcer holds his microphone in front of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan stands quite still, wiping his sword fastidiously, and replies, “I want ten minutes with my Padawan.” He gestures his head backwards at Anakin. The crowd offers confused applause and laughter.

“Your wish ... is my command!”

The crowd cheers, satisfied, as the guards escort Obi-Wan out the door from which he entered. Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder and sees the droids around Anakin untie him. A thin panel opens on the side of the arena and they drag him through it. 

Obi-Wan stands in a small, dim room. Through the sparking red grates on either side, he sees other warriors preparing for battle. A curtain parts and Anakin stumbles through.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan kneels next to him and holds his chin. He uses the Force to weaken the adhesive on the golden tape, and deftly but tenderly tears it off the boy’s face. “Are you hurt?”

“D-dislocated shoulder.”

“Alright. Hold onto me with your other arm while I fix it.” Anakin obeys, and Obi-Wan gingerly repositions the boy’s shoulder. Anakin shudders as he holds Obi-Wan’s arm fiercely. The pain greatly subsides, though not completely.

“Feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Do not strain it.” Obi-Wan puts a hand on Anakin’s healthy shoulder. “Be at peace. I will get us out of this.”

“Yes, Master.” Anakin wipes his sore face and feels more tears about to pour out. He badly swallows a sob and gives himself the hiccups.

“I retained this in secret. Eat it.” Obi-Wan takes a rationstick from his boot and gives it to Anakin. The boy eats it. They are silent as Obi-Wan thinks and Anakin chews and looks across the grate at the other warriors. Suddenly Anakin bends close and whispers in his master's ear.

“I know some of these fighters. They’re pretty -- hic -- famous.”

“They are?”

“Among Hutt slaves, yeah.”

“Are they all slaves?”

Anakin pauses. “No. None of these ones are.”

“How do you know?”

“We don't have time for that. I'll tell you later. These guys are in it for the fame and fortune.”

“So--”

“That snake-woman is the adopted daughter of -- hic -- Jabba the Hutt.”

“Who's that?”

Anakin looks at him like he's crazy.

“What?”

“It doesn't matter. I'm just saying, try not to kill her all the way, or you'll get a bounty on your head. Just maim her or something.”

“Is that allowed?”

“Not for most people. But for someone like that, it's -- hic -- expected.”

“Alright. Got it.”

“...That Mando in red... Watch your back.”

“There is a Mandalorian?”

“A what?”

“A Mando...lorian?”

“Uh, I dunno. The guys in helmets.”

“I lived on Mandalore for years. I know their moves.”

Anakin shakes his head. “Not this one. He will -- hic -- shoot you in the back.”

“Not me.”

“Yes you. Don't turn away from him for a second. He’s got a blaster in his left arm and a hidden, detach-- hic --able knife in his right.”

“You know him?”

“I know him... I saw one death match before. That Mando killed my mom's boyfriend.”

Obi-Wan is taken aback. “I thought you didn't have a father.”

“Not my father. I -- hic -- introduced them.”

“You introduced your mother to a gladiator?”

“He was very cool.”

Obi-Wan nods. “Thank you, Padawan. You're using our ten minutes far more productively than I am.”

“I want to help.”

“You are. Thank you. Anak--”

A droid’s arm snatches the boy out of Obi-Wan's grasp, leaving the man alone in his room with a swinging curtain. He feels someone die in the arena, just outside his door, as the matches continue without pause.

Chapter 4: Chahlee Tiango

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #scifi #adventure

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 4: Chahlee Tiango

Word Count: 1217 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

 *   *   *

Obi-Wan thinks, This place IS just exactly his wretched neck of the woods, isn't it? Poor Anakin. Once we're out of here, I'm going to keep him well in the Galactic Core, where people are mannered and rules are obeyed.

“Jedi!”

Obi-Wan stands and turns elegantly to the man barking at him. It's the Mandalorian himself. Typical for the unenlightened of their kind, he hides his face behind his silly helmet. It was painted red, though the paint is only clinging to the edges.

“Greetings, citizen. I come in peace.”

This man killed someone Anakin admired.

Obi-Wan expected and dreaded Anakin's former life to affect the two of them somehow. The Council feared it. He sensed it in the Force. Qui Gon never denied it. But Obi-Wan hadn't quite expected to literally rumble with a villainous slave-killer. Certainly not less than four months after taking this burden on.

The Mandalorian laughs evilly. “And you'll leave in pieces!”

“You know my name. Dare I ask for yours?”

“Chahlee Tiango. I'm a Yooro Soldier, YS-135. The deadliest in my class!”

“A Yooro Soldier?” replies Obi-Wan. Cyborg Mandalorians. Ah, this man is not only a ghost from Anakin's past, but from mine as well. “I was the Jedi who ended the Yooro program.”

“I KNOW! You didn't think you'd ever face the consequences from that, didja? But now a Yooro is gonna end YOU!”

“We'll see about that, Tiango.”

“You're completely in over your head, aren't you? In your pretty little world, you've never even heard of death matches. You've never even set foot in the Outer Rim.”

“Not true. I spent quite some time in a very tiny, very nasty corner of your Outer Rim. The homebase of Jabba the Hutt himself. Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan is taking a bit of a shot in the dark, based on Anakin's comment and a vague memory of what the Naboo said about Tatooine before they landed there -- something about the planet being controlled by Hutteese gangsters. He hopes this Jabba really is a big deal.

The Jedi knight continues, “I personally studied death matches there. You won a tournament a few years back, correct?”

“Oh, you were there for that?” He laughs. “Impressive, wasn't it! Some of those slaves were a real challenge. Not as much as you will be, I'm sure! But I've never been so eager to fight someone as I am to fight the man who personally destroyed the traditions of my people. And I have no doubt you'll be most entertaining.”

“I do not play with life and death like toys. But the galaxy will not miss you, Chahlee Tiango.”

Tiango laughs but Obi-Wan's bland face does not move more than to raise an eyebrow.  

“Where is the other Jedi?” Obi-Wan asks.

Tiango points behind him. Obi-Wan sees that the arena is ringed in these gladiator rooms, with sparking red grates between them. Master Juna must be locked in another gladiator room further around the arena.

The shade and quality of the red electrobars is quite similar to the red barriers which kept Obi-Wan apart from Qui-Gon when the Sith fatally wounded him. They also match the evil lightsaber that did it. When Obi-Wan realizes that, he feels a strange sense of relief. So that is why he has been feeling so terribly afraid. A color.

“Would you pass a message to her, from me?”

Tiango laughs, rather awkwardly at this point, and boisterously answers, “Sure!”

“Tell her Obi-Wan Kenobi is here, with my Padawan Anakin Skywalker... Hold on, let me write this down.”

He looks around the little room and peels off a piece of old white wallpaper.

“Does anyone have a pen?”

The warriors ask around, and soon one of them passes a pen through the red grate.

“Thank you.”

He writes on the wallpaper: “To Master Tila Juna, from Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padawan Anakin Skywalker. They'll no doubt make us fight. Ideas? I'm right out.”

He passes the pen and paper through the grate and watches as Tiango passes it through his grate, and the next person reads it and passes it through their grate, and the next person reads it, looks back at Obi-Wan, laughs, and continues passing it on. Obi-Wan loses sight of it as it continues around the curve of the arena. He doubts it will make it to Master Juna, but these people and their twisted standards of honor are unpredictable.

Tila Juna is one of the oldest and wisest Jedi. She and Yaddle are universally beloved; they are like grandmothers to all the Jedi on Coruscant. Obi-Wan remembers once, when he was a teenager, Master Juna caught him sneaking out after bedtime. She pretended she hadn't seen anything, and let him go with a knowing twinkle in her eye. She never told on him to Qui-Gon, so Obi-Wan had to tell on himself.

All murder is wrong; those three lives he just took are not cheaper than Master Juna's. But to kill her would be worse, and he knows it. It would be like killing family.

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged and shuts his eyes. He reaches out his feelings to get a grip on the mood in this space station. All around is excitement, terror, thrills, like spikes of electricity jumping off a metal sheet. He senses Anakin's participation in the communal feverishness; he is far too young and untrained to be calm at a time like this. He senses the other Padawan's presence as well. She is calmer, practiced in the art of meditation, but her calm is a brittle mask.

And he senses Juna -- a far greater knight than he is. Her presence is a sink in the energy all around them. True, deep peace. Obi-Wan knows she detects him, too; he self-consciously worries that his own inner peace must look so shallow.

But Master Juna has been here for days, and she hasn't been able to puzzle her way out. And the others, the children, are even more helpless. Obi-Wan is the best fighter here by far; he is one of the best fighters in the galaxy, if not THE best. It's up to him to save them all. And it's up to him to shut this whole tournament down, too. He is the hand of the law!

The ringleader behind the operation is this “Knightkiller.” She was able to kidnap Anakin from right behind Obi-Wan’s back. How? Anakin is a very careful boy. Where did she learn to use the Force? Could she be the other Sith -- the master, or apprentice, of Qui-Gon's killer?

Has she really killed any knights? Is she behind the disappearances of missing Jedi like Master Kayji, Master Meguum, Eldra Kaitis?

Why would a Sith bother with these low-lives and their stupid death game?

“Hey! Jedi! You got your message back!”

Tiango throws the note at Obi-Wan's head and Obi-Wan catches it without looking. He sees that under his note, Juna has written in shaky handwriting: “Knightkiller = Glagret.”

Glagret! The Jedi who went missing 400 years ago -- the reason they came here in the first place -- SHE has become Knightkiller! Juna must have recognized her.

Obi-Wan is horrified. How could she? A Jedi!

Chapter 5: Fenn Gallowk

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #obi-wan kenobi #chahlee tiango #mandalorian #scifi #adventure #mystery

[zargsnake]

Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure

Chapter 2: Zlinkgwal Zalt

Word Count: 1481 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents

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Anakin wakes up in a dim, small room. The brightest light comes from the red sparks of the electrobars on one side. His head is aching, especially behind his right temple, the large, ropey scar still pink from where they removed his trackerbomb just three months ago. Swallowing the pain, he sits up and sees a woman sitting a few feet away, her hair in long, brown braids.

“Mom?”

The person turns to look at him, and Anakin flushes in embarrassment. She is not a woman; she is only a girl, thirteen at the most. And judging by the fur and the number of eyes, she's not a human either.

“Did you just say ‘Mom?’”

“... Uh... No.”

She looks unimpressed.

“I'm Anakin Skywalker. I'm a Jedi Padawan.”

“You are? I'm a Padawan too!”

“Oh! Are you Zlinkgwal Zalt, Padawan of Master Juna?”

“Yes. You can call me Zlinky.”

“Great.” He smiles at her. “Me and my master came to rescue you.”

Zlinky raises her brows. Anakin frowns.

“Hey, we will rescue you... eventually.”

“Oh, well, in that case, thanks in advance.”

Anakin glares at her and rubs his face. She is fiddling with something shiny.

“Skywalker... Aren't you the boy Master Jinn found?”

“Yes.”

She looks back at him, all three of her eyes downcast. “What a terrible fate.”

Anakin looks away. “Yeah.”

She sighs. “And now, I'm afraid, my master will soon meet her end, too.”

“Where are we? What happened?”

“You went to the Liberated Comet?”

“Yes. And then I heard a voice. But only I could hear it, Obi-Wan couldn’t. And it was telling me to come to it, and of course I wasn't gonna do that. But then... something changed about it. It got really weird. And... I did what it told me to.” He feels ashamed. “I obeyed it... It must have used the Force on me. I'm not very strong of mind, yet.”

“Well, if it's any consolation, the same thing happened to me. As soon as my master turned her back on me, I ran straight to that voice and got conked on the head.”

“Then what happened? Why do you think we’re gonna die?”

“This is a secret death match base. It's a ghoulish old sport, and the prizefighters all want to face Jedi. They think that's the most impressive fight possible.”

“They're right.”

“But Jedi don't fight for sport. Certainly, they don't kill for sport...unless they're baited.”

“Oh... and that's us.”

“Yup.”

“How…”

“They tie you up and put a bunch of blasters on you. You sit at the edge of the fighting ring, where your master can see you. Then you watch them fight, and kill, someone. Or else, I guess, get killed. But Tila hasn't been defeated yet.”

“Tila?”

“Tila Juna, my master.”

Right, first names, our Padawan privilege, thinks Anakin. It always feels great when other people have to say “Kenobi,” and he doesn't.

“That's not so bad. I bet we can figure out a way out of here.”

Zlinky takes a deep breath. “Our fate shall be the will of the Force.”

“Yeah, that too.”

The children fall into silence.

“What are you working on?” Anakin asks.

“I picked up this scrap of metal in the arena. I'm trying to whittle it down, so it's thin enough to slip between those plates on the wall, maybe loosen them a little.”

“What are you using to whittle it?”

Zlinky holds up her hand and shows him a hard, boney ridge along her alien fingers.

“Whoa. Cool. Does it hurt?”

“It's fine.”

Anakin pats himself down; of course they took his lightsaber and emptied his pockets, but they didn't take everything. He feels around the seam of his pants, and locates a small lump; he scratches his seam open, and withdraws a two-inch-long, very thin white package. He tears the adhesive off with his teeth and unrolls the layers of white cloth to reveal a small durasteel screwdriver.

“Do you think this could help?”

“Where did you...?”

“I sewed it into my pants.”

“That's... very smart. Did you master tell you to?”

“Uh, no. I learned this trick from a pilot back home.”

Zlinky regards Anakin with suspicion, but she takes the screwdriver from him and looks at it in the light from the bars.

“I can think of a few ways we can use this. I've examined this cell very carefully. I bet I could slip up the wall plates with this…” She holds up her hand and makes the screwdriver float a few inches. “Maybe even... deactivate the bar--”

“Anakin,” a familar voice interrupts them.

The Padawans look at each other in fear. Zlinky hides the screwdriver in her hands. A shadow passes over them as Knightkiller fills the area in front of their cell. The bars deactivate and the room becomes even darker. Anakin glares up at her.

“Come with me, child,” she says out loud.

Anakin senses her voice doing the same thing it did to him back on the Comet. He grips the edge of his metal cot.  

“Don't try to resist, Anakin.”

She waves one of her arms as she speaks, just as Obi-Wan does when he's mind-tricking someone. Anakin feels awful. It's one thing to obey commands as a Padawan. It's another to obey them as a slave. And this is something else again -- an eerie, unnatural compulsion. He always feels rather proud when his master mind-tricks other people. But now that it's happening to him --

Is there anything worse one person could do to another? Even at his lowest, most miserable moments on Tatooine, when he was trapped or filthy or in pain, when he learned the price of each tooth in his head, when he would look at his hands and think, “These are not my hands” -- even when he felt torn from his own body, he still had his mind. If that is gone too, if that can be taken too -- where else is there to hide?

Anakin feels himself stand.

No. He won't. He is a Jedi. He cannot be mind-tricked. The Force is too strong with him.

“Fighting back, are you?” She waves her hand again. “Come on, sweetheart. Come to me. Don't hurt yourself in this silly rebellion.”

Zlinky speaks up, “Just do it, Anakin. Tila says you can die if you try to resist a mind-trick. Or more likely, go completely nuts.”

Anakin is breathing hard. “You'll have to drag me out of here, my lady.”

“I could. Or you could walk yourself out.”

Anakin shakes his head ... leans back against his cot … and sits back down.

“Anakin!” Zlinky whispers, “It's not worth it!”

“No.” He feels his head aching harder and harder as his mind resists the trick. “Never again.”

“Come here. It is only three steps.”

He meets her eyes and sees the slave-traders back home in them. He shakes his head.

“Your mind is not that strong. I could snap it right here.”

“Do it.”

“ANAKIN?!” Zlinky shouts.

Anakin sees spots in his vision and he feels his thoughts careening to the side and upside-down. Watto. Yoda. Mom. Sand. Cold. Jedi. Slave. Walk. No. Come. No! His mind is his own -- if it falls apart now -- at least it will fall apart in his own possession. They can take away everything, his mother, his feelings, but they can't take away his mind, his ability to make decisions, to think his own thoughts and move his own way. He is a Jedi -- he has no one, he cannot -- but he has himself -- and he is the only one who does -- this property is not for sharing.

Knightkiller watches the little boy sit back down on his cot disobediently. She growls in annoyance, but she doesn't want to waste more time; she wants to see what this new knight Kenobi is made of. She enters the cell, grabs Anakin's shoulder, yanks him off the cot, and drags him out the cell and down the hall. Guards reactivate the bars; Zlinky hears a pop as Anakin's arm dislocates. She is relieved to hear him scream in pain, a sign that he has not turned into a vegetable or lost his senses.

Zlinky shouts after him, “Cooperate, Anakin! We've got to survive!”

Anakin calls back, “Okay, Zlinky!”

He stumbles to a better walking position, trying to keep up with the multi-legged alien woman. He feels his head returning to normal; the pain in his shoulder gives him something else to focus on. He won the fight. He beat her. If he can do it, it will be easy for Obi-Wan.

Chapter 3: The Death Match

#my story #my art #star wars #knightkiller: anakin and obi-wan's first adventure #anakin skywalker #zlinkgwal zalt #zlinky #scifi #adventure #horror