Encounters: Part II

Kron Shepson hated bars.

He’d always hated bars. They were filthy, dingy pits full of outlaws, spies, and faulty lighting. They were, however, a very good place to be when one didn’t want to be found.

Kron readjusted his shabby grey robe and sipped his glass of what passed for the local ale, wincing at its bitter taste. He’d already been through two glasses of it in the past four hours and was almost finished with his third. He wasn’t sure where his contacts were or what was holding them up.

“Hey. Greycloak. You wanna buy some death sticks?”

Kron shifted in his seat to view the Balosar hovering over his left shoulder. “No.”

“Oh, come on. One death stick can’t hurt.”

“There’s a reason they’re called death sticks. I don’t want any.”

The Balosar slid into the seat opposite him. “I’ve got ‘em in liquid and crystal forms. Which do you prefer?”

“Neither,” Kron said, severely annoyed now. He wasn’t used to pushy drug dealers.

The Balosar prattled on. “Or I could hook you up with a friend of mine…”

Kron was about to convince the Balosar to go away, but he felt something dark enter the bar. An unwelcome presence, vaguely connected to the dark side of the Force…not truly dark, but not truly light. He looked towards the entrance and saw three—no, four—figures entering: two Devaronians, a Human, and a strange-looking droid. Kron counted out both the droid and the Devaronians—droids were not sentient and therefore could not be felt in the Force, and the Empire would not hire aliens to hunt Jedi. No, it was the Human he had to worry about. Time to be scarce. He pulled his hood over his head and stood up to leave.

The Balosar stood up and walked with him. Unfortunately, Kron couldn’t convince the dealer to go away with an Inquisitor around. I’ll deal with him outside. The dealer was still talking, apparently not having noticed or not caring about Kron’s lack of desire. Kron adjusted his cloak and headed toward the entrance.

Aarkr was muttering to himself when Kale entered the cockpit. “Our passengers must be hotter than we thought.”

“It’s the fur,” Aarkr replied as Kale took his seat. “Do they know who was shooting at us?”

“They have no idea. Supposedly. I don’t trust them, though.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

“Especially not you.”

Aarkr grinned. “Good.” He leaned back in his chair. “We need to figure out who was trying to kill us, though. How many were they supposed to meet with?”

“Five,” Kale replied. “Two Wookiees and three other wolfmen.”

“Scruffy crowd,” Aarkr said, pulling on his gloves.

“Shesh still wants to go back.”

“Out of the question. We don’t know who was shooting at us or why. We need to get them to Kragnos as soon as possible.”

“What we need,” Shesh growled, entering the cockpit, “is to go back and find the others.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Aarkr said, irritated now. “We have to assume that your friends are captured or dead. Besides,” he added, cutting off Shesh’s rebuttal, “we’ll be at Kragnos in ten seconds.”

Shesh snarled and sat down. Jaxel entered the cockpit area, oiling his blaster. “How long?”

The Arrow came back into realspace. “Welcome to Kragnos.”

Kron walked towards his landspeeder, the death stick dealer still chattering away. He hopped in and gunned the engine. The Balosar came up alongside the driver’s side and waved some death sticks in his face. “Come on, man. Only ten credits for five sticks!”

Kron grabbed the dealer by his lapels and looked into his terrified eyes. “Get away. Now.” He shoved the Balosar away from him and into the dust. The dealer scrambled away as Kron careened away. Maybe I can find them at the spaceport, Kron thought.

“Well, we’re here,” said Aarkr. “Hope you enjoyed the trip.”

Shesh woofed. “Yeah…right.”

Jaxel silenced him with a glare and pulled a small pouch from his belt. “Here’s the rest of your payment, Rajam.”

Aarkr grinned and stuffed the pouch into a pocket. “Thank you kindly, Fang.” Looking at Kale, he said, “Let’s go.” The two went back up the ramp. The wolfmen watched as the ship lifted off.

Shesh sniffed the air and muttered, “He’s here.” Jaxel nodded and the two moved toward the shadowy figure in the corner.

Kron didn’t enjoy intimidating people, but that Balosar had been putting both of their lives at serious risk. Perhaps it wasn’t the Jedi way…but these are dark days. The war had changed the Jedi just as much as it had changed any political system or individual species. The Jedi Order had been destroyed, its members scattered or killed, and the memory of it was being erased from the public’s eyes. For a time Kron had believed that its ideals would live on in the few remaining fugitives and those they encountered, but his hopes had been dashed almost a year before, when…

…he stood at the edge of the cliff, looking down on the crystalline sea. A woman stood beside him, clutching her blaster. “I’m not going, Kron.”

He scowled. “You have to.”

“No—“

“You’ll die if you don’t!” he roared, turning towards her. “Now go!”

The woman looked at him, tears in her eyes. “Kron…” she whispered, “…I love you.” She turned away and began to walk down the mountain path.

Kron looked down at his feet and felt a hot tear run down his cheek. Then…his back arched and the hairs on his neck stood on end. His head snapped up and his eyes flew to her disappearing back. “No…” he groaned, moving forward. The side of the mountain exploded with a rumbling roar and gouts of flame, sending her flying. “NOOOOO!” he screamed…

…and jumped at the beep from the landspeeder behind him “Hey, keep it moving, buddy!” the driver screamed as he zipped past. Kron pressed his foot on the accelerator and the landspeeder lurched forward. It had been a long time since he had gone into a haze like that. Thankfully no one had been hurt…

Kron pulled the landspeeder up beside the entrance to one of the docking bays. He saw his two contacts exit what appeared to be the remains of a ship. He remembered the old spacers’ saying: A starship is a weapon, but it’s the crew that makes it deadly. Kron doubted that the ship would be deadly to anyone but its crew. He moved through the shadows and waited until the junk heap blasted off. One of the wolfmen sniffed the air and looked in his direction. Kron detached himself from the shadows and moved forward. Jaxel greeted the Jedi with a quick bow. Shesh followed suit and the Jedi returned the greeting. “Greetings, Fang, Shesh. Care to follow me? I know a place where we won’t be disturbed.”

I hate bars. They stink. Not that I can really smell their stench. My olfactory sensors are made up of wires that are connected to other wires that connect to other wires in my body. My mind, however, is something else entirely. It tells me that bars stink because I’ve been in them before. You don’t need a nose to remember smells.

You see, I’m a Human. I’m also a droid. Hard to comprehend, right? Well, as far as I can tell, I’m sentient. The fact that I can wonder whether I am should suggest something. My body is that of a droid, circuitry and all, but my mind is that of a Human. It’s not a brain, not like some would perceive a “mind” to be. Rather, it’s more of a…a…consciousness. It’s almost a spiritual thing, not a physical one. It doesn’t age like a physical brain would. My processor, however, my droid brain, does. My mind argues with my processor a lot.

My mind says my name is Nova. My processor gives me a string of numbers. My mind tells me I’m 23 years old…but the rusted state of my body says otherwise. I’ve done my best to clean myself up, but the rust keeps coming back. I’ve decided to just leave it for now. It’s not like I have to worry about looking good. Ever since the war started, organics have begun to hate droids. I’m talking full-scale riots and mobs. I’ve seen droids ripped apart and burned, shot to pieces, thrown into pits of acid. I’ve seen droids cannibalizing others for parts. I’ve done it myself…but only when I didn’t have a choice.

Kragnos is just one stop, one part of a long journey. I’ve been on it for as long as I can remember…which, admittedly, isn’t long. Like I said…my mind tells me I’m 23. How long my mind has been 23 is the question. The journey has been long, that I know. My body has been through many overhauls. The first I remember was to remove my hands. They hadn’t been hands, though; one had been long and sharp, pointed like a knife or a shard of glass. The other had been merely a large ball, like a crude hammer. I had been forced to destroy a Trade Federation battle droid, but it was fairly simple to replace my hands with those of the battle droid. I’ve undergone many modifications since then, many of them self-inflicted. Whoever did this to me would hardly recognize me, I’m sure.

This bar is dark, says my mind. This bar is dark, agrees my processor, and it sends a signal to my photoreceptors to brighten. The room is now bright, my processor cheerfully says. The room is still dark, my mind gloomily states. I believe the processor. The room looks bright to my optics.

A Devaronian couple slips past me and a cloaked Human ambles down the steps. He moves with such grace, such dexterity. Meanwhile, the claw on my left foot scratches along the ground—that is, until I retract it. My right leg is the only part of me that appears Human. The flesh, though, is just a covering for the wires underneath. I can pretend, though. The leg is droid, says my processor. The leg is as Human as you will get, says my mind. I believe the mind.

I sit down in a chair near the door. Droid need not sit, says my processor, puzzled. Sitting is Human, says my mind. I put my head in my hands and sigh. Very Human, says my mind. Droid need not sigh, says my processor.

If a droid is capable of despair, I’m feeling it.

Kron and the wolfmen stepped out of the landspeeder in front of another bar. “Sogo’s an old friend. He’ll make sure we’re left alone.” The Jedi pushed open the door and the three were barraged with the intense stench flooding the place.

“Yeah,” Shesh muttered, sounding sick. “I wouldn’t want to go near this place, either.”

Jaxel rolled his eyes and followed Kron into the darkness. His eyes adjusted easily to the lack of light. The Jedi walked over to the bar and asked for the owner.

A Bith came out of a back room and greeted Kron. He silently ushered the three into the room, left, and closed the door.

“Well, let’s get down to business,” Kron said, sitting down at the table. “How many have you two managed to gather?”

Jaxel leaned forward. “I have twelve good soldiers ready to fight.”

Kron cocked an eyebrow. “Including yourselves?”

Shesh shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”

Kron made a little O with his mouth and blew out a long breath. “That’s not much to work with, you know. The Empire’s big. Bigger than twelve people, that’s for sure.”

Jaxel bared his teeth. “My men are good fighters. Better soldiers than most of the Empire’s. Besides, we’re just looking to take over one outpost.”

The Jedi shook his head. “A battle for one outpost can easily turn into a battle for the entire world. Trust me…” He trailed off and seemed to sink into a memory. His head snapped back up and he continued. “The Empire won’t like losing the Kragnosian outpost. They’ll fight back with every bit of firepower they can muster.”

“We’re aware of our enemies’ capabilities,” Shesh growled. “We are not afraid.”

“We have weighed the risks,” Jaxel continued. “We have presented them to the others. They know them…and they want to fight.”

Kron nodded once, slowly, thinking. He looked down at his hands, then looked into Jaxel’s eyes. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

©December 2010, Josh Scheibe