A Living Nightmare

  Chapter 29: Home Invasion

  "As Jedi, we are instructed to keep the peace. As soldiers, we know that to be a lie. As your commander, I tell you this: Peace is never given—it is earned."

  4 BBY

  Location: Lothal - Borinzia Market Square

  The armor was returned to its little storage unit, all except the boots. Plain clothes would work well enough, with the addition of the comfy cloak. I just hoped nobody with a keen eye would spot the spare officer uniform for what it was. We wouldn't be loitering around long enough in the market at least for anything like that. We were to be thorough and swift with our investigations. The plan was simple enough, after we determined our route of spot checks with the information sent by Agent Kallus. There were other cases of the group before Ezra joined, but knowing the Grand Inquisitor and his mandate—our mandate—those earlier events would have been a waste of time to follow up on. We wanted both Jedi, and the others if possible.

  So instead, here I was standing at the edge of the market, loitering with my hood up in a likely futile attempt to blend in and feeling the place out. I could go in full armor and conscript some troopers to help, but I preferred the cloak and dagger of it all. A quiet, simpler investigation and to see the sights. Though Hal would be the only one lucky enough to see the Temple when we got to it, and Tarkin Town. Speaking of, Hal stood across the street, inspecting a trader setting up a stall. His orders were to stay in plain sight, ask some local security troopers if they knew anything or who was in the market the most often to get the full story. It was something to keep him busy while I was the hunting hound, using my own senses to find traces of the rebels to follow.

  The market churned with life: voices rising in barter, the clatter of crates, and the low whir of repulsorlifts carting pallets of goods. Beneath it all, the Force whispered—softly, like dust being stirred in a sealed room. I had hoped to move without drawing attention, the hood shading my face, keeping my features obscured. I was just another shadow in the crowd. The tug came subtle at first. A gentle pull toward a stall where the Force swirled like disturbed water. I stopped in front of it, taking in the piles of yogan fruit and the sharp scent of citrus.

  The Gotal merchant looked up, blinking once. His presence in the Force twitched in caution. "Something catch your eye, off-worlder?"

  "These are quite good looking," I said, reaching out and plucking one from the pile. I pretended to have examined it absently before sliding a few dozen credits across the edge of the counter. "Tell me—ever had the pleasure of running into those local rebels everyone seems to whisper about?"

  The Gotal eyed me for a moment, weighing the credits and the potential guilt on his conscience. He pocketed the cash. "Maybe once or twice. Haven't seen that Bridger boy in some weeks. Always was a little runt."

  I nodded slowly and took a bite from the fruit. Tart. A little dry. Passable. Could be worse, could be old. "At least I pay for the fruit, and information."

  "What's your n-name, then?" he asked, suspicion tinging his tone.

  "Venrick," I said without hesitation. "I'm old friends with Ephraim." A lie, of course. I didn't know Ezra's father. I just figured he was probably dead by this point and knew just enough to keep a little lie going without raising questions.

  He grunted in vague approval, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to his crates to put more produce out. I muttered a thanks while stepping away.

  I left him behind, stepping between two stalls into a narrow alley where the press of the crowd gave way to stillness. The Force's pull became sharper here. Familiar. I moved toward a low access stair and ascended to a rooftop overlooking the square.

  Then came the echo, the Force lingering like a puddle of twisting hues.

  "Code Red." A voice—distant but sharp, like a memory clawing its way free.

  The world shifted.

  Below, stormtroopers moved like drifting ash, dull in the Force. Memories in movement.

  Then came Ezra. His presence was bright and unrefined. I felt it shift beside me—a flicker of uncertainty and curiosity wrapped in youthful impulse. There was a subtle bond stretched between him and another figure below, a connection unmistakable to anyone who had felt the Force flow between a master and student. Kanan. Stoic, measured, pushing aside distraction as he focused on the task before him. He let the Force guide his steps, not emotion. Ezra, by contrast, was still learning how to breathe in it.

  I leaned forward slightly, drawn into the vision. Sabine drifted into view, calm but coiled, slipping a low-yield charge onto a speeder with practiced ease. A trooper reached with a hand, hesitant to tell her to stop as she had already moved on with a satisfied strut. Reckless. Mandalorian. Loud in every way that mattered.

  The explosion came. Blaster fire and calls for back up erupted in its wake. The square unraveled into panic and confusion. Ezra sprung to action, seeing his opprotunity in the chaos of confused troopers and the crates his soon to be friends were there to steal. Words were exchanged that I could barely hear, the world warping as my focus waned.

  And then—

  Stillness. The use of Temporal Sense was a quick thing, and draining. A useful ability, but the way it left me feeling afterwards...

  I gasped as the vision faded, lungs dragging in heavy air. My skin felt clammy beneath the cloak, a chill prickling along the back of my neck.

  A few seconds in the fragments left behind. That was all it took.

  But it had been enough for me to pick up a scent. Their signatures were clearer now. I sat at the edge of the rooftop, finishing what remained of the fruit before pulling out my comlink. The channel clicked open with a short burst of static.

  "Hal. Status?"

  His reply came a second later. "Nothing. The troopers on shift today weren’t stationed here back then. Those that were… they’re gone."

  "Gone?"

  "Dead or shipped out for their failure," he said flatly.

  I snorted at that. Shipped out—more like imprisoned in some mine or factory halfway across the sector. I wasn't sure if Lothal had developed any major Imp manufacturing areas yet.

  Standing up, rolling my shoulder as the wind pulled gently at the hem of my cloak. "Okay, this is a bit of a dead end. Let's go back to the ship, Tarkin Town is next. You head out first. I want to browse a little more."

  It was an excuse, to linger and pull on those strands of energies that remained.

  I remained for a few more moments, letting my senses brush against the lingering presence of the two Jedi. Ezra’s signature would likely see the most growth in time. The boy was raw, his path still uncertain at that stage. His signature would see the most change, and be most difficult to follow.

  But Kanan... Kanan had grown little since their meeting. Perhaps a bit more patient. A bit more resolved. But still rooted in caution and fear.

  I pulled the hood forward a bit more, exhaled, and started down the stairway.

  Location: Lothal – Tarkin Town

  The Scythe landed nearly two miles away. Drawing too much attention was always a risk, and even a vessel as sleek and quiet as ours could set off unwanted alarms in places like this. Hal and I moved in on foot, sticking to ridge trails and dry creek beds until the crumbling skyline of Tarkin Town came into view.

  Hal had ditched the armor for plain clothes—some spares he had, a little bit better for blending in. I kept the cloak, boots, and thought to add a lightsaber to my belt. A message to the downtrodden when they were to see it. I wanted to try something different this time.

  The town itself was a graveyard of promises. Shanty buildings stitched together from salvaged panels and scorched insulation. We moved quietly past hunched figures around broken vaporators and rusted crates. I didn’t need my sight to feel the weakness here. The Force was thick with it—low vibrations of pain, exhaustion, and muted desperation. They weren’t angry. They were done. Too tired to be anything else.

  A wheeze caught my attention, bouncing off the walls between two scrap buildings.

  A Toydarian hovered a few inches above a little chair, his wings jittering weakly. His trunk wobbled as he leaned in our direction. His presence flickered in the Force like a candle barely holding flame. I gestured to Hal, and we went to him. I pulled the cloak back, letting the light catch the metal of the lightsaber hilt. A direct approach would work best here.

  “Kanan Jarrus,” I said. “I’m looking for him. Jedi like myself.”

  The Toydarian gave a short laugh and then coughed violently, blood sputtering from his trunk and spattering the dirt.

  “You don’t look too good, old one,” I said. “I can spare some medicine.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Bah! Anyone can make a metal tube and call themselves a Jedi! My cousin—hah—ran into a Jedi once and—”

  The Force curled around him. Not harsh. Not lethal. But enough.

  His wings locked. Legs dangled, frozen. Fear rolled off him like oil.

  “Sorry for the demonstration,” I said. “I know mind tricks don’t work on your kind.”

  He stammered, trunk twitching. “Y-you stay away! Stay away!” Fuck. Panic swept into the alleyway as the three of us sprang to action.

  He made to flee, fluttering upward—but Hal fired a stun bolt, and the Toydarian collapsed with a thud. The shot rang out, we didn't have the luxury of silencers. Even then, those didn't work like they do in video games or media.

  “What the hell was that for?” I snapped, turning.

  Hal lowered the blaster. “He’d talk. We’d lose the lead.” I was prepared to argue the uncertainty of his claim, instead deciding to take action. Sounds, voices rising. Questions and voices filled with alarm fluttered into the alley.

  Cries rang out. Blasters humming with newly loaded packs. Footsteps rushing our way. A door slammed open nearby.

  “Fuck. Grab him and let’s go.”

  Hal hoisted the stunned alien over his shoulder. I darted ahead, slipping between two half-collapsed shacks to feel for an exit that wouldn’t involve being seen carrying a dying old man.

  Then came another familiar voice. There's been a few of those these days, and none pleasant.

  “Drop old Bengoo, and you two can walk away with your lives. Everything else is non-negotiable. Weapons, and credits.”

  Raspy. Dry. Serious about business.

  Cikatro Vizago.

  The Devaronian stepped out from the shade of the alley, flanked by four armed men. I inwardly cursed. Blasters were already trained on us. They were quick, but the town was small as it was.

  The town was protected—passively, but thoroughly. Vizago had made this place one of his little waystations, especially when dealing with the Spectres.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  My thoughts raced. Diplomacy, try and smooth talk a smooth talker? Mind trick may work, or...my hand drifted to the lightsaber. A flash of thought, killing him and his men would end the situation. No, it was talky talk time.

  “Vizago,” I began, hands just above my belt. “Those rebel friends of yours—they provide food, but no medicine? We were trying to speak—”

  “No, no, no. You don’t get to talk today, Imp,” he spat, drawing his blaster. “We’re tired of your investigations. Tired of your meddling. So I’ll do you a favor: tell your bosses you’re not welcome here.”

  I laughed—more at myself than anything else. Any stranger walking into a place like this without a proper disguise would sit out like a sore thumb. These people would be able to sniff me out in a heartbeat. Stupid mistake.

  "Captain, put the stinkfly down." I ordered, staring right at the leader of the Broken Horn Syndicate. I reached for my lightsaber, igniting the green blade and deflecting the shot in one move.

  The red shot sailed into the pistol Vizago held, making him drop it and yelp in pain. Not giving him the change, I bridged the gap between the two of us, pulling him to me. Suspended in the air and with a lightsaber to his throat that was getting building pressure, I stood silently, daring his men to try anything.

  "Let them know I just want to talk about their mistreatment of our citizens." I left him sputtering out on the ground, pushing past his assembled men to our ship. We were followed a good distance, not that I cared. Their caution was understandable.

  Back aboard the Scythe, I dropped the cloak onto the pilot’s seat.

  “Another bust,” I said with mild disappointment. I put my hands on the top of the headrest and twisted, stretching a little. The walking had been nice, but deflecting a shot that fast was something that surprised me. Now after some time, my shoulder was beginning to ache.

  “Sorry, sir.” was the very elaborate, poetic response from the stoic trooper.

  “Eh. It’s both our faults. One stupid decision after another. I should have gotten actual disguises, instead of trying to wing it. Grandy grand won't be happy to hear about this, but we'll find something."

  Hal had started donning his armor while I pulled a box of chigni sticks from a small panel built into the rations compartment. They were simple—thin breadsticks with a core of flavoring that vaguely resembled pickled chicken. I snapped one in half and handed it to Hal.

  “Your payment for a job well done so far,” I said dryly.

  “Ah, thank you so much, sir!” he accepted the snack with mock reverence, giving a small, sarcastic bow.

  I chewed on mine, my thoughts drifting to our next destination. The market hadn’t been a great lead, but it helped familiarize me with the Jedi and their companions. Tarkin Town, while interesting, hadn’t fared much better. It felt a little pointless.

  “You wanna visit the Academy?” I asked, snapping the tin container shut.

  “It’s your operation,” he replied, adjusting his arm guards.

  “We work together on this,” I reminded him, standing. “You're my eyes—sometimes my brain. I’m just the good-looking muscle.”

  “You’re lucky you don’t see what we do.”

  Rolling my eyes, I went to my quarters and started the process of gearing up. We had places to be, and I needed to find these rebels.

  Location: Lothal - Vinzant Plains

  Rolling hills of tall, untamed grass stretched for kilometers to the blue horizon, interrupted only by conical spires of rock that were native to the planet. It was picturesque—or would have been, if not for the grey, blocky ship parked near a patch of rocky ground. And the twanging sound of several volleys of stun blasts being shot at a young man with an unorthodox lightsaber.

  A tall yet slender man with a ponytail and goatee stood to the side, observing the helmeted boy deflect the blasts into the sky, the ground, and one over his head that forced Kanan to duck. Every movement his Padawan made was evaluated and scrutinized, though he kept it all to himself. A gleeful laugh came from the purple-furred Lasaat as he let loose a steady double shot that Ezra parried well enough, before the blue saber turned with a swift motion to keep a calculated shot from Sabine from hammering into his leg. A huff of irritation blew a few strands of blue and orange hair from her forehead as she added her second blaster to the training exercise.

  "You got the blocking down for the most part," Kanan stated, not stopping the training to talk. Adding more distractions was a good way to help Ezra focus better, after all. "But you shouldn't just deflect the energy any which way." He unfurled his folded arms and pointed at the unblemished stormtrooper helmet sitting on a squat little rock. "You've yet to hit the target I gave you."

  "Yet," Ezra parroted. He ducked under one bolt from Zeb and another from Sabine. "Keyword is yet." Ezra had done better the past times they tried this, but today was different.

  Face met palm. Kanan let out a frustrated sigh and waved his hands to signal the others to stop. Blasters holstered, lightsaber disengaged, Kanan questioned the kid.

  "You're distracted," he pointed out. "You're impatient. What's the rush?"

  The visor of his 'improved' cadet helmet flipped up, allowing strands of his black hair to drift in the gentle caress of the warm air passing through the valley. He looked at his Jedi teacher with deep, almost unnaturally blue eyes. "I don't want to miss Senator Trayvis' transmission," he admitted, knowing better than to be dishonest with the man who took him in.

  "You don't even know if he'll transmit today." A truth there. The senator's transmissions were always cropping up at the most impromptu times, hijacking Imperial HoloNet signals at strange hours. It would sometimes be weeks between broadcasts.

  "He's been on more frequencies lately, and I have a feeling. Today's the day!"

  An unconvinced look plastered Kanan's face before breaking into a sarcastic smile. "Well, I have a feeling you're going to get stunned if you don't stay in the moment." He pointed to the ground in emphasis of his point, letting his voice harden to get his student to listen. "This. Moment."

  Rolling his eyes and letting out a sound of bitter reluctance, Ezra puffed his cheeks and exhaled some air. Lightsaber ignited, he pulled the cover down on his helmet and closed his eyes.

  C1-10P got in on the fun, the squat and grumpy old astromech droid laughing in muffled glee as he shot blue spheres of condensed electricity, adding more chaos to the shots from the other three ranged weapons putting shots downrange. Ezra blocked where he could, adding some acrobatics into his defense as he ducked under more, moving his arm or leg out of the way of another stray bolt. All the while, Kanan let out a deep, disappointed sigh at his unfocused student. The boy refused to listen, and the former Jedi was running out of patience today.

  You there.

  A voice felt, not heard. Ezra felt his chest tighten and tapped the release for his helmet's visor. Fresh air swept against his face as a yellow bolt slipped above the bridge of his nose. His focus was elsewhere. Something pulled at him.

  Senator, you're in terrible danger.

  Hera spoke those words, and the boy was barely able to pull his blade up in time to block a sizzling shock blob from Chopper. He had closed his eyes in a reflexive wince in anticipation of being hit, but the Force guided his actions as he felt it strongly.

  Put your saber down, boy. NOW!

  The Empire knows you're here.

  More shots were fired; as his focus slipped from his grasp, his movements seemed to be on autopilot. A heavy weight tugged at his eyes; Ezra was barely able to keep them open. Deeper and deeper he fell into something beyond himself. The voices were familiar, full of surprise, warning. He could feel the danger, the anxiety that was not his.

  Stay close, Senator!

  You want me to go in there?

  The voices culminated in Ezra succumbing to the trance he inadvertently entered. He saw events yet to come: a trio of white-armored stormtroopers in an alleyway, moving toward him. The entire Specter team with Senator Trayvis, an aged human male in a refined orange-red coat and thin graying mustache. They rushed him down a yellow ladder into a deep vertical tunnel of metal, the Lothal Capital City's skyline behind them, and red blaster bolts as they tried to escape. A brief flash of stormtroopers in the old sewers. Then, a sentence uttered by Senator Trayvis with a comforting smile.

  "Your parents were very brave."

  The Force pulled away at that junction, though something else slipped in. Something cold.

  A will with the clasp of iron fangs ripped at Ezra's intimate connection with the Force in that moment, coloring the vision further. A predator that waited for the right moment to siphon that deep meditation for itself. A call rang out in his mind as Ezra was partially aware of his surroundings in the waking world. He thrashed and screamed, trying to break away from this darkness he found himself trapped inside.

  "Come home, Ezra," a soft voice whispered, and he felt an urge to come racing back. The usurper spoke his name like calling an old friend after years apart. It was unsettling. Unnatural.

  Within his mind's eye, the Padawan saw the needle-like spire that rose from the flat grounds outside of the capital city. An old decommissioned communication tower the orphan knew all too well. Someone, something, sat on the building's floor, deep in meditation. Their features shrouded in a cloak, just as their intentions were. It had followed the attachment he held to the place he grew up after his parents were gone, long hours alone between runs into the city. Days when he would go without food came to the forefront of his mind.

  "Ezra," the man called again as the vision faded. That irrational pull, that desire to be home, hooked into his thoughts like an itch.

  "Ezra!"

  Kanan's voice came loud and clear. Air rushed into the boy's lungs as he sat up from the warm stone. His helmet had been removed; his saber was discarded a few feet away.

  A pulse of pain coursed through his head as Kanan stood nearby, kneeling and pulling him up to a sitting position.

  "I got stunned, didn't I?"

  The assumption was valid, but he quickly noticed nothing felt numb—no lingering sensation of a minor welt where the shot would have made impact.

  Kanan blinked. "N-no," his voice full of vicarious joy. "You deflected every blast back at the target."

  Ezra's gaze followed Kanan's gesturing hand to see the once-white helmet now blackened and sizzling with stun bolts.

  Glancing back up at his master, Ezra carefully spoke. "I saw something."

  "Saw?" Joy changed to curiosity as Kanan put his other hand on Ezra's shoulder. An intensity Ezra had seen only a few times before crossed Kanan's features. This was something serious. "You had a vision?"

  "I saw Gall Trayvis." The vision was blurry, unclear to him, but he recognized enough to pull some detail as the images faded, as if he woke from a dream. "He knew my parents, Kanan!"

  Location: LothalNet comm tower E-272

  A satisfied smile threatened to become a permanent fixture on my face. I hadn't expected it to be that easy. I anticipated resistance, some barriers to break through—but no, the boy was far newer to all this than I'd expected. Plucking the strings of his desire for a home, for family, even after finding one with his new crew—it was there, dormant. The uncertainty about keeping them had yet to be voiced to Kanan, something I could play with—and did.

  Daily reports from Agent Kallus kept me up to date on their preparations for the trap involving Trayvis, and today was the day of their attempt. An early morning broadcast. Trayvis would fly into the system before sunset and wait like a good little puppet. That provided ample time for my own plan: following orders and finding the Jedi. Even during our brief discussions these past three days, I had been honest with Kallus, sharing his opinion that the Grand Inquisitor was focusing too heavily on the Jedi. Granted, it was our job description—but the Pau'an felt far more pressure to achieve his goal than the ISB agent surmised. Having Vader breathing down one's neck was something Kallus had yet to experience.

  My eyes remained closed as my senses extended across the planet. The Force itself was unusual on Lothal; it felt different, more abstract and limitless. Instead of building blocks or strings to pull, it was malleable, far easier to manipulate and harness. It empowered me. Having a place linked to Ezra in which to meditate boosted my sight even further as I watched and listened. I wanted him to come to me and have the others follow.

  Fragments of conversations reached me. Ezra and the crew had learned of the transmission; the carefully worded message had been simple for them to decipher. Kanan expressed doubts, while Ezra shrugged it off as Imperials being too incompetent to notice things meant for locals. It made me feel a twinge of pity for them—the people in charge of the Empire were indeed dumb, just not that dumb.

  I could already sense the doubt creeping into Hera's mind as Ezra moved to leave the ship, voicing intentions to meet his friend from the Academy, Zare Leonis. I had the pleasure of meeting the child when we visited the Academy, questioning him about his frightening experience with a rebel saboteur. Said rebel now hid his true intentions from his master as best he could. Ezra had a pit stop to make first. I reached deeper into the Force, preparing myself for an inevitable confrontation with the Padawan. While confident in my skills to handle him should he attack, I still needed to keep my emotions firmly in check as I 'watched' and spied on the Lothal cell.

  "About your vision, don't be too quick to—" Kanan started to warn.

  "To take it literally?" Ezra interrupted defensively. "Kanan...I know it's right. You're always telling me to trust my feelings. Well, I've never felt stronger about anything in my life." His visor switched down, and the door closed between them. Hera's gaze fixed on him, Sabine moving elsewhere on the ship, leaving the two alone. A single-worded question was flung at her longtime friend—lover, situationship? At this point, who knew except the two of them?

  "Vision?" Hera asked, earning a frustrated grunt from Kanan as he plopped down onto the half-circular couch. He started to explain what happened, and I tuned it out as best I could, instead searching the Force signature of the man.

  I tapped into the bond between master and Padawan—ironic to think about, given that I resided in a derelict and rusting comms tower. I could feel Ezra on one end and Kanan on the other. The bond was weak, brittle, and untampered. A delicate balance was required to avoid breaking it, and I wasn't an expert in these Force Bonds. I pulled away, not willing to risk damaging or severing the connection before it became as strong as it should. Alternatively, I set my sights on Kanan and dug deep within myself, forgoing any semblance of peace and tranquility. I wanted him to fear for Ezra, to force him to chase—manipulating and puppeteering them all to come to see me. A simple transmission might work, using their contacts, as the Minister would likely try to get off-world in the next week or so if my estimations were correct. But I preferred a path that suited my strengths more boldly.

  "Padawan Dume, it would be wiser to keep an eye on your apprentice than ogling the pretty pilot," I whispered into his mind like a snake. His mind wasn't easy to enter while focused. He had further training and discipline than the boy, but his distraction allowed me to slip in. The dark side channeled into the Ghost, following the web of connection from Ezra to Kanan and to the ship itself. Hera felt a chill, and Kanan snapped to his feet, lightsaber ignited reflexively.

  "Kanan, what's going on?" Panic filled her voice, her hand reaching to grab his arm. The Jedi remained as calm as possible, glancing around the room.

  The door to the crew quarters opened, and Zeb barreled in, blaster at the ready, pointing it to all corners of the lounge. "Everything alright in here?" he questioned with a frown while his big green eyes ping ponged between the other two.

  Kanan turned the weapon off but kept it in one hand. "Where's Ezra?"

  I withdrew my Force Sight, redirecting it to an area around the tower. The bait was set, and the trap was ready. I just had to remain patient as I felt the flickering beacon of Ezra's presence drawing nearer. The smile never left my face.

  "This should be fun."