We had been marching across the Tatooine desert for an hour. Luck had favored us—we'd come upon a small stone plateau rising above the surrounding terrain, and now we were moving along its flat crest. It was still easier than trudging knee-deep through sand. Both suns—Tatoo I and Tatoo II—were sinking toward the horizon, and our group cast long, fantastical shadows.
Suddenly, I felt it… a foreign presence. I froze and motioned for the others to stop, listening to the sensation.
"There's someone here."
Someone… sentient. And Force-sensitive. Looks like we won't be avoiding a meeting with Dooku after all. Damn it…
"I feel it too," the girl confirmed, echoing my fears.
"Sir, who is it?" Puck asked, scanning the desert through macrobinoculars.
"Whoever it is, their target is the Hutt. We need to split up."
"We can handle them together, Master," Ahsoka said firmly, resting her palms on the hilts of her lightsabers.
"Exactly. And Rotta will only slow us down."
"Huh?" Snips blinked in confusion; the others mirrored her expression.
"Puck, Lucky, Grace. You're in charge of the Hutt. Take all the troopers. Head back… to the crash site."
"And you, sir?"
"We'll draw their attention."
"And how exactly do we do that?" the girl asked skeptically.
"I've got an idea. I'll need your help."
Well, she is a predator, after all. Surely she must have some instinct for it, even if only on a subconscious level.
Ahsoka and I continued across the desert. Dusk was settling in, and the first stars had begun to shimmer in the darkening sky.
Then we heard it—the distant whine of an engine. We stopped side by side at the center of the plateau's flat ridge, part of a chain of rocky hills bordered by sand dunes on either side. A speeder bike came into view. Its rider was cloaked in Jedi robes.
"Master?" Ahsoka stood tense beside me.
The figure—yes, definitely human—slowed to a stop about ten meters away and dismounted. As he approached, he lowered his hood. It was… not Dooku. And not human, though close enough at first glance.
Quinlan Vos smiled and said:
"Well, what a meeting! Good to see you, Knight Vikt—and your Padawan as well. I am Master Quinlan Vos. I've been tasked with informing you that the Hutt is no longer your concern…"
***
Quinlan snorted softly. Sending the larger detachment back had been a transparent attempt to mislead him. He could feel that the Jedi were not alone—there was another living being in the man's backpack. Though such a trick would no doubt have deceived a non-Force-sensitive opponent.
Yet his words of greeting fell into emptiness: the Jedi drew his lightsaber from his belt—a hilt long enough, in the Kiffar's estimation, almost excessively so—and, with a deliberate, almost theatrical flick of his arm, ignited the blade. Orange light flared to life.
"Traitor!" the man spat the word like venom.
His Padawan also ignited both of her blades and assumed a fighting stance. Quinlan frowned.
So… it seems this will be more complicated than I expected.
"So you know?.."
"That you betrayed the Order!" cried the little Togruta, her voice sharp with emotion.
"The Order… the Order!" The Kiffar's temper began to boil. "The Order has rotted, mired in its own dogma; the Council sees nothing beyond the tip of its nose! All this talk of the Dark Side clouding the future… Ha! A bunch of senile fools—blind to the Sith's return. With this kind of leadership, the Republic will lose this war. The Jedi will be destroyed. You're not an idiot, Vikt—you understand that. Join us. Pledge yourself to Count Dooku. Hand over Jabba's son, and you'll be rewarded generously…"
"...And betrayed when the time suits him," the young Jedi cut in.
"Count Dooku would never…"
"Count Dooku is a Sith. Though… what kind of Sith is he, really? A mere mockery. However... he still follows the core rule. That's the fundamental difference between Sith and Jedi: a Jedi will never betray his padawan. But a Sith will do so whenever it suits him. He will betray anyone—even his own apprentice. And the apprentices, in turn, repay that 'love' in kind."
Quinlan grimaced and rested his hand on the hilt of his own lightsaber.
"And you're seriously going to defend that little slug? He's a Hutt! Murderers, slavers, criminals—that's what Hutts are! They should be wiped out, erased from the face of this Galaxy!"
"At least they don't pretend to be innocent guardians of democracy," Vikt replied with a mocking edge.
Rage began to coil inside Vos. He tore his hilt free and ignited the blade. The sand at his feet bathed in a bloody red glow.
"Hand over the little Hutt, or you die, Vikt. And your padawan with you."
"We'll see about that!" the girl snapped, stepping back and lowering herself toward the ground—reminding Quinlan of a predator poised to spring. It was odd. To his recollection, Shaak Ti—also a Togruta—had never carried herself like that.
The Jedi, meanwhile, silently raised his blade above his head, settling into… yes, the first stance of Shii-Cho. Strange... Vos had always thought that form was seriously favored only by the Nautola, Fisto.
Quinlan tried to unsettle his opponent.
"So the rumors are true. You're weak, only . Is that girl your only shield?"
But then the man surprised him somewhat by answering calmly:
"Exactly."
Quinlan swore inwardly. Is he mocking me?! It certainly seems that way. Still… it doesn't matter.
Leaping forward, the Kiffar attempted a feint, but his blade was caught by the girl's sabers, while the Jedi sought to pierce him with a suddenly lengthened blade. Only by deactivating his own weapon was Vos able to spring back.
"A magnificent Shiak. And it doesn't trouble you that it's a Sith technique?"
"There is no ignorance—there is knowledge," Vikt quoted melancholically, removing a second saber from his belt… and joining it to the first. A soft click—and in the man's hands lay a single, unified construct.
Spinning the newly formed weapon overhead, the Jedi attacked, while the Togruta tried to catch him from the side. Fighting two opponents at once was nothing new for Quinlan. And yet… their styles were deeply unpleasant to contend with.
The Togruta was swift, unrestrained in her use of leaps, flips, and rolls, with no qualms about striking from behind. Her peculiar habit of holding her blades in reverse grip made her Ataru even more dangerous. The man, by contrast, fought directly—feet planted firmly, delivering blows of tremendous strength. He favored Shii-Cho, seamlessly interwoven with elements of Soresu.
More than once Quinlan thought he might reach him—Vikt's training left much to be desired—but each time the man simply blocked with the hilt of his saber. When it happened a second time, the Kiffar realized both hilts were forged from a metal resistant to a lightsaber's blade.
And yet, even the combined strength of master and apprentice proved insufficient. Seizing the moment, Quinlan hurled the girl aside with a Force shove and leapt, slashing in midair at the backpack strapped to the Jedi's back. Landing in a roll, he deactivated his blade.
"You've lost, Jedi. I just killed the little Hutt."
"Did you? From where I stand, you killed a baby nuna. The only one left empty-handed here is you." Vikt tossed the severed remains of the pack at the Kiffar's feet.
Vos stared in bewilderment at the shredded fabric—and in the next instant understood he had indeed been deceived. And the tremor in the Force made it clear that a living creature had perished—but not a sentient one.
He looked up. His opponents were already standing shoulder to shoulder again, preparing to attack. The Jedi shrugged off his cloak, left only in a sleeveless tunic, and the Kiffar understood why the man's strikes had carried such force, and his blocks such solidity.
His left arm was gone up to the shoulder, replaced by a prosthesis.
"Now you truly will die," Vos snarled, igniting his blade as he sprang forward…