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Like just about everything that goes wrong for Darth Ferrus these days, it all starts with the droid.
“Statement: Greetings, Master. I see you have completed your morning constitutional. Did you find the pre-dawn air especially invigorating today, or were you simply eager to return so that you could trade increasingly barbaric insults with me?”
Still out of breath from his run, Ferrus stops at the top of their ship’s ramp and lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his face. He briefly considers turning right around and running another few miles – anything to get away from this perpetual nuisance. “The hell… are you talking about?” he says between gulps of air.
The droid tilts its head up and down, analyzing him. “Answer: You completed your usual circuit fifteen minutes faster than last time. I believe that warrants congratulations.”
Ferrus rolls his eyes and pushes past the droid, making his way to the galley. “I told you to stop timing me.”
“Objection: Master, I know how much you pride yourself on improving your physical form. Even though your meager and fleeting meatbag existence prevents you from ever achieving the sort of perfection you futilely strive for – and no doubt are reminded of every time you look upon my brilliant and unparalleled design – I admire and applaud your commitment to bettering yourself through intense physical punishment, and I consider it my duty to assist you in whatever way I can, whether that is meticulously tracking your progress in training or reminding you that you already ate two of those sugary confections before you left this morning.”
Ferrus pauses, the day-old pastry he was planning to eat held halfway to his mouth. “You’re being weirder than normal,” he says, “and it’s creeping me out.”
“Statement: Oh, Master, you always know just what to say to put me in a good mood.”
Ferrus cocks one eyebrow at the droid, then downs the rest of his breakfast in two bites, brushing the crumbs from the counter as his twin brother staggers into the galley.
“Too damn bright,” Festus mutters as he flips off the light.
“Hey.” Ferrus reaches over to turn the light back on. “I was using that.”
Festus squints up at him, his eyes little more than slits. “Just use the Force,” he says, flipping the light off again. He shuffles a few items around on the counter. “What happened to those pastry things? Didn’t we have a whole container?”
“Did we?” Ferrus scoots past his twin and exits the galley. Eventually Festus shuffles out as well, carrying a ration bar, and he drops into the chair next to Ferrus. On the opposite side of the small common area, the droid is being unusually silent, but in a weird way, like it’s waiting for someone to point out that fact it hasn’t spoken for the last few minutes.
“Hey.” Ferrus leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Aren’t you going to ask if we can kill someone today?”
“Answer: There is no need, Master. I have already procured a new assignment for us.”
“What do you mean, you ‘procured a new assignment’?”
“Answer: Precisely what I have already indicated, Master. You requested that I make myself useful, so I have scoured the list of bounty notices for a new target.”
Ferrus glares up at the droid, irritation flaring along his nerves. “I meant clean something or fix something for once. Emperor’s black fragging bones, I swear one of these days I’m gonna space you myself, you rotten piece of—”
“Statement: Ah, Master, your continued threats of violence will never cease to warm my behavior core—”
“Oh my gods, enough. What’s the job?”
The droid’s optic sensors flicker. “Answer: Oh, a most invigorating assignment indeed, Master. The senator of the Keldive Sector has ordered a hit on her son.”
“What?” Festus looks up abruptly at that, and the smug smirk he’s been trying to hide this whole time is replaced by what appears to be genuine bewilderment. “Say that again?”
“Repetition: The senator of the Keldive Sector—”
“We don’t do hits,” Ferrus interrupts with a growl. “We’re bounty hunters, not enforcers or assassins or kriffing hitmen or anything else. We get paid to bring people in alive—”
“Mostly,” his brother interjects. Ferrus shoots him a warning glare and continues.
“—mostly alive, and we definitely don’t take jobs for people who would murder their own kids by kriffing proxy.”
The droid is quiet for about two seconds, long enough to imitate a very slow blink. “Continuation: The reward is thirty thousand credits.”
His eyes are drawn to his twin’s without conscious thought. Festus lifts an eyebrow and tilts his head toward the droid. “Thirty thousand,” he says quietly. “We could get a new ship.”
“No.” He doesn’t care how fragging desperate they are, he’s not going to sink that low.
Festus leans forward, forearms propped on his knees. “Doesn’t hurt to look at the details, at least.” He turns to the droid and extends a hand. “Here. Give me the datapad.” The droid obliges, and Festus quickly scans through the notice. After about twenty seconds of intense study, he stops and takes a deep breath. “Well,” he says, both eyebrows arching slightly. “This isn’t a hit order.”
“Then what the hell is it?”
Festus glances over at the droid and gestures toward him with the datapad. “You said you found this with the bounty notices?”
“Confirmation: Indeed, Master.”
His brother looks up at him. “This senator whoever, she’s offering a reward for the return of her eight-year-old son, who was kidnapped three weeks ago.”
The piece of junk continues without giving any indication that it is paying attention to the change in their objective. “Contemplative: It could be argued that a sentient’s existence is nothing more than a procession of senseless tragedy linked together by fleeting moments of enjoyable but ultimately empty pleasure, and that ending an organic meatbag’s life in its relative infancy is an act of mercy.” The droid cocks its head to gaze off into the middle distance. “Quandary: However, I was not programmed to be merciful, which makes reconciling my philosophical leanings with my inherent behavioral traits most difficult indeed.”
“Focus, HK,” Festus says without looking up from the datapad. The droid snaps its head abruptly in his direction.
“Objection: I resent the implication that I am ever anything but focused, Master. My central processor is a highly-advanced durasteel trap that your fragile, pathetic, squishy meatbag brains could never hope to match.”
Ferrus flings a hand in the air. “You thought we were assassinating a seven-year-old.”
“Correction: Eight-year-old, Master.” The droid looks over at him and taps one finger against the side of its metallic cranium. “Durasteel. Trap.”
Festus sits upright and makes a soft noise under his breath. “Well now, that’s interesting.”
Ferrus turns from the droid to his brother. “What?”
“This says Senator Nerravian will add another fifteen thousand if the kidnappers are eliminated as well.”
“Why doesn’t she just add those credits to the reward? Maybe she’d have her kid back by now.”
Festus shrugs. “Maybe she was hoping to attract a very specific type of bounty hunter.”
“It’s like she knew exactly how to hook you.”
“You’re not wrong.” Festus waves the droid over. “Come on, HK, let’s do some research. We’ve got a kidnapping victim to find.”
It doesn’t take them long to discover where the kidnappers are holed up, which makes Ferrus wonder why this Senator Nerravian hasn’t been able to get her kid back before now. Three weeks and thirty thousand credits, and no one else has taken the job? The ransom message didn’t mention any affiliation with a gang, or a political cause, and as far as he can tell, Nerravian hasn’t done anything particularly noteworthy in her time as a public servant. But she comes from a relatively wealthy family on her planet, even if most of that wealth belongs to her parents and grandparents. He supposes greed is as good a motivator for kidnapping as any.
The hideout is an old but well-maintained villa on top of a mountain, on a planet in the same sector as the senator’s homeworld. There isn’t much information on the place, just a few exterior holos and a mention of a resort that takes up a large portion of that same mountain. As their ship descends below the clouds and they finally get a good look at their target, Ferrus’s suspicions are confirmed – there’s no place to land a starship anywhere near the villa, or in the village nestled below it. They’ll have to land further down the mountain and find alternate transportation.
They dock without issue, and their ramp lowers on a spaceport that – like the villa – is well-maintained despite its obvious age. There’s a chill in the air; he feels it briefly intermingled with the heat still radiating from their ship’s exhaust.
“Probably gonna need a coat,” he calls over his shoulder. Footsteps echo behind him, and he turns to see his twin approaching the ramp, already carrying their coats across one arm.
“Here,” Festus says, tossing him the dark trench coat, along with a thick gray sweater. “Figured you’d want this, too.”
Ferrus pulls the sweater on first, watching from the corner of one eye as his brother layers his own coat over the black hooded jacket he usually wears. “You look like a serial killer,” he says with a smirk.
Festus adjusts the sleeves of both jackets and shrugs, a dark, wry expression twisting his mouth. “Imagine that.”
More footsteps, these ones clanging loudly in the cargo hold. The droid steps to Festus’s side, its blaster held at the ready. “Statement: I do not require any additional insulation, Master. My power source provides more than enough heat to keep my servos and lubricants from freezing. But thank you for asking.”
Ferrus rolls his eyes as he shrugs on his coat. “I didn’t ask, you dumb droid.”
The droid’s optical sensors flicker an intense amber. “Statement: Yes, Master. I am aware.”
Festus gestures toward the blaster rifle in the droid’s hands. “Better let me hold on to that for you, HK. I don’t think they allow weapons here.”
The amber glow of the droid’s sensors flickers violently. “Strenuous objection: What? How can that possibly be the case? Especially on an insignificant backwater such as this, surely the need to protect one’s person and one’s interests from the capricious rabble requires that weapons be allowed. I have traveled to hundreds of worlds, if not thousands, in the course of my existence, and with a few delusional, pacifistic exceptions, all of them have allowed for public carrying of weapons. Give up my blaster, you say? I find the idea completely absurd, Master, and I refuse to abide by such archaic and misguided rules.”
Ferrus waves a hand toward the interior of the ship. “I guess you could just stay here and not get to kill anyone at all.”
“Amendment: I am happy to turn over my weapons to my meatbag masters for safekeeping, despite their inferior mental capacity and the inability of their kind to keep its vital organs and fluids safe within the confines of their own bodies.”
“Gross,” Ferrus says.
“Blaster,” Festus adds, undeterred. After a long moment, during which the droid stares almost mournfully at its beloved blaster rifle, it places the weapon in Festus’s outstretched hand.
“Supplication: Guard it well, Master.”
Ferrus turns away with a groan. “Oh my gods…”
They venture out past the spaceport, into the quietly bustling resort town. A thin, patchy layer of snow blankets the ground, and the cold is more pronounced out here in the open, helped along by a sporadic but icy breeze. Unlike the ski resorts on the adjacent mountains, this place is mostly geared toward hiking and sightseeing and entertainment, and they follow the flow of bundled-up tourists past a dozen shops and cafés before arriving at a tram station near the center of the town.
Ferrus cranes his neck to survey the station and the towering peak above. There’s a hover-rail track running up the steep, tree-covered mountainside, and the sign over the station indicates that the tram departs every half hour to take tourists to the village at the peak.
“You’re sure there’s no way we could have landed up there?” Festus says, leaning his head back to examine the mountain.
“No,” Ferrus replies. “Not without making a mess.”
“Are you opposed to making a mess?”
“In this instance, yes.”
Festus blows out a long breath, and Ferrus watches it condense in the cold air before it slowly dissipates. “Looks like that’s our ride, then.”
“Statement: Masters, I have identified multiple issues with this particular mode of transit, including several that could conceivably lead to your demise.”
Ferrus glances at the droid over his shoulder. “Stop being so dramatic. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Contradiction: Master, I do not think—”
“Hey!”
All three of their heads turn in unison at the sound of a woman’s voice calling out from the front of the tram. The vehicle’s conductor is waving one arm in the air, pointing at a middle-aged man attempting to board with his protocol droid.
“No droids!” the woman says brusquely, eyes narrowed. “Droids ride the freight tram. You’ll have to take it over there.”
The man looks like he’s going to argue, but the conductor gives him a stern look over the top of her dark spectacles, and he leads his droid away.
As they watch the line move forward, Festus spins around to face them. “Okay, new plan. We get some more winter gear and disguise HK as a person.”
The droid’s sensors flash in defiance. “Objection: Certainly not, Master. I, HK-47, singularly magnificent creation of the dread lord Revan, forced to parade about as an inept meatbag in order to appease other inept meatbags? I cannot properly express to you the indignity of such a thing – but I will try, using an array of violently colorful metaphors—”
“You can have your blaster back,” Ferrus interrupts.
The droid’s head jerks in his direction. “Amendment: Very well, Master. You make a most compelling argument.”
They backtrack through the town, walking a few blocks before coming across a small shop with the necessary apparel. Ferrus raises a stopping hand at the droid as they approach the entrance.
“Stay out here,” he orders, “and try not to kill or maim anyone while we’re gone.”
“Statement: Of course, Master. Unlike you meatbags, I understand the necessity of delaying gratification in order to heighten anticipation and achieve the maximum level of satisfaction.”
Ferrus isn’t sure what to say to that – although he sort of feels like telling the stupid droid that he’s never had any trouble at all achieving satisfaction in any endeavor, professional or personal – but he feels a twinge of discomfort across his twin bond, and he notices how his brother’s normally pale face has begun to flush. He suspects it has little to do with the cold.
The droid’s chassis whirs loudly, swiveling back and forth as it looks between Ferrus and Festus. “Observation: I can tell from your prolonged silence that my statement is surprising, objectionable, momentous, or perhaps some combination of the above.”
Festus opens his mouth, and for once nothing comes out. Ferrus has to admit, that in itself is pretty damn momentous. His twin shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets and enters the store without a word. As he turns to follow, Ferrus tosses a reproachful look over his shoulder at the droid.
“Don’t talk to anyone either.”
The store is brightly lit and colorful as hell, and while it isn’t huge by any means, there are still several rows of parkas and boots and every sort of cold weather accessory he can imagine, plus probably a few that he never would have thought of. His twin doesn’t waste any time gawking at the merchandise; he strides up and down each aisle without even bothering to look up, and by the time Ferrus has grabbed a single pair of boots, Festus returns with a stack of clothes that includes a parka, gloves, and a few scarves.
“How many credits do you have on you?” Festus asks.
Ferrus frowns. “Why?”
His brother raises the arm that’s holding the stack of outerwear. “To pay for these.” His voice lowers to a murmur. “Or do you want to get caught shoplifting before we even make it up the mountain?”
He didn’t actually think of that, and he kind of hates that Festus – who avoids interacting with sentient beings as much as possible and hardly ever leaves their ship unless it’s for a job – did first. Ferrus reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few cred chips. “This should be enough,” he mutters, extending his hand.
His twin stares down at the credits with a blank look. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you the credits so you can pay.”
Festus smirks and glances toward the register. “And deprive you of the opportunity to hone your craft?”
“The hell are you—” Ferrus looks over his shoulder at the register, noticing for the first time the clerk behind the counter – young, female, and distractingly pretty. He breathes in and clenches his jaw before turning back to his brother. “You’re not funny.”
The smirk deepens, and Festus dumps the clothing into Ferrus’s arms. “I’ll wait outside. Pretty sure the other clerk is waiting for me to rob the place.”
The other clerk in question is a middle-aged man with wrinkles set deep in his forehead, who is doing a terrible job of being discreet as he watches Festus leave the store. Once his brother is gone, Ferrus takes his things to the girl at the checkout counter. She’s even prettier up close.
“Did you find everything all right?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile and trying not to think about his brother’s smug face. “I did.”
The girl begins to sift through the pile of clothes, ringing up the scarves first. She folds them neatly and smiles up at him, a bit wider than before. “These are really nice, and they’re on sale this week. I actually bought a couple for my brothers.”
He nods in response, this time trying not to think of the ungrateful scrap heap that he’s buying these for. “Yeah, they look nice.” Not that he really knows. But they ought to be for how expensive they are, even with the supposed sale.
As the girl continues scanning the items, Ferrus’s gaze wanders to the security feed visible behind the counter, and he glimpses his own face on the monitor, still smiling faintly. It’s kind of weird, seeing himself in this place, like he’s just anybody else here, doing whatever it is people do when they aren’t constantly scraping by or fighting a war or getting the tar beat out of them. He thinks of the lightsaber hidden beneath his coat, and what this girl would do if she knew he had it, how her pretty smile would vanish if she knew who he was and what he’s done.
“These are buy one, get a second pair free.” She holds up the gloves. “Would you like to get another pair?”
“No, that’s okay,” he answers, leaning one elbow on the counter to lower himself to her eye level. They’re a deep, warm brown with flecks of amber. “I only need one pair.”
He senses a slight shift in her demeanor, a less guarded warmth as she meets his gaze and tries unsuccessfully to tamp down her smile. He’s aware of the effect he can have on women, though he’s not used to earning this sort of response so quickly, or from someone who doesn’t at least have an inkling of his background.
“Are you sure you don’t want the second pair? If you’re staying for a while, it might be good to have a back-up.”
He shakes his head. “No, I won’t be here that long.” Her presence dampens a bit at that revelation, so he leans forward ever so slightly over the counter. “I’m Ferrus, by the way.”
One corner of her mouth turns up, and she touches the name badge clipped to her sweater. “Helene.” She places the gloves on top of the scarves and reaches for the boots and parka, still smiling. “You must be hiking to the summit, with all this gear.”
He shrugs. “That’s the plan. We’ll see what happens.”
She folds the parka in a bulky rectangle and maneuvers it into the bag, setting the gloves and scarves on top. “It’s really beautiful up there. Definitely worth the hike.”
He’s about to answer when he hears something over the store’s comm system – a soft, slow melody, one that he knows instantly despite not having heard it since he was a kid.
They’d hardly ever listened to popular music on Ossus, and Master Tionne had always preferred her Jedi ballads anyway – but there was one popular song she used to sing when she put the babies and toddlers to bed, something about a light in the dark and always being with the ones you loved. He remembers he used to stand sometimes by the door to the nursery, listening to her sing, watching her hold one or two of the babies in her arms; and he remembers how she always invited him to join them, and he always shook his head and hurried back to his room. He still doesn’t know why he did that.
“Ferrus?”
He blinks, allowing his eyes to refocus on the girl in front of him. “Sorry,” he says, as casually as possible. “I was listening to the song.”
The worried crease between her eyebrows smooths, and she cocks her head to listen. “Oh yeah, they used to play this all the time when I was a kid. It was one of my favorites.”
“Mine too.” Ferrus pulls the cred chips from his pocket and sets them on the counter. “How much?”
She reads the total to him – kriff, this stuff is expensive – and accepts the credits, and she finishes placing his items in the bag.
“Be safe out there,” she says as she hands him the bag.
“Sure.” He offers her a wry grin. “It was nice to meet you, Helene.”
“It was nice to meet you, too.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around after I get back.”
This time her smile lights up her whole face, and his heart beats a little faster at the sight. “I’d like that,” she says.
When he exits the shop, he finds his twin leaning against the exterior wall, hands still in his pockets, his hood partially obscuring his eyes. The droid stands upright next to him, and Ferrus gets the impression that he just walked into the middle of a conversation.
“Took you long enough,” Festus says with a yawn.
Ferrus glares at his brother. “Don’t you start with me. You’re the one who was too lazy to pay.” He glances at the droid. “What were you two doing out here?”
“Just waiting on you.” Festus pushes off the wall and smirks as he exchanges a look with the droid. “Tell him what you were telling me, about the statistical odds or whatever.”
There’s an annoyingly self-satisfied air about the droid as its head swivels toward Ferrus. “Analysis: After careful observation of your past romantic encounters and your current romantic overtures, I have calculated that, were you to invite this particular female to participate in extracurricular activities such as ‘dinner’ or ‘long, pointless walks without destination or urgency,’ there is an eighty-seven percent likelihood that she would respond favorably.”
“Don’t forget the other one,” Festus adds.
“Continuation: The likelihood of success drops significantly for your preferred level of intimacy, though based on fluctuations in her body temperature and respiration, as well as pupil dilation, there is a twenty-three to thirty-eight percent likelihood that this female would consent to mate with you tonight. This assumes, of course, that you preface such a proposition with the appropriate courtship rituals.”
Festus rests a hand on the droid’s shoulder. “HK says that’s pretty good considering your interaction with her lasted all of five minutes.”
“Correction: Four minutes and forty-seven seconds, Master.”
Ferrus’s face burns in a way that has nothing to do with the stinging chill in the air. “Stop. Timing me.”
“Relax, brother; it’s a compliment.” Festus quirks one eyebrow. “Did you tell her it’s Lord Ferrus?”
“Shut. Up.” Ferrus steps over to the droid and shoves the bag into its arms. “Here, get dressed.”
They help the droid disguise itself with the purchased gear; the only thing not easily covered is its face, but Festus wraps the scarves around the droid’s head several times, leaving only the narrowest gap for it to see out of. Satisfied that their robotic companion can at least pass for some kind of sentient being, they head back to the tram station, purchase tickets, and get into line.
“Now remember,” Ferrus whispers as they stand behind the droid. “Just act normal. Like a normal person, not a weirdo. Not like you want to kill any meatbags.”
The droid turns only slightly to address him, its vocoder turned down low. “Statement: Not to worry, Master. I have spent millennia studying the ways of organic meatbags across more planets and cultures than you could possibly dream of.”
“Stars, just keep your mouth shut, would you?”
“Next!”
The droid steps forward, and the conductor barely looks up at him. She holds out a hand expectantly.
“Ticket.”
The droid is mercifully silent as it extends one heavily gloved hand to allow the conductor to scan its ticket.
“Anything to declare?” the woman says, handing the ticket back.
Oh, kriff.
The droid turns its swathed and hooded head to look directly at the tram’s conductor, and says, “Recitation: Like every other sentient sack of flesh here, I am most eager to begin this journey. I can think of nothing more thrilling than the ride that awaits me on your fine vehicle, and I am certain that the fraying cables and half-rusted chassis and overheating engine won’t be an issue as we scale this dangerously steep mountain; nor do I fear that the catastrophic failure of any one of these components will cause us all to plummet to our doom, dashing our fragile, liquideous bodies against the cold and unforgiving rock.”
The conductor lowers her chin, staring over the top of her spectacles; after an interminably long moment, she inhales loudly. “Droids ride the freight tram. Next!”
The droid appears frozen, like it has no idea what to do next. Ferrus wonders if it’s running through the consequences of opening fire on the conductor and hijacking the tram.
“Hey,” Festus says from behind him, leaning forward to tap the droid on the shoulder. “You’re holding up the line there, buddy.”
“Yeah,” Ferrus adds, stifling a grin as he plays along. “Lot of people here trying to get to the summit. Move it, would you?”
He’s pretty sure the droid is glaring at him from underneath that hood and all those scarves. It makes a grinding noise that sounds very much like an aggravated sigh and trudges off toward the freight station. Ferrus and Festus board without issue and take their seats, and before long, the tram is in motion, heading up the steep slope. A few seconds into the journey, the tram shudders under him – only a little, but it’s enough to drag the droid’s words to the forefront of his thoughts. Force, he really doesn’t feel like dying today. He looks over at his brother for a reaction, but Festus doesn’t seem to have noticed.
As he settles into his seat, he notices there’s a group of girls about their age seated opposite them, talking quietly together. They make for a decent distraction from the possibility of imminent death. He glances over at Festus. “How long is this supposed to take, do you think?”
Festus draws his hood up over his head and slouches in his seat. “I don’t know. Wake me up when we get there.”
Ferrus shakes his head as his eyes sweep the tram and the forest beyond. “I know you’re not going to sleep.”
His twin shrugs and closes his eyes, settling deeper into his seat. Ferrus watches him for a few seconds before leaning back in his own seat. One of the girls across from him looks up, her gaze briefly meeting his. He quirks his mouth in a faint smile before he’s even really thought about it, and in the Force he senses a tiny flutter of excitement. She’s pretty, and so are her friends, but he still prefers the girl in the shop, Helene. He wonders when she gets off work and if there’s any chance she’ll still be around by the time they finish this job.
He lets his mind wander aimlessly for a while as he watches the trees sweeping past them, feels the increasing chill in the air, imagines the warmth and softness of Helene’s skin…
“Quit it.”
Ferrus glances over at his brother – who hasn’t moved a single muscle, other than to mutter those two words – and frowns. “Quit what?”
Festus tips his head back over the top of the molded plasteel seat, his blue eyes finally emerging from the shadow of his hood to stare up at him in disdain. “You know what,” he replies in an irritated whisper, tapping a single finger to his temple.
He can feel his neck growing uncomfortably warm underneath the collar of his sweater. “Why don’t you shut me out if it’s bothering you so much?”
Festus stares at him for several seconds, silent and motionless. Then he crosses his arms even tighter over his chest and closes his eyes again, and the connection between them slams shut. They don’t speak for the rest of the ride.
It isn’t that long of a trip. About thirty minutes after they set off, the tram comes to a stop at the next station. Its occupants stand and shuffle forward; Ferrus notices that one girl looking at him again, and he considers slowing down enough to really catch her eye, but his brother nudges him from behind, forcing him out with the rest of the crowd. He tosses a glare over his shoulder, but he doesn’t resist, and soon they find themselves heading away from the tourists, making their way to the outskirts of the village. The closer they get to the edge of town, the better their view of the villa nestled into the tree-studded mountainside.
“You think maybe we could just walk up and knock on the front door?” Ferrus asks, stifling a grin.
Festus snorts and raises a hand to shield against the glare from the sun. “One look from a pretty girl and your confidence just shoots through the roof, doesn’t it?”
“That has nothing to do with this,” Ferrus protests, ignoring the flush of heat across his face. “This isn’t some crime syndicate we’re dealing with. Whoever’s up there, you and I are more than a match for them.” He exhales forcefully, shoving his twin’s shoulder with his own. “And it was more than one look, idiot. She couldn’t keep her eyes off me.”
Festus tilts his head to one side, his mouth twisting in an obnoxiously smug expression. “My, my, what would your little sales clerk say?”
Ferrus shoves his brother again, harder this time. “Shut up.”
They pass through a public park with tall evergreen trees and winding stone paths and long strands of tiny lights strung every which way overhead. It isn’t quite sunset, so the lights aren’t on yet, but they’ll probably illuminate the whole park once they do turn on. Further on there’s a playground where a handful of kids are running around, little puffs of frozen breath trailing in their wake, their parents and caretakers watching from benches scattered around the perimeter. Ferrus isn’t really looking at any of the people as he allows his gaze to wander absently from bench to bench; it’s only as he’s about to turn his attention to something else that he notices the woman sitting alone on the very last bench.
Her head is bent over a datapad, her long silver-white hair falling well past her shoulders. She sits with her legs crossed beneath her, and her eyes are wide open, staring in total fascination at the screen. This isn’t some eerie doppelgänger; it’s her. It’s exactly the way he used to find her outside sometimes, perched on the ledge of the observation deck, reading from a datapad or one of the library’s ancient books, or accessing one of her precious holocrons. Whatever it was, it was almost always for one reason: to relive and study all of her favorite Jedi legends and fables.
The sight of her sitting there – as if no time has passed, as if she hasn’t been dead for more than a decade – drives the air from his lungs and turns his legs to lead. He comes to a dead stop in the middle of the path. He hasn’t heard from her since before the One Sith fell. Why here? Why now?
“What is it?”
He startles at the sound of his brother’s voice in his ear and looks over to see Festus standing very close, staring up at him, his expression carefully neutral despite the tension in his posture.
“Do you see her?” Ferrus whispers.
“See who?”
Ferrus nods over his shoulder at the bench. “Right there—” But from one blink to the next, she vanishes, and the bench is left empty. Great. How can he admit that he was hallucinating their dead… whatever it was that Master Tionne had been to them? “Forget it,” he mutters, trudging forward along the path, leaving the playground and the park bench behind him as quickly as he can. Festus keeps stride next to him, and he doesn’t say a word.
The sun is sinking low in the sky by the time they reach the edge of the village and begin the climb to the summit. They leave the established trails, wending their own way up the forested mountainside. It’ll be nightfall before they even get to the villa, which is kind of annoying. If it weren’t for the villa’s remote and inaccessible location, he would have landed their ship right on top of these morons and been through with this job in a matter of minutes.
“How long do you think it’ll take HK to make it up here?” Festus asks when they finally reach a clearing in the trees. Just beyond it is the kidnappers’ hideout; in the fading light, he can see smoke wafting from both of its chimneys, curling in the air above the old stone building. The sight reminds him that the temperature will likely drop rapidly once the sun sets.
“If we’re lucky,” he replies, “we’ll finish before he even gets off the tram.”
“You really want to listen to him complain that he didn’t get to kill anyone?”
“I’ll just threaten to turn him to slag if he doesn’t shut it. He’ll kriffing love that.”
Next to him, Festus tugs at his left coat sleeve, fingers tracing the contours of the knife hidden beneath layers of fabric. “I’ve got a weird feeling about this place.”
Ferrus stretches his arms in the air and then clasps them behind his head, twisting his torso from side to side as he does. “Just relax, we’ll be fine.”
“That’s what people always say right before things go to hell.” Festus scans the perimeter of the villa and frowns. Ferrus senses a flicker of hesitation across their bond, but his brother locks it away, too quickly for him to examine it closer. “There are guards posted on the main floor, but I don’t sense anyone on the second. We could go in through those windows on the right.”
It’s a pretty simple plan: sneak in, find the kid, and get him out. Probably the easiest thirty thousand credits they’ll ever earn.
“Ready?” Festus asks, his eyes fixed on the second-floor windows. Ferrus nods, and they circle the villa widdershins, keeping the building on their left as they creep closer to the edge of the forest. They cross the grounds and scale the wall without issue, and Festus uses his lightsaber to cut open the window. It opens on a dark, quiet hallway. Festus hooks his weapon to his belt and climbs through.
The instant his twin touches the floor, Ferrus senses a jolt of alarm. “The hell—?”
Ferrus drops to the floor next to him, searching the empty hallway for whatever is setting his brother off. “What—?”
And then suddenly he feels it, the gaping voids around them, as if there are pockets of space where the Force can’t reach or has simply ceased to exist; and for the first time in a long time, he experiences a gut-wrenching surge of panic, because those voids are expanding toward them.
He shies away from the strange Forceless space on instinct, staggering back a step toward the window. “What the hell is that?”
Something hits the floor in front of them and lets off a loud hiss , and before he can draw his lightsaber, a bitter smell fills his nostrils, and his vision goes blindingly white. The last thing he knows, he’s falling down, down, down…
He sits on the stone ledge, his legs dangling over the side, and he leans forward to stare down at the yawning black chasm beneath him. He can’t see the bottom at all; it just keeps going.
“You look tired today,” she says in that knowing, slightly mischievous way of hers. “Didn’t you sleep well?”
He looks away from the dark well below and turns to meet her gaze. Those milky white eyes have always seemed to see straight into him. “Dorian was awake all night,” he says with a heavy sigh. “He kept tossing and turning; it drives me crazy when he does that.”
Her brow furrows a little, but then her expression softens. “It takes longer for his mind to settle. It always has.”
The sun emerges from below the horizon, painting the sky above and the jungle below in deep, fiery oranges. He breathes in the damp morning air. “It’s my fault,” he says simply. “All of it is my fault.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
He shrugs and stands up, teetering for half a second on the edge of the well. She follows suit, but he doesn’t look at her, fixing his eyes on the sunrise instead.
“You’re so tall now,” she says. “You’d give Kam a run for his credits.”
He shrugs again. “I doubt it.”
She takes a step toward him, well within arm’s reach. “We’ve missed you, Veeran.”
He shakes his head, fighting the knot in his chest as he finally turns to face her. “I told you not to call me that.”
She reaches up and touches his face, her palm warm as it cups his cheek. He tells himself he’s going to pull away, but he can’t make himself move. He’s not sure he wants to.
“You’re still not real,” he whispers. “I know you’re not. Just a figment of my fragging imagination.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”
He almost laughs, despite himself. “I’ve learned a lot worse than that, you know.”
She smiles, pressing her hand more firmly against his cheek, and without meaning to, he leans into it. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Veeran,” she says gently. “Real or not, I’m still here. I wish you wouldn’t pretend I’m not.”
He closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth of her touch. I’ve missed you, he wants to say. But he doesn’t say it.
There’s never enough time.
Awareness returns gradually, and when he’s able, Ferrus sits up slowly, rubbing the side of his aching head; his hands are bound, and one of them comes away damp and sticky. He utters one of Lord Malleus’s favorite curses under his breath as he tastes the copper tang of blood in the air. In the dim light, he can make out stone floors littered with debris, and a single durasteel door with one narrow slot for transferring food. As he studies the cell – more like a dungeon, he thinks with a pang of old, faded dread – it takes a few seconds for him to realize there’s another person huddled against the wall, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes.
Oh. Right.
Ferrus sighs and wipes the blood on his pants. “You the Nerravian kid?”
The boy doesn’t answer; he looks like he’s trying to melt into the stones behind him.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Ferrus says, “so stop freaking out.”
The boy goes still, and his eyes narrow. “I’m not freaking out.”
Great. Another mouthy brat to deal with.
“Whatever,” Ferrus mutters, awkwardly waving his bound hands in a gesture that’s meant to be dismissive. “We’re here to take you home.”
Despite his earlier petulance, the kid can’t hide the childish hope written all over his face. “You’re here to rescue me?”
Rescue. That word hits a little strangely, but he pushes it aside because there are more important things to worry about right now.
“Something like that,” he replies. The binders scrape against his skin as he twists his wrists. Removing these would be easy if he could still touch the Force, but in his current state, he’s pretty well trapped.
Festus groans behind him, and Ferrus looks over his shoulder to see his brother pulling himself upright. His wrists are identically bound, and there’s a gash on his forehead, just visible beneath his hair. Festus raises the back of one wrist to the wound and wipes some of the blood away, glancing up at Ferrus as he does. “Did I miss something?”
Ferrus settles back against the wall and lifts both hands up in front of his face. “Not much.”
Festus shrugs and turns his head to examine the cell, pausing for half a second as his gaze passes over the boy in the corner. “Kinda seems like overkill for one kid, doesn’t it?” he says, addressing his question to Ferrus.
“Kinda seems like it doesn’t matter because we’re stuck in a damn cell and can’t use the fragging Force.”
“You’re so pessimistic.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you come up with some brilliant escape plan in the two seconds you’ve been awake? Because if you did, I can’t tell.” He smacks the side of his head for emphasis and tries not to think of how this empty, Forceless feeling isn’t all that different from the way his brother so often withdraws from their twin connection.
Festus studies him for a moment, then slowly lifts one eyebrow. “You done?”
Ferrus huffs out a breath and glares at him. “Yes, I’m done. Can’t I have a minute to kriffing complain?” It’s not just his twin’s casual disregard that’s setting him on edge; the cold damp, the dim light, the old stone… he has been in a place like this before. They both have.
Festus climbs to his feet and holds his binders up over his head, studying them in the cell’s single flickering shaft of light. “Huh.”
“What?” From the corner of one eye, Ferrus notices the kid watching them.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how easy it would be to get these off if we could use the Force.”
“Starships and basic mechanical repairs elude you, but binders you can figure out?”
His brother shrugs again, but it’s just a little bit slower, a little bit stiffer. “I’m well-versed in restraints,” he says simply, and Ferrus wishes he’d just kept his stupid mouth shut. Of course, he should have known.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “is there a way for us to get them off without the Force?”
Festus looks over at him and grins. “Probably not without electrocuting ourselves half to death.”
Ferrus rolls his eyes. “Perfect.”
“We could just wait for them to come interrogate us and escape then.”
“What makes you think they won’t just leave us in here for three weeks like they did with the kid, or longer?”
“Because we’re still alive. They could have killed us the instant they knocked us out, but they didn’t. And if they were smart enough to block or nullify our connection to the Force, then they’re smart enough to know this cell won’t hold the two of us for very long.”
“I feel like you’re making a lot of assumptions, brother.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“I know; that’s what makes you so fragging annoying.”
They sit in silence for a while, until the boy eventually falls asleep in his corner. Ferrus notices his brother watching the child.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, before he can think better of it.
Festus doesn’t answer at first. His gaze is unfocused and distant. “I was thinking of the last time we were in a cell like this together.”
“Yeah. That was a long time ago.”
Festus looks up at him. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
Ferrus frowns and does a quick mental calculation. “Ten years.”
“What are you talking about?”
Seriously? “You know. The cell… when we were kids.”
“That’s not the last time we were in a cell.”
And then it dawns on him, what his brother is talking about. “You mean Vjun? That was completely different.”
Festus stares back at him, unblinking, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenches it tight. “We were still there.”
He’s not sure why, but he hates that his brother is bringing this up now. “Is that what this whole rescue thing is about, then? You trying to atone for that or something?”
Festus huffs softly under his breath, a quiet, bitter laugh. “No,” he says, fixing his eyes on the door. “Even if we atoned for it, somehow… what the hell would it really matter?”
Ferrus waits for him to say more, only to be met with silence. A moment later, he hears footsteps outside the cell, and then the small window on the door slides open.
“We’re going to let you out now,” a voice says. “I understand you may be tempted to ambush my people as soon as the door opens. Please know that any such attack will result in the electrocution and possible death of Senator Nerravian’s son. If you had your Jedi powers, you would know that I’m telling the truth, but I suppose for now you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Ferrus exchanges a glance with his brother. “Yeah, that’s not exactly how the Force works.”
The voice on the other side of the door chuckles. “Bring them upstairs. The boy, too.”
Five guards enter the cell, two for each of them and one for the boy. Ferrus doesn’t resist as he’s dragged to his feet and led out. After taking a set of winding stairs, they emerge in a large central hall. Fires roar in the grand, ornate fireplaces on either end of the room, lending a smoky quality to the air; and at each corner – as well as at various places up on the second-floor balcony that overlooks the main hall – there are tall, gnarled, potted trees that clash with the otherwise rustic interior. Ferrus realizes after another moment of study that each of the trees has at least one strange furry lizard clinging to its branches.
The lackeys lead them to the far end of the room, where a few plush armchairs have been arranged close to the fire. There’s a man sitting in one of them; he’s human and looks middle-aged, maybe a little younger. It’s hard to tell with the flames casting harsh shadows across his face. The guards throw Ferrus and Festus down on their knees in front of them, the fire at their backs. They set the boy down in one of the other chairs and hold him there, a blaster trained on him. The man in the armchair – the ringleader of this whole kidnapping operation, presumably – leans forward.
“I understand if this doesn’t mean much after I drugged and imprisoned you,” he says in a friendly, conversational tone, “but I have to tell you what a fan I am of the Jedi. I used to follow your exploits on the news, back before…”
The man waggles his fingers in the air, as if that somehow conveys his meaning better than whatever the hell he’s rambling about.
“Anyway,” he continues, an amused smile perched on his lips. “I obviously can’t let you take the Nerravian kid, but I wanted to make sure you know it’s not personal and that I admire the Jedi quite a lot.”
One of the other kidnappers, a tall Nautolan man, leans over his boss’s shoulder to show him a datapad and whisper something in his ear. The man in the chair looks up in mild surprise.
“You’re kidding? Huh. Thanks, Ravi.” Their captor looks at them with an appraising eye, as if seeing them anew. “So I’m actually pretty good at reading people, believe it or not. Something I picked up over the years, pulling cons and such. It’s sort of a point of pride for me, to see how much I can figure out about a person I’ve only just met. But I honestly didn’t peg you for Sith Lords.”
Festus snorts at that. “You mean the all-black outfit wasn’t a dead giveaway?”
“Funny.” The kidnapper smiles and points back and forth between them. “You’re twins, right? You do look alike. I’ve heard that Jedi who are related to one another are able to communicate telepathically. Is that true? Do you read each other’s thoughts? What about emotions? Can you feel each other’s pain?”
Ferrus tries to think of something scathing or witty to say in response, but all he can think of is the last time someone asked him a question like that, and he can’t speak. He glances over at Festus, whose face is an unreadable mask.
The man smiles again, this time at Ferrus. “I’ve been watching you two since you woke up, and I’ve noticed that every time you’re not sure what to say or do, you look to your brother, like a reflex. I don’t think you even realize you’re doing it. I take it he’s the older one?”
“I am,” his brother answers before he can get a word out. “Pretty sure I am, anyway.”
The kidnapper leans forward in his chair, his gaze fixed on Festus, like a toddler examining a shiny new bauble. “Using sarcasm to mask your fears? Don’t you think that’s a little obvious? I thought Jedi were beyond relying on such things.”
Ferrus glances at his brother just long enough to see the cool amusement on his face.
“Forgive me,” the man continues. “Perhaps it is different with the Sith? But are you truly Sith anymore, if you’ve taken to rescuing people instead of murdering them?”
“Take these binders off,” Festus says quietly, with a hint of a smirk, “and find out.”
“No, I don’t think so. I’m actually enjoying the chance to talk with the two of you. See, a lot of the people I deal with are at such a low level, you know? We don’t get off this planet much, let alone out of our sector. But you two—” He drapes his forearms across his knees as he bends his head close to theirs. “—You served the master of this whole galaxy. I just think that’s fascinating. And you’re not at all what I would have expected.”
Ferrus breathes in deep, his wrists straining against the binders. “What did you expect?” he says with as contemptuous a laugh as he can muster.
“Probably more tattoos,” Festus says conspiratorially, leaning sideways toward Ferrus. “Or a big scar across your face. Maybe a claw in your ear?”
“A claw?” Ferrus looks over at his twin and frowns. “The hell are you talking about?”
“That’s a thing, isn’t it?”
“You need to get out more, brother.”
“Hey, you’re not supposed to tell him that; he has to figure it out for himself.” Festus looks up at their captor and arches one eyebrow. “I’m ready for my psychoanalysis, doctor.”
The man laughs. “I figured you Force types were all either stuffy mystics or raving lunatics, but you guys have a sense of humor. I like that, I really do. Okay then, psychoanalysis it is. Let me know if I get it right, would you?”
Festus lowers his chin and stares up at the man. “No promises.”
Their captor huffs quietly under his breath. “You’re a little harder to read, though you’re not nearly as inscrutable as you think you are. A recluse, I take it? That tracks, honestly. You don’t exactly seem like the personable type.”
“And here I thought I was delightful company.”
The kidnapper continues, unfazed. “You keep a close eye on your surroundings, often without appearing to. The sarcasm hides how much you’re paying attention, but it’s also a defense mechanism, a way to hold everyone else at a distance. I imagine it makes people easier to study, when you don’t have to worry about getting hurt by them. Are you only capable of seeing people as pawns to be manipulated, like pieces in a game? Or is that where your trauma lies… with someone who did get close? Maybe way too close?”
Festus draws a deep breath. “Is that your educated guess?”
“No. We checked you over for weapons while you were stunned. We knew you were Jedi – oh, I’m sorry, Sith – from your lightsabers, but then—” The kidnapper reaches into his pocket and pulls out Festus’s knife, twiddling it between his fingers. “—we pulled up your sleeve and found this, along with a whole lot of unpleasantness, if I’m being honest.”
Ferrus experiences a surge of rage, the heat building in his chest as he imagines taking this man’s throat in his hands and squeezing until his bones shatter. He glances over at his brother; the dangerous gleam in Festus’s eyes has taken on a far darker quality, but other than that, nothing about his expression changes.
“I guess I should have known you were Sith, after seeing all of that. I imagine that experience must have left you with a whole mess of trauma, huh? Hence the sarcasm. But it’s like my mentor used to tell me: even the deepest fears and troubles can become a source of strength when channeled properly. I actually admire the way you’ve overcome all that adversity.”
“Joke’s on you,” Ferrus interjects darkly. “He’s always been a snarky bastard.”
Festus nods. “He’s right, I have.”
The kidnapper laughs and looks like he’s about to say something more when several lights around the room begin to flash red, and a low droning alarm echoes throughout the villa. Their captor sits fully upright in his chair and looks to his subordinates. “Someone tripped the perimeter alarm. Take three guys and check it out.”
Ferrus looks over at his twin and draws a long, satisfied breath, and he grins. “You wanna do the honors?”
Festus smirks – not at him, but at their captor – then raises his voice to be heard above the alarm. “Hey, HK! You ready to engage in some unadulterated violence?”
The droid’s voice booms suddenly outside, its audio output increased to several times its normal volume.
“Answer: Oh, Master! I thought you’d never ask!”
A window behind them shatters, and Ferrus launches himself toward the kidnapper. The man is quick; he stands and maneuvers the armchair between them, buying enough time for two of his minions to intervene. Ferrus shoves the chair out of the way and tackles the Nautolan, using his binders to strangle him. Next to him, a human guard attempts to grab his twin, but Festus manages to slip past him, striking him in the throat before knocking him to the floor.
Bright green lancets of energy continue to slice through the air as the kidnappers scramble. Ferrus hears a high-pitched animal wail and notices that several of the lizard creatures lie dead or dying beneath their trees – and he realizes he can feel their pain echoing faintly in the back of his skull.
“I guess the Force is back on,” his brother shouts from across the room.
Ferrus probes the space around him; his connection is still weak, like something has been suppressing it; but with each shot the droid fires, that connection grows stronger and clearer. He raises a hand, searching the room for the familiar pulse of his lightsaber…
There. The ringleader must still have it; he’s dragging the boy along with him as he tries to escape the chaos. Ferrus throws out a hand, sending out a wave of energy that deflects several streams of blasterfire and knocks back three of the guards; and then he ensnares the boss in an invisible, vise-like grip and yanks back as hard as he can. The man lets out a startled cry as he flies backward into Ferrus’s hands.
“Put him down,” Ferrus growls.
The boy drops to the floor and crawls away, hiding beneath one of the few chairs that hasn’t been demolished. Across the room, another window blows in, and the droid appears within it, silhouetted by a shaft of moonlight.
“Query: Now that you are operating at full capacity, Masters, am I correct in assuming you will want to finish off the final seven targets yourselves?”
“Nah,” Festus answers as he finishes snapping a guard’s neck. “You can get the rest, HK. Consider it your reward for a job well done.”
“Statement: My work is its own reward – but of course, I would never refuse a gift from my masters.”
Ferrus glances over his shoulder at the droid. “Leave this one to us, though.” He returns his attention to their captor, and smiles. “This is our reward.”
The kidnapper looks up at Ferrus with wide, terrified eyes. “It wasn’t personal,” he whispers.
Ferrus takes the man by the collar and pulls him close. “Neither is this. HK?”
“Statement: Yes, Master?”
“Kneecaps.”
One single, perfectly aligned shot is all the droid needs. The kidnapper screams, legs buckling beneath him. Ferrus lowers him to the ground, laying him out across the floor. His brother appears at his side and kneels down next to the man.
“Shh,” Festus says, holding his knife to his lips as he leans over their pathetic, whimpering captor. “Come on now, remember what your mentor used to say. Even the deepest fears and troubles can become a source of strength when channeled properly, right?”
The man makes one last ditch effort to escape, bucking against his grip; Ferrus straddles the kidnapper and presses down on his shoulder with one hand, forcing him back to the ground. He bends his head forward, leaning his face close to their victim.
“You know,” he says, glancing over at the knife in his twin’s hand. “I would warn you not to go around kidnapping little kids anymore, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think it’s going to be an issue for you after tonight.”
Festus tilts the man’s chin back, exposing his throat and resting the blade against it. The kidnapper goes very still, and Festus stares down into his eyes.
“I know I said no promises, but you might as well know you were dead on. Every single word. I mean really, wow. What a talent.”
Ferrus shakes his head. “I’m telling you, he’s always been like this.”
The room goes silent; the rest of the kidnappers are dead, and the droid stands behind them, watching. Festus’s last words to the man are spoken softly.
“Yes, I have.”
They leave the villa through the front door, stepping out into the tranquil, frigid night air. Ferrus holds the little boy in his arms; the kid passed out after the dust settled, possibly from shock, possibly from a combination of fatigue and hunger. He doesn’t weigh much, though, and he’s more than worth the effort, for thirty thousand credits.
“How did you know to take out those lizards first?” Festus asks as they walk toward the forest.
The droid swivels its head and chassis toward them. “Answer: My Maker had an encounter with ysalamiri several millennia ago. Quite troublesome creatures, especially for Force-users who lack my Maker’s resourcefulness and ingenuity.” The droid cocks its head to stare off at nothing. “Query: Have I ever told you about my first master, the Lord Darth Revan?”
“Yes,” Ferrus says with a scowl. “Like a thousand times.” He extends one arm in a broad sweeping motion back toward the villa, hoping to remind the senile piece of scrap of the destruction left in their wake. “I’d say we did pretty good without the Force.”
“Statement: If you say so, Master.”
His brother stops at the treeline, turning to look out at the open air beyond the villa. Ferrus and the droid stop as well, and they stand there in silence. The planet’s single moon is only a sliver in the sky, but it casts enough light to make out the ghostly outlines of snow-covered mountains in the distance, and for one instant, it feels like they’re the only people on this whole world.
“She wasn’t kidding about the view,” Ferrus murmurs. That memory is a warm contrast to their frozen surroundings, and now that their job is almost done, he allows himself to imagine how good twenty-three to thirty-eight percent would feel. The tram runs until midnight; if he’s quick, maybe he can still find out.
The whir of servos drags him from his brief reverie. “Recollection: I too find the view to be most pleasant, Master. In particular, the waning moon reminds me of the time I eliminated an entire cadre of my former master’s political opponents using only a sickle. What a night that was.”
Festus breathes in deep, despite the chill. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”
Fin