บท 59: Jesuit tricks (II)
As soon as the entrance hatch was securely sealed, Eymand greeted him with a nod and downed a glass of amber liquid in one swift motion. Corellian whiskey—the finest drink in the galaxy.
"How are things?" the Zabrak asked languidly.
"We've secured the privateering license," Tyberos grinned, as if there could have been any doubt. "We're heading out on a free hunt, old friend."
"Not that old," the Zabrak responded amiably. Raising the comlink to his mouth, he commanded, "Take the ship into orbit, you striped devils. It's time to hunt."
"You knew my mother back when she was a Padawan in the Jedi Order," the corsair reminded him. "That was almost thirty years ago."
"Don't remind me," the former Jedi winced. "Let's talk about what you discussed with the Imperials instead."
As they made their way to the control room of the ascending freighter, Tyberos recounted his conversation with the Imperial commander to his old friend and the senior aide of his gang.
"A Grand Admiral, huh?" The Zabrak picked at his fingernail thoughtfully. "That has the scent of napalm all over it..."
"I was almost speechless myself," Tyberos admitted. "A blue-skinned man, and a Grand Admiral at that... Where did the Empire dig up another 'grand'?"
"After Endor, they're popping up like weeds," the Zabrak scoffed. "Every other Imperial dons those white uniforms and proclaims how magnificent they are. The entire galaxy knows there were only twelve true Grand Admirals in the Empire. The rest are just pretenders in costumes. You can claim anything—who's going to figure out the mess?"
"By that logic, you could step out of the shadows, declare yourself a surviving Jedi Master, and go head-to-head with that sucker Skywalker," Tyberos chuckled.
"I'd quickly sober up and kill that wretched spawn of Darth Vader," a shadow darkened the Zabrak's face.
"Forgive me, my friend," Tyberos looked into the glassy, anger-filled eyes of his mentor. "I forget how difficult it is for you to talk about all this..."
"Difficult?" The Zabrak's smile was bitter. "Tyberos, I saw with my own eyes how the one the entire Jedi Order believed to be the Chosen One, Anakin Skywalker, slaughtered the temple. Younglings, Padawans, the wounded—he spared no one. I still can't forgive myself for running instead of fighting on that day, when Order Sixty-Six was executed..."
"Darth Vader would have killed you just as he did dozens of other Jedi before you," Tyberos said calmly. "And then I wouldn't have a friend like you."
"Yeah," Eymand chuckled darkly. "A Jedi who didn't really want to be one because the only Jedi left in the galaxy is the son of the man who killed almost every Jedi I knew."
** Jedi Knight Eymand **
"A bit too many 'Jedi' in one sentence, don't you think?" Tyberos teased. He enjoyed poking fun at his old family friend, who, unlike most "Jedi offspring," as his mother had called them, hadn't tried to stage a coup or get involved in political unrest after the Republic and the Order fell. Instead, he'd settled quietly in the Outer Rim, making ends meet as a mercenary. It was in that line of work that their family met the former Jedi researcher. Though Tyberos's mother didn't entirely trust him, there was no open hostility between them. They each minded their own business without trying to interfere in the other's affairs. After his parents' death, it was Eymand who found Tyberos and told him everything about his heritage. The decision to bleed the rebels dry was a result of their mutual understanding.
"If you applied the same diligence to your training as you do to your sarcasm, you'd have become a full-fledged Jedi Knight by now," Eymand snorted. "Instead of lounging around like an overgrown youngling!"
"I don't need that," Tyberos replied calmly. "You said it yourself—I'm not that strong in your Force. So I'd rather be content with what we have now: you plan the missions, I carry them out."
"Hmm," the Zabrak scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what this Grand Admiral Thrawn meant when he said he could help with your training?"
"I couldn't care less," Tyberos dismissed the thought with a wave. "He probably intended to hand over some trinkets as 'sacred relics of the Jedi Order' to buy loyalty."
"Do you think they're planning to revive the Inquisitorius?" Eymand asked, nervously stroking the scar on his neck—a 'gift' from an encounter with a Force-sensitive agent serving the Galactic Empire.
"I don't know," Tyberos admitted. "And I don't care. I refuse to be anyone's puppet. If I ever find the patience to learn your Jedi Masterclass lessons, it will be on my own terms, not under the Empire's thumb."
"Given that we're fighting against the New Republic—the same people who issued and executed the order that led to your parents' deaths, and who keep Anakin Skywalker's only son, that Skywalker, on a short leash—I don't think it's wise to dismiss the Empire's offer," Eymand said. "I remember how much devastation Skywalker Sr. wrought and what a butcher he was on the battlefield. I seriously doubt his son hasn't followed in his footsteps. The New Republic can spout all they want about how merciful and moral their sole Jedi Knight is. But who destroyed millions of lives with just a couple of torpedoes at the Battle of Yavin IV? Who doesn't have nightmares about the dead? No, the baby Nexu doesn't stray far from its mother—the young Skywalker is just like his father. He just hasn't snapped and fallen to the Dark Side yet. But when he does, the galaxy will bleed again. Mark my words."
"Listen," Tyberos met the eyes of his friend and mentor. "What if Luke Skywalker isn't the son of Anakin Skywalker? Or is that what the Force is telling you?"
"My brain tells me so," Eymand sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Same surname, both are Force-sensitive—that's a direct lineage. Given that Darth Vader's mother is long dead and he had no other relatives, there aren't many alternatives."
"Does it matter?" Tyberos scoffed. "Let's gather our strength, earn some credits from the Imperials, pay Boba Fett, and have him take out that Skywalker brat. By then, Thrawn will have kicked the New Republic in the teeth, and we'll get our revenge on the rebels and their pet Jedi—for my parents' deaths and the destruction of the Jedi Order."
"Well, since the Empire hired us, there shouldn't be any issues with money," Eymand noted. "But the Force tells me that things aren't as simple in our galactic swamp... Something's brewing. Something's off. I sensed it when we arrived in the Tangren system."
"Can you pinpoint it?" Tyberos asked.
"No," the Zabrak admitted. "It's some kind of distortion... It flickered in the Force for a moment, then vanished, and kept repeating."
"Maybe it has something to do with the Grand Admiral's ability to block the Force during our meeting?" Tyberos wondered.
"Who knows," Eymand said. "I'm a researcher—I like digging through artifacts and holocrons, but that's not all there is... Alright, I'm heading to my cabin to meditate. Maybe the Force will reveal something useful about our future."
"May your Force bring us more prize money and a good fight," Tyberos called after the retreating Zabrak.
"And more Corellian whiskey!" Eymand shouted back. "We're running low on booze!"
"Are you joking?" Tyberos yelled. "We just bought an entire crate last week!"
"I've been meditating a lot!" came the Zabrak's distant reply from around the corridor's bend.
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