Star Wars - Ripples of the Void Chapter 8: Agent of the Force (Patreon)

Chapter 8: Agent in the Force

“Of course it was the Hutts,” I sighed, resisting the urge to rub my forehead.

I’d expected there to be some big names bankrolling the recent surge of piracy, but for the Hutts, and one of whom the CIS already had a bad relationship with, to be responsible? This was a headache worthy problem.

The holographic visage of Rear Admiral Lap’Lap bobbed up and down sympathetically. “Yes, we were able to confirm that the majority of the pirates attacking the Rimma Trade Route were sponsored by Jabba. Worse, the entire asteroid base was a Hutt asset.”

The Quarran then tilted her head. “What shall we do?”

“Militarily speaking? Nothing. Not against the Hutts,” I grumbled. “Keep eliminating pirates wherever you can and ensure our Hyperspace lanes are safe.”

I leaned back in my chair and pressed a button, bringing up the schematics of the base with the uninspired name of ‘The Asteroid.’ A former mining station built into a hollowed-out asteroid was quite interesting, and since it’d been captured intact, all it needed was some repairs and upgrades to become less of a deathtrap.

“Regarding the pirate station, I want you to assign a few ships to keep watch over it. There are a number of uses I can think of for a secret black site out in the boonies. Especially one with ship building and repair facilities,” I informed Lap’Lap.

“And the Hutts?” she asked.

“A diplomat will be dispatched to Tattooine to see if Jabba can be convinced to let go of his grudge,” I informed her. Seeing her mouth-tendrils writhe in agitation, I shrugged.

“I hate it, too. Letting a Hutt dictate internal policy disgusts me, but they are annoyingly closeknit with a lot of ways to hurt people who go after them. And with war against the Empire on the horizon, we do not have the resources to spare to a war against Hutt Space.”

‘Not yet, at least,’ I didn’t say, but Lap’Lap heard it all the same, and nodded.

“Understood, sir,” she said, saluting me before disconnecting.

We didn’t exactly have a lot of time to spend, since she had her work, and I had my own. Plus, trans-galactic communications were expensive, and even I could only afford a few minutes a week without going over-budget.

With knowledge that it was Jabba bothering my trading routes now in my possession, I began to come up with a plan. I needed to send in an emissary who wouldn’t rouse the fat slug’s ire. Perhaps one of the species from Hutt Space that were under Hutt control?

I think there were a few Toydarians in the Diplomatic Corp. due to their immunity to Force based abilities, a necessity for dealing with mind-bending Jedi (and Sith) politicians, and if I instructed them to bring a few ‘apology gifts’ with them, then it should be possible to get Jabba off my back.

‘Still, this incident gives me an excuse to pick up one of the Skywalkers,’ I thought to myself.

If Leia was going to be raised in the Empire, then Luke had to be raised in the Confederacy. Ignoring the fact that the Force would try to do its best to impose its own version of ‘balance' on the galaxy, I wasn’t about to let such a valuable asset slip from my grasp or languish on a sandy hell like Tatooine.

‘Plus, it gives me a chance to gauge Kenobi’s circumstances and willingness to work with me,’ I mused.

While less of a priority, he was still a Jedi on the run, and one who was both talented with a blade but also the non-combat applications of the Force. His title ‘The Negotiator’ was fitting, after all.

Either he accepts the offer of amnesty and becomes one of the teachers for my new Force user school, or I’ll have him arrested and executed as a war criminal. Hopefully, he’d accept the deal, if only to keep an eye on me and Luke.

‘And on that topic,’ I hummed, typing in a long password into the terminal.

 Once my credentials were logged, the holo-screen shifted to show a number of ‘Persons of Interest,’ all of whom were Jedi who’d escaped the Fall of the Order. There were many who'd escaped the butchery across the galaxy.

Cal Kestis, Ezra Bridger, and many more from a host of different media sources back on Earth I’d kept track of since the start of the war, and for the most part, the CIS had successfully kept an eye on them afterwards.

Offering amnesty to most of the people on this list was going to be easy. Many were Padawans and Younglings at the time of the Clone Wars, and thus innocent of the war crimes the Knights and Masters were guilty of. It would be trickier for those who'd fought against the CIS, partly because they were too deeply entrenched in the mindset of the Jedi Order. Still an offer would be made all the same.

But would any of them accept? Maybe. The CIS was their enemy, but the Empire had literally betrayed them. If it was a choice between death and survival, I hoped they’d choose the Confederacy.

‘Better have the watchers make their move on Cal first,’ I decided, and sent an order to the spies watching the lone Padawan.

Like in canon, Cal Kestis had hunkered down on the scrapper world of Bracca after his master was killed, which was a CIS controlled planet. In the timeline where the Confederacy fell, the world had been assigned the duty of disassembling the CIS warships and droids that got shut down.

Now, though? Still a junk-world, but one that was slowly transitioning to be a starship refitting yard as well. I needed new warships, and taking old ones from the mothball fleets and upgrading them was going better weapons, armor, and nav-systems would let me field plenty of starships that could contend with the Empire’s fleets.

I moved my attention to Cere Junda and her apprentice, Sunduri. Cere was a Jedi Master and would be harder to bring in due to her own war crimes against the Confederacy. But, if I made the offer to protect her apprentice (who, in canon, would be tortured and brainwashed into joining the Inquisition) then Cere might come in without a fight. If it meant protecting Sundari, somebody Cere saw as a daughter, then she would likely do anything. Even join the CIS.

However, after thinking it over, I decided not to extend a hand to them quite yet. If Cere joined the Hidden Path, an underground railroad-esque organization for hiding and aiding Force users hide from the Empire, then I could use that connection to seed my own operatives into the organization and spy on them from the inside.

Last but not least, I brought up the file on Ashoka Tano. ‘What to do with you?’ I wondered, squinting at the Togruta’s image.

Betrayed by the Jedi and Republic well before Palpatine enacted Order 66, she was a rogue Force user who could be my greatest ally, or my worst enemy.

‘Maybe I should have gone easier on her in the past,’ I mused to myself.

Twice, I’d fought against her and her Master, Anakin. Twice, I’d lost to them, forced to retreat. But not without brutalizing the clone troopers under their command and ensuring that in at least one instance their victory was Pyrrhic. Oh, and I may have taunted her a bit whenever we’d run into each other. Or a lot, actually.

I was pretty sure she hated my guts, and being the man to finally kill Anakin likely wouldn’t help endear her to me, either. Even if he’d been a monster in the end, Anakin had been her teacher and best friend.

‘She won’t work with the Empire either, though,’ I thought, drumming my fingers on the table.

Ashoka hated Tarkin as much as she did me. Possibly even more, given he was the man who presided over her farce of a trial. That hate would ensure she’d never work for the former Adjutant General.

I made a note in her file to maintain distance from her, and upped her threat rating as well. Other than that? Well, we’d seen what happened in the future.

111 &&& 111

“Is this… wise?”

“No,” I admitted. “But it is necessary.”

Despite sending several emissaries to Jabba the Hutt, the pirates had not ceased. They had not grown in number, as my fleets were doing a good job purging them and scaring plenty off, but they’d continued to be a nuisance and hadn’t exactly reduced in number, either.

Based on intel we had, the incoming pirates were coming from outside the CIS borders, the funds from Jabba tempting those who had no idea how effective the anti-piracy operations were going into crossing over from their usual hunting grounds.

Now, I was left with only one option that wasn’t an assassination strike or military operation against Tatooine and the bloated slug: face-to-face diplomacy.

It was, frankly speaking, not something I was fond of, nor were the Congresspeople and diplomats of the CIS aware of this. But it had to be done, because Jabba refused anything else.

Visiting a Hutt to try and beg him to stop sending pirates into my territory was a bad look. Made me – and the CIS – appear weak. Which was why it was being done in secret. Only a handful of people knew, and my guards were ready to unleash hell if anything happened to me.

I wasn’t an idiot, though, so instead of going to Jabba in person, I was planning to visit using one of my body doubles. Unlike the one I’d used to fool the Sith on Mustafar, this one was a clone of myself, kept brain-dead and installed with a special device that let me control it remotely. An evolution of the drone-tech that Dr. Neelia had invented.

With that implant, I was basically in two bodies at once, and had no worries about risking my life to the Hutt. The range was limited, though. I’d have to be close to my clone, so I was disguised as one of my own guards. The face-obscuring helmets worked wonders for that.

And so far, the remote-controlled clone was working perfectly! Only my personal security detail knew that I was pretending to be a guard, and even they thought that the body double was just a very good lookalike.

The Toydarian ambassador sighed and shook his head, knowing he couldn’t change my mind, and instead waited for my private Sheathipede shuttle to touch down in a private dock within Mos Eisley.

When we landed, there was a couple of Jabba’s goons waiting for us. We had our own aircar, but they were there to ‘escort’ us to the Hutt’s palace.

“Let’s go,” I declared, and both the clone and the real me walked out of the shuttle and then getting into the vehicle.

“Ugh, this heat is unbearable,” I groaned as I let the aircar’s A/C wash over me. It’d only be a few seconds, but it sucked!

“At least it’s a dry heat, Head of State,” one of my guards commented, and I scoffed.

“Mm. There is that,” I replied, before pulling out a data-pad and sending a message to a secondary team waiting aboard the Sheathipede.  

Taking the chance to kill two droids with one lightsaber, I was sending people out to check on the Skywalker moisture farm and ‘Old Ben Kenobi.’ Seriously, couldn’t he have chosen a better disguise?

Anyways, by the time my meeting with Jabba was over, I’d know what I needed in order to convince the Skywalkers to immigrate, and the old Jedi to join my side.

That would have to wait, though, as the cyclopean walls of the old fortress turned palace rose up above the dunes an hour outside of Mos Eisley.

We were let inside after only a token bit of scrutiny, and led into Jabba’s throne room. Beautiful women of all species were scattered about, and criminals of all colors and professions lounged around, listening to a live band in the corner. It was less a place to meet guests and more of a den of vice, but this was how Jabba liked to show off.

“Oh mighty Jabba, the emissaries of the Confederacy of Independent Systems have come to you once more,” Bib Fortuna, the unusually hideous Twilek, announced in his role of Jabba’s Majordomo.

{Well, well, well, look who is here,} Jabba chortled. {Head of State Jarik Dooku!}

{A pleasure to meet you, Jabba Desilijic Tiure,} I replied smoothly in Huttese.

I wasn’t worried about the thugs in the room recognizing me. Who’d believe them? Besides, I had a facial scrambler set up that would destroy any attempt to record my body-double. It was a nice bit of tech. Basically a QR code that, if scanned by non-organic eyes, would download a virus that’d distort my appearance.

{Tell me, what does the leader of the CIS want with me?} Jabba asked as he messily scarfed down a frog-like snack.

{Well, considering you’ve rudely refused to meet with any of my emissaries regarding the removal of your pirates that are plaguing my trade lanes, I figured I’d come here to speak to you in person,} I replied.

{You speak of ‘rudeness’ but it was your uncle who conspired against me in the past,} Jabba growled, eyes narrowing.

{He did. A foolish decision, frankly, but it was not a CIS plot, but rather a Sith one, executed alongside one of your own uncles, Ziro,} I pointed out. I then shrugged. {It seems we both have terrible uncles, don’t we?}

Jabba snorted at that, but he didn’t say or do anything else. Which was actually a good thing, as it meant he was letting me keep speaking.

{Before we continue, allow me to present a few gifts,} I said, waving a hand, and one of the guards brought a large chest forward.

{These are for your son, Rotta. Consider them an apology from House Dooku for my uncle’s actions,} I informed Jabba as some of Jabba’s guards took the chest and began to inspect the contents.

Inside, there was nothing but toys made for a Hutt in mind. Simple and durable, and perfect for a Huttling still learning to control their strength.

For a moment, something flashed through his large eyes, and Jabba peered closely at the offering, ordering for one of the toys to be brought to him. One of the toys, a miniature pod racer, was handed over, and the Hutt inspected it closely.

After a moment, his gazed shifted back to my body-double. {All the trinkets in the galaxy will not erase the pain you brought onto my punky muffin!}

{My uncle’s deeds were his own,} I retorted. {And he has already paid for his deeds with his death at the hands of the man who rescued your son.}

My body-double tilted his head back, making it seem like he was looking down on the Hutt. {Do you think it wise to continue to throw away your money trying to do little more than annoy me? My fleets have shredded your pirates, and it is time for peace.}

{Peace is a tall thing to demand from me,} Jabba sneered.

{Then, if you continue to fund pirate attacks on my people, I will have no choice but to eliminate the source of the threat,} I warned Jabba. {Do you want to leave Rotta an orphan? To have him fend for himself? For all you talk of family, there are plenty of Hutts like your uncle Ziro who’d happily ensure he never becomes an obstacle to them, or manages to inherit your fortune.}

{Is that a threat?} Jabba growled, leaning towards me, almost slipping off his throne in his rage.

{It is a promise,} I retorted.

I’d do it, too. It had been almost a year since the events on Mustafar, and movements in the Empire showed a large amount of military buildup. Tarkin was going to restart the war again, and soon.

I could not have a bunch of carrion feeders gnawing at my trade routes while also fighting the Empire, so if I had to, I would kill Jabba without hesitation to cut off the pirate’s supply of credits. Without his resources, the pirates would dwindle and fracture.

Jabba snarled and threw the toy pod racer into the chest with the other gifts for Rotta, then glared at me while both of our guard details tensed up. I merely dared him to act, promising plenty of pain if he tried.

My body-double was equipped with several Deadman switches, one of which was connected to a series of thermal detonators hidden inside his body that, from the distance he currently stood from the Hutt, would be more than enough to vaporize the slug.

Finally, after several intense seconds, Jabba grunted and leaned back in his seat. {So be it. No more pirates will be paid to visit your territory.}

He didn’t say he’d recall them, but he would stop funding them, and frankly, that was more than enough.

{I appreciate that,} I replied, giving a curt nod. {Hopefully, this will be the last time we ever have to interact with each other.}

{One can only hope,} the slimy Hutt gurgled, before waving dismissively.

We were escorted back outside to our aircar, and proceeded to drive back to Mos Eisley.

“Well, that went better than I expected,” the Toydarian replied, dabbing a bit of nervous sweat off of his face. “Didn’t make any new friends, though.”

“Jabba was never going to be a friend,” I claimed. “At least for now, he is a neutral entity.”

My job here on Tatooine was done, and I’d confirmed that the remote-controlled body-double worked like a breeze. It was now time to focus on acquiring one of the most powerful Force users in the galaxy.

‘Shouldn’t be too hard to convince the Skywalkers to move,’ I thought. ‘Who honestly wants to live on a hellhole like this one?’

111 &&& 111

Obi-Won Kenobi POV

Something wasn’t right. The Force had been quiet for months, still settling after the Light and Dark sides had been torn asunder, but suddenly, he had gotten a feeling that he needed to be at the Lars homestead.

While ‘Old Ben’ had been worried at first, the Force wasn’t urging him to go there with the same urgency it should have if Luke or the rest were in danger. No, it was more akin to an opportunity awaiting him. One that the Force itself seemed to think was important enough to shout in his head about.

Hopping into the old, battered sand-speeder he’d ‘acquired’ from a ‘reputable dealer’ in Mos Eisley, Kenobi drove towards the moisture farm on the edge of the Sandsea.

As he neared it, the Jedi noticed that there was a disturbing lack of presences there. There should have been at least one person within the sunbaked clay dwelling that formed the homestead, but not a single whisper of life was within. Not even a womprat.

‘If vermin have yet to infest the homestead, they must have been gone for only a short time,’ Kenobi mused. ‘A day or two at most.’

Since the Force still wasn’t concerned by the Lars’ absence, Kenobi wasn’t too worried, either, but he couldn’t keep his thoughts from muddying his air of calm as he parked in front of the old moisture farm’s entrance.

Other oddities now stuck out to him. The moisture harvesting equipment was still there, dusty but in working condition, yet the personal belongings had vanished. It was as if the contents of the farm were left behind, allowing it to be used again by new owners. Only some furniture, too big and bulky to move easily, had been left behind.

‘This isn’t a pirate raid,’ he noted, eyes narrowed as he looked through the buildings. ‘Too clean. Too purposeful. Everything was packed up neatly. They left of their own volition.’

Why, though? And why not warn him about it? As he wondered and wandered, Kenobi felt the Force tickle his mind, and urge him to enter the garage. Doing so, he found the place mostly empty, save for a holo-console lying on the floor.

As if it had sensed his approach, a holographic projection activated, revealing a face Kenobi had never thought to see again.

“Admiral Jarik?” the Jedi Master uttered in disbelief.

“It’s ‘Head of State’ now, General Kenobi,” the nephew of Count Dooku himself greeted, giving the bewildered older man a polite bob of his head.

“What is this?” Kenobi demanded, hand instinctively reaching for his lightsaber. “What have you done with Owen and Beru?”

“The Lars family is safe. Including their newborn son,” Jarik said, folding his hands behind his back and settling into a military posture. “I offered them colonization rights on a much nicer world and support for their inevitably Force sensitive child. It took a lot of wheeling and dealing, but we came to an agreement.”

“Where did you take them?” Kenobi snapped. Luke! Where was Luke?! Had… had Jarik…?

“Away. Somewhere safe. And to answer the obvious yet unasked question, yes, I know who Luke’s real parents are,” Jarik drawled, and Kenobi stiffened in shock, causing the admiral to scoff.

“It was not hard. You Jedi are terrible when it comes to keeping secrets,” the young man commented. “Don’t worry. Luke will be raised properly. Owen and Beru are wonderful people. Strong moral fiber in both of them. They’ll make sure he doesn’t turn out like his father.”

Kenobi frowned at that. Being reminded of what Akakin had become still hurt deeply, but it also worried the man once known as the Negotiator that Jarik knew so much.

“Head of State?” he asked after a moment, deciding to focus on the earlier comment Jarik had made.

“Yes. After your apprentice slaughtered the other members of Confederacy high command, an emergency vote was called, and as the highest-ranking military officer who wasn’t slaughtered by the little Sith conspiracy, well, it was only natural they’d elect me to lead them in these trying times.”

Kenobi frowned. “You rule the Confederacy, then. And you took Luke away. Is that why you are here, then? To bring me in?”

“Sort of,” Jarik admitted. “Now, I don’t have much time, interstellar comm-channels this smooth aren’t cheap, so let me be blunt: you are a war criminal, Obi-Won Kenobi. Both in the Empire, and in the Confederacy. However, I’m willing to extend leniency towards you.”

“In exchange for what?” Kenobi inquired suspiciously.

“You have two choices. The first is to become a teacher for new generations of Force Users,” Jarik claimed, and the former Jedi tensed up.

“I will not teach innocents to become Sith,” Kenobi declared firmly.

“And I do not want Sith,” Jarik retorted, before rolling his eyes. “That’s the problem with you Jedi. Only ever two choice: Jedi or Sith. Good and Evil. White and Black. You fail to see the grey.”

He shook his head. “No, the Benu will be a new type of Force User. Ones who are not indoctrinated to be chaste, emotionally stunted fools who refuse to do anything unless the Force has given you direct orders in Triplicate.”

“And the other option?” Kenobi asked, still suspicious, even if the Force, for some reason, felt like it was… agreeing with the former admiral?

“You become something of a hatchetman,” Jarik stated. “There are a lot of problems a man with a lightsaber could solve for me.”

“An assassin, then,” Kenobi scoffed.

“Ugh, no. If I want somebody dead, I don’t need you to do it,” Jarik shot back. “No, I want you to track down other Sith as well as dangerous Force-based artifacts. Basically? I want you to finish the job I started.”

“Palpatine is dead,” Kenobi said, confused. “I felt his death.”

“Do you honestly think a Sith like the unlamented First Emperor of the New Galactic Empire wouldn’t have backups or contingency plans?” Jarik claimed. “I already found and destroyed one secret cloning lab, and I know for a fact that was not the only one he made in order to return to life in the event of his death.”

“Clones?” the Jedi whispered in horror.

Of course… it made a dark sort of sense. Sith were well known for their fear of death and attempting to find ways to circumvent this inevitability. And clones… there had to have been a reason Kamino was ‘lost’ from public star charts until recently and it was becoming clear it wasn’t just because an army had been secretly built there.

‘Palpatine must have been researching the possibilities of transferring his consciousness into clones. The Clone Army was just a side project,’ Kenobi realized with gritted teeth.

“I see you are interested,” Jarik said, a smug look on his face, and Kenobi was reminded again of why Anakin had hated the young military officer so much.

“If Palpatine is alive as you say, or at least has a chance of revival, then yes, I am interested,” Kenobi declared.

“Good,” Jarik said with a vicious smile, and a compartment popped open on the bottom of the holo-device.

Sensing no danger from the Force, Kenobi reached in and removed two data-slates and a handful of cred-chits along with a keyfob to some sort of vehicle.

“The red data-slate contains all the information you need on your new identity,” Jarik informed him. “The blue one is where the intel I’ve gathered on various Sith lairs can be found. As for the credits and starship key? Consider them the down payment. I won’t be able to contact you often. Details on that are contained on the blue slate as well. But I will do my best to support you.”

“Ewan McGregor?” he muttered, looking over the new identity Jarik had forged for him as he browsed the red data-slate.

There was a tiny smirk on the Separatist’s face, as if enjoying a private joke, and to Kenobi’s surprise, the Force was also in on the joke, if the faint hint of amusement he got from it was any clue.

“No matter your opinion on me, Kenobi, I hate the Sith as much as you do,” Jarik claimed. “I would like for us to work together to keep the galaxy safe. And the only way that will happen is if we put aside our differences… for now.”

“If I complete your missions, will you allow me to meet with Luke again?” Kenobi asked, looking up into the holographic face of the Head of State.

“If you’d agreed to become a teacher, you’d have been able to see him all the time in the future once he starts attending the Benu Academy,” Jarik said with a smirk. “But yes. I will let you know of the Lars’ new location. If you succeed, of course.”

Kenobi clenched his fists but nodded. He didn’t like this, even if the Force was all but singing to him about this being the right path to take. But if it meant he could ensure Palpatine never managed to rise from the dead, then working with the smug Confederate officer was an acceptable price.