Join Date: Sep 2007
Location: Geelong Australia
The Nar Shaddar Red Sector wasn’t a place one would expect to find a Republic soldier, a female one at that. Yet Matala Logan was one to do the unexpected, whether it be support the Jedi in a time they were hated or seek out leads in this bantha pit of the city. She listened to the Ithorian’s directions to where she wanted to go, slipping the alien some credits when he had finished.
At least this isn’t depressing like other parts of Nar Shaddar. The commando was grateful for not seeking out information in the Refugee Sector, at least not yet. A passerby interrupted her thoughts; her trained senses ready to react as he reached into the vest he was wearing.
“Hey, you wanna buy some death sticks?” Matala’s answer to the slimy proposal was to snatch the drugs from the peddler and smash them to the ground.
“No,” she growled. She kept her angry glare on the spice pusher, daring him to react. He saw the muscled arms that looked big enough to rip him in half and slowly backed away. Paying him no further thought Matala continued her search, the place she was looking for easy to spot thanks to a pair of female Twi’leks standing outside, looking at her with a predator’s gaze. Neither of them was who she was looking for however so she looked their skimpy clothing up and down, gave a quick smile and nod and moved on inside. Behind the counter was a third Twi’lek who looked like who Matala was looking for.
“Welcome to Nar Shaddar…Captain,” she said in her native tongue when Matala showed her ID. “I could have one of our male escorts tend to your needs if that is what you would like.”
“Actually,” Matala said, knowing the Twi’lek wasn’t who she was after, “I need to see your boss.” She made her way to the door behind reception.
“I’m afraid that is not possible.” The Twi’lek got up to keep Matala from entering. “I could arrange a time for you to see him if you give me your name.”
“Your date for tonight.” Matala wrapped her up in a bearhug. As the Twi’lek squirmed to get out she loosened her grip, enough to let the woman know she wasn’t going to hurt her. “Easy.” Matala set her down away from the door and went through before the Twi’lek could stop her. Inside was yet another Twi’lek, this one male.
“What is this?” he asked, rising from his chair. Matala went over and pushed him back down. “This is a legitimate establishment, you can check with the Republic.”
“I’m not here about that.” Matala reached in and pulled out a hologram, which showed a Twi’lek girl, about fifteen. “Have you seen her at all?” she asked, leaning over him and placing a foot on the desk. The Twi’lek knew he wasn’t going anywhere and thought for a moment.
“I don’t recognize her,” he replied.
“You never sought her out at all?” Matala pressed.
“We don’t make a habit of seeking out children.” The Twi’lek fought to not be offended by the suggestion. “As I said this is all legal.”
“She would be about twenty years older now,” Matala informed him.
“How about you?” Matala turned her head a little in the direction of the female receptionist.
“She…” her hostage began.
“…Can speak for herself,” Matala finished for him, waiting for a reply.
“No.” The Twi’lek shook her head, fearful that the commando would hurt her.
“But you’ll let the Republic know if you do see her,” Matala said as a statement of fact.
“I don’t think she would be interested in an establishment such as this.”
“You’ll let them know,” Matala told him firmly, leaving the holo and turned to leave. She looked at the pair of Twi’leks outside again but as interested as they might have been they felt it much safer for their well being for Matala to make the first move. Instead she placed a hand to her ear. “Logan, negative on Nar Shaddar.” She figured the Refugee Sector could be given a miss and instead chose to see if the Jedi had found anything.
As her silver lightsaber pierced through the rubble of what remained after the Mandalorian assault all those years ago Aran Hunter, the Jedi Exile, began to understand how deeply Revan was moved to defy the Order.
As his general she had fought on Duxn, on Sorroco, and Malechor, but never here, not on the Cathar’s home world. Running a hand through her blonde hair as she looked at what used to be a Cathar child’s room, Aran was grateful for Revan not subjecting her to this.
“Don’t look much like a Jedi now,” she mused, the suit she wore filthy with black soot from blasted out shelters. She paused for a moment in case anyone heard her. As much of a distaste it left in her mouth she was wearing an outfit very similar to the one she found on Peragus, distasteful in that she wanted to leave the past behind and as bad as this was Jedi robes, even the gray ones she found, were worse of a reminder. Bearing witness to the destruction that the Mandalorians had left made her certain of the hatred and obsession Revan had, more so than she ever did, and at the Council for not acting. That she knew all too well, the anger at the Jedi. Anger at being cast out, anger at being betrayed and anger at one in particular, Atris, who ever since the Mandalorian wars wanted her dead.
Might she still be alive? she wondered. The last Aran saw of the fallen Jedi was when she left her at the mercy of her Sith holocrons fifteen years ago. She could still hear her begging for mercy even now and have often wondered if it was the right thing to do. She was a Sith, she reasoned, equally angry at always having to run, Master Vash’s death, Nihilous, Sion, the Sith acting as if she was their master when she entered the Trayus Academy…and Kreia. It seemed to be a common theme, anger. And pain, the scars from Malechor where Aran cut herself off from the Force. Ever since she had questioned Revan’s motives there, the stories about his motives. To her it was hard to believe that Revan would simply sacrifice his followers like that, he wasn’t anything like that even when he became the Dark Lord. And even if he had become that obsessed with ending the Mandalorians, something that was possible given what Aran saw before her was his motivation, he wouldn’t have used her as a patsy in using the Mass Field Generator. Not for the first time she wondered if Revan knew, how he might have been able to escape the pain she felt, reaching out in the hope of finding some trace, but all she felt was the horror of battle and slaughter that occurred here and pulled back. This was a waste of time; Revan wouldn’t have come to this dead world.
“Nothing,” she hissed. Aran would have to set her sights on looking beyond the galaxy, again. That was a road she had been down before, following leads from Revan’s home world of Deralia, or so he believed, to where there had been men similar to the description she and those who served with Revan gave to worlds on the Outer Rim. But so far there had been nothing of whom Aran once thought of as a fellow Jedi, a worthy leader, and perhaps even a friend. “Empty, empty, empty.”