Chapter Text
Arlyn Seko was six when she saw her first Jedi. It had been little more than that. A sighting. A flash of green light deflecting blaster fire with what seemed like impossible speed. She’d been too young and inexperienced to understand what it was then. All she knew was that the woman wielding the luminescent green sword as she leapt from one building to another was the bravest, most extraordinary creature she’d ever seen.
Of course, since then, Jedi sightings were no longer as rare. Even in a planet as isolated and (usually) peaceful as Terrun, skirmishes sometimes became big enough to warrant the intervention of a Jedi. Arlyn would never tell anyone, but she could always feel when they were coming. Not through the Force, because, as she reminded herself every day, she couldn’t sense it the way they could, much as she wished she could. But somehow, she knew. She’d look up into the sky after an especially long shift at Zefar and just know that excitement was coming. That some sort of plot was brewing among the travelers who frequented Terrun more and more often lately. And that if they caused enough trouble, the Jedi wouldn’t be far behind.
“Arlyn!”
Arlyn’s hands froze at the sound of her sister’s voice. She was nearly done with a software update for K-B45, but it was taking longer than usual. No doubt her mother had sent Geera to fetch her. She was nearly ten minutes late.
“I’m coming!” she called back, watching as the last batch of the update went through. Moments later she’d disconnected and rebooted the bright green droid until its familiar beeping resumed.
“I know, I know,” she said as K-B45 spun into the air. He was a small repurposed pill droid, barely bigger than her hand, but smarter than people gave him credit for. Maybe that was why she’d picked him, all those years ago. She could relate to being underestimated. “But you were overdue for an update, Kay. You know that.”
The droid beeped intently in response, and this time Arlyn rolled her eyes. Maybe they had that in common too. Back-talking and stubbornness. At least, that was what her mother would say.
Today though, her mother’s criticism would probably center on Arlyn’s tardiness. Maybe if Geera wasn’t always so punctual and perfect, Arlyn could get away with it every now and then. Anything to spend a few minutes less waiting on Zefar’s endlessly busy tables.
By the time she’d pulled on her apron and stepped out the kitchen doors, Arlyn was fifteen minutes late. So she was especially shocked when, instead of a lecture, all she got from her mother was an order pad and a stern glance.
“Fancy customers in the corner booth,” her mother said in a hushed tone. “Take care of them.”
“Fancy customers?” But her mom had already disappeared into the kitchen. It wasn’t until Arlyn neared the rounded booth at the end of the restaurant that she understood.
The six customers in the booth were no locals. They were Zygerrian, and dressed head to toe in some of the finest clothes and jewels Arlyn had ever seen. They spoke in low tones, barely glancing at one another, like they knew they commanded the attention of everyone in the room merely by their presence. Arlyn was sure they did. Zygerrians were known in Terrun—and perhaps the entire galaxy—for their arrogance.
Still, they were customers. And if there was one rule Arlyn’s mother had, it was that they treat every customer with the highest respect.
“Welcome to Zefar,” Arlyn said as she approached the table, adopting the upbeat tone she was all too used to faking. “How can we serve you today?”
None but one of the Zygerrians looked at her, their attention focused on whatever silent conversation they were having. The one who did spare her a glance listed several plates and drinks off the menu.
“That will be all,” he said when he was done. Apparently, Arlyn was dismissed.
She swallowed her chagrin as she turned away from them. She should really be used to it by now. It seemed that the busier Zefar got, the ruder the customers became. Geera blamed it on the increase in travel through Terrun over the past few months, spurred by the three new trade ports that had opened in the last year. But Arlyn knew better. Heightened tensions in the Senate and treaty breakdowns across the galaxy had left people more suspicious of each other than ever. Loyalty was a limited resource, and it seemed to grow scarcer every day.
Better than having all those Zygerrians staring at me, Arlyn thought to herself as she neared the kitchen doors. She’d almost passed the bar when something in her line of sight made her pause.
A pair of eyes was staring at her. Not Zygerrian, but human, belonging to a dark-skinned man seated at a table against the wall.
But as Arlyn neared the kitchen, she realized he wasn’t staring at her at all. He was staring through her. And right at the table of Zygerrians.
When the man lowered his gaze a moment later, the young Togruta seated beside him raised hers.
Arlyn slowed her steps.
There was nothing strange about people watching a group of Zygerrians. But there was something different about the way this man and woman—girl, maybe? She couldn’t have been much older than Arlyn—looked at them. With a concentrated watchfulness. Not to mention the coordinated way she’d lifted his gaze as soon as he’d lowered his.
It wasn’t possible. Not here, in her mother’s restaurant of all places. But Arlyn had spent her whole life wishing for something like this. The Zygerrians’ order would have to wait.
Neither the human nor Togruta spoke as Arlyn approached their table. Only the man looked at her, the apathetic expression of a weary traveler on his face. But Arlyn had seen him staring before with something different in his eyes.
She nodded at their half-empty cups. “Refills?”
“No, thank you,” the man replied. The Togruta beside him said nothing, but the crease in her intricate forehead markings told Arlyn she was annoyed.
“Are you sure?” Arlyn said, dialing up her friendly customer service voice. “They’re on the house.”
“We’re sure,” the man said. “Thank you.”
Arlyn nodded, racking her brain for something else to say. She let her gaze fall to their gray robes, as simple and generic as any other traveler might wear. Then she nodded and stepped away from the table. But not before purposefully tripping over the Togruta’s feet.
The girl reached out to catch her, but Arlyn didn’t need the help.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she straightened on her own. Then, as the Togruta stepped back into her chair, Arlyn saw it. The outline of a lightsaber hilt.
She locked eyes with the Jedi in front of her. The one whose expression told her that she knew what she’d seen.
“Mas…” The Togruta started to say.
When Arlyn turned to the man beside her, she couldn’t help the shock with which she met his eyes. It was enough for the man—the Togruta’s Master, perhaps?—to understand what his partner had been trying to say. The two of them stared at her in silence, their postures shifting as they straightened in their seats.
Arlyn wasn’t sure what they expected her to do. Blow their cover, maybe. Anyone else might have. It wasn’t every day two Jedi came to eat at Zefar. But Arlyn had spent most of her life learning about the Jedi. She knew they were on a stealth mission. Could tell when they didn’t want to be seen. And, from the way the young Togruta lifted her hand, when one of them was about to use the Force. On her .
“Don’t worry,” Arlyn said quickly, reaching for the Togruta’s cup, which was emptier than the man’s. “They’re no friends of mine.”
The Togruta spoke to her for the first time. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Right,” Arlyn said. “I’ll be back with your refill in a moment.” Then she turned before either of them could protest.
It wasn’t until she was inside the kitchen that Arlyn felt herself snap back to reality.
She’d just exchanged words with a Jedi. Two Jedi, actually, who were in the middle of a mission. Trailing the Zygerrians, clearly. And all Arlyn wanted in that moment was to know why.
“Large order?”
Arlyn flinched as her mother’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Sort of.” She handed her order pad to her mom, who shot her a dubious glance.
“You’re distracted. On top of being late.”
Arlyn bit the inside of her cheek. Of course she hadn’t escaped that lecture entirely. “Sorry.”
“Second time this week, Arlyn. Don’t let there be a third.” She nodded toward the far side of the kitchen, where a couple of fresh plates sat on the counter. “Take those out, please. Table twelve.”
Arlyn nodded. But as soon as her mother disappeared deeper into the kitchen, she turned in the opposite direction. Once she’d reached the stairwell that led up to her quarters, she activated her comlink.
“Got a mission for you, Kay.”
Her droid beeped enthusiastically in response, a distant sound of crashing fading in the background. Arlyn sighed. All she’d asked him to do was tidy up. She didn’t even want to know what he’d gotten into this time. “Table seven. But be extra careful this time. Don’t let them spot you.”
While he made his way down, Arlyn brought the plates out to table twelve, careful to keep her gaze away from the Jedi. She wanted them to know they could trust her. Although why, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if they were going to stick around. As soon as the Zygerrians left, they’d be gone too. Then everything would be back to normal. As tedious and lifeless as always.
Her comlink vibrated, and Arlyn turned to see her droid hovering by the kitchen doors, only three feet above ground. Despite his bright color, he was good at being inconspicuous when he wanted to be. As he neared the Jedi’s table, he sank closer to the floor, coming to a stop below a chair a table away from them.
Arlyn stepped out Zefar’s side door just as K-B45 started the transmission.
“What exactly are we waiting for?” The female Togruta’s voice sounded through her comlink.
“Patience, Nadira,” the man responded. Unlike his Padawan’s hurried tone, his was steady. “We can’t do anything here. Too many civilians.”
“Then what’s the point of-” But the Padawan’s question was cut off by the sound of a loud male voice in the background.
Arlyn sighed. She didn’t need Kay’s update to know what, or rather who, that was. The factory must have let out for the day. Korr Brechon was always the first worker in, and always headed straight for the bar. He had an annoying habit of announcing his presence as soon as he entered.
Better intercept him before he draws too much attention from the Zygerrians, Arlyn thought. Or the Jedi. Then again, she wouldn’t mind the Jedi using the Force on him. If they compelled him to be quiet, or better yet, leave, would that keep him away for days, or hours? Arlyn wasn’t sure if Force powers had expiration dates.
But as soon as Arlyn stepped back inside, she realized she was too late. Korr was already at the Zygerrian table, exchanging words with an annoyed-looking male.
“Great,” Arlyn muttered. She snuck a glance at the Jedi, who were now both watching the Zygerrians. No doubt they’d get involved if things got out of hand, though that might sabotage their mission.
Maybe Arlyn could help. Korr was a pain, but he did know her. Which was why he cut his conversation with the Zygerrian short as she approached.
“Korr,” she said, avoiding the gaze of the Zygerrians. “Your seat at the bar is ready.”
“In a minute,” Korr said. “I’m having a chat with these lovely folk. They’re pretty far from Zygerria, wouldn’t you say?”
Arlyn bit back a sigh. “Why don’t you let them enjoy their meal, Korr?”
“I don’t see any meal.”
“He’s right,” one of the Zygerrians said. Arlyn turned to see a light-colored female staring at her. “Where is our food?”
“Coming right up,” Arlyn answered. She turned back to Korr. “We got a new drink on the menu you might like.”
Korr rolled his eyes at her. “I know what you’re doing, Arlyn. Wouldn’t want an altercation at your mother’s precious restaurant, would you?” He turned back to the Zygerrians. “But no need to worry. Takes a lot more than Zygerrians to scare me.”
The male he’d been speaking to suddenly stood. He must have been over eight feet tall, towering over even Korr. “Is that so?”
Korr took a step toward him, but Arlyn placed a hand on his arm before he could speak. Annoyed, Korr swatted her away.
“That was rude,” the male Zygerrian said. “Why don’t you apologize to the lady, Korr ?”
“There’s no need-” Arlyn started to say, but the Zygerrian ignored her.
“I said, apologize.”
Korr scoffed. “We’re not on Zygerria, scum. I don’t have to do what you say.”
“We’ll see about that,” the male responded. He pulled a blaster from the holster on his belt, and held it a few inches from Korr’s head.
It happened in a flash. One second, the Zygerrian male was aiming his weapon at Korr, the next, the male Jedi had appeared between them, pushing Korr back several feet. His lightsaber was still hidden, but it didn’t matter. Everyone knew that only a Jedi could leap across a room like that. As silence swept over the restaurant, Arlyn felt a strange wave of disappointment. Now everyone knew who they were.
The Jedi must have realized this too, because he finally drew his lightsaber from beneath his robe. It glowed bright blue as he activated it, the steady hum loud enough for Arlyn to hear.
The Zygerrian had lowered his weapon when the Jedi intercepted him. But now, he laughed. “They have Jedi on Xander now, do they? This place gets more pathetic each time.”
“That’s not just any Jedi.” A female voice said from behind him. The same Zygerrian who’d asked Arlyn about the food. “That’s the honorable Master Skev.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “Sent by the Jedi Council to hunt us down.”
“Sent by the Council to hold you accountable for your crimes,” the Jedi replied.
The Zygerrian female laughed. “I’d almost forgotten how noble you Jedi think you are. The heroes of the galaxy. Too bad the constant trail of death and destruction you leave in your wake says otherwise.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Korr said.
Arlyn almost groaned. Why couldn’t he just shut up?
“Well,” the female said, completely ignoring Korr. “What’s it going to be then, Jedi? You alone against the six of us?”
“He’s not alone.”
Arlyn turned to see the Togruta, Nadira, as the other Jedi had called her, standing at the other end of the room. She drew her own lightsaber, which glowed bright purple, as she walked toward her Master.
“Ah,” the female said. “You brought a friend. A Padawan, perhaps?”
The human Jedi didn’t respond, his gaze still fixed on the male Zygerrian. “Go,” he said a moment later. Arlyn realized with a start that he was talking to her.
And she wasn’t about to disobey a Jedi.
She backed away from the Zygerrian table, scanning the room as she went. Customers and waiters alike were frozen in place, staring at the scene to see what was about to happen.
Terrible survival instincts, was Arlyn’s first thought.
She stopped by the first waiter she came across. A Twi’lek male so new to the staff that Arlyn didn’t even know his name.
“Get the customers out,” she told him. “As soon as you can.”
“But-”
“Just do it,” Arlyn said.
She could barely hear the conversation between the Jedi and Zygerrians from where she stood now, but she knew it didn’t really matter. All it took was one shot. And while the Jedi might care about not harming civilians, the Zygerrians obviously didn’t.
As Arlyn instructed another waiter, she caught sight of Geera by the back door. Her sister was as paralyzed as everyone else. Arlyn hurried toward her until she was near enough to touch her arm.
“We should-” she started to say. But the rest of her sentence was silenced by the sound of a shot fired from the Zygerrians’ booth.