Diplomacy: Politics as Usual

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Diplomacy: Politics as Usual




When the Galactic Empire outlawed pod racing the new craze was swooping. Bikes were bought in droves. Tracks were fortified. The galaxy gambits bet high and low. Everyone wanted in. Even the Rebel Alliance's soldiers had their fun. The base bubbled with chatter of racers, bike mods and circuits. Gamblers wore the Alliance red too. Stuffed at round tables with Rebel allies a.k.a smugglers, mercenaries and bounty hunters, the soldiers slammed credits chips on tables regularly. They put their money where their mouth was and Sirdi was never accused of having a small mouth.

Ossus was hot and it's sun shone an eye blinding glare off the Zephyr-G. Dust swirled an iddy bitty tornado underneath the repulosor. Black stains blotted the old metal swoop. The brown coating wore to grey in the spots in areas not blotched. The swoop bike hummed and warmed Sirdi's back. Decked in a ribbed jacket, shirt and bantha hide trousers, it was a wonder he wasn't sweating. He sipped his drink bought from the cantina. He leaned against the swoop, his arms folded. Two years back he won the rusty thing in a dice game from a traveling band of mercs. He thought he was getting a prize. Instead, he was stuck with a semi-project.

And, at this point he had a lot on his plate.

The comm link at his waist was silent, but everything else was abuzz. He was by the landing bay. Many were waiting. Shipments were collected for the cantina and hoisted to vehicles. Ships speedily lifted off. There was barely time for greetings and none for goodbyes. The hustle and bustle was also matched with little space. Speeders sat side by side. The drivers grumbled. Some Alliance, some Cizeri, but mostly civilian. Ossus wasnt the most convenient planet, so personal request were shipped in and private flights also docked at the same landing bay.

It was just a mess.

"Dis is reeedicu--" Sirdi started to complain.

"SHUT UP!!" A yell interrupted him. Over Sirdi's shoulder a screaming match was beginning to get interesting, and who could resist a little entertainment during such a dulling wait.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Sirdi turned about. He leaned over his bike. He stared. Others watched too. The two arguing were at each other’s face. One was a Cizerack. She had officer get-up on. The other wore Rebel flight gear; the standard orange-red jump-suit. He was one of those near-human Bimms with a long grisly wise beard, no taller than a youngling, but was bright as a tangerine. Sirdi had seen that bold bright outfit too many times to miss it. But, he’d never seen the face before. Strangely, the settlement was growing in size - people were getting hard to keep up with. While the two argued a crowd began to form. Intrigue grew. Chatter began. Sirdi was no exception.

“The nerrrve of you,” she began, her furry mouth cut up to damn the little man but he was quick to interrupt.

He raised his fist, cursing her with his disdain. “Yes! The nerve of me to land when and where I should!” His sarcasm was thick and so were his brows. The furrow on them were deep, but nt deeper than his frown as he scowled up at her. She was short, even for a Cizerak, but still taller then him. The spectacle was growing, more people came with joy in their eyes. It wasn’t everyday commoner got to see squabbles on a Jedi settlement - peace and all that.

Sirdi was sucked in too. At least, for a second, then he felt the knock of his saber as he shifted weight on his feet leaning on his bike. The hilt banged against his thigh. He hadn’t become fully accustomed to it bouncing on him like some canteen. Yet, every time the saw it he remembered his first talk with Wei. Even though he was skeptical at first, all the talk of philosophy and the Jedi way had an impression on him. Whether it was a kooky religion or not wasn’t up for him to decide at this point; he was in the thick of it. He had a job to do. He was assigned here as a initiate, and he had caused enough problems in the Rebel fleet as is - he had to do better.

Plus, all the blade swinging and bowl lifting was fun.

So, he stood up. He pushed through the crowd. He knew what he was suppose to do - whether it ruined some of the enjoyment or not. But, the swarm was growing thick. It was taking awhile to even get through the audience to get a better peek, much less interrupt the whole thing. He could only hear them go on

“No, no, no,” she started again, her head shaking and eyes closed, arms up cutting like a blade in complete denial of the midget’s sarcasm. “Whoo djo you thjink you’rrrrre talking to?? I am an officcccerrr of the Prrride! Thissss jis my bay too” Her body bent over, emphasizing each word as she got closer to the Bimm’s face. Sirdi caught of the glimpse of the Bimm fuming as the crowd swayed, people stretching to get a better look. Sirdi pushed on.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Meanwhile, the Bimm pushed back at the Cizeri officer with his words.

“And its my alotted time. Check the schedule, fuzzy cheeks.”

“Fuzzy cheeks?” Her cat glare widen. The sparkle of the bidy big mouth Bimm reflected in her gawk. Her snarl showed her teeth. She looked ready to bite. She took in a breath and shook her head. Her wits collected. She exhaled in a big puff. A shake of her head and she smirked.

“What ja ljittle thjing to sssay.” She purred. “Ljisssten up, I onjly havrrre one thjing to make clearrr. My shipments arrre morrre importjant than yourrr ljil’ djrrrop offs, ljil buddy. We arrre brjingjing jin goods. Food. Move your ljil feet qujickerrr orrr get out the way.”

She crossed her arms.

The Bimm was red. His cheeks were flushed. He could feel the stares. Everyone eyes beaming on him at every accentuated syllable about height. Sirdi thought it cute, especially up close. Somehow, he’d tug his way through the horde. He stumbled out, haphazardly slinging his hand on his waist to mock a power stance. Just outside the group, he was barely noticeable. None of the two arguing looked over until he barked out a, “Ayo!” And, even then the Cizeri only cut her glance for a second, before returning them back down at her pestering & reluctant landing bay-mate.

Sirdi saw the disregard, but the heavy saber hilt wagging at the side of his waist-band on a string kept bashing against his thigh. His instinct said roll his eyes and walk off. Duty told him to persist. Someone could get hurt. Or, worse, their feelings hurt and put in a formal complaint. The paperwork was a nuisance. Sirdi wouldn’t have to do it, but he knew who would. If they found out he was at the scene the whole time, he’d catch an earful at the local cantina. Then, his classmates & teachers would know. He’d never hear the end of it. So, while he rolled his eyes, stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, he walked forward.

Surely, he wouldn’t enjoy this, but whatever.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

“Hey, flygirl and flyboy, I see ya on a wild bantha chase,” He stepped up, nearly between the two like a referee at the start of a game. “Ya wanna resolv’ dis o’ yakkity-yak all day while de next drops come awn down?”

They both finally looked. And, they both looked annoyed. They peered at him with the same glares they exchanged with one another. Sirdi was unnerved. Matter of fact, he was slightly amused. He restrained a smile. He had their attention; his mouth was working, and would still work if they didn’t start swinging.

“Ok then --” He started.

“Who jin the frrrrell arrre--” The Cizeri interrupted, but was quickly cut off.

“He’s a Jedi, fuzzy”

“Fuzzy??!” She turned about, paws up. The Padawan-Initiate plopped his foot forth, leg in between the two, but both his hands still lodged in his ribbed jacket pockets.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Sirdi shook his head. “Don’ get all hasy now.” The Bimm over his shoulder seemed pleased. The little adventurer was a pest. Around the three the small flock had began more antsty. At the sight of any violence there was a chortle and glee. Anytime too many stranger mobbed together silliness would ensue. Yet, Sirdi wasn’t going to play crowd control. All he had to do was turn the talks peaceful. A little level-headedness would disperse the crowd. “So, Bimm, whats ye name and ya problemo?”

The Bimm crossed his arms like a brat. “I’m Rashnish Vejarm and the issues pretty darn clear. She doesn’t get that this is time block is all me. I’m bringing in stuff for the Alliance. Weapons, rations, boots, all sorts and she has her staff stuffing the docking bay. Enough trouble dealing with these people,” one arm slipped out from being crossed to sway out gesturing to the forming horde before being stuffed back in a cross over his other arm. “There is too much flying and docking, they’re taking my lot for hell - I dont know - but probably nerf nuts or stamp collections. Then I gotta deal with this one’s drops offs overlapping. She needs to get her records straight.”

[Sirdi Kōhō]

“I need to--” Vile comments were readied and loaded to spat at the Alliance officer but the newly Jedi was quick to stop her. He gave her an eye and shook his head. She frowned and turned to the side. Arms folded, she gathered herself as Sirdi turned back to address the complaining Bimm.

“Ok Mr. Ve-jarm, rih?” The Bimm confirmed the enunciation with a nod. “Ok den, well dis don’ seem hard to figure out, ya know? So calm down wit’ all de insults, aiite?” Sirdi eyed him for a second, then smoothly turned his gaze back over to the Cizeri. She was still irritated. Her eyes cut back to meet his, her side to him, disgusted. “So, ma’am, what is ye name and can you give me a breakdown ov’ whats happen’n here?”

“Surrrre, sirrr. Arrurraa Tajakuurri. And, ji come jin to jinssspect my shjipment then Mjisssster Bussy Bjidy Body runs up to me yelling ‘Thjisss jisss my drop, furrrrbaall’ and jI point to the caarrrgo jinsssjignjiaa. Then he waants to taalk about how jit sssshhould be hjiss and thjisss jisss hjisss tjime.

Well, my sssshjipment caame jin. Wait your turn.”

Sirdi watched as the barrage of mocking verbosity and glares hit the Bimm like a slap to the cheek. He snarled but remained composed with restrained headshake. “And, how often does that happen?”

“A lot” they said in unison.

“And, jits even worst becauuussse all the other ssspacers and cjivvvvjiljians gettjing jin the way!” Feline eyes bore back at the horde watching. Her disgust was match by their own. Some waved dismissively at her, walking away as she sent out her vile. The Bimm agreed with her sentiments, adding a begrudging nod as her brows shot up and face softened. He felt it was true, but he still didn’t like her. Not one bit.

Most of the flock were settlers: the civilians. The regular folks who would fly in and fly back, making pit-stops or moving their own personal goods (or personal goods) onto the base. The sudden barrage of insults sent them in arms, turning them from the crowd as they shook their heads and walked away. Only a bundle watched on, disgusted.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

“You know what, she is at least right about that.” The Bimm finally remarked.

Sirdi watched on, backing away from standing between the two. “Ah, is she?” Sirdi commented.

A fellow from the crowds remnants followed suite, louder, “Oh is she?! We’re the problem” A can of soda soared through the sky. In a perfect arc it twirled about, gravity taking it down. In a slow fall it came tumbling down on top Sirdi’s shoulder in a crunching and thudding bink. The can was hollowed by gulps but a bit of bubbly juice fell out as it toppled over Sirdi’s shoulder and splashed on the Bimm’s boots. In a spark of surprise, Rasnish hopped back. His eyes shot wide. He mouthed a what the frell as his glare darted across the crowd. Arrurraa covered her mouth and held a laughter only seconds before another can came flying and pelleted her in the leg.

And, so, the onslaught began.

Men and women at the front of the mob looked back as slings of trash swooped over their heads, landing around and on the three. Sirdi put his hands up. It was as if he was being arrested. “Hol it, hol’ it!” He yelled, but more peelings and old debris were slung about. He ducked and dodged it all, but didn’t halt the humiliation. The other two weren’t so lucky. Slop dripped down their arms. The Cizeri was swift. When the debris flew, she moved. Yet and still, her boots were splashed with filled can juice and foodstuff. It would take some cleaning to get off, and she looked down more disgusted than before. The Bimm got it worst. He was the perfect angle. A banana peeling sat atop his head as he pouted his lip. He wiped his face. Slush slunk of his hand as he rested it at his side. He plucked the peel from his bushy scalp. A snort and spit sent his shoulders up and they never went down. He hunched over, looking ready to tackle somebody.

Sirdi caught a glimpse of him along his side, and nudged him with his knee, Sirdi’s hand still up. “Hol it! Hold it!”

[Sirdi Kōhō]

He looked back at the crowd and sighed as he spoke up. “What are yall e’en doin’ back dere? Throwin’ sithspit at a Jedi? De frell is wrong with ya’ll.”

A voice from the horde called back, “You don’t sound like any Jedi to me!”

“I am,” muttered Sirdi under his breath.

“He’ssss got aa point,” the Cizeri grumbled, lifting her hands too.

“Ya, I kno’ but whats a Jedi s’pose ta sound like anyways? A Cizeri?”

She scoffed back. The Bimm was still fuming. Peaceful as his race was, this was a lot for an adventurer turned flyboy from the Outer Rim who just wanted his parking space for his scheduled times of the day. A little back and forth had him covered in goo and juice. There was enough trouble handling the short jokes, but now this? He charged. “I’ll destroy ya!!” The mini-spacer went full speed at the mob, blinded by rage yet his eyes were wide without fear. Every single man and woman stood taller than him. He didn’t care. He just wanted to rip someone to shreds. He was going to smell like jawa juice and have to wash his sticky suit all day. No, someone would have to pay.

Still, it wasn’t going to happen on Sirdi’s watch. Paperwork was one thing. A squabble gone awry between a couple officers was another. But, a mob beatdown on a Bimm was all the above and more. Before the pocket-size flat-foot could reach the herd, Sirdi swept in. A blast of his long legs and runner thighs left him square between the Bimm and his inevitable slaughter. Arms wide, he guarded him. “Nah, not today lil’ buddy.”

A giggle escaped the Cizeri and a few from the crowd.

“No, let me at ‘em! No!” The Bimm kept pressing, but was held back by Sirdi’s hand. It pressed against his chest as he swung around him and kicked, hoping one of his haphazard blows would smash an oblivious onlooker who got too close to the line of fire. It was all to no avail. The Bimm had gotten close though. Sirdi’s could feel the breath of a nearby spectator on his neck. No one near the two dare get any closer. The frontline of the mob was more disturbed by the chaos. Most had their eyes back, searching for the assailants. Others kept their eyes glued to the invisible screen of this disagreement turn street-theatre. “You can’t hold me back,” the Bimm clamored, spit flying. Sirdi gripped him by the underarm and tugged him by the bulbous torso back a few yards. Rashnish continued swinging away.

“Mr. Verjam, calm down.”

Laughter poured in from behind, but trailed. The throws were gone. No more things flew. Sirdi dropped the mini-rageball as the Cizeri barely watched on, simply shaking her head brushing what she could off her clothes. As soon as the Bimm was place down, Sirdi pivoted about to the crowd. “Get outta here!”

The Cizeri glanced over, “Hey, jif you’rrre a Jedji, wherrre issss you’rrre ljight-thjing, hm??”

Sirdi swiveled right about proudly. “My saber is righ’ ‘e--” He touched his waist. Nothing. It was gone. Someone swiped it. The brows furrowed. His eyes cut to the side. He peered at the crowd. His shoulders followed his eyes slowly after as his neck did. Each joint unfolded into a straight line of pure focus & force like a battle droid in the field of battle. “Where,” he began.

“Is.” He stepped forward with the right foot.
“My” He stomped with the left.


“Light” Then, with the right


“Saber?”


Tall as a man could stand, he rose in front his audience. Tension strained his lids to widen wildly. Out he looked over the fuzzy, bald, and long locks along the crowd’s top. Amidst the scamper of frightful frontliners and shriveling middle men was the scuffle of a dispersing suspect. He could hear it. A murmur of “heys” and “watch it” could be heard.

“Move it,” the Jedi pushed a man aside, following suit.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

In the tangled web crowd there was only noise. Clamor coated the Sirdi’s senses. Some moved. Others were unaware. Oblivious to the circumstances, onlookers amidst the band of restless Sanctuary One spectacle audience members glanced over their shoulders irate with the pushes and shoves. A few observant observers ogled on at the foolish whom stayed put as Sirdi pushed forth. Their mouths stretched wide as they assisted with a shove or pull, creating a valley for the Jedi to slip out. Beyond the crowd the lightsaber thief stomped away. Sirdi could not see or hear the unknown shady figure to track it down. Estimation was key. The criminal critter could only have gotten so far away. And, as the path widen through the horde he’d see the fleeing scoundrel with his own two eyes.

Yet, those own two eyes went wide with surprise as he got a glimpse: the scoundrel was a scruffy, small, speedy, fuzzball of a Wookiee youngling. In it’s right claw it clutched tightly to the prize it had swiped, while in the other a satchel was kept in place.

The youngling’s wrist twisted about, twirling the saber hilt into the satchel in a swift maneuver that bent it’s haunches. Down on all fours, the Wookiee burst out from the landing bay in a thrust out toward the ship landing quarters toward the trail heading west. For whatever reason, the Kashyyyk native was heading en route to the settlement’s cantinas.

Although, Sirdi was going to ensure he wouldn’t get far enough to reach the waypoint.

The brown fuzzball’s burst didn’t escape Sirdi’s view. A youngling's four-legged dash couldn’t escape the glare of a would-be-Jedi. The Padawan without a master reached out as if to grab the Wookiee, which was nearly 13 yards away and getting further by the second. Air was all he could grasp, and all he wanted to too.

Sirdi’s ferocious glower quieted as he clenched his eyes closed for a prayer he had learned during his stay on Ossus. No words were spoken, but the spirits felt his presence, as did the Wookiee. The fur ball’s dash was disturbed. The satchel banged against the Wookiee's back as he hopped through another step. But, stayed up as it galloped forward. The hairy humanoid glanced over it’s shoulder only to see the satchel’s flap flopping open as if an invisible hand was pulling it.

Something was up, and the Wookiee’s growling groan said enough; this was getting weird.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Determination drove the Wookiee. Open satchel and all, he dashed. The flap slapped his back like a jockey. Clunky, clawed gallops shot him off the scorched Ossus floor, along the trail. A black nose glisten in a snotty shine as his eyes burrowed in his furry face turned his eyes ahead. Peering pupils captured the collection of onlookers glancing over down the trail. Shouts paraded his sloppy flee. Grunts escaped his bowels as he bounced up and down on the earth. Those strong shoulders were stretched wide as his paws pressed and pushed him forth. Hind legs swung up freely, his haunches shooting him forth in full sprint. Both feet barely touched the ground before he was pushing forward. Above screamed the sun’s heat, baking the furry fleer. Mouth agape, he swallowed the stinging air every breath. Wheezes were inevitable at this rate, but he dare not look back again. For, behind him, more than a dozen yards away stood a closed eyed supposed Jedi unhappy with him. A grin crawled along the Wookiee’s lips, parting the fuzz to expose his canines. Sharp and ready to bite, he looked absolutely primal and liberated as he zoomed off onto the road.

Ten meters away reached out the initiate. His open hand kept calling on the spirits. Then, in a twitch, the wrist stiffened and fingers balled into a fist. Between another leaping dart forth, out bobbled the saber hilt. The saber slunk along the flap, slipping along. When the Wookiee’s dash put all feet firmly back on the ground for yet another gallop, the flap flopped up, flipping the hilt into the sky. Without his eyes opened, Sirdi released his fist and let his palm feel the sun. Its shine warmed him only for the second the saber twirled in the sky. While the light saber swivel through the sky, so twisted Sirdi’s wrist about as if to grab a drink from the base of the cup.

An unseeable puppeteer pulled the saber from the sky and pushed the blade to life. Crystals burned in a singing yap. Fire flamed in a beam out the shaft. Before another step could be taken, inches from the Wookiee’s next step stabbed the blade like a fork in the road. A skirt scuffed the bear clawed offworlder, spurting scorched dust up in an orange misty smoke. He returned to a stand on his hands as he scuffled back into a scramble. His young biddy glare bore open into a wide gawk. The strains on his shoulders tighten more as they lifted up and his arms cocked back to brace his fall from the ground. Toppled onto his rear, he stared down between his thighs at the saber that nearly killed him in marvel. A growl grumbled from his shaggy face stupor.

The familiar hum murmured from the lit blade. Behind the Wookiee eased in the Jedi Padawan. Steps brought him closer, but he moved with a deliberate and unrushed pace. The Wookiee barely twitched as the frazzled fuzzball reflected on his near brush with fatality. By him strolled the Jedi. Sirdi didn’t even look at him as he wrapped his fingers around the handgrip and yanked his burning blade from the earth. A click sent the fire back within the crystals and hilt. Another twirl of his fingers and twist of his fingers strapped the saber at his side for safekeeping. When finished, he blinked his eyes and turned around to look down on the fallen foe.

“De frack ya think you was doin’, furball?” Like a silk trumpet was Sirdi’s voice, belting out vigor in a velvet tone for curses to the spiteful Kashyyyk native. Those small Wookiee eyes peered back feverishly. Although fire torched the Wookiee’s stare, his mouth was slightly agape and downturned in a frown. When he finally closed his gape it was a pout.

No words were spoken.

The Jedi simply gazed down on him in shame. All he could muster was a shake of the head and outstretched hand to help the cub up. A claw slapped back in return, pushing his hand away. The shag pup staggered back to his feet in a mumbling roar, dusting himself off. Sirdi looked at him with a cocked brow, unsure what best to do to reprimand the nuisance. At the back of his mind, he was still quite aware there was some trouble left back at the Sanctuary too.

What a day this had become; all he wanted to do was take in the sun.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

A firm hand grabbed the back of the Wookiee’s neck. The youngling clamored. Scratches at the air and kicks were to no avail; the boy was in trouble. Sirdi rarely dabbled in or with authority. Those exchanges that did happen often ended the way the furry fool’s did. Some man or woman in a suit would get a grip of him, and a finger would be wagged. The difference was no one knew Sirdi’s parents. Elders and superiors of his were stuck playing the caretaker role. Their ashamed eyes still sat in his mind from time to time. He’d always look back blasé, yet there was a sting to the words disappointed no boy could shake. Sirdi was sure it’d be even worse in the form of a roar.

After a gendering at the fuzzy youth, he knew full on well where the offspring had sprung. At night the nearby cantina was a resting spot for most of the settlers without a blade to swing or cut. Cizeri even stumbled in from time to time to fraternize with the locals. Everyone was welcomed. No one was truly local, though; all were from off world and the myriad of species gabbing and grubbing was made it hard to keep track of anyone in the room. Yet, a 2-meter plus carpet was hard to miss. And, when they came in a duo, it was practically a bulls-eye target.

The Wookiee’s parents always came in after working on the settlement. Apart of the Alliance’s employee union, they could always be found around the colony giving a hand on the craftsmanship inside buildings or assisting with roofing issues. In the short time Sirdi wandered the grounds, he had only talk to the mother before.

Well, before this.

He dragged the belligerent bundle of bushy fur ahead. When he bucked, Sirdi pushed. The Wookiee wasn’t going to go easily. He knew he was in trouble. Pushed toward the cantina door, Sirdi held it open and nudged the Kashyyyk youngling in. Daytime crowds weren’t as responsive to door swings, so not a peep was made as the small Wookiee stumbled in with a groveling growl. Still, Sirdi came in behind, his voice boomed.

“Ayo, make sho’ dis fuzzball doesn’t leave ‘til momma slumps in, aiite?” The bartender looked over. He wasn’t the usual guy behind the counter, but he was quick on the uptake.

“Got it!” The big bar back Cathar at the edge of the counter nodded at the new bartender and walked over to the Wookiee. The youngling pouted as the door swung behind him and Sirdi disappeared back down the trail.

[Sirdi Kōhō]

At his waist the saber bounced. The beats bumped like drums. Thuds of his footstep pressed imprints into the soil. Dust kicked up as his boots stuck landings at each trot. The smooth sway of his swagger onto the trail eased all parts of his body into each turn and his gait was long. Those whom shouted before simply laughed, thinking back to what they’d saw only seconds before with the youthful buffoonery. Sirdi traded glances with the couple of folks on the side of the path. A smile smeared across his mouth, lids low as he shook his head in exasperation. He even added a shrug for extra measure.

It was just one of those days.

And, still, there was more to do. The Sanctuary was still a bustle. Even as he walked toward the landing bay, he saw the crowd hadn’t completely dispersed. In spite all his efforts, the swarm were swept up in another spout at the landing dock. Yells barked over the crowd again. As he got closer, he could hear the complaints more distinctly.

It was the Bimm. He could tell from the softness in the bellow, “Now there isn’t any Jedi to save you all! Move back or I’ll blast you all!”

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Blast?

Sirdi brows scrunched into a knot in the middle. Alarm shot into his bulbs. They boomed alive and wide. A snarl punched his upper lip up. Bug eyed, his neck shot forth and hand opened up in a one-shoulder shrug as he muttered to himself, “what the frell”. Not a second after he damned the craziness, a yellow blaster bolt marked with a white spiral flared into the heavens from beyond the audience. On the landing bay stage, the fireworks had begun. Screams scrambled the onlookers into chaos. Hands shoved faces nearest them as they attempted a dart to safety. Knees clunked guts as they lifted in the twisted & tangled clump of watchers in escape. Many tripped to their hands, pushing up in a stagger away. Again, Sirdi cursed the stupidity to himself: “what in de seven rings is dis?”

Stumbling bystanders pushed along. Men and women went left and right, as others bashed into each other. Sirdi avoided them all. In a full sprint to the trouble, he felt the breeze of running audience members sweeping pass him. Blurs of faces blazed by him as he ducked down amid the stampede. Mighty thighs rested on his calves. Back curved into a crouch, his body fired up like the blaster shot. Up into the sky, he curled more. Contorted into a ball, he spun in the heavens over the flurry. Then, Sirdi’s body sliced down like a meteor.

One leg stretched outright, other in knelt, one hand sprawled out and down, and other hand up, he balanced himself into a finessed fall. The landing was perfectly placed behind the Bimm. Head up, he scowled at the midget menace. The blaster was tucked in his tiny finger clasp. Sirdi had already discerned the shot was on stun from the blaster bolt, but the Bimm was still a danger. There was no second to waste.

Weight shifted from his knees, shooting the Padawan without a master into a burst. Full speed sprint punches hurt. The hook was wound up. Arm cocked back, shoulders loose, fist slightly open readied for impact, he swung down onto the tiny terror. The Bimm didn’t know it was coming. His back was turned. He’d only saw Sirdi flip over. There wasn’t a second given for him to turn his little neck about. Before his hand could lift to raise the stun pistol, he was falling. Hand up, finger on the trigger, he toppled to the ground as his cheek was pressed in by the balled Jedi fist. A crunch echoed through his skull, registering with an alarming ugh.

The punch loosened the Bimm’s grip on the blaster, leaving it floating in mid-air as he came tumbling to the ground. Sirdi’s blade sparked back to life in a sweeping motion as he recovered from swinging, cutting the blaster in a fiery blaze in half. The pieces sprinkled on top the fallen puny pest.

Reverse grip the flaring sword, he glared down at him. “De hell is wrong witchu?” Sirdi’s shadow casted darkness over the Bimm. Over the sound of Sirdi’s scorn showered yells from runaways. No deserters circled about for the finale. Fears thumped their hears to a pitter-patter matched only by their scurrying feet. The minute menace’s hand nursed his cheek on the ground. He spat out the pain. Still it stayed. A grumble came from him as Sirdi’s grimace deepened.

“That’s not how a Jedi ta—“ The Bimm tried a retort, but was shut up by a cough; his head was on the dirt and mouth stuffed with particles. He was down where he belonged, according to Sirdi’s justice. With judgment given, the blade rested and was latched back to his belt string. Although the Jedi practice often, this was the most he’d ever used his sword in real action.

It was more fun to swing against trees, hedges, and the wind. There was no talkback from nature. “---Talk like that”

[Sirdi Kōhō]

The Jedi had no words for him. There were comebacks in the arsenal though. However, the point was made. “Stay down,” Sirdi demanded. A steel cold stare came down on the Bimm as he looked up at the Jedi, knowing he was serious. Sirdi yearned to unwind. He’d come out to tinker with his swoop bike. Not to topple a vain tiny horror. An inhale billow his lungs and lifted his chest. Eyes closed, he swung his head back as he shook it.

Clear skies awaiting him when he opened his eyes. All the blue peered down. Orange sunrays smeared with marred ginger topsoil. Green speckled and sprouted out about them. There wasn’t enough. His inhale had been filled with the stench of disgust and dust. His head came down to survey the scandal and released a sigh. Out gust the disgust. Out gust the dust. Eased, he looked out and watched as the last few fled beyond trouble. Sweeping over the scene he only saw one other figure beside the Bimm:

The Cizeri.

She was laid out, crumpled, legs thrashed over one another. Her body was draped like a sheet atop a nearby cargo container. The cargo box was large enough to hold a bundle of giant womp rats. She was poised over the container if she’d went to grab the goods. Sirdi saw no wounds, but she was certainly out of commission.

He looked down at the Bimm. “So ya jus had to shoot ‘er, eh?”

“No!” The Bimm barked back. “It wasn’t me.”

Sirdi shook his head, looking down on him. “Betta hope she aint really hurt.”

“It was not me!”

[Sirdi Kōhō]

Alliance military base detainment cells caged criminals and suspects in energy fields. Passerbys could view in through the blue energy fields. The containment cell halls were housed on the basement level of the outpost's Alliance officer's club. Two guards were employed the ends of each hall within the detention facility. Two more patrolled the halls. Jurisdiction to walk detention, even on a remote occupation like Ossus' Jedi Enclave, were beyond common petty officer's rank. If Sirdi was not adorn a Jedi lightsaber (albeit a trainer saber) at his waist, he would not be allowed to personally escort his apprehended Bimm. He trotted behind the Bimm. Two carbine blaster equipped soldiers chaperoned alongside. All, but the Bimm, were quiet.

He muttered to himself.

"I didn't do it."

"Then, who did?" Sirdi walked close behind. "Really?"

"Not me"

"Dis guy, a broken record." The soldiers shook their heads. The two pivoted at an empty cell and hedged the entrance. Sirdi escorted the Bimm down the two-steps into the detainment cell. His hand guided him in.

"I don't deserve this. Wake her up! She knows"

The Cizeri was still stunned and on her way, assisted by Alliance staff, to a medical center on Alliance base, not Cizerak. When Sirdi filed the injury report and incident, he communicated with the military liaison officer, Deve Ozo, whom coordinated his transfer to the Alliance ranks to a Jedi Order trainee and was stationed at the outpost. Deve was a capable, young member of the rebellion, and flourished within the political avenues necessary to acquire resources for ground troops, preserving organizational ties to Sector conglomerates. When the galactic resistances developed into the Alliance of Free Planet, superiors saw it fit to employ her skill-set for the Jedi Order's establishment. The location was deplorable. The assignment was crucial. Deve embraced her role on Ossus' outpost with an experienced calmness. Thus, the call was met with careful examination, followed by clear instructions:

"Do not inform the Jedi Council, nor the Cizeri of the transgression. Understood?" Sirdi could not see her face through the comm. unit, but he knew she had her hands in a pocket, trotting the office corridors with purpose, and another problem to solve.

"Gotcha. But, ma'am.."

"Yes."

"Ay, can I ask why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why can't I not tell de two parties?"

"The Jedi Order is under the protection of the Alliance of the Free Planets. The Cizerack Pride is our friend. The Bimm was one of our own. This is family business, we handle this in-house. You're 15 minutes away. I'll be there in 6 minutes."

The comm. unit clicked dead.