Scenes from Telos, 1. Carth

Carth ran. The long tall corridors of Citadel Station swept by, and he dodged expertly through the early foot traffic of laborers and techs hauling out for work. He kept wide of the crowds carting luggage, when the corridors opened into the spaceport lobby; he was coming upon the blue and gold of TSF uniforms. They were striking up their morning patrol, fresh for this shift. Catching sight of him, they touched smart salutes off their helms; Carth returned the gesture, the salute and his trusty old pistol the only things which placed him out of the ordinary. He had not yet put on his uniform for the day; he was only a man now, and not the admiral.

The morning jog had become an essential part of his routine. His running shoes got pulled on as soon as he swung his legs out of bed. It kept him fit and ready, and it kept him sane. He had spent most of his life always in motion, in transit, with nights on hard bunks and days in strange places. At one time, he'd almost looked forward to a stationary existence; at least, when he still had Morgana, that is what he'd half-convinced himself. Now he had that desk job and that window office, but the desk was piled with paperwork, and the window didn't really wow anybody with the sights. The post here on Citadel left him torn; on the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to protect his homeworld and watch it return to life. On the other, he knew the assignment at the meager Republic garrison was meant to keep him out of the way, to keep him under watch, and to keep him busy. They don't trust me so much anymore. Hell. I don't know if I'd trust me..

Citadel Station hummed with activity that morning, or what passed for morning there. The living space of a planet was reduced to a single sprawling starport, a place where people were always coming and going, always busy, dragging luggage, fumbling with identification, strung-out from space lag. Mothers shouted at their kids in all sorts of languages. Kids complained in just as many. It was all hours of the day for all people, each one of them moving in a different time zone and season, hurrying toward the next point on their agenda. Touch screens and consoles scrolled text that read off destinations and delays, where to eat, where to stay, shuttles, terminals, and so on.

There was a great screen along one side of the present corridor, and it showed no text, ran no advertisement. Its only broadcast was a simple collection of peaceful field and woodland scenes, and it put out sounds of insects, birds, and flowing water. It was sponsored by the Ithorians, who said it was meant to be a calming presence and also a promise for the future of the Telos restoration. At first the screen was an annoyance to Carth, based solely on its cost, but it was starting to grow on him. As he ran by it every morning, watching the huge high-definition grassland and hearing the sound of morning birds, he remembered the green world of his youth. It was almost as if he was back home, a teenager, racing through the tall summer grass with a stolen melon under one arm. Those were the days.

The path ramped up into tight corners, so Carth slowed his pace, catching his breath as he negotiated through the shuttle bay corridors. The newly docked shuttle was gushing out a stream of people and aliens, a worlds-weary looking bunch. Most of these people were here to change flights. As he made his way through the crush of people, Carth saw a familiar face, and traded a few words with Lieutenant Grenn. Tighter patrols and searches were cutting into the smuggling problem here on the station, a good start at least, but there was more to be done. The pondscum of the galaxy were taking advantage of the situation on Telos; they thought they smelled an opportunity here on Citadel Station, and if they had their way, they'd turn it into Nar Shaddaa part two. And even legitimate organizations were no better; Czerka Corp was reaching out greedily for more and more, and no matter how many times they got their hand slapped, they kept coming back for seconds. He could do nothing more so long as they had their friends on the council, they'd have their fun once Carth left with the Sojourn. Bastards.

Carth turned onto the exterior walkways, whose windowed walls showed the expanse of the station below. There were few people coming this way now, so his pace picked up. His shoes beat out a steady rhythm on the steel walkways, and he watched the ships and shuttles go by. Here you could only glimpse a bit of the horrendous world beneath, to which signs of life were only beginning to return. Sometimes, when he came out on these sky ramps or when he stood in front of his window, Carth imagined the Ebon Hawk swooping by. He wished it would.

His journey carried him across the walkways and then into a terminal, down the ramp, and through another corridor. He let his pace slow as he entered the module of his destination. The flora here was larger and best tended of all the indoor gardens on the station, owing to the nearby Ithorian headquarters. Bubbling water dropped from different levels into ponds, surrounded by green, waxy foliage and those fat, twisty trees native to Dantooine. On a closer look, Carth saw that the Ithorians had added some sort of fish to the pools. They were coming to the surface, smacking their lips in dumb, fishy anticipation. Carth smiled.

He had a peculiar mission this morning, off the record for now. He wasn't sure how he felt about it; he was always a worrier. Still, he'd talked it over with Grenn, with Yima, and then with his secretary, whom he trusted for her common sense and discretion. She was one of the rare few who were unafraid to shoot down one of his bad ideas, usually prefaced with, "What's the matter with you, blockhead Onasi, you wake up stupid this morning?"

When Carth entered medical bay 082, he helped himself to a drink of water, sat with the other would-be patients in the waiting area, and heard some complaints from a nagging alien. He couldn't understand a word she said, if it was even a she, but the beady eyes, hanging cheeks, and pinchy appendages reminded him strongly of his late and great hypochondriac aunt. The ancient entity was trying to show him something on her arm, or at least that is what he supposed, but since he didn't even know what she was, he was unqualified to make any medical opinion. In any case... he didn't see anything.

Carth had caught his breath fully, and was feeling awake, energized. Unlike the others here, or at least some of the others here, there wasn't anything wrong with him; the only treatment he required was a cup of caffa and the news. He was patient enough to wait for the people who needed help to be helped, though he'd come here early, and only the desperate, or the determined, had come to 082. When the receptionist called him, he went up, showed his military ID, and told her he only needed to ask a couple of questions from one of the medics. She hesitated, almost protective; Carth assured her that no one was in trouble. Quite the opposite. She let him go back. He left his blaster with her.

Carth found his medic with a patient. The young man was sticking a tongue depressor in the mouth of a gigantic alien; he chatted kindly as he did so, with the alien's other head. Carth stood by, watching him for a minute, listening to him talk. His pattern of speech became apparent, and Carth smiled, reminded of those holos his wife always forced him to watch, those painful Coruscanti class dramas. The young man had a proper High Coruscant accent; his personnel file placed him from that planet; but once Carth had seen the name on the record, he knew just where he'd really come from.

Matale went to the sink when he was finished, and he hummed as he washed his hands. "I'll be with you in a moment." Matale, when he returned, seemed to tower over Carth; he was a clean looking kid with broad shoulders, blond hair, and big teeth. Carth saw no signs of the fight that broke out the night before. He's healed it up, of course, Carth thought. The infirmary. What a good place for him to hide.

"How can I help you?" Matale seemed in earnest. "I was told you had some questions?"

Carth tried not to smile back. "Well," he said, "it's a little embarrassing, could we go somewhere a little more private?"

Matale treated him to a gaze of serene compassion. "Of course," he said. "Come this way." Carth figured that if you came back with a burning souvenir from Nar Shaddaa, or you had something unusual lodged in an equally unusual place, this was probably the guy you wanted to go to. He probably wouldn't even laugh about it in the break room.

Carth was taken to a side exam room, which also doubled as supply storage. So there, among the plasteel cylinders and charts of human and alien anatomies, including a cut-view of an eyeball that Carth couldn't stand to look at, Matale said, "What is the matter? You can tell me."

Carth sat down. "Well, it's about a friend," he said.

"Of course," said Matale. Force, his teeth were big. "What is the matter with your friend?"

"Well. My friend has a friend.. "

The young man's smile slowly diminished. Like as not, he'd heard the 'I have a friend' story a million times; however, it wasn't every day that that 'friend' had a 'friend'. That must be serious. He watched Carth closely, calm and kindly.

"Well," said Carth, cutting to the chase, "this friend got hurt last night, real bad. She would have died, but a kind stranger stepped in and saved her life. It was a miracle." Carth saw Matale grow cold before his eyes, and wondered, in a flickering, if he'd done the right thing by leaving his blaster at the desk. "What I'm trying to say is, you helped Officer Linu even though you put yourself in danger. I want you to know I came here to thank you."

Matale lingered in cold silence for several moments, until he resolved a proper response. He looked Carth in the eye and told him, "You seem to be in good health, you would like to go home now." He made a gesture with his hand.

Carth smiled. "That's never worked on me," he said. "I know what you are, and I want to help you."

"Whatever it is you think you know, or think you saw, or think you heard," replied Matale, pressing on, with a stronger motion of his hand. "Is wrong. Incorrect. I was working late last night, you are mistaken."

Even Revan couldn't pull a mind trick on him. Or so far as I thought, anyways.. "I know you're worried, but you don't need to be. I used to be friends with some Jedi, and I still am, when they come back. I know there's got to be more of you than you hear reported, and I understand why you're all hiding. Your secret's safe with me."

Matale studied him closely from thawing blue eyes. "I'm not a Jedi," he told Carth, his voice even. "I never underwent the trials. I never had a master. I don't have a lightsaber.. and as you can see I can't even pull a proper mind trick." A weary look was coming over his face.

"Why don't you tell me what went on yesterday?" Carth pressed.

"It seems you already know." Matale seemed tired, but there was a hesitant flicker to his eye, as though he might be goaded into saying more. He wanted to tell someone. "How is she doing? Officer.. "

"Linu. She's fine. Lieutenant Grenn made her take the day off. I talked to her, I don't think she knows what happened. She must have blacked out with the blow to the head. Grenn won't say anything. The security feed has been confiscated."

Matale gave the slightest of nods, a notch of his chin. "Convey my thanks to them, then. I have the least desire to ever see Nar Shaddaa.. nevermind from between the bars of a force cage."

Carth smiled slightly. "Then you know about the bounty, the one put out by the Exchange?"

"I make it my business to know about these things. What I don't know is why someone wants one. I do imagine they would swiftly find it more trouble than it was worth."

"Inside information. Locations of enclaves. Artifacts. Who knows? Maybe even novelty. Their very own pet Jedi. If it's from Nar Shaddaa, it could be anything." Carth shrugged. Then: "You trained at the school on Dantooine, didn't you?"

Matale was staving off a frown. "How do you know?"

"Your last name. 'Mical Matale'. I took a peek at your personnel file."

"I didn't know TSF could so readily access Republic military records." After a moment or two, he said, "Matale was the only surname that came to mind, when I was standing in registration. I did train at the school, though I left around the time of the Mandalorian Wars."

"You joined the Republic army, and entered the medical corps."

"There you have it." Matale gestured open hands. "Is there anything more you needed?"

"I just want to know what happened yesterday. From your side of things."

"What is there to tell? Some mercenary squabble." Matale shrugged, and was quiet for a moment, contemplative. Carth maintained a welcoming silence, waiting for him to continue, if he was going to. Carth had been told before that he had a very trustworthy face; he wasn't so sure of that, but he tried to seem open. He'd gotten this far with this reluctant young man.

"I wasn't paying attention until the lady officer was struck," Matale said. "I suppose she stepped in between them. I am certain it was her helmet which saved her life for the most part, and not I. In any event, I went to her to help her, that being my job, and when I removed her helmet I saw how badly it was. When I touched her throat for a pulse, my hand grew very cold, and I saw the blood seep back into her head. It was out of my control. Things were wrapping up with the TSF and those Czerka cretins. I left the scene, I didn't want to be asked any questions. It was simply a fluke, hasn't happened in years. And there it is. If you absolutely must put that in your report, say it was the will of the force. Again: Is there something more you needed?"

He still thinks I'm TSF. I guess, so long as he doesn't ask me how I knew about a Dantooine landowner.. "No. No, you've answered my questions more than enough. Thank you."

"And you. Good day." Matale seemed relieved as Carth drew nearer the door, yet there was a troubled curiosity that lingered in him. He waited, and it came. "You say you are a friend to the jedi?"

"As best I can be," Carth replied.

"Do you have contact with any of them?"

Carth shook his head. "No. Not.. recently."

Matale nodded. "Nor do you know where any of them went?"

"No. But if any needed help, I'm here to hand it out. They'll come back."

Matale paused, and then he put out his hand, as though recalling his manners. Carth suspected that at any other occasion, they were impeccable. "I didn't get your name," he said.

I'm not going to give up the fun just yet, Carth thought. He said, "Lieutenant Yima. I'll let you get back to your patients." They shook, and Carth left him to his work. He took his pistols from the receptionist, thanked her, and began to pull on his holster as he strolled out of the medbay.

Carth stood a moment in the midst of the early traffic in the station, people and aliens flowing around him. He took out his comm.

"Still got all your arms and legs, sir?" came the voice of his secretary, Eda Ghi.

"Just about," said Carth.

"Not cooked by electricity?"

"Still raw."

"Just checking, sir. It's my job. So it went all right then?"

"I think so. But I told him I was Lieutenant Yima."

"Just between us, sir, I don't think the Lieutenant's mustache is half as impressive as yours."

Carth laughed out loud. "Yima's a good woman, and a good soldier."

"Uh huh, so am I clearing your afternoon?"

"Late afternoon."

Carth stepped round some cargo coming by, and then he eased back into his stride. If he could get over the petty politics the day seemed to promise, he might be onto something. Matale was trained, intelligent. Familiar with the Order but unattached to it or any master. Obedient, and, Carth sensed, eager to please. He had something to work with here, maybe. There were a few things he had to find out first. Like, for one, how the kid felt about working with a personal friend of a former sith lord. People tended to feel pretty strong one way or another on that point, Carth learned. He wasn't so sure himself how he felt about that, some days. It was complicated. In any event, the receptionist was going to press Matale for details at the next free moment, and then Carth's game was up. She had, after all, been handed his ID, and he had considerable doubt against her not being the slightest bit curious why 'Darth Carth' himself had popped down by the infirmary. Good. Carth wanted Matale up to speed when he was summoned to the admiral's office.