Chapter 19 : The Jedi's Investigation - Part 1
The upper-level market is a mistake from the moment I arrive. Too clean. Too many Security patrols. Too far from the shadows where I've learned to operate. But I need mechanical components R4 can't source through criminal channels, and sometimes pretending normalcy is the best camouflage.
The vendor is showing me datapad components when the crowd shifts. Not obviously—just subtle wrongness, like animals sensing predator. People drift away from the central walkway. Conversations die mid-sentence. Even the aggressive sellers stop hawking their wares.
R4's photoreceptor flares warning red. "Master. Force-sensitive individual approaching. Threat assessment: extreme."
"Force-sensitive. That means—"
Anakin Skywalker materializes through the crowd like gravity personified. Jedi robes, confident stride, and the kind of presence that makes everyone instinctively move. Except he's not moving like a peacekeeper. He's moving like a predator who's found prey.
The Appraisal function glitches when I focus on him:
[ ERROR: FORCE-SENSITIVE INDIVIDUAL ]
[ STANDARD BIOMETRIC ANALYSIS: COMPROMISED ]
[ LIMITED DATA AVAILABLE ]
[ ASSESSMENT: EXTREMELY HOSTILE ]
He stops three feet away. Close enough that I can see the scar over his right eye, the controlled anger in his expression, the mechanical hand that rests too casually near his lightsaber.
"You're the merchant supplying off-world weapons to criminal organizations."
Not a question. An accusation delivered with absolute certainty. My mouth goes dry.
"I'm a licensed importer. Commerce Guild documentation—"
"Eighteen civilians died in that bombing two weeks ago." His voice cuts through my deflection like the lightsaber he's not quite reaching for. "Nine were children. The gang war your weapons escalated killed them."
Every survival instinct screams to run. But running from Jedi is admitting guilt, and admission means immediate arrest or worse. So I do something monumentally stupid: I stand my ground.
"Black Sun did that bombing. Not me."
Anakin circles left, forcing me to turn. The movement is deliberate—predator herding prey, cutting off escape routes. "You armed Red Spire with military-grade equipment. Made conventional warfare non-viable. Forced Black Sun to change tactics. Those children died because you created the conditions for terrorism."
The logic is sound. Uncomfortably sound. But acknowledging it means accepting responsibility I've been carefully avoiding.
"I sell to whoever pays. Legal transactions through proper channels."
"Legal." He stops circling, faces me directly. "You think paperwork absolves you? Those children's parents care about Commerce Guild documentation?"
His hand moves toward his lightsaber—not drawing it, just touching the hilt. Reminding me what he could do if he decided I wasn't worth the legal complications.
The fear is visceral. Physical. This is Anakin Skywalker—the Chosen One, war hero, Jedi who single-handedly shifts battles. He could kill me before R4 registered the movement. Before I could activate shields. Before my last thought completed.
But pride—stupid, suicidal pride—makes me respond: "Prove I'm trafficking illegally. My licenses are valid, my suppliers are registered, my inventory matches documentation. Everything's legal."
"Legal doesn't mean right." His voice drops dangerously quiet. "First time your weapons kill the wrong people in ways Republic can't ignore, jurisdiction won't matter. I'll find you. And lawyers won't help."
He holds my gaze for five seconds that stretch into eternity. Then he leaves, striding through the market like the crowd doesn't exist. Which, for him, it basically doesn't. People scramble out of his path.
The moment he's gone, my legs nearly give out. I grab the vendor's table for support, trying to breathe normally despite the adrenaline screaming through my system.
R4 hovers close, photoreceptor dimmed to avoid attention. "Master engaged in verbal combat with individual capable of bisecting master via plasma blade. Assessment: master is complete fool."
"Noted."
"Master's survival probability decreased by 47.3% due to single conversation. Antagonizing Jedi Council member: tactically catastrophic."
"I know."
"Master knows yet proceeded regardless. Psychological assessment: master's pride exceeds master's intelligence."
I want to argue but can't. The droid's right. I just antagonized the Chosen One because admitting culpability felt worse than provoking someone who could kill me with a thought.
"What's wrong with me? When did staying alive become less important than maintaining criminal reputation?"
The vendor is staring. Everyone within earshot is staring. I abandon the purchase and walk toward the nearest exit, trying not to look like I'm fleeing despite absolutely fleeing.
R4 follows, maintaining distance that suggests we're not together while staying close enough to monitor. The droid's learned paranoia protocols well.
Three blocks away, in an alley that feels safer than the exposed market, I finally stop and lean against a wall. My hands are shaking. The fear I suppressed during the confrontation floods back with interest.
Anakin Skywalker knows about me. Is investigating me. Threatened me directly. Every weapons sale, every criminal contact, every compromise I've made is now under Jedi scrutiny.
The System, unhelpfully, chimes:
[ THREAT ASSESSMENT UPDATED ]
[ JEDI INVESTIGATION: ACTIVE ]
[ REPUBLIC AUTHORITY: INTERESTED ]
[ SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: DECREASED TO 27.4% ]
[ RECOMMENDATION: CEASE OPERATIONS AND FLEE PLANET ]
"Can't flee," I mutter. "Too much invested here."
"Master's investment will mean nothing if master is bisected," R4 points out. "Jedi do not threaten without capacity to execute. Master should assume General Skywalker has authorization to neutralize master if sufficient evidence obtained."
"How long do I have?"
"Insufficient data. However, General Skywalker's reputation suggests aggressive investigation. Estimated timeline: two weeks maximum before master's operation is exposed or master is arrested. Possibly both."
Two weeks. Maybe less. Before Anakin finds evidence connecting me to gang warfare, civilian casualties, the Senate bombing equipment I sold to Wrynn. Before Republic authority crashes down with Jedi enforcement backing it.
I'm not prepared for this. I'm barely prepared for gang warfare and CS investigations. Adding Jedi to the threat matrix is escalation I can't match.
"I need protection. Someone who can shield me from Jedi attention."
The thought feels desperate. But desperation has been my primary operating mode since Grax died in that warehouse. This is just escalation.
My datapad pings—Jassi. Her timing is either prescient or she heard about the encounter already. Underworld news travels fast.
"Heard you met Skywalker. You're dead. Come to stall."
I find her twenty minutes later, closing up for the day. She looks at me with something approaching pity.
"You antagonized the Hero With No Fear. The Jedi who wins impossible battles. The man who'll be running the Republic military in five years if he survives the war." She shakes her head. "Kade, I've watched you adapt fast. Faster than anyone I've seen. But this is different. Jedi don't threaten—they act. You have maybe two weeks before he finds excuse to arrest you."
"What are my options?"
"Three. Flee the planet, hide until war's over, or make yourself politically untouchable." She studies my face. "You're not fleeing. You're too invested. And hiding won't work—Jedi find people through Force. Which leaves option three."
"How do I become untouchable?"
"Get someone powerful to protect you. Someone Skywalker can't casually move against without political consequences." She counts on her fingers. "Senator, high-ranking military commander, major crime lord with Senate connections. Someone whose protection creates complications for Jedi intervention."
"I have Syndicate alliance already."
"Red Spire is local gang. Skywalker doesn't care about gang politics. You need bigger. Planetary scale. The kind of protection that makes Jedi think twice before acting."
I process this. My current allies—Syndicate, refugee networks, clone contacts, Republic procurement officers—none of them have the weight to challenge Jedi authority. They're all operating in shadows where Jedi light exposes everything.
"Any suggestions?"
Jassi's lekku twitch—hesitation before commitment. "Mandalorians. Death Watch specifically. They're desperate for weapons, hate Jedi on cultural principle, and have enough political connections that Jedi can't casually move against their associates. If you could supply them, they might shelter you."
"Mandalorians." The word feels foreign. I know them from Clone Wars lore—warrior culture, complicated politics, civil war tearing their society apart. "They'd protect a weapons dealer?"
"They'd protect a valuable weapons dealer. One who supplies equipment they can't get elsewhere. One who respects their culture and doesn't try to manipulate them." She meets my eyes. "It's risky. They're violent, unpredictable, and might just kill you and take your inventory. But it's the only political shield I see that's actually achievable."
The logic is sound but terrifying. Trade one set of violent criminals for another, except these are militant warriors with jetpacks and generational grudges.
"How do I contact Death Watch?"
"Carefully. Very carefully. They don't advertise. But someone in your Syndicate network probably dealt with them before. Red Spire used to move weapons to outer territories. Ask Thax."
We part ways. She doesn't wish me luck—we're past that kind of optimism. Just a nod acknowledging shared understanding that I'm in over my head.
Back at the secondary safehouse, I review the encounter obsessively. Every word. Every gesture. Trying to assess exactly how much danger I'm in.
R4 projects probability calculations on the bare wall: "Jedi investigation timeline: 10-18 days estimated. Master's exposure vectors: Republic procurement (Commander Javik traceable), gang warfare (CS records), refugee sales (transaction logs), clone network (GAR internal audit). Any single vector provides sufficient evidence for arrest. Combined vectors guarantee Republic prosecution with Jedi enforcement."
"And if I get Mandalorian protection?"
"Probability Jedi hesitates before acting: 58.7%. Not certain protection but significant deterrent. Mandalorians and Jedi have cultural tension dating to Mandalorian Wars. Modern Jedi Council avoids direct conflict with Mandalorian factions when possible."
Fifty-eight percent. Better than the 27% survival rate without protection. Still terrible odds, but improvement is improvement.
I open encrypted channel to Thax: "Need introduction to Mandalorians. Death Watch specifically. Willing to pay introduction fee."
His response takes forty minutes: "You're serious? They're insane. But... Kreel dealt with them during Mandalore crisis. I'll ask. This'll cost you."
"How much?"
"A lot. I'll confirm tomorrow."
I close the channel and sit in darkness, wearing civilian clothes that feel like costume now. The market encounter proved what I've been avoiding: I can't maintain dual existence. Can't be legitimate importer in daylight and criminal dealer in darkness. Anakin's confrontation exposed the fiction.
"I'm committed now. Fully. Irreversibly. No path back to surface world."
The realization should hurt more than it does. But I've been descending incrementally since Grax—each step deeper into shadows until surface light became memory rather than destination.
That night, I practice drawing my concealed blaster. The motion is clumsy, slow, completely inadequate for actual combat. I fumble it twice, drop it once. R4 watches with what might be mechanical disappointment.
"Master's combat capability: minimal. Armor and shields help, but master remains fundamentally non-combatant. Survival depends on allies, equipment, and avoiding direct conflict."
"Then I better get better allies."
"Master's strategy sound if Mandalorians accept proposition. However, probability they simply execute master and confiscate inventory: 58.3%."
I check the System balance: 673,595 credits. Enough to arm a small force. Enough to interest warriors perpetually at war. Maybe enough to buy protection from Jedi attention.
Or enough to paint target on my back brighter than it already is.
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