Jedi Artisan 026

The Consular-class cruiser descended through Mandalore’s iron-gray clouds beneath the escort of six starfighters.

Obi-Wan Kenobi stood near the forward viewport with his hands clasped behind his back, spine straight and expression stern. The planet below appeared every bit as inhospitable as the Temple archives had suggested. Great stretches of pale desert divided fortified settlements, while black mountain ranges rose beneath perpetual storms. Even the cities seemed designed for war. Towers of steel and stone crowded behind armored walls, their landing platforms connected by narrow bridges spanning chasms hundreds of meters deep.

“A charming world.” Zane remarked from the seat behind him. “One can immediately tell how much the Mandalorians trust their neighbors.”

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder. “Their history provides ample reason for mistrust.”

“Does it?”

“They have invaded the Republic more than once. They glorify combat, honor mercenaries, and settle political disputes through violence.” Obi-Wan stated, barely withholding an aura of mild contempt. 

Zane leaned toward Qui-Gon, lowering his voice only enough to make it obvious that Obi-Wan was meant to hear. “Your Padawan swallowed an encyclopedia.”

Qui-Gon stroked his beard thoughtfully. “One hopes he remembers to digest it.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth twitched, yet he couldn't raise his voice in protest, as that'd be improper. 

The cruiser swept over the walls of the city of Sundari and angled toward a landing platform extending towards the royal district. Awaiting them was a small reception party composed of guards in blue-gray armor, several ministers wrapped in heavy robes, and a slender blond girl who stood at their center.

Obi-Wan frowned. “That is Satine Kryze?”

“That is Lady Satine Kryze.” Qui-Gon corrected. “House Kryze has become increasingly influential among the reformist clans as of late.”

“She is younger than I expected.” Obi-Wan frowned. 

“You are fourteen.” Zane said in a deadpan. 

Obi-Wan shook his head. Age was important when it came to leading nations, but a Jedi was always connected to the Force. Besides, he was simply a Padawan, he understood his place in the hierarchy of the universe. 

The cruiser settled upon its landing struts, and steam hissed across the platform, carried sideways by the cold wind.

When the ramp lowered, Qui-Gon went first. Zane followed at his side, wearing the relaxed expression that Obi-Wan had come to regard with deep suspicion. Obi-Wan descended last, his robe snapping around his boots.

Satine stepped forward before any minister could announce her.

She was perhaps a year or two older than Obi-Wan, though she carried herself with composure. Her pale blue traveling coat bore no armor, only the silver crest of Clan Kryze over her heart. Wind pulled several strands of blond hair loose from their pins, but she ignored them.

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn.” She bowed. “On behalf of my family and the reformist council, welcome to Mandalore.”

“Lady Kryze.” Qui-Gon returned the gesture. “This is Jedi Zane, representative of the First Council of First Knowledge, and my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Satine turned first to Zane.

“I have heard of your council.”

Zane’s eyebrows rose. “All good things, I trust.”

“Very mysterious things.” She replied with a straight face, although there was a trace of warmth in her voice. 

“Even better.”

A smile touched her lips before she faced Obi-Wan. “Padawan Kenobi.”

“My lady.”

His bow was flawless, although his voice was distant, as if what was happening right now was nothing more than a formality. That this guard detail would be nothing more than one tiny blip in a long career destined to serve the Order. 

Satine noticed his wooden performance, but her expression gave nothing away.

“I hope your journey was comfortable.”

“It was uneventful.” Qui-Gon replied. 

“On Mandalore, that is considered a luxury.” Satine said, somewhat with a dash of melancholy, then gestured for them to follow her. 

The delegation began crossing the broad platform towards the royal district. Ahead lay a long enclosed bridge linking the landing complex to the palace district. Its armored sides had been opened to welcome the Jedi, exposing the path to the bitter air and giving them a sweeping view of the city below.

Mandalorian gunships moved between towers, their searchlights constantly scanning for something. Far beneath them, armored transports rolled through the streets in disciplined columns, barricades divided several plazas, and smoke drifted above one distant quarter. It was apparent that despite this grand procession, not all was well on Mandalore. 

Qui-Gon’s gaze lingered upon the sight, then turned towards his host. “We were told the disturbances had ended.”

“The demonstrations ended, but the spirit of Mandalore is not something so easily won over.” Satine sighed. 

“Which clans are involved?”

“More every week. Clan Rook supports the traditionalists openly. The Saxon households claim neutrality, although their foundries are producing enough armor to equip an army. Several smaller houses have sworn loyalty to whichever side happens to control their province that morning. My father says peace can be maintained if the great houses are given time to negotiate.” Satine said, staring out into the grey clouds. 

“And what do you say?” Qui-Gon asked. 

The young woman hesitated before answering. “I say many of the great houses have taken the word negotiation to mean: ‘an opportunity to move their weapons closer to the capital.”

Qui-Gon studied her with renewed interest. “An honest assessment.”

“Mandalore has an abundance of warriors, Master Jedi. What it lacks are people willing to be honest with them.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes shifted toward her, and was surprised by her openness. He had, quite frankly, expected arrogance. Mandalorian nobles, according to every record he had studied, revered strength and despised outsiders. Satine possessed the confidence of her lineage, yet she spoke without excessive pride. Her eyes did not brighten at the sight of gunships or armored soldiers, in fact, quite to the contrary, for when one of the gunships passed beneath the bridge, she regarded it with weary disapproval.

“You oppose the warrior clans.” Obi-Wan said.

“I oppose civil war. War of any kind, as a matter of fact.” Satine boldly declared, causing even a few of her nearby guards to flinch.

“They would argue that conflict preserves Mandalorian strength.” Obi-Wan pressed. 

Satine glanced at him. “Do you agree?”

“Of course not.” He shook his head. 

“Then perhaps there is hope for us both.” Satine smiled. 

“Mandalorian culture has been responsible for centuries of bloodshed. Its people have repeatedly attacked the Republic. We are happy to finally see a reformer such as yourself.” Obi-Wan said, quite pleased with himself. 

However, what he said wasn't particularly kind, and Satine wasn't entirely without pride for her people. “And the Republic has never attacked anyone?”

“The Republic maintains peace. It is an institution of justice, of order.” Obi-Wan replied, furrowing his brow. 

Satine stopped walking to stare at the boy next to her. 

The guards and ministers continued several paces before realizing she had fallen behind. Qui-Gon and Zane halted with her. Obi-Wan reluctantly did the same.

Satine studied the young Padawan without any anger in her bones, yet a fire had been lit in her heart. 

“You have come here beneath the protection of Republic law. Your cruiser bears diplomatic markings. Your Order was invited to mediate by those who hope to avoid war. Yet there are villages beyond those mountains where the Republic is remembered only as the government that bombarded them during the last uprising.”

“That does not excuse-”

“No. It does not.” Her voice remained gentle. “History should explain hatred, Padawan Kenobi. It should never excuse it, nor should it constrain those who wish to better themselves.” 

Qui-Gon’s expression remained serene, though something faintly approving showed in his eyes.

Satine resumed walking. “You are right about my people. We have celebrated conquest, raised children to worship ancestral sets of armor, and preserved feuds long after anyone remembered their cause. If Mandalore is to survive, that must change.”

“You would abandon your own traditions?” Obi-Wan asked, perhaps feeling a modicum of respect? for the girl, but that couldn't be right…

“The traditions that give us an identity should be preserved. Those that make widows of mothers and orphans of children should be questioned.”

“Many would call that weakness.” Obi-Wan softly stated, trying to reason out her position. 

“Many already have.”

There was no self-pity in her answer. That unsettled Obi-Wan more than anger would have.

He watched her speak with Qui-Gon as they continued toward the bridge. She knew the disposition of every major clan, the grievances of the miners in the northern provinces, and the alliances developing among the traditionalists. Yet she also remembered the names of the guards beside her. When an elderly minister struggled against the wind, Satine slowed without drawing attention to it.

Obi-Wan had constructed an image of her before their arrival: another proud Mandalorian noble surrounded by soldiers, eager to use Jedi authority against her rivals. That image was slowly transforming into one of respect. 

“What concessions are the reformists prepared to make?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Regional autonomy, restoration of several clan holdings, and amnesty for fighters who surrender their weapons.”

“And if they refuse?”

Satine’s gaze moved toward the smoke beyond the city. She was about to reply, when something rippled in the Force. 

“Down!” Qui-Gon shouted, pushing the young woman to the ground. 

Seconds later, the bridge erupted in a flash of light and twisted transparisteel. A blast tore through its central support with a flash of orange-white fire. The deck leapt beneath their feet, and metal shrieked as one side of the bridge folded downward, hurling guards and ministers against the railings or off the ledge screaming to their doom. 

Obi-Wan struck the ground shoulder-first. His ears rang, whilst smoke and fragments of burning metal rolled over him. A second explosion shattered the bridge behind the delegation, blocking off their means of escape. The center section sagged into the chasm, groaning and threatening to topple over any moment now. 

“Move!” Qui-Gon shouted.

Red blaster bolts blazed through the smoke from the towers across the plaza, intent on taking them down. 

Zane’s lightsaber sprang into his hand with a white flare. He swept it upward, sending two shots back toward distant windows. Qui-Gon ignited his own blade and moved beside him, forming a wall of green light before the surviving diplomats.

Obi-Wan pushed himself to his knees.

Satine lay several meters away near the collapsing edge. One of her guards had thrown himself over her before the explosion, but was now a blackened, ragdolled corpse. Satine tried to rise, but her right ankle folded beneath her.

The bridge groaned, shuddering like a giant taking his last step before collapsing. 

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon called. “Take Lady Satine!”

Obi-Wan ran without thinking, following his Master's command. A section of railing tore free and vanished into the depths during his sprint, and the broken deck tilted farther, sending debris sliding past him. Satine reached for a support beam to stop herself from falling, but her gloved fingers slipped across the metal.

Obi-Wan caught her wrist, and for one terrifying moment, half her body hung over the chasm. He braced one boot against the twisted railing and hauled her upward whilst  holding onto a long, whipping cable for support. Satine struck the deck beside him, breathless but conscious.

“Can you stand?”

“My ankle is injured.”

The bridge gave another violent shudder.

Obi-Wan turned his back to her and crouched. “Climb on.”

Satine stared at him, not wanting to debase herself by relying upon someone else. 

“Now, my lady!” Obi-Wan urged. 

She then wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly. Obi-Wan hooked his hands beneath her knees and rose. She was lighter than he expected, though carrying her across a collapsing bridge while under blaster fire still struck him as an unreasonable addition to his duties. More than 15 meters of open air separated them from the stable end of the bridge.

Zane and Qui-Gon stood at the edge, deflecting the storm of bolts pouring from the surrounding towers. Qui-Gon caught a shot low and sent it into a gunman concealed behind a ventilation stack. Zane lifted his free hand, and a wave of invisible power ripped an assassin from an upper balcony and hurled him through a transparisteel wall.

Satine tightened her hold. “Can you make that jump?”

“But of course.” Obi-Wan confidently replied, sweat accumulating upon his brow. 

“You sound uncertain.” Satine gulped. 

“I am accounting for the additional weight.” Obi-Wan sassed back. 

“Charming.”

A blaster bolt struck the deck near Obi-Wan’s heel, and he hesitated no longer. Swooping across the cable like a monkey in the jungle, he released his hold just as the bridge behind him collapsed. 

Wind roared around them, and for one terrible instant, Satine’s grip shifted. Obi-Wan twisted in midair, pulling her closer with one arm. They cleared the chasm and slammed onto the far side into a rolling tumble. By the time they landed, it was in quite the risque pose. Obi-Wan on his back had Satine sitting on his lap, whilst her face was mere inches away from his own. 

Zane & Qui-Gon had already jumped to the other side, and working together, pulled the pair of teens to safety with a [Force Pull]. 

“Are you harmed anywhere else?” Obi-Wan asked breathlessly. 

“I do not believe so.” She looked at him, one hand still resting upon his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Obi-Wan suddenly became aware of how close their faces were.

He straightened his robes, standing up in a rush. “It was my duty.”

“Of course.” She demurely bowed her head. “A Jedi always acts due to his duty.” She quietly muttered to herself somewhat bitterly. 

Zane deactivated his lightsaber once they had departed from the killzone, and glanced between them. “An inspiring rescue, come now, if you two stare at one another any longer, we'll never make it to the palace.”

“I am not.” Obi-Wan pouted. 

“Him?” Satine asked confusedly, playing coy. 

Zane merely shook his head with a grin. Heh. Teenagers.