Worth: A Star Wars Story

4. Through the Eyes of Padawans

It was beyond awkward sitting there at a table in some shady diner across from this small Padawan. I don't quite know exactly what I had been expecting out of him, but it honestly wasn't that. Talen Jall was barely a teenager. His hair was pushed back from his face and grown out, so blond that it was almost white. His eyes were a deep blue, and his skin was tanned from spending days outside in the sun. His long robe seemed too big for him, and the lightsaber clipped to his belt seemed like it was too big for him. He just seemed so... small. And young. Too much of both.

He smiled at us as a serving droid brought him a glass of some funny colored juice and the four identical cups of caf that we ordered. "I'm happy you're here," he beamed. "Master Kolar said you hunted terrorists. I could really use your help."

"Do you even know what a Special Task Group is, kid?" I asked as I shifted nervously in my seat.

"A small group of Clones, ranging anywhere from three to eight, who specialize in specific tasks that fall outside of the parameters of standard Legion activities. These can include special operations, black ops, and various other activities that require elite mobile units." He spoke so perfectly that I had a problem realizing the fact that this was the same kid who looked like he asked for permission to go anywhere.

Tor paused and slowly turned to me, "Textbook, alor'ad."

"I read up beforehand," He nodded. "I wanted to be sure I got it all right."

"Alright, I'll bite. What else do you know?" Red chuckled and leaned forward on one arm.

"Not a lot, but I do know some stuff," the kid's ears got red, "most of the stuff that Trill- sorry, Commander Trill taught me."

"Wait... as in... 82nd Legion's Trill?" Grek reached up and touched the swollen spot on his jaw under his helmet. "He hits like a tank..."

"Yeah, that's... him..." Talen stared at us as he started to put two and two together and flinched. "That won't be an issue with us, will it?"

"Not unless you make it one, kid," I replied and crossed my arms. It came off a little more dismissive than I meant and I felt Red shoot me a glare from behind his helmet more than I saw it. "Now, what do you know about this assassin?"

Talen paused briefly before he resumed his cheery demeanor, "Of course! There was a common thread between a string of murders that had been happening in Coruscant. Every individual killed had a personal or close business relationship to various senators. There wasn't a political motive from that angle, we think. The senators were all from different parties and camps."

"So not one group trying to knock off the other ones then," Tor muttered and sat back in his chair. He was thinking, I could tell just from the tone of his voice. "Are we suspecting Separatists?"

"Maybe..." Talen wrinkled his brow and frowned, "but maybe not. We just know that it isn't a party dispute. It could be anti-war radicals, Separatist sympathizers, crime syndicates... it's a pretty big list."

Pretty big list was the understatement of the era if I ever heard one. I could tell that Tor's wheels were already working as he sat there, leaning ever so slightly forward, likely as he ran through a massively long list of potential suspects. It wasn't a lot to go on. Not yet, at least.

"Anything unusual?" I finally asked, leaning forward on the table, "Weapons? Leftover evidence?"

"Just the potential murder weapon," Talen slid a report to us on a datapad. The analysis of the weapon was the same across the board: high-powered, long range, and the traces left behind indicated that it was a custom model, modified and potentially even more dangerous than the factory snipers that civilians could get their hands on if they knew the right buyer. Whoever they were, they were well-financed and well-connected at the least. That ruled out most regular radical activist groups that might get a little uppity every now and again. We knew most of the other groups. The fact that this wasn't quite matching their playbook wasn't a good thing by any stretch of the imagination.