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“Easy,” a calm voice reassured.
Tidis regained consciousness slowly and attempted to sit up, only to suffer a wave of nausea. He moved to caress his temples, but only his right arm responded. Looking down in horror, he realised his left arm had been severed at the elbow.
“Easy,” the voice came again, “you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“What happened to my arm?” Tidis said drowsily.
“Do not panic.” The speaker was clearly female, but her face was covered by a smooth mask; only her keen eyes were visible.
“Where am I?”
“You are with allies of the Republic.”
“The Republic has no allies in Brea’ Bas.”
“There is much you do not know about our city. Indeed, there is much you do not know about the Republic.”
“What happened to my arm?” Tidis pressed.
“We found you lying unconscious in the Steamwell Market. Your blood was infected and the poison was spreading to your chest seeking your heart. We used your sword to remove the limb. We are only halfway through the procedure. If you regain your arm it will be fully functional.”
“Who are you?”
“We work for Pasha Remintago, you may have heard of him.”
“Remintago is a drugs warlord.”
“The Pasha is a businessman, a man who has invested much of his time and wealth to restoring your life.”
“Why not leave me to die? What is one less Republican Knight to a narcotics baron?”
“Believe me, you would have been left to the carrion if the Pasha could not profit from your survival. He has a proposition for you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Choice is a concept the Jedi should be well accustomed to. There are no choices ungoverned by will. Simply listen and decide.”
Tidis nodded and watched the masked speaker turn and walk through a door guarded by four regimented men wearing angular helmets. Tidis was lying on a metal dais and his waist and legs were secured beneath tight straps.
A portly man entered through the same door and shuffled to stand over Tidis. The Jedi peered at the folds of flesh gathered beneath the man’s chin, at the sweat lining his brow, at the jagged scar above his right eye. Tidis believed physical imperfections mirrored the imperfections of the spirit; in his eyes Pasha Remintago was deeply flawed.
“They call you the Reverend, why is this?” The Pasha asked.
“I wear the vestments of a dune-priest, it is simply a moniker invented by the natives.”
“I believe my assistant has informed you of your predicament. I have your arm and its return relies on your cooperation.”
“Your assistant didn’t mention such a trade but I appear to have little choice; what use is a Knight without his sword arm?”
“Your attitude intrigues me; you are relaxed about your circumstances?”
“Have you not dealt with the Jedi before?”
“I rarely meet with anybody… in person.”
“And yet, you are so personable,” Tidis said venomously.
The Pasha ushered one of the guards over and the helmeted man pressed a button at the base of the dais. A rectangular case rose alongside. It contained the Jedi’s severed arm. The limb was encased in a layer of ice; blue froth bubbled on the surface of the liquid it was suspended in.
“I could easily have the temperature turned up,” the Pasha threatened. “Still, are the Jedi not trained to be ambidextrous?”
Tidis narrowed his dark eyes. “Even a Knight’s single arm could bring your den to its knees.”
“I am well aware of a Jedi’s powers, but bound as you are, I have nothing to fear. Will you listen to my proposition or shall I just return to the shadows with your arm as a memento?”
Tidis nodded respectfully.
“I know who you are tracking. I have unlocked the information on the securicell and I am fully aware of your assignment. With this knowledge, I see the opportunity for an alliance. The people you seek are tainting the Remintago name, frivolously dealing Material-M across the City with no concept of hierarchy… without respect. We want the same thing, you and I; we simply have a different approach. While you wish to bring these dealers to justice according to the lenient laws of the Republic, I want their heads impaled on stakes, I want them paraded through the streets so that every citizen can look into their tortured eyes and know that I alone deal in Brea’ Bas.”
“You want a Republican Knight to form an alliance with a drugs warlord.”
“We have shared goals, I cannot capture these rebels without the aid of the Republic and you cannot regain your arm without my – how shall I put it… generosity.”
“The Republic would never allow it. I would be condemned by the Council, stripped of my status and be made to live with dishonour.”
“The Republic will not discover our association. You will continue your assignment as if we have never met. When the rebels are captured, my assistant will exchange their lives for your left arm; flesh for flesh, Reverend… flesh for flesh.”
Tidis peered down at the severed stump and felt disgust. Not at the seared tissue, but at the thought of being less than whole, of being imperfect. “We have a deal,” he grimaced.
“A wise choice Reverend. Now I hope you do not mind, but I wish to witness a Jedi’s famed tolerance to pain. A normal man would almost certainly die during this procedure, but I have heard great stories of a Knight’s endurance. Let us see if they are true.”
The Pasha smiled sardonically and took a few steps back from the dais. Tidis watched mechanical arms rise from beneath to poise around his stump before a pronged device began to whir as it revolved and plunged deep into his flesh.

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This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 12th, 2011 at 6:34 am and is filed under Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars, The Old Republic. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.