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Marie Wadsworth

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SWFF: Last of the Jedi Episode 12
By Marie Wadsworth
Posted: Friday, April 27, 2012
Last edited: Friday, April 27, 2012
This short story was "not rated" by the Author.
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IG88 is hired to kill Jedi Summers.

Episode XII

"Trisha Summers?" Kronos said flabbergasted. "What does she has to do with us, my lord?"
"Don't question me," Demilih growled menacingly. "Just do my bidding."
Feeling an invisible hold constricting his throat, Kronos gulped, "Yes, my lord."
Demilih descended from his chair on the dias. "Killing Trisha Summers won't be easy."
"Why not, my lord?"
Demilih's eyes narrowed. "Don't you know anything you fool? Summers is a Jedi magician. She was aboard the Death Star during Skywalker's final confrontation."
"So she helped him kill Vader and the Emperor?" Kronos mused.
"No, you fool," Demilih said, his teeth grinding. "Skywalker should have died on the Death Star but she saved him; now she must pay."
"My lord," Kronos said slowly. "Isn't it impossible to kill a Jedi?"
Demilih snorted. "No."
Kronos nodded.
"Hire a bounty hunter to kill her," Demilih said coolly.
"Yes, my lord," Kronos respectfully bowed his head. "But how will this bounty hunter find this Trisha Summers?"
Demilih returned to his chair. "Bounty hunters aren't without their resources."
"Yes, my lord," Kronos said bending at the waist before retreating from the chamber.
"Have the bounty hunter bring me her lightsaber," Demilih called out to Kronos, who glanced attentively at the evil boss. "Jedis can be tricky to kill and I want proof that she's dead."
Childish tittering followed her as she led the way to Theed Palace.
She turned on them, glaring at the group of children in her charge.
She was a teacher. Her a teacher. It was difficult to comprehend even though many women on Naboo had gone on to be teachers.
Still, teaching wasn't a profession she thought she'd pursue. She wouldn't want to be responsible for training Jedi, but she was able to share a wealth of knowledge with a group of children.
Twisting her head from side to side, she shook off her worries and doubts. Spray cascaded from Padme's Fountain in the square in front of Theed Palace.
"You all need to be on your best behavior in the palace," Trisha said to her students.
"Yes, Natalie?" Trisha called on a young blonde haired girl who raised her hand.
"Do you think the queen will really see us?" Natalie said demurely.
"That depends on how good you are," Trisha replied smoothly, and then turned to a boy poking her for attention. "What is it, Liam?"
"Ms. Trisha," Liam stared up at her. "Do the Jedi still exist?"
"What do you think?" Trisha said. None of her students knew the truth about her. That she was a Jedi.
"No," Liam said.
"Luke Skywalker," Trisha said, bright wisps twisted the edges of her lips. "Would be very disappointed to hear you say that."
The girls giggled. Boys were so stupid sometimes.
"What do you think she is?" Natalie said referring to their teacher's status as a Jedi Knight as she leaned close to Liam.
"Oh, yeah?" Liam huffed, his fists planted firmly on his hips. "Then where's her lightsaber?"
"I'm not allowed to carry it around children," Trisha said, her voice filled with light teasing.
"Oooh," Liam trilled in understanding.
Trisha smiled. Laying a guiding hand on his shoulder, she steered him on toward the palace. "Come on."
Rain poured outside The Gonk on Ord Mantell.
He cursed silently. Why did he have to be in such a miserable place?
If he didn't kill Trisha Summers, he'd be dead. That's why.
Kronos Eldin gritted his teeth, pulling his gortex poncho hood tighter around his head. He scanned the streets, which were clear for the most part because of the inclement weather. The houses in this part of town were in a sad state of disarray.
He sloshed in a puddle, wetting himself clear up to his knees. He cursed. He hated this place.
The Gonk, a disreputable hang out on Ord Mantell, had clearly seen better days. The door swayed in the wind as he entered the establishment. The rest of the building, laden with cracks, holes and serious structural damage, looked like it was about to fall down.
It was dark and smelled like piss, vomit and blood. Galactic jizz wobbled on the jute box.
A buzzing blur whizzed toward him. At the last moment he deftly ducked. As he straightened up, he glanced behind him at the twitching vibroblade sticking into the decaying wall.
Kronos made his way toward the bar. The bartender chewed on some snuff, staring coolly at his new customer.
"Excuse me," Kronos said to him. "Does anyone know where I can find IG-88?"
"What do you want with IG-88?" A cold computerized voice demanded.
Kronos swiveled toward the droid. The tall, spindly droid looked like a tin can on pole legs. His red glowing eyes pierced him. He had a long thin weapon slung at ready in his mechanical hands.
"I have a job for you," Kronos said getting straight to the point.
"You are one of Boba Fett's men sent to kill me for trying to steal Capt. Solo and collect the bounty on him," IG-88 said coolly.
"Boba Fett is dead," Kronos told him.
IG-88 cocked back the trigger of his weapon. "You lie!"
"I doubt he escaped being slowly digested in the Sarlaac Pit for over 1,000 years," Kronos said dryly, his hand turning a glass filled with a yellow colored brew.
"Then Solo lives," IG-88 said in delight. "I can still collect the bounty on his head."
"Who would you collect it from?" Kronos said mildly amused. "Jabba the Hutt is dead."
IG-88 flipped the switch of his weapon to fire. "You better explain yourself quickly."
"Princess Leia Organa killed him."
IG-88 shot him a smoldering gaze. "You expect me to believe a woman killed the galaxy's greatest gangster?"
"It's true ," Kronos said skeptically analyzing the drink in his glass.
"Then you are one of Vader's men," IG-88 accused him.
"Vader is dead and so is the Emperor."
IG-88 had heard about this, but he didn't quite believe it. "Who wants me to do a job?"
"You wouldn't know him," Kronos said thoughtfully sipping his drink. "But that doesn't matter he'll pay you handsomely."
IG-88 had not worked in two years, but he was never one to turn down a job. "Who is it you wish killed?"
"A Jedi Knight named Trisha Summers of Naboo," Kronos said in a whisper.
"Consider it done," IG-88 said emotionlessly.
Kronos raised a finger. "My master wants assurance that the job was done. He wants her lightsaber."
"Very well," IG-88 said unruffled. "Give me his name and I shall deliver it to him personally."
"Demilih Grogg."
IG-88 filed the name in his data banks. Without even a nod, the droid left the bar.
IG-88 methodically powered up his ship. His metallic hand passed over the controls activating the smooth launch into the stars above.
He had no emotions about the task he'd been assigned, or the man who now employed him. He was neither displeased nor pleased about being back to work. All that mattered was he had a job to do. A job he'd execute with deadly efficiency.
After he went to light speed, he checked over his weapons. He went through his inventory accounting for all the weapons. All were in good working order and satisfactory condition.
After he completed that task, he returned to the cockpit. He slid into his pilot's chair. He extended his right hand toward the console. A sliver thin extension protruded from his right index finger. He inserted it into the computer systems, a rush of words, symbols and images flashed across the screen on the control board before him. Each element stayed up for less than a second before moving on to the next. Until an image of a long dark brown haired woman clad in black flickered across the screen.
A computerized female voice said, "Target acquired."
IG-88 nodded. So this was the Jedi named Trisha Summers he'd been hired to kill.
He stared at the woman, carefully studying her. She looked more like a tomboy than a woman. But that didn't matter. He'd have no problem killing her.
A quiet fire burned in her brown doe like eyes. She had creamy, smooth skin. Her face reflected peace, maturity and wisdom. She was lovely ... for a human.
To kill such a beautiful thing was a pity -- almost. He looked out into the void: Say your prayers, Jedi woman. Your days are numbered.


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