Clone Wars Campaign: The Patient Man

An eagle-eyed reader has informed me that I forgot to post The Patient Man, a very short story featuring Horellius Creen, Tarn's Master in the Jedi Order. The story explains a little about Creen's motivations and has (to my mind) a cool action scene. Chronologically, it appears after Session 31.

THE PATIENT MAN

Voluntarily destroying one’s life’s work was a task that carried with it a quantum of regret, even when its necessity had become apparent. Jedi Master Horellius Creen surveyed his dark, cavernous chambers deep under the Jedi Temple. Much to his satisfaction (and, recently, in no small part to his doing), this section of the massive Temple complex had never been refurbished, updated, or even thoroughly inspected since it was built generations ago. Although the rest of the Temple suffered from the unnatural pall of electric lighting, the irritating hum of computer banks, and the stench of disinfectant, this place was different.

This place was his and it was perfect.

Ancient, deteriorating scrolls of a substance few had ever touched—paper—filled every nook and corner. They had taken a lifetime to collect (or steal) from hundreds of worlds. Candles burned on every ledge, lighting the chamber with a soft, diffuse glow. An obvious fire hazard, but to Horellius Creen it was a reminder of the need for caution. And spread across the massive wooden table was a star chart. Small, precisely drawn circles marked every location the monolith had been sighted in during the past four thousand years.

But if there was a pattern, he could not see it. Not yet. With a sigh, he twitched a finger and tipped over every candle in the room simultaneously. The dry, brittle scrolls caught quickly and in seconds an inferno encircled him. He stood calmly in the center, protected by his mastery of the Force.

His plans had gone awry.

With the information contained in the head of that droid—a droid that had actually been inside the monolith—he could find the pattern. He was sure of it. And for a time it had been in his hands—if only he wasn’t so clumsy with electronics! His tentative explorations into the data had gone nowhere, and even worse, the boy had then absconded with it right under his nose. And even though he had managed to place people on the investigative team who had an interest in bringing Tarn back, weeks had passed without word.

Creen walked through the flames, followed long-forgotten tunnels, and eventually emerged into a sunlit shopping district almost two kilometers from the Temple. It had become clear to him in the past days that the Order had outlived its usefulness. He had to have time to think, to piece together the mystery of the monolith. Already the rumbling had begun—another Padawan disappeared, just months after the Order had finally lifted Creen’s house arrest. A promising young Jedi Knight dispatched off-world to investigate the disappearance, without approval from the Council. Soon they would discover how he had sent the female to Nar Shadda to get the head to begin with. And they would start asking again about “Jocasta” and what the boy had reported after his trial. He was deft and had parried so many questions for so many years, but now they wouldn’t be deterred. They would move slowly, of course, offer him a chance to defend himself, but ultimately they would ask for his lightsaber and search his papers for evidence.

He would not let his life’s work be sullied by their vulgar hands.

The spaceport was busy as always, but lines always gave way before a Jedi. Ticket in hand, Creen stopped into the large refresher room to splash cool water on his face. The Force had protected him against the flames, but he could still feel the heat on his face and in his mind. A life’s work destroyed, perhaps. But he had memorized every millimeter of that start chart, and the answers would come. In time, but they would come.

He didn’t foresee the attack, but he was ready. The Clone assault team followed standard procedure: they slowly eased open the door, lobbed in two gas grenades, waited a three count, and then rushed in two-by-two. Before they had even sighted their target, Creen had drawn the gas into a vortex with the Force and then pushed it outward with such fury that the first pair of Clones were knocked against the wall, their helmets cracked by the impact. The second pair opened fire, but Creen was already a blur of light and shadow. Their heads tumbled to the ground after their first shot but before they could get off a second. The third and final pair used the doorway for cover and unleashed a stream of blaster bolts. When the smoke and the gas had cleared, Creen had disappeared.

Cautiously, they called for backup and then edged into the room, kicking down the door to each stall. Creen allowed himself to drop from the ceiling and brought his blade down, point first, into a Clone trooper’s head. Before the second could react, the lightsaber had cut the Clone’s blaster rifle into two parts. The trooper was well trained and had no fear. He popped a concealed vibro-knife from its gauntlet sheath and charged. To Creen, the trooper moved in slow motion and could be killed in too many different ways to count.

Creen reflected as the vibro-knife moved down towards his face. The Jedi were certainly not behind this attack. Had his pursuits reached the ears of the Republic military or intelligence apparatuses? Unlikely. It could only be the work of his original apprentice, still not tired of playing games after all these many years. Regardless, Creen needed time to think, to put together the monolith’s pattern. Time alone with no distractions. A life on the run would certainly not be conducive to such an endeavour.

The decision having been made, Creen called upon the Force and the vibro-knife halted its downward plunge in mid-air. The clone trooper’s helmet then lifted slowly into the air and settled on the ground. Creen could see the sweat of effort on the trooper, as the soldier pored every inch of strength into pushing the dagger down. As well pour a cup of water on the sun.

For the first time in many days, Creen spoke. His harsh whisper echoed in the Clone’s ears.

You managed to subdue me after a long and difficult fight. You have already searched me thoroughly, and I am unarmed. You will take me to your superior and insist I be given solitary confinement.

I no longer present any danger.

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