My emotions were a chaotic mix of annoyance and humor. Listening to this Jedi woman consistently avoid my questions was giving me a headache. It was like trying to nail water to a wall. Every time I asked a simple question, she redirected it or turned it back on me with a practiced, lawyerly deflection. However, it was undeniably fun to see her reactions when I chose to answer her questions directly. No matter how small the flicker of emotion on her face was, I caught it.
It was clear that Maristela was deeply interested in my past. She was digging for dirt, looking for a way to attack my reputation or find a legal loophole to drag me into a Republic court. I had seen this behavior before. The Jedi and the Sith were very much alike in that regard. They both believed they had the moral high ground to dictate how others should live. They just used different means to enforce their will. One used fear and lightning, while the other used the law and a condescending smile.
I could feel her emotions spike every few minutes. Her frustration was like a low hum in the Force. It was especially sharp when I gave her a long answer that ultimately revealed nothing of substance. I had been throwing her softball questions that could be interpreted in a dozen different ways, yet she refused to give a straight answer. She was a typical lawyer through and through.
The atmosphere shifted the moment she asked about murder. The kid gloves were off. I saw the waves of excitement roll off her mind. She looked like a child who had finally been given a puppy for their birthday. This was the opening she had been waiting for.
"You admit to being a murderer?" Maristela asked, her voice tight with a mixture of hope and accusation.
I watched her hand clench into a fist. She was grasping at empty air, but I knew she was mentally reaching for her weapon. I could feel her losing that famous Jedi control. She was excited and she was angry, although she likely had not realized it herself. Her body language was subtle, almost imperceptible to a normal observer, but I had spent years reading the most dangerous people in the galaxy. I could read her like an open book.
"Whoever you are, whether you are a poor farmer or a rich lawyer, you have to protect what is yours," I said, my voice calm and resonant for the cameras. "You protect it in the name of family, or friends, or peace. If you do not, you should expect this uncaring galaxy to take everything away from you while rubbing dirt in your eye."
I could see that Maristela was not interested in my philosophy. She wanted a confession she could use.
"I have killed and I have maimed," I continued, leaning forward so my fat suit creaked under the weight. "I have done it all in the name of protecting what I own. I have crushed skulls and plucked out hearts. I have used the weapons of my enemies against them and watched the disbelief on their faces as I bested them. I offer no mercy and I expect none in return. That is the nature of this galaxy and the way of the Force."
If Maristela had been ignoring my speech before, she certainly heard the mention of the Force. She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. With a familiar snap and hiss, her lightsaber ignited. The blue blade cast a harsh glow across her face.
"You speak like a Sith and you have admitted to multiple counts of killing," she declared, pointing the blade at me. "I am taking you into custody immediately. You will be questioned by the Council and the Republic authorities."
I did not move. I stayed lounging on my pillows. "Only the Sith deal in absolutes, Master Arushi. Right now, you are the one sounding like a Sith."
I slowly reached into my jacket pocket. I made sure my movements were deliberate so she would not strike prematurely. I pulled out a small, metallic cylinder and held it up for the cameras to see.
"If you want peace, you must prepare for war," I said.
I pushed a button on the side of the cylinder. A small red light began to flash with a rhythmic, high pitched beep.
"This is a detonator," I lied, my voice dropping to a serious whisper. "It is rigged to five separate explosives hidden in highly dense population areas on this level of Coruscant. If my heart stops, or if I let go of this button, thousands will die."
Maristela's eyes were glued to my hand. I could feel her panic. She was a Master, but she was a prosecutor and a diplomat, not a frontline warrior experienced in high stakes hostage negotiations. She was out of her depth. I would not have tried this against a combat hardened Master like the ones I saw on Ruusan, but against her, it was a winning hand.
"Think fast," I said.
I tossed the cylinder through the air toward her. The entire galaxy watched the livestream as the Jedi Master reacted with instinct. She swung her lightsaber in a perfect arc, slicing the detonator in half before it could reach her.
In that same second, I moved. The fat man who had struggled to even sit up a moment ago became a blur of motion. I broke the distance between us with a speed that defied my apparent size. Before she could recover from her swing, I used a precise strike to slap the lightsaber out of her hand. Then, I slammed her in the face with a series of heavy, meaty punches. The force of the blows lifted her off the ground and sent her spinning backward.
I stopped and looked down at the floor. I picked up the two mangled pieces of metal that she had cut apart.
"That was my favorite pen," I said, showing the ruined stationery to the camera droids.
Maristela was crumpled on the floor. She was still conscious, likely thanks to the Force protecting her skull, but she was dazed. Blood began to trickle from her nose, staining the pristine floor of the hotel suite.
"You lied," she wheezed, her voice shaking. "That was not a detonator."
"I did say that I lie all the time," I reminded her, tossing the pieces of the pen aside. "Especially when someone is pointing a deadly weapon at my face."
I walked over to where her lightsaber had fallen. I picked up the hilt and tossed it out of the open window, watching it disappear into the endless traffic of the Coruscant skyline.
Her aide rushed forward to help her up. They both retreated to a pair of chairs, looking at me with a mixture of fear and pure hatred. The aide was doing his job, but the way they both stared made it clear they thought I was the villain of this story.
"Enough is enough," I said, waving my hand to signal my droids to begin packing up the food and equipment. "This interview has gone nowhere. Every question I have asked has been clumsily dodged or ignored. This was supposed to be a fair exchange, a question for a question, but the Jedi cannot do anything without clinging to their little secrets and their sense of superiority."
I started walking toward the door, my heavy footsteps thudding on the carpet.
"I tried to play softball with you," I said over my shoulder. "I could have asked some truly shocking questions about the Order's failures, yet here I am, having to defend myself from a justice hungry Jedi who would rather attack a citizen than answer for her organization."
I stopped at the doorway. I looked back at Maristela, who was still nursing her bruised face. I decided to leave them with one final thought.
"I have a final question for you and for the people watching," I said. "If the Force is in everything, and the Dark Side is a part of the Force, then there must be a bit of the Dark Side in every Jedi. How do you decide which part of you is talking when you ignite that blade?"
I did not wait for an answer. I walked out into the hallway and let the door hiss shut behind me. I knew that question would give the public plenty to talk about for the next few months. It was a better ending than the one I had originally planned. I had wanted to ask her about the secret Jedi prison called Prism, the place where they vanished people without a trial, but I decided that was not a wise move. Some secrets were better kept until I had enough power to burn the whole system down.
As I walked toward my transport, I felt the anger in my mind begin to cool. The trip had been worth it. I had humilitated a Jedi Master on a galactic stage, advertised a local bakery, and proved that Bee was not a man to be trifled with.
"Unit 5," I said as I climbed into the ship. "Check the stock prices for that bakery. I want to see how much the 'Bee Effect' helped their sales."
"Sales are up four hundred percent in the last ten minutes, Master Bee," the droid replied. "Also, the Jedi Council has issued a formal statement claiming that Master Arushi was acting under extreme duress and that her actions do not reflect the Order's official stance on your corporation."
I chuckled, settling into the reinforced pilot's seat. "Of course they did. They always distance themselves when the mask slips. Let's go home. I'm hungry, and I'm tired of wearing this suit."