Chapter 1: The Renegade Jedi

  The smell couldn't be worse.

  The "Hutts" were never a particularly clean or graceful species by human standards. Any poor individual who was too close to them for too long would soon have their olfactory system atrophied at best.

  And if you added to that the stench of their Gamorrean bodyguards, humanoids with a pig-like appearance and green skin, things could only get worse.

  "I don't know why I took this job."

  Tired of so much stench, Tyron Laren brought his right hand straight to his face, with no hope of calming his constant dizziness. He had long black hair, straight enough to cover half of his forehead; he wore a black hooded robe that covered his upper part. Dark leather pants were adorned by a black duraplast belt that had leather pouches. The unremarkable brown leather boots, similar to those worn by bounty hunters in the desert, gave him an intimidating appearance.

  However, the truly striking thing about his outfit was the metal tube hanging from his belt: A lightsaber… The weapon of the Jedi, guardians of peace who have existed in the galaxy for 25,000 years, perhaps more.

  The handle was made of unpainted durasteel (silver), with an orange finish near where the blade emanated.

  “God, that stinks,” Tyron snorted, as he turned to face his boss, Dango the Hutt, a well-known crime lord who enjoyed the pleasures of life on the distant planet of Nar Shaddaa, the Smugglers' Moon.

  Dango was no different than all of his race; he was almost two meters long and was covered in a stinking layer of grease. The talking slug brought his chubby hands to a plate of snacks made up of small, squeaky rodents. Tyron did not hide his disgust at such a grotesque scene.

  "Don't complain, human, you'll be free to go soon." Dango laughed maliciously. He loved to see Tyron's grimaces at his horrendous affronts to decency.

  The Hutt owned several bars, where pazaak, gambling and illegal fights were the order of the day. This one was no exception; customers drank disgusting elixirs to forget their miserable lives, others, more discreet, discussed criminal plans. The place did not seem to be the ideal place for a Jedi.

  "I'm counting the days," Tyron replied, annoyed by so much indecency gathered together.

  "Did I really leave the Jedi Order for this pigsty?"

  As our poor Jedi lamented, three suspicious people entered the cantina. Dango glanced at his Gamorrean bodyguards, who set their cards aside and grabbed their axes for whatever they could. Two more gunmen stood on either side of the Hutt, their hands touching the holsters of their blasters.

  “Dear Dango.” One of the “guests” was a yellow-skinned Trandoshan, his reptilian eyes and sinister look making the bodyguards nervous. The other two were humans covered by a grey mask.

  “Oh, so you are the guests of the “Exchange,” is that correct?” Dango stood firm as the reptilian arrived.

  “I fear you have not paid what you owe us, your spices were incomplete and we received no compensation. Time is up.”

  “I already told you that I will not pay anything, it was the New Republic government who caused the seizure of the merchandise. If you want to complain to someone, go to the Supreme Chancellor. —Dango let out a pedantic chuckle.

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  This gesture did not please the members of the exchange.

  Without mincing a word, they drew their weapons.

  The Gamorreans did not react in time, they tried to cover their boss with their voluptuous bodies, but they were not exactly fast. The gunmen could not do much either, as they drew their pistols, the energy shots were already directed at the slug.

  SSSSSHHHHHUUUUU.

  The characteristic sound of a lightsaber was present in the cantina.

  The music stopped and Tyron's blue blade reflected three energy projectiles at the same time. These hit the dominant wrists of the aggressors, disarming them on the spot. A typical defensive movement of a Jedi.

  —Very slow —Tyron snorted.

  Thanks to the Force, he was able to predict his opponents' movement and rush to his boss's defense. With the danger over, he put away the shining blade and silently backed away.

  "Fools, I knew you were coming. I think the Exchange would like to have your heads as decorations. Them!" The Gamorreans pounced on the defenseless thugs and without mincing words, began to beat them savagely. The Trandoshan who dared to shoot a "famous" member of the Hutt clan got the worst punishment. One of the special pigs bit his face, tearing off part of his nose and destroying his right eye in a disgusting bloodbath.

  One of the Twi'lek waitresses covered her mouth and with a great act of bravery (and fear), swallowed the vomit she was about to expel. The poor girl, a blue-skinned slave, with elegant tentacles protruding from her skull, was one of the many slaves who served Dango and his lieutenants.

  Tyron did nothing to defend them.

  He knew they were scum, thugs who hurt innocent people for a few credits.

  "Are you going to kill them here, Dango?" the hooded bodyguard asked.

  The danger had passed and he no longer needed to remain on guard.

  "Yes, I was going to kill them right away. Do you have a problem with that, Jedi?"

  "Not really." Tyron sighed heavily, as a former peacekeeper the idea of ??witnessing a violent murder did not excite him at all, even if they were aberrant criminals. But if you kill them here, then you'll have to clean the cantina, the smell of death won't go away for days and that will affect your customers. Not all of us have noses of steel.

  Dango the Hutt laughed, the Jedi's comment amused him, after all, he didn't explicitly tell him not to kill them, just not to do it in his presence. Quite a hypocrisy for someone who once defended the value of life.

  —Well, you're right, the Jedi are smarter than I thought. Guards, take those wretches to the dungeon, we'll execute them during the night. —The humanoid pigs dragged the bounty hunters away, Dango turned his obese neck in Tyron's direction and then, he laughed again —. Better?

  —Yes, thank you for being so understanding.

  After that demonstration, life inside the cantina continued on its course. Between bets, empty threats, and Dango's obnoxious laughter, the day came to an end.

  When the business closed, Dango and Tyron sat down in the bar's private chamber. The hideous slug sent for a rectangular coin, a special chip that allowed transferring many credits without actually having to charge them.

  "Well, Jedi, I'm a Hutt by word of mouth and you kept your part of the deal. You saved me from three attempts, the ones we had agreed upon." The Hutt handed Tyron the credits he was owed, a small fortune that would allow him to live a year or two without lifting a finger. "With this, you are free of my service."

  "Thank you very much, Dango, it seems we're done earlier than planned."

  "Still, it seems like a waste that you don't want to be a bounty hunter; you could become a millionaire if you became my personal assassin."

  —I appreciate the offer, Dango. I may no longer be in the Jedi Order, but many of its teachings are still in my head. I am better at taking life than taking it, but that does not mean I hesitate in real combat.

  —If you ever change your mind, my door will always be open, Jedi Tyron. —Dango and Tyron shook hands like good business partners.

  There were no hidden agendas or secret betrayals; Dango was not stupid, he knew that if he tried to attack the Jedi, he would kill them in less than a blink. His ancestors taught him to respect and, in a way, fear the users of the force.

  127 years ago, Jabba the Hutt, a distant ancestor of his, made the mistake of underestimating the Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker. Despite the warnings of the rebel leader, Jabba chose to ignore them and fell out with the son of the Chosen One. What happened next was already known to everyone. That event marked a before and after in the Hutt mentality.

  “Don't mess with Force users”

  Well, nothing good came of it.

  . . .