The Force pulled Mace towards something. He had felt its call before, but usually it was much more subtle for him. Now it was a harsh yank on the heart of his soul.
He followed it over the crest of the hill. The battle was over and the droids for the moment repelled. It did not feel like danger-
The ground fell from beneath his feet. He called his lightsaber to his hand and lit it, ready to deflect any blasterfire. He reached out, trying to sense the clone troops with the Force so he'd know how far they were from the epicenter of the explosion.
He could not feel them. Instead, the very fabric of the Force felt different. The raw edge of battle had changed to a foreboding sense of waiting.
Even the environment had changed: Vordomp had been mostly gray-brown shrubland, but now, Mace was surrounded by green grasses and glowing golden fronds. Not too far away cliff walls rose in every direction, capped by ice and snow that drifted over the roof of this secluded world.
The Force was still pulling at him. With a sigh, he sheathed his lightsaber and began walking.
Eventually, he came across a road. It was battered and shot up and the occasional tall walls around it were bent and broken. It led him straight to a firefight between Humans in unfamiliar military uniform and some form of insurgents. Mace sneaked past them and a few other such local conflicts as he followed the Force's call.
He stumbled out of the bush to a small complex at the edge of the cliff. Two shuttles of unfamiliar make were parked on an apron painted with a sigil the Jedi Order had not used in a millennium. Mace had a very bad feeling about this.
“Master Jedi!” one of the uniformed people present said. “It's good to see you arrived safely. The Warden is waiting for you in the command center over there.”
The directions matched with the Force's pull. “I see. Thank you,” Mace said and made his way to the cliff face. He entered the red-gray building and waited for an elevator, then walked down the corridor to a command room.
“So – the Jedi finally arrives,” said a square-jawed, pale-skinned human man whose hairstyle resembled nothing more than a dead womp rat. “Started to think you'd gotten cold feet. I'm Warden Playt. This is my second in command, Graal.” Graal, too, was a pale-skinned human, though considerably more rotund and with a much more flattering hairstyle.
“Well met,” Mace replied, tucking away the information that Playt had known of his arrival beforehand. “I am Mace Windu, Jedi Master.”
“Now, let's get one thing straight. This is my prison. You want to help out, bust a few heads, fine, but you do things my way, understand?”
Mace could feel the brewing headache already. Force save him from the people who wanted a Jedi's talents without a Jedi's precepts. “And what would you want done?”
Playt looked at him suspiciously before launching into a spiel about how his prisoners were the most dangerous criminals, secreted away into a hidden facility that was the Republic's best kept secret until the Empire caught on. Mace felt a sinking feeling in his gut at the confirmation that he'd been displaced in time.
“The guards found a long-range transmitter in one of the prison wards,” Graal said. “Crude, but functional. Must've taken decades to scrap together.” Mace would've spoken to them about rehabilitative justice and whether it was ever necessary to keep anyone anywhere for decades, but thought the audience might not appreciate it.
“Blasted thing led the Imperials right to us. They sneaked in, sprang the prisoners, and blew open the armories in a single strike,” Playt said.
“So you have an army of Imperials and a bunch of armed prisoners on the loose.”
“That's the short of it. Military's sent a few units, but they've been as useful as a tauntaun in a sandstorm.”
Mace resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “So you want a Jedi to fix all of your problems.”
“I'd settle for this sector getting fixed,” Playt grumbled.
“Last we heard, they'd lost the Deep Prison. Encountered some unknown species in the Maximum Security Wing and got pummeled,” Graal said.
“If this is a prison, surely you should know everything that is in it? How can there be some unknown species?”
Playt sighed. “Who knows. Our priority is securing this level, and that means stamping out a gang of lunatics calling themselves the Condemned. They're all second- or third-generation prisoners-”
“Wait, did you just say second-generation prisoners?” Mace couldn't help but run a hand over his face. “People who have committed no crime save for their circumstances of birth? That can't be legal, Warden.”
“They're just as twisted as the scum who birthed them. Save your sympathy,” Playt continued. “They're animals, every last one.”
Mace folded his arms into his sleeves. Force give me strength, for I will need it. “Have you tried negotiating with them?”
“Thanks to them, our security fields are down and our access to the armories has been cut off. The only negotiating to be done is a blaster round to the head.” Before Mace could reply, Playt continued, “If we can retake the armories and get those fields back online, we'll be-”
He was interrupted by an explosion that made the ground shake. Mace pivoted towards the door, lightsaber in hand, and saw a team of humans in prison uniforms storm in, guns blazing.
Mace immediately drew his lightsaber and began deflecting blaster bolts to the ceiling. “Lay down your weapons and we can settle this matter peacefully,” he declared. “I would like to speak to your leader.”
“Return fire!” Playt shouted from behind him and started blasting. Mace reflected his bolts to the ceiling as well, annoyed at how he was ruining any chance of peaceful resolution. Playt then vaulted over his console, cursing, and rolled past Mace only to get shot in the chest before he could bring his blaster to bear.
“Warden down!” Graal yelled.
Mace sighed. He could feel his headache grow large enough to collapse into a black hole under its own mass.
In the end, Graal and the few other prison personnel managed to defeat the prisoners. Mace had kept most of them safe, but a few people at the edges of the room had fallen to blasterfire, and Playt had, of course, chosen to leave the safety a Jedi created behind themself.
“Kelsa, how's the Warden?” Graal asked after shooting off some orders to seal the wing.
A junior officer, dark-skinned, knelt beside Playt. “Dead, sir. Clean shot to the heart. I think that makes you the new warden.”
“I... Hadn't thought of that.”
Mace considered suggesting making peace with the Condemned, but chose to remain silent lest the wardens blame him for Playt getting himself killed. He hoped they would choose, if not diplomacy, then at least to send him to deal with the Condemned.
Graal took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “Securing the station is our first priority. We need to repair the field generator, or we'll be through.”
“Leave it to me, sir,” Kelsa said. “A few tools, a little elbow grease, and I'll have that generator back up in no time.”
“That generator could still be crawling with prisoners,” Graal began.
“I can escort her,” Mace volunteered. Hopefully with the generator back online, Graal would be content enough for diplomacy. “Afterwards, I'll negotiate with the Condemned. Do you know of their whereabouts? Do they have a leader?”
“Just let me slip into something more blaster-resistant,” Kelsa said and slipped off.
“I'll ask Republic Intelligence,” Graal said. “They have a leader, some skull-face, but we're not sure what his name is. He keeps going on and on about them being condemned for crimes they didn't commit.”
“He is completely right.”
Graal stared at him. “Just keep those lunatics away from Kelsa,” he eventually said. “Give 'em one for the warden.”
Mace inclined his head in partial agreement. Kelsa soon came down in personal body armor the likes of which Mace had last seen in a historical holofilm back when he'd been a padawan. They set out in a clunky speeder.
“Neither Graal nor Playt seems inclined to negotiate with the Condemned,” Mace began after a moment. “Why is that?”
“Well, the Condemned don't seem too inclined to negotiate themselves, and the Imps have been using them as a mouthpiece and strike force. Hard to really trust anyone under those circumstances.”
“How did these second- and third-generation prisoners come to being in the first place? I noticed the assault force was mainly human. Should you not provide contraceptives to your prison populace?”
“I don't know what exactly happened – some of those Condemned are older than I am – but it was probably a budget issue,” Kelsa said. “And, of course, now that there are more inmates than were originally sent, we're not getting any extra supplies for them. Not sure if the prison records have anything on the original incident.” She pulled off the road and drove them halfway up a hill. “There it is.”
The generator was a brown cylinder with pipes flowing to the ground and a large console next to it. There were no installations nearby save for tall walls. “Is there a reason it's so far from your command outpost?”
“Something about a geothermal vent. Come, let's fix it.”
Mace felt eyes on them as Kelsa locked up the speeder. The minds behind them were calculating – in some sense desperate.
And as he and Kelsa walked up the hill, they were coming to a decision. Mace brought up his lightsaber and lit it, as a beacon more than as defense, and felt a shock run through their observers.
“What's wrong?” Kelsa asked.
“We have company. Let's see how they react.”
Kelsa eyed him suspiciously, but continued her ascent. She dug out some tools and knelt at the generator, doing whatever maintenance needed to be done.
Their audience diminished. Mace felt the people run off, one by one, signal runners that would tell the rest of their kin that a Jedi had come to Belsavis. He hoped they had a better grasp on a Jedi's intent than Playt had had.
“That should do it,” Kelsa said. “Throw the switch and cross your fingers.”
She closed up the panel and pressed some buttons. The generator hummed into life, lighting up orange and humming at a low frequency.
Her holocomm rang. Graal's blue form flickered into existence. “Looks like that did it – the security fields just went up. And not a moment too soon,” he said, voice crackling over the holo. “Even better, that boost jump-started the station's internal generators. We're rerouting power to them now.”
“That is good to hear,” Mace allowed. “Have there been any leads on the Condemned's location?”
“We found this holorecording on one of Playt's assassins. Take a look.”
Graal's image was replaced by a cracklier one of a Kaleesh. Skull-face. Of course.
“Brothers, sisters – I am Nyranos. Like you, I was born into captivity, shackled by the crimes of my ancestors,” the Kaleesh said. “Our forefathers rot in the bowels of this prison, their debt to the Republic repaid in full. Yet here we remain, guiltless. We must stand united against this injustice. Together, we will tear down these walls and seize our freedom!”
Nyranos's image flickered out again, to be replaced by Graal's. “He goes on from there, but you get the idea. He's bad news – cunning, ruthless, and worst of all, charismatic.”
“He is also completely in the right,” Mace couldn't help but point out.
“Don't buy into the whole ‘hero of the people’ routine. He's injected just enough truth into his rants to rally his followers. In truth, he's just a puppet of the Empire.”
Mace resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Do you know where he is?”
“We isolated several audio cues from the recording and got a fix on its origin. Could be their headquarters.”
“Just give me the coordinates,” Mace said.
“Transferring coordinates,” Graal replied. “Get to their hideout. If Nyranos is there, eliminate him; otherwise, find out what they're up to. Any insight could go a long way in ending this riot.”
“I will go negotiate.”
“Contact me when you've cleared out the base. I'll be waiting for your report.” Graal cut the connection. Mace sighed.
“I'll make it back to the command center in the speeder,” Kelsa promised. “Thanks for covering me. Good luck out there.”
Mace nodded acknowledgment and began the trek to the given coordinates. It wasn't too far, but it was a quarter hour's walk at least. There were some means of cheating with the Force, but Mace had never achieved Master Yoda's proficiency with them and did not wish to go in with Force fatigue or the potential backlash headache. The situation had given him a large enough one already.
Belsavis ruffled gently around him in the wind. Eyes tracked his progress past the orange fronds that lit him with their bioluminescence and the blasted-open mental walls thrice as tall as a man.
Eventually, he arrived at the little hollow that hid the entry to the compound. The earth shook as a door was dragged open before him. “Thank you,” he said before stepping into the gloom.
People were watching him. A fair number of humans, a few Rattataki, some members of other species – and Nyranos the Kaleesh, right in front of him.
“Master Jedi,” he said, “my grandfather told me of your kind. I see now his stories were true. I'm glad our paths have finally crossed.”
Mace bowed. “I am Mace Windu, Jedi Master. I have come to negotiate with you. I hear you and your fellows desire freedom?”
“Neither I nor my comrades have committed any crime against the Republic. What right does the Republic have to keep us here? Should it not-”
“Do shut up, Nyranos,” a bored voice came. A pale human man in odd uniform strode into view. “No-one wants to hear another speech. Just kill this upstart.”
“We came to negotiate, Imperial. Fight your own battles.”
“Speak for yourself,” one of the human Condemned said. “I'll take a fistful of credits over your ‘crusade’ any day.”
“Over your own freedom?” Mace mildly asked. “Over the rights, however overdue, you are owed as a Republic citizen?”
“We're Republic citizens?” another inmate asked.
“Whether or not Belsavis is officially part of the Republic, you were born on a Republic installation.” Mace would have to check. “As native-born people on a world without a local populace, you have the right to form a local government and elect a senator to the Senate, either on your own or with other worlds in the sector.”
“A government?” Nyranos was breathless with awe. “I had hoped only for a plot of land to farm, but this-”
“-this madness ends here,” the uniformed man – Imperial, Mace supposed – declared. “Enough, Jedi.”
He pulled a blaster and fired. Mace swatted the bolt out of the air with only the Force. “No,” he said, “I believe we've only just gotten started.”
Footsteps. “Sir, you summoned us?” another voice said. Mace made out perhaps a dozen new – troops, they must be – on the Imperial's side. The Condemned shifted restlessly.
“The prisoners have turned coat. Eliminate them and the Jedi!”
The Imperials drew out their blasters, but before they could fire, Mace jumped in front of Nyranos, lightsaber ablaze, deflecting every blaster bolt that might come. He could feel Nyranos's sharp intake of breath, the disbelief of being considered worthy of protection without so much as a moment's hesitation-
The last of the Imperials fell to a Condemned blaster. Mace waited a moment longer before disengaging his lightsaber.
“I would have negotiated sooner, but those Imperial watchdogs wouldn't allow it,” Nyranos said. He still sounded slightly breathless. “You said we could form our own government?”
“If you wish,” Mace said. “You may also request transit offworld to build lives elsewhere in the Republic.”
“My mom always said Coruscant was nice,” one of the Condemned said.
“I don't know, I think we should stay on Belsavis,” another said.
“I will set up a meeting with the Warden tomorrow,” Mace said before they could get into an argument. “I suggest you consult with your people on your preferred courses of action.”
“Yes, I will do that,” Nyranos said. “Thank you, Master Jedi. Without you ... I'm not sure any of this would have been possible.”
“It is the right thing to do.” Mace bowed. “I will contact you later on the location and precise time. May the Force be with you, Nyranos.”
“Thank you,” Nyranos repeated. “I shall make the announcement to my people.”
Mace nodded and left the compound. Daylight hit him, bright, and the Force shimmered around him. There was still something significantly wrong with this world – though whether there were more wrongfully imprisoned people or this was simply what a Sith of old felt like, Mace didn't know. He would have to find out and solve the problem once he'd dealt with this one.
A distant speaker turned on with a buzz of static. “Attention, my fellow Condemned,” Nyranos's voice rang out. “This is Nyranos. Lay down your arms and return to base. We are resolving this peacefully and with the aid of a Jedi Master.”
It was, for all it was an idiotic situation for a prison to end up in, a solvable problem. Mace would read up on the current legislature – he'd promised Nyranos things that had been promised for as long as the Republic had stood, but surely they must be due more – and inform Graal of the law until he'd resolved the situation ethically, with Nyranos and his comrades being granted their freedom.
The Force was still noncommittal about when or whether he'd go back to his own time, but he didn't mind. The war back home was large and all-consuming. This issue, at least, he could solve.