Swamps. Why did it have to be swamps? Sometimes Brant thought his master Hu’izei had a sense of humor.
He touched down on the planet of Hutta. The Hutts had built clean walkways between the spaceport and their palace, but there was also a ramshackle collection of shops and dwellings clustered all around, lumpy and fetid like they had been spawned from the swamp water themselves.
Brant already had a bead on the Jedi he was to hunt. He had first picked up on her traces within the spaceport and, using the Force, had pinpointed her location to somewhere outside of ramshackle town. With some distaste, he stepped down off the dry walkway and into the mud, angling away from the civilization — if it could be called that — and out into the wilderness. He paused to meditate and reorient himself to the Jedi’s position every few minutes, and by the 5th or 6th stop, he sensed he was getting quite close. Palming his new lightsaber, he knelt, pulled down a curtain of sound and sight to conceal himself, and crept closer.
A green-gray Nautolan was bathing herself in one of the swamp’s ponds a few yards before him. Why, Brant hadn’t the faintest idea: he could only guess the water out here was somewhat less rancid than the water closer to the town. Her effects were left lying on the bank: a robe, a lightsaber, and a small satchel.
Brant could hardly believe it. It seemed too easy. His eyes narrowed and he settled himself in the reeds, watching, looking for the catch.
It was good that he did so. After a few minutes, the Nautolan stood clear of the water and whistled, and a large manka cat appeared out of the reeds, where it had been crouching just out sight, keeping watch. If Brant had leapt directly for the attack, that beast would have likely eaten him instead.
He would have to find a way to separate the two before he could complete the assassination. Yet he had an idea. As the Nautolan chortled to the manka cat, rubbing its thick mane affectionately, he stole up on the Jedi’s belongings. Gingerly, he picked up her lightsaber. The sheath was similar to his own, and as his idea took root, he reached to his belt, unclipped his own lightsaber, and set it down in the Jedi’s place.
Then, hoping the Jedi didn’t find a need to ignite the thing and so detect the subterfuge before he could enact the rest of his plan, Brant quickly snuck away.
“I’m Jedi… erm. Yych. Yes, Jedi Yych. I have an audience with the Hutt.”
Brant stood upfront of the Hutt’s secretary, fingering the Nautolan’s lightsaber and trying not to show his nerves. Darth Hu’izei had said the Hutts had been expecting a Jedi as a visitor, and so Brant had shown up for the appointment, but he doubted he looked anything like what they were expecting.
The secretary was indeed looking at him doubtfully. “I’ll need to see some identification,” he said.
Brant waved his hand, trying to pierce the man’s thoughts and redirect them to his own purposes. “You don’t need to see my identification.”
Yet his attempts slid off the man’s mind like water off a windshield. The human’s look turned exasperated. “Yes, actually, I do.”
Well, Brant had a lightsaber now. He might as well use it. He pulled the Jedi’s lightsaber out, pressed the ignition switch, and a green blade extended from the hilt. It had a different hum to it than his own saber — more musical — and Brant held it up. “There!” he said. “Have you ever seen anyone but a Jedi carry one of these? Would you really expect someone to steal it? I am Jedi, and I have a meeting scheduled with the lord Hutt. Do you really think it’s a good idea to keep him waiting? Important, er, Jedi business awaits!”
The man just stared at him, and Brant angled the lightsaber so the tip of it was only a few inches from his nose.
“I can make it longer,” he warned.
“…I don’t get paid enough for this job,” the man said abruptly. He pressed a few keys in his console, and the door beside him opened. “Just go,” he said, and then began muttering to himself about retirement plans as Brant smiled, retracted the lightsaber, and went inside the Hutt’s audience chamber.
The room beyond was opulent, full of the Hutt’s hangers-on and quite a few dancing girls Brant had to force himself to look away from. He approached the dais where the Hutt lounged, keeping his walk slow so he had a chance to piece together what he wanted to say, as well as to lend himself a proper Jedi-like air. Once he had reached the bottom of the dais, he ignited the lightsaber again and waved it around.
This caused quite a stir, as slaves and courtiers jumped out of the way. The Hutt’s eyes narrowed as it turned its great bulk in his direction. “What is this?” it bellowed out.
“I am Jedi Yych!” said Brant, using a touch of the Force to project his voice across the room. He needed to make a terrible impression — though not so much that the Hutt attacked him — and he luckily had lots of practice doing just that. “I am a representative of the Republic!” he cried out. “I am here to negotiate with you and tell you why you should ally with us!”
“Tell me why?” the Hutt repeated drolly. It waved at the crowd to calm, then leaned over to get a better look at Brant, the folds on its flabby stomach deepening as it did so.
Brant steeled himself and held the lightsaber steady, but still aloft, like a beacon. “Yes, indeed,” he declared loudly. “I would demand that–“
“You would demand?” said the Hutt in the same tone as before.
“If you’d give me a chance to explain, I’d tell you why it’s a good idea,” snapped Brant, just as annoyed as the Hutt at being interrupted.
“Oh, this should be interesting,” said the Hutt. “Very well, Jedi Yych, I will indulge you. Tell us your demands.”
And Brant went on to tell the biggest fib in his life. He watched the Hutt’s expression closely as he talked, needling the creature towards rage, but stopping just short of it with placatory remarks and sweeping bows. It was not too different from harassing a Sith Lord, and as the Hutt’s expression got more and more incredulous, Brant bit back a smile.
“And so you see–” Brant began to wrap up. “–that’s why you need to ally yourselves to the incredible and mighty Republic!”
The Hutt was looking bored and annoyed by this point, exactly as Brant intended. It waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll think about it,” it said. “Just go away now.”
Brant huffed a dramatic sigh, adding a few remarks about how wonderful the Jedi were, before turning to leave. The crowd seemed similarly affected by his speech, looking at him with dislike and incredulity, and Brant was satisfied that, even if the Jedi sent more representatives, this particular Hutt enclave would not entertain straying from Councilor Hu’izei’s influence again.
Brant left the audience chamber to find more chaos just outside. It seemed while he had been talking, the real Jedi had shown up and was trying to reschedule the appointment Brant had just taken. He hadn’t expected to meet her again so soon, but Brant couldn’t help a wide grin as he spied his lightsaber on the Jedi’s hip. His idea was coming to fruition.
Interrupting the Nautolan’s conversation, he jabbed a finger at her and shouted, “A Sith! You allow filth like this in your palace? Cut her down, now!”
As expected, the Nautolan swung around in surprise and shock, while the secretary stuttered in disbelief. “Now, really!” he said. “We do work with the Sith from time to time, good sir! It’s not exactly unexpected in Hutt space, and if you start a fight here, I will have to consider you the aggressor–“
“I’m no Sith!” cried the Nautolan as she turned, interrupting the secretary.
“Haha, you cannot lie to me! I can recognize your stench from here!” countered Brant, and he ignited the green lightsaber again. He stifled a grin at the Nautolan’s look of shock, as her hand darted to the hilt on her belt. Nevertheless, she pulled it out, and the blade beamed out red. She stared at it in horror.
“See!” Brant crowed triumphantly. He gave her no further time to think, dashing in with the speed of the Force and stabbing his green blade deep into her gut. She clutched at it, and Brant grabbed her wrist with his free hand and pulled her close enough to whisper, “Never try to outsmart a Sith. I see no manka cat with you now.”
Then the guards were closing on him, and still yelling about the indignities of finding a Sith in a Hutt palace, Brant fled. He yanked his own, red lightsaber from the dying Jedi’s hand, relying on his Shien training to bring it up and deflect the blaster bolts coming his way. Then, as the guards stopped to reload, he flung himself at the ceiling, running along it for just a couple steps before gravity could catch up to him. He used his momentum to bounce from wall to wall, a hard target to hit due the sheer speed of his movement. Though he took a few blastershots to his sides and one that cut across his leg, he ultimately escaped the palace in one piece.
The news reports the day after were confused. Some said a Sith had been murdered in the Hutt palace. Others said a Jedi. Either way, the Hutts were sending frantic messages to Dark Councilor Hu’izei, assuring him that they were still on his side and to forgive their ever conceiving of the idea that they might be better off bargaining with the Republic.
One such message was a bit unusual, arriving at Hu’izei’s residence with a audio-only recording and a lightsaber, which contained a green crystal inside it.
“Sorry for the mess,” went the recording, in Brant’s voice. “We won’t be having any more talks with Jedi. In fact we no longer like the Republic, very much. They decided to slay a Sith called Brant Auretal right on our doorstep. We hope he didn’t mean anything to you. This is his lightsaber. See that it gets to him when the rest of him arrives back on Auratera. Again, terribly sorry for the confusion.”
Sure enough, Brant Auretal would arrive on Auratera shortly after, walking in with a bit of a smirk on his face. He would bow deeply to his master. “The new lightsaber served very well, my lord,” he said. “My mission is complete.”