Too Stubborn To Die
Valery offered him a few words, an affirmation that he had helped save the day. It eased the fear he felt a little bit, but something still gnawed at him. He had an inkling as to what it might have been... but he needed to speak with Benji first. Gatz wasn't exactly looking forward to speaking to the man, or dealing with the RSF investigation that was sure to come, but Naboo was his world. This was his problem.
And Valery had done enough for him. A lifetime's worth, really, though he'd probably never voice that. He didn't like to be sappy.
So as the Jedi Master dealt with the dirt smudged children scrambling out of their cage, he made a slow gait towards Benji. The man was still held in place by Valery's power, but even so, Gatz itched to reach for his blaster. Not to kill the man, no, somehow he didn't have that in him. That instinct mostly came from the thought that the Nikto might somehow escape them. Gatz would have felt a lot better if he could have just shot Benji in the knee.
Shooting an unarmed man probably wouldn't have gone over well with Valery, even if he wasn't trying to kill. Maiming was still frowned upon by the Jedi, he was sure. So, instead, Gatz went emptyhanded. He stood before Benji, the man's face filled with fright, and finally put a voice to the words he needed to say; to the question he needed answered.
"Why, man?"
He knew, of course. He could feel the reason wafting off of Benji in waves, just as he could feel it still beating in his own heart: the fear. What man wouldn't do anything it took to get out from under a Sith Lord's thumb? It was a stupid question in the end.
But some things you had to know for certain. For Gatz, this was one of them.
"D-do you k-know what she would have done to me i-if I hadn't helped h-her?" Benji's voice came out in a stutter, and his eyes teared up.
"Yeah," Gatz said quietly, "I know. Do you know that you've subjected children to bear that torture in your place?"
"Yes," and it came out as a sob, "but what was I supposed to do? She'd have killed me if I told anyone!"
"We all die someday, Benji," Gatz looked to the corpse on the floor, and then to Valery and the children, "is this how you want to be remembered?"
"O-of course not! B-but what was I supposed to do? W-what would you have done?"
And there came the crux of his problem. It struck Gatz so quickly, so violently, but he finally understood what had left that bitter taste in his mouth: if he and Benji swapped positions, would he have done anything different? He wanted to say "yes," of course, but it wasn't that simple. If Valery asked him to do the same, if she asked him to abduct children under the threat of his life, would he have gone along with it?
She wouldn't, he reminded himself, she'd never.
But that wasn't the point. The question was: would he? And he found that he didn't have an answer.
"I'm not condemning you," Gatz said at last, "I've got a few too many sins under my own belt to judge anyone. But now, when the opportunity arises, I choose to do what's right instead of what's easy."
He expected words from Benji. Instead he got more sobbing and blubbering. Fear, anxiety, regret, guilt... they all flowed from the man. It was hard not to pity him, even after what he'd done. And what he'd done had been terrible.
"You can still make that choice too. I know this isn't the first batch of children you've given to her. Tell me where she took them, Benji." It was more a question than a demand, "maybe we can still help them. Maybe you can still make this right."
Valery Noble
And Valery had done enough for him. A lifetime's worth, really, though he'd probably never voice that. He didn't like to be sappy.
So as the Jedi Master dealt with the dirt smudged children scrambling out of their cage, he made a slow gait towards Benji. The man was still held in place by Valery's power, but even so, Gatz itched to reach for his blaster. Not to kill the man, no, somehow he didn't have that in him. That instinct mostly came from the thought that the Nikto might somehow escape them. Gatz would have felt a lot better if he could have just shot Benji in the knee.
Shooting an unarmed man probably wouldn't have gone over well with Valery, even if he wasn't trying to kill. Maiming was still frowned upon by the Jedi, he was sure. So, instead, Gatz went emptyhanded. He stood before Benji, the man's face filled with fright, and finally put a voice to the words he needed to say; to the question he needed answered.
"Why, man?"
He knew, of course. He could feel the reason wafting off of Benji in waves, just as he could feel it still beating in his own heart: the fear. What man wouldn't do anything it took to get out from under a Sith Lord's thumb? It was a stupid question in the end.
But some things you had to know for certain. For Gatz, this was one of them.
"D-do you k-know what she would have done to me i-if I hadn't helped h-her?" Benji's voice came out in a stutter, and his eyes teared up.
"Yeah," Gatz said quietly, "I know. Do you know that you've subjected children to bear that torture in your place?"
"Yes," and it came out as a sob, "but what was I supposed to do? She'd have killed me if I told anyone!"
"We all die someday, Benji," Gatz looked to the corpse on the floor, and then to Valery and the children, "is this how you want to be remembered?"
"O-of course not! B-but what was I supposed to do? W-what would you have done?"
And there came the crux of his problem. It struck Gatz so quickly, so violently, but he finally understood what had left that bitter taste in his mouth: if he and Benji swapped positions, would he have done anything different? He wanted to say "yes," of course, but it wasn't that simple. If Valery asked him to do the same, if she asked him to abduct children under the threat of his life, would he have gone along with it?
She wouldn't, he reminded himself, she'd never.
But that wasn't the point. The question was: would he? And he found that he didn't have an answer.
"I'm not condemning you," Gatz said at last, "I've got a few too many sins under my own belt to judge anyone. But now, when the opportunity arises, I choose to do what's right instead of what's easy."
He expected words from Benji. Instead he got more sobbing and blubbering. Fear, anxiety, regret, guilt... they all flowed from the man. It was hard not to pity him, even after what he'd done. And what he'd done had been terrible.
"You can still make that choice too. I know this isn't the first batch of children you've given to her. Tell me where she took them, Benji." It was more a question than a demand, "maybe we can still help them. Maybe you can still make this right."
Valery Noble
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