FORSAKEN - Target: Zero

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The group made it to the bottom of the mesa with their heads under scarves. A check point had been established since the day of their arrival. Imperial troops asked for identification from everyone coming in and out of the Holy City, creating long lines of discontented people. Some of them had been detained on the holding side-racks of Imperial Troop Vehicles. Scout troops sat on their speeder bikes, conversing.

"We should have kept the armor." Syrran studied the situation from atop the road leading up to the city.

"Speak for yourself." Elynn circled her shoulders to emphasize her sense of freedom. "Leema, can you cast another illusion?"

"Not to fool this many people," Theleema said.

"Maybe we can mind-trick an officer to get through," Syrran said.

Below, Gorin and Chirrut stood next to a dusty skimmer he had hired to transport his friends to their ship. The blind monk had offered to help his Guardian brother carry their belongings. The crated kyber statue had been loaded onto the skimmer. They waited a few meters away from the crowd, surrounded by other vehicles—most of them packed with goods for sale. The Kyuzo saw his friends and noticed something had to be wrong.

"You better get ready to go," said Gorin to the owner of the skimmer.

A human with weathered skin came around his craft, chewing on a reed. "Is there any trouble?"

"My friends are in a hurry."

The human hopped aboard his craft and fired up the engine.

"What's the matter?" Chirrut said in a low whisper.

"They're about to run into trouble at the check point."

"Then we should give the Imperials something else to worry about."

The group approached the front of the checkpoint, where an officer directed his men. Syrran took the lead to speak to him first and used the Force to manipulate him. Elynn pulled her veil lower to cover more of her face.

"Please make a donation to the Temple of the Whills." Chirrut approached a group of stormtroopers, as he tapped his staff on the ground to find his way. "Please make a donation to the Temple of the Whills."

"Hey, monk. Go ask for handouts somewhere else." A stormtrooper waved him off. "Can't you see we're busy?"

"I'm afraid I cannot, my friend. Would you care to make a donation to the Temple of the Whills? The Force will light your way for your kindness."

"And the force of my boot will guide yours if you don't get out of here." The stormtrooper approached him.

"Calm down. Can't you see the man's blind," said another trooper. "I'll take him to the slope."

"Thank you." When Chirrut turned around, he hit him with his staff, knocking him down.

"Hey, watch it," the more aggressive soldier said.

Chirrut turned again, also striking the other soldier. "I'm so sorry."

"What the Void?" a third stormtrooper said. "Drop the walking stick."

"Here, you can have it." Chirrut offered his staff, hitting the trooper in the throat instead, making him choke. "No? Okay."

When Chirrut lowered his staff, it pressed the trigger of a fallen blaster, firing it twice. One of the shots hit a stormtrooper on the foot. The commotion drew the attention of the crowd—the Imperials in particular.

"What the Void was that?" The officer about to be approached by Syrran drew out his blaster. All the officers could see was a blind monk blundering about with his walking stick amid a group of stormtroopers, who failed to stop him.