The New Jedi Order: A Vision of Confluence

XXIV: Who We Are

After the first ambush was dispatched, the Yuuzhan Vong sent chazrach. No more warriors, just their proxies. On the one hand, it was easier to avoid them, on the other hand, they could send so many. Not even Ithor had been like this and Anakin felt uneasy at the thought - was this what it would be like trying to free worlds from the vong? Would every world have this many of the invaders to defend it? The loss of life he couldn’t even wrap his head around, if the New Republic had to fight numbers like this for every lost planet.

Anakin, Zalthis and Face lost the rakamat easily, the massive biot unable to track them as they fled through the starport, emerging on the far side right into a patrol. That time, it seemed they had surprised the vong as much as the vong surprised them and in a matter of moments it was over. Zalthis’ big slugthrower made a mess of the Yuuzhan Vong officer while Anakin tore into the chazrach.

That was hours ago. Linked up again with his uncle and the rest, there hadn’t been time to plan or figure a new course. All three Jedi could sense the chazrach converging on them. Hundreds, maybe even thousands. Like the city was alive and pumping them all down boulevards like arteries, pumping them like white blood cells to excise the foreign intruders.

It was a game of keep away. Staying ahead of the mobs of reptoids, using auspex and Force and instinct to choose which roads to take, which buildings to cut through. Somehow, it seemed like the vong always knew where they were. Chazrach mobs they passed would suddenly divert and come towards them from another angle.

Anakin and Mei and Uncle Luke had the Force to draw on, the Ultramarines were something else entirely, but Face and Bhindi were only human. Night was coming, and soon they all would have been awake for a full day.

“They’re tracking us,” Bhindi spoke the words from his thoughts.

“I am forced to agree,” Ascratus growled through his vox. “Auspex detects no signals or emanations from us.”

“I don’t sense anything either,” Luke said.

Chazrach minds were distant and while they all kept their ‘sabres out and on their guard, in case of hidden warriors like before, it was a moment to take a break. Solidian gently put down Zev’s body, Bhindi pointedly looking anywhere but at the fallen Wraith. Water flasks were broken out and Anakin drained his entirely in moments, dropping onto a nearby bench. Sweat matted his hair down and he swept it from his eyes, taking long, deep breaths.

“Even if they aren’t tracking us, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have a way out, not unless we check another spaceport. I’m sorry, Uncle Luke. I should’ve been faster.” Ten minutes. Ten minutes. He was so close, there was just a few more connections to firm up and maybe a capacitor to replace. If he’d been faster, the rakamat wouldn’t have caught them. If he’d been faster, they could’ve flown to the library and Zev-

“No,” his uncle cut off his spiraling thoughts. “The timing wasn’t a coincidence. They waited until we were done at the library.”

Zalthis stilled from where he was replacing massive shells in a magazine.

“Sergeant, a theoretical. The Yuuzhan Vong knew why we were coming, but don’t know why.”

The other neophyte, looking down thoughtfully at Zev’s body, nodded.

“So they let us achieve our goal, and kill or capture us afterward to reclaim our prize.”

“And then they know,” Anakin finished. “Sithspawn, we led them to it.”

“I think it’s worse than that. Only a handful of people knew about this operation. If the vong know, it means we have a leak very high up. Heads are going to roll over this.”

His uncle grimaced, but didn’t counter Face’s point.

“We can deal with that when we get out of here alive. Sergeant Ascratus, you told us the Imperium had a potential way off this planet. Now is a good time to let us know.”

The big Ultramarine patted at one of several large cases magnetically locked to his back.

“It was intended for use only in extremis.”

Solidian coughed in a particularly pointed manner. Anakin looked over at Zev’s body again and took a deep breath.

“Samothrace is on station within the envelope of Obroa’s atmosphere and magnetic field. I have a teleport homer. Should we locate a suitable location…the battlebarge can extract us all.”

Silence met the Sergeant’s admission.

A teleport homer? The captain of the task force that found the Imperials reported that an Ultramarine had teleported aboard, but Anakin hadn’t really thought much of it when Kyp, Mei and him read the Senator’s datapack. Teleportation? That kind of technology was fanciful and almost ridiculous, except that as far as Anakin had known them, Astartes never joked. Could be sarcastic, maybe, but never like this. It would be a joke in horrible taste as well, to offer something as a way out of this mess then take it back.

“This wasn’t an option before?”

Face’s voice was level and calm but his anger poured through the Force.

“Teleportation is hazardous. It can be deadly. Properly attuned, the dangers are mitigated, but only under the most ideal of circumstances. This is…not.”

“So we could die just by escaping.”

“Correct, Jensaarai Taral.”

Mei rubbed her forehead.

“Just Mei.”

“It appears we have little choice. We will be caught and undoubtedly overrun. The dangers of teleportation are many, but they are less than certain death and worse: failure.”

Face cast a long look at his fallen squadron-mate.

“Those dangers better be very, very real.” He said at length. “Luke?”

His uncle’s reticence was clear, but pointless. Like Ascratus said - they would be caught. Anakin could sense chazrach bands already getting closer to them. In another ten minutes they’d have to move on again. The Force filled him, but he could feel grit in his eyes, a tremble in his legs. Maybe the Imperials could go on forever, but everyone else was only human.

“Find us a ‘suitable location’, Sergeant. We need to leave.”

Ascratus saluted, hands spread on his chest and thumbs interlinked. Solidian gently lifted up Zev’s body. Anakin closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. A hand fell on his shoulder and he looked up, expecting to see Mei. His uncle looked down at him, face soft.

“Time to go,” he said, and offered a hand. Anakin took it and his uncle, barely taller than he, pulled himself effortlessly to his feet. Luke took him by his shoulders, leaning forward to rest his forehead to Anakin’s. “The Force is our ally, Anakin. Always.”

Anakin swallowed hard and nodded. His uncle stepped away, reigniting his lightsaber. The comforting snap-hiss echoed in the street, adding another hum to Mei’s own active blades. Anakin unclipped his own, studying the hilt for a moment. Made by his own hands, as much a part of him as anything. Gentle pressure produced a shimmering blue bar of light and Anakin spun his blade once, twice. Took a deep breath, centered himself, blew it out.

He trotted after his Uncle, letting Mei take up the rear this time, Ascratus once more on point. Time to go.

The city lashed out again and again like a gestalt colony, like ants boiling from a kicked over nest. The smallest xenos, those used as fodder, would be almost pitiable but for their dogged determination and weight of numbers. Zalthis harvested them, just like Ascratus, with a quiet dispassion that didn’t betray his growing uneasiness. Small cuts adorned his limbs - minor things, trifling things, quick lines of crimson that scabbed over immediately. The blades of the little xeno were unlike those of the Vong xenoform. Those masters had staff-like, writhing serpents that Ascratus learned the hard way cared little for doughty Ulramarian plate. A single amphistaff had pared a crescent, like a clipped nail, from the rim of the Sergeant’s pauldron. It did it without even seeming to slow.

‘Monomolecular edges,’ the Republican they called Face warned. ‘They’re like lightsabers, except with venom.’

Whatever devolved variant the vong xenoform blessed their auxiliaries with, it wasn’t up to par. The daggers chipped and gouged at ceramite, that was sure, but Zalthis weathered them no different than the blunted training blades of his fellows. The chazrach were too slow to make meaningful connection.

And in return…

The reptoids were perhaps a meter in height. Small enough, in fact, the Sergeant had grown quite accustomed to kicking them away, like vermin. They were fragile, falling to Zalthis’ fists as well as his knife, to Solidian’s bolts, though he used them sparingly, and to the simple plasma weapons the Republicans carried.

A squad, Zalthis thought, plucking an alien dagger from a taloned fist, breaking several fingers, and then ramming it back through its owner’s eye socket. The reptoid fell, dagger wagging in its skull. A squad of Ultramarines and they could take the city. Wasn’t that the calculus? A squad for a city, a company for a nation, a Chapter for a world? A Legion for a culture?

They did not have a squad. They barely even had one Ultramarine, the Sergeant having to nursemaid the Republicans so. The Jedi, like Anakin Solo, who Zalthis watched backhand a reptoid with his glimmering lightsaber, sending the beast aside in halves; they were worthwhile fighters. None of the three bore a single scratch, something he had to admit Solidian and himself could not claim. The other two, though, were not made for this. He could see it in their fatigue, he could see it in the whites of their eyes.

Intelligence operatives, not warriors. This was a warrior’s battle, hand-to-hand, fist-to-face, coated in sprays of blood and beckoning more.

‘Sergeant,’ Solidian called over vox, sounding irritable. ‘How far must I carry this luggage?’

They spoke in High Gothic, for Low had been translated and made available for the Republicans.

‘As far as Master Skywalker and Colonel Loran demand. They are in command, not I.’

‘I’m half as effective,’ Solidian sighed, stooping to pick up a rock before cannoning it into a chazrach’s skull with enough force it left its feet, flopping backwards into two of its fellows.

‘You are an Ultramarine, you will adapt.’ The Sergeant’s tone brooked no further argument and Zalthis heard Solidian grumble under his breath, leaving his vox inactive.

‘We’re almost there, Sol.’ The last of the latest pack of chazrach expired with a sigh, sliding from the Sergeant’s notched blade. An amphistaff had taken a chunk out of it some time ago, the dense adamantium blade offering a bit more resistance.

‘Then what?’ his brother asked, adjusting Zev’s corpse on his shoulder. ‘We cannot take their friend back through teleport. It’s enough of a risk as it is for all of us save the Sergeant. A dead body? We’d be lucky if it didn’t end up half inside one of us.’

‘They’re unaccustomed to death.’ Zalthis watched the three Jedi as they deactivated their blades, feeling an odd envy at such a potent and portable weapon. Where Solidian ached to divest himself of the slain Wraith and tear through their enemy at abandon, the Jedi always looked almost regretful. Especially their leader. ‘It’s harder for them.’

‘Then let them carry this.’

Zalthis took a moment to count to five before grabbing Solidian’s shoulder and leaning close.

‘Sol, let it be. He was part of our squad.’

‘He’s not even Imperial-’

‘He was sworn to the same mission as us and in his own way he oathed his life. And he died in duty. Don’t dishonor him or yourself.’

For a moment, Zalthis feared his friend would argue, screwing up his face in indignation before Solidian let out a breath, relaxing.

‘You’re right, Zal. I just - we’re here with the Sergeant. I fear disappointing him.’

Zalthis laughed, shoving Solidian hard away, making the other neophyte scowl and stumble.

‘Aren’t I supposed to be the one worrying?’

‘Enough,’ Ascratus growled over vox. Chastened, Zalthis cleared his throat, nodding to the Sergeant’s back. ‘You named a tracker, Jedi. ‘Yammosk’, I believe.’

‘I did.’ Luke Skywalker glanced around at the latest crop of slain xenos, shaking his head minutely. ‘Also called a ‘war coordinator’. We don’t know much about them, but according to Danni Quee, they’re telepathic and can communicate across long distances. It’s how the Yuuzhan Vong manage their troops.’

Zalthis’ lip curled, imagining some hulking alien abomination trying to reach into his mind. No doubt the Emperor, in His wisdom, expected such things and wove fearsome defenses into the conditioning he and his training cadre had gone through. How would he know? Would he feel the ‘war coordinator’ rebuffed? A shadow of inhuman rage, battering at his thoughts?

Or would he not notice at all as it squirmed amongst his memories, taking whatever it wished -

No, no alien could overcome an Ultramarine. That the Primarch would never allow.

Ascratus consulted his auspex again, taking a moment to parse the information. The big sergeant gestured forward, pointing unerringly farther into the city.

‘We continue ahead. Perhaps two, three kilometers and the conditions may be best.’ Nods and confirmations rippled through the group. Teleportation was an imprecise science and many of its mysteries held in trust by the Mechanicum. Few ever had the dubious privilege of its manner of transport and Zalthis did not look forward to joining that number. Tales and rumors of disjunctions and misalignments painted grim pictures of what a failed teleport could cause, though Ascratus himself had leapt across a million kilometers of space only weeks ago, when the Republican squadron found Eboracum.

To that, Zalthis held his faith, hoping the savants and magi of Samothrace could display the same prowess again.

‘Anakin and Mei and I are limiting our senses,’ the Jedi Master continued, as the motley squad fell in line again, leaving their latest battlefield. ‘No one knows the extent a yammosk can reach, and if it can sense Force users…’

‘This will limit your precognition?’

‘Not precognition, Sergeant. We don’t see things before they happen: we can sense the chazrach while they prepare an ambush. And yes, it will. But if it’s how they’re tracking us so easily-’

‘Then it is a worthy trade.’

Mystic matters of mind and thoughts - that was why the Emperor made the Edict. Years ago now. For himself, Zalthis was generally ambivalent on the removal of the Librarius. The topic came up at times, as debate, amongst the neophytes. Some wondered if they might have had the aptitude, in other times of the Crusade, while others scoffed that it was allowed to run on so long, unchecked. ‘No Astartes needs anything but a bolt and blade,’ Solidian once boasted during one debate, late at night. Others felt the same.

Zalthis couldn’t help but think, sometimes, if perhaps laying aside a potent weapon for fear of its dangers went against the tenets of the Imperial Truth. Maybe, by understanding the Warp, the Ultramarines might have been better prepared when the crimson bastards of the never-spoken-of XVIIth turned their coats.

Then he remembered it was the Emperor, Beloved by All, who made this determination, and if He did not know best the Imperial Truth, who did?

It was hard to argue the Jedi hadn’t been useful, all the same. Though the chazrach were pitiful combatants, they came in numbers and numbers were a quality all its own. Even seconds of warning made all the difference in war and the Jedi’s Force often provided whole minutes to avoid or prepare for the next mob.

‘So, what d’you mean by ‘conditions’, anyway? Can’t we just use your teleport from anywhere?’

‘Neophyte Zalthis, enlighten Jedi Mei.’

He cleared his throat, recalling hypnoconditioned information in an instant.

‘Teleportation, that is to say, aetherophasic transmigration, allows for point-to-point relocation of an individual or payload through the medium of the warp.’

‘Textbook,’ the Sergeant grunted. ‘Detail the hazards.’

‘Teleportation, since it relies on the warp, is subject to the vagaries innate to the medium. The warp defies classic physics and predictability, so conditions for ideal teleportation may change without warning and without logic.’ Zalthis glanced at Solidian again, and the corpse over his shoulder. ‘Poor conditions or poor signal locking can have…unhealthy results.’

The Jedi, Mei, who looked most warlike in her armor, cocked her head, walking backwards to look at Zalthis and Ascratus both.

‘Unhealthy?’

‘Deadly. Disjunction, inversion, avulsion and recombination are the most likely outcomes-’

The Jedi blanched and twisted up her face in disgust.

‘Alright! I don’t want to know, actually. Three more kilometers, wow, that’s easy, let’s keep walking.’

‘That’s why it’s a last resort,’ Colonel Loran added.

‘It is,’ Ascratus confirmed. ‘Even Astartes rarely use teleportation in any but the most vital and controlled circumstances.’

‘Certain death versus possible death.’ The Republican shook his head. ‘Not a great deal, but it’s what we’ve got.’

‘The magi of Samothrace are well trained and the vessel will attempt the closest possible approach upon my signal.’

‘You’ve done this before?’

‘Five times, correct, sergeant?’ Zalthis couldn’t help but boast. Ascratus nodded.

‘Five. Four times into combat, once aboard your Republic starship.’

Mei made a point of looking the Ultramarine up and down.

‘And you’re still all in one piece. Well, may the Force be with us then.’

The other two Jedi echoed the sentiment.

There was a pedestrian bridge here once. A lovely, two storied flying bridge; it linked two sprawling complexes, arching up above a boulevard for vehicle traffic, giving students and faculty pleasant, climate controlled access between parts of the branch university. Something had taken it off at one end and with structural integrity lost, the bridge came down like a falling rope: the broken end first, then unrolling itself across the boulevard, both floors compacting and blowing out floor-to-ceiling glass windows in blizzarding shards. More than a few landspeeders and groundcars were caught underneath.

Now it was a humped ridge, bisecting the boulevard, piled with speeders that tried to ford over it before being perforated by bugs or slagged by coralskipper plasma. One of the complexes it attached to had given up and sighed into a mountain of rubble, about two stories worth, climbing into the sky like a low hillock. There, among wrecked landspeeders and in the lee of the tumbled bridge, Ascratus called a halt.

Like his uncle had said, Anakin kept the Force close, picking up only muted impressions from around them. Whatever let the yammosk track them, it might have been waning. They’d managed the last distance without seeing a single scale or tail of the reptoid thralls. Eerily quiet, actually, given how unceasing the past several hours had been. Anakin looked up at the sky, now growing dark again, Obroa looming huge and blue on the horizon.

At least they never ran into a rakamat again. He shuddered to imagine one of those enormous biots chasing them out in the open like this, where it could really use its plasma.

Movement caught Anakin’s attention. Consulting his auspex again, then unclasping a large case from his back, the Sergeant paced back and forth, looking between his heldheld scanner and the sky above. Then he pronounced the place perfect.

“There is clearance above and the homer indicates favorable thinning of the empyrean. Minimal, but likely enough to be a factor. The conjunction of magnetic fields between this world and its primary will ease our way. I will need to assemble it. Solidian, to me.”

Wordlessly, the neophyte laid down the slain Wraith with care that surprised Anakin, trotting to the older Ultramarine and helping retrieve another few cases and pouches from the sergeant’s back. For all the Imperial’s protestations about Truth and Science, the way the Sergeant talked about this ‘teleport homer’ almost sounded like a ritual. Mei caught his eye and the Jensaarai shrugged. She lowered herself to the ground, stretching out one leg and sighing. Well, if they had a minute…

“What do we need to do?”

Ascratus continued his work as Anakin’s uncle peered over a complicated arrangement of wiring and boxy, anodized blocks stamped with a skull and cog motif.

“It will take minutes for the homer to draw enough power once prepared. Then I will signal Samothrace, and when teleport is ready, we will stand within range of the homer. As close as possible is as safe as possible.”

Watching from where Anakin was sitting, the sergeant’s fingers were deft as he and Solidian fed leads together and clipped antennae into position. It reminded him a little of a moisture evaporator, shrunken down in size and painted black. Part of him itched to get closer, see what was going on, but he let the desire come, go. He’d have to get his hands on it to really start to understand how it worked and he was pretty sure the Ultramarines would have something choice to say about that.

“We will not be able to take a body with us,” Ascratus warned. “Make preparations for him now, if you wish.”

“Bullshit,” Bhindi hissed. “Why not?” The Wraith’s eyes were red, her expression exhausted and Anakin winced. Chewie didn’t have a body to recover, the moon made certain of that.

“The fewer the variables, the safer the teleport. The biological material of a corpse will be registered by the teleportarium and it will be taken along with the living, but what emerges may not be what was taken.”

‘What the hell does that mean? Is that a riddle? Zev died for this mission-”

Face gently took Bhindi by the shoulders, leading her away from the Ultramarines sergeant, who promptly returned to assembling the homer, not a care in the world.

“Bhindi, Zev wouldn’t want us to risk it.”

“We can’t leave him, Face!”

“We’ll bury him. And we’ll take down the coordinates. Maybe when the war is over…”

Bhindi spun away, arms folded, anguish echoing in the Force.

Miko’s body was lost on Helska when Jacen escaped with Danni. When the planet was destroyed, his burial was in the stars. Sernpidal…Sernpidal didn’t have much left. What mattered was the person, he supposed. When they became one with the Force again, the body didn’t matter as much.

At least, that’s what Anakin tried to convince himself.

The Wraiths took Zev with them, denying an awkward offer from Zalthis to assist. While they built a cairn of rubble over their comrade, Anakin hauled himself to his feet, joining his uncle in watching the Ultramarines work.

“Hello, Anakin,” his uncle sighed. Anakin flushed a little when Luke laid an arm around his shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.”

He tried to shrug off the compliment.

“No, Anakin, I mean it. Today you’ve been as good a Jedi as I could ever hope for.”

“Well, thanks, but - isn’t it -” Anakin fidgeted, tapping the hilt of his lightsaber at his side. He took a breath, ordering his thoughts. “I think I’ve - I’ve killed more people today than ever before, Uncle Luke. They just kept coming and all we could do was kill them. Isn’t that wrong?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Anakin caught his uncle’s expression slip, something old and exhausted flashing across his boyish features before it was gone and it was just Uncle Luke again, a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes as intense and full of love as ever.

“Taking a life is always a balance, like how the Force is a balance. Defending your own life is never wrong - don’t mistake me. Defense of yourself and those you love is as natural as breathing. The chazrach wanted to hurt us, Anakin. Kill us or capture us, I don’t know, but it was their violence that we had to answer to.”

“Like fighting the Empire.”

“Like fighting the Empire. The Force doesn’t ask us to wait for a knife in the back, but we shouldn’t seek violence. That’s why I’m so proud of you. Today has been more of challenge than even Dantooine was and through it all, you never rejoiced in what you had to do.”

“But I didn’t feel bad, I mean, I think about them and, I don’t know, I just feel…fine.”

Luke led them both away from the Ultramarines, out toward the more open stretches of the boulevard. Anakin let him lead, hands in his pockets, head dipped. The Wraiths piled a cairn over Zev while Mei ran through a variety of stretches. He felt his uncle reach out to Bhindi, his touch gentle and featherlight and the woman’s tangles of grief and bitter recrimination eased a little as she worked.

“What is the first tenet of the Jedi Code?”

Even before saying it, Anakin knew what his uncle meant.

“There is no emotion; there is peace,” he quoted.

“Peace. Serenity. Taking a life is a grave thing, but as Jedi, sometimes we’re called to do so. A long time ago, I had to take a lot of lives. You know about Shadowspawn.”

Anakin nodded, it had come up in history classes with Master Tionne.

“His shadowtroopers were bound to his power and when I destroyed Shadowspawn, I knew they would all die. I felt each one of them go but there was nothing else that I could do. I regret the loss of life but they could never be freed. In a way, death was a form of freedom from how their minds had all been enslaved by Shadowspawn.” Melancholy rolled off his uncle, sadness and regret, but no blame. “You wondered if it mattered if a being wanted to die.”

He shifted his weight, a little uncomfortable that his uncle could read him so well.

“It’s alright. It’s a hard question.”

Obroa continued to rise in the sky, the gas giant emerging more and more from behind the limb of the world. A mirror opposite to Yavin - blues and icy whites compared to warm oranges and reds.

“The Yuuzhan Vong worship death, so dying isn’t seen as a bad thing to them. Does that mean we can take their lives without thinking?” Luke shook his head. “No. Belief in something doesn’t make it right. The Yuuzhan Vong’s faith is troubling and so is their fanaticism, but that’s their faith. We don’t judge ourselves by the values of another, we judge ourselves by the standard the Force sets. Life is precious. All life, even the Yuuzhan Vong, even the chazrach. Even if they want to throw it away, they can’t use us to make it happen.”

It made sense, in a hypothetical kind of way, but the chazrach still threw themselves almost bodily onto his lightsaber and at the bolts and blasters of the Ultramarines and Wraiths. It made sense, but wasn’t it the same end result?

“Isn’t that kind of the same?” Anakin asked.

His uncle was quiet a moment and the two of them stood in the deepening shadows of evening.

“If the chazrach tried to surrender, what would we do?”

“Accept, of course.”

“If the Yuuzhan Vong sent an envoy to Coruscant to negotiate peace and request worlds of their own, what would we have done?”

“Talked to them, I guess.” He didn’t say ‘agree’, because he knew very well how argumentative the Senate could be.

“And if a Yuuzhan Vong tomorrow asked to be your friend, what would you do?”

He thought of Chewie and Miko and Daeshara’cor and Jaina’s friend Annie and Zev and all the rest. He thought of what Chewie would say in his rumbling, rolling voice.

“I’d hear him out,” he said at last, for some reason feeling lighter for saying so.

“That’s why it isn’t the same. We fight only exactly as much as we have to - they fight as much as they can.”

“If some of the chazrach tried to run away…” Anakin trailed off, seeing the truth of it. They would have let them flee. It wouldn’t have mattered if they ‘gave away’ their position, since the Yuuzhan Vong seemed to already know exactly where they were. Like the ones he had first injured, then crippled, then maimed, if at any point they had given up, Anakin wouldn’t have escalated until the reptoid was dead. It was a measure of restraint, that’s what it was, and he knew his uncle was right. A Jedi fights because they have to, not because they want to.

That’s what Kyp was missing. Luke wasn’t saying not to fight the Yuuzhan Vong, he was making sure that you understood your intentions first. That you fought them to stop their violence and to protect others, not because you wanted to fight them, wanted to kill them.

“Thanks, Uncle Luke,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” his uncle replied and folded his nephew into a quick hug. “Go drink some water and take a minute to rest. I need to have a word with the sergeant.”