Title: Burn! Burn! Burn!
Author: oqidaun / M. Nicholson
Rated: PG-13 (violence/strong language)
Timeframe:
TPM-ROTS
Characters: Obi-Wan/Anakin/Yoda/OC
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Disclaimer: Thanks for letting me play in your playground, George.
Summary: Five years after the events in The Phantom Menace, a call for
assistance from an AgriCorps compound sets a Jedi Master on a collision course
with an ancient evil and an approaching storm.
Author’s Note: I'd like to extend a
special THANK YOU to all my readers at TheForce.net’s Jedi Council who
nominated Burn! for eleven categories in the 2006
Winter Fanfic Awards! We won Best Canon, Best Drama, Best Epic and Best
Ensemble Cast!
Once upon a time, in a Galaxy far far
away…
There was a little girl
Who cried:
Fire! Fire! Fire!
There was a little man
Who said:
Liar! Liar! Liar!
And on a windy night
They all:
Burned! Burned! Burned!
--Shodari
Immigrant Children's Rhyme.
Prologue:
AgriCorps Compound 60249-41, Shoda,
Dakari Sector, Mid/Outer Rim Transition Zone
Bright silks,
soft pillows and exotic women warmed his dreams. Spice filled his nostrils and
wrapped him in a blanket of euphoric smoke. Falling into the arms of a rose
skinned madam, he embraced the narcotic aroma of her decadent kisses. He raised
the hookah pipe to his lips and inhaled. A fit of coughing seized him. The
smoke reeked of dry grass and stung his lungs. The seductress opened her mouth
to speak, but the only sound to escape her lips was the clamor of a rusted bell
violently tearing him from his dream world.
Fire, blood, bell, fire, blood, bell,
fire, blood, bell—the
words tormented him. Frantically, he
threw back the blankets and stumbled barefoot towards the window. Thick frost coated both sides of the thin
glass. He could smell the smoke and hear the roar of the flames above the
howling wind, but because of the frost could see nothing save the furious
orange glow that filled the window. A
bell clanged rhythmically adding to the chaos and his frustration of not being
able to see.
Desperately, he
scratched at the frost with his fingernails. The brittle glass splintered and
sliced into his hand. His bloody fingers pulled the broken shards from the pane
and cast them to floor at his feet. Icy
air whooshed into the room.
An angry false
sun rose on the horizon and defiled the night with its illusions. His heart
threatened to rip his chest apart. Mutely, he stepped back from the window
through the broken glass. A cold sweat broke across his face and he felt faint.
The door burst
open, “She’s not in her room!”
“I know.” He picked a sliver of glass from his foot and
finished putting on his boots. “Who the hell do you think is ringing that
damned bell?”
Clenching his
fist to stay the bleeding, he grabbed his long brown cloak and chased after the
similarly dressed dark skinned woman into the hallway. At the top of the
stairs, he stopped and turned.
“Where are you
going?” she screamed.
He did not
answer and raced back to his room. The flames from outside illuminated the
simple furnishings in a surreal fiery glow. Ignoring his other meager
possessions, he ripped open the dresser drawer, seized a small red book and
tucked it safely into his robes. The
little book was cold and it burned against his chest.
Once more he ran
into the hall and finally down the stairs.
Smoke bellowed into the old two story dwelling and he slowed as he
approached the front door knowing what he would find on the other side.
The world that
greeted him would forever be the setting of his nightmares.
- - -
“Where did she
get it?” The smoke, wind and exhaustion left his voice hollow and cracked. It
was the first thing he had said in twenty four hours.
“She took it
from Dezan.”
“Did she—”
“He’s safe. He made
to the village to warn them.”
“Where is she?”
“Still
at the bell.”
- - -
“Are you angry,
Banner?”
“No.” He bent
down and looked into her remorseless eyes. “Anger leads to the dark side. Why—”
“Do you hate me,
Banner?”
“Badour, let me ask my questions. I need to know—”
“Do you hate me,
Banner?”
“No, Badour, I
do not hate you. I don’t understand you, but I don’t hate you.” He knelt down in front of the small girl
trying to see her face. “Why have you done this?”
“I didn’t start
the fire.” She shook her head.
“Badour, I don’t
know if I can believe you.”
“The fire was
coming. I rang the bell.”
“You did more
than ring the bell. What happened to the eopies?” He pointed towards the smoldering remains of
the barn and the scattered carcasses.
She looked down
at her feet. Banner reached forward and lifted the nine-year-old’s chin with
his bandaged hand.
“I killed
them. When I saw the flames, I took
Dezan’s lightsaber while he slept. I
took it into the pen and I killed all of the eopies and then I rang the bell.”
“Badour,” his
vision blurred with his tears, “why?”
“The barn was
going to burn,” she said simply. “The fire couldn’t be stopped. They were going
to die. Banner, you should not be surprised. You knew.” The plain faced child tilted her head. “You
can’t stop it.”
“Why did you
write those words?” he whispered. “Why those words?”
She reached
forward to touch him and he recoiled.
She smiled.
“Banner, do you
fear me?”
- - -
“No compromises,
Jedi.” His jaw was set and arms folded against his chest. The cold air reddened
his pale face and his military tunic was buttoned to his chin.
“Please, General
Acquilius, if you could give us a chance to—”
“I’m not giving
you another damn thing. I am the law here and it is my responsibility to keep
order. If you’ve not noticed this planet sits in a war zone. Your people
demanded to come out here and help the immigrants—bring a little of that Core
World civilization to the Mid-Rim. You weren’t invited and you sure as hell
haven’t helped anyone.”
“General, this
was isolated incident. Please do not allow it to taint your view of the
AgriCorps. The Republic wants to share its technologies and expertise with
developing agricultural societies—”
“Is that what you
think of us—just a bunch of uncivilized farmers?” He shook his head in
disbelief. “I am a representative of the Mandakari Empire. The Jedi think of us
as a developing society?”
“That’s not what
I said.”
“I’ll be certain
to include that in my report.” He leaned
closer and lowered his voice. “At least we honor our children. We don’t tear
them from their mother’s breast only to decide years later that they’re
worthless and dump them off on places like this.” He paused to retrieve an
archaic nico-baac inhaler from his pocket. Meticulously, he inserted a
stimulant capsule into the chamber, ignited it and brought the stem to his
lips.
“I started
hearing all sorts of stories about what goes on out there and the Jedi
rejects. Locals don’t want you round here
anymore. Now this,” he gestured with the
inhaler to the expanses of burned range on the either side of his speeder bike,
“Over a million acres destroyed. The fire started on your land and you’ve got
sixty head of livestock with their throats cut. I find that curious.”
“General, we are
handling the situation. I’ve contacted the Order,” she assured him.
“You can contact
your Order to your heart’s content, because I’ve contacted my ‘order’,” he
mocked and patted the military insignia on his tunic. “You’re lucky I don’t
arrest you for the fire—that’s a capital offense in developing agricultural
societies such as this.”
“Sir, I think
that you’re over reacting to this situation.”
“Don’t tempt
me,” he clenched the inhaler in his teeth. “My superior gave me full latitude
to solve this problem and ordered me to get it solved today. The locals have
been talking about a girl. If you don’t get her out of here in twenty four
hours, I’ll have riot on my hands and if I end up with a riot,” he jerked his
thumb back towards a hard faced solider in black fatigues, “I’m going to send
him to bring me a body.” He smiled cruelly. “I have to keep the peace here and
if that means being a bit uncivilized, I’ll do just that.” He swung his leg over the speeder. “What do
you expect from a developing society?”
- - -
There was little
left to put into the old BT-3 utility skiff and they packed quickly and
quietly. The local laborers had not returned.
A hundred meters from the skiff, the hard faced soldier and three others
sat on their stripped down speeder bikes overseeing the evacuation. Elitrea
divided her attention between them and the girl. The child sat patiently on the
ground, her hands folded in her lap. A
content smile played across her lips.
The tall padawan
secured the final crate on the skiff and cast a cautious glance at the
soldiers. Pulling up the hood of his robe, he approached his master. Less than
a month away from his knighting, Dezan d’Andros already conveyed the presence
of a formidable Jedi. He was keenly
attuned to the Force and gifted with both a strong sense of honor and humility.
“Do you think
they’ll let us leave in peace?” he spoke softly.
“I feel their
animosity as well, Padawan, but they are bound by the orders of their general
and I doubt he wants to deal with the paperwork our murders would generate.”
She touched his arm and looked deep into his eyes. Through Force she reminded
him, “Watch your thoughts around the girl.”
Wordlessly, he
nodded.
- - -
The sun set passively
on the scorched lands and dark snow clouds rolled in from the north. The trip
to the port city of
Utilitarian and
square, Shadora looked like countless other hastily constructed settlements
throughout the Galaxy. The port welcomed
fewer than a thousand immigrants each year and saw very little commercial
traffic. Weekly markets sold local crafts and foodstuffs, imported goods
remained prohibitively expensive. Martial law prevailed and authorities
discouraged civilian participation in the community’s governance. Soldiers
patrolled the streets and the strict curfews kept their work to a minimum.
Nights were quiet in the little town.
The public
hangars required special permission to enter after dark, but the port master
did not question the hard faced soldier. Housed at the end of a long row of
empty buildings, the nondescript Republic cruiser was one of three private
transports docked in the hangars. Aside from the Mandakari Occupation and
Settlement Authority (MOSA) few beings on Shoda had means for private
transport.
The hum of the
cruiser’s preflight cycle echoed through the empty hangar. Banner wiped his
hands on his trousers and double checked the skiff to make certain that
everything had been moved into the transport’s cargo hold. Elitrea watched
suspiciously as he approached the soldiers loitering around the hangar door and
accepted the flask one offered. She looked to Dezan who stood ready at the base
of the ship’s ramp. The child hovered around the hatch.
One by one, the
soldiers left. Elitrea raised an eyebrow as Banner returned. Since the fire, he
spoke few words and kept to himself. Known for being an affable and talkative
man, his behavior seemed exceptionally out of character. A frown settled on his lips as he withdrew
the battered journal from his robes and handed it to her.
“Here,” he
whispered. “They want to see this.”
She accepted the
journal and met his anguished eyes. “You’re not coming. Are you?”
“No.” Banner
spoke plainly.
“Don’t throw
this away.”
“No,” he
repeated and slipped his arms out of the brown robe letting it fall to the
floor. In his bandaged hand he held out his lightsaber. When she refused to
accept his weapon, he also let it fall to the fuel stained duracrete surface.
“Now isn’t the
time to do this.”
He shook his
head. “If there ever was a time—this is it.”
For a moment he looked at Dezan and usually steady padawan seemed torn.
Banner Weesoik
turned and walked away.
He never looked
back.
Kingdom Mine
Brutish port
authorities muscled their way through the crowds of refugees checking papers,
taking bribes and dragging those unable to comply with either to the deportation
terminals. Desperate travelers set up impromptu bazaars in hopes of selling
enough of their belongings to pay the bribes. Less resourceful individuals
bartered themselves or worse their children.
Elitrea stood in
the fresher of Dalvin’s Last Drink, one of the many unlicensed taverns in the
old warehouse that also masqueraded as the Mooja Intergalactic Space Port. She needed privacy and the filthy fresher
seemed to be only place where she could have a moment to herself.
In front of her
the pair of fuzzy blue holograms offered little consolation. She had hoped
Master M’Daw Gooli of the Council of Reconciliation, would be more sympathetic.
Unfortunately, the elderly Corellian Jedi Master only shook her head and
reminded her padawan of many years before to be patient. Furthermore, Gooli
deferred most of Elitrea’s concerns to Yoda of the High Jedi Council who seemed
irritated, or maybe it was just the bad connection.
“Most
unfortunate, these events are.” It was impossible to read Yoda’s expression,
but his voice betrayed little concern.
“My ship is
impounded by the Shoda Home Defense and the three commercial transports we’ve
used have all had to change their courses because of hyperdrive malfunctions.
I’m thinking there’s something more than ‘unfortunate’ to this all.”
“Patience,
Master Elitrea.” Gooli raised her hands. “We understand the difficulty you are
having and a solution has presented itself. Anear Salot has just reported that
his team has had quite a bit of success on Abregado-Rae. It’s not far from
Fondor. If you can get to Fondor, Obi-Wan Kenobi can take Badour to Anear’s
compound on Abregado-Rae. We feel certain that this would be in her best
interests.”
The fuzzy image
of Yoda concurred. “Benefit, the child will from Anear’s influence.”
She exhaled,
relieved not to have to take Badour all the way to Coruscant. “I am glad to
hear that Anear will accept her. Though,
it’s going to be difficult to get transport out of here. It took us three weeks
to get across the Mid Rim. The fighting in the Dakari sector has complicated
travel in the Mid-Rim. There are a lot of refugees to contend with and the
extra security. We’ve been stopped seventeen times—”
“Wait for you,
Obi-Wan and Anakin will.” Yoda interrupted.
“Elitrea, you
must focus on the positive and make it to Fondor as quickly as possible. From
there, you and Dezon will return to the
For a moment,
her confidence surged and she felt the familiar warmth of the Force coursing
through her veins. She left the ‘fresher determined. However, when she turned
the corner and saw the look on her padawan’s face, the emptiness returned.
“She’s doing it
again…”
None will be saved…
Second only to Kuat
itself, Fondor was the Galaxy’s preeminent ship building planet. The crowded
streets of
As she leaned
over the edge of the steel patio railing, she allowed herself her first smile
in weeks. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Obi-Wan.”
“Elitrea,” he
smiled warmly and waited for her to join him. In the short time Obi-Wan had
been on Fondor, he had already become a regular in the Gear House café. “Had I
heard about your difficulties earlier, we’d met up with you some where in the
Inner Rim.” He motioned to the server droid to bring another mug of Alderaanean
tea.
“I wouldn’t wish
the Mooja Intergalactic Spaceport on anyone. Don’t worry about it.”
“You mean
they’ve rebuilt it? Qui-Gon and I were there right after it was bombed and the
Port Authority had moved everything across the street into an old warehouse.”
“No, it’s still
in the warehouse. I think they just moved the sign. Fondor’s a nice change,
superficial, but hopeful.” She took a cautious sip of the hot tea. “How do you
like it?”
“Two weeks with
Anakin on Fondor? He’s under the impression we’re on some sort of vacation.”
“He’s
mechanically inclined to say the least. I have never seen someone so young, so
gifted.”
“I think the
“Poor Anakin,”
she laughed. “Perhaps, your delinquent padawan can stay here with me and Dezon
while you take Badour to Abregado-Rae”
“I’d be lost
with out him.” Obi-Wan put his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Actually, we
need to be on Corellia next week. I’m not going to be able to backtrack; it’s
going to have to be a fast trip.”
Elitrea’s mouth
tightened. “She’s difficult, Obi-Wan.”
“What do you
mean?” Her sudden change in mood caught him off guard.
“It’s hard to
describe. She has rather elaborate visions and a tendency to act on
them—violently. She’s a bit much for a padawan to deal with. Dezan is nearly
twenty years old and she has managed to rile him. Anakin is only fourteen and
you’ve said yourself that he’s high strung.”
“This is what
happened on Shoda?” Obi-Wan had only heard parts of the story.
“The Council for
Reconciliation decided she would do best in the corps and shortly after her
eighth birthday sent her to Banner Weesoik’s project on Shoda.”
“Banner was the
only classmate I ever remembered being happy to go to the Corps. He’s a good
organizer.” Obi-Wan also remembered him as a clown.
“Banner sent a
message to the Reconciliation Council that he was concerned,” she continued.
“Initially, Badour got on well with the village children to the point that some
of the local families talked about adopting her since she was still so young,
but then one day the children didn’t want to play with her. The families didn’t
want her around. Apparently, she started telling people when they were going to
die.”
“Delightful
habit for a small child.”
“Very, and she
has a tendency to be correct.” Elitrea toyed absently with her spoon as she
decided how to explain what happened next. “Banner tried to encourage her to
stop. He kept in contact with the Rec Council and Yarael Poof on the High
Council. She responded to Banner’s
redirection and she shifted her attention to animals. He also found her a journal so that she could
record her visions and reflect on them.” Elitrea reached inside her satchel and
handed the small plastisheet book to Obi-Wan. “This was Banner’s breaking
point.”
Obi-Wan flipped
through the pages of drawings and notes, “She did this by herself?”
“She did this in
one night. There’s over a hundred and fifty pages.
Banner counted twenty distinct scripts in at least four languages. She’s eight,
Obi-Wan.” A cold chill seized her as she
remembered Banner risking his life to save the book.
“She sounds
charming. When do I get to meet her?”
My will be done…
Anakin glanced
up at the chrono and launched into a litany of curses a Hutt would find
impressive and fortunately, Obi-Wan was no where to be found. What had once
been a secondary cooling unit spread out in seventy three pieces around the
lanky padawan.
The mysterious disappearance of the seventy-fourth piece inspired the
Huttese profanity. Two hours earlier,
the replacement of the relay switch seemed like a really great idea, now he was
not quite so certain. He reached for the ship’s holo manual, which he sincerely
believed had been written by one of Yoda’s kinsbeings, and the missing gasket
spacer tumbled out of his sleeve. A look of relief washed across his face as he
leapt to his feet to catch the wayward part before it rolled down into the
grating in front of the small ship’s ramp.
At
the foot of the ramp stood a tired looking young man. Anakin almost failed to recognize
him.
“Dez?” Anakin quickly smiled. The other padawan
was older, but Anakin had sparred with him a number of times in the
Dezan regarded
him blankly before responding. “Anakin.”
Preoccupied with
his cooling unit assembly concerns, Anakin failed to notice the contempt in his
voice. “Come lend me a hand, will you?
I’ve got to get this thing back together before Obi-Wan finds out or
he’ll chew my head off.”
“Certainly.”
Quietly, Dezan
watched as Anakin reassembled the cooling unit. After several attempts to draw
him into conversation failed, Anakin lapsed into one of his long winded
monologues about growing up on Tatooine.
“My mom used to
make this soup out of figs. We couldn’t always get figs as they’re imported and
expensive, but she would for special occasions—like my birthday. They’ve made
it for me at the
When Anakin
spoke of “home” it always meant Tatooine. His unceasing one-sided discussions
of growing up on the desert planet often alienated him from the other padawans
who felt he lorded his “normal” childhood over them. The sainthood of Shmi Skywalker was well known
by his cohorts.
While the
younger padawan spoke, Dezan fantasized about putting the screwdriver he had
been nervously toying with through Anakin’s skull. The polite smile and
occasional nod as Anakin rambled on about his mother had nothing to do with the
story or Dezan’s desire to be a good listener. Instead, his expressions were
manifestations of his eagerness to commit a brutal murder. In his mind he moved
through the paces repeatedly. Ten minutes into Anakin’s tale, he had already
killed him in his mind fifteen times.
Anakin was a
meter and a half away. It would take two steps, yet he would have the element
of surprise. Carefully, he checked the sharpness of the end of the screwdriver
and gauged how much pressure it would take to ram it through his forehead. He
decided it would be best to grasp the screwdriver with his right hand while
simultaneously driving his left elbow into Anakin’s windpipe. If he hit him
hard enough in the throat, then he could slow down and make certain his victim
understood what was happening. He would use his own hands, a makeshift weapon
and his desperation to destroy him—not the Force.
Abruptly, Anakin
stopped his Tatooine spiel. “Dez, is something wrong?”
“I could save
the Galaxy with this…” He wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle, his
eyes darkened. He started to move forward.
“A screwdriver?”
Anakin straightened up and folded his arms; suddenly wary of the other padawan,
but not enough to rein in his challenge. “How do you suppose?”
Visibly Dezan broke
out in a cold sweat. He had not anticipated Anakin’s reaction. He starred at
the tool and his shaking hands. Panic threatened to overtake him. He struggled
with the violent desire coiled up in his stomach. A voice in his head
whispered, “If you do nothing now, you’ll be his accomplice later…”
Dezan looked at
the padawan in front of him and timidly reached into the Force. Anakin would be
a very dangerous adversary to provoke. As he touched the Force, a hint of
reason crept into his clouded mind. He would not be successful. For a moment he saw himself as clear as
though he was standing in Anakin’s place. He saw a cowering wreck of a human
being, driven by fear and deformed by madness.
The screwdriver
clanged loudly as it struck the floor.
Desperately, the
darkness surged in him, yet his terror kept his feet planted. For days he had
obsessed over the opportunity to catch the Chosen One alone and end his
life. His dark dreams revealed thousands
of murderous possibilities. His entire existence became focused on the
necessity of changing the future. Willingly, he gave himself to darkness so
that others might live. His sacrifice was unavoidable. There should have been
no turning back the moment he seized the screwdriver, but now his failure was
complete.
He failed
billions.
“You’re not
going to get the pleasure of killing me, Anakin.” He hissed through clenched
teeth.
Anakin shifted
his weight to facilitate drawing his lightsaber. He realized he was in a
precarious place, but did not understand why.
However, “why?” was a secondary concern, self preservation always being
his first. He could feel the temperature in the room
drop as the darkness wrapped itself around the wild-eyed padawan. However,
Anakin was not afraid. He knew that Dezan was crippled by his own fear and fear
could be a powerful ally.
He spoke slowly,
coaxingly, “Dezan, what are you talking about?”
“You’re not
going to kill me…” He spun around and raced down the ramp.
Guide the blind…
The gray sky
wept and it filled her with joy. Ten feet in front of the sour faced man she
jumped in puddles and squealed with delight as the drops grew heavier. Her tiny hands eagerly patted the bark of the
narrow Zan’thor fruit trees. She
struggled against the temptation to climb the trees and steal their unripe
fruit. A glance over her shoulder reminded her that the frowning Jedi still
followed. He promised her sweets if she would stay in sight as they walked to
the dock. Badour liked sweets and was on her best behavior. She could hardly
contain her glee as she waited anxiously for him under the awning outside the
sweet shop.
“Aren’t you a
happy girl?” A woman exiting the shop
paused beside her.
“Of course I am,”
she beamed. “I’ve never seen the trees when I’ve been here before.”
The woman
adjusted her cloak and looked down at the plain faced child. “Sweetie, those
trees are twenty years old. Are you sure you’ve been here when the trees
weren’t?”
“Several times,
except when I’m here the sky is red and the trees are on fire.” She nervously bounced up and down wishing the
Jedi would walk faster. “Oh, and that building,” she pointed across the street,
“it’s gone, too.”
The woman did a
double take at the impressive
She hated it
when they refused to understand. Good behavior or not, she did not tolerate
ignorance. She smiled more broadly and tried to explain. “The planet is
destroyed after the shipyards. It’s a bit of an accident, but very
beautiful.” She patted her foot and
began to worry that the Jedi was intentionally walking slow.
“What a horrid
imagination! That’s hardly something to smile about,” the older woman frowned.
Coolly, she
turned and looked in the woman’s dark brown eyes. “It’s not like it’s going to
affect you,” she said slowly. “Don’t worry you’ll be dead by the end of this
year—the doctor didn’t notice the other growth. Your son Baxter’s children will
die long before the planet; in fact they won’t outlive their parents. Your
whole family will be but a memory before the Emperor even takes his
throne.”
Silently, the
woman began to move away, but her eyes remained fixed on the child.
“Don’t worry, I
won’t forget you.” She giggled as she
waved good-bye.
---
Clutching her
bag of candies like a treasure, the small child skipped along beside him. Obi-Wan was relieved that she could be
bought off with sweets and that she did not talk much. Quite frankly, he
wondered what Elitrea meant when she described her as difficult. While it was
apparent that the child was Force sensitive, he failed to note any malice in
her. However, it did occur to him that perhaps spending the past five years with
Anakin had desensitized him to the types of emotions Jedi considered dangerous
or disruptive in the young. Obi-Wan
likened Anakin’s presence in the Force to a supernova and acknowledged that at
times it blinded him to some of the smaller disturbances. Regardless, the child was reasonably pleasant,
if a bit over eager to run ahead and talk to strangers.
The public dock
where their Republic-class transport
waited was busy for a late afternoon and Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin had put their
name on the departure list with the air-traffic control center. The child made him edgy not because of what
Elitrea suggested, but the simple fact he did not like children. He hoped their
trip would be uneventful and short. Their schedule dictated that they had to be
on Corellia in a week to provide return escort for a party of Mid-Rim senators
who had been taking part in the Corellian Trade Summit. Obi-Wan always liked to
be early.
The child
stopped outside of the hangar and waited.
She was too small to reach the door code. It seemed to Obi-Wan that sometimes the Jedi
Order forgot that they were dealing with children. Aside from what Elitrea had
told him, he knew very little about what had happened. His and Anakin’s
involvement with the child was purely accidental. They had finished working out
an agreement between the Fondor Ore Miners Union and the Kuat Labor Board well
ahead of schedule when the message came from the High Council that they would
be taking on a passenger. They received few details other than that there had
been some problems in the Mid-Rim. Personally, Obi-Wan wondered why the Council
did not send the child home to her parents.
Certainly the material in her journal betrayed either a great degree of
clairvoyant ability or creativity, but he did not feel she posed a threat.
“Obi-Wan, where
are we going?”
He was surprised
Elitrea neglected to tell the child; however, she had seemed quite eager to
leave her in his hands and did so without lengthy goodbyes. “Badour, I’ve been
asked to take you to Abregado-Rae, where you will help Master Anear with his
farming project. It is not a long trip and you’ll be very happy there.”
“I don’t think
so.” She responded matter-of-factly.
Undeterred, Obi-Wan
opened the door and pushed her inside the hangar. “You’ll get used to it and
you’ll have a fine time.”
“No, I don’t
think so.”
He stopped.
“Badour, it is not my decision to make. You will go to Abregado-Rae as the
Council has decided it would be best.”
“No.” She was resolute.
Amazed by the
ground he was losing to the nine year old, he changed tactics. “Badour, it’s
not open to discussion. However, if you will continue to behave yourself I’ll
make sure you get some more sweets when we get there.”
She raised an
eyebrow skeptically. “Promise?”
“You have my
word, provided you behave yourself and do not argue.”
Silently, she
weighed the options. “Very well, I will go and I will not argue.” She looked at
the ship and then back to Obi-Wan. “Because I like you, I will tell you that I
am going to go back to Coruscant as that is where I want to be. However, I like
sweets and I will behave for you. I can be nice.”
“I’m glad to
hear it, Badour.” He marched up the ramp in front of her wondering when he had
been demoted from Jedi Knight to babysitter.
---
“Anakin?”
Obi-Wan dropped Badour’s small knapsack on the bench. She hung quietly behind him.
Anakin stepped
out of the cockpit feigning nonchalance, having only minutes earlier finished
resetting the timing on the cooling relay. All afternoon he had been
preoccupied by Dezan’s bizarre behavior. In his mind he played the strange
scene over and over again, until it seemed too surreal to have actually
happened and he decided that perhaps, it was best left that way. He had no intention of discussing the matter
with Obi-Wan as his master would undoubtedly chastise him for provoking the
Perfect One’s paranoia. Hopefully, Master Elitrea had not said anything.
Upon seeing him,
Badour’s eyes lit up. She bounded around Obi-Wan nearly knocking him over and
exuberantly seized Anakin in a tight hug. He traded a surprised look with his
master, shrugged his shoulders and patted her on top of the head.
Obi-Wan was left speechless.
The tiny girl released
her iron grip on his legs and looked up in awe, “It’s very nice to finally meet
you, Anakin. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.” She offered her
bag of sweets to him.
Anakin laughed
and accepted a piece of candy, “What a great kid!”
Do you think that you’ll be saved?
In the dark
room, he pressed the cool burnished steel against his forehead and squeezed his
eyes shut.
His finger
hovered over the activation switch.
A bead of sweat
trickled down the bridge of his nose.
His heart
protested impotently in his chest.
It was a dark
thought.
The jury knelt
with him.
In the darkness
he could see them all.
Each breath he
took was stolen from the dead—from them.
You have failed.
The Bastard of Tatooine is in the
You have failed.
The Bastard of Tatooine is in the
You have failed.
The Bastard of Tatooine is in the
The words burned
in his mind like the fires of Shoda.
Tears welled up in
his eyes and he closed them tighter.
His elbows ached
and his hands shook.
It was his only
thought.
“I’m sorry.” The
simple words escaped as he exhaled for the last time.
He pressed his
finger against the switch.
The bright green
blade lit up the dark room, but for a moment.
Light years
away, a child laughed.
Apparently, the
Galaxy was full of prophecies.
Of the Gods and Idols
The orbital
mirrors redirected and intensified the system’s distant sun making for a
glorious summer morning—one of those rare mornings when Coruscant truly
appeared to be the “Crown Jewel of the Galaxy” just like the propagandists from
the Municipal Tourism Board claimed. As the WeatherNet promised, the rain
clouds dissipated at dawn leaving only puddles as evidence of the night’s
violent storms. The reflection and refraction of the brightness off of polished
duracrete and coated transparisteel bathed the upper levels of the city in
brilliant white, everything seemed clean and new. At the center, the
Nothing became
clearer with daybreak.
“Most unforeseen
was this.”
Arms folded,
Mace Windu leaned against the back of the chair usually occupied by Ki-
Adi-Mundi and absently stared at the megalopolis below him. “Master Gooli left
for Fondor earlier and will counsel her former padawan. I do not doubt that she
will need assistance as she seeks to find peace at this time.” He turned from
the window and revealed the sadness in his dark eyes, “The boy’s trials were
set for next month.”
Yoda did not dwell
on the death. “Remember you, the origins of the child?”
“Dezan?”
“No,
the girl.” He sat in
his customary low chair, his chin resting against his tiny green fist.
“She came from Anaxes. Her family was
reluctant to release her.”
“Meditated on this, I have. Know the child, I do.” Yoda folded his hands.
“An error, she was.”
“Force
sensitive, but not capable—it happens.” Mace did not intend to sound quite as
nonchalant as he did, but his thoughts remained with Elitrea.
“Yes and
unfortunate, it is.”
“Yet, how do we
explain her precognition?”
“Explain it, I
can not.”
“Nor, can I,” a new voice interjected.
“Master Poof,”
Mace greeted the curious looking Quermian.
.
His long necked
swayed as he acknowledged the greeting. “I thought Banner was over reacting and
I counseled him to show patience above all things. I looked into the child’s
records and there was no evidence of any precognitive ability.” Yarael Poof
remained one of the Council’s most gifted precognitives and a keen manipulator
of the persuasive elements of the Force.
“The most basic
of exercises, she struggled with.” Yoda
recalled the child’s slow process and persistent frustration.
“There is the
possibility that the trauma of being removed from the
Wagging one of
his long delicate fingers, Poof disagreed, “This kind of ability, latent or
otherwise, would not develop so rapidly as on a hyperspace jump between
Coruscant and the Mid-Rim, Master Windu. From what Banner said, she was out of
control, at times catatonic and at other times capable of being highly
disruptive. Whatever social skills she was taught here, apparently failed to
follow her.” He paused, realizing he was venting his own frustrations with the
situation. “While ability does often manifest itself in late childhood, it is
always accompanied by early signs that identify such gifts. She had none of the signs and was adequately
tested prior to her release. Banner’s reports were melodramatic to say the least
and I admit I reluctantly accepted his opinions.”
“Of course,
Banner Weesoik is not the most reputable judge of ability or character.”
Yoda frowned
thoughtfully, “Perhaps not. However, Master Elitrea is. And failed we did, to respond.”
An uncomfortable silence followed; rarely did Yoda admit his mistakes.
“Master Windu,
where is the child now?” Poof inquired.
“With Obi-Wan
and Anakin and they are probably close to arriving at Abregado-Rae.”
The Quermian
straightened his robes. “What do they know?”
“Little.
Happenstance, it was, that they were available.” Yoda shrugged.
“Do you believe
we should we tell them?”
Mace responded
quickly. “No, this is an instance when unawareness might be beneficial. I’ve spoken with Anear Salot and he’s going
to meet them at the spaceport. He will stay with the child until you get there.
Obi-Wan and Anakin will leave the journal the child kept on Shoda with him.” He
looked to Yoda. “Perhaps this journal will yield the clues we need to explain
the child’s abilities.”
“If the child is
dangerous it might not be advisable to leave Obi-Wan and Anakin unaware.” Poof
paused, “Anakin is volatile.” Years
before, the alien Jedi Master suffered an independent readings course with
Anakin, after which he informed Yoda that he wanted to take his vote back
regarding whether or not to allow the Chosen One to train as a padawan.
“Exactly, that’s
why it’s necessary to divulge only a minimum amount of information. The last
thing we need to do is to further complicate this matter to Skywalker
proportions.” Mace often used ‘Skywalker’ to describe what he considered a
‘worst case scenario’. “If the child is precognitive any information we give to
them may provoke her paranoia. Regarding the death of Elitrea’s padawan, I will
wait until I can send a private message to Obi-Wan.” He sat down on the arm of
his chair. “Master Yoda, what are your thoughts?”
The wizened
Master sat in silent contemplation for some time before he spoke. “Seen the
child, have you?”
“Master?”
“Seen the child,
have you?” Irritably, he reiterated his question enunciating each word.
“I remember
Badour only briefly, but yes, I saw her in the
“I spoke with Badour
a few years ago. She was having nightmares and I offered counsel, but these
were childish dreams—nothing to suggest any precognition.”
Yoda sat back in
his chair. “What of the child in question? Seen this child, have you?”
Mace continued
to remain uncertain, “The child traveling with Obi-Wan and Anakin?”
“No.” Poof shook
his small head, but his eyes widened as he realized what was implied.
A strange
urgency appeared in Yoda’s typically measured voice, “Comfort her padawan
later, Master Gooli will. To Abregado-Rae she must hurry—seen the child, she
has.”
“I too shall
take my leave, Master Yoda.” Poof bowed and gathered up his sweeping robes in
his thin hands in order to walk faster.
Mace waited
until the lift doors closed and they were once again alone in the Council
Chamber. He took a deep breath, “It wouldn’t be possible for this to be a
different child?”
“Little, do I
see, even within these walls.” Yoda spoke softly and rose to his feet.
“Twilight or Dawn, I know not which.”
The two Masters
stood in silence in the warm sunlight surrounded by the bright blue sky and
contemplated the descending darkness.
Every Tower Razed
The blur of
hyperspace quickly dissolved into real time. Tens of thousands of stars
returned to their rightful places in the black emptiness surrounding the cloudy
green orb. Actual coordinates replaced the NavCom Unit’s approximations as the
ship registered its position in relation to Abregado-Rae and updated its
database. The communications system picked up the spaceport’s data feed at the
edge of the gravity well and a steady stream of text began to crawl across the
monitor. The data feed was essential for providing pilots with basic planetary
information, landing protocols and any flight advisories. A surprisingly
controversial subject, the Senate regularly quarreled over the content in the
standardized feeds and only recently attempted to crack down on superfluous
advertising.
As the cockpit
consoles returned to life, a bright green light flashed accompanied by a
persistent ping. Irreverently called the
‘liability toggle’, the green light indicated that the hyperdrive remained
stable following a hyperspace jump. A new feature on all late model KDY cores,
the obnoxious little ping was the offspring of a massive Core world class
action lawsuit. Drowsily, Anakin reached forward and silenced it. Like most
pilots, he used the ping as an alarm clock.
“Anakin
Skywalker,” a small voice whispered from the back of the cockpit.
He focused on initiating
the landing cycle. “Hmm?”
Badour climbed
into the empty co-pilot’s seat, earlier Obi-Wan had retreated to a gravity
couch in the passenger’s section to read. The ship entered Abregado-Rae’s
atmosphere smoothly. Anakin double checked the landing protocols and glanced
over the status readout for the repulsor engines.
“Anakin
Skywalker?”
“Yes, Badour,”
he tried to sound as pleasant as possible, despite the fact that her calling
him by his full name drove him mad.
She leaned
forward and looked out the viewport. “Are you ever afraid of falling?”
“What?” A wave
of confusion overcame him. He turned to look at the originator of the bizarre
question.
“He is,” she
smiled pointing upwards.
Suddenly, the
proximity warnings wailed. A Corellian
cargo transport barreled through the busy flight path towards the planet’s
surface. Flaming sections of the ship broke away striking other ships.
Instinctively, Anakin quickly shifted power to the forward stabilizers and air
brakes to avoid the debris.
“Him,
too.” Badour clapped
her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling as the plummeting transport
collided with a fully loaded ore hauler unable to take evasive maneuvers
because of its size. Dividing his
attention between the rising fire ball and the chaotic flight path, Anakin
increased altitude and speed.
Far from
complete, the deadly chain reaction continued below. The concussion wave from
the explosion brought down a number of smaller passenger and transport ships.
Fiery debris from the mid-air collision rained down on the spaceport, which
erupted into a firestorm of no less spectacular explosions. The data feed on
the communications monitor died as part of the ore transport’s cargo hull
slammed into the port’s control tower.
“Anakin? What’s going on?” Obi-Wan frantically
strapped himself into the seat behind Badour.
“One transport
came in hot, hit another and I’m pretty sure just wiped the spaceport off the
map.” Anakin’s face still lacked any color.
“Oh,” Obi-Wan
breathed, unable to say anything else.
Anakin tapped
the communications monitor. “Datafeed is back up and we’re being redirected to
the industrial port on the other side of the city.”
Innocently,
Badour turned around to face Obi-Wan. “It’s good that Anear left his feline outside.
It would have been terrible had she been trapped in that old house of his. Poor Anear.”
Obi-Wan swore he
saw her smile at the end of her cryptic pronouncement.
Without further
incident, Anakin followed the instructions provided by the Office of Disaster
Management and landed the ship at the older airfield. The billowing clouds of black smoke on the
horizon suggested that the industrial port might be the only port left in
Disentangling
himself from the crash webbing, Obi-Wan exhaled. “Well, that was certainly a
landing not to be forgotten,” he patted Anakin on the shoulder as he stood.
“Stay with the ship, Padawan, I’ll take Badour and see if we can locate Anear
in this mess.”
“Yes, Master.”
Anakin remained with his hands on the controls.
He waited until Obi-Wan left the cockpit before leveling his eyes at
Badour. “What did you do?” He growled through clenched teeth.
She met his gaze
and a slow smile stretched over her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
“Yes, you do.
What did you do?” He swiveled his chair around to face her. “I felt that.”
“Let’s play a
game, Anakin Skywalker.”
“I don’t think
now is the time for games, Badour.”
“I think now is
the perfect time for a game.” She put her bony hands on his knees and he
instinctively recoiled from her touch. “Think of any question you can. Anything
you want to know.” Her devilish eyes narrowed.
“Tell me what you did to that ship.” He pushed
her hands away from him.
“No, that’s not
the question you thought of first.”
“Badour, I’m not
joking around. You tell me what you did or—”
“I’m not afraid
of you Anakin Skywalker.” She paused. “Not yet.”
“How?”
“I’m out of
candy and I want some more.” Keeping her eyes on him, she moved to the back of the
cockpit and loitered at the hatch. “Don’t tell Obi-Wan my secrets or I’ll tell
him yours, Anakin Skywalker, and you wouldn’t like that.”
Anakin leapt out
of his chair and hurried behind her into the passenger section where Obi-Wan was collecting her things.
“Obi-Wan, I’m
scared.” She threw her arms around him and looked up. “I don’t want to ever fly
again.”
He offered her a
comforting look, “It’s going to be fine, Badour,”
“Promise?” She slipped her tiny hand into his.
“Anakin, I’ll
keep you updated via comlink. Notify the Council of our arrival and what
happened.”
“Yes, Master.”
Towing the small
girl behind him, Obi-Wan released the ramp hatch. As they were leaving, Badour
looked over her shoulder and continued to watch Anakin until she was down the
ramp.
Anakin hated the
way she smiled at him.
---
While he ran a
precautionary diagnostics scan of the ship’s systems, Anakin went over the
events that happened prior to the Corellian transport crashing through the
atmosphere. His head throbbed and each time he considered that he had felt
nothing until the other ship was almost on top of them a knot formed in his
stomach. Yet, he was not being honest with himself. Seconds before it happened
he had felt cold—the kind of cold that comes from the inside.
As per Obi-Wan’s
instructions, Anakin sent a message to the Council regarding the accident and
seeking further guidance in the event that they were unable to contact Anear.
He was genuinely surprised with the speed of the response and the fact it came
from Master Windu. Anakin keyed the
holo-projector.
The fuzzy blue
image materialized. “Anakin, stay put.” Master Windu’s direct approach always
put him on the defensive. “Master Gooli and Master Poof are both on their way
to Abregado-Rae and will contact you shortly.” He paused as though uncertain of
his next statement. “Anakin,” he began reluctantly. “I’m going to send you an
image that I need you to view.”
Anakin waited
and opened the file.
“Anakin, can you
identify the individual in the picture?”
“No.”
“Are you certain
you have never seen that child before?”
“Perhaps at the
Collecting his
thoughts, the Jedi Master took a deep breath and spoke evenly. “Anakin, that’s
Badour Osel.”
The knot
tightened in his stomach. “Then who is with my Master?”
Author’s note:
The crash and
subsequent destruction of much of the Abregado-Rae Spaceport described here
aims to provide an insight into state of the port prior to its refurbishing
during the
Chapter Eight:
No stone unturned…
Public address
holo-screens flashed emergency instructions and admonished citizens to remain
indoors. Fearful beings hurried through the streets away from the black smoke,
while others stood mutely transfixed on the tragedy. Anxiety seared the air like lightning on a
dry night.
“Stay close,
Badour.” Obi-Wan seized the girl’s rust colored robe.
Childishly, she
pulled away. “I want to see. I want to see the fires.”
“Badour, you’ll
stay close or I’ll send you back and make you wait with Anakin.”
Her face
darkened. “I want my sweets.”
“Badour,”
Obi-Wan stooped to look her in the eyes. “People are suffering—”
Her hands went
to her hips. “You promised and I promised. You don’t want me running around the
Galaxy saying that crazy old Ben Kenobi can’t keep a promise. If you’re
breaking yours, I’m breaking mine.”
“What?” Before
he could inquire further into her meaning, his comlink chirped. “Yes?” He held
out a silencing finger to Badour. “What? I can’t understand you, this is a
terrible connection…Anakin, can you hear me? Yes, she’s right here…What?” Irritably,
Obi-Wan broke the connection. The
Emergency channels and the disruption from the crash had crippled communications
on the planet.
It hit him as he
was putting his comlink away. The Force push knocked his legs out from
underneath him and sent him to the ground. Bewildered, he leapt to his feet
defensively in the traditional Ataru style while his hand moved towards his
lightsaber.
She was gone.
---
Seconds after
Obi-Wan broke the comlink connection, Anakin felt it as clearly as when she had
been sitting next to him. He had to find
him and tell him about Badour. Anakin
reached into the Force and located Obi-Wan. It was not difficult for him;
however, the confusion and panic caused by the crash produced erratic surges in
the currents of the Living Force.
Determinedly, he
rushed towards Obi-Wan. Anakin could
feel that he was no longer with Badour, yet Badour was nearly impossible to
locate by herself in the Force. Her subtle, almost masked, presence was like a
cool spot—a shadow sump. On Tatooine,
occasionally one would stumble across places where without any reasonable explanation
the temperature was dramatically cooler. Local superstition attached
significance to these ‘shadow sumps’. Jira, the old vendor woman who wove the
most fantastic ghost stories, described the ‘shadow sumps’ as the middling
places where the dead left their fingerprints.
Badour felt like
a ‘shadow sump’ in the Force.
“Master!”
Obi-Wan spun
around. “Anakin, I told you to stay with the ship!”
“I’m sorry,
Master.” He apologized automatically. “I must speak with you. Where is Badour?”
“That’s the
problem, she’s wandered off.” Obi-Wan
ran his hands through his sandy blond hair. “I have no idea how a child raised
in the
“Master, that’s
not Badour.”
“Anakin, what
are you talking about?”
Hastily, he retrieved
a small holo-projector from his pouch and displayed the file Master Windu and
sent him. “This is Badour.”
“Where did you
get this?” Obi-Wan stared at the fuzzy
blue holographic child.
“Master Windu
sent it to me after I told him what happened.”
“And what about
girl who is—was with us?”
“Good question.
They don’t know, Master.”
“This is utterly
ridiculous.” He squared his shoulders. “I have to get to a decent connection
and contact the Council.”
“Master Windu
said that Masters Poof and Gooli would be here shortly and that we need only to
keep an eye on her.”
“Obviously we’re
going to have to play catch up on that one.”
Anakin gave the
empty square a cursory look. “They should be here soon. Perhaps we should wait
at the ship.”
“Anakin, a nine
year old girl has run off in a less than reputable spaceport in the middle of
what is most likely this planet’s greatest air disaster and you think it would
be a good idea to wait at the ship.” He groaned. “She’s nine years old.”
“I would have
been fine when I was her age.”
“Unfortunately,
we can’t all be as exceptional as you, my Padawan.” He did not mean to snap,
but had no intention of taking it back. “We have to locate her.”
Anakin did not move.
“Master, don’t you think it’s a bit unusual that the Council is sending two
masters for a nine year old girl? Why isn’t she the right nine year old?”
“I don’t think
this is the time to start analyzing the motives of the Council.”
“We don’t know
who or what that is. How long have they known and what else has happened?”
Anakin crossed his arms.
“Anakin,” He
raised his voice unintentionally. “Our duty is to respect the wisdom of the
Council. You are in no position to
question their motives or decisions, my young Padawan.”
“I think I have
a right to know what I’m chasing.”
“A
nine year old year girl.” Obi-Wan ended the discussion.
Anakin raised an
eyebrow, his mouth drawn tight. “If you say so, Master.”
---
Thick smoke
darkened the sky and the air reeked of burning insulation, ozone, and a curious
organic substance. A layer of greasy
soot covered everything like a dusting of black frost. As the day waned a dirty orange glow settled
over the western portion of the city creating the illusion of two sunsets—a
natural one in the east and its unnatural sibling in the west. Many of the
shops closed early due to the crash; most beings seemed to feel safest huddled
around the glow of the HoloNet in their homes.
To Badour’s
annoyance, there was a dearth of sweets shops in the seedy port. Three hours after losing the Jedi, she still
had not located a place to buy good candies. Despair began to set in and she
felt truly sad, for she really liked sweets. Finally upon following the
directions of middle aged Rodian, she located a small tea and sweets shop mixed
in with the duty-free shops in the Port District. Soot coated the plate glass windows, yet the
holo-sign blinked “open”. Upon entering the small tea room, a well stocked
counter of imported sweets greeted her. Her mood improved tremendously.
“And a dozen of
those, please.” She watched happily as the old Ladakari man dropped the sweets
into the bag and deftly wrapped a bit of synsilk ribbon around the top of the
little sack with his four fingered right hand.
“Where is your
guardian, my dear? It’s very dangerous to be out on your own here. It’s getting
late and there’s been a terrible accident at the port.”
“I am perfectly
capable of taking care of myself.” She attempted to stand up taller on her tip
toes, “Besides my guardian is outside.” Gingerly she placed the credit chip on
the counter. “What happened at the port?”
“A starship
crashed into another and they fell and exploded. Thousands are dead.” He shook
his head. “It is a terrible day, my dear. Terrible.” He swiped the credit chip
she had taken from the dead Rodian through the credit reader.
“Thousands?”
“Yes,
thousands.” He sighed
and handed the credit chip back to her.
A frown settled on
her lips and she shook her head. “That’s a bit low. It’s more like fourteen
thousand nine hundred and seventy two.” She paused thoughtfully, closing her
eyes for a moment. “Seventy-three—no, seventy-four, I forgot the Rodian.”
The Ladakari
looked at her cautiously, but evenly. “Have mercy on us, little one.”
“Know me, do
you?” She stepped back from the counter.
“My mother, may
Ladaus have pity on her, told me many stories.”
“Well, she
should have told you not to talk to me.”
Tauntingly, she wagged her finger.
“I can ask you.”
“You already
have.”
“Tell me then.”
“Seventeen years
in the autumn.” She curtsied and added,
“You’re a brave old man.”
“I’ve seen a lot
worse than the likes of you.” The scars on his wrinkled face served as
testament to his sincerity.
Badour shrugged
and slid the credit chip back across the counter. “You, sir, probably have.
Keep the change.”
“Are you staying
on here?”
“No,” she toyed
with the ribbon on the bag of sweets. “I’m going to Coruscant to watch the
show.”
Chapter Nine:
To the Dust
The morning
brought rain and an elderly Jedi Master to Abregado-Rae. She appeared quite
casually at the small café where Anakin and Obi-Wan were eating their
breakfast. Master Gooli, the stern faced
Corellian whom every padawan-hopeful dreaded seeing, dispatched Anakin on a
trivial errand, told Obi-Wan of Dezan’s suicide and sent her eggs back to the
kitchen. Sadly, Obi-Wan contemplated his bowl of sliced fruit and remained
grateful that Anakin had been spared Gooli’s callousness.
Somberly, she
looked at Obi-Wan across the remains of her breakfast. “I don’t know if the
girl is connected to this, but presumably Dezan made some very cryptic remarks
to Elitrea that evening.”
“How is
Elitrea?” Obi-Wan’s stomach turned as he thought about how he would feel if
trapped in her place.
“Heartbroken,
but strong, I do not doubt that she will recover, but she blames the girl
fully. I had to command her to stay on Fondor.” She paused. “She was very close
to her padawan.”
“What a terrible
loss.” Obi-Wan looked for wisdom in his cup of tea. “He was so gifted.”
“It is a most
regrettable incident.” She smoothed her short silvery hair. “Yet, our objective is not to mourn the lost
of a padawan, but to locate the girl and find out who she is and the fate of
Badour Osel.”
“Do you think
Osel is alive?”
“For all our
sakes she’d best be. By the Force, if her family finds out to the contrary
there will be a backlash in the media.” She pursed her lips.
“If her family
was still that attached to her, why wasn’t she simply returned to them?”
“Obi-Wan,” She
shook her head. “I’ve sat on the Council of Reconciliation for fifteen years.
Families don’t really want them back and the children have skills and abilities
that can serve the Galaxy quite well.
It’s easiest to send those who lack ability to the Corps as opposed to
trying to integrate them back into their families.” She pushed the cup
away. “We’ll continue the search and
locate the child, I’ve a trick or two for doing so and after I have her in my
custody you and Anakin will be dismissed to continue your mission to Corellia.”
She set a tiny holo-projector on the table and switched it on. “The security
services at the Mooja Intergalactic Spaceport sent this to me. This is the
girl?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan
nodded. “But, what of Anear? Have you heard anything?”
She turned the
holo-projector off. “Anear,” she sighed. “I have not felt his presence in the
Force and I knew him well.”
Obi-Wan reflected
on the lost life a Jedi he did not know and wished him peace.
“You and your
padawan will split up and move behind me in case she doubles back, but I doubt
she will. You said she wanted to see the fires, I suppose that’s as good as any
indication she’s headed closer to the port complex—what’s left of it. Security
is pretty tight and I’ve sent a description to the Emergency Services to be on
the look out for her, unfortunately, in a situation such as this they’re on the
look out for a great many people.”
Her business
like manner was a characteristic of many of the older Jedi—Qui-Gon called it
‘pragmatic compassion’ and railed against it. Obi-Wan now understood why.
“I’ll inform
Anakin and get to it.”
“Master Poof
will be here before noon. You have the book?”
“Yes,” he
carried it in his pocket.
“Make certain he
gets it and it gets off world.”
“I shall.”
She stood and
looked down at her younger colleague. “May the Force be with us.”
---
The slight
tremor in the Force led Master Gooli to a long street of burned out houses.
Displaced residents sifted through the rumble looking for memories or smoke
stained pieces of the lives they possessed only the day before. The rain came
too late, the fires already smoldered under broken brick and twisted
metal. The elderly Jedi walked
confidently down the walkway, her attention directed to the slight figure
sitting on the wrought iron porch of the remains of a two story dwelling. Upon
seeing her approach the figure darted inside the building.
Calmly, Gooli
mounted the steps and crossed the threshold. The figure flitted up the stairs
to the second level. Deliberately, the
Jedi followed and stopped at the top of the narrow stairs beneath a bit of the
remaining roof. The rain fell in sheets.
The figure
smiled and offered her the bag of sweets. “Welcome to my house! I was told you
were coming. You must be Master Gooli!”
“I am, child,
and who are you?”
“Silly, I’m
Badour.” She pulled her sweets back.
Gooli shook her
head, “No, you’re not.”
“Why do you say
that?” Badour affected a grotesque pout.
“I know Badour
Osel.”
“What a
coincidence, so did I.”
“Where is she?”
“I left her in
the cupboard.” She answered matter-of-factly.
“Where?”
“I hate your
question game.” The corners of her mouth turned downwards. “She was lost in the
spaceport on Shoda. Banner was running quite late, he made my job easier. She
was very understanding.”
Gooli took a
deep breath. “You killed her.”
“I needed to and
I needed her,” she tapped her temple. “It took me a bit to get into character,
but when I did…”
“You will come
with me.” As planned she drew upon the Force to make her demand more palatable.
The child
pointed her finger at her. “Master Gooli, don’t be stupid. You know I won’t.”
“Then I shall
take you by force.”
The child
laughed an inhuman laugh and clenched the bag of sweets in her tightening fist.
“No,” she hissed.
The voice
sounded as though came from behind her. Gooli shifted her weight for only a split
second, but that was all she needed. The icy Force push hit her in the chest
and knocked her down the narrow stairs. She fell headlong against the remains
of a metal cooker, her leg and arm twisted underneath her body at unnatural
angles.
Leisurely, the
child skipped down the stairs behind her and perched on the step above her
head. “All too easy,” Badour smirked.
Gooli struggled
to remain conscious and reached out in the Force, desperately. “What are you?”
she gasped.
Badour spied a
shard of partially melted transparisteel from the broken sky light above.
Carefully, she set her bag of sweets on the step, plucked the shard from the
rumble and tested the jagged edge for sharpness against her thumb. “I’ve never
killed a Jedi with my own hands. Are you going to be difficult?” The shard
split her thumb open and she looked at it curiously.
“What are you?”
Gooli pushed her pain away and refused to let her claim a simple victory.
“I told you I
hated your question game and look where it’s gotten you?” She hovered over her,
gingerly placing the blackened transparisteel to her throat. “You really want
to know my secrets?” Sweetly, she brushed Gooli’s hair from her face and
touched her cold hand to her bloodied forehead. Her dark eyes danced. “You have
to promise not to tell anyone.”
Gooli trembled
as shock set in, her heartbeat erratic.
Badour leaned forward.
“Born of sand
and funeral pyre
Left
to die on lake of fire.
Slaughtered the
young
And
cursed the old.
Mourned
the mother.
Fought
the brother.
Betrayed them
all
And
Burned the Order.”
Gently, she
patted Gooli’s cheek and continued to smile innocently.
“Wild Fires rage
in the skies
Wars fought for
love of lies.
Killing season
Death
of reason.
The disguise
Fools
them all.”
She paused and her
voice grew darker, more threatening.
“Sly tyranny
descends
The balance
quickens.
Blood of a young
queen runs cold
And believe what
you were told.”
Roughly, her
tiny hand seized the Jedi’s chin and pressing the jagged edge of the shard into
her throat a trickle of blood appeared. She lowered her voice to a harsh
whisper.
“Shadows will
claim their prize
And he, thought
dead, shall rise.
To ground the
seed is taken.
The
heir’s demise mistaken.
The Planter
burns his fields
And he
slaughters his lamb.
The appointed
hour draws late
When
dream of death seals his fate.
Death is Life,
Life is Death.”
Her hand
tightened on the piece of transparisteel and the pressure increased.
“As all the
burning children have foreseen
Bid welcome, the
Bastard of Tatooine.”
Chapter Ten:
No more the servants of the weak…
Reluctantly, he
left his padawan describing the girl to a tired looking firefighter. The man in
the flame-chem stained thermal coveralls and dented old-fashion oxygen tanks jerked
his thumb in the direction from which he had come. With a comfortable
familiarity, Anakin thanked him in Huttese and clapped him on the shoulder
before moving away. The firefighter trudged on a bit more lightheartedly, as
though the smiling padawan had shared with him some of his boundless
youth. For a moment, Obi-Wan mused what
it would be like to meet Anakin as Anakin—not the Chosen One, but just a
friendly kid with a quick smile.
He caught a ride
back to the industrial port on a cargo skiff loaded with crash salvage. Pulling
up his hood to fend off the rain, he tried not to dwell on the doubts he had
about the girl. Despite Master Gooli’s assurances, he felt there was something
more to the plain looking child with the secretive brown eyes. She seemed to
always peer into people as though probing them for their weaknesses. In
retrospect, the childish laughter and sly smile struck him as something more
insidious than innocent. Granted, he was not comfortable around precocious
children, but he sensed a darkness in her that was more than simple mischief.
Besides, what kind of child could so deftly elude three Jedi to her identity?
The Senate-class ship, one of the more
elegant transports in the
“Master Poof,”
Obi-Wan bowed respectfully, remembering their recent debates regarding Anakin’s
intellectual fitness and moral discipline. Like Anakin, Obi-Wan had also been
considered a less-than-ideal student by Poof, subsequently sending an indignant
Qui-Gon to his defense. He refused to
share that fact with his padawan for fear that Anakin might inquire further
into his Master’s youth and discover that he was certainly not the
“Obi-Wan,” the
Quermian nodded coolly and headed towards the awning out of the rain. “Master
Gooli has arrived?”
“Yes, earlier
this morning. She is looking for the girl and my padawan is with her.”
“Looking? That
would imply that the child is no longer in your custody?”
“Yes, Master
Poof.” He felt twelve years old again. “She ran away in the market yesterday
evening and has proven quite difficult to locate.”
“Interesting,”
He looked over his shoulder. “You have the book?”
“Right here,”
Obi-Wan fished the red journal out of his interior pocket and placed it in the
creature’s thin hands.
Poof quickly
flipped through the pages, his face expressionless. “Yes, I thought so,” he
murmured.
“Master Poof?”
“A
little medium of some sort. It’s not the same child is it?” He tilted his small head.
“Admittedly, I was
rather surprised when I found out that she wasn’t.” He watched as the book
disappeared in the folds of Master Poof’s robes. “Is she dangerous?”
“Such
manifestations are typically harmless.”
Obi-Wan sensed
something guarded in Poof’s words, as though his vagueness was intentional. “And what of Badour Osel—the real Badour Osel?”
“Most likely
she’s still on Shoda.”
“That’s quite
the relief.”
“Yes, this
situation was complicated, but containable.”
His thoughts
turned to Dezan’s death, “Yet, what about Elitrea’s padawan?”
“Completely
unrelated,” he frowned and leveled his glassy stare. “Obi-Wan I know that you
have many questions; however, my time here is quite limited. Perhaps, we can
talk about the details another day when we both have time to spare. We will
talk another day.”
Later, he would
swear that he felt Poof attempt to influence his thoughts.
“Master Poof,
while I understand that this is your specialization, I am a bit wary of
declaring the child to be completely harmless, especially where Dezan’s death
is concerned. It was such a bizarre tragedy. The child seems to have a strong—”
“Obi-Wan,
mediums are unsettling and can be a bit ‘spooky’, yet there’s nothing dangerous
about her.” He gestured dismissively, “You’re probably sensing residual energy
or more likely the persistent disturbance in the Force invoked by your own
padawan.”
---
Torn from her
deep sleep by what amounted to a violent scream, she bolted upright. Cold beads
of sweat clung to the back of her neck and her heart pounded. It was as though
the voice had been beside her.
“Master?”
The room was
empty, still. Drawn blinds created the illusion of night, locking out the
midday sun. Her head throbbed and carefully she ran her fingers through her tangled
hair. The wicked orange numbers on the bedside clock radiated garishly through
what was left of the bottle of cheap Corellian whiskey, reminding her of her
misery, weakness and nausea. Thirty-five years of Jedi training and she could
not will away her desire to retch.
Hands clamped
over her mouth, she threw her legs over the side of the bed and rushed to the
fresher. Gracelessly, she heaved her
dignity into the bowl and stumbled into the shower, hoping the warm water would
clear her head and alleviate the cramps in her stomach. Twenty minutes under
the scalding water and she felt human enough to towel off and contemplate
brushing her teeth.
Her head
cleared. The small fresher was like a healing sauna. Feeling better, she moved
to the sink and wiped her hand across the foggy mirror. She pulled her hand
away and knocked the glass with her toothbrush into the steel sink. The glass
shattered, but she failed to notice.
Standing behind
her reflection was Dezan. He wore his simple padawan robes and his normally
bold eyes stared blankly at her. She fought the temptation to turn around,
knowing it would only dispel the illusion. Gently, she touched the mirror,
tracing her fingers across his forehead. As she wiped away more of the
condensation she saw it with a terrible clarity. In his hands he held the red journal.
Deliberately, he opened it and held it out for her to see the words written on
the page:
B U R N I N G C H I L D
She closed her
dark eyes against the tears as she realized what she had to do and what it
would cost her.
Chapter Eleven:
None will be spared, no remnant saved.
Shell-shocked,
the building shuddered under the clap of thunder. Cautiously, he crossed the
threshold into the charred remains of the working class home. A bright red
lizard on wheels with bold green eyes greeted him, a lucky survivor. Under his
feet, the remains of the rug crunched like fine glass. Melted dishes waited
patiently on the warped metal table, ashes filled the soup bowls. An overturned
chair blocked his way.
As he bent over
to set the chair upright, he saw the body. Discarded with less fanfare than the
child’s toy near the door and certainly not as lucky, the broken body lay at
the bottom of the narrow staircase. Wide empty eyes stared into nothingness.
Her lips were purple as if she had been eating fresh bazelberries and her head
hung at a strange right angle, nearly severed by the bloody piece of
transparisteel stabbed into the floor next to her. The dark scarlet stains around her collar
rendered the act of checking her pulse unnecessary. Respectfully, he knelt and
closed the vacant eyes.
Reaching into
the Force, he felt the chill brush against him and then radiate outwards until
the entire room was frigid. It was like wandering into a shadow sump and
somehow becoming trapped. She no longer hid from him.
The red lizard
crashed into the wall above his head followed by the familiar laugh. He leapt
to his feet and hurried through the house to the back entrance, barely pausing
to acknowledge the three partially cremated bodies littering the kitchen.
Trying to make up precious seconds, he jumped over the edge of the back porch
railing and landed in the recessed alleyway meters behind his query.
She was faster
than she should have been…
The chase covered
nearly two miles as they wove their way through the urban labyrinth, ducking
under collapsed durasteel structures and doubling back through the smoldering
remains of the municipal fuel dump. She led him through burned out buildings,
empty squares and countless alleys; yet failed to maintain her advantage.
Anakin always knew where he was going and rarely lost a race. Using the heavy
rain as his ally, he managed to force her into a narrow dead end alley near the
worst area of the damaged spaceport.
Panting, not
from exhaustion, but from anger; Anakin screamed. “Badour!”
Realizing her
strategic error, she turned and cocked an eyebrow. “You’d best take care of
those lungs, Anakin Skywalker, they’re the only pair
you’ve got.”
“You killed
Master Gooli,” he hissed stopping less than four meters in front of her.
She shrugged
nonchalantly, “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“She was in my
way. I don’t tolerate people getting in my way.” She started to walk towards
him.
“Stop where you
are, Badour.” His hand hovered over his lightsaber.
“No.” She took another step.
In one fluid
motion, he seized and ignited his lightsaber, the familiar snap! pop! echoed in his ears. Pointing
the blue blade down at her, “Badour, I said stop where you are.”
She paused and
then laughed. “What are you going to do, Anakin Skywalker? Strike down an
unarmed nine year old? A bit ahead of your time, don’t you think?”
The blade did
not waver. “What are you?”
“An observer, a
messenger and occasionally something very terrible,” her haughty stare taunted
him.
“That’s no
answer.” He struggled against the urge to bring the lightsaber down on her
patronizing eyes.
She took a step
towards the blade. “What are you?”
“I am a Jedi.”
“You think so?”
He held his
ground. “I know so.”
“You don’t
really believe it,” she scoffed. “You know deep down inside that it isn’t true.
It will never be true. You know they won’t let you into their little club. They
don’t trust you any more than they trust me.”
“That’s
ridiculous, Badour. You are a monster.” He punctuated each syllable of the last
four words by jabbing the blue blade in her direction.
Her
condescending laugh threatened to drive him over the edge. “If I am the
monster, why do you stand there fighting the desire to strike me down? How
would that make you feel? Would it make you feel powerful? Would it make your
blood run warmer to spill mine? Would it satiate the shadows that dwell in
you?” She took a step. “You want to kill me and you know you would take the
same pleasure from it that I took from slitting Gooli’s wrinkled throat.” She traced her index finger across the base
of her throat.
He took a single
step backwards. “You are sorely mistaken, Badour. Jedi only take life in
defense.”
“Then defend
yourself.” She lurched at him and instinctively he responded with the weapon,
stopping only seconds before driving it into her. To the point of
hyperventilating, he gasped at what almost transpired. Less than two meters
away, she smiled. “I know your secrets, Anakin Skywalker. I see what lies in
your heart as clear as you see me now. You doubt yourself, you know you are
weak and you know it is only a matter of time.”
“Close your
mouth or I shall do it for you.” He still held the blade, the threat was
implicit. The energy beam popped and sizzled as the rain drops struck it.
Methodically, Anakin adjusted the crystal settings intensifying the output
without ever taking his eyes off her.
“That’s what I’m
talking about.” She clasped her hands. “That’s the Anakin Skywalker I know.”
“You don’t know
me, Badour.” He ground his teeth.
“Are you angry,
Anakin Skywalker?”
“Yes, Badour, I
am.”
“Do you hate me,
Anakin Skywalker?”
“I do.”
“Fear me?”
Deeper, more mature, the voice came from behind him, yet the child’s lips moved.
“Do you fear me, Anakin Skywalker?”
Unable to
control himself, he lunged at her, missing her head with his blade by mere
inches. Remarkably, she scrambled out of his way and darted around him taking
advantage of the confusion of his rage. As she ducked out of the way, she had
the audacity to reach out and touch his side as though counting coup.
“Of
course, not.” She
pointed her finger at him accusingly. “You fear yourself, Anakin Skywalker.”
Struggling to
regain his composure, he disengaged the blade. “What do you want from me?” He
screamed, shaking.
“Let me go.”
“You’re mad.”
“Please let me
go, Anakin Skywalker.”
“No, I can’t.”
He fought back the angry tears, brought his hands to his head and began to
pace.
“Yes, you can.”
She tempted.
“I have a
responsibility.” Stopping, he shook the inactivated lightsaber at her.
“No, you have
secrets. If you let me go, I’ll tell you one of mine.”
“I don’t want to
know any of your secrets.”
“I can answer
anything, Anakin Skywalker, I know all the answers.” She reached out gently
touching his right forearm. “Let me go and I will tell you the answer to the
question you thought of yesterday.”
He looked down
at her. “I didn’t ask you a question yesterday.”
“You thought of one.”
She coaxed. “The first thought that entered your mind was about your mother.
You wanted to know if you would ever see her again.” She watched his white
knuckled grip on the weapon loosen. “Let me go and I will tell you.”
“Fine.” He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his
tunic. “You have my word.”
“Good.” She
stepped backwards. “The answer depends solely on your speed.”
“What?”
“The future is
always in motion.” Nervously, she looked over her shoulder. “Death is a
constant. She will die. You will die. Everyone dies. Death liberates us all.”
She gestured broadly. “What happens between now and then is the performance of
a lifetime—the faster you make it to that act, the better your chances are of
sharing a scene with her before she dies.”
Swallowing, he
narrowed his swollen eyes. “You’ve answered nothing.”
“Fine, you want
to know the greater truth?” She sneered wickedly. “They will all betray you,
Anakin Skywalker, every single one of them.
They don’t trust you. Wrap your heart around that until the next time we
meet.”
Minutes passed
as they stood staring at one another, neither spoke.
Numbly, he
stepped aside and she walked away, at the end of the alley she turned and
looked over her shoulder, smiling. The rain intensified, falling in torrents and
he raised his face into it hoping it could cleanse him.
Deep down
inside, he knew she was right.
Chapter Twelve:
Are you ashamed,
are you afraid, of the gods and idols you have made?
The cold rain
turned to sleet and a vicious east wind whipped through the buildings stirring
up ash and fanning the fires that continued to escape containment closest to
the spaceport terminal. After leaving Master Poof with the journal, Obi-Wan
hurried to find Anakin. He felt him distinctly in the Force, yet detected
another current alongside of his padawan’s—something cloaked and potentially
malevolent. Guided by the Force, he made his way through the post-apocalyptic
setting and found Anakin in an alley mutely looking up into the freezing rain.
Betrayed by his soaked robes, red cheeks and the blue color of his lips,
Obi-Wan knew he had been there for some time. A hint of another darker presence
lingered, suggesting that he had not been alone.
“Are you all
right?” Obi-Wan inquired as he approached his pupil.
“I’m fine
Master,” casually he wiped his face with his sleeve.
“By the Force,
you’re soaking wet. You’ll catch your death from this cold.” Obi-Wan touched his arm and was surprised when he flinched.
“She escaped, Master.
I tried to catch up with her and she was just too fast.” Eyes cast downwards;
he focused on his muddy boots as he lied. “I tried, but I failed.”
Obi-Wan
tightened his grip on his padawan’s arm and waited for him to meet his eyes.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
Reluctantly,
Anakin looked up. “Master Gooli is dead.”
“What?”
“Badour killed
Master Gooli.” He spoke plainly.
“Anakin, she’s a
nine-year old girl.” Obi-Wan reasoned.
Anakin was too
cold and conflicted to argue. “You can see for yourself, Master.”
He retraced the
course followed by the earlier chase back to the dwelling where he found Master
Gooli. More cognizant of his
surroundings, he blanched at the sight of the remains of the former occupants
in the kitchen. Apparently, they had been unable to escape the flash fire that
consumed much of their home. Furthermore, they were not alone.
Obi-Wan felt it
as well and moved past his padawan into the front room. He found Master Poof
kneeling beside the Jedi’s lifeless body.
Master Gooli was indeed quite dead. Anakin, however, found the
appearance and serenity of the other Jedi Master more perplexing; he then
noticed that the body had been turned face down.
“A most
unfortunate accident,” Master Poof shook his head. “Apparently, she fell down
the stairs.”
Obi-Wan put his
hand to his beard and cast a sideways glance to his padawan. “An
accident?”
“Yes,” the
Quermian master insisted, “an accident. As you see there’s a broken step.” He
pointed to the top of the stairs where several steps had been burned
through. “Master Gooli lost her footing
and fell—a sad testament to the hazards of old age and haste.” Patting the
comlink pouch on his belt, he continued. “I have informed the Council of our
loss.”
“Her wisdom will
be missed.” Obi-Wan tried not to look at the blood stains around her collar. A
fall down a short flight of stairs did not produce such injuries. He failed to
see how two deaths, in less than four days, could provoke so little concern.
Poof bobbed his diminutive
head and looked at Anakin directly. “Tell me, Skywalker, where did you last see
the girl?”
“Near the port,”
Boldly, Anakin scrutinized the body. The incriminating piece of transparisteel
was conspicuously absent. Despite his misgivings, he buried his feelings and
held his tongue, Badour’s words echoing in his ears. He narrowed his eyes and
met Poof’s hollow stare. Obi-Wan regarded him closely. “She eluded me.”
“Very well,”
Poof turned from the body. “I shall continue the search from there. You are dismissed to continue your mission to
Corellia.”
“Master Poof,”
Obi-Wan objected. “Anakin and I will stay behind and help you continue this
investigation. Our duties on Corellia
are purely diplomatic and can be assumed by another Jedi quite easily.”
“Your offer is
unnecessary, Master Kenobi. This was merely an accident—no doubt, unfortunate,
but I can handle this from here.” He
tilted his head. “As a member of the High Council, I implore you to continue
your diplomatic mission and leave this matter in my more capable hands.”
“Yes, Master
Poof,” Anakin bowed and Obi-Wan could do little aside from follow his lead.
While part of him was impressed by the maturity Anakin demonstrated, he
remained deeply skeptical of the whole situation. He had not anticipated Anakin
giving in and simply walking away. Secretly, wished he had not.
---
Delayed by
weather, an overbooked flight path and fatigue, Obi-Wan accepted that it would
be wisest to remain on Abregado-Rae another night, even if it meant sleeping on
the ship. Fortunately, Anakin had replaced the fuse board in the tiny galley to
accommodate a four cup kettle instead of the standard single. Obi-Wan reflected
on the simple act of kindness, remembering how weeks earlier he had complained
about the kettle. He did not know where
Anakin found the time or parts to make the modifications, yet he did.
More comfortable
in the presence of machines and problems solvable with tools, Anakin decided to
replace a set of tension couplings on the starboard antigrav generator. When
Obi-Wan gave him a suspicious look, he insisted it was a necessary refitting
and not the by-product of nervous energy.
For the past five years, Obi-Wan had struggled to get his padawan to
address his anxieties through meditation instead of giving in to his obsessive
compulsion to take things apart. Undoubtedly, his mechanical gifts represented
valuable skills; however, Anakin often used them to escape dealing with things
he found unpleasant. He once intimated that he had overhauled a shelled
Radon-Ulzer turbine in under six hours after witnessing Watto strike his
mother, additionally he admitted it was the only thing that kept him from
killing the drunken Toydarian with his bare hands.
“You should
probably drink this, so you don’t end up with pneumonia courtesy of the
beautiful weather we’re having here.”
“Thank you,
Master.” Anakin set his tools down, wiped his hands on his pants and accepted
the cup of tea.
Obi-Wan watched
him and looked over the pieces of the coupling unit Anakin had dismantled.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan hesitated trying to think of what Qui-Gon would have said,
but then realized hat his former master would have never needed to reiterate
such an obvious point. “Anakin, you know that you can always talk to me. I will always listen, no matter what you have
to say. I care about your thoughts and I
don’t want to think that you’re keeping things bottled up inside of you,
because you worry I’ll be upset.”
Anakin nodded
and set the cup down. He picked up a pair of calipers and toyed with them. He
seemed on the verge of saying something, but in the end held back.
“Anakin, I’m
serious. Anything you want to talk to me about. I’m here to listen and offer
guidance, I will not judge you.”
His dark eyes
remained on the calipers. He thought about Dezan, the things Badour said and
the sense of foreboding that plagued him constantly. Where to begin? He felt as
though he had not received a straight answer since he’d asked, “What will
happen to me now?” as the flames from Qui-Gon’s pyre warmed his face. An involuntary sigh escaped his lips and
absently he tapped the calipers against the durasteel flooring. “Master,” he
finally began. “Why didn’t you tell Master Poof what you really thought?”
It was not the question
Obi-Wan anticipated. “That’s a fair observation,” he exhaled as he joined
Anakin on the floor and picked up a marker gauge in much the same manner as
Anakin had the calipers. “I deferred to Master Poof’s assessment because I
trust that he will do what needs to be done. His wisdom is well respected by
the Council.”
“But, you knew
it wasn’t right.”
“This is not a
case of simple right versus wrong, Anakin. Master Poof is more experienced and
knowledgeable than either of us with respect to these concerns.” He pushed the
tool away. “You have to have faith in something. I trust the Council.”
“Even
when you don’t agree with them?” Anakin challenged.
“I am not in a
place to disagree and I accept that.”
“I don’t accept
that and I don’t trust him.”
“Anakin,” he
stopped himself seconds short of a lecture, trying to understand the boy’s
point of view. “Why? Why must you be so skeptical?”
“It just feels
wrong.” He put down the calipers and picked up a small vent panel turning it
over in his hands. “Chancellor Palpatine says that you have to go with your
feelings. If something doesn’t feel right, it isn’t.”
“Chancellor
Palpatine is not a Jedi, Anakin.”
“Well, neither
am I.” He nearly choked on the words. “I’m just a padawan and I’m not even a
good one.”
Internally,
Obi-Wan chided himself, he knew how isolated Anakin often felt, but he did not
know of any way to help him resolve his feelings aside from assuring him he
would grow out of it or should seek understanding through meditation. “Anakin,
you are one of us. You must learn to accept that we are on your side.”
“I can’t blindly
follow—”
“I’m not asking
you to blindly follow, Anakin, you have to learn to trust the wisdom of the
Council.”
“I trust you,
Master. I would do anything you asked without question.” Anakin met his eyes.
“I can not say that about the Council, thus I’ve failed.”
“No, you’ve not
failed.” He remembered Qui-Gon and his struggles against what he considered
blindly following the Council. “You’re probably a stronger Jedi than I for it. You know, you sound as though Qui-Gon has
been your Master—and a better Master than I could ever hope to be. You’re not a
failure for asking questions or wondering whether this is the right course of
action. However, some times you have to lead and other times you have to
follow, my young Padawan. As you begin
to understand that, your trust of the Council will grow.” He rose to his feet,
uncertain of what else to say. Anakin backed him into same epistemological corners
as Qui-Gon.
“I will meditate
on your teachings, Master.” Anakin offered sensing his frustration.
“You do me
honor, Padawan.”
He watched him
step over scattered tools and parts on his way through the hatch, before
realizing this might be only opportunity to voice his concern about Badour.
“Master, what do you think she is?”
“The
girl? I don’t know.”
Pensively, he scratched his beard. “I
honestly don’t know, Anakin.”
“I feel very
strongly we’ll see her again.” He met his Master’s gaze and took a deep
breath. “In fact, I know we will.”
Chapter Thirteen:
A brave new world, a promised land…
In less than two
days, Abregado-Rae officials and Republic Disaster Relief Services managed to
transform the industrial port into a reasonably efficient substitute for the
obliterated spaceport on the other side of the capital city. It was much
smaller, which caused it to be overcrowded and chaotic, yet it was functional.
Additionally, it lacked many of the amenities of the former port, including
lounge areas, a Gizmok’s stim-caf and a decent media stand. The interior was
gray and utilitarian, but as long as the busy flight schedules remained intact
few complained.
The haughty
little girl stood on her tip-toes applying lip gloss and fussing over her
appearance in the grimy mirror of the female fresher. Aware that she had drawn
an appreciative audience, she stopped and wrinkled her nose. Casting her most
intimidating look into the mirror, she turned her attention to her long blonde
hair. The smaller girl to her left smiled and continued to watch her
intently.
Unable to
tolerate the bizarre attention any longer, she stopped and spun around. Cruelly
looking up and down the plain child, she wrinkled her nose again and smirked,
“Why are you standing there?”
Nonplused by the
snobbish inquiry, she took a step forward. “I hate question games,” she began
matter-of-factly. “But I’ll answer yours if you’ll answer mine first.” Her polished accent
surprised the blonde.
“You’re weird.”
She rolled her eyes, yet the other remained undeterred and did not move. “Fine,
what do you want to know?”
“Where are you
going?”
“I am going to
Coruscant to see the museums and visit the Senate. My uncle lives there and is
very powerful.” With flourish, she closed her expensive handbag and smoothed
her hair.
“That sounds
charming.” The smaller girl beamed.
“Yeah,”
Automatically, her nose wrinkled to accompany her sarcasm. “So, why are you
standing there?”
The child took
another step closer and wrapped her tiny cold hand around the other girl’s arm,
“Because, I’m going to take your place.”
---
Frantically, the
Inner Rim Youth Travel representative struggled with the datapad. Earlier he
had dropped it on the duracrete while shuffling his travelers through the
security checkpoint and it had been giving him fits ever since. He had yet to
lose a traveler, but came frightfully close the day of the port disaster.
Unfortunately, his assistant had been at the ticket counter trying to get a
private first class upgrade for the spoiled Seinar girl who refused to travel
with the rest of the group. The upgrade registered, but his assistant failed to
make it out of the terminal alive; which left him solely responsible for
getting twenty ill-behaved children to Coruscant.
Nervously, he
counted the nineteen little girls in matching school uniforms. His assistant
had been good with names, but he relied exclusively on numbers—besides the
little girls all looked alike. Grinding his teeth, he started to count again
when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Number twenty!
Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry. I
was in the fresher,” she pointed across the busy terminal.
“That’s fine.
You’re here and the transport’s leaving any minute.” He slapped the shorted
datapad against his hand. The screen went blank. “Gods, which one were you?” He
bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. “Allizen Seinar, right? How could I forget?”
For a moment longer, he regarded the plain looking child and could have sworn
she had been blonde earlier that morning. “You are Allizen?”
“Ok,” she
agreed.
His head throbbed.
“Whatever, here’s your special ticket.”
The stewards waved them through in the interest of keeping to schedule.
As it stood, with the smaller port and limited control tower crews, to miss a
departure time could set a transport behind several hours, if not a whole day.
Subsequently, the transport companies refused to wait on wayward
passengers.
The
representative stuffed the boarding chip in her hands and seized the back of
her oversized jacket as he ushered through the line and deposited her with the
private first class boarding steward. “When we get to Coruscant wait for the
rest of the group.”
“I’m not sitting
with you?”
“Oh no,
precious, you’ve got your own window.” He patted her head and hurried off.
“Allizen Seinar?”
The cabin steward smiled as she checked her boarding chip.
Wide-eyed, the
child took in her surroundings. “You can call me Badour. I’ve earned that
name.”
Chapter Fourteen:
The strength to carry on…
A foot of snow
covered the ground, a sterile mask to hide the burned surface. The simple
duracrete and wooden structures built to withstand the elements betrayed the
humility and earnestness of the builders. Clutching the dark green robe she
misguidedly traded her heavier brown one for; she left the warmth of the small
port. Suspicious eyes watched her as she hurried down the narrow roadway to the
outskirts of the town. Although an immigrant planet, distrust of outsiders was
pervasive.
Under snowy
bandages the flat plains stretched beyond the horizon. The long winter night
approached and the temperature dropped further. At the boundary post maintained
by the Mandakari Occupation and Settlement Authority (MOSA) she turned to the
east, the cold wind burned her face. With her back to the conveniences of
“proper” civilization she continued down the frozen road.
Meditating as
she walked, she found peace in the emptiness and familiarity to the seemingly
endless road. Elitrea knew that the journey of life followed a similar trek
towards unity with the Force and that it was the possibly of that unity that
kept beings moving forward.
Unfortunately, the path was not as straight as the rustic trail across
the Shodari plain and sometimes beings got lost. The lost walked the frozen road for all of
eternity.
In the distance
a cluster of lights broke the spell of isolation. A tiny village of partially
prefabricated dwellings challenged the monotony of the harsh plain. At the
seventh door she raised her closed fist and pounded. As her dry knuckles struck
the durasteel she feared they would shatter. Muffled sounds conferred behind
the barrier. Fearful eyes studied her
through the tiny peephole and hesitantly the door slid open revealing a glimpse
of the warm fire lit room.
The matriarch
motioned for her to enter and wordlessly put her before the raging fire. A mixed group of ten adults and children
gathered at the edges of the room, obediently remaining in the shadows watching
the uninvited guest. Timidly, an adolescent boy placed a bowl of hot vegetable
broth in her hands and his younger sister draped a warm blanket over her
shoulders. To some the silence of
Shodari hospitality would have been unbearable, however, her careful studies
served her well and she knew not to speak until spoken to or risk being sent
back into the snow.
“I remember
you,” the matriarch sat down on the low wooden stool beside her. “Why have you
come back?”
“I need
answers.” Elitrea met her gaze.
Knowingly, a
smile crept across her lips. “Too much knowledge is like too much whiskey, it
makes your head swim.”
Undaunted, she
continued, “Why did you send the girl away?”
“Did your mother
tell you stories?”
“I didn’t know my
mother. I was raised in a temple with other children.”
She looked at
her closely and put her warm rough hand against the visitor’s face. The lines
around her eyes softened. “That is why you can’t understand.”
“I want to
understand and set things right.”
“Set things
right?” She mocked looking to the vigilant eyes in the shadows.
“A boy I was as
close to as my son is dead and a woman I loved like my mother has also died.”
Vainly, she looked for compassion in the woman’s dark eyes. “My master was old,
but she had lived her life. The boy was just beginning his. His death cannot go
unspoken for or he will never find peace—I will never find peace.”
“Did they teach
you in your temple to believe this way?”
“No,” she
glanced down at the green cloak. The lightsaber hidden at her side felt
unusually heavy. “Yet, I believe it.”
The old woman’s
gnarly hands seized a sample of intricate embroidery from a basket on the floor
and she threw it into the fire. Elitrea regarded her quizzically.
“When could you
have stopped me?”
“I didn’t know
you were going to do that.”
“What happens if
you reach into the fire to reclaim it now?”
“I would burn my
hands.”
“Then how else
would you ‘set things right’ here?”
Mutely, Elitrea watched
the fire consumed the delicate stitches on the black cloth.
The woman
pointed a crooked finger at the basket. “Start over, make a new one, throw the
ashes to the wind and keep your handiwork away from the fire. That is life. Now
drink your broth and I’ll see you off in the morning.” She started to get up,
slowed by her arthritic joints.
Setting the bowl
on the floor, Elitrea shook her head. “No, there has to be a way.” She remembered Dezan and her heart ached as
she imagined him lost for the rest of eternity. At least if she tried and
failed, she could keep him company.
“You will burn
your hands.”
“I don’t care.”
Roughly, the
crone grabbed Elitrea’s hand and shoved it into the flames, forcing her to
retrieve the burning cloth. She then
snatched the scrap from her and dropped it to the floor. Mumbling an
incantation, Elitrea felt her call upon the Living Force, but also something
wilder, more unstable. The burning in her hand subsided, although the scars
would remain. Returning her attention to the scrap, the woman shook the embers
out of the cloth and spread it out between her hands. The fire burned the red
stitches away, yet the cloth itself remained intact.
“This is what we
make our cloaks from, it does not burn.”
She gave it to Elitrea. “The embellishments are more fragile, but the
cloth is strong.”
“It looks like
any other.”
“That is its
appeal.”
Silently, she
stared at the coarse scrap trying to unravel its symbolism. “I don’t
understand.”
“You cannot
change the fire itself. These plains burn and always have. Driven by the east
wind, I cannot stop the flames that will come this way, yet,” she dangled the
scrap of cloth before her eyes. “As I expect it, I am prepared and I wait for
it. I know it is coming.”
“You can stop a
fire before it starts,” Elitrea whispered.
The woman shook
her head, “No, that is just something we tell our children to keep them from
playing with strikers.”
End of Part I
A Word about the Chapter Titles:
The chapter titles
are excerpts from the lyrics to VNV Nation’s “Kingdom” (Empires). Music plays a
central role in my creativity and I have always been deeply inspired by the
work of Ronan Harris and Mark Jackson.
In addition to VNV Nation, I have also listened to and been influenced
by L’Ame Immortelle’s Wenn der Letzte
Schatten fallt, E.S. Posthumus’s Unearthed, John Williams’s score for “Star
Wars: Episode III”, James Horner’s score for “Casper” and Ernest Gold’s score
for “Exodus”.
Kingdom
Our domain, this kingdom come
now godless lands whose ways are lost.
Without the strength to carry on.
All values lost all virtue none.
Did you think you would be saved
by burning flags to cleanse yourselves of shame?
Or are you afraid as you stare back at your face?
are you ashamed, are you afraid,
by destroying what the gods had made?
Did you think you would be saved?
I believe that
we'll conceive
to make in hell for us a heaven.
A brave new world.
A promised land.
A fortitude of hearts and minds.
Until I see this kingdom is mine,
I'll turn the darkness into light.
I'll guide the blind.
My will be done until the day
I see this kingdom has been won.
No more the
servants of the weak
devoid of thought or light to seek.
I’ll leave no walls, no stone unturned.
Every tower to be razed to the dust from which it came.
None will be spared, no remnant saved.
Are you ashamed, are you afraid, of the gods and idols
you have made?
Did you think you would be saved by the gods and idols you have made?
None will be saved.
None will be saved.
September 1999
© VNV Nation
Burn! Burn! Burn!
Part II: Servant of the Suicide Moon
A suicide moon
With rings:
Red! Red! Red!
Toll the hollow bells
For the:
Dead! Dead! Dead!
Battlefields on fire
And it:
Burns! Burns! Burns!
--Shodari
Immigrant Children's Rhyme.
Prologue:
Mid-Rim Embassy, Ambassadorial District,
Coronet, Corellia, Corellian Sector
Groggily, he
lingered in the hazy interlude between sleep and consciousness, uncertain of
where he was or if he continued to wander in the land of dreams. He opened his
eyes. As his eyes focused he began to recognize the shapes and shadows made
visible by the moon light filtering in through the small window above his work
bench. Intensified by the stark white
duracrete walls, the blue light illuminated the abstract designs of the hand
woven rug in the center of the small room. For years he imagined that the rug
with its bold angular patterns was a map to the secrets of the Galaxy and used
it to plan the adventures of his adulthood.
A red light
pulsed on a diagnostics monitor indicating its completion of scanning the
faulty photoreceptor he had repaired with hopes of adding it to his droid.
Lazily, he stretched his legs and was surprised his feet almost touched the end
of the little sleeping alcove. Turning on his side to face the coolness of the
wall, he wrapped himself in the old, yet freshly laundered sheets. He breathed
deeply the cool dry air and the smell of Whipoor flowers filled his nostrils.
His
bed.
His
room.
His
world.
As he settled
back into the embrace of sleep, he heard her voice. He knew she was always just
a room away, an ever present entity in his world, yet rarely did she speak.
Tonight he heard her distinctly.
“He tries so
hard, but sometimes it’s not enough. I’ve always tried to be there, but
sometimes it’s just impossible. I can’t watch him every hour of the day. He’s going to have to learn to be on his
own.”
There was a
pause and another softer inaudible voice answered.
He strained his
ears, but his actions only made clearer the sound of the cooling unit and night
time noises outside the narrow window.
“I know it’s not
my fault.” She said evenly.
Fully awake, he
could tolerate the mystery no longer. With whom did she speak? Quietly, he
slipped out of his bed and drew upon the Force to silence his footfalls as he
crossed the room to the partially open door.
“It frightens me
sometimes, but I have to let what will happen, happen. I’ve played my part and
done all that I can—at least I hope I have.”
He crept through
the door and kept to the shadows of the sitting room. The single luma in the
kitchen area created a soft white glow around the silhouette of his mother. He
struggled to hear the other voice.
“I don’t know if
he’s strong enough.” Shmi continued.
Stealthily, he
stood at edge of room and tried to peer around her. He held his breath and
endeavored to move closer. Suddenly, Shmi turned around, discovered him and
tilted her head in surprise. The chair across from her was vacant.
Wordlessly, he
turned to retreat.
His about-face
put him almost on top of her. “Anakin Skywalker!” The hauntingly familiar
voice, now audible, exclaimed.
The plain faced
child had been behind him as he spied on his mother. The room faded into
darkness. He stumbled backwards into the nothingness and she watched him fall.
As he fell,
Anakin grabbed at her and demanded, “What are you doing here?”
---
Always a light
sleeper, Obi-Wan was well aware of Anakin’s persistently troubled sleep. Early
in their relationship as master and padawan, Obi-Wan had sought the assistance
of Master Yaddle to help Anakin with his frequent insomnia and troubling
dreams. She had taught him to meditate before bedtime and it seemed to work for
over a year. Anakin, however, mentioned the problem to his secular benefactor
Chancellor Palpatine. Quite innocently,
Palpatine gave him some information about lucid dreaming and of course Anakin
preferred his advice to that of the esteemed Master Yaddle. Subsequently, his fitful
sleep returned.
Anakin claimed
to be much better; despite the dark circles under his eyes and the intensity of
the tremors in the Force around him as he slept, which spoke to the
contrary. Obi-Wan treaded softly around the
relationship between Anakin and Palpatine, least he injure his padawan’s
fragile self esteem and further encourage him to seek confidence in the over
indulgent politician. Begrudgingly, he permitted their relationship as
Palpatine was insistent upon playing a role in the boy’s life.
His padawan’s
distress woke him and compelled him to check on him in the other room. When
Obi-Wan reached out to him in the Force, he encountered an
emptiness, akin to a cold wall. Typically, Anakin did not guard his
feelings, partially due to a lack of discipline and partially due to sheer
stubbornness. Bending down over him as he tossed and turned, Obi-Wan gently
touched his shoulder. He had not expected Anakin to respond so violently to his
touch either physically or through their Force bond.
The adolescent
woke and lunged for him. Anakin’s eyes were wild, his breathing erratic and his
pajamas damp with sweat. Obi-Wan blocked the Force push Anakin sent into him
and deflected his attempt to seize his throat. As consciousness and Obi-Wan’s
peaceful emanations in the Force took hold of him, Anakin realized what he was
doing and quite nearly fell out of the bed on to the floor. Obi-Wan caught him
and took his shaking padawan protectively into his arms.
He could feel
his heart pounding in his chest and his skin was icy. “Anakin, center
yourself,” Obi-Wan commanded still enveloping the boy in his own peaceful
connection through the Force.
Anakin struggled
to regain his composure, slow his heartbeat and calm himself. While he felt
that he was doing a reasonably good job getting his emotions under control,
Obi-Wan would later liken it to hitting a gravity well while in hyperspace. As
he stopped trembling, Obi-Wan let go of him and resumed his more reserved role
as Master.
He looked deep
into his eyes. “Are you alright?”
Anakin buried
his confusion and fear. “I’m fine, Master.
It was just a bad dream.”
---
Chapter Fifteen:
Winter dances here…
House of the Matriarch, Palzan Immigrant
Settlement 23.21x, MOSA-Class F, Shoda, Dakari Sector, Occupied Territories,
Mid/Outer Rim Transition Zone
Soft voices
endeavored not to wake her, yet grew weary of the interrupted routine as the
morning passed. The aroma of baking bread and hot tea, the softness of the warm
quilts and the comfortable labor of the matriarch’s house seemed natural,
although she had never experienced anything like it in her life. As she
stirred, a friendly young woman brought her a cup of spiced tea mixed with
milk. Fortified by the warm liquid, she climbed out of bed, braved the cold
water in the wash basin and dressed quickly.
Anxious to
refill her cup, she hurried down the narrow stairs into the common room. The
same friendly, albeit wordless, woman poured her more tea and gave her a slice
of dark bread. The elderly matriarch sat beside a tiny girl in front of a
strange old machine. Intently, Elitrea watched as the matriarch silently
instructed the child. The click of the ancient wooden shuttle and the creaking
of the loom possessed a hypnotic quality. Her old fingers moved to correct the
child’s mistakes as needed, while the disparate strains of dyed woolen yarn
merged into an intricate angular pattern.
As she watched
the mistress instruct her apprentice, Elitrea’s thoughts fled from the serenity
of the busy room to memories of her padawan and her heart grew heavy.
Sensing her
sadness, the old woman turned to her. “Sometimes the old ways are best.” Whether she meant the machine or the teaching
of the child, Elitrea did not know. “There are other more modern ways to do
this, but it would mean nothing.”
Elitrea
approached the loom and studied the wool rug. “It’s beautiful.”
“No,” she gently
admonished. “This child is beautiful. That I am able to teach her is beautiful.
This,” she gestured to the weaving, “is functional—a simple record of our time
together. Just a piece of life and it’s far from perfect,” she pointed to a
knot near the top. “That happened the night of the fire. I rarely make
mistakes, but now it cannot be undone without destroying all of our other
work.”
“Why didn’t you
pull it out earlier?”
“It’s something
you only see in retrospect.” She shrugged and briefly turned her attention back
to the lesson. “When it happened it seemed inconsequential. I barely noticed;
however, now from a distance it is quite obvious.”
“As are many
things,” Elitrea looked at her empty cup and the blisters on her hand. “I seek
understanding.”
“I didn’t know
you came for understanding. I thought you wanted answers so that you can undo
the knots and tangles in your life.”
“They told me
that if any one could explain, you could.”
“They lied. As
you can see I don’t untie my knots.”
“They said you,
of all of the people who live on Shoda, know the most about the ancient ways.
That’s the information I seek.”
She shook her
head. “My mother taught me how to use this old loom to make these rugs for my
daughters. My mother taught me how to weave the cloth that does not burn. She
also taught me how to read the lines on your hands to see if you’ll have
daughters or sons and to determine the length of the coming winter by the
direction the equusine faces whilst birthing her autumn foals. I know these things, but I do not profess to
understand any of it. It is beyond me and I am content with it.”
She looked down
at the little girl. “I had to return to this place for I am compelled by a
vision of my dead student.” She paused. “I must know where that girl came from
and what she is. He cannot rest until I find out. Tell me what is meant by the
words Burning Child.”
The activity in
the room stopped and the small girl at the loom dropped her shuttle. The old
woman’s face grew stony. “Not in my house. You will not say such a thing in my
house least you bid the fires to my door.” She whispered.
“Apparently,
then you know.”
“The man in the
brown robes asked the same of me. I told him what little I dared and look what
happened. I will not tempt such things to come to my hearth. From now on, you
will speak of evil outside in the snow where the winds can carry it away.”
“Will you tell
me?”
“That is as
likely as me pulling the knot out of my weaving. The man in the brown robes
asked me and I told him. It did no good.”
“I have to stop
it.”
“How? People who chase such evils realize only
too late that the path is circular and in their pursuit have allowed evil to
pursue them.”
“I must do what
I can and I must learn what she is.”
“She is stronger
than you. Don’t sacrifice yourself in vain. You should stay here with us. We
were all immigrants to this little planet at one point or another. I can teach
you what your mother should have and you have much you can teach my children.”
She smiled mischievously. “I might even be able to find you a decent man to
share your bed and father your daughters.”
Stunned briefly
by the Force strengthened persuasion of the matriarch, she shook the
temptations from her mind. “I can not let Dezan’s death go unanswered. If you won’t tell me, who can I turn to?”
She exhaled
slowly and put her hand on the child protectively. “Seek out the man in the
brown robes. You can take the words I should not have spoken from him.” She
followed Elitrea’s eyes to the door. “You should stay here,” she implored.
“It’s going to get dark soon and you shouldn’t be out alone in the night.”
“It is still
morning.”
“On Shoda,” she
agreed. “But, elsewhere the darkness has already fallen.”
---
The gray winter
sky hung low and the damp air wrapped itself around her. Few stirred outside of the warmth of their
homes, save for a trio of men wearing old army fatigues working on an outdated
land speeder and a group of children loitering around a rusted farm
implement. The children looked at her
openly, making no effort to disguise their curiosity.
“Do you remember
the little girl who was here a few months back?” She ventured.
Intrigued by her
question, the children conferred in a dialect Elitrea did not recognize and an
older girl stepped forward. A dozen pale faces with red cheeks gathered around
her.
“Maybe.” The spokeswoman responded coyly.
Elitrea cocked a
dark eyebrow, “Why didn’t you like to play with her?”
“You don’t play
with those things.” One of the smaller children whispered staring at her muddy
boots.
“Yeah, she tricked us.” A thin boy in an oversized infantry jacket
with a Mandakari accent spoke up. The older girl cast a warning glance at the
over eager respondent and folded her arms across her chest.
“Tricked you?”
Elitrea continued to coax them.
“Said she had
secrets and then started telling us things we didn’t want to hear.” The
children nodded in agreement with their designated speaker.
“Everything she
says comes with a price. She tells you something one day and she’s going come
back the next for her due.” A wide eyed
boy and with a distinct lisp contributed.
Another child
chimed in, “She took Mischa, and then she took Alaban and then Mioeh’s
grandmother.”
“Don’t forget
Malachi’s caninus.”
“Feodar, that
caninus was twenty years old.” The older girl chided.
“Well, he might
have had a year or two left.” Feodar shrugged and tightened his lips.
“She told you
when they were going to die?” Elitrea probed.
The children
grew quiet, exchanged nervous glances and looked to the older girl who now
seemed to speak reluctantly, “No, she makes it happen.”
One of the men
working on the speeder called out to the children in the local dialect. His tone sent them scurrying away, looking
over their shoulders at Elitrea and giggling as they ran down the path. A single child remained standing in front of
her. She had not noticed the red haired boy as he had been withdrawn from the
group. The newness of his boots and jacket suggested his family had arrived
within the past year.
Silently, he
regarded her and she smiled encouragingly. He had familiar eyes. Deliberately
he removed his right glove and dug into his pocket retrieving a small piece of
metal. He held it out to her.
“What is this?”
She looked at the strange carvings on the burned metal scrap.
“When she came, my
grandfather gave this to me and told me not to be afraid.” He raised his right
hand showing her his four digits and the scar where his little finger had been
ritually amputated. “We’re Ladakari and that’s from ruins of Kleinadae. Grandfather said it would keep me safe.”
“What does it
mean?”
He turned it
over in her hand and pointed to the crescent symbol with a slash through the
center. “That’s for Nordus. He’s the Nordakari’s god of death.” Reverently, he
turned it to the other side where three simple lines were scratched. “And
that,” he pointed. “Those lines stand for Ladakar III and the millions of
people who died there. When you put the two symbols on a piece of scrap from
the ruins it’s to remind you and protect you.”
“Of
what?”
“That you’re not
afraid of death and when you don’t fear it, it can’t hurt you.” He looked
fondly at the talisman and stepped back. “You can’t be afraid, no matter what’s
out there.”
The other
children began to yell his name and he started to turn away, but stopped short
and looked deep into her eyes with green eyes that once belonged to Dezan.
Reflexively she closed her hand on the talisman. The other voices faded and the
day darkened.
“The Bastard of
Tatooine is in the
Chapter Sixteen:
No sacred places
The setting sun
bled into the dark clouds before sinking into the steel and duracrete horizon.
Thunder rumbled high above and the sound reverberated through the empty museum.
The interior lights dimmed signaling the end of the day. Reluctantly, she
closed the ancient folios and gathered her datapads. Had she sat in the reading
room under the watchful eyes of the lean faced insectoid sculptures for ten
thousand years, she would not be finished. Fortunately, the goal was not
completion, but understanding.
“Thank you so
much for your help, Mai.” The Zabrak rummaged through her pockets. “If you ever
decide that the Jedi route is not the one you want to take, I’ll make you my
number one assistant. Or maybe I’ll just kidnap you and keep you the archives
forever.”
“Thank you, I
think,” the padawan chuckled and politely pointed to the code card sitting on
top of the cluttered desk. Blushing, Dr. Alexandria, head archivist of the
Coruscant Museum of Galactic Culture and Folklore, seized the card and rolled
her dark eyes.
“I can recite
the forty two creation epics of the ancient Twi’Leks including the Scroobian
heresies, but can’t keep up with my door card. I’d lose my horns if they
weren’t attached to my head. Come, I’ll walk you out.”
Weaving their
way through the towering limestone sculptures of the museum’s temporary exhibit
of warrior deities from the Outer Rim, they chatted about the upcoming exhibit
on the legends of the Hyperdrive. At the
main entrance, Dr. Alexandria swiped her code card through the reader and the
doubly thick transparisteel doors slid open.
“It’s getting
dark and looks like rain, Mai. Would you like me to call for a taxi to take you
back to the
The ominous clouds
and retreating sunlight tempted Mai to accept her offer, but Master Poof
demanded frugality above all things. “That won’t be necessary, but I thank
you.”
“Be careful,”
She stepped back in to the building. “It feels like there’s electricity in the
air.”
“I shall,” Mai
promised as the first drops fell. “And
thank you so much for letting me help you with the translations. May I come
tomorrow?”
“You’re always
welcome here, Mai.”
---
It was not a
long walk to the
“What’s your
poison, kid?” He dropped the plastifilm menu on the counter in front of her.
Not much more than eighteen, himself, Mai found it funny that he was calling
her ‘kid’.
“A
cup of tea and maybe some biscuits?” She calculated the
tax in her head. Master Poof had left her a small sum of ‘emergency’ credits to
cover any incidentals while he was away.
While some masters like Stass Allie and Luminara Unduli were well known
for the financial generosity they showed their padawans, Master Poof rarely
opened his credit purse.
“No problem,”
the Devaronian yawned.
---
Hot and mildly
sweet, Mai savored the tea and let her gaze rove over the shop. A loud clap of
thunder punctuated the arrival of a human girl and a male Bimm. The girl’s
soggy hair was an artificial maroon to rival the paint job on a diplomatic
cruiser, she wore an old orange flight suit and a black synth-leather jacket
embellished with metal studs and superfluous chains. The Bimm wore an archaic
plum colored velvet courtier’s coat and his fox-like ears were pierced
innumerable times. He shook the water from his dark fur inelegantly and the
unusual pair negotiated the retail labyrinth with familiarity. As she sat down
beside her, the girl smiled at Mai and waved to the Devaronian who vanished
into the backroom.
“He’s just
trying to scare you. I’m sure he really didn’t see anything.” The Bimm’s
melodic sing-songy voice echoed throughout the shop.
“If that’s the case
he has a career in acting.” She pulled her jacket off and hung it on the back
of her chair.
“It was a cliché
story. I can’t believe you fell for it.”
“It seemed
pretty freaky when he was talking about it.” The Devaronian returned with two
frosty bottles of an imported sweetened beverage and leaned on the counter.
“Thank you a
thousand times, Bella,” the Bimm toasted the Devaronian and then looked at Mai.
“Are you a Jedi or do you just play one on the HoloNet?”
“Pardon?” Mai had been attempting not to
eavesdrop.
“Are you a
Jedi?” He repeated slowly.
“I’m a padawan.”
“Close enough,”
he leaned around the girl and looked intently at Mai down his long muzzle. “Can
you tell when beings are lying?”
“To
a degree.”
“Would you mind
helping us out?”
“Uh, that
depends,” she hesitated. Her master regularly lectured her that a Jedi must
remain aloof and avoid entanglements with ‘common’ beings. Mai typically fell
short of Poof’s ideal as she was by nature outgoing. In fact her relationship
with her master was less than ideal.
“It’s nothing
unethical.” His elaborate ear jewelry jingled as he assured her. “Could you
listen to our friend when he gets here and tell us if he’s being truthful. He
has a most unusual story that I think is a fabrication to attract the attention
of Boori, here.” He patted the girl on the shoulder.
“It’s getting
late, but I suppose...” She should have
been on her way back to the
“Hang out with
us for a while,” the Bimm seemed to sense her discomfort. “Order up some of
Bella’s mom’s root stew and I’ll pick up your tab for your trouble.”
“It’s really
wizard stew,” Boori added eagerly.
“I’m Kip, by the
way,” the Bimm extended his hand. “You got a name, Padawan?”
“Mai.”
“Bella, get Mai
some stew and put it on my tab.” Kip
ignored Bella’s groan and shooed him away.
Bella’s mother’s
stew lived up to Kip’s promise and Mai secretly admitted that it was a lot
better than what had recently been on the menu at the Temple. Part of her felt guilty for enjoying her
evening out and part of her wondered if she could adjust to such a life after
growing up in the
Not thunder, but
wild laughter heralded the arrival of another extremely odd pairing. A short loudly dressed Balosar dragged a
sober, if not frightened, looking human through the shop, stopping routinely to
inspect the kitsch with the discrimination of a connoisseur. Few beings reveled
in the glories of cheap souvenirs, off brand candies and fake flowers like Elan
Baggano.
“Friend,
potential lover, disgruntled devil and…uh, pretty Jedi warrior?” he greeted
them in turn. “Allow me to introduce the most intelligent creature in the
Galaxy, my new best most important friend Maz.”
With flourish, he gestured to the normal looking human. “Maz is a
genius. He is kind and wonderful and he lets me copy his comparative anatomy
notes on the days that I am unable to attend class for want of motivation and
clean clothing.”
Winking
suggestively at Maz, Boori addressed the Balosar. “Elan, Kip says your weird
old lady story’s a bunch of poodoo.”
Put off by
Boori’s opening flirting with Maz, Elan stepped in front of his new best
friend. “Thanks, Kip, you know how much I value your opinion,” he smirked.
“Although, that is a brilliant coat, do you know if it comes in orange or maybe
plaid?”
“Why don’t you
tell us the story and let us decide on our own?” Bella encouraged.
“When I turned
to Boori for comfort last night I didn’t expect to be put on trial today. I’m
not here for entertainment purposes. I’m not your comic relief. I’m here to
drink tea and talk about the meaning of life, art and get to know this beautiful
Jedi girl.”
“Elan,” It was
Boori’s turn to be jealous. “It’s really an incredible story.”
“Ok, if you
insist,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m failing Dr. Furicin’s Procedure Survey I
because it’s at eight in the morning. Conveniently, Furicin has this extra
credit deal that if you’re failing you can get some points volunteering in the
“I get to the EC
and they assign me to walk the cardiac floor and keep my eyes open for people
who need stuff; which is a pretty easy gig for extra credit, if you ask me. I’m
doing my bit and being helpful when they bring in this old dame. She’s like a
hundred years old, except I think her species is supposed die off around fifty.
Aside from being really old, she’s having a fit. She’s going out of her mind,
pulling off the oxygen unit, ripping leads off and she even pulls out her IV;
which gets blood everywhere.
“I’m standing
there watching all of this wondering what I’m supposed to do. Maybe they’ll
give me a tranquilizer gun. I have never seen a being act this freaked out—this
lady was screaming and thrashing about like she was possessed. Then all of sudden she stops.” Loudly, he
clapped his hands together. “Just like that, she settles down and gets
perfectly quiet. I thought she died or something.” He shrugged. “She wasn’t dead, though. The
nurse hooks her back up to everything and tells me to watch her. She’s old and
way down on the triage list, which means she’s going to have to wait on a med
droid or doc as it was a pretty night in the EC.
“Being really quite
gifted at watching people sleep, I figure I can settle in for a little nap,
myself. I turn around to adjust the chair that I’m about to snooze in and when
I turn back around she’s sitting up watching me. This is where it gets a bit
unsettling.” He paused for emphasis. “She looks at me and says, ‘Tell me
goodbye.’ Her voice is perfectly calm. However, I am not, because one minute
she’s out like she’s dead and the next she’s sitting up talking like there’s
nothing in the Galaxy wrong with her.”
“She sits up and
says ‘Tell me goodbye’?” Kip wrinkled his forehead, remaining skeptical.
“I swear on my
soul,” Elan’s eyes widened. “She’s still got the drool on her chin from her
earlier episode, her hand is all bloody from the IV she ripped out and she’s
sitting there like nothing happened. So
I ask her, ‘Where you going?’ and she looks at me and again says ‘Tell me
goodbye’. This time she seems like she’s
getting antsy.”
“Why don’t you
just say goodbye and be done with it?” Bella rested his elbows on the counter.
“For the same
reason you don’t tell your patients to ‘go into the light’. All this ‘tell me
goodbye’ stuff is just the patient being sneaky and trying to die on you. We’re
not in the business of letting people die and if she dies while I’m in there, I
doubt I’m going to get my extra credit.”
“Elan, that’s so
wrong.” Boori grimaced.
“Anyway,” he
resumed his expressive gesturing. “I know she’s about to get worked up again as
I’m looking at her vitals, but she’s still talking to me. For the third time
she says it, ‘Tell me goodbye’ and I tell her to relax and to settle down.”
He lowered his
voice and grew serious. “I will never forget what happened next. She starts to
shake and she’s saying, ‘She’s here. Can’t you see she’s here? Please don’t make
me go with her.’ The old lady is pleading with me and I’m ringing for the
nurses. Then one last time she says, ‘Tell me goodbye’ and I almost did, but I
told her no. She looked so sad. She said one last thing, ‘This is going to be
very bad.’ About that time the nurses came in and she coded—full cardiac arrest
and try as they might they couldn’t get her back.” He stopped and looked as his hands.
Elan took a deep
breath. “But that’s not all, because while the old lady is dying a really awful
death I look up and I swear there’s this little kid standing at the door
watching. This is a sterile restricted access unit and there’s this little girl
in this old black dress just standing there watching us. I don’t know how a kid
got in there, but I run to door to grab her before she contaminates anything
and she’s gone.” He ran his hand through his hair. “What’s even more bizarre is
that there were three people and a droid in the hallway and no one saw her—they
were standing right behind her and they didn’t see her.”
“That’s weird,”
Bella swallowed.
Kip shook his
head. “Elan, had you been snacking in pharmaceutical cupboard before you went
in there?” He looked at Mai “Is he
telling truth?”
Captivated by
the intensity of the story, she almost forgot that she was supposed to be
scrutinizing him, “Yes, at least he believes he is.” She could still feel his
fear.
“Oh, it’s not
enough that I’ve had ten years scared off my life?” Elan put his hands on his
hips. “I know what I saw. What do you think, Maz? You’re a genius. Tell me what
I saw.”
Maz thought for
a moment and chewed on his lip. “Sounds like you saw a Burning Child.”
“A
what? What the hell
is a Burning Child?”
“It’s something
my Grammy used to talk about.”
“I don’t know what
kind of grandmother you have, but my grandmother was nice and took us to the
zoo. She didn’t spend a lot time talking about burning children. Burning Child?
That sounds horrible.” Elan nervously grabbed at one of his antenna-palps.
A sly smile stretched
across Maz’s lips. “My Grammy’s nuts and I’m teasing. You’ve got an active imagination and it was
probably kicked into overdrive because of the stress of the situation with the
old woman and the cardiac arrest. It’s quite possible that you hallucinated.
Stress induced hallucinations are more common than most beings think.” Maz’s
explanation was rational, yet Elan looked unconvinced. “We covered it last week
in class. You have my notes on it. ”
“What do you
think Jedi girl?” Elan turned to Mai.
“Your friend’s
probably right—about the stress induced hallucination. You honestly believe you
saw something, but I don’t think there are any Burning Children lurking
around.” Mai tried to comfort him with her smile.
Ask me why I'm here
The cold night
air seemed fresh after the storm and Mai walked slowly back to the
“Burning Child,”
she said words without knowing why.
Involuntarily,
she glanced over her shoulder. While she liked scary stories, she hated walking
in the dark. Fear leads to the Dark Side,
she told herself and stopped. Touching her lightsaber for courage, she turned
around and surveyed the emptiness behind her. Breathing deep the night air, she
calmed herself. There is no fear in the
Force.
When she turned
back around towards the
As she neared
the shadowy being, it looked up and ran away.
From her distance she could not tell what it was, but it appeared to be
a small humanoid in dark robes. Reaching the spot on the walkway where the
being had been moments earlier, she noticed some marks on the duracrete. Facing
away from the
Bidden or Unbidden I Am Here.
Intrigued, she
touched one of the letters scrawled on the ground and held her hand up to see
the medium used to write it. The dark substance was sticky, coagulated. Using her
free hand she grabbed and ignited her lightsaber, its blue blade emitting
enough light to see the color staining her fingers.
“By the Force,”
she breathed as she confirmed the nature of the dark red substance used to
write the strange message.
Chapter Eighteen:
Colder than Before
Negotiating
Coruscant’s orbital traffic required either Jedi skills or sheer stupidity and
those with Jedi skills always represented a minuscule percentage of the
pilots. The duracrete and steel
encrusted sphere glowed with an unnatural luminescence, the result of numerous
Orbital Solar Energy Transfer Satellites (OSETS) used to intensify the rays of
the distant sun. Ironically, the Planetary Data Feed, which the Senate had
struggled to standardize elsewhere, remained cluttered with advertisements for
Coruscanti attractions and imported liquor. Occasionally emergency
announcements from the Department of Orbital Traffic Control (not associated
with the Department of Atmospheric Traffic Control) rose to the surface of the
marketing quagmire. Most simply flew by the seat of their pants and the grace
of various deities before reaching the safety of the magnetically controlled
atmospheric grids.
Stifling a yawn
as he manually entered the landing authorization code reserved for the Jedi,
Anakin gave little notice to his surroundings.
He lowered the ship’s nose and dropped into the ionosphere. A foolhardy venture for most pilots, Anakin
had been perfectly comfortable with the planet’s chaotic air traffic since he
was ten years old. It reminded him of
his first space battle high above the blue and green paradise of Naboo.
Fighting another
yawn, Anakin switched on the audio feed from one of Coruscant’s popular
entertainment channels—which surprisingly had fewer advertisements than the
official data channel. Obi-Wan promptly
attacked the volume of what he referred to as an “unnecessary distraction”.
Anakin suppressed a smirk. Some days he found it difficult to determine whether
Obi-Wan was in his early thirties or mid eighties.
Unable to fathom a younger version of the grumpy perfectionist seated next to
him, Anakin imagined his master had been born old.
“I think it
would be a good idea for you to speak with a healer regarding your difficulty
sleeping, Anakin.” He released his iron
grip on the arm rest long enough to scratch his beard.
“Master, I am
fine.” Anakin accelerated and cut through eight layers of the dense traffic. An
orange warning light flashed on the console indicating an incoming message from
the Department of Atmospheric Traffic Control officer behind him. “I imagine
that my own bed will make all the difference in the Galaxy.” He casually
reached over and deleted the message.
Obi-Wan gave him
a disapproving glare and his death grip on the arm rest returned. “You’re going
to need a Chancellor’s pardon to take care of all of your traffic
citations.” Who was he fooling?
Palpatine would be more than happy to issue Anakin a pardon. He sighed, “Anakin, this could be a very
serious problem. You should not feel ashamed to visit with a healer regarding
this matter.”
“My
flying?” Anakin
laughed.
“No,
your sleeping or lack thereof.” He felt the return of his five year old tension headache.
“I’ll be fine,
Master,” Anakin grinned and reached forward to quell the beacon a second time.
He was too tired
to argue. “Perhaps, you’re right. It has been a very stressful few weeks.”
Obi-Wan turned his attention to the quickly approaching
---
Virtually
deserted, the massive southwest hangar was unusually quiet for a weekday
afternoon. Obi-Wan left his padawan to take care of the landing details with
the hangar crew and went to make his official report to a member of the
Council. Waiting for the lift, he stretched, trying to get the kinks out of his
back from the long flight, and fantasized about a soak in the tub. The trip to
Corellia was a waste of time and energy. In typical politician fashion, the
Senators changed their minds about the need for an escort at the last minute
and decided to extend their stay for an extra week in order to enjoy Corellia’s
ribald Summer Trade Festival.
Grateful to have
his feet on solid ground once more, Obi-Wan began to relax. While he trusted
Anakin’s flying more than his own, he certainly did not like it. If he ever had
the opportunity to eschew space travel for a couple of decades, he would accept
it with a happy heart.
A familiar
presence materialized behind him and a smile appeared on his lips.
“If
it isn’t Fisto’s Ghost!” He turned around to face the tall Nautolan as the lift arrived.
“Welcome home,
Obi-Wan!” Kit Fisto clapped him on the back. His bright unblinking eyes betrayed
an internal peace few beings ever attained.
“Funny meeting
you here,” he joked as the tall amphibious Jedi joined him.
Kit maintained a
silent protest against what he considered stagnation on the Jedi Council by
keeping a fair amount of distance between himself and the
“I’ve been known
to sneak in when necessary.” He continued smiling as the doors closed. “It was
Bant’s lifeday earlier this week and I brought her a bit of sea water from Mon
Calamari.” He fell quiet as the lift moved upward. Suddenly, he reached forward
and pressed the “pause” button on the control panel.
Obi-Wan regarded
him quizzically.
“When was the
last time you saw Elitrea?”
“I saw her on
Fondor.” Obi-Wan knew Kit and Elitrea had been close for years. “Anakin and I
left her the day before Dezan…” he lost the words.
“She’s not
checked in and hasn’t communicated with the
“Understandably—”
Kit held up a hand
and shook his tentacled head. “You should know that Dezan’s death is a moot
topic on the Council. I only just found out about Master Gooli from Bant this
morning. There is much that is not being said.”
Obi-Wan’s hand
strayed to his scruffy beard. “What about Master Poof? Hasn’t he returned?”
“From
where?”
“He arrived on
Abregado-Rae shortly after Master Gooli.” Obi-Wan watched Kit’s reaction. To
call his relationship with Poof tense was an understatement.
“I had no idea
that he was sent.” Kit pressed the “resume” button and bit his lip. His tight
pale green face remained blank. The doors opened and he stepped out. “I don’t
understand this place anymore.” He said softly and took a deep breath. “May the
Force be with you, Obi-Wan.”
Stunned by Kit’s
unusual behavior, Obi-Wan nodded mutely. The doors closed and the lift resumed.
“May the Force be with us all.”
---
Dropping his
knapsack by the door, Anakin surveyed the mess and groaned. Six weeks ago it
did not look messy, yet now the disorder of his room struck him as unbearable.
Ignoring his fatigue, he reached down and scooped up a pile of dirty laundry
and deposited it in the hamper less than a meter away. Meticulously, he worked
his way around the room putting his things in order and straightening the
clutter.
Stacked
haphazardly, a dozen unread holo-books loomed at precarious angles over the
edge of the shelf above his desk. As he added yet another over looked
assignment to the pile it swayed and started to fall. Instinctively, he reached
out with the Force and pushed it back into place. As an attempt to negate his “sacrilegious”
use of the Force, Anakin patted the books with his hand.
Shoving aside
the remains of the motivator coil from an obsolete Aratech Y-68 swoop bike, he
sat down at the desk. With the care of a jewel thief, he opened the middle
drawer and reached into the space behind it and the bottom drawer. His fingers
grasped a flat object and as he removed it, he glanced over his shoulder to
make certain the door remained secured.
Reverently, he
placed the object on the desk and unwrapped the soft
dark felt protecting it. He traced his fingers over the familiar scratches and
dents of the old image viewer and depressed the activation switch. A fuzzy
image of his mother materialized in front of him. Tears stung his eyes.
Nothing in the
Galaxy mattered more…
---
Time stood still and the blue hours of
the early morning lingered with a cruel intent. He untangled himself from his
sheets and stumbled to the ‘fresher. Splashing cold water on his face, he
forced his lids to open wider.
Defiantly, his reflection betrayed his weariness and fatigue. The dark
circles beneath his yellow bloodshot eyes would draw Obi-Wan’s attention and he
would send him to the healers. Paranoia muddled his thoughts. Bant would demand that he explain the nature
of the dreams he was having and once she found out he was dreaming about his
mother, she would inform the Council and he would be expelled from the Order.
In the Force there were no attachments.
“The Force is full of empty promises,” he
mumbled and took a small vial of eye drops from the medicine cabinet. As he
peered into the mirror, the room faded into darkness.
“Anakin
Skywalker,” the familiar voice echoed in his ears.
The pieces of
the motivator coil crashed to the floor. He bolted awake looking wildly around
the dark room, struggling to see while his eyes adjusted to the shadows. Hours
earlier he had fallen asleep at his desk.
Leaping to his feet, he willed his lightsaber to his hand and steadied
himself against the unmistakable presence. He did not ignite the blade.
Icy air cut into
his lungs. A chill seized his body. He pushed aside his fear and with a
predatory focus stalked around the small room reaching into the shadows.
Frustration welled up inside of him. His anger burned, yet the room continued
to grow colder.
A flicker of
movement drew his gaze to the window. As he moved closer he noticed the frost
on the inside of the glass and the child’s handprint.
White knuckled,
he refused to turn around and face the creature whose reflection starred back
at him.
Chapter Nineteen:
Thinking that I saw you…
The Engineer’s Apprentice Hotel,
0730 hrs
Death tasted
like strong tea gone cold.
Patiently, she
waited for him at the table by the potted plants and the bad painting. The
waitress brought tea and Elitrea watched the doorway. Every shadow, every
footstep brought a touch of hope—a bit of kindling for the fires of denial. A dream, it was all nothing more than a
dream. His appearance at the doorway would bring morning. She continued to
wait. The waitress returned, but he never came.
By the second
cup she knew. Yet, the poorly drawn ship sailing happily on its too blue sea of
identical waves persisted unapologetically. The potted plants did not whither
and die. The woman with the fat cheeks by the window continued to laugh.
Clattering silverware did not fall silent. The sun did not burn out. Instead,
the tea grew cold and took her with it.
Beside every dead person is a living
ghost.
---
AgriCorps Compound 60249-41, Shoda,
Occupied Territories, Dakari Sector, Mid/Outer Rim Transition Zone
Bits of charred
wood, broken glass and a few scraps of unsalvageable steel poked through the
snow—the last blooms of Banner Weesoik’s farm project. The monotonous red
strobe of a beacon planted at the edge of the property by the Occupation
Authority threatened trespassers with execution; however, the missing sheet
metal and duracrete bricks suggested that few of the immigrants (many of whom
were ex-Occupation conscripts) did not put much stock into the warning.
Snow covered the
ground where Banner questioned the girl—his tears betraying more terror than
frustration. In his eyes that day she
saw her own future. His disbelief, fear and suspicion now belonged to her. How
much did they know? The pale blue sky offered no answer and the cold wind no
comfort. Banner had walked away without looking back. She cursed herself for
the madness in thinking he would still be hiding in these ruins like a ghost.
The old rusted
fire bell in the center of the courtyard remained; apparently, even the
scavengers respected the relic’s purpose and duty. Tentatively, she touched the worn metal and
wondered how many frantic hands had tugged at the scrap of frozen rope to
pierce the night with its desperate clamor. A warning frightful in of itself
and the failure to heed its bleating could be measured lives. Dezan had been
the most recent to raise the alarm, but not the last.
Beneath the
bell, before the fire and snow, she first laid her eyes on the little girl
calling herself Badour. A wisp of a
child, she took pity on her. Hated and
cast out, how could a little plain faced girl pose such a threat?
After she saw
the book she grew wary, but continued to make excuses. Had she been honest with herself she would
have told Dezan to bolt his door or let him follow Banner. The being who stole
the name Badour was no child, nor a very good actress. She dropped her guard
when she thought no one was watching or when she simply grew tired of her
game. The sly smile, the cold knowing
eyes and the way that the Dark Side coiled around her like smoke from an oily
fire attested to her gruesome deception.
Three weeks of
uncertainty and Elitrea gave in to the alarms howling around her. She followed
protocol and attempted to convey her concerns to the Council for the first of
many times. She knew what she felt. Her
instincts pulled her hand to her lightsaber. However, taught to distrust
feelings and savage instinct, she sought the wisdom of her betters. In good
faith, she let loose of all her suspicions, the things she witnessed and felt.
They told her to hold her tongue and deliver the book. She did not need to
worry about the girl. Too late did she
realize that she was screaming into the cold wind demanding the end of winter.
---
Afternoon faded
to early evening. A new layer of ice began to form on the bell. Dusk stole away
the details of her surroundings and the north wind began to build up its rage. Emptiness. She felt nothing, not even cold. In despair she
tied her fate to the wind and approaching darkness.
“I could shoot
you for trespassing, Jedi.” The snow crunched loudly under his heavy boots over
the idling of the repulsor engines. “Toss your weapon my direction and get your
hands where I can see them.”
“It would
probably be easier if you did shoot me, General.” She turned around to face
Acquilius and his ever present muscled goon. She unhooked her lightsaber from
her belt and dropped it in the snow in front of him.
Quickly, he
seized the weapon and threw it to his mute subordinate. “What the hell are you
doing back?” He gestured angrily to the ruins of the farm.
“I’m looking for
Banner Weesoik,” she shrugged.
“You can see he
ain’t here.” Deliberately, he reached down and unsnapped the top of his
holster.
Refusing to be
intimidated by the general, she met his blue eyes apathetically. “Have you seen
him around lately?”
Amused by her
indifference, he took a step closer to the bell. “He went and did the damnedest
thing I ever did see.” He called back to his tough, “You remember that Weesoik
character, don’t you?”
The thug nodded
silently from his speeder bike, his blaster in hand and leveled at Elitrea’s
head.
“Care to let me
in on the joke?” She did not fear the solution the blasters promised. There was
little that the trigger-happy men could do as part of her was already
dead.
“He marched into
Elitrea remained
silent, her face expressionless. Half a day, he was half a day away with her
answers. With her lightsaber she could dispose of the general, but his thug
would finish her; which accounted for the distance he kept. She failed by less than twenty-four hours.
Rubbing his
gloved hands together, Acquilius set his jaw. “They told me you been out to see
the old woman. Where’s that boy of yours?”
“He’s dead.” She
swallowed feeling lightheaded.
He nodded and
rubbed at the back of his neck. “And that little one?”
“That’s what
this is all about.”
“So I hear.”
Pulling his heavy overcoat tighter, he looked into her eyes and lowered his
voice. “You know there some things that
are best left alone. It ain’t wise calling out evil cause no matter how careful
you go about it, you end up indebted to it and you can’t do a damn thing to
sort it out.” A cough seized him and he
spat on the ground. “Gods be damned, I’m going get Wind Fever standing out here
trying to talk sense into you.”
Taken back by
his words, she narrowed her eyes. “You sound like the Matriarch.”
“That ain’t much
of a compliment—she was my wife’s friend.” A smile cracked across his hard
face, the details of which she noticed for the first time. “Oh, don’t look so
surprised.” His voice softened. “You stay here long enough you’ll get all cozy,
too. This ain’t the center of the Galaxy, but the Territories is the best I can do.”
“A
wife? You surprise
me, General. I didn’t think you had a heart.”
“I don’t.” He
snorted. “However, my girl—you probably saw that scrawny little ball of fire
hovering around that old woman’s house—she felt bad for you and your troubles.
I’d sooner put a hole in your head than stand here blabbing on with you, but
that little girl is my life.” He took a deep breath after exposing the chink in
his armor. “And she wants you to catch up with your friend and find your
peace.”
“You’ll help
me?” The strength fled her voice, replaced with disbelief on the verge of
tears. Hope stung like a slap in the face.
“I’ll send you
on your way,” he conceded. “I’ll get you on the courier ship to N’Shodakar
tonight. Banner Weesoik is going to be
there for quite some time. If he’s to get his citizenship back, he needs a
dispensation from one of the two ranking generals over there and the
responsible one is on vacation.” He looked back at his goon who chuckled
brainlessly. “Only thing I ever seen Lambarde sign with any expediency since
I’ve known the drunk bastard is a bar tab.” He laughed
at his observation. “On my mother’s soul, it’s colder than the caves of hell
out here!” He started towards his
speeder bike. “You gonna join us, Jedi? My girl’s gonna want to see you before
you leave—she thinks you’re special.”
Elitrea
hesitated still dumbstruck, “You’re doing this all for your daughter?”
“She’s all I’ve
got.” He turned and held out his hand. “Best to do what you can for the living,
cause the dead don’t need it.”
Once young…
Cracked in
innumerable places, the ancient stained glass window hung precariously in its
lead mounting. Assembled in the Grand
Hallway at the foot of the broad marble staircase, an uneasy crowd of
younglings and padawans endured Master Windu’s inquisition. Having hung at the
top of the stairs for millennia, the artifact from the Great Library at Ossus
depicted the life cycle of the Jedi—from youngling to unity with the
Force. Undisciplined Force Users and
archaic glass often made for a troublesome combination. The Ossus window had
not been cracked in a decade, yet it had been cracked many times before and
persevered. However, the appearance of a deep crevice where the image of the
youngling should have been suggested perhaps more than a simple accident.
Master Yoda
possessed more tact for dealing with younglings and padawans compared to Master
Windu, but Yoda was away for the rest of the week and Windu assumed all of his
responsibilities. Whereas in similar situations, Yoda preferred to coax
students into seeing the wisdom in honesty, Windu threatened. Much like his relationship with the Force and
Vaapad fighting style, the lean faced master refused to toy with his quarry and
instead quickly seized the offensive. Given the option of facing a tattooed
Sith Lord or one of Master Windu’s early morning rants proved a difficult
hypothetical for many padawans—at least with the Sith Lord the killing blow
might come quickly and in silence.
“Who did this?”
Windu stalked under the glass, hands clasped behind his back and the assembly
collectively held their breath. Loosely
ranked by age or clique, the rows of younglings and padawans did not move. The
few intrigued knights and masters loitering at the edges and in the back seemed
equally uncomfortable. “I’ll ask again, who did this?” The chiseled dark
skinned Jedi Master’s frustration did not arise from the accident itself,
instead his annoyance piqued in the absence of a responsible party.
“I think his
head is about to explode.” Mai whispered to Anakin who stood to her right. The
dark circles under his eyes suggested he was less keen on standing in for one
of Windu’s lectures than she was.
Anakin arched an
eyebrow, “If it did do you think we’d get to leave?”
Mai struggled to
maintain her composure, “Probably not, I’m sure someone else would pick up the
torch. I believe Master Nu is waiting in the wings for the opportunity.”
“I’m tempted to
fess up,” Anakin yawned openly.
Mai smiled and
shook her head, “Sorry Chosen One, but I’ve not taken one for the home team in
years.” Bravely, she stepped forward. “Master Windu!” She called from the back
of the assembled group where many of the older padawans languished, her voice
steady. A hundred pairs of eyes focused on the lithe dark haired girl. “I
apologize to my brothers and sisters, for not speaking sooner. I will assume the responsibility for this
incident.”
Amongst the
older padawans, Mai’s deception was viewed as an acceptable subterfuge, a time
honored tradition, albeit an open lie. The actual transgressor would no doubt
be revealed eventually, yet for the time being it would dishonor the Jedi
traditions in front of the younglings if someone failed to accept, honestly or
not, the blame. The stalemate needed resolution. Master Windu looked less than
amused, but he understood the game. As a padawan he had played it too.
“Padawan Mai
Xao, this is a regrettable offense, especially in the absence of your master.”
“I understand
Master Windu.” Anakin admired her strength, her voice never wavered and her
resolve remained solid. “I am sorry.”
---
After a cold
dinner in the empty dining hall, Mai walked into the northeast library to
thunderous applause. Blushing she waved first like a beauty queen and then
curtsied elaborately. Her almond shaped dark eyes beamed. Always popular for all the wrong reasons, the stern voice of Master
Poof echoed in her head. She swallowed her sigh; he was due to return to the
Hiding behind
her perfect smile, she dropped into a chair at the table Anakin and a group of
well liked students dominated. Typically, the haunt of the older padawans,
Anakin had been a fixture in the northeast library since his arrival at the
“What happened?”
Anakin looked up from the piece of plastifilm he was folding into an origami
starfighter. The other padawans regarded her curiously.
After turning on
her datapad, she chose her words carefully in order to derive the most effect
from them. “Did you know that whenever you use a towel and send it to the
laundry there’s a droid who folds that towel?”
“I can’t say
I’ve ever spent much time thinking about that.” Anakin shrugged.
“Well, I can now
say I’ve given it quite a bit of thought. As today,” she eyed group and paused
dramatically, “I was that droid.”
---
In the absence
of her master and as an older padawan, Mai did not have a curfew and remained
in the study hall long after every one else left. Engrossed in her translations
for the
A warm silence
settled in around her and quickly her thoughts drifted to all of the late
evenings she spent in the library with Dezan. Accused on numerous occasions of being
more than friends, they were inseparable study partners. The void left by his
death made her wish that they had indeed been more than friends, in vain hope
of having at least a few more memories of his green eyes and the sound of his
voice.
Gathering her
things, she pushed her chair in and glanced around the big room seeking solace
in the dark paneled walls and old paintings of renowned Jedi scholars. Dezan
often teased that her likeness would some day gaze down on padawans as they
struggled through their Galactic linguistics exercises. For a moment she felt
his familiar presence, but disregarded it—most likely nothing more than
residual energy and fatigue playing tricks with her mind.
Ever since his
death, his memory clouded her senses. While told that it was an accident, she
knew there was more to it, but had no ideas as to what to do—it was just a
feeling. The Jedi Code said, There is no death,
there is the Force, but unlike others’ interpretations Mai refused to see
the phrase as an admonishment to mourning. Even if his memory frustrated the
clarity of her mind, she refused to abandon it. Everything had a purpose.
Exhaling, she ran her hands through her long straight hair, entangling her
locks in her fingers. Or maybe I’m going mad?
Blood, it had
been blood and the words perfectly clear. Distinctly, she remembered the shape
of the small creature and the way the letters were scrawled on the ground. Yet,
minutes later when she returned to the skywalk with Master Adi-Mundi no
evidence remained. Frightened to the verge of tears, not by the strange
occurrence, but by her self doubt; she found peace with the fatherly Cerean who
consoled her, made her a cup of weak tea and explained how the brain sometimes
gave into hallucinations following a traumatic event, such as the death of a
close friend. Ki-Adi-Mundi meditated with her and offered an understanding
shoulder on which to lean. His gentle guidance remained,
Your imagination can be a powerful ally
or your worse enemy.
The study hall
door slid shut behind her and she was grateful to have conquered her wild
imagination before setting foot in the long dimly lit corridor. Blue moonlight
streamed in through the tall transparisteel windows lining the wide hallway
leading to the lifts and north staircase. Distracted by the shadows cast by the
statues of honored Jedi High Council members, she came face to face with a
youngling who slipped out quite suddenly from behind one of the sizable
monuments. She stopped inches short of
colliding with the small girl.
“You almost
scared me to death!” Mai laughed nervously.
The child smiled
innocently. “I would hate for that to happen so soon.”
Putting her
hands on her hips, Mai looked down at her and assumed her best authoritative
older padawan voice. “It’s past your curfew, youngling, what are you doing in
the halls?”
Daintily, the
girl stepped out of the moonlight. “This is a very strange time of night to be
out and wandering around, don’t you think?”
“Especially as
it is after curfew,” Mai regarded the child carefully and cursed her poor
retention of youngling names. Lowering her voice to a spooky whisper, she
teased the little girl. “You should be careful. Some beings attach supernatural
significance to the hours between midnight and three.”
“The witching
hour,” the child continued to smile from the shadows. “I am quite familiar with
it.”
Mai felt a chill
and the seriousness of the child’s response left her uneasy. “Who are you?”
“Am I welcome
here?” Again she briefly stepped through the moonlight, the eerie blue
revealing her unchanged expression and intense eyes.
“That’s an odd
thing to ask.” Mai started to reach out into the Force, but held back as such
an invasive action was considered highly inappropriate with a youngling. “Who
is your teacher?”
“Invitations are
very important to me. Am I welcome here, Mai?”
“Yes, of course
you are,” she responded thoughtlessly, more focused on her own question than
the child’s. “You need to tell me who your teacher is?”
The lift doors
chimed loudly and Mai looked back to see who was getting off, hoping it was the
child’s teacher. When she turned around, the youngling was gone and no trace of
her presence remained except a slight chill.
“Mai?” The voice startled her. “What are you
doing about so late?”
She spun around.
“Master Poof! It is good to see you.” She rushed to take his luggage from him.
“Likewise I’m
sure, but what are you doing out so late?
And why do you seem troubled? I could feel your anxiety as far away as
the hangar.” He folded his upper most arms and gazed at her unblinkingly.
“I have been
distraught and I fear my imagination has gotten the best of me.”
“Fear leads to
the Dark Side, Mai. As does attachment,”
he raised a long bony finger and began to walk up the north stairs.
“Yes, Master, I
know and I remind myself, but I…” She could not find
the words.
“But?” he shook
his head. “A Jedi does not stammer, Mai.
A Jedi says what she needs to say.” His long gait made it difficult for
her to keep up. “Now, what needs to be said?”
Following
silently, she centered herself in the Force.
A benefit of
having a master serving on the High Council was getting to live in one of the
spacious north block corner suites. Unfortunately, the living arrangements
isolated Mai from many of the other padawans who lived with their masters
several levels below. Many Council members did not have padawans and most who
ascended to life memberships on Council did not take on any more padawan
learners. She was to be Master Poof’s final padawan not only because of his
position on the Council, but also his advanced age—he was nearly ninety
standard years old. While she spent a great deal of time focused on the
shortcomings of their less than ideal master/padawan relationship, she knew
much of his sternness stemmed from her significance as his final padawan.
Opening the door
to their suite, she stepped aside to allow her master to enter. “Flowers?” Poof’s eyes immediately landed on the floral
arrangement on the low table in front of the sofa. “Exquisite!”
For all of his
talk of asceticism, Poof had his material weaknesses. Mai knew her Master well
and the flowers, liberated from various other arrangements around the
“I have been
assisting Dr. Alexandria everyday and we have made progress with the
translations.” She returned from putting
her master’s things in his room and found him in his blue over stuffed chair.
“That is good, I
am glad she finds you helpful.” He held
a tattered red journal in his slender hands. “Unfortunately, your work with Dr.
Alexandria will have to be set aside for the time being. I have a special project
for you.”
“Yes, Master,”
Mai never imagined Poof trusting her with something he considered a ‘special
project’. She sat down in the chair next
to him, intrigued by the old journal.
“It is late and
undoubtedly you are as tired from folding towels as I am from traveling.”
Mai felt the
color rise in her cheeks. “I was going to tell you tomorrow.”
“It was
admirable, although you should choose your battles more carefully in the
future. We will speak in greater detail tomorrow morning when we take our tea
after meditation.” He held the journal out on his flat palms. “This is a very
delicate artifact. You will copy it by hand in order for me to have a facsimile
on which to make my notations. There is not to be a holo-image or electronic
recording made of this particular document and you shall work discreetly.”
“Of course,
Master.” She stood as he stood.
“The time of
your trials approaches, Mai. The work that you’ve done with Dr. Alexandria and
this exercise here,” he motioned at her with the book. “I feel will amount to a
preliminary test of your skills. You know that I feel that you will best serve
the Order in an intellectual capacity and I think you are gifted. It is also
important that you begin to reflect on the role you see yourself performing for
the Jedi.”
---
That night her
sleep proved fitful. Half finished dreams plagued her consciousness when she
woke. Eager to approach the day with a settled mind, she quickly bathed and
dressed, and made her way to the Room of a Thousand Fountains in hopes of
finding peace in the falling water. The humid atmosphere of the garden
refreshed her senses and cleared her mind. It was a favorite meditation site
for many, especially the beings whose origins traced back to other wet almost
swampy climates. Mai hailed from temperate Naboo, but loved fountains
nonetheless.
Relaxed, she
followed one of the many stone paths winding through the tall foliage. Designed to facilitate individual
contemplation of the Force, the strategically dense vegetation cultivated a
sense of privacy and limited distractions. For younglings and some of the less
serious padawans, the garden provided the ultimate setting
for elaborate games of hide and seek. Mai followed the path past one of
the blooming whipoor brushes she violated the day before for her master’s
flower arrangement and encountered an unexpected dead end.
A tall slender
Jedi stood facing the fountain at the end of the path. Quietly, Mai started to
retrace her steps to avoid interrupting the robed figure’s meditation, but then
she stopped and cautiously regarded the familiar shape. The room seemed
dreamlike; the colorful bushes blurred and the rushing water grew louder.
“Dez?” She whispered.
He did not turn
around.
He did not
speak.
“Dez, what do
you want?” Still whispering, she stepped forward—there was nothing to fear from
his apparition. Slowly and sadly, his
image faded and she could see the fountain clearly in front of her. Uncertain
of how to react, she could not disguise the joy she took from seeing him or the
emptiness in his disappearance. As the details returned to the world around
her, a warm breeze touched the side of her face and a voice brushed past her
ear.
“Help her.”
Chapter Twenty-One:
No pain remains, no feeling…
The Engineer’s Apprentice Hotel,
Death smelled
like rotten flowers…
Paralyzed, she
wished to prolong the final moments of her innocence. Nondescript beige
plasticoated durasteel bearing the numbers nine zero three protected her from
the gruesome reality on the other side. Standing on the threshold of her own
death, she understood that when the door opened the life she knew would end.
Lingering in the gentle embrace of denial; hesitantly, she raised her hand to
knock. As her loosely clenched fist hovered over the door, a wilted bouquet on
the housekeeper’s cart captured her attention.
Stripped of
their bright blooms, the flowers languished in the vase like a handful of
discarded weeds. Mimicking a cancer, the fuzzy white mold crept up the rotten
stalks from the brackish water. Remnants of putrid leaves and colorless petals
clung to the inside of the vase permanently staining the delicate crystal.
Given perhaps in love or consolation, in a matter days what was once beautiful
regressed into a horrific symbol of mortality.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she bit her cynical lip—the flowers
died the moment they were picked.
Taking a deep
breath, the stench of moldy vegetation filled her nostrils and she let her fist
fall against the door.
---
A bead of sticky
sweat rolled down the side of her face and she wiped her forehead with the back
of her hand. The midday sun and relentless southerly wind that coursed over
N’Shodakar’s flat plains made the short walk from the courier depot to the
Kinssey Strip miserable. Shielding her eyes from the brightness reflected off
the white duracrete, she moved doggedly towards her quarry’s presence in the
Force.
Heavy armored
support vehicles and military issue Aratech speeder bikes lined both sides of
the long boulevard stretching between the base and city. Male and female
conscripts loitered in the streets awaiting deployment orders or wasting leave
time in the countless bars and cabarets. Despite the continual influx of
soldiers looking for a chance to break away from the strict discipline demanded
by MOSA, Kinssey was unusually quiet and orderly. While millions of soldiers
filtered through Kinssey every year, there was only one permanent division
attached to the base—the N’Shodi Fourth. Near fanatical in their allegiance to
MOSA, members of the Fourth were easily identified by their black fatigues and
the ouroboros tattoo on their arms. Other transient “khaki” conscripts
avoided them for the sake of personal safety. The only time
Led by the Force
through a pair of reclaimed blast doors, Elitrea found she quarry indulging in
the primary local vice. The Broken Serpent Cantina made Coruscant’s lowest
level bars look cosmopolitan. Devoid of any distracting décor, the no-nonsense
duracrete and steel interior facilitated both the consumption of copious
amounts of alcohol and housekeeping with a high pressure hose. The multiple
tiers of bottles stretching the length of the long bar suggested that variety
served as the establishment’s sole marketing ploy aside from air conditioning.
Lightheaded by the dramatic change in temperature and illumination, Elitrea
made her way to bar.
She claimed the
barstool next to the scruffy looking man. Like her, Banner Weesoik also traded
his distinctive clothing for the comfortable anonymity of the khaki fatigues. More
intent on blending in and recognizing the practicality behind the local custom,
Banner had cut his trouser legs off at the knees. His tanned skin and rough
appearance suggested the full degree to which he had been working on
assimilating. It was difficult to imagine only weeks before he had been a
dutiful Jedi AgriCorps director: clean
shaven, round faced and young.
“Come here
often, soldier?”
“Elitrea?” Smiling, he looked up from his empty
glass and signaled to the burly one-armed bartender to include her in his next
round.
“You look like
sith-spit, Banner.”
“I feel like sith-spit. This place is hard on
a person.”
“Too
many cabarets and not enough time?”
“That, the
weather and the frustration of spending eight hours a day waiting for a meeting
you know is never going to take place.” The bartender slid the two drinks down
the counter. Unsmiling and hard-faced, he watched them closely. “Well, enough
about me.” Banner raised the glass to her, “May the Force be with us, welcome
to N’Shodakar.”
The glasses
clinked and no sooner had Elitrea set hers on the bar, Banner ordered another
round. For a moment she pondered how he paid for his recreational alcoholism
and then she remembered that when he handed over his lightsaber he did not turn
in his Jedi credit voucher. She found herself laughing for the first time in
weeks—the Galactic Senate was funding his desertion.
Metal screeched
against concrete as another patron settled into the chair next to her. More
carefully dressed, his authority was apparent. He appeared as comfortable in
his well worn black fatigues as he did on the barstool. His rolled up sleeve
displayed an intricate mixture of professional and amateur tattoos including a
hybrid of the ouroboros, the serpent was coiled into a figure of eight around
his thin forearm. Casually, he motioned to the bartender a wordless order and
the harsh old man hurried to follow it. With practiced skill and a broad smile,
the bartender broke the wax seal on the bottle and filled the glass. The
tattooed soldier appreciatively toasted him and made quick work of the potent
clear liquid.
Turning her
attention back to Banner, who was not as elegant a drinker as the soldier on
her right, she embraced the second round. Knowing herself and her weaknesses,
she decided to cut to the chase before she reached the level of impairment
endemic to the one-armed man’s cantina.
“You went to see
the old woman on Shoda before I got there with Dezan. She told me she spoke to
you. What did she tell you about the girl?”
Banner frowned
and refused to meet her eyes. “She’s evil, Elitrea.”
“But what is
she, Banner?” Annoyed with his reluctance, she pressed on. “What did the old
woman tell you?”
“A bunch of ridiculous
stories, she makes as much sense as Master Yoda. The little girl’s a dark
spirit, something somebody a long time ago let loose. They come around when
bad things are going happen. A harbinger…” He trailed off. “I don’t want to
talk about it. I want stay out here—the Galaxy can fall apart without me--this
is where I belong. This is where I should have grown up. I’ll even sign on
for MOSA if I have to.”
From a meter
away the bartender snorted, obviously insulted.
“Banner,” she
touched his arm gently, “look, you can stay out here. You can disappear, but I
need to know. She’s dangerous and I have to do something about it.” She
swallowed a mouthful of the harsh liquid.
“Before I left
Shoda, the old woman told me you’d come looking for me.” He tapped his temple.
“I saw what happened to Dezan in that room. I don’t want it to happen to you.
If you start after her, she’ll know it and she’ll come after you instead.” He pushed the glass away. “Besides, you can’t
do anything.” Banner looked at his hands and rubbed an old callous thoughtfully.
“I was stuck alone with her in that house. I saw what was in that journal. It’s
the blueprint for the end of everything.”
He looked up at her. “Billions will die.”
“If she is
capable of doing things, so am I. Banner, I’m not
going to stand around idly and watch,” she finished her second drink, “or
hide.”
Banner shook his
head ruefully. “But, it’s not her,” he mumbled, “she’s
just a symptom of the disease.”
“What do you
mean, not her?” She felt him pull away, retreat inside of himself. His fear sent shockwaves through the Force.
“She’s only the
messenger. There’s something worse out there that she’s moving towards.”
Shaking, he got
up and stumbled towards the ‘fresher. Elitrea doubted he would return in any
better frame of mind. Biting back the
anger and helplessness, she toyed with her glass.
“This is the
good stuff.” The tattooed soldier took
her empty glass and filled it from his bottle. “My name’s ‘Desh.”
“Thanks,” she
took a slow sip. He was right. “I’m Elitrea.”
“You have a
beautiful voice, Elitrea. I couldn’t help but be drawn into your conversation
because of it. I apologize for my eavesdropping, but my curiosity is piqued.”
His voice was measured and slow. In her brief time in the Territories she had
not encountered a similar accent. “Would it be presumptuous for me to ask what
you’ve been talking about?” His clear pale eyes betrayed a sobriety incongruous
with the amount he had been drinking. “Sounded rather complicated for a
beautiful creature such as yourself, maybe I can
help.”
Emboldened by
his flirtations and the alcohol, Elitrea dropped her guard and returned the
smile, “You think so?”
“Perhaps, I’m a
brighter than I look.” He turned on the
stool to face her more directly and rested his foot against the bottom rail of
her barstool.
Elitrea
continued to smile, but set the glass down defensively. Thin and angular, she
found him unusually attractive. While
his skin was quite pale, his dark hair and all of his sharp features served to
accentuate the intensity of his eyes. His unbuttoned collar revealed a thick
scar at the base of his throat and above his breast a trio of gunmetal chevrons
and an inverted triangle designated his rank—the same symbols tattooed below
the twisted serpent on his forearm. She regretted her ignorance of MOSA rank
insignia. Yet, there was more to him.
While not clearly Force sensitive, his aura struck her as distinctively
strong, but non-threatening. She had
felt a glimmer of the same aura around Acquilius and in the Matriarch’s house.
“What are you?”
The drinks had stripped her of some of her tact. “You’re not Mandakari.”
“Far from it,”
he poured her another drink and one for himself. “I’m Nordakari.” He pointed to the curious tattoo. “It’s kind
of obvious.”
“I’ll be
damned,” she nodded. “So how old are
you?” Indistinguishable from the other
humanoids of the Dakari, the Nordakari were an extraordinary long lived
species.
“You’ve left you
manners in the Core. How about you take a guess and if you’re wrong you tell me
what you’re talking about?”
“And if I’m right?”
“You name it.”
She studied him
for a moment and tried to form an educated guess, but the alcohol was working
against her. Physically, he looked to be in his early forties, but he felt
closer to Yoda’s age. “Damnit,” she realized that there was no way of telling,
“I’d say one hundred and fifty?”
A touch of a
color rose in his cheeks and he started to laugh. “Flattery will get you
everywhere. I’m about four times that, but now I am decidedly in love with
you.” He started to pour her another
glass, but she stopped him.
“A Burning
Child,” she said simply, “we were talking about a Burning Child.”
Unflinching he
responded, “Have you seen one?”
“What do you
know?”
“A touch more
than your friend, but not much. It’s folk belief. Traditionally, they’re
ominous portents and very dangerous,” he toyed with the broken wax seal on the
bottle. “If you think you can chase after one,” He met her gaze. “You’re quite
mad.”
Willing herself
to sober up, she inquired. “You’ve seen one, have you?”
“I’ve seen a couple,”
he nodded, “in my time.”
“Why do you
think one would appear now?”
“They herald the
changing of the ages.” He proved to be as direct as Banner sober.
“Is there anyway
to stop one?”
“Stop one? I’ve
never heard of anyone trying that before.” Casually, he removed his comlink
from his pocket, checked the message and continued to focus on her. “However,
you should watch where they’re going.”
“The old woman
said they seek chaos, like a moth to a flame,” Banner interjected having
returned from the ‘fresher. He seemed more composed, less anxious.
“And they
flourish in fear—that’s how they grow stronger.” The Nordakari soldier offered.
“Or so it is said.”
“What kind of
chaos are they drawn to?” She leaned back to regard both men. Competition for
her attention helped to encourage their willingness to part with the answers
she desperately needed.
“The kind that
moves worlds,” Banner quoted the old woman.
“By the Force,
if she was headed to Coruscant—”
“I would get
comfortable out here.” Banner touched her arm.
“No. I’ve got to
go.” She slid off the barstool and
pushed past the soldier.
Frantically,
Banner chased her to door and implored, “Don’t you get it, Elitrea? Dig in out
here. It’s going to get bad.”
She pulled away.
“I have to warn them, Banner.”
“Elitrea,
save yourself. This
is beyond any of us.” He hissed. “There’s nothing any one can do. Trust me, if you go to Coruscant it’ll be the
death of you.”
“I have to—for
Dezan.” She wrenched open the door.
---
Swiftly and
pitilessly the hot dry air returned her to her senses. Uncertain how to get off world, she weighed
her few options—one of which involved contacting the Order. Stopping in the
sparse shade of one of the cabarets, she centered herself in the Force and
tried to rekindle her connection to the serenity it offered—a connection she
had not felt in weeks.
“How did you get
to N’Shodakar?”
Startled, she
turned to see that the Nordakari soldier had caught up with her. “General
Acquilius took pity on me and put me on courier flight.”
He laughed,
“Dori Acquilius can’t spell ‘pity’, let alone put it to any practical
application.”
“I don’t have
another story.”
“You know you
aren’t the only one who’s haunted by duty.”
“What?”
“We’re all
haunted by the things we should have or should not have done or the things
we’re supposed to do.” He frowned and she noticed how many of the soldiers on
the street had stopped to watch them. “I was supposed to tell you something
else.”
“Supposed to?
Who sent you?” Her thoughts moved to the lightsaber hidden in her knapsack.
“My ghosts, my
conscience, whatever the hell you want to call it,” He put his hands in his
pockets. “You’ve been the star of a reoccurring dream of mine for almost a
century. I’m going to miss seeing you.”
“What are you
talking about?” Fearful, she took a step away from him.
“I should have
been off world, today, but I postponed my schedule. I don’t know why I did, but
I did. I never go into the Broken Serpent in the middle of the day, but I did.
And there you were—there you are.” He gestured to her weakly. “The minute I
heard you say ‘burning child’ I thought I was going mad, but there you were
just like you were supposed to be. I am supposed to tell you one more thing and
then my part in this over—I’ll have fulfilled any obligation I’ve owed.” He ran
his hand through his dark hair. He voice returned to its measured calm. “There
was a cult called the Suicide Moon. I think you can find some of the things
you’re looking for from them.”
“What’s Suicide
Moon? Where are they?” She remained skeptical, but not dismissive.
“A
coven, a religious sect that used to be out here.
They’re all dead now.” Responding to her look of dismay, he continued.
“They were a radical Ladakari group convicted of aiding and abetting terrorist
cells in the Mandakari Corridor. I oversaw their liquidation on Ladakar III
following the Battle of Kleinadae.” He was genuinely unapologetic. “They were
too dangerous to allow to survive. They didn’t care
who they killed.”
“What’s the
point in you telling me this?” Her raised voice drew scrutiny from dozens of
soldiers on the street. “How can it help me?”
“Some of their
writings might still exist in archives elsewhere—maybe Coruscant.”
“I don’t have
time to do research. I have to get off
world.”
“I don’t know
what you have time for, but all I know is that I was supposed to tell you
this.” He looked away from her. “I don’t think you should go. I think your
friend is right.”
“I have to
go.” She took a deep breath yet, did not
move. There was no way that she could get off world save hijacking a fully
armed troop transport and hoping the orbital defenses were for show only. N’Shodakar was a military installation, not a
backwater immigrant colony. Even if she did get the Jedi to appeal on her
behalf, they would have to go through the Senate and combined with what little
she knew about the Mandakari bureaucracy—it could take almost a year to file
the paperwork and would amount to an InterGalactic Incident. “Any
ideas how to get off this rock?”
“You’ll have to
appeal to MOSA.” His official answer almost sent her into a rage.
“Great, I can
hang out with my friend back at the bar—he’s appealing to MOSA. Is there any other way?”
He shook his
head slowly. “Did General Acquilius tell you anything about his commanding
officer?”
“Implied he was
a drunk,” she put her hands on her hips.
A pained smile
crossed his face, but he held his tongue. “Go back to the courier depot. Every
evening there’s a flight from here to Mandakar. I’ll get you on the list, but
you’ll have to take care of the connections on the other end. You’ve your
credentials?”
She nodded. “How
are you going to get me on the list?”
“Don’t worry
about it. I draw a little bit water around here,” he glanced to the group of
soldiers approaching. “I’ll arrange it.”
“Thank you.”
Out of character and perhaps still emboldened by the alcohol and his
good looks, she impulsively leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
Embarassed, she focused on the scar on his neck as she stepped back. “I don’t mind if you keep dreaming about me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two:
To dress the ground in white and grey
Tick,
tick, tock. Steady,
yet imperfect; the anxious cadence struggled to keep up with the seconds. Tick, tock, tick. Casting a narrow shadow against the light
colored wall, the tapered pendulum swung back and forth. Tock,
tick, tick. Although diseased, the metallic heartbeat persisted. Tock, tick, tock. Like countless others, he fought the
desire to rip the obnoxious obsolete gadget from the wall and reconfigure it.
Tick, tock, tock…
Neither warm nor
cool, thick transparisteel windows neutralized the late afternoon sun.
Patiently, the lanky adolescent waited in the empty reception room. Near a pair
of ornately etched double doors, a somber faced secretary shuffled plastifilm
and straightened his desk. Frowning, he looked from the antique timepiece to
the boy. As he was about to speak, a tall Chagrian male marched through the
heavy double doors.
“Young Skywalker,” Mas Amedda’s characteristic
forcefulness remained in his voice even when he spoke softly.
“Sir,” Anakin
stood, always uncertain of how to address the Vice Chancellor.
“I did not know
Chancellor Palpatine was expecting you today.” He smoothed the front of his
elegantly tailored robes and laced his long blue fingers.
“He isn’t, but I
was wondering if he might have some time.” Anakin looked up at him. “Perhaps…”
His earlier guilt over sneaking away from the
Amedda raised
his chin, the sunlight glinting off his polished cranial horns. “It is rather
unusual for a Jedi padawan to request an impromptu audience with the Supreme
Chancellor of the
“Thank you,
Sir.” Anakin followed him through the
doors ignoring the secretary’s scowl.
The
indefatigable politician led him through a bewildering labyrinth of hallways.
Gradually the conservative color scheme of the reception area grew darker and
gave way to an emboldened scarlet. Albeit politically incorrect, the regal hues
of the Chancellor’s private corridors made an unambiguous statement about the
nature of Palpatine’s administration.
Elaborate antique engravings hung on the walls, depicting historic
battles and forgotten heroes. Various
pieces from an impressive collection of ancient weapons filled a long row of
display cases placed in the center of the hallway. Many of the influential
members of the
Amedda gestured to a low backless chair
beneath one of the engravings. “The Chancellor will be with you presently,
Anakin.”
“Thank you,
Sir.” Anakin sat and watched the blue skinned alien disappear behind another
set of doors. Surrounded by the legends
of ancient warlords and their crude military instruments, Anakin relaxed. He always felt safe in the dark red hall.
A short time
later the seamless blast doors opened and Amedda emerged with an agitated thin
faced woman. Attempting to steady herself, she clung to his arm. For a moment,
she seemed to look at Anakin, but her sunken hollow eyes failed to focus.
Frail, but not weak, she held on to the remains of a commanding presence. It
seemed as though a battle raged inside of her between spirit and corporeal
self.
“Senator,”
Palpatine materialized behind her. She did not turn and Anakin could feel her
anger swell. “Senator, please.”
Fiercely she
whirled around, wisps of her garnet colored hair coming loose of her long
intricate braid. “I don’t care what the Alderaaneans believe about armed
conflict.” She hissed to disguise being out of breath from the sudden movement.
“If they don’t stop pushing for sanctions, I will not rest until all of their
cities have been reduced to smoking ruin. I don’t care what the rest of the
Senate will say. We have our pride, Chancellor.”
“I understand,
Senator, and will speak with Bail Organa about your concerns.” He spoke gently
without being patronizing. “You must promise me you will not do anything
hasty.”
The senator set
her jaw. “When will you speak with him?”
“Tomorrow,”
Palpatine touched her shoulder. “I promise.”
Her glare
softened. “I’m not dead, yet; and while I still draw breath I will not roll
over and let a self righteous lot of hypocrites walk over the top of me.”
“I know,” He
continued to nod encouragingly and then addressed Amedda, “Please see Senator
Naamit home.”
Wordlessly, the
Vice Chancellor compiled.
Palpatine
watched his subordinate lead the senator away. “Anakin Skywalker!” He seemed to
suddenly notice the boy. “I was thinking about you earlier today and then you
appear. I’ve always known we were two of a kind.”
Anakin cleared
his mind of the cloudiness surrounding the strange senator and stood. “You
flatter me, sir; but, I am not a great statesman.”
“That is to your
advantage; however, you are becoming a great Jedi.” Palpatine allowed Anakin to
enter his office first. “You look tired, my young friend.” He observed as the
side doors slid shut and blended into the curved wall.
“I am a bit.” He
admitted.
“We’ll have some
tea then,” Palpatine motioned to his aide. “Now, sit down and regale me with
your adventures on Fondor.”
“It was rather
uneventful in terms of the negotiations, but I had an excellent time speaking
with the engineers at the design academy.”
“I knew you
would.” He accepted the tea from the
colorless woman. “I’ve always liked Fondor—superb shipwrights and good
citizens. They do excellent work and I believe strongly that in the future they
will play a more significant role in the shipbuilding of the Republic.”
“It was an experience
I will not forget.” The silent woman poured his tea and Anakin waited until she
left to continue, “Sir, I was wondering if I could ask you something?”
“You may ask me
anything, Anakin.” Palpatine was sincere.
“Do you ever get
afraid?” As soon as the words escaped him, the guilt of not confiding in
Obi-Wan washed over him. He knew it was wrong that he preferred to seek the
wisdom of the politician over that of his own master; however, he also knew how
disappointed Obi-Wan would be to hear of his weaknesses. By the very nature of
his status as the ‘Chosen One’ he believed he was obligated to be perfect. If
the Jedi ever found out how imperfect he was, they would cast him out. While he
longed to speak candidly with his master he dared not.
“Afraid?”
Palpatine sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I suppose sometimes. Fear is a perfectly natural emotion.” Gauging
the boy’s reaction he continued, “I understand that the Jedi forbid you to
acknowledge your fears and I don’t want to contradict the teachings of your
mentors, but it is often in responding to our fears that we grow stronger. As I
said before, Anakin, it is a perfectly natural, normal human response.”
Anakin found
nothing heretical in Palpatine’s assessments. “What do you fear?” The strong
tea reinvigorated him, he felt better.
“Tree beetles.”
The older gentleman never missed a beat.
Anakin found
himself laughing at Palpatine’s seriousness. “Tree beetles?”
“Laugh if you
will, but they are terribly frightening, Anakin.” He set the cup on the low
table between them and brushed a bit of lint from his richly brocaded sleeve.
“More seriously, I suppose I fear failure. I worry that I might not be
successful in all of the things I’ve worked for over the years. I want to
create a peaceful and orderly Galaxy and I fear sometimes that it will not
happen.”
“But, that is a
noble fear.”
“The tree
beetles?”
“No,” Anakin
laughed again. “Your fear that you won’t be able to help make the Galaxy a
better place. That’s a noble fear; you care about others not yourself.”
“It is only
noble if I use it to realize my goals.”
“Of course you
will, you’re selfless,” Anakin frowned as he thought about the insignificance
of his own fears.
“What’s
bothering you, son?” Palpatine leaned back in his chair and steeped his
fingers. “What are you worried about?”
“I don’t think
I’m going to be a very good Jedi.”
Palpatine’s
responded automatically, “That’s ridiculous, Anakin. You are very gifted.”
Unconvinced, he continued,
“Have you ever seen something you can’t explain?”
“We live in a
big galaxy, Anakin, there are many things we cannot
explain.”
Anakin shook his
head, “No, what if you saw something that you should be able to explain, but
can’t because it doesn’t make any sense?”
“I don’t
understand, Anakin. Perhaps you could be more specific?” His brow wrinkled as he struggled to decipher
the boy’s question.
Anakin rubbed
his temples and sighed. “I don’t think I can be anymore specific.”
---
Shortly after
sunset the boy left, no more comforted than when he arrived. Unable to wrench
the source of his anxiety from him, Palpatine left him to it. Checking the chrono on his desk, he picked up
the folio Senator Naamit brought him and began to leaf through the stack of
plastifilm. Arcane treaties, undecipherable diplomatic correspondence and page
upon page of doublespeak legalese greeted him.
“It would be
easier to let them go to war.” He
growled angrily and slammed the folio shut.
The empty tea cup rattled on the desk.
Standing up, he
violently seized the oversized folio before storming out of the office. His
tickets to the opening performance of “Song of Rembad” noted an eight o’clock
curtain and the Coruscanti Grand Opera adhered to a bureaucratic punctuality. Personally, he felt the curtain should be
contingent upon his arrival and consoled himself with
the promise that the day it would drew nearer.
Distracted by
his irritation, Palpatine stepped off the lift and almost walked over the top
of a small child. “Excuse me,” he
mumbled and brushed past her. The child recovered from the near collision and
hurried to his side. Her dark eyes beamed with excitement.
“Chancellor,”
the child began. “I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
“Of course,” he
smiled coldly as he continued to hurry towards the platform where his chauffeur
waited.
Once
more she stepped in front of him almost provoking a collision. “I’ve a present for you,” she insisted.
“My dear, I am
in quite a hurry. Who are your parents and why aren’t they with you? You
shouldn’t be out here.” He snapped. In the absence of public scrutiny Palpatine
had no reason to treat the child with any special reverence.
The little
girl’s smile vanished as she grabbed his hand. Her bony fingers peeled open his
fist and placed something soft in his palm. Palpatine recoiled from her icy
touch, his eyes widening to reflect what he felt. She stepped back and curtsied. “A gift,” her
voice matched the vehemence of his earlier.
Not allowing his
gaze to leave hers, he stumbled backwards.
“What are you?” He hissed.
“A friend,” She
pointed at the ‘gift’ in his hand.
Apprehensively,
he opened his fist and inspected the child’s offering. A slow appreciative
smile crawled across his lips and he began to laugh as he turned the severed
padawan braid over in his hand.
When he looked
up, the only evidence of her presence that remained was a frigid stillness in
the night air.
“A friend,
indeed…”
Still greater things burned within us
The Engineer’s Apprentice Hotel,
Death felt like
enamel…
Clammy palms
braced against the rim of the ‘fresher unit as she retched for the third time.
Standing she stumbled backwards into the edge of the sink. Hot tears stained
her cheeks and she scratched numbly at her face attempting to wipe away the
saline and mucus. Sorrowfully, she gasped seeking a momentary reprieve from the
pain and began to hyperventilate. Clutching her head, tearing her long hair
with her fingers she whirled around trying to escape the madness in the next
room. The hard tile floor rose up to meet her.
A pragmatic
nudge accompanied consciousness and a blurry figure placed a lukewarm cup of
tap water into her hands. An agonizing throb surged between her temples and she
rested her head against the cold pipe beneath the sink. Her heart threatened to
rupture and she wished it would. The detective knelt beside her and an awkward
hand patted her shoulder. Through
burning eyes she peered into to the other room.
“We’ve looked,”
he spoke softly. “But we can’t find anything like what you’ve described…”
_ _ _
Persion the Great Orbital Spaceport,
Mandakar, Mandakari Corridor, Dakari Sector, Mid-Rim
Black armored
soldiers carrying both blast and projectile rifles outnumbered the people
shuffling through Mandakari Customs four to one. Orderly queues of compliant
travelers moved silently through multiple scanners towards the declarations
counters. Before reaching customs, roving heavily armed agents matriculated the
travelers into other queues by point of origin, species and race. Periodically,
the agents removed a being from a line and disappeared into one of the numerous
offices adjacent to the cavernous terminal.
Flashing
holo-screens informed the average off world traveler that the wait time might
exceed two standard hours. The same screens announced that for Ladakari
travelers the wait was guaranteed to be between seven and eight hours. Mandakari and Nordakari citizens endured an
apologetic five minute wait in another terminal with padded flooring, soft
music and complimentary beverages.
Between security
announcements, the holo-screens looped Mandakari propaganda including lengthy
recruiting videos for the Army of the Corridor, the Royal Navy and the
Occupation Authority. Smiling soldiers in exotic locales and promises to see
the sixty sunrises of the Dakari Sector served to entice the sons and daughters
of the middling classes exempt from the compulsory service laws. To add insult
to the injury of the long wait, other public service announcements invited off
world travelers to donate to various veterans’ charities.
Prerecorded
warnings informed travelers to report all suspicious behavior and avoid acting
suspiciously. Security regulations discouraged unnecessary conversations and
encouraged silence. Following the destruction of the first Persion the Great
Orbital Spaceport more than a century before, the Mandakari increased their
obsessive security measures to the point of paranoia. Many tongue-in-cheek
travelers’ guides warned would-be visitors to the Dakari sector that the
customs lines at Persion the Great resulted in an experience comparable to
serving time in a Huttese prison.
Elitrea used the
time to meditate and develop a strategy for when she arrived on Coruscant. An
hour into her wait, she lacked both serenity and a plan of action.
Apathetically, she moved forward with the line and failed to notice the squad
of soldiers surrounding her.
“Step out of
line and keep your hands in front of you.” The metallic voice projected from
the soldier’s helmet sounded distant, despite his close proximity. Only a
handful of the other travelers standing nearby risked more than a sideways
glance at the arrest. Elitrea complied
as few options existed with six rifles trained on her. Oddly, she found herself growing accustomed
to being threatened by various branches of the Mandakari military.
The durasteel
blast doors opened into a small utilitarian office. An elderly uniformed woman
sat behind a computer terminal. The rows of service bars and inverted chevrons
on her flawless dark colored uniform suggested she was more than a simple
customs functionary.
“Elitrea
Jawndomay, you may sit.” She gestured towards the hard chair. The soldiers continued to stand behind her
with their rifles drawn. “I am Colonel Kaltor.” She began to spread Elitrea’s
credentials out on the desk. “You are a Jedi?”
“Yes,” Elitrea
answered directly. The gray haired woman
possessed a deportment that would have unnerved both Jocasta Nu and Master
Gooli.
Colonel Kaltor
pursed her lips and made an entry into the computer. “You are traveling with an
illegal weapon, which is subject to confiscation.”
“My
lightsaber?”
She made another
entry and removed the questionable weapon from her drawer and dropped it on the
desk unceremoniously. Earlier it had been relinquished with Elitrea’s other
personal effects at the first security scanning station. “You will verify this
is your weapon?”
“Yes.” A cursory
glance revealed it had been disassembled. She reasoned the Mandakari possessed
quite an extensive file on her lightsaber.
“The power cell
has been removed for security purposes. When you book passage to Coruscant your
power cell will be shipped separately.” She pushed it across the desk towards
Elitrea.
“When? Does that mean—”
“Your credentials bore a signature that we needed to verify with MOSA.” She put her finger on Elitrea’s intergalactic passport. “In my ninety three years of service, I’ve not encountered General Lambarde’s signature and was inclined to believe it was a forgery. He is not known for taking an individual interest in anyone. Subsequently, I contacted the General’s office, it was confirmed and the General wished you a speedy trip to Coruscant.” She closed the old style passport booklet used in the Mid-Rim and passed