Star Wars: A Penumbral Path

Star Wars:
A Penumbral Path​

Book 1: Inauspicious Initiates - 26 BBY​

Chapter 1​

He knew he could defeat her, but he didn’t want to.

Deflecting the sweeping green blade with his own blue lightsaber, Jorel Drettz was content to keep the sparring session going. If asked, he’d say it helped him focus, but really it let him ignore everything else. He took his time, not going for the openings his opponent left in her strikes, and enjoyed the rhythm of the fight.

His partner, Anaïs Vand-Ryssa, did not share his sentiments. She was focused, actually focused, on defeating him, though it didn’t matter. While they both had learned the first lightsaber form, Shii-Cho, like every initiate had, they both had drifted towards other techniques. The blonde girl in front of him, expression tight with concentration, favored Form III: Soresu. She was skilled in it, but that was a defensive form, and he wasn’t attacking.

When he did, to keep the fight going, she blocked him with a minimum of motion, conserving her endurance, but her own broad strikes were sloppy, telegraphed, and easily blocked. Jorel’s own preferred style, Form V: Djem So, had no such weaknesses, strong at both attack and defense. It took more effort to pull off, and could be physically draining, but he wasn’t trying to outlast a dozen opponents, he was sparring with one.

Another strike, this one a slash to the head, came, but it was obviously a feint. He waited for her real strike, to parry and counter, ignoring the move which was meant to draw attention and not actually going hit him.

It was actually going to hit him.

Realizing this at the last moment, he called upon the Force, infusing it into his body to let him push past the normal limits of flesh and bone. Pulling backwards, nearly bending parallel to the ground, the speed granted to him through Force Control allowed him to miss the buzzing blade by inches. Her blade was only set to training mode, as was his, but he wasn’t going to allow himself to be hit.

Spinning around, away from the next strike as it lowered to hit his new position, he came back with one of his own, Force-enhanced strength ready to batter away her block like it wasn’t even there. The other abilities of the Jedi, such as telekinesis, he struggled with but this? This he excelled at.

Anaïs fell backwards, dodging the blow as she tried to move back to a defensive stance, but he followed her. Before she could fall fully back to a neutral position, he came in with a rising strike that was set to slash her in half, if fully powered, ending the spar.

She threw up a Force Barrier, her specialty, but while his fellow Initiate could block simulated blaster fire with ease, a lightsaber was not a blaster. However, she wasn’t blocking his blade, but his hand.

Enhanced as his body was, he punched through it, though his bones groaned at the sudden impact, but the momentary slowing that strike took gave the half-second she needed to bring her own weapon in and deflecting the slash upwards, opening him up completely to a fatal counterstrike, his lightsaber high and out of position.

A fatal counterstrike, that is, if he was still holding his weapon.

Taking another step forward, moving inside her guard, he grasped her hands with his left, trapping her blade, as he brought his other, now empty, hand in as hard as he could in a palm strike to her face. She tried to turn her saber, but his superior strength locked her in place as his ‘fatal’ strike stopped an inch from her nose, the blast of air created by his Force enhanced palm strike pushing her bangs back.

They both stood there for a moment, her features calm but still determined, while his own carefully blank, to note the win. Letting her go, he stepped back, and bowed, a move she returned as she deactivated her lightsaber.

Walking over to get his discarded blade, which hadn’t even scored the ground when it’d hit, he heard her sigh behind him. “I almost had you, Jorel,” she commented, voice the picture of Jedi calm.

“Almost,” he agreed, equally mild, deactivating and holstering the blade, his muscles pleasantly warm underneath his Initiate’s tunic.

Turning around, he saw she’d taken a seat and was fixing her long blonde hair, some of which had fallen out of the loose ponytail she wore it in. “If you were just a bit more distracted, I would’ve won,” she commented idly.

His stride paused, mostly in self-recrimination. Anaïs Vand-Ryssa was many things, he reminded himself. Unobservant wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t chiding, though, as his instructors always were. She just pointed it out. The sky was blue, Temple food was bland, and he was distracted. While she was right, he wasn’t going to admit why he was distrac-

“It’s because we haven’t been picked, isn’t it?” she asked, without judgement.

“Yeah,” he admitted, hanging his head slightly. “I’m worried we won’t be chosen at all. It’s not like we’re like Master Tyvokka or Master Yoda, with decades left before we’re adults. We’re the only ones left from our clans, Ana.” And hadn’t that been fun, watching as every other member of the clan he’d grown up with, the ones he’d saved, had all been picked, off to become Padawans while he was left behind.

“You know what Master Lhimis would say if she heard you talking like that?” she reminded him, and he sighed, sitting on the bench next to her and leaning up against the cold training room wall.

He could practically hear the old Cathar now. “‘Worry is just another form of fear, boy. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, blah blah darkside. Push away such petty concerns and trust in the Force and the wisdom of your elders.’ Like I’m not trying to do that already!” Glancing over to her, he asked, “Aren’t you worried?”

She stared right back, “A Jedi is above such things.” At his unamused look her icy demeanor cracked as she started to giggle, an almost musical sound. “A bit, Jorel, but it’s not like we can do anything about it. And if we aren’t picked, there’s always the Service Corps. We might not be Jedi, but would you say no to seeing what’s out there in the Exploration Corps? I could see us going to new places, meeting new people, and discovering things no Jedi has ever seen, together.”

“That sounds nice,” he agreed wistfully. “But that’s not where I’ll be going.”

She blinked, once, then smiled, interested, “Then where do you want to go? I know you, Jorel, I very much doubt you’d like to teach in the Educational Corps. You hate doing it now.”

“‘Hate is unbecoming of a Jedi’,” he parroted. Having completed his Initiate training, his instructors would only give remedial lessons, leaving the continuation of his education to his Master. With nothing else to do, he meditated, sparred, and was forced to help teach those ‘farther back on the path of the Jedi’. “I strongly dislike having to teach the younglings. Especially when they easily pick up in a day what took me a kriffing month. ‘Is that all there is to it, Initiate Drettz?’” he questioned mockingly.

She thought for a bit, before nodding, knowing exactly who he was talking about. “Right. The Miralukan boy? Oksim? He’s not that bad.” He gave her another dry look. “No, really, you just needed to smile and ask him to help the others. Tell him that he’ll learn more teaching than he does learning.”

You just needed to smile at him,” Jorel corrected. “Doesn’t help that he literally sees with the Force.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “But, if I remember right, he’s even worse at Force Control than I am. But that doesn’t matter. Why don’t you think you’ll join the Exploration Corp?” She didn’t ask about being a healer, as neither of them had gotten the knack of mending the wounds of others through the Force. While in theory it was a basic power, along with techniques such as Force Confusion, which could trick the minds of others, or Telekinesis, very few were capable of healing.

“I have been informed, by the esteemed Master Halrol, that if I do not have a Master by next year I will be joining the Agricultural Corp,” he revealed. He’d talked with the member of the Council of Reassignment last week, and it’d been eating at him ever since. He hadn’t wanted to bother Anaïs, but she’d been the one to bring it up. “It will be my place to ‘toil in the soil, to better direct my chaotic energies towards nourishing the bodies of others.’ So, can you see why I’m worried?”

She just looked at him, puzzled. “But. . . you hate working with plants. Animals, I could see, but the Agricorps doesn’t have ranches.” She looked down, mouth moving silently, as she always did when tackling a problem. Shaking her head, she continued, “He told you where you’d go? When I asked, I was just told they didn’t make decisions until they needed to, and to trust in the will of the Force.”

Now it was Jorel’s turn to be confused. “Wait, you asked to be reassigned? Why?” He knew he wasn’t the best Jedi; it’d taken him four tries to get through his Initiate trials, but she’d finished them on her first go. As much as he complained about Oksim, Anaïs had been just as good at that age, though less smug about it. While he could best her in a duel, Jorel had no problem admitting that combat was the only field where he bested her.

She shrugged, looking out over the small sparring area. “I’m the last member of my clan left, and I’m seventeen,” she said simply, echoing his earlier complaints. “It only makes sense that my fate is not to be a Jedi. The will of the Force seemed clear. I’ve been a potential Padawan for longer than you have, Jorel,” she pointed out, without malice, just quiet acceptance.

He wanted to say something to that, but the words wouldn’t come. Words that weren’t more than empty platitudes, the kind that he’d told himself over and over again, each repetition feeling more hollow than the last. “We’ve got a year,” he finally announced. She looked at him, confused, and he repeated, “We’ve got a year. I looked it up in the archives. The Order has an age for every species where they’re ‘involuntarily reassigned’. If we were Twi’lek, it’d be sixteen. If we were Herglic, it’d be twenty. Heck, if we were Hutts we’d have until we’re seventy!”

That got a laugh out of her. “But then we’d be Hutts,” she observed. “Are there even any Jedi Hutts?”

“One. Knight Beldorion, assumed lost when he and Knight Taselda investigated something in the Outer Rim a couple centuries ago, never to return. I looked it up when I saw there was an age for Hutts,” Jorel admitted. “Turns out they made the cutoff age for Hutts because of him. So, there’s that. We’ve got a year. Who knows what the Force will bring us until then.” He knew what the Force was going to bring him, and it likely involved tubers, but he was just as sure she wouldn’t share his dirt-filled destiny.

As if summoned by his words, the door opened, revealing a youngling. “Initiate Vand-Ryssa?” the small boy asked.

Anaïs nodded, getting up, face placid and tone polite. “Yes, little one, that is I. What do you require?”

“You’ve been called to mediation room F-12,” the child informed her. “Master Er’izma wishes to speak with you.”

Jorel had to bite back bitter laughter. He recognized the name, having hoped that the Knight who’d summoned the closest thing he had to a friend might be the one who’d come choose Jorel as his Padawan, to show that the Initiate was worthy of being a Jedi, no matter what his instructors liked to hint at. It seemed he’d been correct in his statements, like a Jedi Seer, both in his statements out loud and in his thoughts to himself. However, he couldn’t find it in his heart to be jealous of Ana, like he’d been of his own clan, who’d left without a word of goodbye.

“Do you know where I can find Initiate Drettz?” the youngling continued. Wordlessly, Anaïs pointed to her left. “Ah, thank you. Initiate Drettz, you’ve been called to meditation room F-12,” the child repeated. “Master Er’izma wishes to speak with you as well.”

<SWPP>​

Jorel didn’t think he’d ever used a refresher so quickly in his life, having changed out of his sweaty clothing and cleaned himself so fast his hair was still damp. He’d hesitated, though, and waited for Anaïs. Some part of him wanted to rush ahead, to get there first and make a good impression, but that wouldn’t be fair to her.

He didn’t have to wait long, as she ran out so fast she almost hit him, grinning as she spotted him, though she schooled her features and forced herself into a calm-purposeful stride which he matched. “You seemed to recognize the name?” she asked quietly.

“I was looking into Knights and Masters that took pe-Padawans,” he told her, almost saying ‘people like me’. “Knight Er’izma has a pattern. He takes a Padawan, and leaves for the Rim. Five years later, he returns, and they pass their Knighthood Trials. Always. Two years after that he takes another Padawan, without fail.”

She glanced over at him, not breaking stride. “For how long?”

“Just under three centuries.”

That did cause her to misstep, though she recovered quickly. “Race?”

Jorel shrugged. “His record said ‘near-human’. His last padawan, Knight Aures, passed her Trials two years ago. You’re saying you didn’t look him up?”

“There are nearly ten-thousand Jedi Knights and Masters,” she defended. “I was looking into other areas of knowledge.”

He couldn’t help himself. “Like Force Control.”

“Like Force Control,” she agreed, shooting him an amused look. “Not enough time, apparently.”

Jorel racked his brain, trying to think of the details that might help her. “He tends to pick Padawans that others have overlooked.” That was more true for him than her, but given that she, somehow, hadn’t found a Master yet, she might fall into this Knight’s patterns.

“He’s classified as a Consular, so he prefers using the Force to a saber, and was listed as a Diplomat, so likely prefers a peaceful approach,” he advised. That alone had dropped this particular Knight down the list of potential masters for Jorel, though the Knights he made his Padawans into had no particular bent. Normally Consulars produced Consulars, and Guardians produced Guardians, so Jorel had hoped, with his own Guardian leanings, he’d still be chosen. “A lot of his file is restricted, but there was something about a Senate ruling that he had to come to Coruscant with no more than five others, which didn’t make a ton of sense.”

He shrugged at her inquisitive look, not having tracked the source of that note down, as this Knight had been one of over five dozen that might’ve chosen him, so he hadn’t gone more in-depth than that. Wish the Force had given me a hint, he thought darkly. He could use the ability known as Force Sense in battle, predicting the moves of his opponent an instant before they happened, but the feelings about the future that other Jedi received from time to time through Farsight had never come to him.

Before they could say more, they were at the door, one of a long row down the hallway. Pausing, the two Initiates looked over themselves. Jorel straightened his tunic, while Anaïs flattened out her pants. Noticing her hair sticking oddly, he reached over and straightened out her ponytail, getting a quick smile of thanks in return.

They both took deep breaths, calming their Presence in the Force, though he wondered if they were at the right door, as the aura on the other side seemed faint, more like a Padawan than a centuries-old Knight.

Stepping forward together, the door opened to reveal a darkened room. A figure stood at the far end, medium height, but broad shouldered, his back to them as he watched the sun setting over Coruscant’s endless city. Shadows stretched across the space, oddly thick, only the center area a pool of orange light.

Jorel hesitated, but Anaïs strode in without pause. He joined her in the center of the space, and they both stood, the cushions that served as seats all pushed against one wall. Even from behind, the man, Knight Er’izma presumably, did not wear a Jedi’s robes. While his shirt was the same brown, contrasting with his light brown skin, the material was finer, almost shiny. If it weren’t for the small handle of the shoto blade clipped to the man’s tunic, he wouldn’t look like a Jedi at all.

Turning to face the pair, the man’s clothing showed itself not to be a knight’s tunic, but a military uniform, with small smattering of medals on his breast. Before Jorel could ask if he was actually talking to the right person, he felt a ripple in the Force and suddenly felt the Knight’s Presence.

Each Jedi had a Force Presence, each unique. Master Yoda’s was vast, yet comforting, like a gentle rainstorm that cooled you off and quenched your thirst on a hot day. Master Ti was an apex predator, strong, ferocious, but one that considered you one of its pack. Master Halrol was harder to sense, but always gave Jorel the sense of cool superiority, the hawk-bat that flew high above you, but would strike if displeased.

Jorel could sometimes get a sense off Knights, of fluidity or rigidity, of warmth or coolness, but never more than that, and the most he could sense of Padawans was that they were present, the only exception standing beside him. Anaïs’ Presence was like a crystalline fire, full of energy, and rigid, but a source of warmth when all else felt cold.

The man before him, however. . . he hadn’t mentioned it, but the records noted that, as an initiate, Er’izma barely made the cut in terms of strength in the Force. Jorel wondered what else the records got wrong about this Knight.

Looking at the man was like being stared down by a battalion, a hundred battle-hardened men looking upon you and finding you wanting. It was intimidating in a way that few others, with the exception of those like Master Ti and Master Windu, achieved. This was the man who turned out Knights like a production line? And with his Presence, he was only a Knight himself?

“Initiates,” the dark-skinned man spoke, his voice like an iron hand in a velvet glove. Seemingly gentle, but with steel underneath. “I have come to take an apprentice. That Padawan will be one of you. Tell me who you are.”

Jorel glanced towards Anaïs, who shared his confusion, even if it didn’t show on her carefully calm face, as this was not how their interviews with other potential Masters had gone, and she went first. “I am Anaïs Vand-Ryssa. I am seventeen years of age, human, my strengths lie in information gathering and investigation, and my most proficient technique is the Force Barrier.”

“I am Jorel Drettz,” he said, copying her. “I am seventeen years of age, human, my strengths lie in starship piloting and lightsaber combat, and my most proficient technique is Force Control.”

Knight Er’izma cracked a smile, his severe features softening slightly. “If I wanted that, I’d’ve read your files. Which I have,” he stated without real reprimand. “I want to know who you are. Who are Jorel and Anaïs? What are your likes, your dislikes, your hopes, your dreams? If we’re going to be spending five years together, I’d like to know going in if you love Pazaak or hate the taste of Chyntuck, which would mean there’d be more for me.” He smiled fully at the two, eyes crinkling with just the beginnings of age.

“I wish to become a Jedi Sentinel,” Anaïs offered. He could tell she was unsure, though only through long practice of being around her, her emotions tightly controlled. “I want to go out and see the universe, helping others and bringing evil to justice. I enjoy learning new techniques, but sometimes struggle with more philosophical and theoretical subjects, though through the gaining of knowledge I find greater harmony.”

Er’izma nodded at that, responding with a single word. “Noble.” The Knight’s approval was clear as day, and Jorel could see why. It was a perfect Jedi answer, even quoting Master Delmor at the end, but it left Jerol with a decision. He could try to follow suit, giving an equally Jedi answer, or he could be honest. His first answer had already been a strike against him, he was sure. Given the small sword at the Knight’s hip, obviously more of a token than a real weapon, this Jedi likely didn’t put much stalk in lightsaber combat.

With the Knight’s attention on him, the time to decide was done. “I wish to become a Jedi Guardian,” Jorel stated with confidence. “I enjoy fighting, and strongly dislike teaching.”

“And what is it that you want to do?” the Knight prompted, turning to face the Initiate directly.

With his back to the light, the Knight’s expression was inscrutable, but it didn’t matter. Jorel knew it wasn’t going to be him that was chosen, so he had no reason not to be honest. “Slavery, Master Er’izma. I want to end it.”

“Slavery is legal on quite a few planets,” the other man pointed out. He wasn’t challenging the Initiate, just pointing out the obvious flaws, like Master Yoda would. “Ryloth, Zygerria, and Hosnia all come to mind. All planets of the Republic. Are you saying their laws are. . . wrong?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, and he’d said so without even thinking. He’d stand by it though.

The Knight regarded him for a moment, off-handedly commenting, “Quite ambitious.” Jorel winced at the damning indictment. Jedi were not supposed to be ambitious, with the passion that entailed. It was a key part of the code. Well he knew he wasn’t going to be chosen, and he still had nine months to find another master.

“And you Ms. Vand-Ryssa,” the man before them asked conversationally. “Do you have any ambitions. Likely not on your friend’s scale, but the stars are the limit. What is it that you truly, deep down, wish to change about the galaxy?”

His fellow Padawan froze at the completely un-Jedi question. “I. . . I want to help people,” she reiterated.

“Yes, yes, you said that, but how?” the Knight pressed.

Anaïs hesitated, mouth working for a moment without sound. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as her Presence in the Force, which had started to churn, reformed back into crystalline hardness, flaring brightly with warmth and energy. “I want to explore. I want to help people by seeing what’s out there. I want to leave the Core, and help those who’ve never seen a Jedi in their lives. I want to find new techniques, new ideas, new technologies, and help spread them to make everyone’s lives better. Knowledge shared could help those who don’t even know they need it, because they lack the knowledge to know so.”

“There are over a trillion souls residing on this planet alone, don’t you wish to help them?” the man countered, tapping his foot to indicate the city beneath. “Do they not deserve your help?”

“There are several hundred Jedi in this building; they can help them,” she countered, waving behind her towards the rest of the Temple. “Those outside the core have none nearby to help, while those in the Undercity can just go up. Those in the Outer Rim have no such option. That’s why you work out there, isn’t it? I want to help them.”

Knight Er’izma chuckled, a deep, almost soothing sound. “I can see you did your research. It’s not just helping the needy and exploring, Padawan Vand-Ryssa, but I’m sure you’ll do a good bit of both in the years to come.”

Jorel felt the familiar sting of disappointment, having not been chosen once again, but he paid it no mind. He had a feeling this was going to happen, and he was at peace with the outcome. “Then you’ve decided,” he sighed.

Waving towards the wall, telekinetically turning on the light as the last bit of Coruscant’s star dipped below the metallic horizon, the Knight’s face was illuminated, showing a broad, relaxed grin. “That I have. My decision has been made, and for my apprentice, I have chosen Padawan Jorel Drettz. I believe I have a great deal to teach you, and likely a good bit to learn from you as well.”

Beside him, Anaïs froze, her presence oddly brittle, before she nodded slowly, turning a somewhat hurt, but honestly happy, smile his way. “Congratulations Jorel. You deserve it.”

“No!” he cried out, completely taken aback by this turn of events.

“No?” Er’izma echoed, grinning wider, before suppressing a laugh and looking upon Jorel with interest. “Why shouldn’t I take you as my Padawan learner?”

“You’re a Counselor, and, and I like to fight,” Jorel argued. It was so obvious, how did he miss it? “She’s better at Force techniques than I am. She’s got the barrier down to a Knight’s level, but she’s halfway there on three other techniques. All I’ve got is Force Control!”

The Knight who’d chosen him, wrongly, nodded, “I’m aware of what the Council has decided to classify me as, yes. And I am aware that your talents currently lie in a more physical realm. That is why you are my Padawan, to learn what you are not good at. Yet.”

“It’s okay,” Anaïs added. “He’s made his choice, and it’s our place to accept the wisdom of our elders.”

Except it wasn’t okay. “See?” Jorel asked. “She’s the better Jedi! She’d accept your teachings better than I!” He knew he shouldn’t, but he was honestly feeling angry, and he wasn’t even sure why. Wasn’t this what he wanted, after all? To be chosen as a Padawan, to show that he wasn’t being left behind, that he was worthy of his blade?

Not like this, he thought. Not at her expense. “You called her a Padawan,” he pointed out, when instead of chiding him like his teachers here in the temple would, instead of commanding him to control his emotions like they always did, like it was just that easy, the Knight before him let loose a hearty chuckle, as if this were all some sort of grand joke. “Were you lying when you called her a Padawan? Jedi aren’t supposed to lie!”

In the face of this accusation, the Knight just shook his head sadly. “A Jedi’s promise must be kept, but as such one should take careful consideration before giving one’s word, my Padawan. Whoever told you that such a thing meant a Jedi can never speak an untruth was, in fact, lying. It’s the kind of statement, so blatantly incorrect, that it can only be spoken to, and believed by, the very sheltered, and the very young. Of which you are both, both.”

“Then why did you call her Padawan?” Jorel asked, out of arguments to make or ways to demonstrate how wrong this Knight was. “With why we’re here it just seems needlessly. . . mean.”

“Because she is a Padawan, just not mine,” Er’izm responded.

Jorel stared at the other man, not comprehending. “But if not yours, then who’s? Some other Knight’s? ‘With her ability as a Jedi, someone else will obviously choose her?’” he asked, imitating Er’izma’s voice. “Is that what you’re thinking? Because no one has, for years, and she deserves it. More than I do.”

“I hope you know, you’re doing nothing but showing me how right I was to choose you,” the older man stated. “But no, I wasn’t speaking of some far-off day. Ms. Vand-Ryssa is a Padawan, but not mine.”

“Then who’s?” the newly minted Padawan asked, waving around the empty room. “She’s not your Padawan, so who will be her master.”

“I will.”

 

Chapter 2​

The voice was soft and low, but cut through the room like a vibroblade. Standing behind Knight Er’izma was a thin man who hadn’t been there a moment before. Clad in a black and grey robe, hood shadowing his face, armored chest piece peeking out from its folds, lightsaber hanging from his hip, the room seemed to darken with his very presence.

“Do not worry, youngling,” he reassured Jorel, his voice smooth like cyrene silk. “You shall not abandon your friend to the fate you fear. If she wills it, I will be her Master, and show her the very places she longs to see.”

Despite the Jedi’s words, Anaïs froze as his Force Presence washed over her like a dark tide. Her ability to sense through the Force was better than Jorel’s, but while her friend was a Loth-Wolf Pup, strong yet vulnerable, and Knight Er’izma was a Company of Soldiers, all united with purpose but with odd variations and differences between them, this man was something else entirely. The air seemed thick with a sickly-sweet, cloying darkness, the shadows cast by the light in the ceiling swirling with potential.

It brought to mind what she’d read of the Jedi’s old foe, the Sith, but something seemed to be missing. She was a bit ashamed to admit it took her a long moment to put a name to it. While she could feel the disturbances the Jedi in front of her made in the Force, and likely everyone in the Temple could, what it was lacking was emotion.

There was no hate, no fear, no rage like the records all agreed poured off the users of the Dark Side of the Force like water. There were no temptation to abandon her own control to fight, to give in to her emotions for her to resist, like the veterans of the New Sith Wars warned of. There was only a deep enshrouding darkness, with the faintest glimmer of something hiding deep inside, smothered by the black mists that surrounded the man.

The sound of a lightsaber activating brought her out of her reverie, and she glanced over to see that Jorel had taken a step forward, putting himself between her and the others. “Who are you?” he demanded, the Force running through his form, prepared for a fight.

From the two Jedi’s stances, neither of them saw the Padawan as a threat. “Master Lucian, youngling. Jedi Sentinel, and, likely, Master to Padawan Vand-Ryssa, if she’ll have me.” The man’s face was still in shadow, but the grin was evident in his voice.

“I’ve never heard of you,” the Padawan replied, not backing down. He glanced at her when she put a hand on his shoulder. She appreciated his defense of her well-being, but she felt it wasn’t necessary. He shot her a worried look, but she shook her head, and he deactivated his blade, stepping back.

Anaïs turned to face the Master, and requested, politely, “Please forgive Jorel’s actions, Master Lucian, but your Presence in the Force is. . . distressingly similar to those fallen to the Dark Side, though you lack the more. . . emotional elements.” She chose her words carefully, as accusing a Jedi of Falling was not something done without proof.

Instead of taking offense, the man flipped back his hood, revealing a young, human-looking face, pale skin, pointed ears, a wry smile, and deep purple eyes. Not replying to her, he looked to Er’izma while waving towards her, as if she was the answer to a long-standing argument.

“I never said you were wrong, only that you must be careful, Master,” the larger man pointed out, “Only that you should be sure.”

“And I am,” the other Jedi countered easily, turning back to her. “So, Anaïs Vand-Ryssa, Temple Initiate, do you take myself, Jedi Master Lucian, as your Master, until you pass your Knighthood Trials?” His tone was oddly formal, as if they were standing in front of the High Council. His swirling Presence stilled, the darkness reaching out towards her, but stopping short, as if waiting.

“I, I get a choice?” she asked. That wasn’t how this worked. As far as she was aware, this wasn’t how any of this worked. A Jedi would meet an Initiate, talk with them, perhaps see their prowess in the Force, and after a few days would take them as their Padawan, or they’d leave without saying a word. For this Master Lucian to approach her, in secret, seemed to fly in the face of the Order’s protocols, though she couldn’t think of a rule that forbade it. Jedi took Padawans in the field without approval from the High Council, from time to time, and there was nothing that stated that the Jedi Temple itself was exempt from that.

The grey-clad Jedi nodded, tone kind, as if her question was silly, but understandable. “Of course you do. This is not a small decision, nor one you should not make lightly. Jedi do not go back on their promises, and, though we do not name it as such, the bond between Master and Padawan is a promise. One of learning, guidance, and protection.”

It was Knight Er’izma’s nod of agreement that forced her to point out, “But Jorel didn’t get a choice.”

“Yes, he did,” the dark-skinned human countered. “He could choose to accept me, or to reject me. What he could not do was force me to take you as a Padawan. Jorel, do you still not wish to be my Padawan?”

The young man in question looked unsure, glancing towards her. She nodded, telling him without words that she’d be alright. He sighed, hanging his head slightly, “No, I’m okay with it.”

“Only okay?” his Master asked, amused. “I see I have my work cut out for me. And you, young lady. Do you wish to be this man’s Padawan?”

She looked at Lucian, who barely seemed ten years her senior, and closed her eyes, trying to feel the will of the Force. If she ever needed guidance, it was now. She’d struggled with the technique, only ever receiving the slightest hints after deep meditation. She could feel the Presence of the man before her, the darkness he exuded almost churning the Force around him. While odd, almost distressing when compared with the calm state the Force naturally rested in, she could make out something through it. The impressions were quickly covered once again, never a complete picture, but flashes of. . . something.

She saw hints pain, and evil, and the Dark Side if she went with him, but also of peace, and hope, and of Light. If she didn’t, the same picture presented itself, only dimmed, the contrast lowered, the darks lighter, but the lights darker as well.

It was no obvious ‘go here’ or ‘do this’ as the Masters spoke of when they claimed to hear the Will of the Force, but it was something. There was no correct choice here, no way the Force directed her to go, only two paths, one of extremes, and one of safety, both balanced, in their own ways. The decision was not clear, but she would make it, and face the consequences with her head held high.

“I do,” she stated with a confidence she didn’t feel, opening her eyes and meeting her Master’s. “I do wish to become your Padawan.”

At her words, the darkness roiled as it burst forward, covering her as the shadows poured over her own presence in the Force. But, rather than drowning her, they seemed to wrap around her own Presence protectively, stilling and thickening in places, a glint of something else passing through its umbral depths, something warm, but resolute. Pulling away, the shadows receding back from where they came. a small amount remained, a thin line of shining darkness leading back to their source, though the Presence no longer felt dangerous, but comforting, like the safety of one’s unlit room after a trying day.

Blinking, she looked at Jorel, who stared back, concerned and more than a little worried. She felt a breeze, and realized the windows of the room had broken, only a few clear shards remaining. Knight Er’izma coughed politely, commenting, “Master, I believe your control slipped a little.”

From one moment to the next, Lucian’s force Presence disappeared, as if it was never there. It was only her connection to him that let her feel his Presence in the Force at all, and that Presence felt. . . embarrassed? “Ah, yes. Well, I believe it’s time to leave then. Wouldn’t want any more. . .” he trailed off.

“Misunderstandings?” the Knight supplied, dryly.

“Indeed,” her Master agreed, quickly changing topics. “Do either of you two have any friends you need to say goodbye to, personal effects to gather, things of that nature?”

“A Jedi must be above attachments to physical objects,” she replied. It was hard, at times, but such connections only served to tie one down and allow emotions a hold over a Force user. Looking at her friend, who was suddenly looking anywhere but her, she sighed. “Jorel.”

“Meet us at the entrance in five minutes, Padawan,” Knight Er’izma instructed. “Move like the wind, I have a feeling we won’t be allowed to tarry long.”

The young man took off like a shot, barely waiting for the doors to open as he ran with Force-gifted speed.

The Knight started to walk out, motioning for her to follow, her Master falling in step with him. “Do I know how to pick ‘em?” the larger man asked, with a casualness he hadn’t displayed before.

“You certainly have enough practice,” the younger-looking Jedi replied caustically, though she could feel the words were meant in jest.

A feeling affirmed as the Knight laughed with easy confidence, “That I do.”

They’d made it almost down the hall when the sound of several pairs of pounding footsteps came from around the corner. Slowing to a stop, the three waited as none other than Master Halrol, flanked by two temple guards, rounded the bend in the hallway, only to stop as they looked upon the other three.

The Jedi Master, and member of the Council of Reassignment, stared at her for a long moment, before glaring at Knight Er’izma. “What are you doing here?” he demanded coolly.

In response, the Knight just smiled, though it had an edge to it. “I’m taking a Padawan, of course. I know, my chaotic schedule can cause problems. I will seek to be more regular in the future, Master Jedi.”

Master Halrol’s scowl deepened, “Initiate Vand-Ryssa has been spoken for.”

Knight Er’izma looked around the hallway. “By whom? I wasn’t aware she had a Master when I arrived.”

“Master Skaa has selected her as his Padawan, Knight,” the councilman stated coldly. “He has for half a year, and will be here for her in three months’ time. Pick another.”

Anaïs had to work hard to keep her expression neutral, staying quiet even as she tried hard not to feel upset. She’d asked Master Halrol a month ago, and he said to ‘Trust in the Will of the Force.’ She’d thought he had some insight and was guiding her to find it for herself, not that the Jedi Master had known the date her ‘master’ would come, but he’d decided to not tell her, for some reason.

She felt amusement, and understanding, from her Master, and looked over to ask him what he thought was so funny, only to find he wasn’t there. She could feel he was nearby, but his Presence was nonexistent, and she couldn’t see him. Trying to focus on him as the Knight and Master before her argued about her as if she wasn’t there. She could follow his Presence to. . . Master Halrol?

Looking at him, she could almost see a ripple behind the three, only for her Master to silently slip out of a shadow that wasn’t there. Looking at her, and raising a single finger to his lips, he reached down and turned the intensity of Master Harlol’s lightsaber down to training levels, doing the same to both guards as well, before taking a silent step back and leaning against the wall.

“So, let me see if I understand this completely,” Knight Er’izma said, with a tone of dawning understanding, bereft of any negative emotion. “You are saying that Padawan Anaïs Rand-Vyssa is in fact an Initiate, but one who another Master has said he is going to take on as a Padawan, but she isn’t one now, and while there’s no rule that says one can claim an Initiate in advance, you state that Master Skaa has achieved this feat, somehow, and despite her currently being an Initiate I cannot take her as a Padawan, despite that being how the system explicitly works, and has since the Ruusan Reformations?”

Anaïs could practically see the vein throbbing on Master Halrol’s temple. She’d never seen the normally cold and superior Jedi so unbalanced, and she didn’t know how to take it. “I’m glad you finally understand why you cannot take Initate Vand-Ryssa as your Padawan, Knight. If you are looking for someone more your. . . caliber, I have some suggestions.”

Knight Er’izma smiled beatifically. “No need, I’ve already taken a Padawan. Come along Padawan,” he called, turning his back on the councilman, and she moved to follow.

“Knight Er’izma. I command you to stop,” Master Halrol ordered. When the Knight turned to look at him, he spat out, “You cannot take her as your Padawan.”

The other man blinked, looking to her and the Councilor member. “What? Oh, you thought I was taking her? Oh, this entire conversation makes so much more sense now. Why didn’t you say so?” he asked with perfect honesty.

Anaïs looked at the man, as did the others, while her Master just shook his head. Knight Er’izma had told Master Harlol he was taking her as his Padawan, hadn’t he? While her real Master effectively disarmed the temple guards. Or had he?

“No, I’ve taken Jorel Drettz as my Padawan. He’s meeting us outside. No, another Master has taken Padawan Vand-Ryssa as his own, which is why I was so confused about your statements about Master Skaa, as she already has a Master,” The man explained, with the air of someone who has found the last piece of a puzzle. “We’re all four leaving together.”

“She has no master other than Lanchu Skaa!” Halrol practically yelled. “She has been chosen, and that is the end of things. As a Master of the Order, I command you, Knight, to leave here, without her!”

If the Knight was bothered by this, he didn’t show it, his expression, body language, and presence in the Force only displaying unmoved solemnity. “No, I’m fairly certain she has a different master. They’ve formed a Padawan Bond and everything. You can confirm its Presence in the Force, if you doubt the word of a lowly Knight such as myself.”

With a withering look to Knight Er’izma, Master Halrol stepped forward, coming right up to her. Staring at her, almost through her, she could feel his Presence, quick and sharp, reach out to her, only to draw back as it brushed against the shadows that drifted protectively around her. His look darkened, a snarl twisting across his face as he turned, staring at Master Lucian. “You!” he accused, as if it were a curse.

Her Master just waved one gloved hand, still leaning against the wall. “Hi Hally. How ya doin’?

“Seize him!” Halrol commanded the guards, who activated their yellow double-bladed lightsabers.

Lucian loosed his control of his aura, allowing it to lightly billow outwards in the Force, causing the guards to tighten their grips even though the Master only seemed as strong as a Knight now, most of his Presence still concealed. Reaching out with one hand, he gently pushed the blade away with a slight sizzling sound, the guards frozen in shock. “I have broken no laws, violated no strictures, Jedi Master Halron. I have found a Padawan and, following the Orders of the High Council, I am not remaining here for more than a few hours. I haven’t even been here for one. I hope you’ve learned the rules since the last time we met, so you know that once a Force Bond has been created between Master and Apprentice, the Force has decided the matter.”

Halron’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to grab his own saber, but he replied with words instead of action. “It’s some Sith trick. Force Bonds can be severed, if the need is great enough.” At that, the guards hesitated, before stepping away from her Master. “What are you doing?” the councilman demanded.

Her Master grinned, pushing himself off the wall, and walking towards them. “Those called as Temple Guards know the rules, Hally, in a way that you haven’t in the fifty years I’ve been gone, for they respect their position. And you still have that anger problem. How did you ever become a Master?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry though, with any luck it’ll be five years, or more, before I darken your doorstep with my presence again.”

“She can’t leave!” Master Halrol stated with authority as the other man approached. “She is to apprentice to Master Skaa, who is of good standing, unlike yourself.”

Something the councilman said struck a chord with her Master, though he gave no outward appearance of the sudden spike of cold anger that lanced through him. Despite what she could feel, however, his detectable Presence in the Force remained undisturbed. Stepping past the other Master, not looking at him, Lucian stopped. “And people wonder why I haven’t returned, if this is what the standards for the Order’s Masters are nowadays,” he stated, voice precise. “Grandmaster Coven, may she find peace in the Force, declared my status, youngling, and Grandmaster Yoda, Doctrinal Jumping Bean that he is, would not be so petty as to revoke it without cause. I will be taking my Padawan and leaving without any more interference. If you wish to attempt to strike me down in full view of the Temple Guards, I’m sure the Order would be better off without you.”

Without another word, he walked down the hall, the other two following.

<SWPP>​

They reached the entrance, Jorel waiting for them, not having said another word the entire way. “There you are,” the young man greeted. “I was here on time, but I thought you might’ve left without me.” It was said as a joke, but Anaïs could tell it wasn’t.

“Sorry,” she apologized, “We were held up because of me.” Both her and Jorel’s Masters didn’t break stride, walking past them, and the two Padawans fell into step behind them.

“Not because of you,” Knight Er’izma commented over his shoulder. “Because of Temple politics, which is like interstellar politics, only everyone is even more sure of their own moral superiority. Don’t worry,” he continued, at Jorel’s pained grimace, “You’ll learn how to navigate it soon enough. Now,” he said as they approached the waiting airspeeder. “Who wants to drive, because it won’t be me. Apprentice, you said you were a deft pilot.”

“In space, sir,” the young man corrected. “It’s a lot harder to run into things in space. But I-”

Without a word, Lucian lightly leapt, landing in the pilot’s chair. “You just wanted a chauffeur, as usual,” he grumbled. “Have you ever learned to drive?”

With gravitas and grace, the other man took the other front seat. “If I have, I surely wouldn’t tell you, Master. Come along,” he instructed the Padawans. “He rarely wrecks his speeders.”

“It was one time,” the Master Jedi groused, “and I was drugged.”

“Sleheyron,” the Knight corrected.

“He hit me, doesn’t count,” the Master riposted.

“Mandalore.”

Lucian huffed, “Who doesn’t crash at least one speeder on Mandalore?” He glanced at the two, increasingly hesitant, Padawans. “We’re sticking to the top hundred levels of Coruscant, we haven’t announced our presence, and the Temple was our only stop. We’ll be fine.”

After getting inside, Lucian waited until they buckled up before taking off. She expected, from everything she’d seen so far, for him to drive using the Force as his guide, weaving in and out of traffic as fast as the speeder would go. Instead, he joined the orderly flow of traffic, moving at a moderate pace. As if in response to her curiosity, Lucian explained, “We do not have attention, nor do we want it. If you truly wish to be a Sentinel, you must learn how to go undetected, even without the Force. Talk with your friend, Apprentice. It may very well be months, if not years, before you see each other again in person.”

She sat back in her seat, trying to think of what to say. She’d spent several hours a day with Jorel. Training, learning, meditating. With everything that had just happened, it still didn’t feel real, though she could sense the Jedi Temple getting further and further away from her. She’d left the Temple before, as all Initiates did, to get the kyber crystal that she would make into her lightsaber, and on occasional trips to familiarize herself with the rest of the world, but since she was three she’d lived in the Temple, and now she was leaving it for, if her Master was to be believed, five years. Close to a third of her life so far would pass before she returned. What did someone say to that?

“You said there was a problem leaving?” Jorel asked, and she smiled, thankful for the distraction.

“We ran into Master Halrol,” she told him. “Apparently he has a history with our Masters.” Glancing to the pair in question, they were having a whispered conversation, lost to the sound of the speeder’s engine and the wind which was whipping through their hair. “Remember how I said he told me not to worry about Reassignment? How it was up to the ‘Will of the Force?’”

Her fellow Padawan’s expression hardened. “Don’t tell me, he tried to reassign you on the spot?”

“I wish,” she muttered, getting a concerned look. “Apparently Master Skaa had determined I was to be his Padawan, but no one had seen fit to inform me,” she explained. “He was set to arrive in three months and ‘claim’ me.”

Shooting a glance towards their Masters himself, Jorel replied, “I see what Er’izma said about Jedi’s lying. Though if you asked, I’m sure he’d say that he wasn’t lying, that this Master Skaa coming is the ‘Will of the Force’, so he was only telling the truth.” Her friend had never had the best opinion of some of their instructors, but she’d dismissed his complaints as general, undirected grumbling. She wondered what else she’d missed, sure that the Jedi would always follow their own rules, the very same rules she was expected to follow without question.

Lapsing into silence once again, she tried to find something to say. “Apparently my Master is just as old as yours,” she finally commented. “He knew Grandmaster Fae Coven. Said she said that he was okay, even with his. . . you know.”

Jorel nodded, understanding completely about her new Master’s Presence. Their car dipped, heading towards a large set of hangers, several holding corvettes. Leaning forward, he asked the Masters, “Are we taking a Consular-class cruiser?”

“No, Padawan. We’ll be parting ways with them when we land,” Knight Er’izma called back.

They were on a slow approach towards a large hanger, in which only rested a single shuttle, far to the back, most of the space completely empty. She could barely make out two white armored figures with purple accents standing at an open boarding ramp.

She turned to her fellow Padawan, her friend, and tried to say something, the words not coming. “I. . . I. . .”

“I’ll miss you,” he said for her, and she nodded, feeling an upswell of emotion she hadn’t expected, nor was she ready for. She shouldn’t have such connections, for the emotions they created were not befitting a Jed-

“It’s fine to miss your friend,” her Master told her, likely knowing what she was feeling through their Padawan Bond. She’d studied them, and, while they could rarely convey hard information, they were always empathetic connections.

Landing, all four disembarked, the speeder flying on autopilot back into the city. “That shuttle is ours,” Knight Er’izma stated, giving her Master a significant look.

With a small smile that bordered on smug, Master Lucian waved his hand, the air in the shuttle seeming to ripple and shift. Appearing out of thin air, easily a hundred meters long, a corvette shimmered into existence. The entire thing was painted the deep red that signified diplomatic immunity, the same as a Consular-class cruiser, though unlike that Jedi ship it seemed to be built in straight lines, lacking any kind of curves whatsoever.

With another wave, a docking ramp opened, and Master Lucian started to head for it. “You can say your goodbyes. We’ve got a few minutes for everything to warm up, and I’m blocking in his Master, so he’s not going anywhere. Once we clear Coruscanti space, your real training will begin,” he called over his shoulder. “Then we’ll see exactly how well your time in the Temple has prepared you for the rest of universe.”

 

Chapter 3
​

“Are you sure she’ll be okay?” Jorel asked, as their theta-class shuttle lost sight of the corvette, the craft seeming to vanish into the darkness of space. He’d stood in the doorway of the cockpit, watching the other ship as his Master’s shuttle, and wasn’t that an odd thought, had followed them up and off the surface.

“I’m sure there’s some airspace controller cursing her Master’s name, but that’s nothing new,” Er’izma commented blandly. “Lieutenant Bakar, is our course plotted?”

The humanoid in full white armor nodded, a feminine voice coming from her helmet, “Affirmative Sir. Estimated flight time to Anaxes, eight hours. Shall I make the jump?” At his Master’s nod, the woman tapped a few keys, the shuttle spinning about to orient itself, and the stars streaked out into the shifting blue and white tunnel of Hyperspace.

She turned her chair around, around, reaching up and popping her helmet off as the other humanoid in armor continued to monitor the sensor screens. Removing the headgear, she was revealed to be an older, olive-skinned human, who had two long burn scars stretching across her cheek, from ear to chin. “So, you’re the newest brat our commander’s picked up,” she observed, running a gauntleted hand through graying brown hair. “Bit old, aren’t ya?”

“Be nice,” Er’izma chided. “Or else I’ll assign you to show him the ropes.” The woman grimaced and turned back to her console without a word.

“Master?” Jorel asked, following the Jedi as he headed to the rear of the ship, entering a richly appointed seating area, looking more like something some feudal lord in the Outer Rim would have instead of a Jedi. “Where are we going?”

“Didn’t you hear?” his Master questioned right back. “Anaxas, the fortress world. Our ship will be waiting for us there, and should have finished its resupplying. Unless something attracts our attention, we’ll be out of the Core within two weeks, if barely.” Opening a cabinet, he pulled out two white cups, along with a steaming cylinder. “Tea?”

Accepting a cup of the hot beverage, Jorel took a seat across the table from his master. “Is it a ship like Lucian’s?”

“Master Lucian’s,” the older man corrected. “And no, it’s not quite as subtle as his. But, we’re not here to talk about our destination; we’re here to talk about you. While this is no place to demonstrate your skills, we can at least talk to pass the time. You stated that your focus lay in Force Control, and combat, but you did not mention your Mental Shields. There was no reason to ask about them before, but we must lay down your foundations clearly if we are to build you up to Knighthood. As. . . well meaning as Master Lucian was, there is a good chance that your Trials may be of. . . higher than average difficulty.”

“Master?” Jorel asked, not understanding what the older man meant. “Why?”

The Knight sighed, taking a sip of his tea, and gesturing the Padawan to do the same. It was oddly sweet, with a flavor he couldn’t place. “Because Master Halrol is many things, young one. Forgiving, understanding, or forgetting, are not among them. Connected is. Your friend was taken out from under his nose and, if I am not mistaken, lost the man no small amount of political capitol in the process.”

Jorel felt some part of himself go cold, fingers tightening on his cup. “Are you, are you saying he was selling her?”

Er’izma cocked an eyebrow, motioning with one hand upwards as he took a deep breath, lowering it as he let it out. Motioning towards Jorel, he repeated the process, like one would instruct the smallest of younglings.

His Master repeated the process twice more, pausing to take a sip each time, and was doing it once again before Jorel copied the man’s breath patterns. Thrice. Ready to say something if the Knight wanted him to try again, the man instead smiled peacefully. “Nothing so crass or crude, my Padawan. Political transactions are not financial ones, with prices, refunds, and guarantees,” he explained, with no comment about his apprentice’s resistance to his instruction, to which said apprentice was grateful. It had been childish, which had only proved his Master’s approach correct.

“No, he’ll lose prestige for having had his suggestions and insights into the. . . Force, not being accurate,” the Knight explained. “It would be just the same as if he assured a Knight or fellow Master that the High Council was going to make a certain decision, only to be completely incorrect. He does not control the High Council, of course, but his insight into what will happen has power. A power that, today, was greatly diminished.”

Taking another sip of tea, and smiling to himself, he continued, “Though nearly as great will be the reduction of sway stemming from his loss of control. Someone ‘more my caliber?’ As if I wouldn’t choose those I saw great potential in, and as if I have not been proven correct every time.” He shook his head. “Gossip travels at speeds so great it could enter Hyperspace, Padawan Jorel. I very much doubt there will be a soul in that Temple who will not have heard some version of events before the week is out, which is one of many reasons I am glad to leave that world behind for another several years.”

The explanation helped, though Jorel was still unsure of exactly what his Master meant. “So it wasn’t having Anaïs for this Master that would hurt him, but being wrong about her being there at all when Master Skaa arrives?”

His Master’s smile was wide. “Exactly. After all, Jedi are renowned for their ability to receive wisdom about the future from the Force, and one who is correct more than most would surely be more in touch with the Force than others. One might even say he was a better Jedi, if one were inclined to make those comparisons.”

“But he wasn’t understanding the Will of the Force,” Jorel argued, “he was making sure it happened!”

A shrug was given in reply. “Prove it. And even if you do, surely that means that Master Halrol’s words would have weight to them regardless of his connection to the Force, and others would surely do well to listen to that Master Jedi’s. . . wisdom. At least, before today. He’ll recover, those like him always do, but Master Lucian has done him a small injury today, just as he had fifty years ago, and it is clear that Padawan Halrol never forgave him, despite what words he must’ve mouthed to others.”

Jorel didn’t have anything to say to that, not having considered that his instructors might’ve helped the Force along. His introspective reverie was disturbed at the sound of liquid pouring, his Master replenishing both of their teas, steam rising from their cups. “But, as I said, we are not here to discuss others, but you, and your abilities. Why did you not mention your Mental Shields? They are quite impressive for one your age, and well-hidden besides. Had I not been evaluating you, and had you not been so open with Padawan Vand-Ryssa, I wouldn’t have noticed them.”

Jorel frowned at his Master. If he’d had something like that, he would’ve mentioned it, at least before he decided to wreck his chances to help Anaïs. “I’m sorry Master, but I haven’t mastered that technique. If my instructors are to be believed, the only thing I am worse at is Force Healing, and possibly Farsight.”

“Really?” the Knight asked, bemused. “In that case, eat your cup,” he instructed, his command reverberating in the air, a presence backing his words.

Jorel glanced at porcelain cup, which did not look edible, then back at his Master. “Master?”

“You heard me Padawan,” Er’izma said, still amused. “I said eat your cup, Padawan.” Once again, the command seemed to reverberate, the tension increasing in the air as the words bounced around in his skull and Jorel found himself raising his cup to his mouth, ready to bite, before, with significant force of will, he held it out at arm’s length in front of himself.

The order was ridiculous, and he would very likely hurt himself doing so, but he had the oddest feeling that he should do it regardless. Calling upon the Force himself, infusing it within his body to stop his hands from shaking, he carefully placed the cup on the table. “Master, please explain why you wish me to do so, then I will, but it seems, um, unwise to do so.”

The oppressive feeling in the air vanished, and the Knight grinned broadly. “That, my Padawan, was you displaying your Mental Shields to me.”

“I. . .” Jorel trailed off. “What did you do to me, Master?” he requested, confused and a little worried.

“Force Confusion,” the Knight shrugged.

Jorel stared at the man. He’d seen that ability, he’d used that ability, though not very well. Whatever his Master had just done was not that ability. “Master, that technique is used to confuse or persuade those of weak wills. To make yourself invisible to those without the Force.”

“Is not invisibility a command to not notice?” the Knight smiled. “And if one is proficient enough, it works on users of the Force as well, though only those without proper mental shielding.” He nodded to Jorel, who was once again feeling out of his depth. “No, I do believe you are competent at it, though if, even with it, your instructors thought you unable to use it, I can tell we’ll have a great deal of meditation practice in the future. In fact, I believe we’ll start now. From the beginning, as I’m not sure what else they have missed in their surety of their assessment of your skills. Now, with me, in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. Again, in through the nose, hold, and out through the mouth.”

As the Master Jedi ran through the basest of meditation exercises with him, as if he were a youngling fresh off the recruitment cruiser, Jorel had to admit, as demeaning as this was, this still beat farming.

<SWPP>
​

Hours later, with only a small break to eat, Jorel had to admit he’d felt calmer than he had in months. It may have been the fact that he was a Padawan at last, his worth proven as he’d apparently mastered two techniques instead of one, and he hadn’t had to abandon his friend to the fate in the Service Corps he’d feared would be his to do so. Or it was the calming tea, the several hours of deep meditation without an instructor who constantly criticized his form, and the fact that it was four in the morning to his body, which was lethargic with tiredness. He’d say it was the former, though the latter likely helped.

As the shuttle exited Hyperspace with a slight jerk, Jorel heard the door open, but did not open his eyes, continuing the exercise. Lieutenant Bakar’s voice came down the hall, “We’ve been hailed, and exchanged codes, sir. We’ll be at the Dove in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you,” he heard his Master call back, going silent once more. Continuing the meditation, the Padawan remained silent, only opening his eyes when he heard his Master sigh, getting up from his meditative stance. Matching the other man’s movements, Jorel drank the last of his tea, and asked the question that’d been at the back of his mind for several hours, though he’d been concentrating on meditating, so couldn’t ask, “Master. What would you have done if you were wrong, and I’d tried to eat my cup?”

In an instant, the aforementioned cup slipped through his fingers, floating to his master, who put the two of them away, along with the tea pot. Jorel hadn’t even had time to try to hold onto it before it was out of his grasp. “Oh.”

“Indeed,” his Master agreed, closing the cabinet and making his way to the cockpit. “Now, let’s go take a look at your new home, shall we?”

They entered the pilot’s area, Lieutenant Bakar helmeted once more. The planet stretched out below them, teal seas and purple landmasses, with smattering of bright green here and there. Ships, a great many ships, hung in orbit over it. Not as many as Coruscant, but still more than he’d expected to see on a world that wasn’t one large city. They varied in size from tiny shuttles, almost dots as they moved this way and that, to corvettes, to frigates and freight haulers. A few cruisers were present, and he could spot three ships far larger than the others hanging above the planet.

Without looking at the readings he wasn’t sure which was the biggest, but the closest one, if it was the closest one, must’ve been over six hundred meters in length, an enormous steel wedge with divots cut out on either side, and a long rectangular section missing from the front third of the center. Long purple stripes, the same color as the pilot’s armor, ran the length of the ship. Every other ship gave it a wide berth, though that might’ve been due to the fact that the larger vessel was higher up, further away from the planet than the other two capital ships, which were dwarfed by it.

“What do you know of Anaxes, Padawan?” his Master asked, breaking his train of thought.

“Um, it’s been considered a fortress world, and is known as ‘Defender of the Core’. It produces military technology, and trains Planetary Defense Officers,” Jorel rattled off, remembering his lessons. “It’s on the Perlemian Trade Route, which leads northeast out of the Core, forming the northern edge of the territory known unofficially as The Slice.”

Er’izma nodded, pleased. “Good. And if we are to come to Coruscant, or one of its neighboring systems, again, we are under Senatorial Orders to rest our ship here.”

Jorel wanted to ask about that, along with the other command from the Galactic Senate he’d found in the Knight’s file, but he realized that, instead of heading to one of the Frigates nearby, their shuttle had started to head for the nearby capital ship. The capital ship that shared the same colors as their pilots. Remaining silent, the shuttle descended down between the battleship’s prongs, banks of laser cannons at rest on either side of them, heading towards the top of two enormous hangers that laid at the end of the pseudo-trench.

They passed through the magnetic shielding, entering the bay’s atmosphere, and Jorel could spot rows upon rows of white and purple armored figures, standing in two columns, near the back. His Master sighed, “She didn’t need to.”

“Not my call, sir,” Bakar replied smugly. “Take it up with the First Officer.”

Er’izma let out another long sigh, not saying anything else. Their shuttle turned around, settling down so softly Jorel barely felt it. “Thank you Lieutenant Smalaus,” he stated, the silent armored figure nodding in reply. “Well, let’s go meet the others, Padawan.”

His Master walked out of the cockpit, and down the boarding ramp, Jorel following behind, thoroughly confused at what was going on. Did his Master work with whoever commanded this ship? Was their ship docked on this battleship? The enormous hanger bays could’ve held a ship like Anaïs’ Master had, though it would be a bit of a tight fit, but he’d seen at least three such hangers on their approach, the two in front and one to the side facing them, so there was probably a fourth on the other side as well. Was this ship going to take them to their final destination, but it would take them awhile to get there? He wasn’t sure, his Master wasn’t talking, and the Padawan didn’t know if he should ask or not.

A tall Togruta, pale blue with black markings, stood waiting for them in a dark purple military uniform, of a similar make as Er’izma’s. An older human, similarly dressed, stood off to the side. As Jorel and his master disembarked, the older man, who stood ramrod straight, yelled “Captain on deck!” and the assembled military shifted, changing their stance as one to one of high tension and attention.

Er’izma shook his head as he walked up to the Togruta, who was also standing completely straight. “You don’t need to do this every time I get back, Onaassa,” he chided lightly.

“It is right and proper to greet the Captain when he returns from central command,” the woman, Onaassa, replied, looking past the Knight to Jorel as Er’izma just shook his head once more. “And this is your Padawan? Doesn’t look like much.”

Tamping down the familiar annoyance at being dismissed, Jorel almost missed his Master’s reply of, “He put himself between his fellow Padawan and Master Lucian when he revealed himself.”

“Hmm,” the older Togruta, said, looking over Jorel once more, reevaluating him. “Then maybe we’ll make something of him yet.”

His Master laughed, and started walking down the rows of troopers, nodding to them both as he commented, “I certainly believe so. How is everyone, Major Zara?”

The woman fell in step beside him, tapping away at her datapad as Jorel, without any directions, followed after them. “Restless, as we always are when we are under the guns of Anaxes.”

“Then set course for Delle. Let’s shake the grease of the Core off our boots and return to our mission,” Er’izma instructed, passing through the hanger doors, those in the hallway beyond glancing up at him and moving out of his way. It might’ve been Jorel’s imagination, but it looked like they moved faster after the crew saw his Master. It didn’t seem to be the worried ‘please don’t pay attention to me’ that most people usually displayed when spotting Jedi, though. Jorel had seen that reaction the few times he’d been out in Coruscant proper. No, it was almost as if they had an extra spring in their step.

That wasn’t the oddest thing about this ship, other than the ship itself, he amended, not having recognized the make at all. The Jedi Temple, while cold and austere, held a certain sense of home that was hard to put into words. A unity and strength to it that could not easily be explained. This ship, in some ways, felt similar. Coruscant, meanwhile, was a chaotic mess, and shadowy, with muted flares of something here and there, but sporadic and widespread. This ship was different.

“And what of your Padawan?” the Togrutan’s voice asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. “I have several candidates to assist him into settling into his role, as experience has shown is necessary, unless he’s exceptional there as well?” At his Master’s negatory head shake, she nodded, “Then in that case I believe that he could be assigned to Second Lieutenant Tiqho'hut'varkaq, Sergeant Major Gastav, Second Lieutenant Dez’kofi, Secon-”

“Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi will be the one to show Jorel how to fit in with the crew,” the Knight observed blandly, as if noting the weather.

The Major fell silent for a long moment. “Are you sur-”

“I am.”

Jorel had to speak up, “Um, Master? Aren’t you going to be the one teaching me?” Part of him, an unpleasant part, wondered if this was why he was chosen. If this is how his Master was able to take so many Padawans, by offloading his duties onto others. It wasn’t very Jedi, but nothing about this situation seemed to fall in with what would be considered proper for a Jedi. But wait, he thought. Every Padawan his Master taught passed their Knighthood trials, so he must be doing something right.

In response to Jorel’s question, the Togrutan shot him an annoyed look, while Er’izma glanced back at his Padawan, smiling serenely, “And when it comes to the ways of the Jedi, I shall. However, do you really require my direct presence to learn how to navigate the ship’s corridors, understand our computer network, or any of the hundred other things one needs to know when living on a vessel such as this? Unless standards have risen in unexpected directions, Padawan Jorel, I very much doubt this was covered in the Temple’s training.”

Nodding to an officer who was walking towards them, an older woman in a uniform like the Togrutan’s, he added, “But now, I believe it would be best to show you to your quarters, right next to mine. Second Lieutenant Benant will show you to them. There is a great deal I must do before I may rest, but I’m sure this has been an unusual and trying day. Get some sleep, Padawan, and we’ll begin our lessons tomorrow.”

Jorel followed the woman down countless metal corridors, up lifts, and was left to his own thoughts as the officer didn’t say a word, returning to the odd feeling he’d had ever since he’d arrived. Despite the steel walls, it felt oddly warm, in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. While the power of the Force was far more muted here than in the Temple, it was still there. It hadn’t been in space, or on the streets of Coruscant, and the sense of unity here was even greater, as if to compensate for its lessened strength.

His Master’s Force Presence seemed to almost disappear into the surroundings, but had done so naturally, like a Wookie among the trees, unlike Anaïs’ master, who’s Presence had gone so suddenly and completely it was as if it wasn’t there at all. Jorel could still feel the Knight’s Presence on the ship, one brighter star in a constellation, half-hidden by the light of dawn, but it seemed almost unremarkable, one of many, instead of the bastion of strength it’d been before.

The Padawan entered his quarters, simultaneously more lavish than even those of visiting Knights in the Temple, but with a close, utilitarian feel that reminded one that they were on a ship, where space was at a premium. Two side doors were on either wall, one leading to a refresher and one to an oddly large bedroom. In the main room rested a desk, computer turned off, a meditation mat, a couch, a window to the outside, empty shelves, and more. It seemed. . . vacant, in a way the Temple hadn’t been. There, the blank spaces had been carefully constructed, the spartan decorations giving a sense of austereness reflective of the Jedi path. Here, the room seemed like it was waiting to be filled, rather than bare for the sake of bareness.

In his room, Jorel took out the small bundle of momentos, placing them on the bedside table. A bit of hull from the Crucible, damaged in the attack. The wrecked focusing lens of his first lightsaber. Bits and pieces, each with a memory, each with a lesson his old teachers had neglected. He was glad he was able to take them, as such things were, while not forbidden, ‘highly discouraged’ by the Temple instructors. Looking at the space left on that shelf alone, and the others around this room, he wondered what else he’d gather in his time on this unusual ship, and with his unusual Master.

 

Chapter 4​

Anaïs woke, still getting used to the silence. The ship she was on was so large she’d expected a small crew, three others at least, but it was only the two of them, and the low hum of the engines the only constant source of noise. As long and tall as a Consular-class cruiser, it was wide as well, providing three times the interior space, the entire ship rectangular instead of the wide base, narrow hull design of the vessels that normally carried Jedi. Instead of a full crew, however, the entire ship was built in such a way that it could be controlled just by her Master, though he did need to manipulate several sets of controls simultaneously with the Force, an impressive feat in of itself.

After the ship had jumped to Hyperspace, Master Lucian led her to the galley, made dinner for the both of them, and explained their route. They were to make their way out of the Core, stopping at a few key worlds on the way, though he hadn’t mentioned just what those key worlds were. When she’d asked about training, he’d just told her that they’d start in the morning, when she was well rested, and that she should appreciate the sleep, as it was a precious commodity in their line of work.

On that somewhat worrying note he’d shown her to the guest rooms and instructed her to claim one. He was sleeping in a completely separate area altogether, one she was instructed not to enter unless specifically ordered to. It’d taken nearly an hour of meditation to fall back to a proper level of calm and drift to sleep.

Now, after a quick trip to the refresher, she made her way to the galley, discovering her Master already there, clad in a simple tunic shirt and pants, the only deviation from normal Jedi wear being their dark grey coloration. Nodding to her, he served her an omelet, his own half-eaten. “So,” he said once she’d finished. “We need to establish a baseline. The boy said you were competent at making a Force Barrier, and close to three others. Out of the Central Six, that’s not half bad, assuming he wasn’t overestimating you.”

She hesitated, not expressing the annoyance she felt at her Knight-level skill with her best technique being called ‘competent’, but he’d used a term she didn’t know, and that needed to be addressed first. “’Central Six’, Master?”

He looked askance at her, “Yes, the Central Six. The core six Force techniques that every Jedi can learn easily, and that some level of competence in is needed in to be considered ready to be taken as a Padawan. Telekinesis,” he said, levitating his fork. “Force Barrier.” A shadowy disc appeared in the air, which the fork bounced off. “Force Sense.” His Presence billowed outward in the Force, filling the area around them before pulling back once again. “Force Control,” he stated, casually grabbing and twisting the durasteel utensil in half with one hand. “Force Confusion.” She waited for him to do something, only for the twisted fork she’d somehow forgotten about to bounce off her forehead. “And Force Healing,” he finished, grabbing the mutilated fork and impaling his bare hand with one of the tines. Pulling it out, blood started to drip, but he raised a hand, thick with darkness, over his injury. Removing it revealed only smooth flesh, with a light spattering of dark red blood. “The Central Six.”

She just blinked at the blasé display of power. He hadn’t moved other than to talk, not controlling the Force with gestures, but had displayed a casual mastery of Force techniques her own teachers would be hard pressed to match. “I, I’m not sure I can do all that, Master.”

He snorted, “I’d hope not, then I’d have very little to teach you, about the Force at least. No, when you’re done with your training, you’ll have mastered the Central Six. We’re Jedi, and Sentinels at that. With where we’re going there’s no excuse to just get ‘good enough’ with the basics. But you seemed taken aback at the naming, Padawan. What are they calling them nowadays?”

Nowadays? she thought, but answered his question. “They’re the Notable Nine. They have been for at least a century.”

Master Lucian shrugged, “That explains it. Haven’t taken an apprentice for almost two. So what have they added? I’m surprised they’ve increased the standards, from the complaining Er’izma’s done when I was fool enough to ask. Maybe it’s that the diversifying of subjects has lowered general competence?” he mused to himself, gaze distant before refocusing on her.

“Either way, that’s not what I expected, but I’m pleasantly surprised. So, what are the new three? Is one of them Animal Bonding?” he asked with a grin, suddenly interested, expression more open than she’d seen in their short time together. “I’ve never had much luck with that one, so if you have extra insight I will do my best to help. Or Plant Surge, not good with that one either. Oh, I know, Tapas! Keeping warm in cold environments is a must, and it is the first step to Pyrokinesis, if you are so inclined. That I can help you with, though I haven’t gotten the next step down as well as I’d like.”

Taken slightly aback, not having expected the cool and collected Jedi to suddenly come alive with interest she hesitated once more. His Presence, so devoid of emotion normally, was practically radiating joyful attention. Not able to understand what she’d said to cause such a change, she shook her head. “No, they’re Force Empathy, Mental Shields, and Farsight.”

Staring at her, the excitement in the air dimmed, the shadows of his Presence in the Force smoothing out once more into complete emotionlessness. “I’m not exactly familiar with those techniques,” he said slowly, and she found that hard to believe. With how inscrutable her Master was in the Force his Mental Shields must be superb. Even with her own proficiency in Force Empathy, though less than her skill with Force Barriers, the only reason she could sense his emotional state at all while in the Temple had been her Padawan Bond with the man. Whatever that just was aside, his Mental Shields were some of the strongest she’d ever seen.

“Force Empathy,” she started, “is the ability to sense the emotions of an individual or a group, useful for negotiations and helping resolve a situation without violence. While I haven’t mastered it, it is my next best technique.”

Quiet for a long moment, Master Lucian asked slowly, getting up and washing their dishes. “So what you’re saying is that you sense emotions. With the Force.” Glancing at her, she nodded, and he asked, “So how, exactly, is that not the technique known as Force Sense.”

That was a question she was able to answer easily, having asked it herself. “Force Sense is the sensing of one’s surroundings, and acting reflexively in combat scenarios. I’m not very good with that,” she admitted.

“You’ll learn,” he dismissed. “That’s an. . . interesting distinction. And, what, is ‘Farsight’ just sensing things from afar with the Force?”

She nodded happy he was understanding, and that he believed that she’d achieve mastery in something that’d completely eluded her, “As well as receiving and interpreting the visions the Force can bring someone, yes.”

Master Lucian was silent for a long moment, putting everything away. Turning back to her, he did not look pleased, though his Presence was completely calm. “I was joking.”

She felt her own happiness dim in return. “Oh. Um, well Mental Shields are used for protecting yourself from Mental attacks, even diminishing one’s Presence in the Force.”

Her Master, face blank, stared at her for a long moment. “So, the mental aspect of Force Control, essentially, along with one of the steps of Force Cloak.”

“Force Cloak?” she asked, and he disappeared from sight. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed from the doorway, reappearing. “So what you’re saying is that they took the three aspects of one discipline, and the two aspects of another, and started pretending they were all entirely different techniques. And let me guess, they don’t require base competency in all of them anymore, do they?”

“Only six,” she offered apologetically, “and I’m still trying to get a handle on healing, empowering my body with the Force, and confusing others.”

Her Master sighed deeply. “I think I understand the Little One’s complaints now. Come along, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

<SWPP>
​

“Enough for now,” Master Lucian called, and she relaxed, taking off her blindfold and weighted vest. “You’re right, you’ve got sensing to a basic level, but you need to work on your physical conditioning, both with and without the Force, though the latter will lead to the former. Take the moment to collect yourself, though you can follow me if you want.” With that, he put the training blaster down and walked out of the cargo hold, leaving her on her own.

She was soaked with sweat, her legs leaden, but she hurried after him. Arriving at the bridge as her Master took the captain’s seat, closing his eyes, as the ship came out of Hyperspace, revealing a blank field of stars in front of them. The controls worked at their stations without anyone at them, and the ship started to turn, revealing nothing but more stars. “Where are we?” she asked, more to herself.

“Deep space,” he replied absently. “We need to turn, but doing so sharply in hyperspace can be. . . difficult.”

She moved over to the sensor station, which displayed their position in space. Sitting down at it, she glanced at the older Jedi, who nodded to her, and she brought up the computer’s menus. It took a moment, but she confirmed what he said. They were in deep space, somewhere between Thokos and Velusia. Wracking her memory, she tried to remember the hyperspace routes that came through this area of space, as they seemed to be changing lanes, but the only route she knew about was the one that linked those two planets.

She wished she could ask Jorel, he had a better memory for these things than she did, but as far as she knew, none existed. There wasn’t even a hyper-space beacon, old as that technology was, to show the way. There was just nothingness in every direction. Interfacing her workstation with the navcomputer, she found that it had no record of any other hyperspace routes than the one they’d been travelling as well, though she could see a new course being entered as she watched.

The ship spun, orientated itself on the path provided, and jumped to Hyperspace once again. “Master, did we just make a blind jump?” she asked carefully, unsure. Blind jumps, if she remembered the Temple’s basic astrogation training, were nearly suicidal, as any gravity shadow could damage the hyperdrive, wrecking it and leaving them stranded in an uninhabited system, if not destroying their ship outright.

“With the Force, there is no such thing as a blind jump,” he disagreed seriously.

“Master?”

He laughed, standing up. “Don’t worry, Padawan. We didn’t make a blind jump. Just a nonstandard one.”

Getting up as well, she couldn’t help but ask, “But the navcomputer. . .”

“That old thing?” he chuckled. “I don’t bother with it. Don’t need it. Now come along, I think you’re ready for healing training.”

Not saying anything else, she followed him to a different room, one obviously set up for meditation. The way the room was furnished, it was built with a single focal point in mind, a grey cushion at the center, while another seat, seemingly out of place, sat across from it. As he’d been with her the entire time, her Master must’ve set this up while she was still asleep. He motioned for her to take the central seat, and she did, legs cramping slightly as she took a meditative pose. “So,” he asked, taking the other, “What did your teachers tell you about healing with the Force?”

She closed her eyes, recalling the instruction. “The Force can be used to heal, to knit bones and muscles, to clear poison, to renew life that has been damaged. Through its application, one can restore health and remove injuries. To do so one must clear their mind, and allow the Force to guide ones actions and restore oneself and others, as is the nature of the Force to do so.”

Her Master was silent as he considered her words. “Wow. That’s. . . absolutely useless. I mean, from a certain point of view, that’s correct, but. . . how many Padawans actually are proficient in healing, if that’s what they teach you?”

Biting back her first response of ‘I know!’ she tackled the safer issue, opening her eyes to see his frown. “One in three, maybe one if four. How would you describe healing, Master?”

“Well, first of all, I have to explain what’s wrong with the instructions. Where to start?” he asked to himself, his sharp gaze turning on her. “Padawan, what do you know about the Force?”

She blinked, not having expected such a basic question, but responded from memory: “The Force is an energy field created by all living things. It guides us, if we are willing to hear it, and helps us, if we know how to call it, and in turn we help it to protect all life.” From her Master’s expression, he didn’t particularly care for her answer, but she was sure she’d remembered it correctly. “Isn’t it?”

“The Force is a universal constant. Like gravity, or magnetism. It is what it is, independent of any person or group. It was here before we were, and it will still be here after we are all dust. It does not have a nature, per say, but responds to those who use it. We bring ourselves to it, and it reflects ourselves back at us. There is a power, and a danger, there,” he instructed, and she listened.

Whenever she’d asked before, she’d been given answers like ‘the Force is the Force’ or ‘It works because it does, because it is.’ Answers that she was supposed to accept without proof, and which she’d given the appropriate answers to. Anything deeper she was instructed to ask her future Master about, the teachers unwilling to explain, though she had found some writings in the archives, but they had been always vague, and often confusing. “So the Force runs through, and responds to, all living things?” she checked, trying to understand.

She could sense a slight irritation at her statement coming off him, though she still wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong. “Some believe that, yes,” he admitted, “but there is Force in everything. In the stars, the planets, even the void of space itself, though it is weak out here. It is through living things, though, that it is given deeper meaning, which we call the Dark and the Light sides of the Force.”

“The light side?” she asked, not having heard the term before. At Master Lucian’s stare, she hurried to explain “I was taught the Force is the Force, it is what it is,” she said, echoing his statement, “a guiding force of peace and unity. The Dark side perverts the Force for selfish ends, twisting and harming it.”

“Harming it?” he echoed, sounding as confused as she felt. “Harming it? It’s a universal constant. That’s like saying you can ‘harm gravity’ or ‘harm thermodynamics’, somehow twisting what fire is because you set off an explosion! That’s. . .” He paused, realization dawning, and he let out a long sigh. “That arrogant green zealot.”

“Master?” she asked, hoping for an explanation.

He held up a forestalling hand, looking down and to the right, and she waited. For several minutes. Finally, he nodded to himself, looking back up at her. “Alright, let’s go to the most basic of basics. The Force exists. It has no ‘Will’, any more than friction has a will of its own, but its very nature clouds that fact. It responds to the wills of its users, at the very least, and thus it is like trying to observe the movement of light in a mirror, or watching the patterns in a lake you are swimming in. Your very presence in it affects what you see, and thus it is dangerously easy to attribute to its deepest nature the patterns and goals you hold for yourself. For if one wishes to be in alignment with the Force, wouldn’t it be comforting to see in it the traits you believe are best about yourself?” he asked rhetorically.

She was trying to keep an open mind, but. . . “What you’re saying is against the Temple’s teachings,” she stated, without judgement.

“What I am saying is against the current Temple’s doctrine. While the Jedi have existed for millennia, Padawan, they have not always existed as they do now,” he countered. “And any disagreement nowadays is dealt with in a manner more befitting the cults one finds on the Rim: with complete and total rejection. ‘Know more than the elders, do you think? Wiser than them, you presume to be? Such arrogance, you display!’” he said mockingly, further confusing her.

“There are many reasons that I am not welcome in those hallowed halls,” her Master stated. “My Presence in the Force was the one that allowed the more outspoken of the time to force me to leave. Not because they could prove me wrong, but because I was, admittedly, disturbing the younglings by being that close. That, and Grandmaster Coven’s personal request, is why I left. However, my beliefs are not that uncommon among the Jedi, merely not condoned by those in power. Remember, girl, what Er’izma said: Temple politics.”

She wanted to say he was wrong, but so much had been called into question already, with what had happened as they left, that she needed to approach this logically. With calm detachment, only looking at the facts, like a true Jedi would. “But if you can prove them wrong, why haven’t you?”

His answer once more threw her thoughts into disarray. “Because I can’t.”

“What?”

Master Lucian sighed. “I point to the cloudy mirror, tell them they are seeing a reflection, but all they see is what they aspire to be, not realizing they are seeing themselves. I point to the ripples in the lake, caused by them, the Jedi near them, the Sith, and to, some extent, every living thing, though they are so weak as to not break the surface, swimming beneath but still causing slight movements, and because I cannot isolate and identify every ripple they can see, they claim the ripples are obviously caused by the lake itself.”

“As you mentioned,” he said, nodding to her, “some believe that the Force is a living thing, that it only runs through life, and that it has an intelligence of its own, though whether that’s a general instinct, a gestalt subconscious, or true sentience they cannot say, and often is something they disagree with themselves about. Then there is Temple Doctrine, where the Light Side of the Force has apparently become the ‘true’ Force, and the Dark Side is no longer a dangerous aspect to be wary of, as it exists naturally in all things, just as the Light does, but an active perversion of the Force, in no way natural, which means it must always be purposeful, and thus to be excised on sight. None can prove their beliefs conclusively, and thus all three remain, as well as countless other, smaller interpretations. It is only politics and bigotry that has apparently led to a single view dominating all others in recent times, to the point you have never heard of it. Recent-ish, for humans,” he corrected.

Anaïs didn’t respond, trying to work her way through what she was being told. She wasn’t going to say he was wrong, not anymore, not without proof, but by his own words he did not have proof either. Small bits of what she’d heard, small pieces she’d been taught that hadn’t made sense stuck out though. She’d asked the teachers about them, and their explanations had all made sense, but only when taken in a vacuum. She’d never had cause to question things further, having believed she had answers, and a firm in the belief that Jedi did not lie, but if that was a lie, as had been proven painfully true yesterday, then it was all in question once more.

If a Jedi Master was willing to lie to her face, one who held a position of respect within the Order, especially lying about the one thing he was trusted to deal with fairly, sitting on the Council of Reassignment as he did, then the Masters, Knights, and members of the EduCorp may have been lying as well. Or, more likely, honestly passing along lies they’d taken as truth, because Jedi didn’t lie.

She’d wanted to be a Sentinel for years, learning how to investigate, how to manage spies and contacts to bring things to her attention that wouldn’t make enough of a splash in the Force to be seen even with her skill with Farsight, but large enough to need to be addressed by her personally. She’d never thought to turn those skills inwards, towards the Temple itself.

Taking a deep breath, falling into a meditative state, clearing her mind of concerns, of pre-suppositions, of what she ‘knew’ was true, she looked over what she’d personally observed with serene, dispassionate logic. Of the questions she’d asked, and the answers she’d been given. Of the records she’d read in the archives, and the strange phrasing that she’d put down to the personal quirks of the Jedi that wrote them. Of the fact that there was not one view of the Force, but at least three. Of the visiting Knights she’d sought out and talked to, and their odd pauses, ones which could not be laid at the feet of her being ‘claimed’ by Master Skaa.

She arranged it all, like a grand, complex, three-dimensional puzzle. The kind the Temple had as a training tool for helping to hone logical and telekinetic skill, and stilled, the pieces fitting together far too well. With intelligence work there would always be some outliers, reflecting how every problem was but a part in the greater whole of life and the Force. However, if circumstances were within set tolerances, they were likely true, and the closer the picture became to complete, the closer to certain one could become. The picture before her fit almost perfectly, far more than things had before. It had always bothered her, on some level, but she’d always assumed it was due to her inexperience and youth, but that didn’t seem to be it all. And what the circumstances before her implied. . . no, what they proved.

Things fit together, and everything she thought she’d known shattered, the structures of her old understanding and ‘logic’ snapping like the rotten timber of lies like they’d turned out to be.

“Those kriffing duplicitous Hutt-spawn!”

Her eyes flew open, heart pounding in her ears, and looked to her Master, who had gotten a cup of tea and took a long, loud sip. “Anyone in particular?” he asked, sounding amused, and she felt her ire rise at the pleasure he was taking in her being fooled.

“All of them!” she practically yelled, springing to her feet, only to topple backwards as her Master lifted a hand, telekinetically forcing her back down.

“Breathe, Padawan,” he instructed, repressing a laugh. “As long as I’m not one of ‘them’, there’s not anything you can do about them now.”

“No!” she shot back, trying to get back to her feet. He was holding her down, just like they had, and she wouldn’t stand for it. How could she help others, if she was being misled, lied to, like she had been by those she’d trusted. The pain, the evil that she had spent all of her life preparing to stop? It hadn’t just been out in the Rim, far away from civilized space, it’d been with her all along, and she’d been too blind to see it. But she saw it now, and she’d do something about it!

Trying to match his Telekinesis with her own, but he was too strong. Just like her teachers before had been stronger in the Force than her. She’d thought such strength came from a deeper understanding of the Force itself, and had listened to them, even as they lied to her, keeping her weak. She tried to use Force Control to make her stronger, make her stand, finding it coming easier than it ever had, the Force filling her, urging her on as it recognized her cause as just, and she started to get up again, fighting past his control of her. She would make them pay for lying to her! She would not be restrain-

She felt the amusement coming off her master cool in an instant, and the force holding her down multiplied what felt like tenfold, slamming her back-first into her cushion. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, and she struggled, the edges of her vision starting to go dark. She struggled, reaching for anything, not wanting to die, but it didn’t come. As the sound started to leech out of the world, everything diming, the pressure pulled back, and she gasped, greedily sucking in lung-fulls of air.

Once she could think again, she realized he was still holding down her limbs, and was standing over her. His Presence in the Force was a dark maelstrom, spinning and roiling, with a deep sense of disappointment coming from him. She felt fear shoot through her. Was he going to kill her? He could in an instant. She hadn’t thought about it, but her Presence was miniscule compared to this dark sea of Force power, far more than she’d even seen in the Temple.

She wanted to say something as he stood over her, one hand almost lazily pointed towards her while the other hung by his side, but she didn’t know what. Her Master had no such issue. “If you act like a Sith Acolyte, I will treat you like a Sith Acolyte. Force knows I’ve killed enough of them over the years. Just because they lied to you about some things does not mean they lied to you about every thing.”

Pulse pounding, drenched in sweat, muscles aching even more than they had before, she just felt confused, unbalanced, and wrung out. “What?” The Sith had been gone for a thousand years, and she didn’t think he was old enough to fight in the New Sith Wars, but who knows, he might’ve been, but what did he mean about her acting like a Sith. . .

She paled, remembering that feeling of power in her desire to stand, suddenly about to infuse herself with the Force far more than she ever had before, but the way she felt wasn’t how someone was supposed to feel when they used Force Control. She didn’t feel revitalized, she felt exhausted, her muscles aching in a way that couldn’t be considered in any way pleasant, like someone had sanded down her nerves so all was dull, grinding pain.

“I. . . I. . .” she said, unable to form any other words.

He stared down at her, for a long moment, before he sighed, and the pressure was taken off her limbs, already bruised. He mumbled something under his breath as she tried to sit up, but found herself unable to, her body weak. Reaching down towards her, she froze, and he stopped. The coldness in his presence thawed, the Maelstrom not receding back to wherever his Presence went when he hid it, but calming to a stormy night sky, able to rage at any moment, but peaceful, for now. “If I wanted you hurt, my Padawan, I would’ve done so. But I told you, the Padawan Bond is a promise, and I do not go back on my promises.”

Even though he seemed thin, and was only slightly bigger than she was, he physically picked her up, taking his seat as he laid her down on a bed of shadows, hanging in the air. Force Barrier? she thought, but to maintain one this large, and this stable. . . and it was almost soft. . . even as good as she was with the technique, she had no idea such a thing was possible.

Holding his hands over her, they wreathed themselves in darkness, like they had when he’d healed himself. “Focus on this feeling, it’ll be a good start for your training,” he murmured to her, starting from her stomach and working his way out. Her muscles that felt almost torn, and bones that almost felt fractured, were all slowly soothed back to normal.

Was this from when he forced me down? She thought, but she’d studied injuries as she tried to learn how to heal, and failed, and what she was feeling shouldn’t have come from that. Even her eyes hurt, and that shouldn’t have happened from being pressed down onto a cushion. Additionally, something else, almost like a poison, felt like it seeped out of her and up. It seemed to try to hook into her, to latch deeply, but the shadows surrounded it and gently pried it loose, the pitch-black acid joining the umbral shroud that covered her Master’s hands, though he didn’t seem to acknowledge it.

He continued for a while, she didn’t know how long, as all she could do was lie there and trying to think what she’d just done. What was she going to do when she tried to stand up? Attack her Master? That’s what people who used the Dark Side did, right? And she’d been a Padawan for all of a day and she’d already Fallen to the Dark Side! What kind of a Jedi was she? She didn’t deserve this. She should’ve just left the Order completely. She- “Ow!” she yelped, as her Master flicked her in the forehead. “What?”

“You’re a Jedi. Just because they mislead you about the philosophy doesn’t mean the techniques are bad. You’re my Padawan, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Even if that means protecting you from yourself. Understood?” he stated calmly, with only slight annoyance, though his tone brooked no disagreement.

“Yes Master,” she agreed, quiet for a long moment as he continued to heal her. The firm footing of the Order’s Truth had been her foundation for all her life, and now she didn’t know what to trust. In her fear, in her anger, she’d lashed, out, just like the Sith of old. She didn’t want to ask, but had to, even as it tore at her to do so, the fear that nearly drowned her all but answering the question for her, “Master. . . did I. . . Fall?”

Master Lucian paused for a second before the shadows over his hands dispersed, and he started to laugh. Not the wry chuckles he given before, or even normal laughter, the Master Jedi guffawed, face scrunched in mirth as he fell backwards onto his seat, seemingly disabled with amusement. Confused, and a little insulted, she tried to sit up, but she still felt weak, though better than she had when she’d been laid down. “Master Lucian?” she asked, and the Jedi waved a placating hand, not stopping.

He eventually sat up, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, still snickering. “I’m sorry, but. . . what do you think the Dark Side of the Force is?” Seeing her still struggling to rise, he picked her up like she was a youngling, sitting her down where he’d originally sat.

She swayed a little, but stayed upright, trying to copy what she’d seen and making a Force Barrier to lean on. It wasn’t really there, and it didn’t support much weight before she started to sink through it, but it helped. “It’s. . . It’s when you use the Force for selfish reasons. When you give in to hate, and anger, and fear, and twist the Force in unnatural ways, not caring about others. But. . . but that’s not what you think, is it? That’s why you laughed.”

He nodded, invisibly bringing over a small table with tea and sandwiches that she hadn’t noticed. “I’m sorry I laughed,” he said, “but, how do I put it? You asking me that, it’s like when a youngling barely old enough to hold a training blade drops it, then looks at you and asks ‘Does this mean I can’t be a Jedi?’” He looked soulfully at her, the picture of innocent worry as his voice trembled in childish horror, before his visage cracked as he chuckled a bit more. “Absolutely adorable.”

“I might have a been a bit harsh, but yes,” he informed her, “you did tap into the Dark Side of the Force, just as almost every single Jedi that has ever existed has, at least the near-human ones. Remember how I said how the Force is, and how we give it its nature?”

She nodded, “Then, I wasn’t using Force Control?”

“Oh no, you absolutely were,” her Master disagreed. “And, with a bit of training, you might be able to use that experience to help you reach a competent level with it properly. You just used the Dark version of it, which, like almost all Dark Side techniques, is easy to use, but almost impossible to fully master. Every use of the Force I’ve seen, with some key exceptions, is neutral, with Dark and Light manifestations. Jedi can use the Dark Side, though it is dangerous to do so, and Sith can use the Light Side, though it is equally perilous, if for completely different reasons.”

“But, I was fighting you!” she argued, some part of her stung at the youngling comparison. “I was going to strike you down!”

He regarded her for a long moment, then passed her a cup of tea, “Were you now? Because all you were talking about was ‘not being held down’ and ‘making those liars pay’ before I removed that option from you.”

Reddening, she looked down. Had she said that aloud? The Dark Side was supposed to come with a loss of control, if her teachers were to be believed. “I might’ve,” she mumbled, before taking a sip. It was spiced, and sweet, but rather nice. More than she deserved.

Master Lucian chuckled, “Because that’s what Fallen Jedi do?”

She nodded, not looking at him, taking a bite of the sandwich instead. It was good too, not nearly as tasteless as the food in the Temple had been. Was she enjoying this food too much? That, too, could lead one to the Dark Side, which is why the food in the Temple had been so bland. With how close she was, maybe she shouldn’t be eati- “Ow!” She rubbed the spot on her forehead her Master flicked again, the exact same spot that he had before.

“Enjoy the food, Padawan Anaïs,” he instructed as he sat back down, she hadn’t even noticed him get close. “And don’t worry about Falling for the rest of today. Master’s orders.”

She looked incredulously at him. He couldn’t just order her to stop worrying! She’d stop if she could! She suddenly felt something click into place, and made a note to apologize to Jorel the next time she saw him, if she saw him again. With what she’d done, she wasn’t sure she could face him-

Leaning back, she missed the flick by less than an inch. “I’m trying!” she complained.

“Try not to think of Grandmaster Yoda in bright pink robes,” her Master commanded, sitting once again.

“What?” she asked, immediately doing so. Why would her Master not want her to-

“And it looks like we’ll add that ‘Mental Shields technique’ on to the list of things to work on,” he sighed. “I have no idea how they ascertain competence, but there might be a few flaws with their new method.”

At first, she felt indignation flare. While not her best technique, she had displayed enough competency to pass as one of her requirements! Then she thought about those last two statements, and what had happened, and felt something inside herself wilt a little, wondering how much of the praise she’d received as an Initiate was built on lies. “Yes Master.”

He shrugged, taking a bite from his own sandwich. “It is what it is. Now, I want you to mentally take everything you’ve learned about the ‘Force’, and I want you to stick it under the heading of ‘Light Side’. The compassion, the truth, the mercy, the love for others, all of those positive emotions are firmly on that side of the coin. But for every positive feeling, there is an opposite. Anger, fear, lies, cruelty, it all draws one towards the Dark. They are both concepts that living beings bring to the Force, and which the Force mirrors back to them in turn when they use it.”

“Whatever you put out into the Force, it returns with. Light Side and Dark Side users both believe they hear the ‘Will of the Force’, but it tells them two completely different things,” he explained, and Anaïs wondered who her Master had talked to learn this, but kept silent, taking another bite of her sandwich, trying not to enjoy it too much. “How can this be possible, if the Force itself has a Will? Some believe the two halves are separate. That the Will of the Light Side is in eternal conflict with the Will of the Dark Side. The Temple believes that they are the ones who hear the true Will of the Force, while the users of the Dark are merely deluded or lying, as is the want of Dark Side users to be and do. However, it is my belief, and the belief of others like me, that both are speaking the truth, as they see it. Can you figure out why that is, young investigatress?”

Anaïs considered the issue, accepting the challenge. She wasn’t the best at theory, preferring to work with hard realities, and this was nothing but theory, but she wouldn’t fail here. Approaching it like a crime, where you had several parties who had conflicting accounts and with the possibility that they all believed they were telling the truth, she got to work. She thought about what Master Lucian said. She hadn’t been with him long, but he didn’t speak like her teachers did, full of vague statements that she was supposed to figure out herself.

No, he seemed to talk plainly, like one would about droid maintenance or mathematics. The Force was just there, and not some grand and mystical thing. She was just missing so much information, or had so much misinformation, that she thought that multiplication meant doubling, and doubling only. His insults towards the Temple aside, not that she was currently in a position, or had the desire, to defend it, the phrase ‘as they see it.’ seemed most important.

If she focused on that, along with what she knew was true because she’d figured it out herself, in conjunction with what he’d said before about the Force reflecting emotions. . . “The Force helps them get what they want, so they hear it helping them get what they want, and think they’re hearing what the Force itself wants?” she asked unsure.

Master Lucian smiled broadly, “Exactly, my Padawan. See? I was right to choose you, unwarranted self-recrimination and all.” Even with the reminder, she still felt a small happiness bloom in her chest, just as she had at the Temple. Unlike the Temple, however, he didn’t suggest she stop asking questions.

“So, if they’re the same powers, why did I feel so bad after I used the Dark Side version of Force Control, and why did it feel good when I was using it? I don’t want to do so again,” she quickly added, “but I’d like to know.”

He shook his head, “Don’t apologize for asking questions,” he lightly chided, and she felt another thrill at being right. “I may not answer you then, but I will always try to in time. It’s because that emotionality, both Dark and Light, changes the nature of the technique. When used with calmness and clear purpose, which are emotions no matter what the Temple says, Force Control invigorates, harmonizing with the body and working with it to allow one’s physical form to work past its limits while supporting it, caring for it in a way. It is limited though, as it won’t push you past what you can handle. When used with anger and rage, Force Control forces the body to work past its limits, tearing muscle and straining bone, not caring for anything in the way of getting the job done. With one, the Force cares for you as much as you care for it, making you better for having used it. With the other, the Force is just as greedy, brutal, and uncaring as you are, taking what it wants and leaving your body damaged in its wake, like an army through farmland.”

“That said,” he added, “With greater skill, the Light Side user can use it in a near constant state, working with it so completely that they no longer need to actively use the Force for it to help them, and with their enhanced abilities, push themselves even further with time. With greater skill, the Dark Side user can force the, well, Force to do what they wish, taking back the vitality the Force would demand as payment, just as the Dark Side user themselves would demand payment for any help they give others, only to steal that from those that have helped them as well.”

She thought about this. “So, it’s alright to use the Dark Side a little, if one is willing to pay the price?” It sounded. . . wrong. Like she should be punished for even suggesting it, but with what he’d said so far, it made a certain kind of sense. If the Light and the Dark were so intertwined, wouldn’t it be better to use both? He had said that both sides could use the powers of the other, though it was dangerous. If she knew the risks, could she still be of the light, but with a little grey? She’d never considered it, but maybe she could try to-

“No.”

The seriousness and finality of the statement shocked her, almost as much as the shortness of it. For someone with as dark a presence as he had, her Master liked to talk a surprisingly large amount, but the answer was so unexpected she had to ask, “Why?”

He looked at her seriously, and as before, she could sense the shadows in the room start to stir. “Because the price is never stated, and it is always more than you’d be willing to give. Always. This is not like building a lightsaber or learning a trade, young one. The emotionality you give the Force when you use it is present in every sense. There are differences between Fallen Jedi and Sith, Padawan Anaïs, and that statement is why. When you use the Light, the Force is there to help you, just as you wish to help others. You can use it without restraint, openly and freely. When you use the Dark, the Force is there to hurt you, just as you wish to hurt others. You must use it carefully, always aware of the damage it will do. Tell me, when did you come to the Temple?”

“When I was three, Master,” she replied, still not quite getting the distinction.

He nodded, “It would be easier to understand if you were older, but I had to learn this out in the greater galaxy after I was made a Knight. Hopefully you won’t have to. A Fallen Jedi treats the Dark Side as if it were the Light, using their anger, their hatred, and their fear to fuel their actions, expecting the Force to support them. And it does, at first. However, with every favor it does for them, it takes something in return, feeling as entitled to the Jedi as the Jedi feels entitled to the Force.”

The man sighed ruefully, “It will always be small things at first, their control, their ability to sense, their positive feelings, their cherished memories, never so much as to be noticed unless they willfully drown themselves in it, but those that Fall so quickly are rarer than the Temple likely would have you believe. No, it steals small things from them, bits so minor the Fallen Jedi can appear whole, as long as no one looks too closely. Then, with time, it steals more: their health, their sanity, their ability to feel anything but that which powers the dark side, their very reasons for using the Dark in the first place. If not stopped, it leaves them gibbering, mad wrecks, incredibly powerful in the Force but denied the will or intelligence to actually do anything with the strength they’ve unknowingly traded everything for. If handled properly, those who has Fallen utterly are fairly easy to kill, and at that point it’s almost always a mercy to them to do so.”

Anaïs shivered, despite the warmth of the room and her drink. She’d regained some of her strength, but the way her Master talked, the distant look in his eyes, she didn’t think he was talking theory any longer. “And the Sith?” she asked, despite herself.

He sighed again, though with a sad smile, “Simultaneously better and worse. They go into the Dark with their eyes open, knowing they must be careful, that they cannot ‘trust in the Force’ because such a thing would be the height of stupidity, like going to the slums in fine clothing and talking about how you’ve had a great payday, but that you’re also a pacifist. They trust only their own abilities, and thus approach the Force entirely differently, taking what they want, but aware if their reach exceeds their grasp, they’re the ones who will likely lose everything, though the Force might give them what they want in exchange. Sith can be redeemed, though it is difficult to do so, and only sometimes possible, while truly Fallen Jedi, once they’ve passed a certain point, rarely can be.”

The Jedi Master shrugged, “It really depends on who they are, where they came from, and what they’ve known. For those who’ve never had kindness that wasn’t poisoned in some manner, they believe that such a thing isn’t possible. Mind you, they’re likely to try to kill you for ‘trying something so amateurishly stupid and obviously fake’ on them, so one should never let down their guard, but it is possible.” He smiled wistfully, absently touching his forearm.

“But,” he finished, looking directly at her, “that is why one does not cross-dabble. The two sides, Dark and Light, are both aspects of the Force, yes, but one cannot stand on water, nor swim in land, and approaching the two sides as if they are the other has disastrous results.”

“Can, can one learn to switch between the two?” she asked. He shook his head. “Why?”

“Your friend, Jorel, he is a better duelist than you, correct?” he asked instead. She nodded, not ashamed of that fact in the slightest. He worked hard at it, and was naturally talented. “And when you fight, do you ever consider using your barriers to fill his mouth, so he can no longer breath? Or, when he twists around, turn up your lightsaber’s intensity to slice through the floor, using the surprise to move forward and, I don’t know, take off a hand?”

“What? No! Why would I do that?” she demanded, repulsed by the very concept. “That would, why?”

Her Master shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “To win, of course,” he scoffed dismissively, tone suddenly cruel. “To prove you’re better than him. The fact that it’ll be a permanent reminder makes it even better. He can get a new robot hand, or something, and every time he looks at it, every time he’s denied a true sense of touch because of it, he’ll know that. You. Are. Better.” She just stared at him, trying to think of what kind of person would do such a thing, what her Master was saying completely contrary to everything he’d said before, so much so that she thought she understood where he was going with this.

“That’s how Sith think?” she asked, horrified.

Master Lucian nodded, malicious sneer dropping from his face and returning to normal, and asked, “So, do you think you can switch between the two? That you ever could?” She shook her head. “So, you see why you can’t ‘dip into’ the Dark Side?” she nodded. “Good. The only time the Dark Side is better is in sheer destructive power or if you want to do something very unnatural. For the latter, chances are it’s not worth it,” he sighed, shaking his head, before the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “For the former, that’s why Merr-Sonn Munitions developed the thermal detonator. Now, let’s work on your Force Healing, okay?”

“What’s the Dark Side version?” Anaïs couldn’t help but query.

Her Master looked at her, before shaking his head and smiling a little. “Force Drain, and while I like you, Padawan, I’m not willing to let you painfully suck out my life force to heal some sore muscles. I’m sure you can understand.”

Nodding, and cracking a bit of a smile in return, she followed her Master’s instructions as their ship continued its journey through Hyperspace.

 

Chapter 5
​

Jorel woke, incredibly comfortable. Checking the display next to his bed, he saw it was still incredibly early, his body rousing itself at the same pre-dawn hour that he’d had to get up at for years. With no time given to him that he needed to be ready to start training from his Master he turned over, and promptly fell back to sleep.

Waking again, still early according to the chrono, but not quite as bad, he blearily moved to roll out of bed, to do his morning calisthenics, only to find more bed there. Laying facedown on the absurdly smooth sheets, his brain caught up with his body, and he remembered where he was. Sitting up, he scooted out of his bed, to the oddly warm steel floor. Moving through his normal exercise set, the space in his room large enough to allow him to do so, he cleared his mind as he let the Force run through him. Doing so always helped wake him up, though he’d had to always do so in private. At the Temple they’d insisted he sit still if he were to calm his Presence in the Force, but this moving meditation was something he’d started doing years ago, and it centered him.

Finishing, he moved through his private quarters to the refresher. His own, private refresher. Figuring out the shower, he made another amazing discovery. Temperature control. Showers in the Temple were communal, a Jedi having no need for such luxuries, and the water in their ‘freshers was on an on/off switch. It was warm-ish, and it came out slowly. Enough to get wet, to wash away sweat and soap, but that was all.

This shower could be as warm, or as cold, as he wanted, and he luxuriated underneath it. Worth becoming a Padawan for this alone, he thought to himself, taking his time. When he’d finally had enough, he grabbed the towel hanging off to the side, and dried off. Naked, he moved back through his main room, nodding to the woman at his desk, and returned to his bedroom.

Wait.

Slowly, he stuck his head back through the doorway, and looked back at his desk. A blue-skinned, red-eyed woman in the same deep purple uniform that everyone wore stared right back at him. Racking his memory, he had no idea what race she was. Other than the odd coloring, she might as well be human, with no visible differences like antennae, horns, or head-tails. “Um, hello?” he asked, vividly aware of his naked state. “Can I help you? Also, what are you doing in my room?”

“Jorel Drettz?” she asked instead, her voice clipped.

“Yes?” he replied, still confused.

From her cold look, she wasn’t impressed. “Are you? You don’t seem sure.”

“I am,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. Looking back, he found his clothing was gone, a brown uniform folded on his made bed. “This for me?” he asked.

“No, it’s for the other Padawan the Commander’s taken on,” the woman informed him, her unamused voice drifting through the doorway.

Picking it up, it was the same smooth material as Master Er’izma’s, only instead of what he assumed was the rank tab there was a woven winged saber with a starburst hilt, the symbol of the Jedi Order. “Well, tell him I’m borrowing his clothing,” he shot back, taking a moment to figure it all out.

Unlike his old initiate tunic, which was made of rough but strong fabrics - the discomfort one felt wearing it supposed to help one focus - this was light, and slid over him easily. More than that, it didn’t tug here and there like his old clothing had. Moving back and forth, it shifted with him, and it almost felt like he was barely wearing anything at all. Jumping forward into a handstand, he sprung back up, completing the flip, and landing with a slight clack from his new boots without issue.

Attaching his lightsaber to the side clip of the provided belt, he stepped back out into the main room. “So, do the doors not lock here, or. . .”

“I have access. I need to have it to do my job,” the alien woman stated, standing up. She was a half a head shorter than he was, but stood overly straight, just as the others on this ship had. As with most aliens, it was sometimes hard to determine age; she could be younger than him, or she could be old enough to be his grandmother, he’d only know when he looked up her race. Rather than say something to make the situation more awkward, he just gave her an inquisitive look, and she explained, “Showing you around.”

“Oh, you must be. . .” he trailed off. He remembered most of it, but long experience had told him that most of a name wasn’t good enough. “I’m fairly sure I’m going to absolutely butcher your name, Sergeant, so I’m not gonna even try.”

She walked right up to him, staring him in the eye. “Try,” she challenged.

Well, he thought, she literally asked. “Sergeant Haiku’bantha’puzi?”

Looking over him, as if weighing him, he stared back, not sure what to say, so he wasn’t saying anything at all. She finally nodded, walking past him towards the door out of his quarters. “My name is Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi. You may call me Sergeant Hisku. Now we need to get moving. I’ve been waiting for you to get up for an hour and it’s long past time for breakfast.” Feeling like he’d just passed some test, he followed her, out through the metal halls of the ship.

He’d missed it before, but, as he trailed after her, he noticed that the halls weren’t as bare as he’d first thought. In addition to purple accents here and there, they occasionally passed by art that should have seemed completely out of place on a warship, but somehow each piece seemed to fit in with the rest of their surroundings. Occasionally it was a painting, done onto the hull itself, or some kind of tapestry. There was even the occasional sculpture, but they were small, flattened things that didn’t obstruct foot traffic at all.

He also noticed he was attracting curious glances, though he wasn’t the only one. Walking a little faster, he fell into step with the Sergeant, quietly asking, “What’s with all the stares?”

Without looking at him, she replied stiffly, “You’re new, as is my status. That means interest, gossip, and all sorts of unprofessional behavior.”

He could practically feel the chill coming off her, so just nodded, “Gossip. Gotchya.” With nothing else to say, he followed her down through several more hallways before they entered a large hall, obviously a cafeteria.

Well over three hundred people were eating, relaxing, and chatting here, all wearing nearly identical uniforms, though he thought he could tell slight differences here and there. On autopilot, he followed Sergeant Hisku, grabbing a plate and moving down the buffet line, piling food onto it.

The susurrus of conversation behind them lessened, and the woman next to him stiffened as a booming voice called, “Little Bia! You’ll never believe the stories I’ve been hearin’ ‘bout ya!” A large man, of the same species as her, though with lighter blue skin, came lumbering out of the kitchens. He was built like Er’izma, only more so, a veritable wall of muscle, an apron straining over his uniform. He stopped, looking over Jorel, and once again the Padawan found himself with the sensation that he was being judged and found wanting.

Ignoring the familiar feeling, he stared the larger man directly in his red pupilless eyes, only for the cook, if his apron was anything to go buy, to suddenly grin broadly. “I like this one, Little Bia!”

“My name is Sergeant Hisku, Sergeant Major Gars, Sir,” she stated, not looking at him. “And your feelings are irrelevant to my duty.”

Not taking offense, the large man instead laughed. “Come see me at dinner, little Bia. I’ll make something special to celebrate.” He looked past them, at the quiet masses. “Quite yer gawking, ya bunch ah nosey youngins!” The sounds from behind them picked up again, and the larger man shook his head. “Nice ta meet ya, Padawan Drettz. You be listen’ to Little Bia, alright?”

That statement carried an underlying menace completely at odds with the large alien’s demeanor, but, as he was already planning on doing so, the Padawan nodded. “Understood, Sergeant Major.”

Without another word, the cook turned back and re-entered the kitchens, his booming voice easily heard commanding, “Back ta work! Just ‘cause I’m gone don’t mean ya can slack off!”

Following Sergeant Hisku, who was even stiffer than she’d been before, to an open area of seating, Jorel looked around the room, really looked, and tried to pick out the details that’d be most important, like Anaïs would. The slight differences in the uniforms probably meant something, and there seemed to be a general pattern in the seating, but the first thing that sprung out to him wasn’t the purple of the clothing, but the blue of their skin.

Looking around, a full quarter of those eating had the same blue skin and red eyes of the Sergeant and Sergeant Major. The tones varied from sky blue, to blue-black, and some were even shades of purple, but without fail they all had the same vibrant red eyes. They were so prevalent that it seemed there were only a few more humans than whatever these blue-skinned aliens were, with the other half of the crew being a giant hodge-podge of races, from Twi’leks, to Duros, to, if he was right, a Wookie who’d possibly dyed some of his hair purple.

Sitting down across from the Sergeant, he dug in, the food much better than anything the Temple ever served. It was only after he’d finished that he glanced up and saw his compatriot was staring. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “That was just really good.”

She looked at him, then down at the food on her plate, gaze returning to him with a single, thin raised eyebrow, red eyes skeptical. Not providing further comment, she ate her own food at a more sedate pace while he nursed his tea, waiting for her to finish. The woman started to go faster as he waited, before slowing herself down, continuing at a steady pace. Jorel didn’t really care, he had nowhere to be, and looked past her to continue his study of the collected crew. Yes, it was a Wookie, and yes, he, or she, had dyed their fur purple.

Sergeant Hisku finished, pushing her tray away, and let out a long breath, drawing his gaze. “I’ve shown you the closest galley to the command decks, and it’s open twenty-four hours a day, five days a week. This place never closes, so if you need food, it’ll be serving some duty-shift, the food changing in repeating twelve-hour cycles,” she informed him, tone clipped.

“We follow galactic standard time and date, which means the ship’s time will have very little to do with whatever planet we’re orbiting,” she informed him, her obviously reciting this from memory. Jorel had to do it enough times he recognized the tone of voice immediately, and she wasn’t making it sound natural like Ana could. “It will be up to you to familiarize yourself with the local time if the Commander orders you deployed. When not called for duty, you will have basic privileges, which means access to common areas and recreational facilities, until such time you’ve been certified for technical areas, and classified areas will be handled on a case-by-case basis.”

“Classified?” he asked, wondering what kind of Jedi ship would have that kind of stuff on it. ‘Classified by who?’ was another question. “What’s classified?”

“That’s classified,” she shot back, a slight bit of humor causing the corner of her mouth to twitch upward, before she continued on formally, “To prevent issue and to maximize both your training and use to The Flock, I have been assigned as your official attaché for the duration of your Tour of Duty.”

“’Tour of Duty’?” he echoed. It made him feel a little silly, but Anaïs had taught him how not understanding the exact terms people used could lead to problems later on.

She stared at him, annoyed. “Until you’re a Jedi Knight.”

“Five years?” he asked, skeptically. Would he really need a babysitter for that long? If he worked hard, he should be able to figure out this entire ‘ship’ thing in a month or two, three tops.

She nodded once, curtly. “That is how long it normally takes.”

Not really knowing what else to say, he apologized. “Sorry.” She glared at him, indicating that was the wrong thing to do. “Well, you’re obviously not happy about this. So, sorry.”

“Pulled that from my mind, did you?” she asked, her antipathy barely hidden.

“Um. . . no,” he replied, understanding a little why she might be upset. He’d always hated it when his teachers took offense at his own emotions, even when he was doing his best to control them and didn’t actually say anything. “I’m actually really bad with the entire ‘sensing emotions through the Force’ thing. It’s just, you know, obvious. And, well, wouldn’t it be kind of rude to do that? I don’t know what I did that was wrong, but, well, sorry. If you want, I can ask my Master to assign me someone else.”

There was a moment of awkward silence, the two of them staring at each other, before Sergeant Hisku seemed to deflate, shoulders dropping as she sighed, looking down. Muttering something, Jorel only catching ‘Stupid idiot’ and ‘messed this up on my first kriffing day’, she took a deep breath, cheeks darkened a deeper shade of blue that might be a blush, and told him. “You’ve done nothing, Padawan Drettz. I was taken from my command position for this assignment this morning, and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“You didn’t get a choice?” he asked. After all the talk that Er’izma had done about not making people do thing-

“I did,” she disagreed. “But you don’t just say no to the Commander.”

Jorel shrugged, “I did.” That got him another incredulous stare. “I mean, I eventually said yes, but I did. If you really don’t want to do this, I could-”

“No,” she interrupted. “No. I. . . I appreciate the offer, Padawan Drettz, but I accepted this duty, and I will carry it out to the best of my ability, as befitting an officer.” She hesitated for a moment. “You really told Commander Er’izma no?”

“Someone else deserved being his Padawan more,” Jorel shrugged. “I only said yes because she was already being chosen as someone else’s Padawan, I just didn’t know it at the time. It was all kind of sudden.” He paused, before grinning wryly, “We both seem to have that in common. Master Er’izma suddenly offering life-changing choices,” he added at her uncomprehending look.

Sergeant Hisku nodded, not saying anything. “Well, If I’m to be your attaché, we’d best get started,” she finally announced, standing up. “And that means we’d best get hurry if we’re going to make it to your scheduled training.”

“My what?” he asked, but she was already striding across the cafeteria with purposeful steps.

<<SWPP>>
​

Dropping the weights to the ground ten feet away, Jorel sank to his knees, forcing himself to not gasp, but to take deep, regular breaths.

“About what I thought,” his Master observed, from his position in the center of the room. He hadn’t trusted Jorel’s official assessment, provided by the Temple, and Jorel couldn’t blame him after learning about his own Mental Shields, but that meant for the last hour, at least, the Padawan had been using every Force ability he knew.

Jorel’s Force Control was “Passable, with room for improvement, as is true with all things,” while his other abilities were “About as expected.” It was only the Knight’s informing him that he was measuring the Padawan on a Knight’s level that made those assessments not sting. When Jorel had pointed out that he wasn’t a Knight, and wanted to know how he measured up against other his other Padawans, Er’izma had asked in turn, “Why does that matter? It’s who you’ll become, not who you were, that counts in the end.”

It was hard to argue with that, so Jorel hadn’t bothered.

“Take a moment to gather yourself, my Padawan, then we’ll test your skill with your blade,” the older man ordered. Nodding Jorel got to his feet, stretching out his tense muscles, glancing at the weights that’d landed on the padded floor. He could perform the general push and pull, but lifting more than two things stressed him to the point it was physically draining, and three was nearly impossible for him to control. All uses, however, required him to focus on it to the point that he couldn’t do anything else, just as was the case for every other ability he had, other than Force Control.

Moving through basic warm-ups, he looked at the entrance, where Sergeant Hisku was standing, as she’d been the entire time along with an older human man who’d been accompanying Er’izma. When his Master had agreed that Jorel was, as he put it, “Woefully inadequate” at Force Empathy, Jorel had glanced at her, and she’d seemed to relax slightly. Jorel had given her a look, and she nodded, before Er’izma had cleared his throat and the Padawan had refocused on his task.

Centered and ready, Jorel took his place across from his Master, glancing at the older man’s shorter blade handle. Jedi Consular’s, like the Knight in front of him was, sometimes wore shoto blades, as they never planned to use them, relying entirely on the Force instead and, only carried the shorter saber as a token gesture. “Ready when you are, Master,” he stated, unholstering his own blade and igniting it. Checking the intensity, he realized it was still on its training settings, having forgotten to set it to normal after his spar like he was supposed to. He mimed turning it down, but from the look the Knight sent him, it was obvious Er’izma had noticed.

The older man, smoothly unclipping his sword and igniting it in turn, held it down and in front of himself, shifting his stance to stand at an angle in relation to the Padawan. Jorel was right, it was a shoto blade, only 2/3rds the length of the Padawans standard saber, but something else caught his attention. The blade was a deep, vibrant purple. A purple that Jorel was becoming quickly accustomed to.

“Did. . . Did you color everything the same purple as your lightsaber?” he asked incredulously. Surely a Jedi wouldn’t be that vain.

The Knight just smiled serenely. “I’ve found I have a strong preference for that particular shade.”

That wasn’t a no, Jorel thought, but as the Knight gestured for the Padawan to begin, he did so. Coming in with a strong opening slash, standard for his preferred style, Form V: Djem So, the Knight’s purple blade danced up not to meet it, parrying the attack, but to come from behind it, accelerating Jorel’s own strike as the man deflected it upwards, Er’izma stepping in close.

The form Jorel used dictated that the counter to this was to step back and spin, coming around with the full strength of the rotation into another strike, but with the Knight’s blade in front of him, and Jorel’s blade high up and to the side, the Padawan instead flooded his body with the Force as he threw himself backwards, barely missing the almost lazy stab that, even with the shorter blade, would’ve pierced the Padawans chest had it been fully powered, or have severed his spine if he’d tried to twist around.

Landing a dozen feet away, Jorel stumbled slightly but kept his guard up as his Master smiled. “Good. So you’re a follower of the way of the krayt dragon, yet you already are aware of its weaknesses.”

The Padawan blinked, wondering if his preferred form was in his official records, or if the Knight was able to recognize his fighting style from a single move. Also, he wasn’t sure what the other man was referring to, as the weakness of his chosen form was the physical demands it put upon the user. He wasn’t tiring himself out; he’d just dodged.

“Or. . . you don’t?” Er’izma asked. “How interesting. That form, while its strikes can be overwhelming, leaves one vulnerable. The full counters,” he continued, lifting his free hand up and rotating it in a circle to suggest a spin, “require the time to complete, and the space to work in. Try again, and feel free to use any Force techniques you wish.”

Jorel hesitated. Other than Force Control to enhance one’s body, Djem So didn’t use any other Force techniques. Moving in with the same strike he had before, the Knight started to move his shorter sword the same way as well, but Jorel used the extra force the other man gave his sword to take a small jump back, spinning around and taking a leap forward, swinging his sword twice as hard.

However, his Master wasn’t there, but had backed up as well.

The attack went wide, but with his Force enhanced body Jorel was able to bring his blade back into a block at the last moment, knocking the stab to the side. The Knight ran his blade down the Padawan’s, saber angling in to take the younger man’s wrist.

Shoving hard, Jorel pushed the purple blade away, his own blue blade raised high and coming down in a double-handed strike. Instead of deflecting again, Er’izma parried the blow, catching it and holding it with a flat blade, absorbing the strength of the blow without flinching. “Also,” the Knight commented conversationally, surely strengthening himself as well, “If you fight someone whose proficiency with Force Control is better than your own, that Form is of reduced effectiveness. However, while that is an issue as a Padawan, it will not remain so for long. Still something that one should be aware of.”

Trying to find an opening, their blades locked, Jorel realized he needed to make one. Focusing inwards he called upon the Force, breathing out hard as he tried to use Telekinesis without gestures to focus it.

The blast detonated outwards, only as strong as a firm push, but Er’izma still took a step back as Jorel’s blade came free, flashing forward again and again, trying to strike out at the older Jedi, not like he’d been instructed in Djem So, with his full strength, but with conservatively powered blows, breaking his stance when deflected to the side, not over-committing and leaving himself open. Sometimes he’d step with the Knight’s deflection, using it to move him into another strike while avoiding the counter, sometimes he’d shift in the opposite direction, using the force of the Er’izma’s deflection to spin himself, making sure to keep distance after he felt the stinging buzz of his Master’s saber on his back when he didn’t allow himself enough space.

Back and forth they went, Jorel pushing himself where he could, trying to call on his Telekinesis to help, but needing to either have locked blades or created distance to give himself enough time to bring it to the front of his mind. The Padawan was quickly soaked with sweat, muscles straining, but coming ever closer to hitting his Master, who always seemed half a step ahead of him.

Increasingly frustrated, he found himself wanting to hit the smug Knight, who didn’t seem to be bothered at all by their fight, not even breathing hard while Jorel was nearly gasping with exertion. Part of himself wanted to hurt the man who was humiliating him, to show him that Jorel wasn’t to be made a fool of, but he clamped down on that feeling, hard. Jorel knew, from his own practices as he’d taught himself Force Control, pushing past the base level of instruction, beyond which the Temple instructors refused to help with, that darker emotions, un-Jedi-like emotions, could enhance his strength, but at a cost, and Jorel would win through skill, or not at all.

Sinking deeper into that resolution, directing the Force through his body, he pushed himself harder, moving faster, pushed past the point he’d ever been before, even against his spars with Ana, the Temple Masters refusing his requests to test himself against them, the crackles of the meeting blades running on top of each other in an electric drumbeat of combat. The Knight’s expression, one of amusement, slowly shifted to one of concentration, even if it was only the smallest bit. No longer holding back, or at least not holding back as much, Er’izma started to move backwards and forwards in the signature method of what the Padawan finally recognized as Form II, Makashi, the duelist’s form.

Counterstrikes came hard and fast from his Master, but he was able to parry and dodge them, sometimes turning them into strikes of his own, sometimes parrying just in time, never letting up as they moved back and forth across the space. Even when Er’izma moved forward, causing the Padawan to back up, the younger man never stopped attacking, lashing out at any opening, always on the offensive even as he nominally retreated. After letting go the latest in countless telekinetic shoves, Jorel darted forward only to stumble, his leg giving out from fatigue, but he turned that fall into a sweeping strike, catching the edge of his Master’s hip.

It was a glancing blow, not a disabling strike, but even as Jorel collapsed, hard, onto the padded floor, he was happy. I win.

A freshly minted Padawan against an experienced Knight? And one that specialized in lightsaber combat at that? There was no way he’d win a normal duel, but he’d scored a hit, and that’s all that mattered.

“You seem oddly pleased for someone’s who’s collapsed in exhaustion, young Padawan,” Er’izma commented, but, even face down on the ground as he was, Jorel could tell his Master was smiling.

Rolling himself over, he looked up, seeing the amused grin on the Knight’s face. “I hit you.”

“But I am only a Consular, and a Diplomat,” his Master protested, still grinning. “Surely striking me in a spar is not that great a feat of prowess.”

Jorel looked at the man, who still wasn’t even breathing hard, and couldn’t help but laugh, even though his ribs hurt. “Kriff that. If you’re a Consular, I’m a Hutt.” Struggling to his feet, his Master waited until he was standing before nodding to him in a formal end of the fight, deactivating his saber and clipping it back to his belt. “So, Makashi? I didn’t have a chance, did I?”

“I’ll say you acquitted yourself well, my Padawan. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi?”

Glancing over, he saw the blue-skinned woman staring at him, wide eyed in shock. Jorel waved at her, and she flinched, collecting herself and returning to her cool, reserved expression of professionalism. “Hasn’t seen Jedi fight?” he asked his Master.

“I’m afraid that my previous apprentice did not care half as much for the blade as you do,” Er’izma revealed. “Which is a pity. She was proficient, but preferred Niman, much to my shame.”

“Form Six?” Jorel asked, and his Master nodded. “I thought you used it too, since you tried to get me to use other Force abilities, and you only do so with that form.”

His Master looked like he’d stepped in something unpleasant, facing the Padawan fully. “And why is that?” Not giving the young man time to answer, the ancient Jedi continued with uncharacteristic vehemence, “Because it is a weak form, easy to learn because there is so little to it. We are Jedi, we have the Force to assist us, so why others claim that only that pale shadow of a true form can use the abilities we all share, when that pitiful excuse for a martial art needs them to even function on par with real forms, I have never understood.”

The Knight glanced at his Padawan, “I am sorry. It’s an ongoing debate I’ve had with others, especially Master Dooku, as to what truly constitutes ‘Makashi’, as well as some complaints I have with the combat standards the Order has instituted during this ‘Time of Peace’.”

Despite himself, he felt his heart sink a little. He thought he was pressuring his Master, when the older man had been fighting with an enormous handicap. “So you weren’t even trying?” And he’d thought he’d been able to challenge a Knight? He should’ve known better.

“I have said I would not compare you to other Padawans, Jorel,” Er’izma stated calmly, “but I will compare you to Knights, and I would put you on par with, or better than, some Consulars. Actual Consulars,” he added.

He wasn’t sure if his Master was being kind, but that did make him feel a bit better. “Then how would you be compared among the Guardian Knights, Master?”

“You’ll find that one’s rank in the Order has little to do with combat ability,” the Knight stated. “For instance, should I ever have the pleasure to have cause to spar with Master Halrol, I very much doubt he’d fare as well as you have. Now, I believe you’d best return to your room and clean up. If I’m not mistaken, the chefs onboard are preparing something special for your first dinner with us, or at least,” he whispered conspiratorially, though the sound carried across the entire training area, “that’s what I’ve heard.”

 

Chapter 6
​

“Do you know what the hardest part of flying an invisible ship is?” her Master inquired.

Anaïs thought about it for a long moment. “Not being as invisible as you think you are?”

The Jedi Master paused at her words, nodding after considering them. “I’d say that’s second, possibly third. No, the hardest part is that no one knows you’re there.” As the cruiser descended through the atmosphere, it carefully avoided the light air-traffic, though she couldn’t see where it was all going, as there was no city in sight, and they were supposed to be quickly approaching the capital of the planet, Fabrin, but all she saw were forests, swamps, and plains.

The city of Fabrin was on the planet Thorgeld, as opposed to the planet named Fabrin, which was out in the Expansion Region, while they were still in the area of space known as the Core. It was all very confusing, and not something she’d looked that deeply into before. Her Master’s statement of “Learn.” hadn’t been that comforting.

“Master Lucian, where is the city?” she finally asked. She could feel a great many people in the way they were flying, the masses of non-Force sensitives still creating ripples in the Force, but she couldn’t get more than a general direction when she concentrated.

With a small laugh, he pointed forward, and down. “Those here took after the Alderaanian design philosophy of integrating their cities with nature, but they didn’t want to put in all the effort that took. Instead, they just went underground, leaving nature to reclaim the surface, which presents us with a problem.”

Following a small freighter, above and behind it, their cruiser tracked it for a few minutes before it slowed, descending towards an area of plains. Before it hit the ground, though, the earth seemed to split, lifting and separating out the grassland to reveal an industrial metal shaft the larger ship descended into, their cruiser watching it do so, the ground re-shifting and coming back together, as if it never moved.

“Why didn’t we follow them down?” she asked. “There was enough space if you want to come in unnoticed.” That was, after all, why they’d arrived in this system the way they had. Instead of coming out of Hyperspace close to the planet, they’d arrived on the other side of the system, spending the two hours it’d taken to come in on sublight drives. She’d been working on her Force Healing, not having very much luck, when they’d arrived in system, only to be informed that they still had a ways to go.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware you knew the internal schematics of their docking bays,” her Master commented, surprised. “If there’s enough room to maneuver all the way to the city, I shall defer to your wisdom.”

She reddened, not having thought that far in. “What is our plan, Master,” she deferred instead.

“You’ll see,” he stated enigmatically. They continued on, and, as they flew, she could see the occasional small structure, durasteel painted the same color as its surroundings, and several natural looking stone spires revealed to be camouflaged air vents. In a rocky area, a natural depression formed that looked like an excellent place to hide the ship, only for Master Lucian to pass it, landing the ship right next to it, in open view.

Powering down the engines, he stood up, leaving the bridge as she moved to follow. He didn’t say a word, making his way down to the bottom level of the ship, and the small cargo bay that the boarding ramp led into. She’d turned the corner when she was caught off-guard as a cloak hit her in the face, covering her head. Freezing for a second, she reached up and took it off, seeing it to be her Master’s robes, though they felt oddly cool.

A look at Master Lucian told her that, while the cloak belonged to her master, it was one of likely many others he owned, as he was wearing an identical garment, not having given her what he was wearing, as she’d first thought. “You look like a Jedi,” he told her. “This’ll help until we get you something of your own.”

“Master?” she asked, confused, even as she put it on. It was a little heavier than it looked, and was a little small on her, but it still fit. “Why is that something bad?”

Not looking at her, he moved to the side, pulling away cloth to reveal a speeder bike. “Your presence as a Jedi is itself a statement. As a Consular, it would attract attention and demand respect, giving your words weight. As a Guardian it would warn away those stupid, naïve, or overconfident enough from attacking you, and could win a fight without ever igniting your saber or striking a physical blow. As a Sentinel, however, it’s a blaring alarm to those you seek that you are there, and to hide until you pass.”

He glanced at her, and at the tightly woven braid of hair over her shoulder, the rest in a loose ponytail behind her. “Which is why you need to lose the Padawan braid, or braid it all, so it looks like a style.” She couldn’t help but finger the tightly woven hair that she’d been waiting for years to wear. As if sensing her indecision, which he probably was, he added, “Not right now, you’ll give yourself away in a dozen other ways, so it won’t hurt, but decide by next week.”

Revealing a second speeder bike, he activated both of them, opening the ramp and leading them down. She followed, glancing backwards and seeing the open ramp and cargo bay seeming to hang in mid-air. Holding up a hand, she stopped at his gesture, and a shadow passed over them. A ship was coming down, right next to theirs, but it angled itself to the side. The dull thrum of machinery sounded from the rocky bowl they hadn’t landed in, the blocky ship descending down into it, the same thrum sounding again. After a long moment of silence, the sounds of distant birds and insects returned.

Moving once more, straddling a speeder bike, he gestured for her to get on the other, which she did carefully. “Um, Master?” she asked, disliking there was yet another thing she had to bring up. “I’m not the best at flying these.”

He didn’t respond, pointing the controls out quickly, “Throttle, break, turn the handles to turn, lean slightly into the turn, we’ll start small and do what I do.” With that woefully inadequate explanation, he gestured, the ramp into the ship closing, along with all hint of its existence, and took off on his bike at a jogging pace. Trying to speed up, she started to move way too fast, and tried to hit the brakes, only to be thrown from her seat and, instead of hitting a tree, froze in mid-air, her Master reaching up towards her.

Dropping her back to her seat, he calmly instructed, “Keep your hands on the bars, and don’t do anything. I’ll add it to your training.” Blushing deep red in shame, she did so, and the controls started to move on their own, the two of them speeding off into the forest at a pace that would’ve been terrifying if her Master had not been controlling her bike for her. Even if he could control her vehicle, she still resolved to find a way to practice on speeder bikes, as her Master seemed to prefer them. All of her training had been riding animals and driving airspeeders, and, while she wasn’t as good as Jorel, she hoped her Master wouldn’t mention this incident the next time she saw him.

<<SWPP>>
​

Parking the bikes in the underground garage, just inside the guard station, the pair stood, waiting for the lift that would take them down to the subterranean city. “If we’re supposed to be sneaking in,” she said quietly, even though no one else was with them, “Why did we check in with that guard?” At her Master’s inquisitive look, she explained, “Why didn’t you cloud their mind with the Force?”

“Tell me, Padawan,” he said in the way she was coming to realize meant she’d missed something. She didn’t know what it was, and that bothered her. “Does Force Confusion work on computers or sensors?”

She shook her head, trying to think of what she’d missed. They’d stepped through a basic scanner, but that shouldn’t’ve been an issue, those things only checking for biological contaminants and the like. Stepping into the lift as it arrived, completely empty, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t see any sensors.”

He smiled, “That’s because you’re standing in it.”

Looking around at the descending elevator she asked, “The sensors are hidden?”

“The fact that the guard called a lift at all means the controller needs to know who’s coming down. That’s the computer aspect that can’t be changed with a simple Mind Trick. If they saw no one, or entered no credentials, calling for a lift would set off an alarm. And yes, the sensors here are hidden,” Master Lucian explained, pointing at the decorative plaque with the city’s name. “Fabrin is the city where the Fabritech corporation, galactic purveyor of scanner technology, came from. Before they colonized a word and moved their corporate headquarters there,” he added. “And the first stop where we start building your new identity. But for now, you’re my niece, and I’m just an eccentric old hermit who lives out in the woods, and you’re taking me into the city to see my family.”

She turned to look at him in disbelief, as her master looked many things, but old was not one of them, only to see that the man had seemed to age a hundred years, still wearing the same clothing but withered, with a stubborn yet shaky stance. Closing her eyes, she felt his Force Presence pulled tight around him, wrapping his features, the wrinkles seeming to turn smoky as she opened her eyes again stared. She couldn’t see through it, but it was only by focusing on his Force Presence that she could tell anything was going on at all.

They passed through the second layer of security, and another check in, the first one topside just being a guard-post. If she hadn’t been paying attention she would’ve missed when, with subtle telekinesis, he input the Padwan’s ‘record’ into the computers while he was talking with the older woman manning the station behind a glasteel barrier, such that when the woman looked down, the girl’s information was already on screen. He paid the small fee and they entered Fabrin proper, a prodigious underground cavern in which a sprawling city spread out. Nothing on Coruscant, it still spread out below them impressively, the opposite wall of the cavern obscured through a haze of vapor which hung over the city like an indoor cloud.

Paying a few credits, they got an airspeeder taxi out to the residential sector. Only once it was out of sight, flying off to pick up someone else, did Master Lucian take them into a building. He nodded to the receptionist and walked to the back without stopping, taking a back door out into an alley, then straightened up, fake facial features melting away, and looked at her, “What’s wrong?”

“I just realized I don’t have any credits. At all,” she observed. She’d studied how to manage intelligence networks, and how to investigate, so she knew the value having credits gave one, but if she was trying to not be a Jedi she couldn’t go to a bank and withdraw credits from the Temple’s general accounts in front of everyone.

Her Master laughed, “Yes, you do. All Padawans get a stipend for supplies and such in the field, that is separate from the central account. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure you get one myself. Come along.” Leading her through street after street, they did attract some looks, but they were fleeting things, the people going back to what they were doing a moment later. Some lingered on her, but only for a moment, while they slid off Master Lucian as if he were no more interesting than the buildings around them. Focusing without breaking stride with her Master, she tried to feel if he was using some kind of Force power, but if he was, she couldn’t tell.

They eventually ended up in front of a tall building, not out of place on the city street, and he walked inside without breaking stride. Taking the lift to one of the top levels, they stepped out into a richly appointed lobby. “Hello!” the receptionist, a younger woman, though still older than Anaïs, greeted. “Welcome to Sivron, Highwind, and Daagh. Do you have an appointment?”

“Tell Sivron that his favor has come due, and that the one he called ‘Nightwalker’ has need of his services,” Master Lucian cryptically stated. The receptionist looked just as confused as Anaïs was, but moved to do so anyways. A moment later a panic yelped carried down the hallway.

Now very nervous looking, the receptionist returned. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sivron isn’t available right- wait, you can’t-”

“I’m allowed to go inside,” the Jedi Master instructed, the woman’s eyes going glassy as she repeated his words. Anaïs following after him, part of her wondering why there was an issue, as her Master was obviously allowed to go inside, with the oddest feeling that she was missing something, but it probably wasn’t important. They walked down the hallway, the door opening in front of them on its own. As Lucian entered a blaster bolt shot out, only to dissipate harmlessly on a piece of curling shadow that formed in mid-air, blowing away like smoke a moment a later.

She wasn’t really sure what was going on, but she wasn’t expecting that, as she was sure her Master was allowed to be here, though she couldn’t say why. Master Lucian stepped through the doorway, and she followed, only to find a panicked human with a small blaster pistol cowering behind his desk. “Mr. Sivron, or should I call you ‘Sever’, when last we met I told you that you-”

“I didn’t!” the overweight human protested, wispy white hair whipping back and forth as he frantically shook his head. “I never did and I never will!”

“I know, which is why I did not visit you twelve years ago,” the younger-looking man replied coolly. A sudden understanding dawned in the fat man’s eyes, and she felt through the Force as his fear spiked, before decreasing, confusion taking its place as Master Lucian continued, “But I said you would owe me a favor. I have need of an identity created, and you have the skills, and connections, to do so. I will, of course, pay, but it must be blaster-proof, and above question.”

“You’ll. . . pay? You’re not going to. . .” the older man trailed off, suddenly getting up with a speed that belied his bulk, taking his seat behind his sizeable desk. “Why didn’t you say so!”

The Jedi Master dryly observed, “You shot me before I could.”

“It’s not like that would’ve actually done anything,” the older man blustered, “So, can I assume it is for the young lady with you? Deciding to settle down? Found love at last?” he questioned, leering slightly at Anaïs in a way that she would’ve found discomforting if she couldn’t feel the oddest sense of hope coming from the elderly man, and not an ounce of lust.

“Training an Apprentice,” her Master replied flatly.

The old man’s genial smile froze for a second, “You mean, to do. . . what you do?”

Master Lucian nodded, “That is what the term generally means, yes. Also, please spread word, when you do, that if she is to be harmed, those that did so will not survive. And by that I don’t mean the trigger pullers, I mean the order givers, no matter how vaguely they might have done so. You know; I care not for technicalities.”

As they talked Anaïs wondered what, exactly, it was that her Master was known for to get this kind of response. Jedi were supposed to be respected, yes, but not feared. At least, that’s what I’ve been told, she thought, her earlier revelations still not sitting well withing her mind. Directed to a seat across from Mr. Sivron, she was glad for the distraction from her own thoughts and doubts as she answered a dizzying array of questions about herself, at her Master’s instruction, while the man poured over a datascreen.

The questions started to make sense as, once Anaïs started asking questions herself, the older looking man was happy to explain the process. Questions such as “On a scale of one to ten, how good a driver are you?” (only for her Master to look up and state “Two” before she could say five), had the man explain, “Then you crashed your father’s airspeeder when you were fifteen, and while he paid for the bacta and surgery to not leave a scar, it explains why you don’t look exactly like your picture. That way those who feel the need to look deeper, and there are always those who do, my dear, find something and can walk away happy, believing themselves smarter for having found a secret of yours!”

“He’s right,” her Master idly agreed, causing the old man to puff up slightly in pride, the elderly human’s fear having dissipated as he’d worked.

They went at it for several hours, even calling up a tailor to design her new clothing. She’d noted how surprised Mr. Sivron had been when she’d taken off her Master’s cloak, revealing her Initiate’s tunic. “You’re. . .?” he’d asked, trailing off as he looked at her, then the Jedi Master, who’d looked back at him with an eyebrow raised, as if daring the older man to ask the question he was considering. “Explains why you need this, then,” he’d just muttered to himself, then got back to work.

Eventually they were finished, Anaïs dressed in black pants that hugged her legs and hips, black boots, and a grey vest with black panels, similar to her Master’s robe. Mr. Sivron sent something to Master Lucian’s datascreen, only for the Jedi to look at him, unimpressed. “And the real price?”

“Sorry, sorry, old habits,” the old man laughed, paling at the Jedi’s look. “Not that old though. No habits of those left. None. None at all.”

Staring at the man who’d just created a false identity for his Padawan, Master Lucian reached inside his robes and tossed him a credit stick, which was quickly plugged into the older man’s terminal. “And our business is done,” Mr. Sivron sighed, “Now, and I mean this in the best way, but please go away and never come back.”

“The favor has been repaid, the debt cleared,” the Jedi intoned, speech formal. “Whether or not we ever meet again, however, is entirely up to you. Come, Anaïs, this was only our first stop today.”

<<SWPP>>
​

“What do you mean ‘stay here?’” Anaïs asked. “It’s only evening on this planet.”

The cycle of lighting here matched the surface above, the large, diffuse sources of light along the space’s ceiling dimming as fainter streetlights were left to illuminate the great underground cavern that held the city at ‘night’. They’d taken another set of confusing twists and turns, stopping for a quick meal, only to end up in front of a small hotel, which had already had a single room reserved. A single room with only a single bed, in which they were currently standing.

“And you’ve had a long day,” her Master countered. “The Little One reminded me to take it slowly and easily on you, and I am. His words were ‘Remember, Master, that what is routine for you is alien to these younglings. They need time to adjust to your ways, as they are not what the Temple has prepared them for.’ Now, I can see what he meant, with all of this ‘Notable Nine’ and ‘having a single bad thought means you’ve fallen’ Bantha druk, but I believed he meant your need to rest, and not deal with too much at a time, and still do, especially with the state of your Mental Shields, or the lack of them. It is very likely he noticed long before I did.”

She winced, not having liked that conversation. The way her instructors had tested her Mental Shields had seemed perfectly serviceable at the time; they sought out her mind with the Force and attempted to probe it for weakness. It was only after nearly an hour of questioning, on their way through the star system, that she’d realized the issue.

Her instructors, for some reason, hadn’t expected her to embrace their teachings completely, to still have darker emotions, like Jorel, to feel annoyance and self-recrimination at their correction and her failure to achieve their high standards. When she didn’t feel those things, believing her teachers to have her best interests at heart, taking their criticisms as truth and striving humbly to improve, she ‘passed’ the test. When those looking for darker emotions found none, they declared her Mental Shields up to task.

Even now she could feel the city, the faint Presence of tens of thousands of lives in a chaotic mess, pressing in on her. Where they were, things were peaceful, and she assumed that’s why her Master had chosen her to stay here, but elsewhere she could feel the bright swirls of hope and compassion, but they were notable in how they stood out of the greys of apathy, with far more streaks of darker feeling running throughout the city, almost as if they were its foundation.

“How many more places are you going?” she tried instead. She did feel tired, from what had happened on the ship and the interrogation she’d been through, but she could keep going.

Master Lucian stared at her, and it felt like he was looking through her, before he nodded. “Fine, leave your bag here, but wear the cloak. Follow me, don’t say anything, and try to keep yourself centered.”

She happily changed, hurrying out of the refresher to join her Master. Instead of more roads and alleys, though, he took a set of stairs down to what seemed to be the basement of a building, accessible from the outside, except, while there was a door to the basement, the stairs kept on going.

They descended further, and further, well beneath the city, taking a door to another set of stairs, then a passage, then another set of stairs, eventually leading to a large underground passage. The scent of oil, sweat, and unwashed bodies hit her as she stumbled, trying to keep up. It wasn’t the smell, that made her falter, though, but the emotions that filled the air just as thickly. The dark swirls of negative emotion that ran through the city? They weren’t set, somehow, into its foundation, they were spread out below it.

They moved through these faux streets, more like enlarged maintenance tunnels, and attracted far more stares then they had on the surface. No, she thought, I’m attracting more stares. Their eyes still slid off of her Master, but they seemed to stick to her. From the corner of her eye, she saw three large figures start to follow her, only for an invisible ripple of shadowy Force to ripple across her senses and for them to head back to the tunnel entrance they’d stepped out of.

The third time this happened, Master Lucian stopped, sighed, and stepped into an empty alley. She followed him. “Have you received no stealth training?” He asked her before she could say anything. “You’re gathering too much attention.

She had, she’d studied how to hold herself quite a bit in her studies of spycraft, and the records had been clear. She was to hold herself straight, showing no hint of fear or weakness, moving smoothly, and said so to the older Jedi, who just stared at her, and sighed.

“That’s how you deal with information sources,” he stressed, “as a Jedi. That kind of calm strength tells them you’re in control, if you do it correctly, and sets the minds of the people you employ at ease. They’re not snitching, then, they’re just confirming something you already know. It doesn’t matter if you couldn’t have heard it from anyone else, you’re a Jedi, so obviously you can magic up information out of nowhere, yet still somehow need their assistance. Did your training also tell you how to sit, and how to arrange the structure of meeting places?”

In point of fact, it did, but she paid attention to what he said. “But, we’re not at a meeting place, and I don’t look like a Jedi,” she replied thinking it through. Even her saber was hidden away in a belt pocket. In that case she’d look like. . . she wasn’t really sure. “What am I showing instead?”

“Overconfidence, weakness, and like you don’t belong, so you won’t be missed,” he said flatly, and she tried to view herself that way, her shoulders dropping a little as she understood. Her straight stance, when everyone around here was bent, would show she didn’t belong, but not in the way that Jedi didn’t belong. Her showing no fear wasn’t seen as strength, it could show a lack of awareness that one would never attribute to a Jedi. Her new clothes would mark her as rich, not the cleanliness all Jedi sought to maintain, being in the world but not of it. Her smooth movements, though. . . “How do I look weak?” she asked.

He looked her up and down. She was a little tall for a girl, and not the most muscular, but she was fit. “You don’t seem to have any weapons, no bulge of a blaster under your cloak, which you can tell when you stand like that. You move more like a dancer than a fighter, though not as bad as some Jedi I’ve seen, but that’s why they always moved in on you with three or four, instead of one or two. Unless you’re very good, or a Jedi, that’ll be enough to overpower you, and Jedi are rare in the extreme, even in the Core.”

“But,” she said, her hand going to her brown belt, her saber hidden away in a pocket. “I’m armed. Only, it doesn’t look like it, does it?” she asked before he could say anything. Her Master shook his head. “Then teach me how to blend in, Master Lucian, so I don’t need your help.”

“You’ll need my help for quite a while,” he observed, though there was no rebuke in his statement. “You were doing this,” he instructed, standing next to her, and copying her stance, tall, straight, and with a haughty expression that wasn’t entirely necessary. With long, sweeping, straight steps he moved down the alley and back. “Do this,” From there he dropped his shoulders, leaning forward slightly, and taking smaller steps that were even, but had a little bit of a sway to them with one leg.

As he started to walk back, five dirty looking men, and two equally dirty looking women, stepped into either end of the alley, the seven of them blocking the way out. The leader, a Devorian, sneered. “What do we have here? I thin-”

“Go home, think about your life, and take the moral actions needed to make things right,” Her Master commanded, and she started to leave the alley, ready to head back to the ship, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Not you,” the voice whispered. She blinked, wondering what she’d just been doing. “Sorry, not as good as the Little One,” the Jedi apologized. “Never got the trick to exemptions. Now, as I walked, you do so. I’ll make sure we aren’t interrupted again.”

She did so, wondering what just happened, but focused on perfecting the step. The leg movement seemed too specific, too intentional to just be a bad leg, which would make her appear weak. It was only on her third try, as he told her to “pretend that side’s slightly heavier, that’s all,” did she understand. While not armed, the slight weight imbalance would make sense if she was carrying a weapon under her robes, which, slightly hunched as she was, she could very well be hiding.

When they exited the alley, which the locals had given a clear berth to, they attracted stares only until they turned a corner. While the looks of others didn’t slide over her like they did her Master, they no longer lingered, just caught for a moment. Moving deeper and deeper down the twisting tunnels, she could hear the faint sounds of music coming from the way they were going.

Up two sets of stairs, they found themselves in an area that, while dingy, mercifully didn’t smell. A large set of double doors were set into the wall, with a line of young people waiting to get in, wearing clothing that looked like a stylish approximation of what those below had been wearing, minus the stains, the wear, and, now that she as thinking about it, likely costing a hundred times as much.

Skipping the line, Master Lucian headed for the doors, only for one of the two guards, a large Human, to step in front of him while the other, a Gran, watched him with two eyes, the third watching her. Before the guard could say anything her Master held up a hand and the larger man’s eyes glazed as he stepped aside, the Gran freezing, looking at anything other than the two of them, though his three eyes remained alert and unclouded.

It was hard to tell from the general emotional stink of the place but while Anaïs could tell the Human guard had been Mind Tricked, the muted emotions giving him away; the Gran practically reeked of fear, but stayed completely still. Not sure what else to do, she followed her Master through the doors as a few of those waiting complained, but the alien didn’t say a word.

Inside, she was almost hit by a wall of sound, the interior some kind of club, dark with flashing lights, music pounding rhythmically, the air physically thick with fumes, and the Force dense with so many emotions it made her head spin. Feeling a hand on her elbow, she focused on the small blot of shadows that was her Master, who led her to a side table. “My business is further in. Do you want to stay here, and get used to it? I won’t judge you poorly for it, Padawan.”

His voice was kind, understanding, but she focused inwards, centering herself. The air swam with desire, fear, anger, everything that should be the dark side, but also with bits of hope, happiness, friendship, enjoyment, even ecstasy unlike that which she’d ever seen, and she could feel it tugging at her. Some part of her whispered to join the throng on the dance-floor, to give herself to it and be filled by it in turn.

This, in some ways, was like the call of the Dark she’d felt before. Sweet and seductive. But it also wasn’t, it was an affirmation of life, and living, and community in a way she’d never thought possible. There was darkness here, but more than that, and she closed her eyes, centering itself, focusing only on her presence and the shadowy presence of her master, blocking the rest out. “No,” she said, more to herself than him. “No, I’m okay. You said I could come with you, so I am.”

Opening her eyes, she could see a glimmer of something like respect in the older man’s eyes, which brought her a happiness completely unlike that found in the masses before her. “Then follow me, and remember, keep yourself centered. This will be much less pleasant than staying here would’ve been.”

With those ominous words, he walked away, heading towards a pair of doors at the back. Two Humans, subtly armed with a blaster pistol and vibro-knife each, didn’t move as the shadows reached out from her Master and clouded their minds. She followed him through the doors, and down a hallway. Two more guards stood at the next door, thirty feet away, one already stepping forward and drawing his gun.

Without breaking stride, her Master raised one hand and the large Human shot backwards with a cry, breaking through the far doors with a crunch. The second man started to pull out his weapon, and Anaïs moved to pull her saber, hand passing through the spot by her side where she used to carry it, but another wave of her Master’s hand picked him up like a doll and threw him through the doorway as well.

Undisturbed, Master Lucian calmly walked through the doorway, an office seen on the other side. A Vibro-ax, humming barely audible over the muted pounding of music behind her, arced in from the side, her Master easily grabbing it by the handle and holding it still. “Ah, there you are Alfosco,” he commented cheerfully, yanking the weapon and sending a small but muscular man to the floor.

Anaïs followed her Master into a richly appointed office, the two guards groaning as they tried to get up. With a wave of his hand, her Master telekinetically picked them up and pushed them against the wall in a way she was intimately familiar with, before turning his back on them, as if they were no more concern.

“Alfosco,” the Jedi Master repeated, “I am so sorry to have to meet you again. I thought I was clear, twelve years ago, when I removed your boss and his other lieutenants. I do not care of your venial sins, but some things I cannot abide.”

The man, presumably Alfosco, struggled to his feet, only to quickly turn, blaster in hand. Before he could fire. Master Lucian had stepped forward and wrenched the weapon from his hand with a bone-shattering Crack. The man howled in pain, fingers broken, before he was thrown backwards, against a wall, just like his guards were, but across the room from them.

Seeming to ignore the living wall-hangings, Master Lucian moved to the desk at the back of the room, typing in the computer. “Hmmm, Alfosco, what’s your password?” The man, whose screams had petered off to pained cries, yelped as he was dragged off the wall to hang in front of his own desk. “Alfosco, Your password?”

“E Chu ta!” the larger man spit in reply, swearing.

The Jedi stood, rolling his eyes, “No need to be rude.” With a hand that dripped shadows to her senses, he placed it over the man’s forehead, and the floating man screamed as the Force penetrated his mind.

“Master?” Anaïs asked, shocked at what she was seeing.

Now twitching, Alfosco was pressed back against the wall as Master Lucian typed something into the computer. “Yes, Padawan? I am, as you might be able to tell, a little busy right now. Be a dear and watch the door, it appears as if our entrance into that second set of doors without a keycard has triggered an alarm and. . . You kept the list?” he asked, looking at Alfosco incredulously. “Why would you keep the list if you weren’t going to. . . oh. Right. So you could think yourself cunning. And here they come, lightsaber out please, Padawan.”

Through the doors at the end of the hallway came six heavily armed, and lightly armored, men with blaster rifles. On reflex Anaïs went for where she normally kept her lightsaber clipped, again, wasting a precious second as she remembered she moved it, and flipped open the pouch it sat in, igniting it even as the first bolts sped down towards her.

Falling into the Force, she deflected the bolts away from her and her Master, barely able to keep up against the barrage. Glad to have something she’d actually practiced for, she furiously built invisible Force Barriers, allowing her defense to be tighter, but it was too much, the shields taking the hits but being dispersed almost as fast as she could build them. She didn’t know how long she could hold out, as sooner or later-

Something whipped by her head from behind, barely missing her and her dancing saber, and pierced one of the riflemen, catching the second that was standing behind him in the arm as the Vibroaxe buried itself in the far wall.

With only four shooters, she was able to work in enough of Form V’s other variant, Shien, into her defensive use of Form III, Soresu, to send the bolts back at them, killing two and dropping the last pair with non-fatal injuries. Keeping her sword up, her stance wavered as she felt their deaths in the Force, small bits of the blackest darkness spreading out into the sea of energy all around her.

While the anger she’d felt had been burning hot, and the dancefloor was as warm as bare flesh, the deaths were cold things, like the void of space should feel, empty and terrible. Not only that, she felt a death to her side, looking over and realizing that, in her haste, she’d accidentally sent a rogue bolt to one of the pinned guards, catching him in the chest, killing him.

“Oh no,” she whispered, only to feel the shadowy presence of her Master behind her, protective darkness, so unlike that which she’d created, wrapping around her.

“It’s okay,” he said, and she turned, realizing he was right behind her. “Every death brings a bit of the Dark, just as every birth brings a bit of the Light. It is regrettable that we must kill, and never do so for killing’s sake, but it does not make you Dark. I very much doubt any Jedi out there has been able to go out and help people, bringing peace, safety, and life, without also dealing out some death. Do you see why I asked you if you wanted to stay?”

Without words, she nodded.

“And, with what just happened, do you wish you had?”

That. . . that was a more difficult question. If it was going through the other doors that had brought the guards, they likely would’ve ignored her. She could’ve stayed back, out of things, and her master could’ve dealt with them. He hadn’t killed anyone, and while whatever he’d done to Alfosco had seemed bad, he’d needed something from the man’s terminal, and he had asked. Maybe if she’d stayed away, everyone here would’ve still been alive?

Yes, that Vibro-ax had been thrown by her Master, and she could feel the person who’d been cut by it slowly dying as well, the one who was cut through having died almost instantly, but if she were better, he wouldn’t have needed to. But. . . Master Lucian had allowed her to come, and, if he was right, she was going to have to kill someone eventually. “Are these. . . are these bad people?” she finally asked, remembering her lessons, even if they might’ve been tainted by lies. “Do they hurt the innocent, and bring disharmony to the Force?”

“The second one is a matter of debate,” he stated, “But the first? It’s their stock and trade. You didn’t answer my question, my Padawan. Would you have rather stayed out on the dancefloor?”

She wanted to feel sure of her decision. These people hurt innocents, her job as a Jedi was to protect innocents. QED. She didn’t feel sure, though. But he wasn’t asking if she felt sure, he was asking if she’d wanted to stay behind, to let him handle all of this while she did nothing to help. Slowly, she shook her head.

He looked at her, deeply, and she felt his Presence upon her, studying her, before he smiled, an oddly warm expression, completely out of place with their surroundings, and she felt like she’d passed some test she hadn’t known she was taking. “Good. Now, I believe it’s time to have a conversation with Alfosco. My intel was solid, but it rarely hurts to check.”

Turning around, he pulled the man back down, still suspended in the air, but closer to them. “Now, Alfosco. You remember me, you remember my stipulations, you even wrote them down, why did you not follow them? You could’ve been strong, could’ve had your little criminal empire, and I wouldn’t have had to come here.”

“I’m not telling you Druk, you piece of kriffing sithspawn!” the hanging man snarled.

“Ah,” Master Lucian commented conversationally, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t being clear. That wasn’t a request. Luckily for you, I’m not, in fact, sithspawn, and as such would not torture you merely for the pleasure of hearing you scream. I will still, however, enforce compliance, as you’ve lost that courtesy. So, let’s try this again. Why did you not follow my conditions? Tell Me.”

He seemed to be struggling, before finally yelling “Thirty years!” An answer that made no sense to Anaïs, but caused her Master to look down and sigh.

Shaking his head, the Jedi asked, “So because I only come through here every thirty years or so, you thought, since I’d come by a mere twelve years ago, that you were safe? Who did. . . Oh, you’ve been gossiping, haven’t you Alfosco?” Master Lucian questioned chidingly. “Did you find another that escaped me, and thought you could do the same?”

“She had!” the man crowed, deciding to talk. “She had, and she lives here. Let me go, and I’ll tell you where she is! I’ll even follow your stupid kriffing rules! I saw what you did, you can only get what I know, but I don’t know it! I can contact someone who can! Just let me go an-“

“You’ll give me the location of Madshi Strliv, petty lowen warlord from Gavryn, whose boss I killed, just like I killed yours,” the Jedi interrupted, sounding bored. “She waited a whole two years before doing exactly what I killed her boss over, then got spooked when I stopped nearby, and ran. She lives about seven-thousand feet that way,” he stated, pointing to the right, and slightly down. “I know, Alfosco, she’s my fifth stop today. You are my second. So, you broke my rules, and thought you’d run before I got back, because if two people did so, and were still alive, obviously you could too.”

Beyond the Human’s fear, Anaïs could make out confusion as well. She wasn’t the only one. “You didn’t know about Jornagrav? You made this decision from a single person I hadn’t gotten to yet?” Master Lucian demanded. “Of course you did. Return to the Netherworld, Alfosco, and let your darkness disperse. May what you come back as live better than you have this time.”

With that pronouncement, the Jedi Master lifted a hand, wreathed in shadow and pressed it against the floating man’s forehead. Darkness compressed, and the man twitched, once, going slack as he died with barely a ripple in the Force.

Anaïs stood there, not sure what to say, as the pinned guard was pulled off the wall, eyes wide as he reeked of fear. Her Master probed his mind, before repeating, “Return to the Netherworld, Salvcad, and let your darkness disperse. May what you come back as live better than you have this time,” and killing him as well.

Turning, he lifted one of the injured guards, the blaster injury not immediately lethal, but she’d studied enough to know he likely wouldn’t survive if he didn’t get help soon. Once again, her Master probed the man’s mind, but instead of killing him to, he laid the larger man down, kneeling beside him as he healed the Human’s wound, the Force coming down and the flesh slowly knitting back together, leaving only a small scar.

The large man blinked, starting to get up, before Master Lucian’s small hand pressed firmly on the man’s wide chest, forcing him down like one would a child. “Listen, and listen well. I have no problem with small crimes, but there are some things I cannot abide, as they are unforgivable and hurt all. You shall find a list of them on your boss’s computer. I do not care if it is you who is in charge, or another, but go home, and tomorrow, tell those that remain to not violate those strictures, or I will come again. Also, I did not wait thirty years this time, I may not the next. Do you understand me?”

The large man nodded, terrified but attentive.

“Good. I have spared your life, Kellain, you who sought to kill me, and a debt has been established. I may never call upon it, but if I do, you will answer, and you will serve.” Master Lucian smiled, getting up. “Now then, I believe we shall leave this place Padawan, and hopefully never return.”

She holstered her saber and followed him out, numbly, past the cooling corpses, passed the densely-pack dancefloor, the dancers not aware of the slaughter that just happened not even thirty feet away from them, and it was only when she realized they were almost to the surface that she finally asked, “Why?”

“Hmmm?” her Master asked, turning.

“Why, why do that?” she asked, demanded, if she was being honest, pointing back the way they came. “What did that help? What could Alfosco have done to deserve that, or the guard? You just went down there, and you killed them, I killed them!” She felt her emotions rising out of control. She was supposed to be a Jedi, she was supposed to save people, not walk in and murder them with abandon!

“Ah,” he said, a little awkwardly. “Right. Follow me,” he stated, turning around, walking back the way they’d come.

“I don’t want to go back!” she protested, only to get a confused glance.

She tried to feel what he was doing in the Force, trying to use the Force Bond that connected Master and Padawan to understand what had just happened, but all he was, was mildly confused, and a little embarrassed. He’d just walked in, killed people, not in combat, but when he had them pinned down, and he wasn’t bothered about it at all!

“We’re not,” was all he said, walking down with powerful strides. She followed, abandoning the stupid crouch-walk he’d taught her. She didn’t see what the point of hiding was when her Master was apparently fine with just randomly walking in and killing people. She had a sudden, horrible thought.

“When you told those people to ‘make things right’, what did you mean?” she demanded, attracting attention but she didn’t care.

He just shrugged, “That’s up to them. If they hadn’t done that much, they’ll try to undo the damage. Apologize to those they hurt or robbed, make restitution. If their souls are tainted, their actions darker, they may turn on each other, or on those who’ve done far worse. Some might even kill themselves, though only the weakest of wills and those with the blackest of actions will do that. It doesn’t really matter, they were going to at best, rob us, at worst, kill me and rape you. Or the other way around. I’m not the best at those things, and, like I said, I was busy.”

She looked around the corridors they were striding down, at the small groups that stayed in shadowed alcoves. Some sheltered themselves in fear, others were like rock-vultures or eskrats, waiting for easy prey. She locked eyes with one, and focused on him, slowing. She could feel his fear of getting caught, his lust for her, his anger at everything around him, his greed that could never be filled, and she stopped, wondering if this was what her Master had seen, wondering if she should kill him. He’d obviously hurt people, he wanted to hurt her, wouldn’t it be best if-

A hand on her shoulder stirred her from her thoughts and she tried to turn, but the hand was firm. “Come, Padawan. Clearing vermin does nothing, for there will always be more. Better to impose order, and to let the scum police themselves.”

Shaking, she followed him, trying not to look at those around them. She hadn’t noticed it before, but, while the smell was physically unpleasant, being down here was like wading in an open sewer in the Force, and she hated it. “And this is why you need Mental Shields, Padawan,” the Jedi Master instructed, reading her mind and not breaking stride. “We help those who cannot help themselves, but we must not be a part of it, lest we find ourselves needing saving, where no such help exists.”

Focusing on his Presence to the exclusion of all else, she took comfort in the shadows. She rebuked herself for ever thinking himself evil, their curling shades hiding her from the world around her, the warmth of the golden sparks that danced within calming her. On the excursions she’d taken as a youngling, and as an Initiate, it had always been to carefully selected areas. To see nature on other planets, or on guided tours of the top few levels of Coruscant. She knew there were over five-thousand layers to the planet-wide city, and she’d only seen the top five, and thought she knew the pain of others. She was a fool.

“We’re here,” her Master’s words brought her out of her thoughts. “And you are inexperienced my Padawan, not foolish.”

She reddened. With how much she was leaning on his Presence through their Bond, she must be an open book to him. She didn’t even have the basest of Mental Shields to keep him out, not that, with how strong he was, it would help. They were standing across the way from a set of doors, with a guard at the front, and she wasn’t sure what her Master wanted her to do. Was this another nightclub? No, there was no line of young, wealthy people ready to pretend to be destitute. No, this area was worse, stinking and full of those who looked like they hadn’t a good meal, new clothes, or a bath in weeks.

Opening her senses to the Force, she flinched, recoiling bodily, only not falling because her Master caught her. They were deep, at least twelve levels down, and the doorway before her was like a festering wound in the Force, injured and rotting as despair, pain, death, and a sick, tainted, pleasure that left her gagging wafted off the area before her.

“Don’t. . .” she stuttered, “Don’t make me go in there,” she begged. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t. Was this what being a Sentinel meant? Going to the worse places and doing horrible things to worse people?

“I won’t” he reassured, directing her to sit. Trusting him, she did so, finding herself perched on a shadowy seat that hung in the air. “But now that I’m here, now that I’ve found it, I need to go inside. Stay here, and calm yourself, my Padawan, though stay alert.”

And with that, he was gone, striding towards the sickness and rot that felt like it would infect her just by being so close to it. Speaking with the guard, the larger man, why were they always large men, opened the door and went inside, her Master following. The slight ripple of the guard’s death was almost imperceptible against the sickness in the Force that was before her.

She sat there, trying to stay focused, as her Master’s Presence seemed to expand, blocking out the pain, and grief, and fear, and death that surrounded the space before her, until it was indistinguishable from anything else, and she was able to relax.

“Are you a witch?” a small voice asked beside her.

Not jumping, if only because she felt so tired, she looked to see a small girl, maybe six years old, staring up at her. She looked Atrisian, a human with dark, almond shaped eyes that looked up at her in awe and wonder. Focusing on the girl, Anaïs felt her open, innocent curiosity, and a little fear. “I’m a Jedi, youngling,” she told the small girl.

“Jedee?” the youngling repeated, looking down as she tried to remember something, before looking back up. “Oh, mommy talked about you once! She said you help people. Can you help mommy? She’s really sick!”

“Where is your mommy?” the Padwan asked, with a sinking feeling as the little girl pointed at the doorway her Master had walked into.

“She said she was gonna get medicine. I think I might be sick too, but mommy needs help more,” the small girl stated with a serious nod. “The big man at the door said he could give me a little medicine while mommy was inside, and it made me feel really good, but then I got sicker.”

“What did he give you, what did it look like?” Anaïs questioned, only to sit, face frozen as the little girl described a Spice Crystal, a dangerously addictive variant of the drug common across the galaxy.

Looking at the girl, the Jedi could see the circles under her eyes, and the fact that, while one couldn’t tell for sure under the rough-hewn dress, she seemed dangerously underweight. “I’m learning healing,” the Padawan offered. “Do you want me to try to help you?”

The little girl hesitated, looking back towards the door. “Only if you help my mommy too.” Promising that she, or her teacher, would, and hoping she could keep that promise, Anaïs laid her hand on the little girl’s head, and focused on what little she’d learned.

Healing, her Master had instructed, needed emotion. It was why so many Jedi trained in the Temple had trouble with it. When Dark-side users healed, they stole the life force from others, greedily gathering what they themselves had lost, the Dark side taking a portion for itself. Light-side healing, however, was a giving of oneself for others, a desire for them to be healed, to be whole.

A healer did not give of their own life-force in order to heal others, thought that was also possible. As Master Lucian had pointed out, if that was what it took to heal with the Force then a Jedi could never heal themselves, as they’d just be giving themselves their own life force, accomplishing nothing. Given that every Jedi was able to heal themselves, even if most only had the barest talent with the technique, it needed to be something else entirely.

A healing trance, where one fell into a deep sleep and healed themselves at a rapid rate, was the Force doing most of the work, but was wasteful in energy, requiring the subject to sleep to even it out. Healing was the desire to mend, to bring life, and as such was something only a follower of the Light could do well. More complicated healing was possible, he’d warned, but required a great deal of knowledge and control to more finely direct the Force which, as a user of the Light, just wanted to help.

Sith Alchemy could approximate Force Healing, making the Dark side of the Force, which wanted to hurt, do exactly what one wanted, but was always a tricky proposition, and many a Dark Adept had died from trying something beyond their capabilities. To heal with the Light, one merely wanted to make another better, and call upon the Force in that spirit of aid.

Anaïs did so, still unfamiliar with the ability, her connection to the Light side of the Force with this technique tenuous at best. The girl’s wonderous exclamation of ‘You’re glowing!’ nearly dropped her out of it. Cracking one eye, she saw that, while nowhere near her Master’s skill, her palm was glowing slightly, the light almost white, but faint, like an old bulb. Closing her eyes fully, she focused on this little girl, who hadn’t had the life Anaïs had, who was likely hooked on drugs because some kriffing sithspawn was bored and thought giving Spice to a child was funny.

She felt her connection wane, starting to darken as she almost lost control of the power and took a deep breath, focusing on the child. Nothing else mattered but her, and even if it might take her a hundred times as long as her Master would, she’d help this child. Directing the Force, she let herself be a conduit, but the technique still would not work.

No, she thought, not a conduit. Conduits were passive, like the Jedi Masters in the Temple claimed to be. No, I will be a guide. She wasn’t going to make the Force heal this girl, she just would want to, and ask the Force for help. If she failed, and couldn’t use the technique, she’d ask her Master to help, beg him if she needed to. This wasn’t about practicing her Force Healing, it was about helping another person.

Focusing, but not demanding, she felt the Force move through her, slowly, parts lingering on herself, healing her body, and while she didn’t want that to happen, wanted to heal the girl instead, the Force didn’t listen, healing them both, slowly but surely.

“Hmmm. Not bad.”

Startled, the technique shattered, and she opened her eyes as she saw her Master kneeling in front of her, holding the now-sleeping child. “Master?” she asked, feeling like she was about to fall asleep herself.

Looking outward, she flinched. Her Master’s presence now no-longer covered the area in front of her, but it seemed, less. Still like a wound, but no longer festering. There might be scarring, her medical training said, her exhausted mind making silly comparisons, but it will heal.

“This girl, her mother,” she said, before Master Lucian could respond. “She’s in there.”

Looking over the child, the Jedi shook his head. “Her body is, but her soul joined the Force hours ago, if not days.”

“. . . And the others in there?” Anaïs asked fearful to hear the response.

The man shrugged, “Those who were lost, but bright, I restored. Those who were stained, I cleansed. Those who were too far gone, I gave mercy to. It is not narcotics that I oppose, Padawan, it is places like that.”

“How many are there?” she asked. She felt like she was falling asleep just sitting here, but if she could help him with the two or three others that surely-

“Dozens upon dozens,” he replied, “And it would take us months of work to clear them all from this planet, assuming we were allowed to work in peace. No, by the time I’m done, others will do the work for us, and we shall have left, hopefully not to return while you are still my Padawan.”

Feeling her stomach drop, she gazed back on what had been a rotting sore in the Force, then down to the sleeping girl in her Master’s arms. “What are you going to do with her?”

“What should I do with her?” he asked in turn. “Her mother is dead, and Suzu here does not know who her father is. She has no family.”

“We can’t just leave her here,” Anaïs protested. “Maybe we could take her with us?”

Shaking his head, her Master argued, “In point of fact we could just leave her here. If we had not arrived, it’s what would’ve happened to her anyway. Do you think taking a youngling like this with us, knowing where we are likely to go, is a good idea?”

Her Master wasn’t wrong, but he wasn’t right either, “We could take her to the Temple-”

“While she is still young enough, barely,” he interrupted, “she is not Force Sensitive. They would have no place for her there.”

“Then somewhere else,” Anaïs argued. “We could take her to an orphanage.”

Master Lucian nodded, “We could, but the better ones require payment, and the lesser ones, they would be little better than leaving her out here. You are given a stipend, Padawan, would you spend it on this girl who you have just met. A girl whose name you did not even know? Healing her took but a moment, but this will be a stone around your neck for the next decade. One or two, one can bear easily, even wear with pride as a pendant, but will you stop, or will you keep going? Your stipend only goes so far, Padawan, what will you do when that runs out? What will you do when the weight grows so great you can no longer stand?”

“I’ll figure something out!” she declared. Why was he arguing her with this? With what she’d seen today, with all the horribleness, she just wanted to save this one girl. Was that too much to ask? “I don’t care what it takes, she needs help, and I’ll give it.”

“Be careful of that charity,” her Master warned, “for it can very easily turn to desperation, and fear, and cloud one’s judgement. More than one Jedi has fallen, doing ‘whatever it takes’ to save one life, sometimes even despite the wishes of the one they were saving. It is a fine line between saving a life because it is right, or saving a life for personal reasons, even if it hurts others who do not deserve it. That said, do not worry Padawan, I shall cover this young one’s care.”

“But, you said,” Anaïs trailed off, looking up at her Master as he stood, the girl in his arms, and she still sat, exhausted and confused, just feeling empty.

“I laid out the options, and explained them. You have a lot of work ahead of you, Padawan, but that is why you are a Padawan.”

Feeling even more numb than after the slaughter, she followed her Master up through the sub-levels, coming out on the surface. They took an air-car to an orphanage and were met by a harassed looking older woman. A conversation was had, notes written, Anaïs signing her name when prompted, and a small bag of credit-chips exchanged.

In a blur Anaïs was back in her room, where she mechanically undressed and got into bed, not registering anything else. “You’re leaving?” she asked as her Master paused at the door.

“I said I had many more stops, youngling,” Master Lucian reminded her, though she wasn’t sure if it was the tiredness made her see his fond smile, or the light seemingly glimmering in his eyes. “One day, you may even join me. For now, sleep, rest, and learn. Today was the first of your training. You did quite well, despite what you may think, and we shall leave this planet when you wake.”

The door closed behind him, the lock turning, leaving her in the darkened room, and her thoughts. The violence, the darkness, it all washed over her, but in the middle of it all, was the face of the young girl she’d managed to save.

 

Chapter 7
​

He knew it wasn’t the Jedi way to hate, but he was coming to hate paperwork.

After that first day Jorel had fallen into a steady pattern. He’d wake at seven a.m., ship’s time, and be ready to go by eight, at which point Sergeant Hisku would come in no matter how dressed he was. They’d get breakfast, say hello to Sergeant Major Gars, and then they’d continue their tour of the ship.

Tour wasn’t really the right word, Er’izma wanted him to know the ship, from the dorsal power network to each of the sixteen dual-heavy turbolaser batteries, to every corner of every hanger. “This ship, like the Force, works together. No part of it is un-needed, and all must be known,” his Master had said, and Sergeant Hisku had taken that literally.

Jorel wasn’t a gearhead, but he was coming to understand how it all worked, the weak points, the strong points, what could be patched quickly and what, if it were sparking, he needed to get everyone away from fast. It was, slowly, making sense, but spending nearly as long doing that as he spent training his Force abilities seemed a bit much.

After three hours of that, there was lunch, and then came training with his Master, the same time, every day. He’d asked Sergeant Hisku, and once he’d convinced her that no, he didn’t know why, she explained that Er’izma was even busier than he was, and had to schedule this training time out in advance. When Jorel had to explain that, in the Temple, there was no real set schedule after the basics were learned, but Masters teaching and Initiates learning as they would, she’d looked at him like he was insane.

“How do you get anything done?” she’d demanded, disgusted.

Gesturing to himself, feeling a bit defensive, he stated, “By working at your own speed? Taking as long as you need to get it done right?”

“Is that why Commander Er’izma said you were lacking?” she shot back imperiously.

This was something he was learning about Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi. Given a clear direction, usually teaching him about, or more accurately shepherding him around, the ship, she was cool and professional, but present her with an alternate way of doing things and she tended to react. . . badly. In some ways it reminded him of his teachers, who insisted that theirs was the only right and proper way to do things, though he’d had the good sense not to tell her about that comparison. “He said I needed to improve to be at a Knight’s level,” Jorel corrected. “Or should I call you lacking because you can’t do a Major’s job yet?”

Watching her sputter had been well worth the time it took to memorize the rank structure. She’d rallied a moment later, and returned to her task at the time, explaining how, and why, the power converters worked. He had asked if it was really necessary to know all this, as it seemed to be more of an engineer’s job, only to be informed that, had Er’izma commanded him to be an engineer, he’d need to not only know the mechanics of the device, and how to spot-repair it, but the base math and concepts that made it work so he could build one from scratch, if so required. Looking for help from the other crew members nearby, who were watching with amusement while they worked, an older looking blue-skinned, red-eyed man just nodded solemnly.

His Force training was going. . . well, it was going. Healing and Empathy, his worst subjects, he’d actually made some improvement on. Ironically, they required the exact opposite approaches, which had tripped him up both ways. The key to both was emotion. Force Empathy required one to “still oneself in the Force,” Er’izma had explained, explicitly outlining what the Temple’s teachers had only given in vague statements. “Every living thing has a Presence in the Force, though those weak in it have subtler effects. To hear how the ripples their emotions make, you must still your own ripples in the Force, walking quietly instead of running if you wish to hear the footsteps of those lighter than yourself. Center and calm your emotions, and those of others will reach you through the Force.”

That had, of course, led to a lot more meditation, though on his own time after his day was done.

Healing he’d picked up a bit more easily as, despite what the teachers had said, it required emotion. One had to want someone to be healed in order to do so effectively. However, that wanting itself had to be specific. His Master had stressed that it was a wanting someone to be whole and healthy for the sake of being whole and healthy, not out of personal desire, that lent itself best to healing. Other emotions, like fear or anger, would cloud the connection the Light side of the Force, making it harder to mend wounds and revitalize flesh.

That had led to another conversation, as he’d read about the Light side in the archives, only for the Temple’s instructors to rebuke him for using the phrase as an ‘archaic nomenclature’, even if some of those reports were only a few decades old, and they’d insisted that there was only ‘The Force’. Er’izma had just told him that was a discussion for another day, reminded him of the Temple’s policy of Padawans learning what their Masters taught them, even if it disagreed with their Initiate training, and to move on.

The time with his Master each day was split into thirds; discussing techniques, practicing them, and lightsaber combat training were all equally addressed. It’d been nearly three full weeks, and they hadn’t sparred like they had that first day. His Master instead worked with Jorel to better understand the meaning behind his combat style, its strengths, and its weaknesses, breaking down every move in detail. While the Knight readily admitted that he specialized in Makashi, the dueling form, he was familiar enough with the others Forms to explain their qualities. The older man was quick to remind him that, “Combat is a universal language. Just because one uses a defensive Form, Padawan, does not make the lightsaber cut any less. Just because you use an offensive one, does not change the physics of your strikes.”

While Jorel hadn’t scored another hit, he’d managed to narrow his telekinetic burst from an omni-directional blast to a cone, though he did have to point his fingers while gripping his lightsaber to do so. He’d accepted his Master’s light rebuke that doing so was a crutch that should be reduced, mostly because it came on the heels of the older man praising Jorel for how quickly he’d picked it up.

That said, the first time he’d caught his Master with it, Jorel had been blasted off his own feet by the man’s reflexive, answering blast without even seeing the Knight move. Twisting in the air, the Padawan had managed a stumbling landing, guard shaky, only to see he’d merely managed to push Er’izma back a single step. While the younger man knew he was progressing, he obviously had a way to go.

However, as fun as the training was, afterwards came the growing bane of existence: paperwork. It didn’t actually involve paper, though he was warned that for high government matters, and more archaic planets, it would. Instead, it involved staring at endless rows of numbers, reports, and every form of record possible. Being apprenticed to the Commander, he’d been smugly told by Sergeant Hisku, meant that he was also to help the Commander run the legion. That smugness had only lasted until Er’izma had, with a beatific smile, informed her that, as his attaché, it was her job to help Jorel do so.

Now they were both hip-deep in requisition forms and supply contracts, for everything from Jogan Fruit to Tibanna gas. As was routine, Er’izma poked his head into his Padawan’s office, which was next to his own, at the half-way mark. “Any questions, young apprentice?” the man asked, as calm as ever. Just as he had every day before.

“Yes!” Jorel sighed explosively. “Why do I need to do this? I know, I’m your Padawan so I’m supposed to learn what you do, but when am I ever going to need to know all of this stuff?” He gestured to the datapad filled with a seemingly endless supply of documents to review. “I’m not going to be in charge of anything like this once I’m a Knight!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the rest of the ship.

“Ah, I hadn’t realized you’d already mastered Farsight, Padawan,” his Master observed, “to know the path the future holds for you so completely. Perhaps you could show me your wise ways, far surpassing even Master Yoda.” At Jorel’s unamused look, he continued, “Do you think I’m only teaching you how to run a military unit?”

“Well, yes,” the younger man replied, before his brain caught up with his mouth. “Do you mean you’re not?”

Stepping in fully, Er’izma motioned for Sergeant Hisku to remain seated, summoning the folding chair from the side of the room without a gesture, gracefully sitting on it as it unfolded behind him. “Tell me, you’re on assignment to settle a dispute. There are two sides on two different planets in a system, let’s call them the Aenids and the Besors. The Aenids are being attacked by what they claim are the Besors, while the Besors claim innocence, and that it is the work of pirates. Both have agreed to defer to you, as a Jedi, but both insist their side is correct. What do you do?”

“I’d wait for an attack to happen, and capture some of the pirates,” he replied immediately, but he could already tell there were some problems with this. “Wait, you said it was two planets? That might be a lot of space to cover. Are they even in the same system?”

Er’izma nodded. “They are, and that could work, the Force may give you an insight into the location of the ‘pirates’ next attack, assuming they do so while you’re there, and haven’t been warned off, either by the Besors or by their own watchers. Though some will assuredly die in the attack, it might serve to get to the bottom of things.”

Looking at the datapad on his desk, Jorel thought about it. “These pirates, how many of them are there?”

Sitting back, the Knight shrugged. “Unclear. Some say they have a single frigate and a handful of fighters, some say they might have a several corvettes, some that they have two frigates, several corvettes, and a small group of fighters. It’s all hearsay and rumors. The pirates have been careful to destroy or capture any droid that sees them.”

“And how developed are the planets?” the apprentice pressed, starting to get an idea of what he needed to do.

“Both have a large capital city, and several small cities spread out across the planet, along with dozens upon dozens of smaller communities,” the older man revealed. “The attacks are quick, only lasting a few dozen minutes. Death and destruction seems to be their aim.”

“So they’re not raiding for supplies,” Jorel continued. “Which means they’re being paid somehow, so I could go through the government’s finances to find suspicious spending! Both governments,” he added, “in case they’re attacking their own people to get something from the Republic, maybe restitution or aid funds.”

“Easier said than done, depending on what’s going on, but a possible avenue. And tell me, young Padawan, would you have considered that a week ago?” his Master inquired.

“Well, no,” he was forced to reply, “But now that I’ve learned this lesson, does that mean I can stop?”

Er’izma got up, the chair putting itself away. “And lose someone to help me with the prodigious amount of paperwork this operation requires? I think not. No, you still have more to learn, young Jorel, and one of those things is that there are many reasons I take so many Padawans.”
Laughing, the Knight left Jorel to his work, as the younger man tried his best not to be annoyed.

He failed miserably.

<<SWPP>>
​

It was the beginning of their fourth week, sixteen days since he’d joined the crew, when the routine was finally broken up. Sergeant Hisku walked into his room, as usual. What was not usual was the sheathed sword at her hip. “Officer’s blade,” she offered as her only explanation, “got it yesterday. Let’s go.”

Following her, he couldn’t help but steal glances to it, and the way the other crew looked at it: with respect, surprise, and a little bit of envy. Jorel and Sergeant Hisku, following ship protocol, were together four out of the five days of the week, the last their day off to rest and recuperate. Jorel had been spending the last three studying, meditating, and practicing, while Sergeant Hisku had been off doing something other than assisting him, though she had given him orders to “Don’t get into trouble, you know where to go, if you don’t know, ask, I’ll see you in two days,” at the end of his first week.

“So,” he commented as they walked. “I haven’t seen the other officers wearing blades.”

“They’re for combat and official functions,” she explained with her normal coolness, though there was a bit of added stiffness to it, the woman staring forwards. Part of Jorel wanted to push her to be as open as she’d been their first day together, but after she’d helped him limp back to his room, she’d gone back to the cool, professional, detached officer she’d been trying to appear to be at first. He still elicited a reaction from time to time, but she obviously wanted to keep a sense of decorum, and he wasn’t so much of a nerf-herder that he was going to mess with her just for the fun of seeing her fail at what she was trying to do.

However, there was a difference between trying to get her to break her professionalism and finding out what was going on. When she didn’t say anything else, he prodded, “So, why are you wearing yours?”

She shot him an annoyed glance, obviously wanting to not talk about it, but it was something he was interested in, and she had said that he was supposed to ask questions if he didn’t understand.

“Because I need to ‘get used to it’, which means I need to wear it as much as possible until I’m told not to,” she stated. “Which means I need to sleep with the thing, for some kriffing reason,” she muttered to herself.

Glancing down at it once more, Jorel couldn’t help but be interested in the weapon. It was sheathed, but it was long, the blade maybe a little shorter than his lightsaber’s, and the width of the blade maybe a little more than the diameter of his own saber. It was curved slightly, and had a small, circular cross guard, something that, more than anything else, caught Jorel’s attention. Lightsaber’s didn’t have such things, of course, and he wondered how it would affect the techniques one could use.

“My eyes are up here,” she stated crossly, and he glanced upwards as they walked.

“Did they move?” he asked with a grin. “Because I’m pretty sure they’ve always been there. Sorry, just looking at your weapon. Aren’t Sergeants officers? I thought they were, so why are you only getting a sword now?”

She ignored him for a long moment, answering as they entered the mess hall, “Only Captains get them.” Captain being the rank, as opposed to the captain of the ship, which was General Er’izma. She didn’t say anything else, and while Sergeant Major Gars looked at it, and gave her an approving nod, he didn’t comment on it at all. As they sat down, she had to adjust it several times before it sat comfortably on her hip, finally twisting the sheath so it laid across her legs.

He ate, watching her, before finally asking, “You’re upset. Why?” At her sharp look, he pre-empted her comment, “Still suck at Force Empathy. You’ve watched my training, you know that. What’s up?”

“Nothings ‘up’,” she stated coolly, but he stared at her, waiting. She tried to eat, glancing up from her food several times to see him waiting, before finally putting her fork down and answering, with a quiet vehemence, “I’m not a Captain.”

He thought about that, continuing to eat himself as he turned that statement over. “So, you don’t think you should have it?” From her response, he was spot on.

“It’s not right,” she pronounced, hands tightening on her utensils. “Just because I. . . I didn’t ask. . .” she struggled to put her displeasure into words. As usual, she’d chosen a table away from other people, so there wasn’t anyone around to hear their whispered conversation. “I haven’t. . . there’s an order to these things!” she finally exclaimed in low but strong tones.

He nodded without comment, considering her words, and what he’d learned about the woman before him. “So, what’s the order for attachés?” At her sharp look, he explained, “Well, with how often Er’izma-”

“Commander Er’izma,” she corrected.

“With how often Er’izma takes Padawans,” he repeated, using her annoyance at his lack of protocol to distract her from her own issues, “there should be some kind of way of doing things.”

“If there is,” she stated immediately, with cold anger, “I wasn’t told. Nor could I find it.”

While he wasn’t the best with Empathy, that was true, he could still do it a little now, and took a drink, centering himself, trying to still his own presence in the Force. The crew were abustle with emotion, louder than the Temple ever was in the Force, their emotions spilling everywhere, but he could isolate Sergeant Hisku. She didn’t have the strong sense of self a Jedi did, but it was stronger than a normal person’s. He could sense her anger, ill-repressed like it was, but below that, faint to his senses, were the barest hints of confusion and. . . betrayal, rippling through the Force around her, though the presence of the ship itself seemed to smooth it all out a little.

“So, where to next?” he asked, and as she announced that they were going to be looking over the ion cannons, again, and he groaned in dismay, her emotions stabilized a little in gratitude and a wee bit of sadistic glee.

<<SWPP>>

​

That day, as Jorel tried to finely manipulate a long durasteel rod with telekinesis, he asked his Master something that had been bugging him for a while. “Master, why haven’t we gotten to Delle yet? It’s as far away from Anaxes as Coruscant is, and that took us a few hours.”

“Don’t stop,” Er’izma instructed, as he considered the question, watching the floating piece of metal pensively. “You said you were a pilot, young Padawan. Tell me, what do you know about astrogation?”

He shrugged, trying to spin the bar. He could do so on two axes, but then moving it while it was spinning was something he was struggling with, made harder by the fact that his Master insisted he sit with his hands folded while he did so, to not ‘pick up bad habits’. “Ask an Astromech, don’t go off the Hyperlanes without a good reason, and the lower a hyperdrive rating a ship has, the faster you go, for some reason.”

“And what rating do you think this ship is?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. Two? Maybe two and a half?”

“Try five.”

Dropping the bar with a loud clatter, he looked at his Master in disbelief. “Why? Yeah the ship’s big, but that means it’ll take us forever to go anywhere! I know they’re expensive, but with how much you spend on everything else, couldn’t you afford a better one?”

Er’izma didn’t say a word, just looking meaningfully at the bar. Once it was in the air, spinning again, he answered. “I wasn’t aware that you were in such a hurry. It is not a matter of affording, Padawan Jorel, but of law. Tell me, what do you know of the Ruusan Reformation?”

Not sure about what something a thousand years ago had to do with hyperdrive law, he tried to recall what he’d learned. It’d been covered, once, during the history lessons he’d had as an Initiate, a minor footnote in history. “Happened at the end of the New Sith Wars. Made it so Jedi couldn’t lead militaries. Since the Sith were all dead, we didn’t need to.” He gave the training bay in what was very obviously a warship a significant glance, “Or, at least, that’s what I thought it was.”

“It was more than that,” his Master stated solemnly, ignoring the Padawan’s implied accusation. “It led to the demilitarization of the entire Republic, a complete abolishment of its military, and much more. While small planetary defense forces were allowed, to deal with pirates and such, the Republic decided it had no more need for war.”

Slowing the bar, he used it to point to his Master, then Sergeant Hisku, then the officer that had walked in with Er’izma. “No military?” he asked dryly.

“Ah, but we are a Judiciary Legion. It says so in the Senatorial declaration that bequeathed it to me,” the Knight smiled.

“Judiciary Legion?” Jorel echoed, only for Er’izma to nod. “How are you supposed to use a Judiciary Legion?”

“Judiciously,” the older man replied, without missing a beat. “But, among the other restrictions in the Reformations, was one based on the Hyperdrives any armed ship over a certain size could possess. There are exceptions which we, sadly, do not qualify for. What’s worse is that, the less travelled the Hyperdrive Route, the longer it takes, as the slower one must go so as to avoid possible rogue objects that could generate enough of a gravity shadow to damage a ship in Hyperspace. From one end of the Galaxy to the other, it would take us four months, though that would be going through the Core, so it would likely take us longer than a mere hundred and forty days.”

“Then, when are we going to get where we’re going?” Jorel asked.

“The day after tomorrow,” his Master shrugged. “Is that all?” The Padawan’s eyes darted towards Sergeant Hisku, the Knight following his gaze and understanding in an instant what had taken the younger man several minutes of questioning. “I see. I believe that’s enough practice for now. Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi, if you’d care to join us?”

She glanced at the other officer, who nodded to her, before quickly marching over. “Commander?” the blue-skinned woman asked, obviously ill at ease.

Turning to her as Jorel stood, the Knight gestured to her weapon. “From your record, you passed your combat training with high marks. If you’ll draw your blade, please take a guard position.”

She hesitated before doing so, the weapon, now unsheathed, was shown to be made of a whitish metal. Squaring her feet, she took what was immediately recognizable to the Padawan as the opening stance of Form I, Shii-Cho, the Determination Form of Lightsaber combat. “Master?” he asked in turn, not knowing what was going on.

“Did you know, that before we adopted these weapons,” the Jedi stated conversationally, taking out his own shoto blade, “the ancient Jedi used metal swords? It shows in some of our forms, Makashi being one of the notable exceptions. We swing as if our weapons have edges, turn as if they have weight, and move as if it doesn’t take more than a glancing blow to cut through anything. Practically anything.”

Showing the Padawan that his saber was set to full intensity, the Knight lightly tapped the metal sword, creating a small shower of sparks that sprayed harmlessly, though the Sergeant still flinched slightly. Instead of cutting through the metal however, there wasn’t so much as a single bit of scoring on the flawless looking metal blade. “Master?” Jorel repeated, trying to think of what this was. “Mandalorian Iron?” It was known that the armor of those soldiers, who sometimes hunted Jedi, could take hits from a Lightsaber, but the material was beyond rare, and the secret of its creation held tightly by-

“Oh, no,” the older man laughed. “Nothing so extravagant. No, there are a small number of materials that can stand up to a lightsaber’s blade. Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi’s blade is made from a phrik alloy. Our blades could still cut through it, with enough force and time, but it would take several dozen fights before it would be ruined by our weapons. On a training setting?” he turned down the weapons intensity, lightly pressing it against the woman’s tightly held blade, creating only a sizzling and a couple sparks. Once he pulled it back, her sword still looked pristine, “It might as well be a saber itself. And this alloy’s weight is not an issue for the forms as well. Sergeant, if you’d hand the Padawan your sword?”

Jorel took it, and it was lighter than it looked. It still had more weight to it than his lightsaber, and the balance seemed off, but he mentally ran through his own preferred Form. Looking it over, he saw that both the forward and backwards edges were sharpened, and the curve wasn’t as pronounced as he’d first thought. While not optimal, he could likely still use most of the moves of Djem So with this blade. Handing it back to her, she took it, returning to her guard position, keeping her face impassive but obviously as lost as he was. “I suppose so, Master. That is fascinating, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

At his obvious confusion, the Knight smiled widely, deactivating and holstering his small saber. “Have you ever heard the truism, ‘to teach is to learn twice?’”

He had in fact heard such a thing. Repeatedly. Usually when a Master, or Anaïs, and some part of him wondered how she was doing, bullied him into helping instruct a group of younglings. It was even true, to a point, having to explain a thing making him consider it from new angles and helping him to understand. . . “No.”

Eri’zma’s eyes twinkled, in a way that must’ve been some kind of Force trick. “I think you’ll find, Padawan, that you do not have a choice in the matter. But I am a kind Master. You have the basics of understanding reports down, so you only will need to do so for an hour after our training each day. After your dive into the endless task of paperwork is done, you shall spend two helping to guide young Hisku’biatha’pusi, just as I am guiding you. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“But,” Jorel sputtered, trying to find an argument that would work. Teaching younglings with a Master, and Anaïs, looking over his shoulder was one thing. This was something entirely different! “But I’ve only just become a Padawan myself!”

The Knight nodded, “And she is as proficient as an Initiate who hasn’t yet passed their trials. I know you assisted them.”

“She isn’t a Jedi!” he tried, and he winced at both the indignation he could feel from her, and the cool judgement he received from his smug Master, but he wasn’t wrong!

“I am not asking you to make her one, Padawan,” Er’izma noted, expression neutral. “But all living things have a connection to the Force. Will she reach the heights you will someday stand upon? Likely not. But does that mean she is to be ignored because of that?”

Jorel grit his teeth, hating it when people put words in his mouth. He could double-talk as good as anyone, but if he said, ‘I disagree’, and meant. ‘I think you’re a kriffing idiot’, he made it clear. “I didn’t say that, Knight Er’izma. I was trained as a Jedi, Master, in case you forgot. I don’t know how to train someone who isn’t a Jedi, because I’ve spent almost my entire life surrounded by nothing but Jedi, and I don’t want to do something wrong, or be unfair to her because of it.”

The older man just smiled again. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Now, all we need is the, oh, here it is, come in trooper!” A younger looking man, maybe Jorel’s age, walked through the doors carrying a sheathed sword that seemed to be the same as the one Sergeant Hisku was holding, still in the guard position. However, the handle was an almost fluorescent orange. Taking the blade, he waved the young man off, unsheathing the weapon. This one seemed to be made of steel, though the edges were rounded off.

“Training with live steel is an accident waiting to happen, so if you are to spar, you are to use this,” Er’izma instructed. “It’s toughened to the point that training settings shouldn’t damage it too badly. But, for practicing Forms individually or anything else where you are not to be at risk of striking each other, you are to use your real sword. Is that understood Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi?” She nodded, and he smiled at them. “Wonderful. I’m sure this will take a little time, so you can forgo going through reports today. Never say I am not an understanding Master. You two have fun, and try not to do anything that brings either of you to the Medbay!”

With that he left, the two of them watching as he left without a look backwards, the Captain he’d walked in with following and closing the door behind him.

An awkward silence stretched between the two of them, broken when she finally asked, “Not a Jedi?”

He flicked a few fingers at her, putting a fifth of the force he normally put into his blasting push, only to be surprised as she stumbled back several steps, arms windmilling as she recovered her balance and glared at him, announcing, “I have a sword, you know.”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes. “You say that like it means something. Grab your sparring blade, I guess I should see how good you are. I figured you were combat trained, but lightsaber forms?”

“It’s not like they said what it was,” she grumbled, sheathing her blade and walking to where Er’izma had placed her training weapon. “Just that it was a sword fighting form, one of a half dozen, and they all had odd names like Atari and-”

“Djem So?” he asked, getting a look and a nod from her. “And you were trained sword fighting because. . . ?”

“It’s quiet, there’s no friendly fire, blades don’t need to be reloaded, and sometimes some idiot has shields that’ll block blasters, but not swords,” she listed off. “Are you saying most soldiers aren’t?”

That. . . was a good question. “Druk, I don’t know,” he sighed. “Where else have you served?”

Now she was looking at him as if he was being thick, an eyebrow raised as she asked, “What do you mean?”

“You’re Republic Military,” he said. “Sorry, ‘Judiciary.’” He corrected with air-quotes to fully express how silly the distinction was. “So, you’re a Sergeant, which means you’ve been doing this for a bit. Where did you serve before this ship?”

She paused, and for the first time since he met her, she seemed. . . awkward? Not just unsure, but with a tinge of worry, as if there was something else there she didn’t want to talk about. “Are you going to teach me, or not?” she asked instead. It was an obvious deflection, but he went with it. This day was weird enough, and he could always question his Master about it later. The man was infuriating in how he’d answer any question, and half the time the answers, while true, didn’t help.

“What’s your favored Form?” he asked instead, only to get a blank look. “If you had to pick one to specialize in, which one would you pick?”

“The defensive one?” she asked more than said. “Sorjetsu?”

“Soresu,” he corrected, and she nodded. “My best friend, only friend, really, preferred that one.” Once more the silence stretched between them. “Which means I know a bit about it, if just from sparring with her,” he explained, getting a nod of understanding. “Come on. Give me your best shot, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“No Force powers,” she stated warily, as she approached him, training blade at the ready.

He just grinned at her, “You think I’ll need them?”

<<SWPP>>
​

By the end of their four hours of sparring and training, he’d found that, while good for an Initiate, even Anaïs was a better fighter. Sergeant Hisku had pushed herself, hard, and while she hadn’t hit him, he’d seen worse. However, strained and drained as she was, they were about to leave for the medbay when Jorel received a message on his personal datapad from his Master, reminding him that as long as the cuts weren’t more than a few centimeters deep, and the bones weren’t fully broken, he could handle this himself, and get extra practice with Force Healing in the process.

While he was fine, Sergeant Hisku needed some help, and it was only by having her read the message herself that she let him heal her. It took a bit to get in the right mindset, his own guilt at pushing her a bit harder than he’d meant to, of all things, getting in his way. However, it was only a matter of time before his hands started to glow a subdued blue, aquamarine droplets falling down onto her, sinking into sore muscles, bruised tissues, and strained ligaments, undoing the damage done by overzealous training. It wasn’t a reversal of the damage, but it accelerated the healing, the gains in strength and flexibility from damaged muscle fibers still occurring. Anything worse than a light cut would’ve been beyond Jorel’s very limited capabilities, but this he could help with.

Her cheeks had darkened in embarrassment at needing to be healed. He’d shared in that feeling himself. He, as her instructor, should’ve called an end to it earlier, but she’d started to pick up on some of her problems, mainly trying to attack with Form I while not transitioning her stance out of Form III, though she’d started to adapt the motions slightly, to do so in a half-way manner. He was sure the Temple Battlemaster would be abhorred to see the two of them changing the ‘pure’ Forms as they were, but Master Drallig would probably be having a fit at Jorel’s teaching a non-Jedi forms to use with a metal sword of all things, so it didn’t really matter.

The next day they’d gone back to business as usual, though there was still a level of awkwardness between them. After an hour of paperwork, they’d returned to training and sparring, where both of them were careful not to overdo it, Even them, both of them a little sweaty, him from constantly demonstrating moves and shifting around her as she trained, and her from his putting her through her paces, but he had to admit she wasn’t that bad. Her sword, while odd and unbalanced for him, seemed to work very well for her. Getting used to training someone whose blade had weight, however light, was making things harder, but Sergeant Hisku refused to back down, and her complaints were never directed towards him.

At least, the one’s he’d heard muttered under her breath hadn’t been.

The day after that, though, they were barely done with breakfast when both their commlinks chimed, summoning them to the bridge for the first time. It was massive, with a highly vaulted ceiling, two pairs of slanted support beams coming down from either side to form a raised corridor down the middle. Rows upon rows of consoles were set in the lower side sections, along with a raised dais at the end, where Er’izma stood, along with the Togrutan he’d seen when the first arrived. Wracking his brain, he remembered her name just as they walked up to the pair.

“Master, Major Zara,” he nodded, getting a raised eyebrow from the woman and a slight smile from the Knight. He wanted to ask why they were called, but he didn’t know how to say it in a way that might not be taken as ‘out of line’ by the stiffly standing officer. She seemed even more formal than Sergeant Hisku was.

His Master, likely sensing his distress, answered the question anyway. “We’re about to arrive at Delle, which means we’ll have left the Core and now are into the Colonies, thank the Force. We’ll stop to resupply and attend to some business here. As my apprentice, you and Sergeant Hisku shall come with me to observe, to learn, and to see the real-world ramifications of all those reports I’ve been making you read.”

He turned and looked out the enormous windows at the front, gazing into hyperspace for a single moment before that shifting tunnel dissipated and the stars streaked back to static points of light, a blue and orange sphere seeming to pop into existence below them.

“We’re being hailed,” a man at terminal to their right announced. “Transmitting codes, we’ve been cleared to approach, Sir.”

A woman on their left added, “Scans coming up clean. Looks safe, Commander.”

“Good,” Er’izma nodded. “If you’d be so kind as to call our supplier, Captain Torrel.”

The four of them stood, waiting until the holographic bust of an older woman appeared on the projector in front of them. “Knight Er’izma!” she smiled, but there was something a bit strained about it. “So good to see you!”

“And you as well, Lady Evensdawn,” he greeted in return, head tilting forward slightly in the barest hint of a bow. “There are many reasons why I chose you as my supplier, among the others on Delle. I assume our supplies are ready for pickup?”

The woman’s expression, which had started to warm, tightened again. “About that. I have most of it,” she quickly added, “but the shipment of Bacta from Shelkonwa, as well as some parts, were. . . lost. Pirates, you see. I can still get them for you,” she reassured him, “but not for another two weeks, half a month at most!”

“Pirates?” the Jedi asked, starting to grin. Unlike his normal variations of that expression, which always seemed to be on his face in some manner, though, Jorel could feel a certain edge to it. “And if we were to recover the other supplies the bandits have taken, would you be amenable to purchasing them, at standard cost?”

The woman winced, but nodded, “That would be appropriate. I can send you the surviving ship’s reports, but they’ll have likely fled from where they intercepted the convoy.”

“We’ll worry about that, my dear,” he said, physically waving away her concerns. “We’ll pay you for the supplies you have managed to secure, of course, and should return before the month is out, ready to settle our new contract. As always, my Lady, it’s been a pleasure.”

The smile Lady Evensdawn gave him, while seemingly tired, did seem genuine. “Likewise, Master Jedi.”

The connection was cut, and Er’izma turned. His Presence in the Force, diffuse and so weak as to barely be noticeable, seemed to surge into being, a phalanx of soldiers ready for battle. The Presence throughout the ship felt like it rose in kind, all of the bridge crew sitting straighter, as if they could feel what Jorel was feeling, despite not being Jedi themselves.

“Major Zara,” the Jedi ordered, all hint of genial serenity gone, replaced with calm, confident command, “Let’s get those supplies, then make ready for departure. It appears that some have believed that, merely because they are not in the Core, and off of major hyperspace routes, they can do as they please. We shall correct them. Inform the crew,” he smiled, and it was a sharp thing, full of teeth.

“We’re hunting pirates.”

 

Chapter 8
​

When she woke, she still felt tired.

Not the kind of tired that was your body telling you that you needed to sleep, the fatigue of a long day’s work, no, this feeling was her body telling her that, whatever she’d done last night, it’d been the wrong thing to do, so now it was best to go back to sleep rather than face the consequences of what had happened.

However, Anaïs was a Jedi, and Jedi faced the world as it was, they didn’t hide from it, and she’d face the world. It was very nice and warm under the covers though. She’d face the world as it was in five minutes.

Rousing herself, she noticed how quiet it was. There was always a low-level hum when in a city, of airspeeders flying by and the comings and goings of millions of people. The lack of such a hum had been something that, on her Master’s ship, she was still getting used to. Now, though, she neither heard the barely there sounds of a ship’s drive, nor did she hear the sounds of the city she was so familiar with.

The silence was almost deafening, once she focused on it, though she could hear the occasional tap tap of gloved fingers on a datapad. Forcing herself to sit up and open her eyes, she blinked blearily, not recognizing the room she was in at first, nor having any memory of going to sleep. Master Lucian nodded to her, glancing up from the tablet computer he was reading. “Morning, Padawan. Morning-ish, at least,” he amended, glancing towards the clock on the wall, showing it was just after noon. “Good to see you’ve decided to join the rest of us. Use the ‘fresher, and take your time, but we should be leaving in the next hour.”

Blushing at having been so slothful, she slid out of bed, picking up the change of clothing that was set out, the other bags they’d dropped off earlier oddly absent, and she quickly went through her morning abl-, her ablutions, cleaning the grime off that’d she’d gone to bed smeared with, giving herself time to think.

Her memories of last night were disjointed and ephemeral, like a particularly vivid dream, or a Force-Vision, but not one that slipped away if she did not hold onto it tightly. She remembered killing those people, even if it was in self-defense, and shuddered, trying to calm herself, trying to let the emotions go into the Force, though they stuck to her like tar. The outrage at being attacked, the relief when her Master had killed a few, the horror at realizing she’d killed one herself, and everything that came after.

Finishing, toweling herself off, and braiding her still wet hair, she once again dressed in clothing far different than anything she was used to. Jedi tunics were rough yet tough, function over form exemplified, doubling as an effective meditation aid as one’s learning to ignore the feeling of the cloth helped one ignore one’s emotions, keeping oneself centered in the Force. These garments, black and grey, slid almost sensuously across her skin, fitting so closely that it almost felt like she wasn’t wearing anything at all.

With that thought, she hesitated opening the door, blushing. Centering herself, she moved back into the main room, where her male and very young-looking master was waiting for her. Not even looking up, he tossed her a bag, and she stowed her dirty clothing inside it. Looking at him inquisitively when he didn’t say anything, she asked, “What are we doing next, Master?”

“Leaving,” he said simply. “Our business is completed, and there’s no reason to tarry any longer. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Listen.”

The word seemed to reverberate in her mind, before a wall of sound hit her, nearly making her stumble. Sirens blared from outside, the sounds of distant blaster-fire easily heard through the window. The normal sedate but constant noises of the city had a frantic, almost dangerous edge to them, and it almost sounded like someone screamed in the distance.

Her Master watched in amusement as she rushed to check the window, seeing emergency vehicles flash past, not saying anything as they left the room. Outside there was an airspeeder waiting for them, which they both entered without a word, their destination pre-programmed. Lifting upwards she got a view of the city, and it was a city in chaos. Smoke rose from a dozen different places across the metropolis, and one large building was still on fire, the inferno bright even with the lights along the top of the cavern set to ‘day’, but obscured with smoke. Turning a questioning look to her master, he stared out over the city dispassionately, almost bored.

Noticing her stare, he casually explained, “There were quite a few targets here. They gathered, thinking themselves safe in the Core. Our first visit tipped a few off, which made the others more. . . difficult to eliminate. Usually only a few supports need to be broken, but the power structures here were surprisingly. . . robust.”

Looking over the city, as their airspeeder flew on, she had to ask, “This is my fault?” If her tipping people off, her inability to blend in, had caused the others to know her Master was coming for them, then-

“What? No,” the Jedi scoffed. “If you do something wrong, Padawan, I’ll tell you, so you can get better. No, this has been decades in the making. Ah,” he sighed in realization. “Only a third of this,” he stated, a sweeping hand indicating the smoking city, “was me, young one.”

“Then who. . .” she trailed off, trying to think about what had happened, and what she’d learned in her studies to be a Jedi Sentinel. “But you put someone in charge, so there wouldn’t be a power vacuum!”

“But why should the others respect my choices?” he asked, settling back in his seat.

She wanted to say, ‘Because you’re a Jedi!’, but her Master did not announce that fact. His clothing, as well as her own now, was no longer the traditional outfit of the Order, which compounded with the fact that he’d made her hide her lightsaber. She hadn’t even seen her Master’s saber, though she assumed he had one, as all Jedi did. She did wonder what color it would be, whether it would be blue, like a Guardian, green, like a Consular, yellow, like a Sentinel, or something else entirely. If she had to guess it would be orange, taken for red at first glance, as it would fit the man.

Her Master cleared his throat, bringing her thoughts back on topic. “Because. . . because you’ll kill them if they don’t?” she guessed. It wasn’t what a Jedi was supposed to do, though, if one looked at the historical records from a certain point of view, it kind of was what they did, wasn’t it?

Master Lucian shook his head, “Trying to control things that tightly doesn’t work. Trust me, I’ve tried. No, as long as certain practices are not permitted, I care not for who hold the reins of power on this little, nearly insignificant world.”

If that was his perspective, then she could see how things could play out. Being a Sentinel meant dealing with people, and understanding them. It was a Sentinel’s place to be in the world, but not of the world, dealing with those deaf to the Force to help all follow its will. She winced, remembering the events of yesterday morning, and their revelations. If the Will of the Force was merely the Force helping one achieve their own, benevolent goals, that put a hydrospanner in the works of that concept.

Either way, all of a sudden criminal organizations, likely a lot of them by her Master’s comments, would be shaken up, and those were often violent affairs in history. Other organizations, seeing that shake up, would likely take the opportunity to gain territory, or eliminate their competition. “Is that why the city’s a warzone?” At her question, her Master chuckled. “What?”

“This little spat?” he asked instead, shaking his head. “This barely qualifies.” As if in defiance to his words, a small explosion halfway across the city went off, sending a fireball up into the air. Continuing on, not having even flinched at the ripple of the Dark Side that came from the explosion, as dozens died, washed over them, he informed her, “No, this isn’t a warzone, though it’ll be quite a while before you see one, if I have my way. You are correct though, Padawan, the struggle for power is what’s causing the strife. It will settle, as it always does, and order shall be re-established. With my warnings in place, the new status quo will be a great deal Lighter than the old, and, Force willing, I will not need to come back until long after you’ve reached the rank of Master yourself.”

“So, you kill some now, and cause this, to make things better in the long run?” she hazarded, not really sure what good could come from the chaos, fear, and death she felt coming off the city like a choking miasma. “Like. . . culling the herd?” It was a horrible way to think about things, but nothing else seemed to fit.

Her Master, unaffected by the negative emotions wafting up and around them, smiled. “Exactly, young Padawan, though they are not cattle, but people, capable of making their own decisions, and taking responsibility for them. With the nexuses shattered, the order of things will change, and with proper constraints it shall realign itself. Like a broken limb that has healed wrongly, and that has started to rot. Surgery is rarely a painless affair, but needed all the same.”

Staring at the buildings as the approached the edge of the vast underground chamber, feeling the wash of the Dark Side below her, she hesitantly asked, “Are we going to do this again?”

She felt her heart drop as he nodded, “Yes, but not for a while. I see what Er’izma was talking about now, so we’ll be heading somewhere else instead. After one last stop,” he added as an afterthought, “though you can stay in the ship.”

“I can come,” she argued. She didn’t like what she’d seen, but she was a Jedi, she could-

“Oh, you’re trained for space operations?” he asked, smugly, already knowing her skillset from her file.

She felt a little offended, she had been training for almost her entire life for this sort of thing. “I can fly a ship, not as well as others, but-”

“Who said anything about flying ships?” Master Lucian smiled, sitting back in his seat, not saying another word.

<<SWPP>>
​

They left without incident, her Master once more donning his ‘old man’ Force disguise, complaining loudly about how violent the cities were and how he wasn’t going to come back any time soon. As he’d coached her, she looked embarrassed and insisted it wasn’t normally like that, distracting the person logging them out to let Master Lucian manipulate the control panel without the guard noticing.

Their ship was just where they’d left it, still invisible, and they were gone within an hour. However, after leaving atmosphere, the Jedi Master turned their ship around, and waited. Without orders, and with her Master sitting patiently, Anaïs had settled back into a meditative trance, trying to center herself once again. Away from the chaos that was the city all around her, pressing in on her in a way that Coruscant hadn’t when she’d been in the Jedi Temple, she found it much easier.

Time passed without meaning as she rested in the Force, calming her own Presence and letting it fill her being. She could feel her Master beside her, a dark storm on the horizon, but one unmoving, less a dark portent then a stable feature of the terrain, like a mountain, or a lake. Distantly, she could feel the city of Fabrin she’d left, the all-encompassing miasma of pain, fear, and death that’d nearly choked her small and barely noticeable from here. Focusing, she could feel the other cities on the planet below them, the currents of the Dark Side present in Fabrin spreading to them in some ways, but lesser, though several of them had swirls of their own, chaotic whirlpools that churned the fabric of the Force, but were already starting to slow.

“Master, did you visit the other cities?” she asked.

“I did,” was the totality of his response.

Feeling them out, things weren’t nearly as bad. “Are they better off because I wasn’t there to tip off the criminals?”

She opened her eyes and cast her gaze towards the Jedi, who didn’t respond. “A little,” he finally stated, “But no, it was mostly because I only had a target or two in each. Most of the corruption and filth congregated in the capital, as it often does. Evil calls to evil, and always seeks the reins of power. It is easy for the weak to stand up to a single, small foe. But dozens of them, enough that they clog the enforcement of laws, enough that it is not the many against the few, enough that you are but one standing against innumerable foes? That is where such things thrive.”

She thought about what he’d said, and she took it to its logical conclusion. “Then. . . Coruscant?”

“Has needed to be cleaned for millennia, but is so thoroughly rotten that doing so would likely destroy the Republic,” her Master stated matter-of-factly. “That is why I work in the Rim, Padawan, where a single person can do more good, though I’ll stop by the other territories from time to time. Now, I believe my last target has arrived.”

Moving the ship forward, it closed in on a large, blocky vessel that was leaving Thorgeld’s atmosphere at high speed. According to the sensors, it was an Action VI transport, the name and registration an indecipherable mess of letters and numbers. Master Lucian’s ship started to hum as it moved up behind the medium freighter, a bright blue bolt of energy flying over her head, seen through the bridge’s windows, and arcing towards the transport, faster lasers lashing out from below the bridge as well, depleting the other ship’s shields before the first shot hit.

The larger, slower shot punched straight through the transport’s shields and splashed across the ship, lightning arcing along the length of the craft. “An ion cannon?” she asked, only having heard of the weapons that disabled ships instead of destroying them.

Her Master nodded as the other ship’s engines flickered and died, as second ion blast disabling it completely. “You have the helm, Padawan,” he announced, waving towards the pilot’s seat as he walked towards the exit. “Just keep it behind the transport, I’ll be back shortly.”

Without another word, he left, leaving for her to move to the controls and wait, wondering what was going on. A minute later, her console displayed that the boarding ramp was open, and she saw a flicker of movement at the bottom of the bridge’s window. It was hard to make out against the blackness of space, but a humanoid figure holding a small grey device, the back glowing bright blue, moved to the ship she was following. Stopping at an airlock, Master Lucian’s body blocking her view, the hull around him glowed an actinic white before he was inside, the device he’d used to maneuver to the ship resting against the hull.

The windows were dark on the ship, but she could see the dancing glow of flashlights as the crew moved about. The red glow of blasterfire sprung up on one deck, quickly stopping as she felt the barest sensation in the Force. It happened again and again, the pauses between when firefights started, sometimes interspersed with a white glow, increasing, though she never saw the bright cylinder of a lightsaber’s blade.

Half an hour later, the lights on the ship flickered back on, and the ship started to move forward. Nearly jumping to the controls, she moved her Master’s ship to follow, behind and above the other. Less than a minute after that, a dark figure that must’ve been her Master opened an airlock and clambered out, jumping away from the ship, the small grey device he’d left behind flying to him seemingly on its own, though she knew he was likely pulling it to himself with the Force.

Catching it, he started to make his way back to his ship, the freighter behind him suddenly jumping to hyperspace, leaving nothing but a starry sky behind him, which he blended right into. Moving underneath the ship, the boarding ramp closed, and he was back, smelling slightly of blasterfire and burned flesh.

“And that’s the last one,” he announced cheerfully, taking his customary seat in the captain’s chair, the controls in front of her moving on their own. “And now I believe it is time for us to leave.”

The controls around the bridge lit up as the ship oriented and made a hyperspace jump, the stars streaking out into a tunnel of light, leaving her to ask, “Where are we going?”

“A bolt hole of mine, in the Uphrades system,” he stated. “I believe, before your next outing, it would be best if your Mental Shielding was improved. Or, you know, existent. It’s likely done wonders for your ability to sense with the Force, whatever you choose to call it, but, as I’m sure you can now tell, it will be a liability in your chosen profession. Now, return to your quarters and put away your newest acquisitions. I put them on your bed, because I did not know how you’d wish to arrange them. We’ll begin your training in an hour.”

She paused, a question striking her. She’d kept on referring to this ship merely as her Master’s, and never thought to ask. “Master?”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“What’s the name of this ship?” she asked. It felt silly, having been on it for several days and not knowing its name.

Master Lucian was quiet for a long moment. “It doesn’t have one. Nor does it need one. Go order your things, Anaïs, we start in an hour.”

There was a story there, she was sure of it, and, if yesterday hadn’t happened, she might’ve pressed, to argue that all ships needed a name, but she was starting to realize how much she didn’t know. Once she understood the situation better, she’d ask again, but she left her Master on the bridge, to go put away her new wardrobe, something she never thought she’d ever do.

<<SWPP>>
​

Five days later, they finally dropped out of hyperspace for the last time. She’d done her research, when she wasn’t being trained, and had learned that the Uphrades system, several thousand years ago, had been known as ‘Coruscant’s Granary’. The system only had one planet, also known as Uphrades, which had been an agriworld that’d helped supply the Core with food.

However, during the time of the Inter-Sith wars, the Sith Lord Darth Angral had used the Desolator, an experimental Sith superweapon that ionized the atmosphere, trapping the sixteen million inhabitants on the planet as the core was destabilized. Of the millions, only a few hundred survivors lived long enough for the ionization to dissipate, due to the efforts of the Jedi in making sure they received the aid needed and escaped as soon as they were able. It was a dead world, on a dead system, and she could see why her Master had set up a base here.

It was forgotten, a footnote in the Republic’s bloody history against the Sith, to the point that there were no longer any hyperspace routes to it, the old one’s having degraded to uselessness, the old paths full of celestial bodies. Not that her Master seemed to need hyperspace routes to travel.

She was glad for something new; the last five days having been more strenuous than any she had experienced during her time at the Temple. He’d trained her physically, pushing both her ability to channel the Force through her body, and to use the Force to heal the damage done to her muscles by said channeling. He’d trained her skill with Telekinesis, juggling items in pre-set patterns, first while meditating, then walking, then while trying to keep away from him as he slowly walked towards her across the loading bay over, and over, and over again, occasionally jumping forward, which required her to dart to the side while keeping the items moving. She could only do so once in every three attempts, but that itself was progress.

He’d trained her in lightsaber combat, not using his own saber, which she had yet to see, but with an actual sword of all things. When she’d asked why, he’d taken it with a small, calm smile, as he always did when she asked questions in training. “I’m not nearly as good with a sword as I am with a saber. If we were to fight lightsaber to lightsaber, you’d lose. Instantly. With a saber, I’m still more than skilled enough to defeat you, but the gap is smaller, allowing you to learn. Besides, at this point you’re far more likely to fight someone with a vibroblade than a lightsaber.”

“Far more likely?” she’d echoed. “Who’d use a lightsaber that I’d fight?”

He’d just smiled, and informed her, “No one you’ll hopefully see any time soon,” before he resumed her training.

Fighting him had been difficult in of itself. He didn’t use any lightsaber form she was familiar with, which made sense, as it was a sword. He almost danced around her, dodging her blade while attacking from different angles. If anything, it was like fighting three people at once, and every time they sparred she ended up covered in bright red streaks, the painted, blunted edge of his blade showing every hit. She could see the benefit of it, and she was slowly improving, but the fact that he refused to spar with her using his lightsaber, even once to prove the skill gap he claimed existed, was aggravating.

Hardest of all, however, had been the training of her Mental Shields. She thought she’d been prepared, that she’d been centered, but she hadn’t been. She’d been in the meditation room, centering herself, when she suddenly felt a presence. Dark and twisting, it reached out to her, cloying like oil on the waves of the Force. It whispered to her, that her Master was being too hard on her, that the praise she’s received at the Temple meant she deserved better than to be treated as a rank novice, that she’d do better on her own than with such a restrictive Master.

Opening her eyes, she’d seen the Jedi in front of her, a black box in his lap and a lightsaber in his hand, held idly between two fingers as he spun it, seemingly bored. He’d met her gaze, even as it was drawn towards the weapon, which oozed malevolence and the promise of power. “Noticed that, did you?” he’d asked, voice amused but his eyes intent.

“What. . . what is that?” she’d questioned in reply, repulsed by the weapon in his hands. Part of it called to her, to the part that’d been outraged when she’d learned the Jedi had been lying to her about the nature of the Force this entire time, and that only repulsed her more.

Master Lucian’s eyes had seemed to bore into hers, before he’d given a satisfied nod, approval in his tone. “This, my Padawan, is the saber of a Sith I killed personally. Oh, if you’d ask the Temple they’d say she was merely a ‘Dark Adept’ or something similar, but the difference is semantics. It contains her rage, her hate, and a fraction of her Presence in the Dark Side of the Force.” With a flick of his fingers, the blade had ignited, a vivid bloody red, causing her to flinch as the feelings coming off the weapon redoubled their attempts to call to her, though, with an effort, she’d ignored them. “This, my Padawan, will be your training tool.”

He’d flicked it off, and she’d let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. “So. . . So I’m to take this with me, until I can ignore it?” she’d asked, dreading the order, while chastising herself for feeling such fear in the first place, as Jedi were above such things.

Her Master had blinked at her, nonplussed. “What. No? That sounds like a horrible idea. No, you’ll be meditating with this, only while I’m with you, daily. You’re going to start with five minutes in its unpowered state, and slowly work yourself up from there. We have time to train, and to do it correctly. This is not something that can be rushed,” he stated firmly, with a hint of chastisement in his tone.

“But,” she’d argued, not really knowing why she was doing it herself, “the longer we spend training, the longer you’ll be stopped from helping people.”

He’d winced, and she’d known she was right, only for him to say, “Let me tell you what Er’izma told me, and why I took another apprentice in the first place. Teaching you is slowing me down, yes, but let us consider this. For the entirety of your training, however long it is, I will not be held up, only allowed to teach you and nothing else. Say it takes you six months to reach base proficiency, so we could do something like we did on Thorgeld, in Fabrin, again. I don’t think it will, but assume the worst, for the purposes of this exercise.”

“And say,” he’d proposed, “over the course of rest of your training, five years, if we are following the Little One’s example, one week out of four is spent on training that could be spent elsewhere. Not while we’re travelling, like we’re doing now, but time dedicated to training that I could use doing something else. That means I would have lost less than two years of doing what I do.”

She’d nodded along, following his logic. With five days a week, seven weeks in a month, ten months in a year, along with the three festival weeks and three holidays, it’d come out to be about that much. Closer to one year than two, actually.

“Then, you pass your Knighthood trials, as I know you would by that point, especially with the standard of modern ‘Jedi’, and you go on to help people, possibly like I do, possibly in other ways. Do you think that, in your entire time as a Knight, let alone a Master, you could do more than I could in just over thirteen months?” he’d asked sardonically.

The question had been insultingly simple, and she’d started to say that of course she could, but there was the point he was trying to make. Lucian had just laughed, “I see you understood it faster than I did, but you are younger, and less set in your ways. Even one such as I had to have the point driven home before I could admit how foolish I’d been for the last century, but there is always something new to learn. So, if it takes you six months, if it takes you six years, it will be time well spent if you go on to help others more than I could alone.”

So she’d meditated with the Sith saber, feeling it offer her everything she desired, whispering to her sweet promises she knew were poisoned, but still tempting. Now, in the Uphrades system, en route to the planet Uphrades, she was doing so again. She’d offered to do it on her own, while Master Lucian piloted, but he’d refused. “I do not set limitations lightly,” he’d stated, “nor do I do so without reason. The autopilot will get us close enough. Now continue.”

She’d gotten to twenty minutes before she felt herself tiring, before her mental walls started to buckle, and she started to consider what it offered. She knew it was wrong, and she wouldn’t give in, but surely listening to what it said wasn’t the issue, only acting on it.

This time the weapon, a shadow of its strength when activated, pointed out that her Master was being unfair, walled off as he was from his emotions. That he didn’t understand what his Apprentice was going through, the suffering she was experiencing with such extreme and excessive training. That her Master wasn’t seeing his Apprentice’s talent, but unfairly comparing her to himself, a being with centuries of experience. That if she didn’t improve faster, he’d set her aside, cutting his losses and not wasting his time on such a failure of an Apprentice, punishing her for a standard she could never meet. How her Master wasn’t valuing his Apprentice the way she deserved, the way the others back at the Temple did.

“Master,” she asked, trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts, “How do you deal with the Dark Side? I know I’m supposed to block it out, but, but I can’t.” Don’t admit your failure, the weapon warned. It will only cause you to be abandoned faster, Apprentice, just like those you grew up with abandoned you. I won’t abandon you.

“Because you’re not supposed to block it out, any more than you can block out the air, or the Light? No, you let it wash over you, but not allow it to find purchase. What does it say, Padawan?” he asked without judgement.

Don’t tell him. He’ll see you aren’t worth teaching, the weapon had hissed, concern for Anaïs clear in its tone, mixed with worried fear. Say I offer you power. I have, and do, Apprentice, if you still desire it. You won’t have to lie at all.

“It’s telling me to lie to you,” she announced, even as the Dark Side hissed, No, not lie, merely a truth, but not his truth. “It’s telling me I need to prove myself to you,” she pressed on, pushing past the whispers telling her how stupid this was, how she was going to lose everything because she was honest with someone who wasn’t honest with her, which was stupid, because he’d been nothing but honest. Too honest, at times. “That you don’t see what I’m worth, unlike those at the Temple, who praised me.”

“The same Temple that had been lying to you, had all but sold you off for political capitol without informing you, that had kept you worried and in fear instead of taking a single moment to inform you of your potential Master?” Lucian replied, amused.

Anaïs’ thoughts ground to a halt, the tendrils of the Dark Side squirming against her Mental Shields, cracking into inert fragments as she thought about what he’d just said. Wait, why did she care what those people thought of her? Those jerks who’d praised her ‘Mental Shields’, when they were so poor she was nearly overcome on her first outing? What did they know!

Yes, they were afraid, afraid of what you could become, the Dark Side crooned. As is your Master, but you could become greater than them, greater than him, Apprentice. You-

Oh shut up, she snapped at it, ignoring it completely. “Why didn’t I think of that?” she asked herself, but her Master answered.

“Because that’s how the Dark Side works, Anaïs. It clouds your judgement, showing you a path, but one veiled by deception,” the ancient Jedi answered simply. “It doesn’t stop, but once you’re strong enough you can ignore the lower levels. This,” he waved the weapon, “is not a lower level, I’d put it at maybe a three out of ten.”

“What’s a ten?” she asked, without meaning to.

“Moraband,” he replied instantly. “As well as other locations, but we won’t be going anywhere near any of them until you’re a Jedi Master, and even then, not without sufficient cause.”

It is a place of power, Apprentice. You could grow strong with its secrets, secrets even your ‘Master’ is too scared to learn, she was informed.

All the more reason not to go, she informed it. “How does it know the things it knows?” Anaïs asked. “To offer what it does?”

“It’s the Force,” her Master shrugged, spinning the unlit weapon casually. “The same way the Light Side can offer advice and support, the Dark Side can offer information, for a price. To know to offer what it does, well, it is a dark reflection of yourself, just as the Light is a reflection of your better nature. It offers you what you want, on some level. Wanting is not wrong, my Padawan, acting on those wants, in the way the Dark Side suggests, is.”

Tossing the weapon from hand to hand, she couldn’t help but follow its flight with her eyes. She’d known that touching the item made it worse, but her Master didn’t seem to notice, and part of her wondered if he might’ve misjudged this training exercise, over-estimating her own abilities.

“From what you told me, I assume you’re handling the fact that your training was not as complete as you thought. . . badly,” he stated, and she reddened in shame. “That’s not something to be worried about, Padawan, you are getting better. However, you became accustomed to the Knights, Masters, and the Educational Corp ‘Jedi’ praising you, maybe even struggling to match you in some cases, or at least pretending to. The former is more likely than I first thought, given how standards seem to have fallen in recent decades. Now, you are with someone who is leaps and bounds ahead of you in almost every respect, and relegated to the metaphorical back of the class, someplace you clearly aren’t used to being.”

He’s right, you are used to being better, the weapon whispered, because you are better, Apprentice. He’s treating you like someone weaker, someone of less worth, someone like Jorel.

“Master, can you please put that stick away. It’s starting to annoy me,” Anaïs requested, not liking it denigrating the closest thing she had to a friend.

But he is your friend, maybe more, and Jedi are not allowed even friends. Maybe you aren’t as Jedi-like as you pretend, Apprentice, but you could become something more. Something better. You coul- the sensations coming from the weapon were cut off as the box closed, sealing itself with a click.

“It doesn’t stop, does it?” she asked.

“No, it doesn’t, which is why constant contact to a source of the Dark Side by one not ready can drive one mad,” Master Lucian agreed. “The Dark Side of the Force is called so, with variations in every Force-using culture that all align in those paradigms of Light and Dark, because of what it does. It works in deception, in manipulation, in everything that involves keeping one in the ‘dark’ as you seek to keep others similarly blinded. It is secrets made manifest, turned to weapon and armor alike. The Light reveals, in all its terrible and wondrous glory, though that can be just, if not more, dangerous than the Dark.”

“What does it offer you?” she asked, paling as she realized how personal that question was. From just a few comments about what it offered her he’d been able to learn a fear she didn’t even realize she’d had, that was-

“Peace, Padawan. Did I not say the Light illuminates? One must be careful, for many times the truth is something one wishes to not know, for, knowing the truth, one can never un-know it, no matter what one tells themselves. Do you truly wish to know?”

She did, but instead said, “You don’t have to tell me.”

He raised an eyebrow, and waited.

“Yes,” she finally admitted.

“You can likely guess the main thrust, from what you’ve seen. One thing the Dark Side offers, without fail, is power. Power, and freedom. There’s a reason the Sith Code is what it is,” he mused, and Anaïs blinked, never having heard of a ‘Sith Code’.

There was a Jedi Code, of course, she’d had to memorize it for her Initiate Trials, so it made sense that the Sith, the Jedi’s opposite, would have a code of their own. It was such a stunningly obvious fact she wondered why she’d never thought of it, before another thought, of how this revelation was just as strong as when her Master had pointed out the flaws in the temptations the Dark Side was offering her moments ago, that it drew unpleasant parallels to the Temple.

“And that is what the Dark Side offers me,” her Master continued unabated, “power. Remember how, days ago, I mentioned that to clear Coruscant of corruption, of true evil, would likely destroy the Republic?” She nodded. “The Dark Side says, ‘Good. They don’t deserve to let their evil go unpunished.’ That I am a coward for letting it run rampant, for hiding in the Rim instead of going to the Core, where I could help far more people. That I am a hypocrite, for letting a false view of the Force dominate the Temple, letting its lies fester in what should be our stronghold, when I seek for truth myself.”

Her Master stood, and his Force Presence, normally calm and restrained, started to build, the Dark storm picking up speed as he paced. “That, with its help, I could bring the Order back to the way it was, to the way it was supposed to be. Not weak, hiding behind the Senate and only caring for the Core instead of putting their ideals into practice and helping the galaxy, like I do. It speaks of you now,” he commented, and she felt a shiver of fear run down her. What would the Dark Side say about her?

“It says you are a good start, but I need more Apprentices, and I need to control you all more directly. That letting you grow and develop on your own is too risky. That the possibility of you falling, and breaking badly is too great. That it would be safer to make you fall, on my own terms. To break you down in a controlled manner, to drag you through the Darkness until nothing remains, and to shape that empty shell into something that can better assist me, that won’t betray me, like others have.” The Dark Storm spun faster and faster, the shadowy clouds starting to thicken, oozing a malevolence they never had before. A malevolence she had grown used to from the weapon, but deeper, more intense in every way.

“I wouldn’t!” she protested, and he laughed, a broken, disdainful sound.

“You think it cares? That I would, if I gave in? No, it says the galaxy is sick, which I know to be true, and that I’m only treating the symptoms, not the cause. That curing the limbs is useless when the heart is rotten through and through, carrying its disease to every corner of the body. Slavery, drug addiction, rape, the abuse of children, the Republic decries it all, but supports it all the same. The fact that Kessel even exists would be damning enough to prove their words nothing but empty promises, lies to fool the masses, the Dark Side spreading from those not even susceptible to its call, but the rest? Ryloth, Zygerria, Hutt Space in its entirety!? No, it’s out of sight, out of mind, for the Republic and those who have the gall to call themselves its guardians,” her Master spat, his Force Presence an umbral hurricane, cloying, suffocating blackness that put the Sith saber to shame lashing out in every direction. The darkness around her, her link to her Master, spread out, the calm shadows holding the cyclone of hate and rage and pain at bay.

When he turned, his eyes were rimmed with a sickly yellow, contrasting starkly with the purple of his iris. “The senators are beyond redemption, having done the kinds of things I’ve killed criminals for, and more, or having supported it, having ignored the laws and morals they claim to uphold for political expediency. And the rest of the galaxy gives them their approval, supporting them, endorsing them in an endless cycle of corruption held up by those who claim to support the Light. But with the Dark Side at my command, and the Light, I could change that. The Republic would fall, as it should’ve centuries ago. No, I could create an Empire, a Jedi Empire, be a Lord of the Light and bring peace to the galaxy! And, with the Dark Side at my command, Coruscant would fall. And, when it did, I would become a god!”

Then, in the space between pounding heartbeats, he stopped, the yellow fleeing his eyes, and his Presence calmed, pulling back to the dark storm it was before, distant and unassuming. “But I know it wouldn’t work, and in trying to protect the galaxy, caging it for its own good, I’d crush its wings, and become the very thing I hate,” he stated sadly, almost ruefully. “If I thought it might work, I likely would’ve Fallen, but while all medicines are poisons, you can’t cure with disease. That is what the Dark Side offers me, Padawan, and why I know, beyond all doubt, that it is an offer one should never accept. Now, if you excuse me, I do believe we’ve arrived.” He left, taking the boxed Sith artefact with him.

She sat, staring at where her Master had left, eyes wide. His own Presence had protected her as he’d looked into the Dark, and told her what he saw, and she didn’t know what to do with that knowledge, the knowledge she’d asked for. No, she knew one thing she’d do. The next time the Dark Side whispered to her that he didn’t understand it, she was going to tell it to go kriff itself.

 

Chapter 9
​

After his Master’s declaration, one that seemed to set the bridge crew alight with anticipation, the resulting actions were. . . well, anticlimactic. They didn’t break off from the planet’s orbit, rushing towards the pirate’s last known location. They didn’t call back the shuttles that were already heading for the planet. No, the crew continued working, though with a bit more energy than before. But that was it.

“You seem disappointed, Padawan,” his Master observed wryly, reading him like a datapad. “Not matching up to the tales of old? Expected us to go bounding off on a new adventure?”

Jorel flushed with embarrassment. “I, well, no Master. I mean, yes,” he admitted, trying to answer both questions at once.

“And why aren’t we?” Er’izma asked, and the younger man could practically feel the eyes of the crew on him.

He wanted to say he didn’t know, but, thinking about it, and everything he’d been doing, it made a certain sense. “Um, we need the supplies here, and while some of them didn’t make it to this planet, some of them did? It’s better to get them now, while we know they’re here, rather than risk something else happening?” The Jedi Knight nodded, motioning for him to continue. “And, if the convoy was hit days ago, an extra few hours won’t matter that much. Will it?”

The larger man nodded, “Good, Padawan. Shore leave will be on hold, and the negotiations for additional supplies will not occur, yet, but logistics is something that cannot be put off. It is hard to hunt on an empty stomach, let alone run a starship. However, there is not that much you can learn by standing here and waiting. Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi, if you’ll take my Padawan to inspect the Cranes?”

The blue skinned woman saluted, “Yes, General,” before turning and accidentally smacking Jorel in the leg with her sheathed sword, still getting used to wearing it. Pausing only for a moment, she marched off, Er’izma shaking his head and making a shooing motion, obviously suppressing a chuckle.

<<SWPP>>
​

Hisku didn’t say anything the entire way there, though, by the time they had arrived, her darkened cheeks, likely with embarrassment, had returned to their normal cerulean hue. The hanger bay, the upper forward one, was busy with activity. No one rushed, but there were ten times as many people as normal, working on all sorts of tasks. Shuttles were being loaded with empty containers and launched, though most of the spaces the small craft normally occupied, parked snugly against the walls, were empty.

Higher up, the purple forms of the other ships, because of course they were purple, hung in racks, but there, too there were some vacancies. The wide, but short, craft were stacked two deep along the walls, though some had been taken down to sit on the Hanger floor, where small teams were going over them. In each team one of the crew was wearing a dark purple flight suit, standing out visually but working with the others.

“Is one of these yours?” Jorel asked, looking a bit more closely at the ships. They’d all been stacked up high every other time he’d been here, and while Hisku had been having him go over the workings of the hangers themselves, those star-craft had been notably glossed over.

The woman, who had been looking around for something, stopped to give him an incredulous look, her pupil-less red eyes well suited for it, before turning her back on him to continue searching.

“So. . . no?” he asked, before pointing out, “Kinda still new to this entire thing, Sergeant.”

She stopped, glancing around, and sighed, her back to him, “No, Padawan Jorel, I am, I was, a combat officer, not a pilot. I can fly a shuttle, if I have to, but that’s all.”

“Ah, something else I’ll need to teach you,” he joked, a little surprised when she spun back around, staring at him in disbelief.

“What.”

He shrugged, grinning, “Well, you might not be a pilot, but I am, and since Er’izma-”

“General Er’izma,” she corrected automatically.

“Wants me to get better by teaching,” he continued, having gotten used to the correction, “then it makes sense he’d have me help you get better at piloting.”

She stared at him, her tone not nearly as sure. “The General wouldn’t. . . I’m a combat officer!”

He shook his head slowly. “You were a combat officer, now you’re an attaché to a Jedi pilot. I’m not an Ace, but I’m not exactly ground-bound either. Now, let’s see what it is I’ll likely be flying!”

Turning her back on him once again, rather than admit he might be right, she found what she was searching for. Without another word she marched off, and he followed, coming to a ship that looked like every other, the crew around it completing checks on various systems.

It was odd looking, nothing like the Sprites he’d trained on. The Delta-6 Sprite-class starfighters that were commissioned for the Jedi were small, lacking in armor or shielding, but with sensor equipment that allowed one in touch with the Force to not need those other things. What they lacked in defenses they made up in offense, however, the dual laser cannons packing far more of a punch than they’d first seem to, allowing a Jedi to take advantage of the overconfidence of his or her foes. Shots that an enemy shield would normally be able to disperse would punch through, or drain the shield so completely the follow up shots would destroy another fighter completely.

That, combined with extraordinary maneuverability, and their small size, made the arrowhead shaped craft deadly in the hands of a Jedi, in way that non-Sensitives couldn’t match. What he was looking at, however, seemed to be the opposite of the Jedi Starfighters in every single way.

The center of this fighter was a tapering triangle, flat side leading, two small cannons peering out. The cockpit riding forward instead of aft, large enough for two people, one behind the other. From the tapering sides, two forward sweeping wings emerged, sharply angled, giving the ship a V shape. Two large engines bracketed the central section, and, when the fighters were stored, the wings folded up, giving the ship a triangular profile when looking straight at it, much like a shuttle.

Extended outwards, the armaments were easier to see, two more pairs of cannons of differing types, one of each per wing, with what looked like proton torpedo launchers near the ends. Twice as tall as a Jedi Starfighter, it was more than three times its size, and looked to be armored as well. Even with the fighter’s two engines, so large their profile extended above and below the fighter’s wings, though not tall enough to block the pilot’s line of sight, it looked like it’d be a pain to maneuver, at least in anything close to a dogfight.

“Sergeant Zisk’tiashi’logha,” Hisku stated formally, addressing the blue-skinned man in the flight suit who’d turned as they’d approached. He’d been standing on one of the wings and walked to its edge, crouching down to look at them, still a good six feet up. “General Er’izma has instructed me to help familiarize Padawan Jorel Drettz with a Rylooni Mark-33 Crane-class Starfighter.”

The man, who had been smiling, stopped, and turned a cool glance towards Jorel. “Then you’re the one who has knocked Sergeant Hisku off her career path?”

“I think that it was Knight Er’izma that did that,” Jorel pointed out, wondering where the sudden hostility was coming from. He hadn’t been part of the decision, and, as far as he could tell, helping him was a good thing for Hisku, at least the way that Er’izma and Gars had acted about it. “So, can you show me how this thing works, or should we find a different pilot?”

The pilot snorted, “I’m sure someone else can waste their time-”

“Sergeant Zisk’tiashi’logha,” Hisku interrupted. “I would appreciate your assistance.”

“Fine Hissy,” Zisk sighed, ignoring her as she made an angry noise. “C’mon Jedi, If the old man wants it, the old man gets it. Just don’t scuff the paint.”

Shooting a look at Sergeant Hisku, who was glaring at the pilot, Jorel wondered why she’d looked for this jerk in particular. There was a ladder nearby, but Zisk wasn’t waiting for Jorel to get it, already calling over his shoulder, “Come on, Padawan. I’m a busy man.”

Not bothering to get the ladder, a bit of the Force let Jorel leap the ten feet straight up, landing lightly on the wing and follow the blue-skinned man who grunted out an annoyed ‘Hn’, and motioned him over. Despite that, and whatever Jorel had done to offend him, Zisk got to work explaining the ship, using the cockpit as a reference, and its systems.

Jorel had to admit that the man knew his stuff, covering, in exacting detail, every part of the starfighter. The two forward cannons were standard laser cannons, the type one could find on any ship, but, with the ship’s enlarged power generators, could be fired near indefinitely. After the engines, which themselves had redundancies, the first set of cannons were ion cannons, meant to disable instead of destroy, but also better at dropping an enemy’s shields. The second set were laser cannons, on par with a Sprite’s, but overheated easily, requiring either staggered fire, or short bursts. The launchers were indeed proton torpedo launchers, though each ship only held a loadout of three missiles per launcher, six in total.

The ships could hold a second person, but there wasn’t a lot for them to do. They could watch the sensors, manage power, and help navigate, that was all. Earlier versions had apparently included a back-facing turret. Those had been phased out, but, at Er’izama’s insistence, the extra seat had remained. “You can have a helper, if you need one,” Zisk commented, “and you apparently do.”

With the sound of everyone working, their own conversation was masked, so Jorel looked at the man and asked honestly, “You are aware that I didn’t have a choice, right? That I found out she was assigned to me when she walked into my room?”

“You could’ve said no,” Zisk shot back.

“I offered to,” Jorel parried, “And she said no. That she didn’t want me to ask for someone else.”

The pilot glanced over to the woman in question, who was standing, arms crossed, watching them both. “She would,” he admitted, turning back to look at Jorel. “Let’s get something straight, Padawan. I don’t like you.”

“Oh, I never would’ve guessed,” the Jedi replied, deadpan. “How completely unexpected. You’ve been nothing but friendly so far.”

“And if she gets hurt,” the pilot continued unabated, “I’ll hold you responsible.”

Jorel gave him a flat look. “Says the fighter pilot. On the warship. That’s hunting pirates. She’s not the one who’s likely to get hurt.” At the man’s red-eyed glare, Jorel tried another track. “I’m not sure what your problem is, but I don’t care for what you’re implying. Do you think that I’ll try to get her hurt?”

Zisk stared at him, as if he wanted to say yes, before he looked away and let out an explosive breath. “Your kind gets into trouble, is trouble,” he stated as if it were obvious, and Jorel was an idiot for making him say it. “We look after our own, but you aren’t us, whatever the General says, and that means she’s on her own.”

“Who do you think the Jedi are?” the Padawan demanded, insulted at the implication. “We wouldn’t do that!”

“You have,” the pilot replied, looking into the distance, but he didn’t seem to be looking at anything Jorel could see. “Not you, and not the General, but others. ‘No connections’ and ‘for the good of the galaxy’ lets your kind do a lot of things.” He blinked, refocusing on the Jedi. “You might, you might not, but if she dies because of you, I’ll kill you, or die trying.”

The intensity of the emotion coming off the man was enough to create ripples, however small, in the Force. However, while there was anger there, the ripples weren’t really Dark, only. . . there. “She won’t die because of me. At least, not if I can stop it,” he amended, trying to be honest but, for all the man’s antipathy, he wasn’t wrong that a Jedi’s path was often dangerous, but the same could be said for a soldier’s.

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Hn,” the pilot grunted, looking away again. “Best I’ll likely get. So, what do you think of the Crane?”

Glad to be on safer ground, Jorel commented, “It’s a flying tank, and it’s armed like one, but looks like it flies like a shuttle, maybe worse.”

“And what are used to flying? One of those dinky little deathtraps?” Zisk asked disdainfully, though without the seriousness he’d had a moment ago. “What do they call them, Sprats?”

“Sprites, and they’re meant for Force Sensitives,” the Padawan stated. “You don’t need to lug around those shields if you never get hit.”

“Anything’s easier to fly when you cheat.” The pilot shook his head, closing up the cockpit as he stood, “And not getting hit? That’s what I’m talking about.” At Jorel’s look, not understanding the comment, the blue skinned man just shook his head again. “Just watch us when we take down those pirates, and you’ll learn, Jedi.”

The two of them walked to the edge, Jorel dropping down to the hanger floor as Sergeant Hisku approached and Zisk crouched down again. “He’s got the basics, Hissy, but he’ll need sim time ‘fore the Old Man’ll let him fly. See ya ‘round,” he called, nodding at Jorel before heading back to his cockpit, the dismissal clear.

Hisku glared at his retreating back, before taking a deep breath, turning to face Jorel. “I apologize, he’s not normally like that,” she stated. “I thought, as he was a pilot. . . I’ll find someone else.”

“What? No, he did a good job, he’s just. . .” he trailed off, trying to figure out how to say ‘a protective dick’ in a way wouldn’t that upset her. He’d only spent a few weeks with her, but he already knew she wouldn’t like that, saying something like ‘I don’t need protecting.’ “Abrasive,” he tried. “But he knew his fighter, and explained it. How do you know him? Since you’re a ‘combat officer’.”

She glanced in Zisk’s direction again. “He. . . We’ve known each other for a while. Since we were children. He’s not normally. . . I thought he was. . . what else did he say?” she demanded.

“That there was a flight simulator,” Jorel commented, answering the question without really answering it. “Why didn’t you mention that? Force knows we’ve seen everything else on this ship.”

“I was showing you the essential systems,” she replied a little defensively. “Flight simulators aren’t essential.”

The Jedi shrugged, grinning a little, “I don’t know, I’d say they’re essential.”

She scoffed, “Then it’s a good thing that I’m the one in charge of determining that.”

One of the engineers nearby laughed. It was a human woman, who called, “Either show him where it is, or lend us a hand over here. You’re getting in the way.”

Sergeant Hisku started to turn to say something, only to stop at the woman’s waiting look. Turning back, she asked Jorel, “Flight simulators?”

“Flight simulators,” he agreed, giving the engineer a thumbs up as Hisku walked away, only for the other woman to roll her eyes and turn back to the fighter. Smiling he quickly caught up to the Sergeant, as they made their way out of the hanger.

<<SWPP>>
​

It was two days later when Jorel and Sergeant Hisku were summoned to the bridge once more. Er’izma had put off overseeing his Padawan’s training, telling the younger man to spend the time improving on his skills and teaching his student. Other than a single chance meeting in a corridor, the Knight hadn’t been around at all.

Walking up to his Master, the blue tunnel of hyperspace eternally unfolding in the bridge’s windows, Jorel wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to make a ‘long time, no see’ joke, but the somewhat tense mood that was running through the room made him keep his comment to himself.

“Sergeant Hisku’biath’pusi and Padawan Jorel, reporting, sir!” the woman next to him said, saluting, much more comfortable with whatever was going on than he was.

“At ease,” the Knight ordered offhandedly, glancing over his shoulder at them, then going back to staring into the void. “Jorel, what do you think of the Cranes?”

“Uhhh,” the Padawan said, buying time, trying to figure out how to put it nicely. He’d been using the simulators to try them out, having successfully convinced Hisku that spending some time ‘familiarizing’ himself with the craft was part of what his Master had ordered. He still hadn’t been able to get her into one, but it was a work in progress. However, the ships were. . . “They’re. . . oddly maneuverable for their size.”

The oversized engines weren’t just for show, and, while the Sprite was still faster, the wider placement of the engines gave the Cranes the ability to turn left or right much more rapidly, spinning about in space quicker than he was used to, one engine lessening its output and letting the other overpower it. If the Sprite was a saber, elegant, quick, and graceful, the Crane was a club, dense, tough, and able to take you by surprise if you weren’t careful.

He still remembered how Knight Kalrune, who had visited their combat class at the temple, at their teacher’s request, had taken them all on with nothing more than a wooden stick, and defeated them all. It was a Force-infused stick, and he was a Knight, but still, a stick. He wondered how his Master would’ve fared, and who would win if they crossed sabers. Or weapons, at least.

Er’izma nodded sagely at his Padawan’s admission, “Crashed on your first attempt?”

“Not really,” Jorel hedged. “Just a little.”

Sergeant Hisku added, “Padawan Jorel destroyed the left wing of his Crane, completely, but passed training program 1-A.”

“Truly?” the older Jedi questioned, giving Jorel an impressed glance.

“I did say I knew how to fly, Master,” the younger man replied, a little defensively. He’d also managed to melt one of his remaining laser cannons, and lost part of the cockpit, but he’d finished the exercise.

“Exiting Hyperspace in 30 seconds,” Major Zara announced, standing off to the side, tablet in hand. “Flights ready. Should we launch?”

The Force around them, which had been rippling with the tension and emotions of those on the bridge, suddenly, almost violently, stilled, becoming a flat, clear plane, like a calm pool, or a mirror. The change was so sudden it caused the younger man to flinch, a feeling like immense gravity, though without any physical component, pushing him down. Even his own reaction, his shock and fear at whatever just hit him, barely echoed in the Force, being shoved down under the surface so only stillness remained. He received a knowing look from his Master, before the moment of artificial peace passed, Er’izma’s Force Presence, which had seemed to disappear, slammed back into being, the tumult of the emotions of the others washing over him once more, but not breaking through his shields.

“No, Zara, I believe we’ll find no welcoming committee,” the older man commented. “But send out Alpha Flight, just in case.”

Space reasserted itself as they dropped out of hyper, the stars streaking into stationary dots around them. “Scanners are showing wreckage and asteroids, but they’re spread out. No life signs, but we’re seeing some activity from one of the wrecks,” one of the officers behind them called out.

“Activate Jamming, and destroy it,” Er’izma commanded, as a squadron of seven Cranes shot out from the hanger below them, pulling up and out of the open space in the battleship’s forked hull.

“Jamming activated,” A white-skinned Rattakai replied. The Dove turned slowly, the capital ship’s maneuvering thrusters working to swing the enormous ship about, just in time to see the Cranes finish a strafing run on the blown-out section of what looked to be the front half of a freighter. The metal disintegrated under the barrage, all that left was a rapidly expanding cloud of gasses and metal flecks.

“Signal has stopped,” the first officer called, “no other signals detected.”

Er’izma gazed out over the empty space, far away from any star system. “Stop Jamming. Send the recovery teams to the hulks, see if there’s anything useful. Have Astrogation search for any nearby stations, routes, systems, or other places they could be hiding,” he rattled off, tone becoming inquisitive as he prompted, “Tell me, Padawan, what do you see? Why did the Pirates use this as their ambush point?”

As the others on the crew started typing away, speaking quietly into their commlinks, Jorel studied the area, accepting a data slate from another officer and looking over the ship’s sensor readings.

It wasn’t just what he could see out of his window, this area of space was desolate, a few asteroids floating about, with bits of a dozen destroyed ships here and there. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to any of it, but he found himself looking back to one bit of ship near the edge, a few destroyed cargo containers that’d been mashed together like they’d collided and spot-welded together. It just seemed. . . out of place, for reasons that he couldn’t place, drawing his attention like a loadstone.

The ship’s sensors didn’t pick anything up, but there was an option to call for a more targeted scan, which he used. “I. . . I think there’s something there,” he said, pointing to it as the Dove slowly turned to face it. “I’m not sure what.”

A moment later the scan completed, showing an inactive tug, the space equivalent of a tow-speeder, hiding within. With that information, suddenly things started to make sense.

“It’s. . . they’re making a mass shadow,” Jorel said, seeing the parts of the whole coming together, in more than one way. “It wouldn’t be a large one, but if you moved the asteroids together, along with the wreckage, it’d drop a ship out of hyperspace. Maybe.”

The gravity wells created by large objects extended into hyperspace, creating the phenomena known as a ‘mass shadow’. Running into one of those invisible hazards while in hyperspace was almost always fatal, so hyperdrives had built in safeties that would drop a ship out when it got too close to one. The small mass shadow made by pushing these asteroids together wouldn’t be enough to actually damage a ship, the intensity of the gravitational gradient was too low, but it might be enough to trip the safeties. Maybe not even the safeties of every ship, only half, or even a few, leaving them to be jumped by the pirates.

“Indeed,” Er’izma agreed, a shuttle already on its way towards the hidden craft. “While it may not be dropping a tree across the road, it would still be effective. Now, let us see if these pirates are as sloppy as they are clever.”

Less than five minutes later, the team reported that they ‘had the nav data’, which caused the bridge to break out in quiet laughter. “And they are,” the Knight announced, turning to his Padawan to explain. “While most tugs aren’t hyperdrive equipped, the computers used for them are, allowing them to be upgraded easily. All hyperdrive capable ships take note of the systems they are in, in order to make return trips possible. It’s a safety feature. And that, of course, means that. . .” he trailed off meaningfully.

“That if the pirates took it to their base, it’d have that location as well,” Jorel completed. “But wouldn’t they wipe it?”

“If I hadn’t told you about it, would you?” his Master inquired, before looking down at his own data slate, and smiling. “And neither did they. Hmm. With our speed, they’ll have six hours to prepare, even if they don’t know that we found their location. Major Zara, activate the backup hyperdrive.”

The woman nodded stiffly, sending commands from her computer.

Jorel, however, was confused. “Master?” he asked, hesitantly. “Your solution to the enemy having too much time to prepare. . . is to go slower?” Most ships had a backup hyperdrive, as a ship in hyperspace that lost their hyperdrive was trapped there, forever, if their only drive failed. However, due to the price of hyperdrives, as well as the space they took up, most ship’s secondary hyperdrives were normally a class ten or less, taking ten times as long to arrive at their destination, or even longer, than a class one. Better than nothing, but not by much.

“Whatever makes you say that, my young apprentice?” the older man replied guilelessly, Major Zara looking straight ahead in a way that seemed to express that she wanted to roll her eyes but was too professional for such things.

If he hadn’t been hip-deep in reports, and contracts, and every other Sith-spawned form of paperwork for the past several weeks, Jorel new he would’ve been lost, but reading through a frankly stunning number of soldiers going ‘well it isn’t technically against regulations’ had started him thinking in those directions.

Jorel looked his Master straight in the eye and asked, deadpan, “There’s no limit on the class of your backup hyperdrive, like there is on your main hyperdrive. Is there?”

Er’izma smiled, “And why should there be? Everyone knows you use your better hyperdrive as your main. And, if off of major lanes, we arrived faster than one would expect? An inspection of the ship would show our Hyperdrive is a class five.” Turning to the Major, he continued, “Recall Alpha flight, and tell the others to get ready. In two and a half hours, we strike.”

 

Chapter 10​

When Anaïs had rejoined Master Lucian on the bridge, they were nearing Uphrades, the only planet in the Uphrades system, the main planet and system sharing the same name as was common. It’d been effectively destroyed millennia ago, a Sith superweapon having trapped everyone on the planet, set fire to the atmosphere, and caused tectonic disturbances powerful enough to rip chunks off the surface entirely.

Now, looking at it in the distance, the planet was a giant ball of clouds and mist, red lightning occasionally flashing across the surface. However, that wasn’t their destination, the moon orbiting it was. This was surprising as, by the records she’d looked up, the planet didn’t have a moon. The records might’ve been incomplete, but, taking a seat at the secondary position on the bridge and bringing up the files, she couldn’t find any reference to it. At all. She glanced at her Master, wondering if he’d removed records of it from the ship’s computers, and, if he had, where else he’d broken into in order to remove it from as well.

The concept was ludicrous, but the man had said he’d broken into the offices of the main maker of sensors to make sure his ship was still undetectable, so she couldn’t dismiss it. If she asked, he’d probably say so, but she put it aside, the issue not important as they started to approach the unknown moon with an unnamed ship.

There was light cloud cover, which they broke through, and she looked at the ship’s sensors to try to find out what she could about their new ‘home’, at least for the next several months. The surface of the planetoid they were landing on was near lifeless, a thin smattering of thorny scrubs here and there, a flicker of movement as something darted into the shrubbery. The air was too thin to breathe for long, like that of a mountaintop, but there was an atmosphere. The moon itself was odd as well, seemingly lumpy on their approach, and with maybe a third of the gravity she was used to, though the ship’s artificial gravity meant she didn’t feel it, yet.

As the ship turned, heading towards the only bit of color on the landscape, she caught sight of her Master’s ‘bolt hole’, not that she knew why a Jedi would require one, and, just like everything about the last two weeks, it wasn’t what she expected. “Is. . . is it under the junk?” she asked, glancing over the ship’s sensors. “Because I’m not detecting anything.” Which made sense for a hidden base, but, with her actively looking for it, there should be something.

She’d been thinking of a hidden valley, or a mountainside that opened up, or maybe a pure black space station, as that would fit her Master more. Not a pile of destroyed ships, several of them enormous, massive hulks twisted with age, the elements, and long-ago violence.

Their vessel approached the conglomeration. The largest of which, a curving hull over four-hundred meters long, was buried under all the others. It was hard to make out completely, the smaller ships laid out around, and on, it, but, as they closed, she could make it out as they headed for a darkened hanger.

Without saying anything, Master Lucian landed his ship, powering down the cloak and putting the generator into standby. Standing and stretching, he commented, “Welcome to your new home, Padawan. Come now, and grab an oxygen mask if you want to. You won’t need it for long.”

Her Master walked out without waiting for a response, and Anaïs hesitated. Would she not need the mask because they were coming back to the ship, or because she was going to learn a technique that would mean she wouldn’t require one? She, like all Padawans, learned how to control her breathing, letting herself go longer without air, or do more in low-oxygen environments, than a normal person. But there was a limit to how long one could go before basic biology said, ‘that’s enough.’

Trusting her Master, she hurried to follow, the boarding ramp already opening when she finally caught up. Glancing at her, her lack of a mask, Master Lucian nodded, stepping off the ship and almost gliding over to a set of controls, each stride a small jump of its own. She stepped off the ship as well, though the moment she did so something felt. . . off. Not the different gravity, which sent her bounding off to the side, almost falling but with more than enough time to catch herself, it was something else. Moving back to the ramp, she immediately felt better in a way that had nothing to being the weight she was used to, the change so sudden it was instantly recognizable.

This place reeked of the Dark Side.

It wasn’t as bad as the Sith Saber, nowhere close, but as she stepped out again, her steps a little more graceful, she could feel its cloying presence at the edges of her mind. Even after only a few days, she could block it out better than she had the nightclub, and this was a great deal darker than that, no swirls of Light mixed within, but that still left her wondering why a Jedi would live somewhere like this.

“Are you coming, or not, Padawan?” her Master prompted, tapping away at what appeared to be an unpowered computer, though, to her surprise, a door opened, the inside illuminated with dim red light, which didn’t look ominous at all.

Bracing herself, she joined him as he ‘walked’ deeper into the wreckage, copying his motions and quickly getting used to the lesser gravity. The hanger had been dusty and dirty, small piles of detritus gathered in the corners, but, while the air was a bit stale, it was oddly clean in these twisting hallways. Reaching a turbolift, she was unsure of its stability, but trusted her master and stepped onto it after him.

The elevator smoothly descended, the feeling of darkness increasing, the shadows dancing around the edges of the enclosed space, before the lights suddenly shifted from red to white and they passed through an energy field that buzzed through them harmlessly. Suddenly it was much easier to breathe, gravity was now normal, and the feelings of encroaching malignance disappeared entirely, just as fast as it’d appeared when she’d stepped off the ship.

Looking to Master Lucian, who glanced at her with a slight smirk, she asked, “Was that. . . was that fake? The Dark Side, or, my feeling it?”

“Oh, no, that was very much real,” he disagreed pleasantly, the elevator still descending. “One does not kill sixteen million people, and an entire Agri-world, by burning them to death without leaving an echo. Uphrades is, and may always be, resonant with the Dark Side of the Force because of what happened here. Not as much as some, it was only a single event over a few months, and not years, or centuries, of suffering, but enough.”

“Enough for what?” she had to ask, wanting to ask about what other planets he was referring to, but trying to stay on topic. “Enough to train against?”

Her Master looked at her, an eyebrow raised, as the turbolift slowed to a halt. “Because I take so many students, of course I’ve built this complex for training. No, it is enough to mask the Force Presence of those who reside in the Light, be they Masters, or new Padawans.”

The doors opened, revealing a wide-open room, closer to a warehouse, boxes stacked thirty feet high against the walls, halfway to the ceiling. Up the durasteel walls were openings for hallways, with no visible way to reach them, the doorways hanging open like cliffside tunnels, and it looked as if someone had just scooped out this section of the ship in its entirety.

What was attracting her attention the most was the glowing bronzium disk in the center of the ceiling, a series of rings spinning in alternate directions surrounding it, glowing blue runes carved into their surface. “What is that?” she asked, having never seen anything like it.

“Presence suppressor. Took forever to fix, and the reason we can rest easily,” the ancient Jedi replied, motioning for her to follow as he walked to one wall and leapt without breaking stride, launching himself up to land lightly in one suspended doorway, turning to wait for her.

Oh, that’s what they’re for, she thought, trying to follow. She couldn’t do so easily, and stopped, trying to remember the steps of the needed technique. Force Jumping was something that everyone could do, but most could only do so for ten or fifteen feet, not the twenty he just had. Then again, it was supposed to be used in combat, and, like so much, she’d hit the level she thought was mastery of it, only to be casually shown there was so much more.

She ran through the process, which was two-fold. The first was to enhance her legs, infusing the Force into her body to make the jump beyond what mere muscles could allow. The second was to use Telekinesis to push down, at the ground, not mooring herself in the Force as one needed to if they tried to use Telekinesis on anything heavier than themselves. That combo of leap and push was what was needed to propel herself higher into the air than should be possible.

Pushing herself hard, trying to Force Jump further vertically than she ever had before, she called deeply on the Force and launched herself upwards. She flew, high, definitely high enough, only to realize that while her technique had been perfect, her trajecetory had been off, and she was going to fly face-first into a hard durasteel wall. Desperately pushing away with the Force, she successfully reversed her course only now to be on a path to smash into a pile of boxes.

Before she could summon enough power to push herself away, again, her trajectory slowed, until she was hanging mid-air. “Let me guess,” her Master’s voice called, as she reddened with shame over not even able to make a simple jump, “they’ve lowered the standards of the physical courses as well. Literally in this case.”

“I could’ve made it,” she muttered, though not quietly enough for him not to hear.

“Indeed, it is not your power that is lacking, but your aim,” Master Lucian agreed, laughing. “Don’t worry, Padawan, it’s okay. We are here to train, after all.” Bringing her to him, Anaïs landed in the opening, put down right in front the young-looking man, his Presence in the Force receding once more. “Have you learned how to fall, at least?” he asked, turning around and continuing down the passage. “From at least fifty feet up?” Master Lucian added, before she could respond.

“I have,” Anaïs told him, falling silent as they went down several passages, into a smaller turbolift, and then through several more into a wide chamber, lit, but inactive. Odd looking columns stood in the center, with railings set a good distance around them.

Typing away at the main console, she heard machinery below their feet start to churn, falling into a low hum, and electricity started to arc along the columns, showing the need for the railings as the capitol ship-sized power cores spun up. “And this will get things online, the power cells were running lower than I would’ve liked,” he announced. “Lets get you settled, and, hmmm, I’d say you can have the Little One’s room, as he hasn’t used it in centuries, but he’d likely complain. I’m sure I can find something for you. Maybe. . .” he trailed off, walking back the way they came, and Anaïs just followed once more.

She wanted to be uneasy with this, this, this entire thing really. With secret bases on Dark Side Moons. With assassinations of criminals, even if they were absolutely evil. With going from Initiate to Padawan in less than an hour. But she’d left what she was comfortable with a while ago, back on Fabrin at the latest, so she was just going to take things as they were.

<<SWPP>>
​

“I believe it’s time to truly test you, Padawan,” Master Lucian intoned, the two of them in another large room, somewhat reminiscent of the training halls back at the Temple. Only, instead of smooth stone, carefully sculpted to let in light and air flow in, this room was durasteel, the illumination and breeze both artificial. The ground was soft, thick black mats covering the floor, and the walls looked almost molded, as if something had bent and hammered the metal in place instead of the smooth planes of most of this ship’s corridors.

“You weren’t before?” she had to ask, thinking of the training she’d already gone through, already harder than anything she’d done in years, pushing her to the point of exhaustion, only to train her more as she healed herself of the injuries she’d accrued during said training.

To her dismay, the Jedi Master shook his head, “That was the basics, but the more I see the more I realize my own estimations are off. I thought, with your age, you would be at a higher level than most potential Padawans, and I was wrong. Not necessarily about your level of comparative skill, as opposed to the others of your age clan,” he clarified before she could object that she was skilled, “but about my own idea of your skills, and how I needed a better understanding of what they are. So, as we have been doing, we must start from the very beginning, and work our way up from there. We’ve covered the basics of the basics, though not to full proficiency, but I need a better idea of your other abilities. To start with, do you have any natural talents in the Force? Anything you found you could do without formal training?”

It was her turn to shake her head, the answer coming easy enough as she paraphrased what she’d learned at the Temple, “I thought everything required training. That’s why Force Sensitives are given to the Jedi, as without proper guidance they will never be able to use their gifts.”

“That’s what your instructors taught you?” he asked skeptically. At her nod, he sighed, “No, Padawan. Many Jedi develop abilities they are not trained in, though further training can help hone them. Pyrokinesis, Beast Speech, Shatterpoint, Psychometry, there are quite a few, the last of which, the ability to read echoes left by the Force in items would be of great use as a Sentinel, though training would be required to protect yourself from its. . . negative effects, when treading the shadowed streets, as we Sentinels do as a matter of course. Some, like Pyrokinesis, can be learned. Others, like Psychometry, cannot, or at least I do not know how to teach you, and neither would anything in the archives. I’ve checked.”

She thought about it, thought about what she’d learned, what she’d practiced. “I’m good with Force Barriers,” she offered, creating one over her hand, the ghostly white disk floating above an inch away from her palm. They’d been the first ability she’d mastered, or that the teachers had told her she’d mastered, at least.

Her Master regarded it, before there was a stirring in the Force and a lance of physical force, the faintest of shadows the only visual sign, slammed into her shield. It broke, cracking in half, and the attack stopped itself before it touched her hand, even as she shifted one of the destroyed portions down to protect herself, the other fading into nothingness.

The attacking force tapped at the shard of shield, then struck it, shattering it too, before it dissipated even as she tried to reform it.

“You do have a bit of talent for them,” he agreed mildly, though his words held a weight that the faint praise wouldn’t have had from the Temple instructors, from whom such a statement would only serve as a reminder of her need to work harder. “So other than the six, nine, however you want to count them, do you have any talent with the others?”

“I haven’t tried,” she had to admit. “I wasn’t allowed to.” At her Master’s look, she explained, “We were told to practice the basics, and that it would be our masters who showed us the deeper secrets of the Force, and guided our training. That, once we Mastered an ability, we were to receive no more training and instead help guide the younglings. I, Jorel convinced me to keep working on my Barriers, but the Temple instructors strongly suggested I stop.”

Master Lucian stared at her, expression blank even as his Presence stirred. “What.”

“I was told that it was to better allow our Masters to teach us when we were Padawans,” she explained, not sure why this was surprising. It was why, even if some of the things she was learning were. . . different, she’d been so ready to learn, so excited about finally being chosen. The excitement had dimmed, more than a little, but she was more sure than ever that she’d finally be able to move forward again. “We were not to experiment ourselves, as then we would not have to un-learn what our Masters would want us to learn, and to approach the Force in the way they wished. We were to wait, to train no further, once we had achieved ‘mastery’ of a subject.”

“Un-learn. . .” the Jedi echoed, sounding confused. “Un-learn? Why would. . . oh. Those. . . idiots,” he spat, disgust dripping from his tone.

“Master?”

He shook his head. “Once again, the ‘truth’ they have shared with you is a ‘truth’, but not the truth. Unless you were to attempt the Dark Side version of a technique, there is, from a practical point of view, no difference in the manner of which you form your barriers, I form my barriers, and the Little One forms his barriers. No, that is a reason, and a poor one at that, one almost never true, but almost certainly not the reason. Tell me Padawan, if you had not become a Padawan, what would have happened to you?”

“I would’ve joined the Service Corps,” she replied instantly. She didn’t think things had changed that much since Master Lucian’s time.

“And would you have still learned how to use the Force as you would as a Padawan? How to harness your abilities? Would you even be allowed to keep your lightsaber?” he inquired, motioning towards where her weapon sat at her waist.

Her hand automatically went to it, her one, sole possession for the past eight years. “They wouldn’t, would they?” she asked in return. Jedi were not supposed to be attached to their possessions, but from the way most Jedi acted, their sabers were the exception to that rule, so she might have allowed herself the same indulgence. Surely if she’d joined the Explorer Corps, she’d be allowed to keep it, if only to protect herself.

“A Jedi’s weapon, that is. A member of the Order, you may be, but the rank of Jedi, you do not hold,” Master Lucian commented, almost mockingly, and Anaïs felt her heart grow heavy, even as she knew that she was a Padawan now, so her fears were baseless. “If, as a Knight, you joined, then you would, but as an Initiate, not even a Padawan? You may be allowed to keep it, you would have if you were you joining the Explorer Corp when I became a Padawan, but of the Explorers I’ve met in the last few centuries, only the Knights and Padawans held sabers. Now, what does that tell you about why they wouldn’t train you further?”

“They were trying to keep us weak?” she asked, scarcely believing it herself. “To better control us?”

Master Lucian started to nod, but stopped. “Yes, and yes, but likely not in the way you think. Remember, Padawan, the Temple’s actions are always done for benevolent reasons, though that does not excuse them, nor make their harm less. The more you know, the stronger you are, the worse it is if you Fall, and the less. . . accepting you may be of your fate, and, of course, the higher the likelihood you would question the will of the ‘Force’, as told to you by those deemed to be your betters. It’s not out of malice, but concern that they do so. To protect you, even from yourself, their lies excusable to their own ears when weighed against the possibilities of the harm the truth could inflict on the weaker among them, whatever they claim to the contrary. The fact that, even for a sub-optimal Master, having Padawans so restricted makes even the weakest Jedi seem all the more impressive is secondary, of course.”

Sighing, he shook his head, “I’d seen some signs, and of course heard more from the Little One, but it is only now that I am realizing how far things have gone in my absence. Next you’ll say they’re promoting Knights without passing the Trials.” He paused for a moment, as if waiting, though she wasn’t sure for what. “There’s that at least, or maybe you haven’t heard.” Clapping his hands together, his mood seemed to brighten, his Force Presence, which had started to darken and roil, smoothed out once again.

“So, you haven’t been trained, and even your own self-training, like your spar with Padawan Jorel, was bereft of help or oversight. I know that your use of Barriers certainly wasn’t taught to you, or I’d’ve seen it elsewhere. You have no ability past the basics, which themselves have been degraded to half of what they used to be, and then further broken down to lower the bar. Your teachers were either lying, or had been misled themselves, and doctrine has gotten so tight that even the existence of other schools of thought have been dismissed entirely. What do you even know of other Force-using traditions?” Master Lucian asked, making her feel fairly small, her failings listed so bluntly.

She shrugged helplessly. “They exist? That, misguided as they are, they are weaker in ability, even then our Padawans, and most tread dangerously close to the Dark Side, unaware of the dangers?”

“Weaker than. . .” he trailed off, disbelief stark in his tone. “Alright, the list of places I’m not taking you anywhere soon has just tripled. That might be true in the Inner Rim and the Core, but the places we’ll go. . . no. Just. . . no. Rule of thumb, any organization with the words Brother, Sister, Sorcerer, Conclave, Witches, Wizards, Night, or Cult in their name is usually dark aligned, and something to be careful of. Anything with the words Order, Disciples, or Temple could go either way, and the words Monk, Aesthetic, or Healer is usually indicative of the Light. These aren’t hard rules, but you will attract their attention, Padawan, and know that, as Force users, they might be able to fake their Presence, especially if they’re Dark Adepts. That said, merely hiding their Presence does not signify darkness, only caution. The Disciples of Twilight, for example, are actually fairly nice, despite their name and secretive nature. Oh, and if any Force Sensitive woman says they’re from Dathomir, run,” the Jedi Master instructed solemnly.

“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask. “I will, but why?”

The young-looking man winced. “They’re female supremist Force users that breed true, specialize in illusions, and who I may or may not have had a few disagreements with in the past. In my defense I was young and having a bad decade. Her attempts to trap me in my own mind were just begging for me to return the favor. It’s not my fault she was so used to inflicting it on others that she never learned how to break out of it herself. And she learned. Eventually.”

Anaïs blinked, the shift from wise old Master to defensive young. . . Knight, she guessed, was so sudden it gave her mood whiplash. “So, there’s a woman from Dathomir out there that wants revenge?”

“Oh, her? No, Malicia died over half a millennia ago,” he waved away. “No, it’s her daughters, with a couple dozen ‘grand’s in there, that are the issue. They’re likely to. . . ‘adopt’ you. Whether you want to be or not. You are strong in the Force, Anaïs, almost as much as I was at your age, and you’d make a very worthwhile prize, even without your connection to me. No, if a strong, smug female Force user appears out of nowhere, especially literally, raise your Mental Shields, call for help, and run.”

“I will,” she repeated, making a mental note to look up Dathomir after she was done training today.

Master Lucian sighed, “Don’t worry, Anaïs. The chances of them finding us here are so absolutely remote we’re more likely to run into Rakatans.”

Who? she thought, not recognizing the species name.

“So, we’re starting at the very bottom. You know how to meditate, at the very least, and you’re learning how to use the Force while moving, which is the Jedi equivalent of speaking in four-word sentences. Your ‘vocabulary’ is similarly poor, but the entire Order seems to be speaking pidgin nowadays, the dictionaries locked away for fear of the difficult words within, so that is hardly your fault,” he remarked, obviously trying reassured her, though it didn’t work. “Your progress, however, gives me hope that I was correct in my original assessment of your capabilities, even if your current skill level is lower than expected. That said, I am going to have words with the Little One, the next time I see him, as some warning would’ve been appreciated, and I know he’s laughing to himself about his little joke.”

Master Lucian paused, staring off to the side, eyes narrowed, before he turned back to her. “Now, the questions are done, at least for now, and I believe it is time for your training. A problem has been brought to my attention.”

“Problem?” she asked, with a sinking feeling as shadows coalesced into platform fifteen feet into the air, another twenty feet up, and a third thirty feet from the ground.

“Yes, you have shown you have some talent with Force Jump, as the technique has been so creatively named, and claim you know how to fall. This is a skill that, not expecting a Padawan, I have taken for granted in the construction of this place. Let’s test and train both!” the Jedi Master announced with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t hurt yourself too bad if you fail, but I foresee some training of self-healing as well. If you break bones, I’ll reform them for you. I know you aren’t at that level. Yet. Never say I am not a benevolent Master.”

The Jedi’s Force Presence was deceptively calm, not a hint of the Dark Side at all, which must’ve been some sort of trick, as his cheerful grin was pure, undiluted evil.

 

Chapter 11
​

Once again, Jorel was on the bridge of the Dove, Sergeant Hisku beside him, both of them standing off to the side to observe. He’d told his master he could help, who’d in turn asked, “That familiar with our tactics, are you? I wasn’t aware I’d given them to you for study.” Rather than dig himself in any deeper, the Padawan had just stayed silent and let his master continue.

At the edges of his perception, he could feel the Force swirl with energy, a sensation that had slowly increased in intensity the closer they’d gotten to their destination. It wasn’t churning with agitation, but almsot eddied with anticipation, somewhere between Light and Dark, with elements of both. Taking a deep breath, Jorel centered himself, letting the feeling slide past him. Glancing to his right, he saw Hisku was anxious, fingering the hilt of her sword while keeping otherwise still.

She caught his anxious look, and returned with one of her own, hers a little challenging as she raised an eyebrow in a ‘yes?’ gesture. He just smiled, roguishly, which caused her to roll her crimson orbs, breaking eye contact and facing forward, towards Er’izma and the windows showing the ever-shifting tunnel of Hyperspace.

“Arrival in ninety seconds!” one of the bridge crew announced, and Er’izma gave his apprentice a warning glance.

Bracing for it helped, as his master then smothered the Force Presence of the ship with the Knight’s power, leaving nothing but a blank canvas from which to better hear the will of the Force itself. Jorel, too, tried to reach out, and could catch the barest hint of something in front of them.

It was Dark, though nothing close to Anaïs’s Master, however the feeling was also nowhere near as pure as that Jedi Master’s aura either. It felt sticky, and fetid, like catching a whiff of old garbage two rooms away, with a mix of Pain-Greed-Sadism jumbled together in an unpleasant cloud.

However, while to Jorel it was an incomprehensible mix of nastiness, to his master it seemed something else entirely. The Knight nodded, the pressure vanishing, and he commanded, “At ten seconds, launch Alpha and Beta flights.

The Force presence of the ship, the chaotic jumble of every being’s emotions splashed together, quickly spun itself into a complex web as the time ticked down, aligning in unity of a common purpose. Jorel himself felt the push to join in, but resisted the pull of their collected emotions, as he’d been trained to.

He’d studied these kinds of confrontations enough to know how they’d go. The capital ship would exit Hyperspace and be vulnerable as it released its fighters. The defenders would have their ships scattered around, any fighters already out and ready to react, along with any defensive emplacements. While the exact position of where their ship would drop out of hyperspace would be fairly random, the general location could be guessed, and the defenses would be arranged to quickly adapt to wherever they entered real-space. One could drop out farther away, giving onself more time to set up, but also losing any element of surprise, allowing one’s opponents to bring their defenses fully online if they weren’t already readied for an attack.

It was a matter of who knew what. If the defenders were ready and waiting, or well-trained enough that they could respond in under a minute, it was better to drop out early. However, if they weren’t that prepared, then that first critical minute could be spent by the capital ship wreaking havoc and disgorging its fighters right next to their targets.

From what he could tell, his master would drop out as close as he could, taking advantage of either the pirates’ ignorance of their arrival, or their expectation of their ship’s arrival in several hours instead of right this moment. From there, after the initial barrage, the fighters would launch, and the battle would commence in full.

Jorel was half right.

Ten seconds before they were set to arrive, he caught the flicker of movement as Cranes started to launch from the forward bays while the ship was still in hyperspace. That’s suicide! he thought, watching in shocked disbelief. Fighters that left a ship in Hyperspace were either stranded in that other realm forever, unless they had a Hyperdrive of their own, which the Cranes thankfully did, or came out of Hyper so off the mark that they’d either have to make a jump without a hyperspace lane or take days to get back to their intended battlefield using sublight engines. Ignoring how risky it was to make a lane-less jump, there was a reason that ships waited until they entered real space before launching their fighters! To do what he was seeing meant they’d be scattered all across the system, at best, and more likely run headlong into the gravity wells of any nearby stellar body, destroying themselves instantly!

Only, that didn’t happen.

The smaller ships moved lethargically, much more slowly than they could if they wanted, flying down the twin tines of the Dove’s hull, and, as the lines of hyperspace streaked down to points of light, each one a different star in the void of space, the Cranes dropped out with them. In an instant the fighters’ engines flared to full blast, twisting upwards and downwards in two groups even as a second pair of squadrons emerged at full speed, the battlefield map on the holo-display showing more groups of starfighters being launched from the Dove’s side hangers.

Before them was a space station, built into a large asteroid, or maybe a small moon, easily over a dozen corvettes and frigates hanging around it, a few still docked. The planet it hung above glowed a dull red with tectonic activity, another dark blue world in the distance, and a dull red star at the center of the system shone like a baleful, unblinking eye.

A single cruiser, larger than the others but still likely dwarfed by the Dove, peeked out from the other side of the moon, slowly moving out of sight. It was likely getting in position to surprise them, and would have had they arrived ‘on time’.

Jorel looked over the battlefield and weighed it against what he knew of the Dove’s capabilities. They still would win, but it was going to be a close thing, far more ships here than they’d been told about by Er’izma’s supplier. In addition to the enemy ships were several dozen gun platforms, small single turbolaser satellites, spread out around the base, their turrets already starting to swing towards his ship’s position, but most never got the chance to fire.

The Dove’s guns thundered in a chorus of destruction, having aimed in mere seconds, the muted sounds running through the hull as their turbolasers obliterated the closest platforms, the blue bolts from their ion cannons arcing out toward the two nearest corvettes, at first splashing against shields before striking true, actinic blue lightning playing across their hulls.

The flights of Cranes, six, then ten, then fourteen, each consisting of six ships, streaked out, guns blazing, each flight carving a path of destruction through the turrets and hidden mines, which Jorel hadn’t noticed until they’d started to explode.

The Force Presence of his master seemed to flow outwards in a torrent of power, the Legion-In-One that was the Jedi Knight’s aura spreading out, seeming to infuse itself with the bridge crew, then everyone on the ship, then the pilots careening across space in front of them. Jorel could feel it against his Mental Shields, not pressing, just offering aid.

Hesitantly, he took it, and could feel the crew around him in the Force as if they were Jedi themselves, all connected and moving with a singular purpose, words not needed to convey understanding, all still individuals, but sharing a communal consciousness.

Battle Meditation, the Padawan thought, and understood. It was a rare technique, both because of the power it required to use and of how useless it was to the modern Jedi. It allowed one to take control of a group of soldiers, raising their spirits, helping them to work at peak efficiency, and sometimes beyond. With the Jedi’s roles as peace-keepers and diplomats, it was a skill that wasn’t even mentioned in the Padawan’s training, one that Jorel had only heard about by studying historical accounts to try to find a way to improve himself, in order to be chosen by a Jedi Knight.

The accounts had been vague, only speaking of an ‘upwelling of spirits’ and of the Jedi who performed it directing the group as if they were his or her own body. Feeling it was something else entirely.

He could feel his ‘spirits’ raise, in a way, but it wasn’t a rising feeling of hope, it was the calm confidence of someone performing a well-practiced skill. That this was not his first naval battle, even though it was, nor would it be his last, but just another clash he’d weather, like he now felt like he had countless times before. Even though he hadn’t.

Looking out over the battle, feeling it instinctively, he was better able to pick out the details he’d missed before. The movement of the enemy ships as they frantically tried to maneuver into position, undocking as fast as they could, their ill-maintained weapons sluggishly moving into position, charging up and getting ready to shoot back.

The Dove’s guns were discharged once more, not the cavalcade of fire that it had been before, but a single shuddering pulse as they went off as one, a wall of plasma and ion lashing out at a corvette, overwhelming its shields and blowing flaming craters in its hull as the ship broke in two. The lights of the ship flickered in the forward half, its guns blindly firing, even as the back half detonated in a flash of deadly luminescence.

While an impressive display, it was the Cranes that benefited the most from the technique, the sixteen flights coming together in three large groups, twisting and spinning together in dizzying patterns, moving so close to each other that Jorel worried they’d crash, even as he knew they wouldn’t, the fire from their lasers falling upon everything before them in waves, leaving trails of destruction in their wake.

The pirate ship’s guns fired into the mass of starfighters, assured of hitting something, only for the swarm to part, twirling around in the way that only they could, the turbolaser shots passing harmlessly through the groups as they fell on a corvette, ion bolts, then lasers, like glowing rain, blasting into and overwhelming its shields, then ripping it to pieces.

Starfighters started to pour out of the pirate's base, more emerging out of the remaining corvettes and frigates, who themselves were firing on the Dove to no avail, the battleship’s shields holding steady. Her small point defense cannons shot sporadically, almost lazily, every time blowing an enemy missile or torpedo out of the metaphorical sky, and he could almost feel the minds of the crews, calmly picking off each projectile as it closed on their ship, their home.

The pirates’ fighters were a rag-tag mix of ship types, with bombers, interceptors, and others all together with no rhyme or reason. The Cranes, multipurpose superiority fighters, moved with a unity of purpose.

It was no contest.

One of the three combined flights peeled off, the other two descending on a corvette, even as the Dove destroyed another frigate. The pirate fighters opened fire, and Jorel expected the Cranes to dodge those as well, but they absorbed the shots on their shields, blasting forward at close to full speed, their shifting formation making sure that no one ship got hit hard enough to drop their defenses and take true damage.

As they neared each other, the groups on a seeming collision course, some of the pirates broke, going wide, while others tried to bully their way through. The Cranes turned, twisting with only slight changes in direction, flying sideways in a way that made Jorel’s head hurt until he realized they’d turned off their stabilizers, the things that allowed a ship to fly in space as if it were atmosphere, and without which spaceflight became nearly impossible.

However, impossible it wasn’t, as they used their positioning thrusters to roll their ships, seemingly flying straight up in the frictionless battlefield, keeping their forward guns on their chosen targets even as they passed feet away from them, lighting them up at point blank range.

The pirate ships that tried to pass through detonated in clouds of expanding, fiery shrapnel, as well as those that’d tried to pull away too late, but the Cranes were already past them all, twisting back to their original positions before swooping out and around, stabilizers re-engaged as they chased after the remaining enemy fighters en-masse.

Those groups devolved into a dog-fight, but while an individual pirate would gain an advantage, landing three or four hits on the same Crane, before they could break through that Crane’s shield another would be there, interposing itself between the pirate and the vulnerable vessel, while two more would box in the more competent of the pirate’s pilots, blasting them apart with their more powerful weapons.

While this was going on, the other two combined flights, each consisting of five squadrons, each squadron six Cranes, destroyed the remaining corvettes, just as much of a mishmash as the pirate’s starfighters were, while the Dove took on the larger, more powerful frigates.

While not as visually showy, the crew of the Dove were just as busy as their fighter pilots, teams working every turbolaser, engineers monitoring ship systems to handle the stress on the shields, part of him could even feel what was normally the kitchen staff handling the smaller aspects of a dozen other jobs, while the specialists handled the more difficult tasks.

The pirate cruiser, having had to turn around, started to emerge back from where it’d disappeared into, several small squadrons of fighters speeding ahead of it to try to join the fight and tip it in their favor. Jorel expected some of the Crane flight still in the middle of the dogfight to peel off and meet them, but they didn’t, nor did they redouble their efforts, smoothly and almost mechanically continuing to eliminate the last of the pirate fighters that had come from their base.

However, even as the whisper of Battle Meditation told Jorel that the smart thing to do would be to try a bombing run on the Dove, in order to weaken it for the cruiser’s capital ship scale weapons, the new wing of pirate starfighters tried to attack the Cranes who were mopping up the last of the small craft from the asteroid base.

Watching it, the purple-hued ships almost seemed alive themselves as they pulled away from the pirates when they were attacked, once more covering each other with their combined shields. The newly engaged pirates pilots followed, firing as the Cranes seemed to flee, but then, in a cloud of shifting metal, the Dove’s forces, turned, and charged.

This time, however, they didn’t disengage their stabilizers, going through with a much more standard mass firing pass with their secondary lasers, their main weapons likely needing to recharge from the protracted dogfight they’d just been in. The Cranes, having made it to the other side of the pirate squadrons, their enemies slightly diminished, turned down and away, starting to run away again even as a second flight of Cranes swooped in on the pirates from above, primary guns blazing.

The first flight, the one that had seemed to run again, spun around and engaged their thrusters, only able to squeeze out two volleys of fire from their main laser cannons before their internal batteries ran out again, the more powerful weapons energy-intensive. However it was enough, both sets of Cranes closing on the pirate squadron like a pair of plasma jaws, destroying all but a few in moments, the last survivors easily taken down by the combined sixty ships, not having suffered a single loss themselves.

The third flight, which had been on a run skimming close to the pirate base’s surface as they eliminated its defensive weaponry, pulled back and caught up with the other two groups, as the full force turned and sped towards the pirate cruiser, which had been trading shots with the Dove.

Jorel knew their ship could’ve easily destroyed the cruiser, but they had merely dropped the smaller ships shields, before carefully destroying its weapon emplacements, their gunners wielding meter-wide bolts of plasma like scalpels.

He could feel something coming, a mental firing solution lining up from a hundred minds, and then they pulled a hundred triggers. Every ion cannon available, both on the Dove, and on every single Crane, having had time to recharge, fired, a wave of prismatic blue-white that struck the cruiser in a torrent, overwhelming even its extensive, likely hardened systems, the lights on the ship flickering before going dark.

The entire fight had taken less than five minutes, and he wanted to relax, but the Battle Meditation persisted, and he could feel others moving, as more ships launched from the Dove. Looking out the window, it only confirmed what he already knew.

It was the shuttles.

They spread out in three directions, each one, he somehow knew, packed with soldiers in armor. The smallest group headed out to the two corvettes that’d been disabled in the opening moments, the middle towards the newly disabled cruiser, and the largest, almost half of all the shuttles that’d launched, flew as fast as they could for the Pirate’s base.

Even with Knight Er’izma’s Battle Meditation there, whispering to him what would be best, Jorel didn’t understand why they were doing that. Were they going to board the ships? He could understand the base, that was where the supplies they were after probably were being held, but not the ships. Thankfully, he had an expert right next to him.

“Sergeant Hisku,” he whispered, mentally withdrawing from his master’s technique, the sound easily carrying over the completely silent bridge, something he hadn’t noticed until he’d broken it. She didn’t seem to hear him, staring out the windows towards the pirate’s asteroid base.

He looked around, noticing most of the crew similarly focused, almost enraptured, with their tasks. Major Zara however, was staring straight at him with her cold, stony expression, a single eyebrow raised. Knight Er’izma was even focused, gazing out the window with an unblinking stare, but, holding the Battle Meditation together, that was to be expected. The fact that the man was still standing at all, the technique always done seated for a reason, was a testament to his strength.

Turning back to the blue-skinned woman again, Jorel tried again. “Sergeant Hisku,” he whispered again, a little louder, only to get no response. Carefully reaching over and poking her had her absently brush his arm away, still watching the asteroid. “Hey, Hissy,” he tried, going for broke.

“What did you call me?” she demanded instantly, head snapping around to stare at him, before blinking, looking around the bridge, eyes glassy but quickly returning to normal. “What. . .?”

“Sergeant Hisku,” he told her, which was true, from a certain point of view. “I wanted to know, I get you’re putting troops on the base, but why the ships?”

He pointed over at the corvettes and the cruiser as she looked at him, confused. “That. . .” she trailed off shaking her head, focusing on him. “That’s for prisoners, to transport them.”

“And the cruiser?” he asked.

“Parts,” she shrugged, as if that answered everything.

Jorel could see most of the Crane flights returning to the ship, three left flying in a patrol around the system as the Dove continued its slow flight towards the base. “So, how do you take a base like that?” he asked, since she was available for questions.

At her uncomprehending look, he explained, “As a Jedi, well, I’d likely sneak on-board and try to find key systems, sabotaging them, maybe setting the entire thing to explode before sneaking back out. Not, well, this,” he waved at the wreckage that dotted the area around the pirate’s base, purple shuttles stuck to the hulls of the disabled ships like metallic parasites, but some were already peeling off and starting to fly back toward their vessel.

“The first group is the strike teams,” the soldier said, falling back to the calm tones and relaxed but formal stance she always took when instructing. “Their mission is to secure key systems. Power generation, command, engines, if it’s a ship, and the mission critical targets, if there are any. In this case, it would be our supplies which were stolen. Once there they hold their ground, keeping the enemy from overloading systems. The second group starts sweeping, assisted by the first, eliminating hostiles and taking prisoners, when possible. Once major opposition is eliminated, they hold the hangers, allowing the third group, the engineers, to arrive and fully secure the target, going room to room to clear it completely, if it’s a claimed target, or to extract the mission critical objects and personnel, if it is not,” she rattled off.

As they watched, the shuttles had returned, some already leaving the ship for their destinations once more. Jorel started to reply, only for their ship to fire a single ion cannon, hitting one of the disabled corvettes. “The enemy probably got their systems back on-line. That would have shut them back down long enough for our people to secure the bridge,” Hisku supplied without him having to ask.

Compared to the practical ballet of space combat he’d just watched, waiting for the ground troops to do their job was, well, boring, Jorel thought. Likely terribly exciting for those fighting though. Even sinking back into the Battle Meditation Knight Er’izma still kept running gave him no extra insight, only urging him to stay where he was.

Pushing his way out of that once more, he closed his eyes, meditating, trying to reach out in the Force, and nearly recoiled at what he felt there. The Force was in chaos, the Dark simmering in the area with the strength of several thousand deaths, more still happening on the cruiser and the pirate’s asteroid base, keeping the Force rolling with cold maliciousness on a level he’d only felt once before.

His hands clenched into fists tightly at the memory, one that he’d done his best to suppress, to ignore like the Temple’s instructors commanded him to, again and again, and which he never could. This time they were the attackers, however, but it was not the same. He did not feel the grief, the sorrow that the other Jedi said he should feel, watching these pirates die, sensing each one perish distantly through the Force, he only felt cold satisfaction.

“Jorel?” Hisku, asked, voice low, and his eyes opened, broken from his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

He looked to her, still sensing his surroundings through the Force and her presence seemed. . . stronger, almost like an Initiate’s, bolstered as it was by Er’izma’s Battle Meditation. She felt. . . guarded, but worried, yet even that worry itself was guarded. “I, I’m fine,” he lied, pulling his emotions back under control, even as they threatened to roil upwards again. “Just bad memories. This isn’t the first time I’ve fought pirates, not that I’m actually doing anything right now.”

“You are learning, Padawan,” Er’izma’s voice intoned, which, while calm, cut across the Bridge like a knife. The man should’ve been stressed, trying to handle such a large technique, but instead sounded calm, almost emotionless. “You must watch The Dance before you can join in it fully. It is the height of arrogance to believe that, because you can hear the Force, you are competent in all things. That skill in one field confers skill in all. Soon enough you will begin your own movements, when you are ready, not before.”

The certainty in the older man’s voice was absolute, his words as if they were carved from stone, firm, resolute, and completely unlike his normal, joking tone. Jorel just nodded, not knowing what else to say. Distantly, he could feel the rate of deaths slowing, the distant points of Darkness that were their deaths flashing into the Force less and less. The presence of Er’izma’s soldiers shone like a network of glowing coral in the black miasma that was the Force right now, sharp and resolute, though even now the choking clouds were starting to dissipate. The Dark side thinned as it spread out, the constants black starbursts of death, like a staccato drumbeat of hate and rage, no longer keeping the cloud of greasy despair together and concentrated.

Jorel, watching the spread of the Dark Side throughout the Force in this system, noticed its odd nature. It didn’t move out equally in all directions, but every new death called it together in the area in swirling pulses, as if it were attracted to the new point of cold, unfeeling nothingness in the Force, causing it to twist and condense in ways that seemed almost organic, like a giant slime mold underneath the surface of the universe.

On one level, he could understand the intrinsic revulsion so many Jedi had to the Dark Side. It was ugly, and filthy, and everything the Light was not. But that didn’t make it any less real. It was like ignoring the fact that sewers existed, which, in the light and airy halls of the temple, one easily could. However, just because sewers were necessary didn’t mean you should put them through a kitchen, and just because filthy things weren’t intrinsically evil didn’t mean he wanted to touch the mess in front of him.

Not again.

“How long will that take to. . .” he trailed off as he realized that now, in the middle of combat, might not be the time to ask.

However, his master replied, in that perfectly placid voice, “A decade or two, before it fades completely. The lack of any life nearby will extend it, whereas even a single colony nearby would cut that it half, though they would suffer for it. Now, we are almost done, so please remain silent.”

Jorel did just that, watching the screens of the nearby consoles, several made of a thin grid of images, every cell moving. It took him a moment to realize they were views from the soldiers, and, focusing, he could barely make them out. Most were fairly stable, people standing guard, but a number were moving, the flashes of light probably the exchange of blaster-fire.

Less than fifteen minutes later it was done, the deaths having stopped and the fighting over. The presence of Er’izma’s Legion, an undeniable truth in the Force, faded. The Knight took a long, shuddering breath as his shoulders dropped before standing up straight. He seemed a little tired, but otherwise as if he was ready to do the entire thing again.

The effects rippled outwards; the others on the bridge also relaxed, starting to communicate through words once more, not the near-telepathy that Battle Meditation provided. The quiet whispers as those all around Jorel communicated into their microphones rose once more and breaking that crystal clear, and crystal sharp, silence.

Jorel’s master accepted a drink from a lieutenant, sipping it as he walked over to his student. “So,” he commented with a smile. “What did you think of your first engagement, Padawan?”

The young man considered the situation. His training in the Temple would say what they did, arriving and killing en masse, was wrong. On the other hand, these were pirates, who had attacked innocents without mercy. As a Jedi, he was supposed to try to find a peaceful way to end a confrontation, but there was no way the pirates would have surrendered. He would’ve thought they would have lost the fight, had he not known how powerful the Dove and her Cranes were, and the Pirates likely thought them overconfident merely because of the size of their ship.

Even then, knowing what the Dove could do, he hadn’t expected what he’d just seen, how completely one-sided the seemingly close fight had been.

“How many did we lose?” he asked instead. All of the Cranes had returned intact, and their shields had held throughout the fight, even if they had gotten a little low, but infantry usually-

“Losses?” Er’izma smiled. “We suffered no losses. A few soldiers will need Bacta time, but that’s all.”

Jorel’s thoughts ground to a halt. That made no sense. He’d remembered his studies of large-scale warfare, and of the technique he’d just seen used. One of the main strengths of Battle Meditation was that it allowed soldiers to fight, even if they were to die, throwing themselves on grenades to save their squad, sacrificing their lives freely, and, paradoxically, winning battles with a fraction of the losses they would’ve suffered otherwise. “But, that’s not how Battle Meditation works!” he finally replied, feeling almost like Anaïs did whenever she got something wrong in training.

While Sergeant Hisku looked horrified at his arguing with her commander, the man just smiled even more widely. “Then you knew what that was? I did choose well. Tell me, Jorel, what you read emphasized sacrificing the few for the whole, the few for the many, correct?” Jorel nodded, not sure how else to respond. “But my Flock is worth much, much more than the lives of a few pirates,” the large Jedi noted, with just a hint of scorn. “If there is no other option, then yes, they are willing to sacrifice their lives, but to throw them away merely for a faster, or more assured victory, especially when the stakes were this low?”

The Knight laughed, shaking his head, “No. My duty is to my crew, and I’d be a terrible commander to spend their lives like that. Now, with all the fun done, we can start the real work.” At his Padawan’s uncomprehending look, he laughed again. “Logistics. We’ve acquired quite a bit of goods, a number of prisoners, and an enormous amount of scrap. Now we get to sort through it, and see what we can use. A Jedi should never be wasteful, after all,” he grinned.

Jorel was pretty sure that wasn’t what Master Dystara meant, when getting the younglings to eat their vegetables, but he couldn’t disagree that it still held true. However, a horrible thought struck him. “We’re. . . oh by the Force! We’re going to have to log everything out there, aren’t we?”

His Master’s booming laughter wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

 

Book 1 Chapter 12
​

Anaïs burst into the training room, clothing ripped and bloodstained, hair half burnt. Her Padawan bond easily directed her to his location, as he wasn’t trying to hide his Presence to her at all. He sat, cross-legged, on the ground, a spark dancing between his hands, or maybe an ember. It didn’t matter, at least not now.

“Why didn’t you tell me there were dragons!?” she demanded.

He paused, the bit of blue-black energy in his hands dying, and glanced up at her, far too calm for what he’d done. “Dragons?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “He shouldn’t be here for yea-, wait, dragons? Plural?”

Mentally tagging yet another thing she’d have to ask about later, she pressed on. “Yes, the dragons. The ones that apparently live outside, but I’ve never seen before! Thirty feet long, forty foot wingspan, two legs with foot long claws, gaping eight foot maws full of jagged teeth that spew fire! You know, the dragons!?”

“Oh,” he commented blandly, though with a smile of benign understanding that was not warranted for the situation. “The ember-drakes. Those aren’t dragons, Padawan Anaïs. Dragons have at least four legs,” he informed her, “while drakes only have two. We haven’t covered non-humanoid biology, so it’s an understandable mistake.”

She took a deep breath, getting her emotions under control. He’s teasing you, Anaïs, she told herself. Her master did not get upset with her unless she actually, consciously, did something wrong or incredibly dangerous, the occurrences of which, in the past handful of weeks, had been few and far between. However, when she was doing something wrong, he’d dangle whatever it was she wanted in front of her, just out of her reach, until she stopped being stupid about it and remembered her teachings.

It’d taken far longer than she would’ve liked to get her emotions to the point where she could feel them, but not be controlled by them, and she was still learning. Being outside, where she could practically feel the Dark Side around her, hadn’t helped, but she’d been in this complex so long the walls had started to feel like they were getting closer every day, and she needed some space. She didn’t push her emotions to the side, ignoring them, like she’d been trained to in the Temple, but acknowledged them, and, in so doing, moved past them.

“Master Lucian,” she tried again, calmer, “why did you not inform me of the alpha predator of this moon?”

He smiled, “Why would I need to tell you about yourself?”

She paused, considering her question, and took a moment to berate herself for her phrasing. “Why didn’t you tell me about the ember-drakes?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” he queried in return.

She narrowed her eyes, not feeling anger, okay, maybe a little anger, but mostly annoyance. Perfectly justified and logical annoyance. “You told me you no longer needed to supervise me when I left.”

The Jedi Master stood up, opening his arms, hands flat and upturned as he gestured towards her. “And you did not, or am I speaking to a spectre?”

You knew I was going to be attacked? she thought, anger flaring for a moment as she processed what he said. And he knew I’d survive, she realized, the anger dying just as quickly, though a bit of resentment remained. “And if I’d told you I was going out?” she asked.

“I would have warned you, and also reminded you that some creatures fly through the use of internal gasses, which can be quite explosive,” he informed her blandly. “It would only be polite.”

Which was another lesson he had been trying to get her to learn. The somewhat aloof nature of the Jedi, while helping them to avoid entanglements, did not work well for other situations. Yes, he knew she was leaving through her Padawan Bond, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t have told him. She even had a comm unit, currently in her room, to do just that. He’d even used ‘informing me of when you’re going for a walk’ as an example of when to use it.

“I’m sorry for not telling you, Master,” she apologized. “That was foolish.”

He only shrugged, “One could come to that conclusion.” Which meant yes. “So, tell me Padawan, what happened?” The Jedi Master took a seat on his cushion, another skidding across the mat-covered floor without a gesture, coming to a stop across from him.

Taking her seat, she copied his posture, and described her. . . jog.

She’d been here for almost two months, eighteen long weeks of training, but it took a while to get used to being on a planet with such low gravity, which she only felt when she left Lucian’s Lair, as she’d started referring to it in her head. She’d held out for five weeks before she’d asked if they could go for a run on the surface, as there were only so many times you could run the same loop through the repurposed halls of a ship before it became mind-numbingly boring. Master Lucian had offered to ‘spice it up’, but she’d been on exactly one of those, where what direction down was occasionally changed, as he did something with the ship’s gravity generators; one section of floor that'd been safe on her last run giving way to a ten foot, if padding lined, pit; and turning a corner to run smack dab into a small swarm of training droids, their stinging lasers shocking her out of her disbelief, and that’d been enough, thank you very much.

Between the thinner air, the heat, and the omnipresent pressure of the Dark Side, even going for a jog on the surface had been a difficult exercise all its own. However, Master Lucian had, as they ran, taught her techniques she could use to deal with the conditions. How to gather air together to be something more easily breathed, which was merely a tricky use of telekinesis, though one much harder than it seemed. How to disperse the heat to cool oneself, the first step of cryokinesis, which she’d never even heard of. How to construct a mental shell to keep out the low-level influences, though he’d warned that only worked to stop a base level of Dark Side influence, and was not be relied on for more than a few days without being renewed. He’d warned that if one didn’t, then the Dark Side would slowly corrupt the technique, leaving the practitioner vulnerable, surrounded by a construct thick with the malice, while thinking themselves safe.

More than that, he’d taught her how to read the environment, both with the Force and without, spotting the disk-shaped scorpions that buried themselves in the sand, stinging what stepped on them, like venomous landmines, and also how to spot the small, horned, rabbit-like creatures. She’d thought them cute, until one had opened up its mouth like a lamprey and lunged for her, crossing a dozen feet in an instant, only to be held in the air by Lucian with the Force.

“Dark Side infused environments tend to be treacherous, rely on poisons, and be utterly inhospitable. The Dark Side’s nature to take what it can selfishly infuses every aspect of the ecology,” he’d revealed. “Such is the nature of the Dark Side. However, if one is careful, mindful, and above all else deadly, one can live, or even thrive, but one can never let their guard down,” he’d instructed, as the formerly adorable rabbit had snarled and snapped at the air, it’s tiny horns weeping green fluid that hissed when it touched the sand. “For instance, the acid this creature secretes works very well in etching processes, making the material it’s used on more receptive to the Force. If you mix it with its blood, the effect doubles, but then it only becomes receptive to the Dark Side, which is utterly useless for our purposes.”

“Are there Light Side infused environments?” she’d asked, taking a cautious step away from the creature, even as her master held it tight, pulling out a vial and milking the acid like one would from a snake.

He paused. “They’re. . . the opposite,” he sighed. “I’ll take you to one I know of, that’s this heavily infused, in a year or two. I’ll have my friend take you,” he corrected, expression tight for a moment, before it smoothed out to his normal, placid, mildly amused default. “I’m. . . no longer welcome. But enough about that, we need to deal with where we are, not where we’ll be,” he deflected. “While we’re here, assume whatever you meet is dangerous, and you’ll be right, unless something else has shown up I’m not aware of, but wait for it to attack first. As you’re learning from your saber lessons, it’s far safer to counter than to strike.”

They’d been on several more runs, one every two weeks, but this time she’d gone on her own, to truly be away from everything else. She’d gotten to the point that she barely felt the Dark Side pressing down lightly on her, though she never forgot about it. Having adapted to the gravity, this time she’d sped across the scrubland in enormous, ground eating leaps. Master Lucian had explained that, once her skill with infusing the Force into her body had risen to an ‘acceptable’ level, she’d be able to do this on planets with normal gravity as well.

She’d been several miles away from the complex, the top of the highest crashed ship a blip on the horizon, when a shadow had passed over her, causing her to stumble and stop, looking up. High above the ground, the blue-black of its body blending in with the dark pseudo-sky of this place, the moon not large enough to have more than a basic atmosphere, was a large shape. Seeming to lack a head, the creature appeared to be a giant, flying manta ray, long tail waving back and forth in the air behind it. A glint of something metallic was in the middle-back of its body, two somethings, too far away and too blended together with the rest of its form to make out. As she stared, she felt her senses blare out a warning, the Force seeming to scream at her to JUMP!

She did so, not hesitating, but harder than she meant to, rocketing over a hundred feet into the air, the lessened gravity making her normal jump something ridiculous. A second creature, which she hadn’t spotted, swooped down through the space she’d been in a moment before. It is maw, more like a gash in the front of its head, was opened wide, long jagged teeth lining its mouth, like a sarlacc’s.

Denied its prey, it flapped its enormous wings, lifting up in a gentle curve, but one that gained speed as it continued to flap. Feeling danger from above, she glanced upwards, seeing the first starting to dive towards her, it is wings held tight to its body.

As it neared, Anaïs had a moment of panic, caught slowly falling downwards with no way to dodge. The creature closed, its blue-black hide showing to be a tight pattern of scales, each one like a tiny, jagged tooth. As it opened its maw, she could see a glow from deeper within its gullet, a dark red fireball emerging to shoot forwards towards her.

Seeing the projectile, she remembered the shadowy balls of telekinesis that her master threw at her over, and over, and over again, and reacted without thinking. Gathering up the Force, she pushed off upwards against the air while pulling the ground itself. It was unfocused, and wasteful in energy, pelting herself with sand and small rocks as she simultaneously threw up an enormous plume of gasses, puncturing a low-flying cloud, but it worked, yanking her out of the air and hurling herself downwards.

Landing heavily, she rolled, grabbing her lightsaber from her belt and activating it, holding it at the ready. The dragon, because what else could it be, pulled away, but she was ready.

Moving even as the barest warning came to her in the Force, she leapt upwards again, but with a fifth the force, spinning around to face the second dragon as it tried to attack her from behind again, pulling itself up to intercept her mid-jump. This close, she could see its eyes, two pairs of back beads, one set below the mouth looking down, and another above looking up, all four shutting tight as it closed, the second before it would’ve hit her, maw gaping open to scoop her up.

That moment of blindness was to her advantage, and she pull/pushed herself towards it. Her pull, centered on the creature, slid right off, as if it didn’t exist. Her push, however, worked just fine, sending her hurtling for the creature’s broad back. She couldn’t grab onto anything, the creature's scales likely cutting into her hands if she tried, but she didn’t need to.

Her preferred lightsaber style was a defensive one, holding still and blocking incoming blows. She’d thought that’d been enough, but Master Lucian had worked with her to know when to move, and how to attack when moving. Fighting something this size, where if she were to block she’d surely be crushed under its enormous bulk, she was glad for the lessons.

Knowing she was nowhere near as graceful as her master, she still managed to land on the dragon, lightsaber plunging into its flesh, actually meeting some resistance. She started to slow, her leg cut on one of its scales through her pants, the blue-black shard breaking off, imbedding itself in her flesh, but she was dealing damage to the creature.

Then it exploded.

Listening to the Force, she managed to wrap herself in a telekinetic shell the moment right before it went off, the creature’s scales turned to deadly fragments, blocked them a bare inch from piercing her. The force of the explosion shot up, launching her upwards like from a catapult, towards the other Dragon, which was waiting for her high in the air. Two long legs unfolded from its body, metallic claws glinting in the faint light of the explosion from below, shaded from the star’s illumination by its massive body.

Before she could do anything, it struck, legs grasping, and though she managed to dodge one, the other sunk itself deeply into her leg, the same leg that’d been injured a moment before, causing her to gasp in pain.

Kill it, she felt the Force whisper, but it wasn’t her Force. Destroy it for harming you!

Shoving the thought out of her head, the pain of her injury having cracked her mental shell, she struck out with her saber at the claw grabbing her. It didn’t go all the way through, biting into the creature’s leg, causing it to bellow in pain, and she ignored the dark thrill of vindictive pleasure she felt at hurting the thing that she attacked her. A second blow, as she infused her body with the Force to increase her strength, cut herself free, sending her flying back downwards, where the Dragon she’d injured was slowly trying to rise, but turned towards her, maw opening as it started to glow, preparing a fireball of its own.

Tired, bleeding, and trying her damndest not to get angry, which was really kriffing hard, she pushed herself off the ground, trying to get higher, as the creature was having trouble rising to meet her. It tried to track her, twisting upwards, but with a quarter of its back gone, revealing bare flesh and bone, it couldn’t manage the move, the mostly self-inflicted injury slowing it.

The dark red flame passed below her, even as she felt the Force scream out a warning, and she pulled herself down, towards the creature, but using the ground as her anchor point. She felt sudden heat wash over her back, the first Dragon having let loose another fireball, burning off the end of her ponytail even as she rocketed towards the injured monster.

It still tried to pull up, opening its mouth to catch her, but it couldn’t, and she missed it by inches, her leg, why was it always the same leg, slamming painfully against its open jaws and bouncing off.

Once again, her training kicked in, pulling her limbs in tight as she maneuvered herself to the only soft landing spot available, the creature’s torn flesh. Falling into that pocket of seemingly exposed muscle and bone, the dragon panicked, its fear seemingly amplified through the Dark Side hanging heavy in the air.

Through that fear Anaïs realized two things.

The first was that the explosion, however it happened, was intentional. While she could see the creatures ‘exposed’ flesh, there was a thick, rubbery membrane along the inside of the muscle-pocket she sat in, protecting the tissues from the dangers open wounds brought in the wild.

Second, from this position, the creature was vulnerable. Whatever made its hide resistant, even to her saber’s blade, it wasn’t here, and the dragon knew it. It was already rising, turning, trying to dump her out from her accidentally seat.

Her saber, the green blade humming in her hand, struck out down into the creature’s flesh, finding no resistance, cutting a burning line as she rolled towards its center line, trying to reach its spine, assuming it even had one. The stench of burned flesh billowed upwards, the heat nearly scalding as the wound steamed, but she kept going, trying to find something vital.

And she did.

There was another muted explosion, coming from the bottom of the creature, and the creature shuddered, giving out a gurgling howl, and went still. Its death blossomed in the Force like a midnight flower under her, equally beautiful and terrible, glowing with the Dark Side, offering itself to her, if only she’d accept its power.

She saw the strength it would give her, how its death would increase her own capabilities, making it so that she would no longer need to fear these creatures, if only she killed enough of them herself.

She ignored it.

The concentrated Dark Side dispersed, with a feeling of angry disappointment, leaving her on her own once more.

Anaïs started to relax, the fight over, until she realized she was still eighty feet in the air.

Exhausted, bleeding, she tried to get up, but her leg buckled, and she fell back into the gory bowl as both Jedi and dead dragon plummeted towards the ground.

The creature hit, and she hit with it, but the dragon’s bulk provided a cushion, which, combined with the moon’s low gravity, meant she was little more than bruised when her arm hit a membrane-covered bone.

Laying there, she could see the other dragon circling above her, ready to keep fighting, and she felt anger rise in her breast. She just wanted to go for a run, just wanted to get away from training and combat and all this for an hour but no this stupid planet, moon, thing that was soaked in the kriffing Dark Side couldn’t let her have even that, could it!?

It seeks to kill you, she heard at the edge of her perception. It was nothing like that stupid Sith saber, and, if she hadn’t known better, she might’ve thought it was her own thought. She could hear it urging her on, showing her how she could reach out with the Force, grab it, and slam it down, grounding it forever.

She was a little tempted, it’d serve the dumb beast right for attacking something it’d never seen before, but she’d had enough death, thank you very much, and she just wanted to go back home to that stupid junkheap where dragons didn’t come out of nowhere and try to eat people just out for a jog.

She flinched a little as the concentrated Dark Side, the bundle of death, rage, and power from the Dragon’s death, which she’d thought dispersed, re-emerged, before slowly dispersing, as the deaths had on Fabrin had, the concentrated Dark Side diffusing out into the larger fabric of the Force.

It didn’t go away the first time, it was just hiding, she realized. Closing her eyes to let out a sigh, centering herself in the Light once more. Dick. Opening them again, she saw the creatures still circling, its Presence in the Force dimmed, almost cloaked, like Master Lucian could. That’s how it snuck up on me, she realized. One had shown up, attracting her attention, while the other dragon had cloaked itself and gone for the kill.

She tried to reach out to it, like she’d learned she could reach out to her Master, and like she’d seen her master communicate with others. “Leave,” she commanded, and, after another few circles, as if to prove that it could’ve stayed if it’d wanted to, it did.

Healing her leg took nearly an hour, and she was thankful for her lessons in doing so. Nothing was broken, and nothing had been torn out when it’d grasped her, only flesh that was pierced and cut, so it was easy enough to mend, after she used the water-bottle from her belt to wash out the wound tracts, her master having been very clear on how healing could, if you were a novice, trap something within that’d need to be cut out later.

From there she’d pulled herself out of the dead dragon, stumbled back home, having to walk because of her still-sore leg, so it took her two and a half hours instead of the one she’d been running, and confronted her Master, who was currently sitting, far too smug, in front of her.

“I believe I am the appropriate amount of smug,” said overly smug Jedi informed her, as she finished her explanation. Holding his hand out, dark mists wreathed it, tendrils of shadow reaching towards her.

Used to them, she sat there as they sunk into her flesh. All the little wounds that she’d not healed yet closed, a tension she wasn’t aware leaving her as he repaired the damage done to her body. She felt her head itch, slowly moving to pull her hair out of the ragged ponytail it was still in, her hair, half of which had been burned off, was once again the length it’d been before. “You regrew my hair?” she asked incredulously, and he nodded. “How?”

“Force Healing,” the man shrugged, as if that somehow explained it. “It is one of my more practiced skills.” After a few more moments, he let the technique drop. “So you have met the most dangerous predator here, other than ourselves, and came away the victor. More than that, you did so without using the Dark Side in your desperation, despite it practically begging you to,” he smiled.

She looked at him askance, “I’m a Jedi, and you’ve spoken, at length, on why using the Dark Side is a bad thing.”

Master Lucian nodded, “And Jedi Knights, who have gone decades only using the Light Side, still sometimes use the Dark Side when they think they are about to die. Most never use it again, or do so again only sparingly, and a fraction of either group ever admit to it, the stench of death they’ve struggled through on their Presences obscuring its use, so long as they do not engage in it regularly. The fact that you restrained yourself, Padawan, is a mark in your favor.”

That was. . . nice, she thought. “Is, is that why you were teaching me Ataru? To fight those things?” she asked.

He shook his head no, before thinking it over and nodding slightly. “Yes and no, Padawan Anaïs. With the Force, we can move like the wind and strike like lightning. That so many are content to stand and fight like trees, rooted, or like dancers, movements tight and never more than a few feet from there foe, is baffling.” he held up a forestalling hand, having had this conversation with her before, though it was more like an argument at time, “Yes, your style allows you to defend others, and on starships or in cities maneuverability is more limited, but if it only takes a bare few weeks to be able to implement its basest maneuvers, why wouldn’t you? Despite your focus on the defensive Soresu, you still incorporated the deflective Shien, even when at the Temple, after all.”

She thought back to the fight, how she survived by the skin of her teeth, moments away from death over and over again. “I need more training,” she decided.

Her master looked at her, eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. “Yes? That is the reason we’re here, after all.”

“No,” she disagreed. “I need to train harder. I know you haven’t been pushing me as hard as you could, and that we’re only a third of the way through how long you thought it would take, but I need to get stronger faster.”

“Getting stronger faster is quite easy,” he shrugged, “From what you described, you could’ve harvested the ember-drake’s life force. You are currently proficient enough with healing to do so. Now that you’re aware of them, it shouldn’t be that difficult to track down the one you maimed and end it.”

She glared at him.

He smiled, “Acknowledging the Dark Side is not a mistake, and it is a valid, if much more dangerous, route. One that quite a few Jedi have walked over the centuries, even though they deny it.”

“I am going to work for my abilities, not steal them from others,” she informed him, knowing that it was a test and how dumb did he think she was?

“Fair enough. Go clean yourself up, and come back here in an hour. I’ll have dinner ready, and then we’ll work on your Force Healing. Good job on the leg, by the way, it’s almost up to the lower end of Temple Healer standards. Or mid end, nowadays,” he commented slightly sourly, placidly pleasant expression returning. “And tomorrow you’ll go for another run.”

“What about the drag- I mean ember-drakes?” she asked.

Shaking his head, Master Lucian informed her, “Oh, you won’t be going outside, you’ll be doing the run around the complex you did before, the one you deemed ‘too difficult’. Though, without me to scare them away, be aware that your chances of being attacked again if you go outside is about one in four.”

With a sinking feeling she nodded, having literally asked for that. “Yes Master.”

She started to turn, only to stop as her Master reached inside his cloak and tossed something to her. Reflexively catching it, it took her a second to realize what she was holding.

It was the ember-drake’s talon.

The one that had been in her leg a few hours previously, encased in what looked like a thin layer of transparisteel, the tip still stained with her blood. The beginnings of the creature’s hide rimmed the top, where it’d obviously been cut with a saber, and not her own ragged cut, but precisely. The transparent metal covering formed a loop, a thin strip of familiar blue-black hide threaded through, turning it into a six-inch-long pendant.

She stared, transfixed, a thought occurring to her, so ridiculous she had to ask. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Ember-drake steaks. Waste-not, want-not, and there’s something about eating the creature that tried to eat you that adds something special to the meal,” he told her, smiling broadly.

“You. . . you were there!?” she demanded, glaring at him, angered, confused, relieved, outraged, and whole bunch of other things.

The Master Jedi scoffed, “Of course I was, Padawan. I am your master, which means your safety is paramount.” His calm ‘Jedi Master’ façade broke for a moment, as it sometimes did. The last few weeks he’d gotten more and more formal, to the point that she’d forgotten how he’d been when they’d first met. He looked at her, seeming, for some reason, a little hurt. “Anaïs, did ya think I’d really set you up to fight creatures like that without support?”

Yes, was her first thought, but that was the anger talking. Now that she thought about it, it had seemed way more dangerous than anything she’d done so far. He still hadn’t removed the padding from their training room, for the Force’s sake! Fighting two fire-breathing not-dragons that could cloak themselves in the Force and, did she mention, breath fire, had seemed incredibly dangerous. Which, she realized, was the point.

It’d been a test, and she’d apparently passed. She wanted to be mad at having a test that she wasn’t told about, but this wasn’t the first time he’d done so. ‘All of life is a test, why should I warn you if the rest of the galaxy won’t?’ he’d asked in that stupid smug way of his.

Looking at him in the eye, trying to impress the seriousness of what she was about to say, she carefully enunciated, “You, Master, are a jerk.” And she wasn’t smiling. At all.

He just laughed, “And you, Padawan, are filthy. Go clean and center yourself. Your real training begins tonight. The Little One might do things differently, but I am not Er’izma, and we’ll try doing things my way. If it’s too much, you can ask for a respite, and there is no shame in it, but we’ll see how well you take the kind of training I had.” he paused. “Minus the hounds; they were completely unnecessary.”

She didn’t really have anything to say about that, so turned on her heel and left. His comment of, “Now where did I put the itching powder?” was hopefully just him teasing her, it wouldn’t be out of character, but if it made her better, it’d be worth it.