AN: I seem to have lost my old FF account, but oh well, maybe some of you around here will recognize the name anyway. My other fanfics have included "Between Pirates and Princesses" and "Blood is Thicker Than…"
This story is all my sister's fault. I was complaining about the overly dramatic nature of fanfiction titles and said if I wrote an epic story I would mock everyone and call it "Destiny, Fate, True Love – All That Trash."
And somehow, I ended up writing such a story. Argh. Anyway, here it is. YJK-era-goodness.
EDIT: Hey guys, just replaced some things in this chapter, some of them vaguely important for the plot, so I hope you'll skim or something just to see. Thanks so much!
Destiny. Fate. True Love. All That Trash.
des·ti·ny [des-tuh-nee –noun, plural -nies.
1. something that is to happen or has happened to a particular person or thing; lot or fortune. 2. the predetermined, usually inevitable or irresistible, course of events. 3. the power or agency that determines the course of events.
fate [feyt - noun, verb, fat·ed, fat·ing. –noun
1. something that unavoidably befalls a person; fortune; lot: It is always his fate to be left behind. 2. the universal principle or ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumably prescribed; the decreed cause of events; time: Fate decreed that they would never meet again. 3. that which is inevitably predetermined; destiny: Death is our ineluctable fate. 4.a prophetic declaration of what must be: The oracle pronounced their fate. 5. death, destruction, or ruin.
love [luhv noun, verb, loved, lov·ing. –noun
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. 2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend. 3. sexual passion or desire. 4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
trash [trash –noun
1. anything worthless, useless, or discarded; rubbish. 2. foolish or pointless ideas, talk, or writing; nonsense. 3. a worthless or disreputable person. 4. such persons collectively. 5. literary or artistic material of poor or inferior quality.
Form I: Shii-Cho, The Determination Form
"Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved."
- William Jennings Bryan (1860 - 1925)
Rachel Taren did not believe in fate.
She believed in supreme annoyance of younger siblings. And possibly the law that anything bad that can happen, will happen. She was a living testament to that law, and she dealt with it by heavy doses of sarcasm.
The sarcasm was occasionally grating on Aimee's nerves.
Like now, for instance, as they were lifting off from the Anteluma Space Authority on Commenor, about to begin their journey to Yavin IV.
"And quite possibly, the airlock will breach, and then it will vent atmosphere and the pressure will drop and then the last thing you'll see will be my face. But your blood will be boiling or freezing or something, so it won't matter much. It's been nice knowing you Aimee."
She was also a bit pessimistic.
"Shut up, Rachel," Aimee muttered under her breath.
She gripped the seat restraints harder, her knuckles whitening, as the ship cleared the atmosphere and rocketed towards the hyperspace jump point.
"Sorry," Rachel murmured, "I think that's all a myth anyway. Exposure to space for a minute shouldn't cause any permanent damage to the human body. Unless you plug ears, or if hold your breath, because your circulatory system just isn't designed for that. And eventually your body will run out of oxygen…"
"Rachel. Shut. Up. Now."
"If you insist."
"Wipe that stupid smirk off your face."
Rachel grinned widely.
Free to concentrate on her fear now, Aimee sat back and stared broodingly out the viewport. The Commenor shipyards were visible through the transparisteel, a myriad of ships and stations and massive cranes, all busily absorbed in their tasks.
"Deep breaths, Aimee."
"What did I say about shutting up?" she hissed through clenched teeth.
The ship rocked a bit as it cleared the energy shield surrounding the shipyard and the turbulence made Aimee sincerely wish that she had not eaten breakfast that morning. Once they were through, the ship drifted for only a second or two before the stars around them elongated into hyperspace lines and they were surrounded by a shifting vortex of white and purple light.
The pilot of the vessel, an aging cargo hauler named Raisler, turned around to give them a reassuring grin. Or at least it was supposed to be reassuring, but Aimee didn't find much about the whole situation to soothe her.
"Not bad for someone's who's only been on a spaceship three times in her life," Rachel said with a note of concern in her voice that hadn't been there before. Rachel knew when she'd crossed a line and it was lucky for her at that moment that she hadn't crossed all of the extra boundaries Aimee allowed.
The familiar tendency of Rachel to infuriate her was partly what kept Aimee from completely despairing. Her older sister could be a jerk, but she was still her older sister. And there wasn't going to be any familiar faces where they were going.
She studied the patterns of hyperspace from the tiny viewport, shifting in her seat so that she could look without appearing to be looking too hard. Of course, there wasn't a pattern out there, not really. The best way she could think to describe it was chaos and she shivered at her revelation. There were people that trekked across the galaxy continually to make their living, or for adventure or perhaps duty, and some spent more time in hyperspace than out, but Aimee didn't think she could do it. All that nothingness scared her.
She felt a hand on her arm and looked to see her sister gazing meaningfully at her.
"Statistically, this is a very safe way to travel," Aimee stated flippantly.
Rachel smirked. "Statistically, there isn't really another way to travel."
Aimee sighed and looked at her knees. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"
Rachel thought about it before answering. That was the thing about Rachel she appreciated, the thing that caused Aimee to turn to her sister before someone more authoritative, or just more agreeable. Rachel told the truth. She didn't sugar-coat things, or spout empty reassurances. She thought about it and she told you her honest opinion. It was why Aimee trusted her.
"I'm actually quite torn up about it," Rachel said after a moment, "My general outlook on life has not always been positive. Circumstances willing though, I'm sure it would be better."
Aimee winced. Rachel found trouble wherever it lurked. That was simply the way she was.
"On the other hand, maybe I've just been in the wrong place. Maybe I'm finally doing what I'm supposed to be doing." She cringed. "Make me stop now, Aimee. Giving control of your life over to higher powers is the first sign of stupidity."
Aimee laughed, but the sound tapered off quickly. "I think, if anything, this will give us more control. The ability to shove it in Fate's ugly face. Why should you give credit to higher powers?"
Rachel grinned. "When did you get so smart?" She paused and gave a small half-smile. "Wait, don't tell me, I like the mystery."
"You don't want to have this potentially meaningful and foreboding conversation? As we begin our journey?" Aimee pouted.
"Nah. I need to sleep."
"You're going to sleep? At a time like this?"
"What better time? I doubt I'll get much of it for the next while if I have to share a room with you."
Aimee crinkled in her nose in confusion. "What does that have to do with it?"
"You snore. Loudly."
Aimee punched her shoulder. "Do not!"
"Uh-huh. Wake me if we start leaking atmo…"
X
X
Eluding assassination attempts was like a full-time job for Terjé Leshka. Or maybe an extreme sport, because Terje abhorred work of any kind, and this was a reckless kind of fun. It was just a good thing, he considered as he blockaded the door to his room with a large statue of one of his predecessors, that he was undefeated thus far.
The mistake they always made, he thought as he dug through his pants pocket for the appropriate escape devices, was assuming that he was your average spoiled palace brat. Which, he noted to himself as he ran a hand through well-conditioned blonde hair, he sort of was.
The self-realization brought a momentary insouciant smile to his face, which quickly vanished as the sound of a heavy-repeating blaster cannon thundered against the durasteel enforced doors. Deciding he'd contemplated his various perfections enough for the time being, he moved swiftly towards the window.
As he suspected, the group of assassins had not found this exit worthy of covering, considering the large moat below it. Or perhaps there was only one assassin, in which case he was honour-bound to live. Such techniques were sloppy and he could not have the rest of the galaxy remembering him solely as the prince of Kuat who couldn't even handle one incompetent minion.
Of course, they would probably say something about his looks in the obituary as well.
He secured the grappling hook on the window sill and gripped the fibrecord tightly before climbing out. After one last quick glance below him, he began to rappel down the stone face of the tower.
He dropped into the water as he reached the bottom, but what assassins missed was the fact that there was a compartment just under the surface without a top. Terjé felt claustrophobic for a moment as he was surrounded on all four sides, like an upright coffin filled with water, but then he found the controls for the doors and it opened easily, revealing a carefully hewn tunnel. The water in the compartment emptied into the tunnel, but as soon as he closed the door, he knew it would start filling up again.
Shaking excess water from his hair, he set off down the tunnel, heading for the secret exit in the forest, where a speeder bike and some supplies were hidden.
Questions itched at him as his bare feet slapped the duracrete floor, taking his mind of the horrible knowledge that he would soon have calluses on his feet.
For the first, how did the assassin know he was here? His father knew, and the people here knew, but there was no communication array, and the servants were usually so loyal.
For the second, the one that he tried harder to disregard, was: how many did that make so far this year? Did they know what his father was planning? Did they suspect? Or was it purely coincidental that the number of attempts on his life had increased drastically in recent months?
Terjé frowned as he ran further into the night.
Things were getting out of hand.
X
X
She walked steadily down the incline of the old space freighter's boarding ramp, her dark eyes rapidly scanning the surroundings as she tried to absorb every detail. Mist curled around her feet and breezes from the momentary atmospheric turbulence ruffled her hair as she stepped carefully off the incline. Above the far-away tips of the towering trees she could see the clouds were heavy with unshed rain.
She reached the bottom of the ramp, still examining her surroundings closely, taking in the details of this strange new environment.
The day was, in her opinion, ominously overcast. Even the air seemed foreboding, though at the same time humid and vibrant. Her surroundings were rich with the perpetually green growth of a thousand different varieties of plants and the sounds of millions of birds, reptiles, insects and mammals.
So this is Yavin IV, she thought warily to herself, looking around somewhat apprehensively. She'd never been in a rainforest, or really, a forest of any kind, and it seemed a reminder of all the things she was about to do that she had never done before.
Raisler clunked down the ramp behind her and stood looking out at the scene for a moment.
"It's impressive, isn't it?" he said roughly.
"It's… moist," Rachel answered, thinking impressive was usually a word with positive connotations and thus not applicable.
He grinned broadly before turning back up into the ship, adding as he went, "Well, anyway, I'll see about unloading your stuff."
Rachel stayed where she was, feeling her heart running a bit faster than normal.
What am I getting myself into?
Trouble of a higher than usual grade, perhaps?
Her eyes were drawn away from the jungle to the massive Massaisai temple and a tall broad-shouldered man, dressed in a long black robe with gray hair walking casually towards them. She noted the strong posture, straight-backed and chin up, and tried to guess at what kind of life this man had seen. There was a mixture of defeat and of persistence in his demeanor she found intriguing. He was walking in her direction, down the wide terraced steps overgrown with vines to the landing pad where she stood.
She heard a sharp clang of metal as her younger sister exited, smiling as she jogged down the boarding ramp to stand beside her sister, watching the man approach.
"So, are you nervous?" Aimee asked quietly without facing her.
Rachel shrugged, putting a hand on her hip. "I'm never nervous. Only appropriately cautious."
"I think they're the same thing, Rachel."
"I think you're cruelly disregarding the fact that I declined to admit I'm nervous."
"I think you just admitted that inadvertently anyways."
"I think you suck."
Aimee seemed about to reply, but the man in black robes was getting closer and she seemed to want to keep away doubts about her maturity for the time being.
She focused her gaze on the huge man in Jedi Master's robes as he came to stand in front of them. He smiled and held out a hand for them to shake, which they did.
"Rachel and Aimee Taren?" he questioned, and when they nodded, "Kam Solusar. I'm very pleased to have you here."
"Thank-you," Rachel said, trying to smile politely but not succeeding fully. Her smile had two modes: amused smirk and self-deprecating smirk. Very occasionally, it would venture into what could be called genuine.
This attitude did not go unmissed by Kam Solusar, but whatever he thought, he kept it to himself and returned with an even more sincere smile.
"I'm afraid things are somewhat chaotic here lately. Your appointed master has not yet arrived, though I assure you she is anxious to meet you."
He gave a funny look then, something Rachel wondered later if she'd seen orseen, in that way that she was prone to seeing. She thought it may have been imagined, but convincing herself was hard.
"Was she delayed?" Aimee asked.
"We think so, but since we haven't had any word, it's hard to know." He smiled again as they began walking towards the Temple, the girls falling behind a bit because of the luggage bags slung over their shoulders. "But it will give you a few days to settle in. I'll show you where your rooms are, but the rest is really up to you."
When Tionne talked to Mom and Dad about fostering independence I guess she really meant it, Rachel mused.
She had to admit she was disappointed in some ways. Not that she expected Luke Skywalker himself to walk up and introduce himself to her, but she had hoped to see her Jedi Master when she arrived, considering how importance their relationship was supposed to be. And what happened to having regular classes? Did the Jedi just not do these things?
The last one bothered her the most, she realized. Rachel Taren liked to learn, even if it was a topic she had no familiarity with; variety was the spice of life. Or maybe seeking out evil in the galaxy, wherever it may lurk, was supposed to be the spice of life. Or perhaps, she suspected, she was just hungry.
She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and fell into step with Aimee behind Master Solusar. The Jedi Temple, though it may look like a crumbling and decrepit ruin, was actually… well, a crumbling and decrepit ruin. But that said it had a history and Rachel got the academic shivers just thinking about it. She ran her hand along the cool stone as they walked through the corridors, taking in the damp jungle smell and hearing the sound of moisture collecting in rain wells.
It seemed to her that the feel of the solidity and permanence of the ancient stone evoked the ghosts of long past, that the temple's memories briefly touched her mind, and she saw images of the people that had inhabited it, in times of war and conflict, in times of peace. The oldest images were the faintest, but there were more recent flashes of a boy about her age looking as though he'd been raiding Darth Vader's closet for choice in attire, his long black hair pulled back and fighting a brandy-eyed brunette girl. There was a vision of an explosion ripping through part of the temple, the fire and smoke consuming…
Rachel snatched her hand away, intimidated by the rush of memories. Things where she came from did not speak the way things here did, they simply weren't old enough or distinct enough.
She kept her arms crossed over her chest as they continued to walk and Aimee gave her a funny look, as though to say, "Sulking already?" which Rachel thought was greatly unfair. Rachel Taren did not sulk. She went off in a dignified strop.
The silent maze of corridors and stairs finally revealed a long hallway that brimmed with life and noise. Kam Solusar pushed the controls for the door with a sign above it that said, "Dormitories" and the portal swished aside to admit them.
It was like walking into a five-ring circus.
Rachel and Aimee blinked as they looked ahead of them. The corridor was wide, with a very high ceiling that had openings where sunlight would have poured in had the day not been so overcast. In the corridor, people of all size and species were apparent. Some leaned against the stone wall, deep in conversation, others were seated on some mats near the end of the hall, practicing levitating their fellow students. Some clustered around a table, watching two other students play dejarik. Some of the youngest students were involved in chasing each other around the room among their older peers, earning dirty glares from those obviously involved in meditation.
From one of the rooms nearby a scream issued, "Raynar Thul!! If you've clogged this shower drain again with your hair I will KILL you!"
"Well," said Kam Solusar, suddenly looking anxious to go, "Your rooms are at the end on the left… Glad to have met you, must be getting back to things…"
And with that he turned to make a swift exit.
Aimee looked at Rachel and Rachel looked at Aimee, a brief look of helplessness passing across their faces. The sight of it on Aimee's face though, made Rachel draw herself up to her full height and lift her chin slightly higher. She adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and gently touched the elbow her younger sister.
"Come on 'Mee," she declared, "Let's go."
She left the smiling and the friendly overtures to Aimee, and let her customary look of vaguely bemused apathy show on her features. She figured it was better than her bored and pissed off variety of apathetic looks.
The other students did not pay them a great deal of attention, except for the occasional few that weren't absorbed completely in their activities and gave them a smile or nod. The room at the end of the hall was an advantage, Rachel thought as they entered, because it had two windows, one on each outside wall, instead of the single one that most students would have. There were two beds, pushed against opposite walls, with a small shelf beside each. A chest of drawers occupied the wall with the door, but the room was otherwise empty.
"A little bare," Aimee commented, stepping in and slowly turning around in a circle to examine it.
"Right," Rachel replied, then dove towards the bed in the corner beneath the window. No way in the Corellian hells was she giving it up to her younger sister. Unless it made her really sad.
Aimee glared at her, but seemed content to drop her bag on the other bed and sit on the edge for a moment in contemplation, staring off into space. Having settled her claim, Rachel meandered over to the window.
"Hey," she noted, "A room with a view."
Aimee joined her to admire the sight. The jungle of Yavin IV stretched out thick and wild beneath them, while in the distance, a range of dark grey mountains jutted out of the forest floor. The sun was just touching their points, turning the edges a dull purple.
The sound of Aimee's stomach rumbling interrupted their admiration.
"You hear that?" Rachel queried sharply, "That is definitely stomach talk for 'Find the mess hall, you fools.'"
With dubious glances towards the door, they braced themselves for the search.
X
X
"Hey?"
Kaminoan sprouts. Why'd it have to be Kaminoan sprouts?
Kriff, Aimee didn't even like sprouts while she lived on Commenor. Why should she start eating them now?
The food had been sitting there on her plate, staring at her in all its green, glistening, slimy splendor, daring her to take one tiny little bite. But next to the bloody, raw, Kashyyykian slab of meat that had been slopped on the plate next to it, the sprouts didn't look half-bad. And the Genosian cooks hadn't even bothered to give her some semblance of pasta, though she shuddered to think of how that might have turned out. No, when it came to food, she preferred it dead to anything else. Aimee didn't want to be worrying about supper running off her plate while she chased after it with a knife.
"Hey."
At least, she thought, the food couldn't get any worse than this. Or could it? She had caught a whiff of the Kashyyykian liquor that the Wookies had been chugging down… It almost made her feel light-headed. Was it possible their wine had gone rancid, or was she just imagining things?
"Dead food…" she muttered to herself, stabbing at the sprouts with her fork, listlessly lifting them high into the air as though to drop them in her mouth, but only eyeing the sorry excuse for a meal beadily with one bright black eye.
Suddenly, however, the smell of real pasta drifted past her nostrils, and her eyes widened.
"Hey!"
Aimee glanced up briefly, but, seeing no one, she glanced back down at her unappetizing appetizer. Yum.
She felt a tap on her shoulder, and looked up to see a teenage boy about her age standing behind her.
As he stood and hovered beside her, a comical, bemused smirk lingered on his face.
"Hey good-lookin'," he said boldly, with a strong Corellian accent and a hint of something else. "All the other tables are full, mind if I sit down?"
Aimee said nothing, only half-stood to peer over the hundreds of heads, both alien and human, to see several empty tables in the cafeteria. She turned her head to regard him, raising a sceptical brow.
He flashed her a grin. "Okay, so not quite full, but the company looks better over here."
Aimee sighed. "Have a seat."
The mysterious boy slipped in beside her and with bravado slammed his tray down on the table in front of him. For a moment, her mouth dropped open and she goggled at the contents of his tray.
"Is that… Corellian pasta?" she ventured hesitantly.
"Yup," he said, smiling again.
She blinked furiously, and then put her face in her hands as a measure of frustration at her awful day so far. It seemed like the last straw, someone else ending up having her favorite food, and her, not knowing where to stop and where to go in the lunch line, ending up with some slop.
The boy who had raised his fork in preparation to dig in, starving after a rigorous training with swordsticks, seemed to notice the girl's expression of exasperation.
"You want some?" The words sprang forth from his mouth, far too hasty and loud.
"What?" she said irritably, lifting her face from her hands.
He smiled yet again, though this one seemed a bit forced. "I said, do you want some?"
"I don't," she answered immediately, "I'll stick with what I've got, thanks." She made to eat the sprouts that were falling off her fork, hearing him say with amusement, "…All right then, suit yourself."
She tried to raise the fork to her mouth, but she couldn't bring herself to actually stick the overwhelming smelly mass of vegetables into her mouth. She tried again and squeezed her eyes shut with queasy apprehension. She was to be sick, she was sure of it.
The sound of his chuckling made her open one eye. She put down the fork.
"Find something funny, do you?" she questioned with narrowed eyes.
He gave an exaggerated sigh and pushed his tray so that the plate of pasta was between them.
Aimee looked at the plate in shock, then up at his smirking face.
"You're sharing?" she said incredulously.
"It would appear that way," he shot back with a roll of his eyes.
Taking stab at the steaming hot noodles, she smiled for what had to be the first time this evening.
"Man," she said, "thank you so much. I've had such a long day, you have no idea…"
"I wouldn't say that," he said, "I bet I've had longer. You new here?"
"Yeah," she said, nodding, "yeah, I'm new here. I'm from Commenor."
"I'm from… around," he replied. "And you are?"
"Aimee Taren," she answered, "What's your name?"
"I'm Jexxen Midanyl," he said, and added slyly with a wink, "Jex for short." He took another bite of pasta and glanced, briefly at her.
"Jex…" she said, smiling lightly, "Jex. Great to meet you."
"Pleasure, Aimee," he said in reply.
Any other words he might have said were cut off by Rachel's arrival on the scene.
"Shove over, Aimee," Rachel said good-naturedly, sliding smoothly in beside her. Aimee noted with some despair that she had managed to get into the right line, as her food was grilled Ithorian vegetables and some grain product from Agamar.
"Hey," she said, looking suspiciously at Jex, "Who's this?"
Aimee contained an urged to sigh exasperatedly and roll her eyes.
"Rachel, Jex. Jex, Rachel," she said, gesturing respectively.
"Nice to meet you," Rachel greeted.
"Likewise," Jex grinned.
He turned to Aimee with a mischievous smile, "And now that we've gotten that out of the way, there's only one thing to do."
Aimee gazed back at him quizzically, "What's that?"
He stood up from the table, "Race you for more pasta."
Laughing, she took off after him down the aisle.
X
X
It was early morning in Kuat City, with the early morning sun beginning to trickle through the groves of tropical nanglo trees and through the decadent velette curtains in the magnificent and luxurious rooms of Kuat Palace. The gentle yellow beams fell across the head of a tall, lanky teenage boy who was standing stiffly in such a room. As is common with teenage boys, he had grown faster than his frame could fill out, making him look lean, yet adolescent. His face had what some might call "chiselled" cheekbones and an aristocratic chin. The sun shone golden on the shaggy mass of curled blond hair that topped his head and highlighted his tanned brown skin. His eyes were a strange hazel, eyes that were at once cynical, humorous, and carefree in combination. Terjé Leshka made a pretty credit for the holotabloids.
Rikard Leshka, the Kuat of Kuat, paced uneasily back and forth across the floor of his bedchamber, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully and his eyes clouded with a distant look.
"This is too much, I won't take the risk anymore," he stated solemnly.
Terjé, standing wearily a few feet away with shadowed eyes from lack of sleep and bruises on his feet from running barefoot through the woods, felt his heart sink and worked hard to keep his face impassive. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.
"I will send for Jedi as body guards," his father decided, stopping his pacing to face Terjé.
Terjé's mouth dropped open and his fists clenched in sudden outrage.
"Father, no! That's embarrassing!" he protested, and inwardly thought, And it's a clear sign of weakness to my scheming cousins…
His father raised an eyebrow and looked at him sternly. "What did you expect me to do?"
Terjé's hands gestured violently and he spoke, "A vacation on some other planet, well-thought out disguise, something, anything, besides being babysat by a bunch of ineffectual spoon-benders!"
Rikard gave his son and even sterner look, and replied firmly, "If there are any more attempts made this month, I'm calling the Academy. You're only sixteen years old, you can't handle this kind of thing so frequently."
Terjé rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation before turning his back on his father.
"A prince of Kuat doesn't need anyone!" he declared before striding towards the door, "Something you seem to have forgotten."
The door swished shut before the Kuat could reply.
As he walked in the direction of the royal chambers, he raged to himself. The Jedi! What was his father thinking? There were plenty of perfectly able bodyguards to fill the position of protecting him.
More over, he could look after himself, as he'd been doing for as long as he could remember. His mother had died when he was three, and his father had grown steadily more overprotective since then. Surely he must realize that assassination attempts were an ordinary occurrence in this position? Terjé wasn't quite sure anymore, it seemed his father was becoming ever more eccentric as the years went by. Though he was still able to efficiently run the government and the Kuat Drive Yards, the largest manufacturers of capital ships in the galaxy, his personal life was shot to hell. Dating Viqi Shesh was having weird side-effects on him.
Terjé couldn't understand, and, he admitted to himself, he didn't want to. He had his own ideas for the direction his life would take and it wasn't the leader of a planet or anything involved with politics.
With an irritated shake of his head, Terjé headed to his room to catch up on some lost sleep.
AN: Soooo, that would be the first part of the first part. Heh. Hope you enjoyed.