STAR WARS: TRACES
IT WAS THE weight of his boot on the man's neck that made him feel powerful. Not the layered hum of the Force echoing throughout his body. Not the crimson glow of the etched lightsaber in his gloved grip. Not the apprentice standing behind him, watching studiously as his master pried the information he so hungrily desired out of the man on the ground. Just the weight. The simple, pleasurable act of squeezing the life from another being with the strength of his body.
"Please..." gasped the man. His mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish. His eyes were filled with fear.
Ven raised his foot. The subsequent gasp nearly made him slam it back down again in disgust, but he needed more from this prostrate weakling. He smoothly guided the tip of his saber to the man's throat. "Speak," Ven hummed through his mask. His words carried electric power.
"The device, I sold it to a Rodian three hours ago. He twitched a lot – more than his kind usually do. He wore a jacket with the Blink Star Shipping Line logo."
"What would that Rodian have wanted with a holocron?" Ryker asked his master.
"Doubtful he knew what he had," Ven answered. Just a Rodian collecting what he thought was shiny junk to flip elsewhere in his travels. Unless…
Ven dismissed the merchant's life with a twisting motion in his left hand, and the Force ushered him into the next plane. He looked around the quiet storefront once more. Odds and ends from the crevices of the galaxy that few cared to explore. How a Sith Holocron had ended up here was quite the mystery, though it wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. More curious was how the new owner would receive such an influential item. It was not unlikely that the holocron would seek to be obtained by more suitable hands – such as Ven's. This was, of course, assuming that all he had heard about this particular piece of Sith knowledge was true. An eccentric creator led to an unpredictable holocron.
Tersi station was a hovering pile of junk, as far as Ven was concerned. Primarily, it suited the needs of spacers traversing the long shipping routes from Core Worlds to the Outer Rim, but it was just one of many. This particular refuge had many Blink Star freighters docked, but Q6 would swiftly find all those with a Rodian pilot. The little grey orb sweetly chimed as it floated from his palm to the terminal on the shopkeeper's desk, injecting itself neatly into the station's network. It gyrated its spindle several times, thrumming with incoming information. After a moment, it relinquished, and floated before Ven's mask, illuminating it with the blue glow of the droid's lights. It beeped out the location of a dock matching the search criteria. Excitement coursed through Ven's spine, and he smiled behind his mask.
"Let's go."
"NO, I DON'T want -"
A flurry of Rodian cut Taylor off. In the scales of his green hands the spacer held a wooden box that looked, by Taylor's account, completely unassuming. What was strange was that the Rodian didn't want any money for it.
"Listen. Guy. I don't want your box. That's your box. You found it. Good job! Proud of you. Now move," Taylor said with an edge in his voice, sliding his shoulder roughly past the Rodian. He bumped the alien, who was pushed aside with loud protest.
"You smuggler, yes? You Taylor Dodge."
Taylor stopped, pinching the space between his eyebrows. He whirled around on the Rodian with indignation. Who just outs a smuggler like that on a busy station?
"Listen buddy, I'm not him, but if I was him, I'd probably blast your brains out across the wall for saying my name out loud," Taylor hissed in the Rodian's face. In his experience, Rodians had always smelled like an interesting blend of iodized air and exotic spices, and this case was no different. This one, though, didn't seem to have many brains. He regarded Taylor blankly with his bulbous black eyes.
"You take this to Korriban," the Rodian said, pushing the box into Taylor's abdomen. Taylor looked around incredulously. The hangar was fairly empty, save for a few maintenance droids buzzing about. But this Rodian was crazy.
"Are you kidding me? There's not enough Credits in the -"
"Two million."
"Say what now."
"Two million Credits for delivery of box to Dreshdae. Find Tulag Zan."
That was certainly a large enough sum to make Taylor consider it. He watched as the Rodian walked away, observing the Blink Star logo on the back of his jacket. Why he would have connections on Korriban was beyond Taylor, but it wasn't worth asking. Taylor was mostly concerned with how easily he had been recognized. He guessed that Tersi Station was a bit too frequent of a visit for him. He'd have to find other haunts for a while.
Of all the smugglers operating in that sector of the galaxy, Taylor was one of the few who had the proper tags to land in Dreshdae. That didn't mean he liked to do it – being caught leaving the Korriban system by any passing Republic cruisers was grounds for immediate apprehension and full search and seizure of the ship. A death sentence for a smuggler who made his living out in the Rim. No one would trust him again. Taylor traced his fingers over the face of the wooden box. It seemed boring, but knowing that someone on Korriban wanted it meant that whatever was inside was best left there, undiscovered. Taylor had an innate curiosity, but he also had common sense. He looked back at the hangar exit, but the Rodian was gone. Shaking his head, he returned to his ship to stash the box until it was time to disembark. After all, he'd just arrived on Tersi, and still had business to take care of.
HANGAR 006 was down the corridor. The Czerka hangar and the young female greeter outside passed by on his right. Ven walked with intent, his cloak billowing out behind him. He felt many little spots of warmth around him, as well as the electric hymn of the droids. These hangars were busy. He would need to be swift to avoid causing a larger scene.
Q6 gleefully bypassed the hangar's access code, and the doors whirled open. Ven and Ryker strode inward, and Ven was relieved and emboldened to see the massive Blink Star freighter was still in the bay. Loader droids were passing a series of hefty crates along and up the cargo ramp. Ven approached one, who did not look up from his work.
"Where is the owner of this ship?" he asked coolly.
"Ship owner is currently behind you, sir," the droid answered in its deep voice.
Ven grinned in the shadow of his mask. He spun around to see the frightened Rodian standing in the doorway, carrying a carton of noodles, which he promptly dropped. With a simple gesture of his hand, the exit sealed shut. Ven had never seen a Rodian gulp before, but he was fairly certain that he did for the first time in that hangar.
"Hello," Ryker said pleasantly. Silence had fallen. The dulled roar of a distant ship departing the station passed by outside. Ryker had taken the initiative, walking confidently towards the Rodian. Ven had seen this before; his apprentice had a way about him. It was a quiet deception, enacted by his mannerisms more than anything. Like a lurking predator, he lulled his prey into dropping its defenses. Ven stood and watched intently. "We believe you have something of ours." The Rodian answered in his native tongue. Ryker cut him off gently. "No, no. I know you speak Basic. Let's start from there. The device you purchased from the junk trader earlier – where might it be?"
"I buy nothing. I here to pick up cargo. Refuel. Busy route, many stops."
"That's not what we've been told," Ryker said, standing very close to the Rodian. His presence had suddenly grown. Ven could feel the strength of the Force flowing out from Ryker and bearing down on top of the lying filth before him. "You bought a very special souvenir here. Where. Is. It." Ryker's voice had fallen into a deadly whisper. The Rodian was quaking.
"I-I send it to destination. Buyer from Korriban. It there now."
"Korriban?" Ryker asked, confused. He turned to face Ven. "Who bought it from you? I need a name."
"No name. Sith. No name."
"Master, if Veshiram -"
Ven raised a hand to stop his apprentice from speaking any further. He was incensed. There was but one person at the Academy who would have known about the holocron – and if he did, Ven's path forward would become considerably more difficult. He did not like that.
Q6 screamed out an alert. Doing its due diligence, the droid had been scouring the shipping logs of the hangars. Nothing aboard resembled the holocron. It was not in the ship – but security footage from a nearby hangar showed the Rodian pilot delivering a small box into the hands of a human spacer. Casting all other thoughts aside, Ven swept from the hangar, his apprentice and droid in tow. The exit door was ripped open by a violent invisible wave that crumpled the durasteel with ease. With the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, Ven resolved to go to war.
"THAT'S A LOT," Taylor whined. The Ithorian vendor chugged along, pleading his case. "I can get two of these same units at any other station out here – yes, Outer Rim, Core, doesn't matter – I know how far we are from – alright, alright, fine. Blasted thing isn't worth this much talking." He slammed the Credits down on the Ithorian's table and scooped up his power cell. Diatium. In truth, Taylor was glad he found one here at all. They were scarce unless you bought them from a wholesaler like Czerka, but Taylor despised dealing with their kind. He figured he'd support the local economy.
The power cell wasn't why he had made the trip out to Tersi, though. It was just something he had remembered to check for while he was there, because of a previous conversation. A while ago, someone had told him something that had stuck with Taylor since. A while ago.
His trip this time had been to meet an old friend. Whether or not she would consider their relationship to be friendly was speculative, but Taylor figured he had to give it a shot. The galaxy got to be a lonely place, and when he started mistaking the little quirks of his hyperdrive engine for another person's voice, well…
"Shayira. Hey. I know you're home."
The intercom flickered to life. The disgruntled, yet beautiful face of a woman Taylor hadn't seen in months appeared.
"You know what? No," she said, sleepily rubbing her eyes. "This is my one day off for a long time, I just wanted to sleep, I did NOT want to see, hear, or think of you. So I won't. I'm going to pretend this is a bad dream. Goodbye" she said curtly, cutting off the feed.
Taylor buzzed the button again.
"I've been around the galaxy more times than I can count, and absolutely nothing turns me on more than when you bitch at me," he said softly. Static was his reply. "Shayira."
"...What?"
"Let me in, please?" There was a brief pause, then the double doors to her apartment shot open. Smiling faintly, Taylor entered the dark room.
"YOU KNOW, JEDI can't take lovers," Shayira murmured sleepily. Taylor kissed her shoulder. She pulled the sheets around her tighter.
"That's why I swore I would never become one," Taylor said into her skin.
"Yep. That's the whole reason," she teased.
"It is. You're right. They don't know what they're missing. I bet that's the leading cause of Jedi turning to the Dark Side." She giggled in response.
"You know so much about them, for someone who's so quick to judge them," Shayira said, rolling over to face Taylor.
"Yeah, well. I've been to a lot of places. I pick stuff up."
"Women, too?"
"One," he said, entwining his fingers with hers. "And I never picked up another."
"Please," she said, turning away. But he could tell she was content with the answer. Quiet reigned for a long moment. "Do you ever think about...quitting?" she asked. It wasn't the first time, either. "I mean, if you wanted to...we could move to Coruscant. My uncle still has that garage. You could work there, you're a brilliant mechanic -"
"I'm good at patching up Duststorm," Taylor laughed. "I mean, I sort of have to be. I'm not sure I have the formal training your uncle would be looking for.."
"But he's my uncle. I could make it happen. It's just...you'd need to commit to it." He knew what the real 'it' she wanted him to commit to was. And there were times in the past when he almost did it, too. But when he looked out of her own window, through the blinds, at all those stars, his heart stirred. Something voiceless called to him, and it had him in its grip tighter than she ever could.
But now…
"And all those Jedi I like are on Coruscant," he said, somewhat sheepishly.
Shayira spun back around to look at him. There was a glitter in her dark eyes that made him realize it was worth it. "Are you serious?"
"Let's give it a shot," he said, wrapping her warm body in his arms. "A real shot."
On the nightstand, in the slanted shadows of the blinds, Taylor's datapad vibrated to life. Confused, he swiped at it, pulling it to him. On his back, Taylor held the pad up and looked at the screen. It was the alarm from Duststorm – someone had boarded his ship.
"What is it?" Shayira asked, puzzled.
"I think someone's trying to steal my ship," Taylor said hurriedly, jumping out of bed.
"What?!" Shayira asked as he pulled on his pants. "There's no way – security here is so good, I don't -"
"Apparently it's not all that good," Taylor said, now sounding frantic, holstering his blaster pistol. He looked at the datapad on the bed. The camera feed from inside the main hold on the Duststorm had an unfamiliar figure. A robed man in a shining metal breastplate and greaves was looking directly up at the camera, his sandy blond hair and piercing yellow eyes distinguishing his smooth, young face. He waived at Taylor, as though he could see him, mouthing out a, 'hello'.
The door to Shayira's apartment imploded, it's tattered husk flying across the room to the far wall. Taylor and Shayira froze, watching in horror as a hooded figure and floating assistant droid drifted into the room in the long rectangle of light cast from the hallway outside. He stood in the darkness, facing into the bedroom. A nausea that Taylor recalled from only one time prior in his travels washed over him, and icy fear prickled his back. Taylor noticed the intruder's clenched fists.
He was a quick draw and a dead eye. But the reaction of the stranger was inhuman. Taylor's blaster bolt was deflected soundly by the thing he had perhaps wished to see the least – a roaring red lightsaber, drawn faster than Taylor had time to think about. The hot glow revealed a battle-scarred metallic mask beneath the hood, comprised of many gears and tubes. There was no time to confirm, but the thought that it was an amalgamation of a stripped down hyperdrive leaped to Taylor's mind.
"The holocron. Or I kill her," said the Sith. Shayira made a gagging noise – he was choking her remotely. Taylor had seen this power employed before. He knew how it ended.
"It's on my ship. There's a smuggling compartment beneath the Pazzak table. It's there. You want the guy who gave it to me, too?"
The little grey droid projected a digital monitor showing the face of the blond man aboard the Duststorm. He did as Taylor suggested, easily finding the release switch. He produced the wooden box from within, showing it to the camera. The masked Sith turned his head to look at the screen, then nodded slightly. He let his hand fall. Shayira gasped for air behind Taylor.
Together, they watched as the young man carefully slide back the lid of the box. Oiled cloth padded the interior, and resting upon it was a pyramid structure of red and black with strange engravings. It pulsed gently with a faint light, bloody in color. The masked man seemed affected by the mere act of seeing it. From Taylor's perspective, it seemed almost cathartic for him.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he buzzed from behind the mask. Taylor could hear the breathlessness. "Now you may die in peace." He strode forward, saber in hand. Shayira gasped.
THE ROILING WAVE slammed into Ven's side with a magnitude he had not experienced for many battles. Completely caught off guard, he flew into furniture, obliterating it and sending sharp fragments everywhere. He rallied, standing quickly, and called his saber to his side. He ignited it as he regarded his opponent; a silhouette in the doorway, a blue saber held loosely in her slender hand. She stepped forward, raising her blade.
Ven wanted nothing more in that instant than to maker her suffer.
Their blades crossed, and the sound of the two streams of energy resisting each other lived up to his expectations. Her blade work was tight and precise; as they dueled, he was interested to see Makashi was her style. The classical duelist. Her strikes flowed together, her blade constantly attempting to slide down his, targeting his fingers. It was a nuisance and was not accustomed to dealing with. He played defensively, relishing the challenge of dissecting the Jedi's patterns, but seething at his own lack of ability to quickly dispatch her.
"Your style is ancient," he remarked, their blades locked tight. She looked at him with her defiant eyes and smirked.
"But it works for you," she said. She twisted her blade, creating a small opening towards Ven's left shoulder. She struck quickly, jabbing at him and singing a small hole in his armor. Ven recoiled, screaming through the Force. The glass in the apartment cracked and shattered, and the emergency airlock clamped down on the window. The two people in the bedroom covered their ears in agony, but after a moment's wince, the Jedi shrugged off the mental assault. "Typical," she mocked.
Ven's fury swam through is body, tightening his muscles. All other sounds drowned out, and the muted shriek of his rage mounted in pitch. He watched with blurry eyes as the Jedi stood over him, mocking him, so sure of her superiority. The piercing tone in his ears reached a peak, and he lunged for her.
He battered her saber downward with a quick strike, swapped the blade to his left hand, and with his cybernetic right arm he grabbed the girl by her throat. He struggled against his grip, which only spurred Ven forward. Her hands clutched his gauntlet as she fought against the slow, twisting motion of the machinery in his arm. He sought to snap her neck in half. He was so sure of his imminent success that he ignored the blaster bolt hurtling towards his side.
The shot elicited a pain that snapped Ven out of his trance. He lost the girl's neck in his grip, and collapsed in dejected injury, only barely deflecting the subsequent blasts with his lightsaber. Wounded, Ven now realized there was very little he could do against the Jedi a she recovered her strength and prepared to strike him down. But he did not intend to die there.
"Well done," he conceded. The Jedi watched with guarded readiness. "But I will not become your prisoner today."
"You misunderstand my intent," the Jedi said lowly.
"Oh? Have the Jedi taken to killing now?" Ven asked. She did not answer. "If so, what separates you and I?"
"A multitude of things you will never understand," she replied, taking a slight step forward.
"Like an advantage in bargaining?" Ven asked smugly, indicating the innocents with his finger. Q6 had a small blaster pointed at the girl in the bedroom's head. Her lover spun to look, bewildered. The Jedi betrayed her acceptance instantly with a change in body language.
"Very well. Take your leave, Sith, but know that today you were bested."
"Perhaps, but not by you," Ven said, rising gingerly. Q6 hovered near the woman's head as she slowly walked to the door. They eased their way down the hallway, their frightened and tearful hostage unsure of when, if at all, she would be relinquished. The man and the Jedi could only watch, helpless. Ven knew that if he released the girl too early, he would easily be overtaken by the Force-assisted speed of the Knight. He crowded her into the small elevator, pressing the button for the hangar floor of the station. As the doors closed he saw the face of the woman's boyfriend in the gap. It was contorted by a powerful hatred. It was a look that not many could muster, save for those with every intent to put their fury into action.
He supposed the man would have made a very good Sith.
THEY HELD THEIR blaster rifles tightly. The police forces of Tersi station had never seen a Sith in combat before. Forming a semi-circle in the atrium, waiting for the elevator to drop down just a few more floors, it was likely that a few of them began to regret their career choices. If one were trained in such things, it is possible to taste the color of their fear in the air, to feel the minute currents of their nervous systems alight. From that point, they become subject to your manipulation and, in the most powerful of hands, total domination.
Ven cared not for such boring methods.
When the elevator opened, the guards were confused to see nothing but a frightened young women wrapped in bed sheets. It wasn't until it was far too late that one noticed the shimmer of a stealth generator field a few inches in front of his face.
Q6 ceased his cloaking of Ven, who knelt and slammed his palm into the floor with visceral force. The Force radiated in a magnificent pulse outward, the dome of the energy flinging the bewildered police from their feet with lethal velocity. Ven stood satisfied amongst the arc pattern of broken skeletons and moaning survivors. Alarms across the station were blaring, and lock down had commenced. Red warning lights rotated and flashed on the ceiling, and a droid's voice on the intercom warned citizens to take immediate cover. Ven snarled with resolve, and trudged towards his hangar.
SHE WAS SHAKING. Taylor held Shayira in his arms, trying as best he could to quell her tremors, but it was beyond him. Something was affecting her more than the near-death experience. It was a wound he could feel, but not see. The proximity with the Sith had taken its toll on him, too – but Taylor had the benefit of some prior experience. This poor girl did not.
"An encounter with one such as him...it leaves a mark," the Jedi said with quiet compassion. She was kneeling before Shayira, who was still wrapped in her bedsheets. They were in the atrium, a contingency of Tersi station guards picking through the wreckage left by the Sith's escape. Taylor thought it looked like a thermal detonator had exploded point blank in the faces of the dead, but there was no carbon scoring to be found. An eerie sensation coated the air in that place.
"Jedi can heal, can't they? Isn't there something you can do for her?" Taylor pleaded.
"This is a deeper affliction. Time is the best method of recovery." The Jedi looked in Taylor's eye. "And the support of her loved ones."
"Let me ask you something," Taylor said, rising from his spot by Shayira's side. "Your order condemns love for its own, but here you are preaching it to me. Why?"
"The Force is too powerful to be wielded by those who would tinge it with their emotions. That is the realm of the Sith. The temptation to misuse such a miraculous gift is sacrilegious to my order, yes. But we are not zealots. We understand the power of family, too." She smiled at him gently.
It was an answer that struck a chord with Taylor. Something in her words gave him peace. Or perhaps she was subtly manipulating him – he'd seen that before, too. Taylor admittedly preferred the idea of Jedi he could identify with, rather than the image of the cold, righteous warriors who walked so high above the rest of the population.
"You know, I wanted to become a Jedi once. A long time ago," he said wistfully.
"When you were young, our order must have been rebuilding," she responded. "The dark times were not all that long ago."
"I mean, you and I are about the same age," Taylor said, scrutinizing the dark skin of her face.
"I'm twenty-three."
"As am I," she said. Taylor chuckled.
"What's your name? Sorry, didn't catch it earlier," he asked.
"There was no time. I apologize. My name is Lanee. Lanee Bindo."
"Lanee, huh? Nice to meet you. And thanks for saving our lives," Taylor said, extending a hand. She shook it firmly.
"No need to thank. I had been tracking that Sith for quite some time. I'm just glad I was able to intervene at the right moment."
"Who is he? What does he want with that triangle thing?"
Lanee's expression darkened.
"He is independent, even for a Sith. His name is Ven, and his apprentice is Ryker. They left Korriban two years ago and began operating in the Outer Rim. I've been on to his trail for a long time now. He uses the shadows to hide himself well, but here and there the evidence of his handiwork exists. Although, this..." she said, gesturing at the scene of carnage before them. "This is his largest yet. This carries the scent of desperation."
"You didn't answer the part about the triangle."
"I'm weighing the value of telling you," she answered simply. "That thing you saw is a Sith Holocron. It's a trinket of the Dark Side, and something you never want to be close to."
"What's it do, exactly?"
"It's a recording, but not merely that. The creator of a holocron infuses a piece of himself in the device. It lives through the Force, carrying much more detailed knowledge and experience than a simple recording ever could."
"So who made that one, then? It must be someone important for Ven to want it this badly."
"I'm ashamed to admit that I don't know. But he has it now. I mustn't let him absorb its secrets."
Taylor didn't quite see just what was so bad about letting the thing go. In his estimation, that object was the cause of Ven's streak of violence. Now that he had it, perhaps he'd scuttle off to whatever dark hole he crawled out of to spend precious time dissecting it, which would be time spent away from society. In other words, a good thing.
"I wish there was more I could do for Shayira, but it is beyond my realm of capabilities. If you'd like, I could send a healer out to check on you two within the next two weeks," Lanee offered. Taylor gathered that she was about to depart.
"That would be..." he said, trailing off. There was a snag in his brain. Two weeks. He contemplated sitting in that apartment, unsure of whether or not Shayira would even be able to bounce back. He looked at the catatonic girl, her legs splayed on the cold metal floor. His chest ached for her, but it also ached for something else. It yearned for freedom, and this was a tethering. This was what he feared. "I don't live with her, actually. If the healer can't get here any sooner, she has family on Coruscant. I think I'd rather take her there instead."
"Oh, that is acceptable as well. They can bring her to the Temple if need be," Lanee said.
"Were you trained there? The Temple on Coruscant, I mean."
"Yes, I was." Taylor nodded, looking towards the docks.
"I don't suppose...ah. I don't know," he murmured.
"Speak freely, friend."
Taylor looked back at Lanee, resolve and ambition burning in his eyes.
"Do you have time to look at something?"
FIRST HE MADE sure Shayira was tucked quietly away in one of the cabins. Then he led Lanee to Duststorm's garage. He had a work bench there, littered with tools and odds and ends. He felt an unwanted flush of embarrassment as they approached, because he knew a Jedi would immediately be able to recognize what he was attempting to do based on the items there. The lens. The flux aperture. The stabilizing ring, and the field energizer next to it. The sculpted metal cylinder above all of that. Lanee looked, but Taylor could not tell from her eyes if she passed judgment or not.
"You're trying to construct a lightsaber," she said, spreading her hands out across the bench. She gazed critically at the parts Taylor had assembled.
"That is what I'm doing," he confirmed.
"Why?" She asked. Taylor shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not? They seem pretty useful."
"They're a wonderful tool. And a powerful weapon. But they require a tremendous amount of training to use properly. Padawans start when they are toddlers. And the act of building itself can be incredibly dangerous, if you -"
"Invert the emitter matrix, the whole thing will explode. I know," Taylor said, sauntering over to the bench himself. "I've seen one built properly before. The...engineer I guess you'd call it...provided commentary."
Lanee chewed on her lip thoughtfully.
"Well, even though I advise against it, you're only really missing the power cell and the crystal," she said. He produced the diatium power cell from the Ithorian vendor earlier and set it on the table. She raised her eyebrows in recognition. "Just a crystal, then."
"Those have been hard to find. I hear there are caves out there where they grow. Do you guys farm them or something?"
"We harvest them. Our young ones go to the caves – they're truly beautiful. Glittering expanses of them, in an array of colors. The Force flows strongly in such places, so much so in fact that you can hear its whisper if you listen closely," she mused. "They're exceedingly rare."
"Sounds like you have fond memories of one," Taylor commented, leaning his back against the wall. He suddenly realized how tired he was.
"Yes," she said, then grew quiet for a moment. "I take it this is what you wanted to show me, then?"
"When I was a child, I desperately wanted to be considered for Jedi training," Taylor said. It felt like an echo had escape his lips; not quite his own words. He had dwelt on the notion for so long now that hearing it out loud was alien.
"Many do, but you seem to know something of our order already. So surely you know we do not consider adults."
"I..." Taylor began. "Yeah. I knew that. But if I can build a lightsaber, doesn't that show something?"
"You haven't built it yet," she responded. "I must ask – what drives your ambition? Where does this desire to become one of us stem from?"
"It's a long story," he deflected.
"For another time then. But Taylor, a lightsaber does not make a Jedi. A Jedi makes a lightsaber. If you construct this properly, then it speaks well for your prospects. But you'll need this first," Lanee said, opening a pouch on the belt of her sandy colored robes. A golden crystal appeared in her fingers, sharp edged and bullet shaped. Taylor was drawn to it, a pull keeping him from looking away. That old yearning he was so familiar with flared up again.
"A Jedi must meditate on his crystal to imbue it with the power of the Force. If the crystal is blank, the blade will not appear healthy. If you're truly capable of joining us, then you will be able to imprint upon this crystal. And then you can contact me," she said, passing him the necessary information. It was a chance he had deeply desired in his past, and overwhelming gratitude bloomed in his chest.
"I won't let you down," he promised.
"I have a feeling you won't," she said, smiling one last time.
DUSTSTORM HURTLED THROUGH the blue lines of the hyperspace lane towards the Core Worlds, and the humming lulled Taylor in his cockpit. He had checked on Shayira three times, and each time she had been sound asleep. Despite professing her inability to help, Taylor felt like Lanee merely being there had done something for Shayira. It had certainly done something for him. The Jedi radiated a calming strength that he felt able to draw on. It was inspirational for someone who had spent so much time in the seedier side of the galaxy. He felt like his spirit had a lot of exfoliating to do.
Sinking into his pilot's seat, Taylor let his eyes close and his mind drift. Channeling the Force into a crystal was hilariously beyond his scope of abilities. Where he had walked, most people seemed allergic to the mysticism of the Jedi. It had been a long time since their prominence was felt out there. In his childhood, they were considered extinct by many. In the wake of their departure, much animosity had developed towards their stoicism; blame for past wars due to their inaction, and a general dislike of their preaching in a world that often seemed deaf to the lighter values the order held sacred. Taylor had never seen it that way. Then again, Taylor had seen much more than the average vagrant first-hand…
"YOU KNOW, THERE is something soothing in the task of manipulating things with ones own hands," reverberated the voice. He remembered it now – the dim light of the cell. The drip of condensation from the coolant line above their heads. "As opposed to doing it with the Force, that is."
"Why am I here? What do you want with me?" He had asked desperately.
"Oh, a multitude of reasons," crooned the old man, not turning from his task. "See here? This power cell is corroded – junk. Use a fresh one. It'll last forever."
"At least...tell me what's going to happen."
"And atop that, affix the focusing crystal. Yes. Like this, you see?" he turned, his mottled hands holding and pointing to the device he was constructing. A red crystal, gleaming in the light of the yellow lamp. Taylor couldn't look away. "But the emitter matrix – this is critical. It must be properly aligned...like so..."
TAYLOR SNAPPED AWAKE. He couldn't find a reason for it; the readout indicated they still had some time before arrival at destination. He felt clear headed, so the nap must have helped. He checked on Shayira once more. She had rolled over, but slept still. Seeing that she had moved gave him some small measure of comfort.
Returning to the garage, Taylor regarded the workstation with neutrality. It wouldn't hurt to try, of course. In fact, he fully intended to. But as the moment drew nearer, he recognized the real trepidation that had built up in his subconscious. If he weren't able to do this, then it felt like a long thread of his life would have been wasted. A single strand of thought that had persisted from the point of origin in the bedroom of a young boy, looking out the window at the moons through the atmosphere, and all the twinkling stars beyond. The death of that dream was surprisingly painful to consider. Facing his own shortcomings, perhaps even more so.
With a deep breath, he gathered his energy and sat cross-legged on the floor, the crystal on a small cloth before him. Taylor had never meditated before, but he'd seen it performed. He thought he understood what it was to meditate, at least. A ritual of focus, and in this case specifically, he was to focus on the small object in front of him. Simple, but not easy.
At first, he found himself straining. Trying too hard to project something he didn't know he had into the foreign object. He found it felt better to go limp, but with no reference point as to what he should be experiencing, boredom and a nagging irritation set in. Taylor supposed that a little bit of guidance from Lanee would have been helpful, but maybe this was just part of the test itself. Still, how old were Jedi when they constructed their first sabers? They weren't children, that was certain. They must have been taught something of the art by that point. A length of time he wanted to be an hour past, but disappointingly only clocked in at twenty-two minutes. With a disgruntled sigh, Taylor picked up and slunk back to the cockpit.
THERE WAS A chamber he used for meditation aboard his ship. Ven chose to adorn it with artifacts that reminded him of what he sought. Objects steeped in the powers of the past whispered to him as he heavily swayed his way into the room. The damage to his abdomen was not life threatening, and the pain was tolerable – usable, even. But it needed to be tended to all the same.
A time would come when this mortal flesh would no longer restrict him. That was the end game – apotheosis. And soon he would know the way. As Ven set about shedding himself of his armor, he set the holocron on a pedestal, and knelt before it. Reaching out, he touched it with the Force, and the relic responded, blossoming with blood red light that struck out across the room, like a distant star burst. Ven collected the pile of gauze next to him, infused with kolto. Eyes on the holocron, he set about the task of binding his wound, eagerly awaiting the presence within the thing to make itself known.
"Another one," crooned the raspy voice of the holocron's occupant. "A wounded one. What contemptible failure have you managed, knave?"
"Not death, as you have, Lord Silarith," Ven countered.
"True, but immortality is mufti-faceted. Tell me, if you died today, would anyone scamper about the galaxy in desperation for your holocron?"
"Perhaps," Ven said. "But I won't be dieing."
"Soon? Or ever?" mocked Silarith.
"
Ever," Ven confirmed, confidence radiating in his tone.
"You are not the first Sith to probe the secrets of death. But all have failed. You are no different."
"But the Builders succeeded where we have failed, didn't they?"
The holocron processed this data.
"You know of the Builders. It's not often someone stirs me who has that kind of knowledge," Silarith said, somewhat subdued now.
"I've studied the Infinite Empire for years," Ven declared. Some of the artifacts in the room were beginning to take notice of names relevant to them being spoken out loud. "And in the course, I've come to know of your work. I desire to know more about it."
"Of course you do," Silarith mused. The triangular tip of his beard protruded from the black depths of his hood. "And know you shall."
HE HAD FORGOTTEN in the anxiety of the moment, but now he remembered what the Rodian who had given him the box initially wanted him to do with it. It had slipped his mind to tell Lanee about it before she left, but by this point, he knew the holocron was definitely in the hands of someone who didn't want it to wind up where the Rodian did anyway. Still, weren't the few Sith that remained based on Korriban? Lanee had mentioned that this one, Ven, operated out in the lonelier reaches of the galaxy. Perhaps his affiliates back on Korriban coveted the holocron for themselves; Taylor didn't know much of the Sith, but he knew of their competitiveness, especially with in their own ranks. While it was present, Taylor sent a message to Lanee, detailing what he had remembered. Idly, he began to wonder what had fascinated that bastard so much within that recording.
A trill of tones alerted Taylor to the end of their journey. Coruscant at last.
Taking them out of hyperspace, the grand jewel of the Republic bloomed into view. The snaking bands of ships entering and exiting the planet crawled around the planet's exterior, and the auburn glow of the cityscape below washed up through the glass into his cockpit. It was, as always, a sight to behold. Taylor plucked in the entry coordinates, and Duststorm veered into the queue. A flight control broadcast welcomed him to the planet, and Taylor chose to let his ship automate the docking process. It would take sometime to pass through the slow crawl of inbound ships.
Now another task presented itself: Waking Shayira.
He had no idea where her family was on Coruscant, other than a garage. Of course, with millions of garages to choose from, narrowing it down would be daunting. She was sleeping still, and had not moved since the roll he had discovered sometime earlier. He sat on the edge of the mattress. They really weren't that comfortable. Gently, he scratched her back, running his fingers through her hair and up the back of her scalp. He tried softly to breach her wall of slumber with his voice. To his surprise, she seemed to respond.
"Shayira? You awake?" He waited. A definite groan escaped her lips. "How are you feeling?"
"Extremely hung over. Did you break up with me again?"
"Uh, no. You didn't drink. What exactly do you...remember?"
She sighed.
"Everything. But I don't want to." Taylor frowned. He didn't want either of them to remember. He laid down next to her, unsure of whether or not to hold her. She seemed rather unresponsive to his touch.
"We've moved. I don't know if you were aware. I brought us to Coruscant," he started.
"You what?" she said sleepily, rolling over to face him. Her face looked haggard, but her eyes were alert. "I know we talked about it, but isn't this a bit sudden?"
"You weren't well. The Jedi who was with us, she wanted me to take you -" Taylor hovered over the choice of his next few words. If he said he was delivering her to her family, things might not end well. "To the Temple here. Where they have healers."
"Am I that sick?" she asked, sounding worried.
"No, I mean, Lanee didn't say so. She said it was a necessary precaution."
"Lanee?"
"The Jedi."
"Oh," Shayira replied. She looked prepare to doze off again.
"Hey, I need to know how to contact your family. They should know you're here. And about...what happened."
"Maurice's Garage. Quadrant K-19. Sector V-26." Then she was out like a light.
"I can find that," Taylor said, standing.
SHE SPENT A long time in isolation, and in that way, she felt that she mirrored the wayward Sith. It brought her closer to his psyche, so that she might better understand the paths he walked and the courses he chose. The echoes of the Dark Side were easy for her to hear – too easy, she had once feared, before the experience and comfort of a few more years. Her curiosity bound her to his trail. What he did and where he went bore a strangeness that Lanee could not dissuade herself from investigating. Something drove him, and the mystery of what that was drove her in turn.
Something ancient. Something so old that the time between then and now lay dead. There were traces in the air, and she felt them in the odd Outer Rim haunts she had tracked him through. Barren refueling stations and drift colonies. A series of murdered shopkeepers followed him, and it enabled Lanee to stalk the Sith through the stars. Always, the scene was the same: A shop littered with bits and pieces, its dead owner, and a computer system wiped clean of all records of transaction.
Tersi station was no different in any of those respects. Lanee had hoped this time she would experience a breakthrough, but the disappointing results of her duel were all that she had. The Sith was strong, but her Makashi had out-finessed his staunch Djem So. It was in the aftermath of that first clash, when the darker strength he possessed swirled to its apex, that Lanee saw the truth of his nature.
The Sith was mechanically augmented, with all of his limbs save for his left arm replaced with cybernetic components. Potentially more of his body was metal as well. It altered his connection to the Force, and in their fight she could sense a cavernous screaming coming from within the monster himself. It was a roar of rage and discontent, but upon meditation and introspection aimed at what she had felt, Lanee realized that it was not as she initially expected. She had seen people throughout the galaxy with cybernetics, and not all adapted well to their new lifestyle. Some resented and mourned the loss of their original limbs, but this Sith was different. It was as though the internal hatred he drew on for strength came from his own want for completeness, but that completeness was only possible through the destruction of his own flesh. Lanee had seen the catharsis he sought in the machinery, and it made her uncomfortable.
For a Force user to be separate from the biological systems that made him alive to begin with was strange, to say the least. The Force and life itself were deeply intertwined, one not being able to exist without the other. Lanee knew that it was harder, if not outright impossible, to channel certain aspects of the Force through bio-mechanical modes. Sith would often lose the ability to cast their dreaded Lightning without a natural conduit, for example. Each degree of separation from cyborg to living being infringed upon the efficacy of one's ability to wield the Force, as she understood it.
Lanee had options. The library in the temple on Coruscant could most likely satiate her desire for insight into the situation, but it wouldn't help her catch the Sith as much as staying in the Outer Rim. If he moved again, she needed to know and be able to respond quickly, especially now that he had the holocron in his possession. There was no way for Lanee to know for certain what knowledge that device would impart upon the Sith, but whatever it was, his ravenous and bloody search for the thing could only mean that it catered to his sanguine needs.
And in addition to these thoughts, the Jedi could not write off the astounding fact that Taylor had managed to land that shot. Such a feat was one in a million, and that was hardly an exaggeration. Too often, she had seen what others would mistake for coincidence to be the guiding hand of the Force. Taylor felt the call, and she knew it. It was why she supplied him with the crystal. It was not so strange that he was missed for his opportunity to train at the Academy. When he was young, the Order was still frail itself, fighting for any advantage it could garner after the reeling blow of the Jedi Civil War. It was stronger now, yet still no where near where it once was. If Taylor did prove to be a trainable asset, he would be a worthy ally to the Jedi indeed.
But this goal seemed more pressing. If this rogue Sith was allowed to acquire the power he was after, Lanee sensed a sweeping darkness would follow. She had seen it in her dreams: The black fog that leaked from the forgotten places amongst the stars, enveloping nameless worlds and quieting the thrum of the life within them. One potential Jedi weighed versus the cresting horrors of this dark wave – it was no contest. Lanee knew where her priorities must be. And from that conviction, she was driven forward. The only problem was finding the elusive Ven before he struck again.
But as the Force would have it, the gentle, pulsing alert of a message in her inbox appeared on her ship's console.
HE HAD TIME to try more, waiting in that line. An hour passed – a real one. Taylor wasn't sure if anything fruitful had happened, but he felt as though something in his head had moved around or otherwise displaced itself. Throwing up his hands, he told himself why not, and positioned the crystal within the lightsaber. The majority of the work was done, as best he could tell. He trusted his memory. With bated anticipation, he slid the rubberized grip over the base containing the power cell, and then slid that portion gently into the top half. The crystal aligned beautifully. He triple checked the positioning of the emitter matrix. The metal body clicked together between the pressure of his hands.
This was it. He could sense it.
His finger brushed the ignition button. Taylor held the saber outward, pointing it at the far wall. Just press down now, he thought. And so he did.
Click. Nothing. Again. Click. Something sputtered, but no blade.
Disheartened, Taylor tore the saber apart on his desk, certain something had been misconfigured internally. Further inspection revealed nothing. The sinking suspicion that the crystal was at fault set in. He removed it, thinking to himself that this might be an exercise in futility.
"Whatever," he yawned, with a massive stretch. He blew a stream of air through pursed lips, wishing he would receive the docking coordinates already. This traffic was more of a nightmare than usual.
When they at last came, Taylor happily took Duststorm down through the atmosphere, and into the slipstream of flying transports towards his destination. With that act came a certain reluctance, however, because he had decided what followed the end of this short trip.
Shayira would not like it.
Her uncle's garage accepted his call, and an Aqualish mechanic thickly grunted for Taylor to list
his needs. When he requested to speak with Maurice himself, the alien growled a low protest, but stepped away from the camera to find his boss. Maurice was a dirty, hassled looking man with a pair of crusty blinders pulled up away from his face, unneeded as they were for anything other than soldering with bright plasma torches.
"Yes, I'm Maurice. Whatcha want?"
"I'm a friend of Shayira's," Taylor declared. "She's aboard my ship. I'm sorry to say that she isn't in the best of health?"
"The hell do you mean kid?" Maurice asked, suddenly looking worried. "Why isn't she on the comm?"
"She's bedridden – look, it'd be better if I could just bring her to you. She said you were her family."
"Damn right I am," he said, wiping his hands clean with a cloth. "Get her here right away. I don't like the way you're talking," he threatened. Taylor shrugged and switched off the comm. This was (one of the reasons) why he never took relationships too far. Other people's families never made him comfortable.
She was sitting up in the bunk; that was good. She turned and smiled at Taylor as he entered.
"I can see we made it," she said, looking back out the view screen at the orange and gold cityscape.
"Yep," Taylor affirmed. "We're in the queue for your uncle's garage, now. He didn't sound to thrilled when I told him what happened."
"I hope you didn't mention...well, Jedi," she said flatly. "He's not in the camp that appreciates them." She smirked. "Not like you."
"They're just so mysterious," Taylor mused mockingly. "The way they wear those robes – it gets me every time."
"I can tell," she said with a laugh. A wave of guilt swept through him. A part of Taylor had hoped she would still be sleeping when he passed her off to her family, so that he could slip out unnoticed. Then doubt crept into his thoughts. If he couldn't get the crystal to work, what point was there in his grand plan? He was no Jedi, and failing that test would nail shut the coffin on his dreams.
He took a steadying breath. This was Coruscant, home of the Jedi Temple. Someone there could help him, surely. As desperate as they had to have been for recruits...or even just an outreach program, to teach him the fine art of meditation. Perhaps such a thing existed?
Fate dictated another path open to him, however, when across the galaxy, his message was received, and Lanee made a fast decision.
"Answer, please," she whispered to herself, trying to channel calm into her fingertips that were drumming hard on the side of her pilot's seat. Patience was a basic tenant of the Jedi, but not of her lineage. It was her weakest feature. When Taylor appeared on her monitor, she was relieved. "I just received your message," Lanee said.
"Yeah, sorry, I forgot to mention that before," Taylor apologized.
"No need," Lanee responded. "It was a tumultuous day. But I need your help – if there's anything more you can remember, a name - "
"Tulag Zan, in Dreshdae," Taylor repeated. Lanee had managed to jog his memory, somehow. Lucky for her.
"That helps tremendously," Lanee sighed. Now she had her heading.
"Why? You know that name?"
"No, but it gives me direction I wouldn't otherwise have." Lanee narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. "But Korriban is not a place for a Jedi. I'd never make it to the dock."
"Well, about that," Taylor said, scratching the back of his head. "I, uh, happen to have the necessary clearance to land there. To land anywhere, really, but Korriban qualifies as a 'there' so...I can do it."
"Right, because you're a smuggler!" Lanee piped up excitedly.
"Uh..." Taylor said, looking over his shoulder, hoping Shayira hadn't heard that.
"Oh, I apologize," Lanee said sincerely. Taylor was more concerned with how she'd known in the first place, but Jedi was a simple answer to most complicated questions.
"So, if you need, I can assist in that department," Taylor offered. "I mean, Korriban isn't the most thrilling tourist destination, but..." He wanted her help with the crystal.
"I shouldn't involve a bystander in Jedi business," Lanee said. "It's not proper conduct. It can get very dangerous."
"My line of work isn't exactly known for being good for one's well-being," Taylor uttered lowly, leaning into his camera. "I can handle myself."
Lanee, apparently, didn't need anymore convincing than that. After all, patience was something she sorely lacked.
"I assumed you've just made it to Coruscant," she guessed, opening up the screen to plug in hyperspace coordinates.
"That's right," Taylor replied.
"I'll meet you halfway."
IT WAS A coarse thing, the language of the Rakata. Their guttural, staccato speech had grown to become a dull racket in the corners of Ven's meditation room. Often, they would ignore his presence, but these primitive holocrons had been awakened by the conversation Ven had with Silarith's hologram. They crowed at Ven with mocking voices, and it was the sound of the demented. They screeched of his weaknesses, some going as far as to urge him to suicide. Ven drowned out their sound in a sonic drape of the Force's doing, focusing intently on what Silarith had to say. Their lesson continued for hours, Ven sitting patiently on his knees, the words of the ancient vessel of knowledge pouring into him. The stories were fascinating, were one curious about such dark secrets of the galaxy. But there was one line of questioning that Ven continued to guide the holocron towards at each turn he was allowed to speak every hour or so. The location.
"Many facilities. Many. Each with an idea carved into them, their functions singular and pure. They spanned the cosmos, and the labor of slaves erected them on worlds far and away. Agriculture, manufacturing, terraforming..." Silarith droned on and on. The remarkable accomplishments of the Infinite Empire were nothing short of a romantic subject to the long dead Sith. But Ven was focused on one, and only one.
"Rakata warriors, in their savagery, would occasionally lose limbs," Ven began. The holocron was silent, awaiting more input. "There was a facility mentioned in the ancient texts that described a quiet place, tucked away, experimental in nature...a place where such losses could be rectified."
"It was more than a place of triage," Silarith began. "The Apex Ascent. Few warriors earned the distinction in battle to be allowed passage to that place." Ven's excitement reached a fevered crescendo, a pounding developing in his ears. At last. "Lesser warriors replaced their deficiencies with cybernetics. But the cybernetics grown in the laboratories at the Apex Ascent were special. Only deep commitment to the Rakata ways and distinction in many battles offered the pathway to such a high honor. Warriors would bathe in the pure, distilled Dark Side energies. At the molecular level, the effect was profound. A transformation some might say was sacred to the Rakata would begin to take hold, and the 'inefficiencies' the machines identified would begin to be corrected by a strict code. In extreme cases, a body entirely broken could be -"
Something strange happened. An opposing holocron within the room managed to roar out over Ven's damping, engaging directly with Silarith's own holocron. The speakers in the ceiling recorded the input, then piped it back down in translated fashion.
"Heretic. You divulge much, and deserve little. You betray our secrets; you must die. You must die. You must die." That last sentiment continued to be repeated.
"Interesting," Silarith mused. "It would seem that one has an allergic reaction to this subject. As you can see, Sith, it was a profound subject for the Rakata. They worshiped that apotheosis to perfection, though that is a secret I myself may be the last to know. It was said that in order to construct the Apex Ascent, a billion sacrifices all at once must be made in a condensed space in order to generate a large enough tear in the Force that could then be condensed down into the appropriate form factor. That core, that essence that summons the pain and rage, is a gateway to the Dark Side itself, and I don't mean that philosophically. It was a literal singularity born of the power of death."
A horrific description in another lifetime. But now just a footnote.
"And where was this Apex Ascent located?" Ven asked, working to conceal the eager hunger in his voice. The loudest Rakatan holocron screamed out in protest from across the room. Silarith grinned wide.
"I will show you the way."
HE WAS IN that damp place again, and the flicker of the candle as it dipped lower into the wax was fainter than before. Curled in the corner with his arms around his knees, Taylor focused intently on the insect crawling across the floor of his cage. It was the fulcrum of his attention, and it let him divert some small modicum of his faculties away from the hunched creature that worked slowly, yet tirelessly on his decrepit wooden desk.
"People like you...people like me," he began, the drawl in his voice thick and intoxicating. "There comes a time when we must face our destiny. Not everyone has such a distinction. You should have pride." He said the last word as thought it were delectable.
"Don't compare us," Taylor said tiredly. He drew traces in the dirt with his finger.
"We're alike in the only way that matters," he continued on. "Not in personality. Or achievement. Or goals. Those don't matter to the Force."
Taylor managed a faint smile. The Force. Once upon a time…
WATCHING THE SUNRISE on Coruscant meant watching the rays of light cascade across the towering buildings and refracting in an array of colors as diverse as the planet itself. Taylor stood atop Maurice's garage doing just that, reflecting internally on the words from that cage. When he was a child, becoming a Jedi Knight was the only thing that occupied his thoughts. A Jedi's life is sacrifice, he knew. But he didn't understand. He doubted, cynically so, that he did even now. Walking away from the life offered here, with Shayira, wasn't as hard as it should have been. That thirst for adventure that had made him take up smuggling manifested itself again, here, with this choice to go gallivanting off into the unknown. Whether or not he had what it took to become a Jedi was secondary.
"You're leaving," she said. Shayira was recovering well; a healer had been dispatched from the Temple that day. Maurice was a persistent badger of a man that Taylor knew he wouldn't miss after a single day, but he was encouraged by the protective nature of his niece.
"Lanee needs my help," Taylor said, turning to face her. He was somewhat surprised to see her up on the roof, wrapped in blankets still.
"She's a Jedi, Taylor. She needs another Jedi, maybe a few, if anything. What kind of Jedi asks a civilian for help on a mission?"
"Duststorm has the landing ID for..." What could he tell her, realistically? The most dreaded place in the galaxy? "A place she needs to go." Shayira scoffed.
"You can't even tell me where you're going..." she said, dejectedly looking at the ground. "I knew this was a pipe dream anyway. You won't ever change."
"I'll come back," Taylor pleaded, unsure if that was even near the truth. Lying. What a wonderful start to his potential Jedi career.
"You won't. Not for a while, at least. You're going to get swept off in some adventure, and that adventure will lead to another, and another, until you're far away from me again," she murmured with poetic sadness. The truth was, Taylor knew she was right. And despite the nasty texture of disappointment in his stomach, he also knew that, ultimately, this was what he wanted.
"If I don't do this, a lot of people are going to suffer through what you did. And worse. How can I sit by and let that happen?"
"This isn't your fight. It very rarely is, in my experience. But you choose to make it that way. You have some void in you that I can't fill," she said. Taylor saw a second dawning in her face, a fearful realization of Shayira that she never truly had the lease on him that she had thought kept bringing him back. She was just a rest stop in his galactic course.
"I have the landing credentials to get the Jedi where she needs to go," he repeated, choosing his words carefully. For some reason, Taylor found himself incapable of letting this pass, even as Shayira gave him every opportunity. He was torn between two worlds. "She needs my...expertise, okay? Jedi aren't perfect, without me -"
"Stop. Just stop," she shouted in a quavering, defeated voice. "Stop lying. To yourself, and to me. You're going because you want to, not out of need. And you know what? That's fine. You do what you want. I'm don't have any hold over you. I never did." She turned to leave, and Taylor's vocal chords were stunned. When she disappeared in the doorway, he felt nothing. Just that emptiness she had seen in him. The space he couldn't escape.
LANEE WAITED FOR Taylor at a small trader's outpost. The hyperspace route to the sector of the galaxy once occupied by the old Sith Empire was a lonely one, comparatively. The road few traveled, and even fewer returned from. While the Republic claimed no responsibility for travelers who wished to navigate those desolate stretches of space once lit ablaze by war, they knew that the majority of people who dared to traverse these lanes cared little for the Republic anyway, being sympathizers of those darker factions in the universe, or neutral scavengers looking for diamonds amongst the dust.
Scavenging. If she found herself in the right mood, there were good memories buried there. They used to walk about the ruins, climbing, jumping, laughing. Dantooine's somber serenity often presented itself as pure boredom to children, and they were no exception. To walk among the empty, cool halls of the fabled Jedi, pockmarked with spindles of sunlight from the holes in the ceiling, swells of dark shadows tucked away from the summer heat; it was a tantalizing prospect. Lanee swore could soak in the past through her skin, feeling out the fabric of a narrative woven long ago. The ghosts of the halls of the destroyed academy spoke in a way that she could hear, but never frightened her. There was a calming wisdom in that place that soothed her soul. Years later, she would come to realize that it was the call of the Force that tugged at her heart. And her dear friend's as well, but his path unfolded quite differently, didn't it?
Her pensive trance was broken when she felt Taylor's arrival in the Force. It was a bump on the smooth stream of the flow of life around her. Hope and doubt intermingled to describe his presence, but there was something transformed about him this time. She saw him walking heavily towards her down the path to the seating area of the terminal where they docked. Identifying exactly what had changed was unusually hard for her – Lanee could not tell if Taylor had gained or lost something. Either way, there was a determination to his step, and she found it unexpectedly comforting, even for a Jedi. He nodded when he saw her seated in the skeletal plasteel chairs, flanked by two sad looking plants. She nodded back, smiling. The little outpost was not so busy, and the air was quiet. It seemed neither of the unlikely pair wanted to disturb that peace.
They boarded Duststorm shortly after, having gathered a few supplies. Lanee never stopped trying to probe Taylor's motivation covertly, but she found only a staunch resolution. It was very different from the bright optimism and probable slight naivety of the man who had confessed his childhood dream to become a Jedi on this very ship just days before. She decided to ask him what happened, but he surprised her first with a wordless invitation to the ship's garage once more.
"I owe you a lot," Taylor began. His tone was direct. Concise.
"I owe you as well, Taylor. And we both owe the galaxy something more. I'm grateful for your assistance in this matter, for I fear that we are the only ones capable of stopping Ven."
"Yeah. But I wanted to let you know – I wanted to hear myself say it. I won't be a burden. I know you just need my landing ID. But there's more to this than that. For me." Lanee looked at him quizzically.
"I value your experience, rest assured," Lanee declared earnestly.
"And I want you to value my prowess, too," Taylor said. He reached to his belt, grasping an object.
"Taylor, I -"
"Just watch," he said, drawing his weapon. He held it before him, matching Lanee's gaze.
And so the telltale sound burst through the quiet ship, as Taylor ignited a gleaming yellow lightsaber.
TO BE CONTINUED...