Chosen One
Book Three of The Force Games
By Sivad Ttarp
Part One:
The Ashes
Chapter one:
I see light.
My mouth tastes like bacta.
In time I can separate the lights from the white surface of the ceilings and the walls and the sheets. It probably only really took few moments. The mattress beneath me is soft but so thin I can still feel the bedframe underneath it. The covers are warm and come up just below my shoulders. I'm naked beneath them. No surprise there, I smell like was just pulled out of a bacta tank. I peek down, scan my arms and legs. All clean. No scars, let alone the cuts, scrapes and gashes a few days in the arena will give you.
"Hi there."
It wasn't that I hadn't noticed the man in the room, leaning against the wall. I just allowed him to make his own introduction. "Hello," I said, "Rebel Alliance."
That was the last thing he'd said to me, the last I'd remembered: he'd said 'Welcome to the Rebel Alliance'. Then somebody had pumped me full of sedative and I woke up here. So the Quarter Quell really had had a twist ending, at least for me. I figured the good people of the Empire hadn't seen a thing, not since our electronic pulse had knocked out all their cameras. Technical difficulties; I wish I could hear the holonet's excuses.
The man certainly fits the part of a naïve freedom fighter. Human, he's around thirty with brown hair, bright eyes, a cleft chin and skin that looks like it's been left out in the sun too long. He wears tall boots, dark trousers and a white shirt under a heavy dark blue jacket, vaguely militaristic in design. A thick blaster is holstered at his side, making it look like he was compensating for something. Probably compensating for being a member of the Rebel Alliance.
"Name's Doggs," he says, "Lyle Doggs."
"Kara," I say.
"Oh I know who you are, Miss Evenstern," he smiles. "Victor of the seventy-fourth Force Games."
"And the seventy-fifth," I say.
"Afraid we cut those a little short," he says.
"Sure," I say, "But I'm alive aren't I."
"Right on," says Doggs, still grinning. He's bemused by me, by meeting a celebrity. I can feel it. Maybe it's the force Vaynich talked about filling my blood with little sensory impulses or some shit. What I can't tell is if he's going to ask for my autograph or walk right up and punch me in the stomach.
"Here," he says, plunking a bundle of clothing on the end of my bed. "Get dressed, you've got an appointment. I can give you more of tour afterward; maybe gets you something to eat. You must be hungry."
I don't answer, so he turns his back to let me dress. I consider attacking. I could wrap all this fabric around his neck, suffocate him with the bra. But I don't. If they'd wanted to kill me they would have done so already. No, they want me for something. Knowing what it was would allow me to plan accordingly. So I dress calmly and slowly.
The pants and shirt resemble what Doggs is wearing. I can't tell with the undergarments, but he doesn't seem the bra and panties type. I pull on soft flat shoes, they don't come with socks. Everything is a size too big, other than the shoes which fit perfectly. You'd think they'd have done better with the sizes since they had me lying unconscious in a room to measure. Perhaps it was a statement sort of thing. The Rebels are showing me that I depend on them and they don't care to pamper me.
Doggs whisperers into his comlink, I have good ears. I hear him say "I'm bringing her up."
"Well, let's not keep them waiting," I say.
Doggs doesn't stop grinning as he leads me out of the room into a hallway that's just as white. It's deserted. We enter a lift at the end. I don't want to ask questions, don't want to sound any weaker, but I wouldn't mind some more answers…
"You were there," I say as we ascend, "At the space station arena, you rescued me."
"No thanks necessary," he says.
I wasn't about to thank, but I won't tell him that. "We're you just watching me?" I ask. "Watching me sleep."
"I'm supposed to watch over you," he says, "I was given very specific instructions."
"Like what?"
"Like not letting you talk to anyone."
"But I'm talking to you now?"
"I couldn't resist," he admits.
"Talking or watching? Run any searches?"
"No. Um, yeah. Well…" He trails off. "I had to check for…"
"No thanks necessary," I tell him as the door opens. There's a short hall before us, with only one door at the end.
"Right through there," Doggs says, "You can't miss it."
"I can't," I agree, stepping out into the corridor. "Who am I going to see?"
"The President," Doggs gives me a nod, and the lift door shuts.
I press the button on the lift door behind me, but it has no effect. Finally I resort to walking down the hall to the door Doggs had intended me to open. I don't knock or ring the door chime. It's unlocked, and slides open soundlessly.
"Do come in," says a sonorous female voice, and I enter. The room is brightly lit, and mostly white. A comfortable looking chair hangs from the ceiling behind a clear desk with a holo-projector and a computer terminal set into it. In front of the desk is a low couch. I sit here, and it's so close to the ground it makes me feel like I'm squatting. The room has no other decoration, save for its single occupant.
I've never met a Kaminoan before, but I'd seen pictures. They were taller in person. I'm not a short girl and she must tower over me by at least a foot and a half. Indicative of her species, she is very slim, long-necked, bald, nose-less and has three fingers one each blue-grey hand. She wears a white robe over tight dark gray clothing.
"I am Alla Coy, President of the Rebel Alliance," she says. "You may call me Madame President."
"This," I say, "Is the part where I introduce myself and you tell me that you already know who I am and am familiar with my…exploits, I guess you could call them."
"Correct," Coy seems amused. "In that case, let us skip ahead."
"I'd been taught the Rebel Alliance was destroyed," I say. "Exterminated."
"Do you believe everything you're taught."
"Of course not. There are obviously a few people who call themselves Rebels now, led by you I assume."
"Correct, but we are more than few," says Coy. "The Empire hunted us and thought us eradicated. It was all but true. But we have hidden in the shadows and bided our time. We've grown in strength and numbers, especially in recent years."
"Powerful enough to attack the arena while the Quarter Quell was taking place?"
"Obviously," Coy states.
"But weak enough to choose to wait until the pulse device hidden in my pendant disabled the shields and defenses."
"Well, prudent enough."
"Where am I?" I ask after a moment's pause.
"You're aboard the Krayt, our flagship, in the midst of our fleet."
"How big of a fleet?"
"Bigger than ever before," says Coy.
"You're not going to give me much information are you?"
"Not yet," says Coy.
"So what are you going to tell me?" I feel an instinctual urge to go back to bed and leave her nondisclosure alone.
"The Nautolan tribute has made a full recovery, not unlike you."
I remembered them stunning Fenric, and dragging him along with me aboard the Rebel ship. He'd been trying to kill me before that. Knowing of his survival brought me no joy. But it did bring me more knowledge, so that was welcome. "How about Zanna and Vaynich?" I ask.
"Zanna is with us," says the President. "She is well."
"She was rescued too?"
"Not exactly.
"And Vaynich?"
"We did not recover the other Tatooine tribute."
"He'll be all broken up about that," I muse. "He was the one who was excited about his mysterious friends, about tearing down the empire." Me, I'd just killed the right boy at the right time in front of the right camera. Happenstance really.
"We had different priorities." President Coy intones.
"Good job," I say, "Interrupting the Games might not have hurt the Imperial war machine much, but it certainly would have given a very symbolic message. Gotten your sympathizers all choked up."
"Oh it has," says Coy, "It's a joy to look over the holos these last few days. Hysteria abounds. The Empire is making excuses and accusations left and right, executing and bumping off a slew of politicians and Games runners, like the man who gave you that pulse pendent. They're playing big, acting hard, and it's because they're scared. The Emperor knows the Rebellion is back."
"Mission accomplished."
"Just the one," says Coy. "You're next."
"Excuse me."
"Retrieving you was our priority all along," President Coy says.
"What?"
Coy raises a hand before I can continue. "This is the part where you say you aren't a special revolutionary, and have simply been swept up in events that are beyond your control."
I shrug, "Well, yeah."
"I know this too," says Coy, "But it is now something that will be kept between us only."
"Why?" I ask.
"I have an army," says President Coy. "I have ships, I have weapons, and I have soldiers to fire them. I know how to use this to the advantage of my cause. But my revolution is missing one thing. A hero."
"And I'm a hero?" I smile at this. Maybe I shouldn't. If a hero is one who fights to survive against terrific odds than a hero am I.
"You have carved your own unique niche in popular culture," says President Coy. "You have come to represent the ideals and goals I want people to latch on to."
"I'm your new hope?"
"Hope is easy," Coy sniffs. "You got people angry."
"And you want me to do that on command?" I ask.
"I want you to be my symbol, my figurehead, my warrior princess," says Coy. "The golden age of the Rebellion had its heroes to inspire it. Luke Skywalker was a leader, a soldier and eventually a martyr. I intend to make you none out of three, but you will fulfill the same role."
Roles again, Vaynich would have been glad to hear her classify that way.
"Skywalker was the last of a grand tradition," says President Coy. "Peasants have always looked up to knights, the Jedi cultists above all. Their kind may have been purged, but Skywalker was the last to attempt to walk their path. There is nothing more inspiring to a rebellion than a friend powerful enough crush somebody's throat from fifty paces with only their mind. I will make a Jedi of you."
I open my mouth, my head filled with what Vaynich and Preteet told me about their Force Games, how they were designed to weed-out and liquidate or control force-sensitives, but I hesitate.
"Yes, I am aware of your talents," she anticipates my thoughts.
I keep her in suspense for a moment before I speak. "What's in it for me?"
"We're not trying to kill you," President Coy says.
"That's been enough for so long, I think it's time I start asking for more," I say.
"I said I'd make a Jedi of you, and that's what I will do," says President Coy. She reaches beneath her desk and produces a gray metal cube, traced with intricate decoration. "You are already going to be the most powerful person in the room. Imagine if you could control it. Incredible power, the force of ages, awaits you. This is a Jedi holocron, an ancient relic, and it will teach you all it knows."
My hand stretches for the cube, but Coy holds it out of reach. "Ah, ah, what do we say?"
"I say…when can we start?" I twist my face into a grin, show her my teeth.
"Good," she drops the cube into my palms. "You may leave. Doggs will show you everything you need. I have a Rebellion to run." She sits behind the desk.
I hold my ground. "So when do I start being a symbol? How does this work?"
"There's a legend I'm going to use," says President Coy. "A Jedi prophecy from long ago. They foretell a Chosen One who would bring balance to the Force. Some believed Anakin Skywalker, more commonly known as Darth Vader, to be that man."
"Was he?"
"That's a matter for academics and philosophers," said President Coy. "I know that from now on, according to our official propaganda, you are the Chosen One. If you want to satisfy me you must embrace the role of savior, become it, live it, make them believe. Can you handle that?"
"Lady," I say, "You'll believe it yourself."