Sentinel
They used to say she was too human. She had a temper. She was emotional. She even cried once, the day they took her away and her father wasn't there to say good-bye. But these days, she didn't feel much of anything anymore. The man from the temple had been with her for a week. She sometimes wondered if he had her lightsaber hidden up his sleeve.
They left the cab waiting outside. A nurse came and led them to a private room. Bastila went in while the man from the temple found a seat in the hallway.
Helena Shan, gaunt and colorless, reclined in the room's only bed, thin sheets clutched to her chest, a pillow propped behind her back. The rosy pink and orange of a Coruscanti sunset struggled to wash away the deathly pallor which gripped the room.
"Ms. Shan," the nurse said cheerfully, "you'll never guess who came to see you today."
Helena sighed. "Who is it?"
Bastila stepped forward, closer. "It's me, mother."
Helena focused on the younger woman with quite an effort. "Bastila?" She sighed again, a bit more resignedly, and settled deeper into the pillow. "So you're back."
The nurse left, quietly.
Bastila sat next to the window, on the very edge of the chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Well, the doctor has done everything he can," Helena said, then added dryly, "Of course, he didn't do much to begin with."
"I'm sorry, mother."
"Don't be, dear. So the war is over?"
"Yes, mother."
"Did you win?" her mother asked.
"No, mother. I didn't have a side."
"Where's your friend?" Helena murmured.
"Friend?" Bastila echoed.
"Yes. You know, that young man you were traveling with. He promised me he would take care of you. What was his name again?"
"Oh, you mean…" Bastila trailed off significantly, before adding, "I don't think he told you his name."
"No, that's right, he didn't."
"I'll tell him you said hello."
"Thank you."
For a while they didn't say anything. Helena's shallow breathing was a reassuring metronome while her daughter watched the dying sun disappear behind the jagged cityscape.
Eventually Helena broke the silence. "I'm glad you came, Bastila. I wanted to see you again."
Bastila stood awkwardly. "I know just how you feel."
Then Helena turned away and looked out the window. "Good-bye, Bastila."
"Good-bye, mother." Bastila walked out, didn't look back. In the corridor her guardian got up to follow her. They passed a handful of rooms, some empty and dark, others blocked from view by the simple expedient of a closed door. Nevertheless, a distinct aura of suffering and hopelessness cloaked the hospital like an invisible fog.
When she broached the subject with her companion, he frowned and said reluctantly, "I don't like it either. Probably why I'm not a healer. Never could get used to it."
"Wait a minute," Bastila said, pausing in front of an open doorway. "I want to see who's in here."
"Why?"
Bastila smiled faintly, said, "The will of the Force," and entered a private room identical to that of Helena Shan's. The glow of the night life filtering through the window furnished the only illumination.
A young man lay shivering beneath the thin comforter of his bed. He was barely strong enough to turn his head. His dim green eyes, heavily shadowed, flickered to the doorway and watched in silent appraisal as Bastila came and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Who are you?" he asked curiously.
"My name's Bastila. I'm afraid you don't know me."
"Sure wish I did," the young man drawled. "What do you want?"
"You're a soldier, aren't you?" Bastila inquired.
"I was," he admitted. "What do you want?"
Bastila shrugged. "I don't know." She looked around, picked up a small package of smokes from the nightstand and offered the young man one of his own cigarras. "Smoke?"
He eyed her suspiciously. "Say, what is this?"
"I'm a Jedi," she told him. "I fought in the Rim."
He relaxed a little and eventually nodded at the cigarra she held in her hand. Bastila carefully placed it between his lips, holding it steady as she scraped a match into flame.
He said around the cigarra, "They say this stuff'll kill you, you know."
"Do you have any family?"
He said, "Bunch of farmers. Out on the Rim."
Bastila didn't say anything.
They watched as tendrils of smoke drifted lazily from the glowing tip of the cigarra up toward the ceiling.
"I'm glad it's over," he went on. "Didn't want to go home anyway. Ain't the same no more. Everybody all grown up. Better this way. You got any family?"
"No."
He stared up at the ceiling with thoughtful eyes. "I ain't scared no more. Every time I flew into a scrap, I was scared. I wanted to run away, go home. Now that I know, I ain't scared at all. Ain't that funny?
"You ever get scared, Bastila?"
Bastila reached over, gently took the cigarra from the man's lips and took a slow drag from it herself. "The Jedi," she said, coughing out a cloud of smoke, "have a saying: 'there is no death; there is only the Force.' "
"What's that mean?"
Bastila shrugged, ground out the cigarra. "It means you can never run away."
The man grunted.
After a moment, Bastila said, "I've done some terrible things. I've hurt a lot of people."
The soldier nodded. "Sure."
"Do you regret much?"
He stared at her with brooding eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said abruptly, getting to her feet, "but I have to go. Thank you for the cigarra."
"Hey, wait. Wait--before you go, can you do me one favor?"
"What is it?"
He said wistfully, "Take me with you, wherever you're going."
Bastila held his eyes for a moment, then put her fingers together in the shape of a blaster pistol. "Bang," she said softly, aiming at his head.
He smiled just a little and shut his eyes.
For a moment she hesitated, then walked out. Once more her escort walked behind her. They climbed silently into the speeder waiting outside and lifted into the air. Bastila leaned back in the cushions and closed her eyes.
A slight change in the motor noise told Bastila when they were slowing down. She looked out with sleepy eyes and saw the imposing stone temple of the Jedi Order growing steadily larger, until it towered over them like a giant sentinel in the night.
She waited while the man paid off the cab and it lifted back into the air and sped out from the cold shadow of the landing pad to rejoin the stream of evening traffic.
"Let's go," the man said.
"You don't have to wait for me," Bastila noted.
"Suit yourself. I'm going inside where it's warm. But don't take too long," he warned. "They won't like it, you know."
"I understand. Good night."
"See you tomorrow."
Bastila stood outside a bit longer, marveling at the twinkling glow of the millions of airspeeders in the night sky, at the illuminated windows in the urban skyscrapers of Coruscant. Behind those lights, families reunited laughed gaily and had dinner together; lovers welcomed each other home behind a storm of kisses and meaningless words. Yet others went to bed relieved that everything was finally over and getting back to normal.
A stranger to it all, Bastila turned and walked quietly into the temple.