Radiance: A Star Wars Story
By Who Is Caligula (2007)
A horizontal hailstorm of red lasers enveloped Venrev, showers of brilliant sparks scorching his simple robes. At the far end of the hallway, six security droids charged toward him. Their bulk afforded them no special grace as they fired incessantly at the Jedi, but their aim was far more accurate than Venrev would have preferred. He kept his lightsaber in constant motion, the blade spinning quickly enough that a distant spectator could mistake the weapon for a disc-like shield of blinding blue. Like the blade itself, the laser bolts being fired at him were entirely weightless. The success of his defensive maneuvers could be most easily gauged through sound, yet the quick crackle of bolt hitting blade was thrumming mercilessly in his ears. It was unlikely that he would be capable of concocting self-congratulatory remarks in his head any time soon.
His only real encouragement at this point was that a small mishap or lapse in focus would likely result in death.
"We're in" called a voice not far behind him. It was not a loud voice, yet it cut through the air with a power that would overwhelm any weapon visible in the current conflict.
Venrev steadied himself against the fiery onslaught, deflecting laser bolts while slowly making his way to the source of that voice. The corner would provide temporary shelter from the danger, yet he refused to rush himself. Blocking incoming laser fire was a task that required precision and timing that most beings did not possess.
Then again, most beings were not as closely attuned to the Force as a Jedi.
Flinging his back against the protective wall, Venrev forced himself to relax his breathing. He listened. The intensity of the laser fire seemed to relax in kind. He knew that the droids would charge around the corner in mere seconds. That left them plenty of time, though.
"Venrev", the icy voice beckoned him from an adjacent elevator. Two quick strides took him inside the lift, and the doors snapped sharply behind him.
"That was impressive work. You are improving."
Still working to control his breathing, Venrev turned to the hooded silhouette at his right. The figure was short, with no identifying marks or skin visible from his current angle, save for the slender hands which hung relaxed at the sides. The merciless light of the elevator was not enough to surrender the figure's identity, although it did bounce sharply off the metallic shaft of a lightsaber. The weapon peeked out from a fringe of tattered robe. He secretly relished every opportunity to witness his master's combat skills firsthand. Its blade sung chords in a flurry of yellow light, stunning for the eyes and ears of all species. Venrev took note of his desire to see the blade dance once more in his mentor's hands, and gave himself a mental pinch. Warfare is a last resort, not a wonder to witness.
There, he thought. That sounds like something she would say to me.
"Thank you, Master. I don't think I've seen anyone slice into a secure elevator so quickly". The word "slice" was slang for "hack", and Venrev typically avoided using slang in his teacher's presence. It took a great deal of skill to gain access to a secure computer terminal, such as the one controlling the elevator they currently occupied. Master Zhar had no shortage of skill.
"You would do well to relax, Padawan. You will need that young energy soon enough."
"Oh," was all that escaped Venrev's lips. He noticed how slick the grip on his lightsaber had become. He'd been clutching it tightly all this time. Flustered, he wiped the excess perspiration on his robe and reattached the weapon to a clip on his belt.
Venrev was nineteen years old, and at the end of days like this, he sometimes looked a few years older. He was intensely passionate about his journey to become a Jedi, a passion that had not gone unnoticed by several skeptical trainers. He wasn't sure of the exact age he'd started training, and never bothered to ask. Normally, new recruits are only accepted when they are a few years old, supposedly to prevent them from becoming too attached to "parental figures". He, like many Jedi Padawans in training, knew next to nothing of his biological parents. Typically, parents are thrilled to hear that their child has the potential to become a great Jedi Knight, an honored hero of the Republic. Upon hearing the news, it was not uncommon for celebrations to be held for the family being honored. Not everyone took the news well, of course. There were many who were strongly opposed to the idea of a group of mysterious monks taking away their young child for a life of hardship and danger, never to be seen by the parents again. Even though the child could not be initiated into the Jedi Order without parental approval, there were many who used this controversial practice in their arguments to speak out against the Order; such criticism threatened to destabilize the traditionally close ties kept between the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order. Such political musings were only of mild interest to Venrev; he much preferred to keep focused on the issue at hand.
Sometimes, Venrev wondered if his parents held a party in celebration of his recruitment.
"Breathe, Venrev. Always remember to breathe. It is crucial to your survival".
The voice seeped into the center of his wandering thoughts, and Venrev felt cool air filling his oxygen-starved lungs, veins, and heart. He shut his eyes, stretching into the Force, feeling the nutrients pass through the bodies of all living things. It was a circular thing, invisible and beautiful all at once. Tranquility returned to him.
Master Zhal had always been an excellent teacher for Venrev. After undergoing basic training, a Padawan is usually selected for apprenticeship at the hands of a Jedi Master, the highest rank a Jedi may achieve. Once the Padawan reaches the rank of Knight, they are no longer under the supervision of a Jedi Master. Venrev was not even close to reaching the rank of Jedi Knight, and he was glad for it. He knew he had a great deal to learn, and Master Zhal was more than qualified for the task.
She was like a mother to him. Sometimes he felt as though he loved her, and did not relish the thought of being promoted to Jedi Knight and sent away to some distant world, never again hearing her voice. How could he possibly do that? She was the greatest source of inspiration, security, support, and wisdom in his life. He knew attachments were not encouraged among the Jedi, but surely they didn't expect him to be paired with a Jedi Master for over a decade and never develop any sort of bond. Perhaps he would visit the archives when they returned to Coruscant, and see if they held any of the answers he sought.
Or, if time permitted, he could ask Zhal. He could speak to her about anything, after all. He trusted her with his life.
"You may collapse if you fail to speak your mind. The ride is a long one, and we have precious minutes to spare. Speak."
Venrev couldn't help grinning. Master Zhal knew him so well, he often felt like she could read his thoughts. She was probably capable of invading his mind if she wanted to, although her Jedi scruples would have prevented her from doing such a thing, unless circumstances demanded it. He was fairly certain that intense emotions could be easily perceived by Jedi Masters. He had yet to master his own emotions, in fact, and he suspected that an observer lacking any skill with the Force would be able to read his young face like a book.
"Do you know anything about what we're up against?" Venrev asked, somber professionalism framing his voice.
"No more than what you've already been told in the briefing", she replied, her voice filling the tiny elevator with an almost tangible calm. It didn't matter what they knew. Venrev felt at ease. Their mission would succeed. No mission had failed when his master had been involved. He'd experienced his own set of mishaps, to be sure. None of his tasks had been particularly vital, however, and he still felt like a generally competent Padawan making decent progress. Zhal frequently complimented his patience, and assured him that it would serve him well as a Jedi.
"Do you think this man, this colonel, will resist capture? I've heard some pretty strange things about him."
"Yes. Resistance is to be expected, so be on your guard", was all she offered before the elevator's mechanical humming came to a halt, and the doors swished open. They immediately exited, and Venrev studied the expanse of this new hallway while following his master down a path she seemed to already be familiar with.
Colonel Greck was, as Venrev recalled, a target of high priority for the Republic. He could not easily recall the face of this man from the briefing, but nothing in his list of crimes against the Republic seemed particularly outstanding. He'd been in charge of several assaults on Republic vessels, but they were primarily strategic attacks that hampered supply routes rather than causing widespread death and destruction. The rumors that surrounded Greck were far more interesting than the list of his offenses, in Venrev's opinion. Another Padawan from the academy informed Venrev that the colonel was afflicted with a strange emotional imbalance, and that the unpredictability of his wrath made him a feared officer among those who served under him. Prior to this, Venrev had been conducting some basic research, trying to learn as much as he could about his objective. An obscure tabloid suggested that Colonel Greck could manipulate the Force to some extent, and that it gave him a mysterious shield against any Jedi who tried to harm him. The academy's librarians scoffed at this possibility, and Venrev had no reason to believe that a lowly tabloid would bear greater truth than several highly respected Jedi Masters.
Either way, the great Master Zhal and her dedicated student had things under control. They were going to win this one, and Venrev never once doubted the inevitability of success as they jogged down the vacant hallway toward their goal.
Lieutenant Kyn took deep breaths, struggling to maintain the crisp gait of an officer befitting his rank. The air on the bridge was always so damned cold, and for once, Kyn was grateful. His CIS uniform was probably the itchiest, most uncomfortable attire he'd worn in his entire life. No, wait. His mother forced him to wear some exotic costume to a festival when he was a very small boy. That was pretty awful, too. It made him feel like his entire body was being trapped against his will. He remembered crying for hours about it, and his mother seemed completely oblivious to his screams, waving him off with her hand while she chatted with her friends.
Oh, well. That was behind him now.
He was a CIS officer of distinguished rank, and the colonel was eagerly awaiting the information that Kyn now carried at the tip of his tongue. Kyn felt very important as he strolled down the metallic pathway leading to his colonel, focusing intently on the man's stolid posture. The colonel stood alone, his gaze fixed squarely on the window, at the twinkling black blanket of space. Suddenly, Kyn felt nervous. He would be alone when he spoke to his colonel, with everyone else on the bridge being at least several meters away. He didn't like the idea of having the colonel's full attention on him.
Too late, though. He was in position, and had to speak the words that he'd rehearsed at least sixteen times in his head already.
"Colonel Greck, sir, the intruders have reached the loading bay. Flooding will commence on your command".
The colonel was silent for several beats. Kyn felt an irrepressible urge to scratch his cheek.
"Proceed", the command came at last. Colonel Greck did not turn to face his lieutenant; he remained a statue, as always, and Kyn was not even certain that the word had even been spoken by the colonel. It was almost disembodied, like the voice of a deity. The effect was more than enough to snap Lieutenant Kyn into action. He instantly turned, made his way down a twisting flight of stairs, and delivered his colonel's command to the technicians who were silently awaiting orders near an orderly array of glowing screens and control panels.
Everyone knew that Jedi were not to be trifled with. They were extremely dangerous, deceptive, and virtually invincible. The poor lieutenant nearly fainted when he'd first been informed of the infiltration of two Jedi several hours ago. Kyn hated the idea of letting the Jedi get this close to the bridge, but he finally allowed himself a sigh of relief. In a matter of moments, it would all be over.
At long last, he scratched his cheek.
Venrev was never one to fear heights, but navigating a catwalk in total darkness was almost as nerve-wracking as his previous encounter with the security droids. His anxieties were doubled by the fact that the catwalk hung quite a distance from the floor, and what little illumination his master's lightsaber offered was still not enough to let him see just how far down the walls went before any sort of floor interrupted them.
For all he knew, there was no floor. The drop appeared endless, like some terrifying abyss.
It is easy to fear the unknown. It is far more difficult to enter that fear.
Enter the fear? Venrev had no intention of leaping down from the catwalk and plummeting through the infinite darkness below. The flicker of fear in his chest was enough to silence the words of his mentor, which frequently echoed in his head. They could always guide him out of confusion and insecurity, frequent drifts from the path of the Jedi, which Venrev believed would diminish over time. For all his worrying, Venrev was still largely regarded as an optimist, by himself and his peers. He firmly believed that things would always improve, given enough time.
Venrev had once expressed the optimism he felt toward the future, and his master had responded by offering him a glimpse of that rare, subtle smirk that sometimes crossed her withered lips. She reminded him that he was still young, and that he would soon come to understand the great complexity of the universe.
The memory of this event was not playing in his head at the moment, however. Venrev instead kept his attention steadied on his footing, eyes trained on the silvery lattice of the catwalk. Master Zhal guided him through the unknown darkness, her active lightsaber serving as a beacon to her apprehensive apprentice.
Venrev had little time to analyze the sharp clicking sound that erupted from the walls. A sudden flash of light blinded him, and several seconds passed before he heard his master's voice cut through his confusion.
"Your weapon, Venrev. Turn it on."
Although he was unable to see clearly in the foggy light, this command allowed Venrev to steady his hand and reach for the lightsaber sitting dormant on his belt. He felt for the activation switch, and was immediately comforted when it hissed to life in his hands. The fog of the room seemed to fade, and he could at last see the scale of the room he'd been clumsily navigating in the dark.
It was indeed a large room, but disappointingly simple with its angular, metallic surfaces. He wasn't sure what its purpose was, but he did his best to avoid raising his eyes to the lights which showered him relentlessly from above. The catwalk was clearly visible now. Unfortunately, the pair of Jedi had reached only the halfway point of this catwalk, and it was obvious that something in their immediate future threatened to end their lives.
Below the catwalk, the floor swirled and churned. It took a moment for Venrev to realize that floor was not actually morphing, but that it was being quickly flooded with a strange, grey fluid. He could not see the source of the flooding, and assumed there was at least one valve somewhere at the bottom of the room. His mind was already racing toward a solution, and his fear became so disorienting that it took him a moment to process the words spoken by his mentor.
"Throw it in".
The words made little sense in his head. Did she mean for him to throw his lightsaber, his most prized possession, into the mysterious pool below? Surely not.
"Master-"
"The liquid you see is an experimental fuel", she spoke in an almost comically quiet voice. "It is highly volatile, and the Separatists have been hoping to take advantage of this chemical property in combat. Republic vessels are reluctant to fire on a Separatist vessel suspected of carrying this fuel unless they are at a safe firing range. The fuel is a defensive weapon of our enemy."
It seemed like an ingenious tactic, although it did little to explain his master's strange request. Venrev opened his mouth to speak once more-
"Our enemy relies upon fear as a deterrent that will ensure his own survival. He floods this room with fuel, hoping that we will either drown in it or eventually set off the spark of our own demise. Right now, the flooding is shallow. We will escape this danger as we have escaped all others. If you trust me, you will cast your weapon into the fuel below".
Of course, Venrev trusted his master more than he trusted himself. He slid his thumb down a panel on the weapon that would allow his blade to remain active even after the weapon left his hand. Crafting this blue-bladed beauty had taken a great deal of time, effort, and concentration. He strongly disliked the idea of abandoning his lightsaber, his pride.
All things end. We need only accept it.
Yes, she was right. He would abandon his pride, and let the lightsaber go. He allowed himself to glance at its shiny surface once more as he extended the active weapon over the catwalk-
"Do it, Venrev. You will lose either your lightsaber or your life."
He clenched his eyes shut as he released the weapon. It was a good thing, too, as the loud "pop" below escalated into an instant explosion that would have resulted in at least several hours of blindness if Venrev had stared directly into it. Instead, he was fortunate to feel only the shudder of the catwalk as darkness took him once more.
His ears would ring for several hours thereafter, but he would not let it bother him. All things had to end eventually, right?
Kyn felt hours of tension melt from his body once the small, green activation light flickered on. That meant that the flooding had begun. The Jedi were gone now. There was no danger. He was safe.
The lieutenant steadied himself against the control panel while he caught his breath. He felt exhausted, but he would rest later. He still had several more hours of duty, and he wanted to personally deliver the good news to his colonel. He wasn't expecting any effusive congratulatory remarks, but he could certainly congratulate himself.
Congratulations, Lieutenant. You've done well.
There, that felt nice. It wasn't the same as hearing it from someone else, but it made him feel very satisfied with himself.
A red light flickered on the control panel.
Kyn felt his heart jump in his chest.
"What's going on?" he barked at the Rodian tech nearest his position at the console.
"Damage. Loading bay. Explosion. Jedi must be dead now', the tech answered in broken Huttese. Kyn had never been particularly fond of the language, particularly when spoken by poorly-educated Rodians. His mottled sentences were not terribly reassuring.
The fuel flooding was intended to drown the Jedi, not trigger an explosion. If the Jedi had been foolish enough to ignite themselves, the damage to the ship could be extensive. Wouldn't he get into trouble? Kyn didn't want any trouble, especially not from the colonel.
He prayed the rumors were false.
The Rodian was right, though. The Jedi could not have survived such an explosion, and so the worst of it was over.
He could relax again, if only a little.
Venrev tried desperately to extract an explanation from his master, but to no avail. As they jogged through the poorly-lit corridors, he tried to piece together the events that had recently befallen them. He remembered sacrificing his lightsaber and triggering an explosion with some sort of fuel, but that was it. How did they survive the blast? He could barely hear his own footsteps, and he suddenly worried if his master's explanation had merely been below his threshold of hearing.
He considered himself lucky to be able to hear anything, at this point.
Finally, they arrived at a door much larger than any of those previously encountered. Here they halted, and Zhal turned to her pupil to speak to him. Her hooded cloak concealed her eyes, and only the thin, cracked mouth moved as her voice consumed him with its boundless power.
"This is the bridge, Venrev. Here the success of our mission will be decided".
Venrev felt edgy, eager to get this over with. He glanced at the vastness of the door that stood before them. His master's tone sharpened, as if sensing his lack of focus.
"Be careful. There is a fog here, one which cannot be penetrated. I do not know what will happen in the coming moments, but remember everything I have taught you. You will need it if you are to survive."
Rather than ease him, his master's words sparked anxiety deep within him. Venrev realized, at this moment, that they would likely be charging into battle and he was completely unarmed.
It is only an object.
Yes, his master was right. Lightsabers were only objects, objects which carried no real power. His master would see to his defense in battle, and what she could not do, the Force would do for him.
He hoped.
Greck stood at the bridge, silent and still. His behavior served to reinforce his predatory image. The moment the door opened, there was a predictable flash of light as one of the Jedi activated a lightsaber and held it in a defensive posture. The Jedi appeared to be a humanoid female of great age, while the other, pale with short-cropped hair, looked like a Jedi apprentice of lowly rank.
Like the Jedi, Greck knew this was going to be fast.
The Colonel held his ground while the Jedi surveyed their new surroundings. The Padawan had yet to learn the subtlety of combat; his eyes flickered wildly across the room as he studied the platforms of the deck, the twin staircases, the light body armor adorning each of the twelve Rodian officers, the clumsy stance their poor training afforded them as they held their blasters like eating utensils. No matter. The Jedi were severely outnumbered in this scenario.
"You were very lucky to have made it this far", Greck congratulated the pair as he took a single stride toward them. There were many officers between himself and the Jedi, and he felt no fear.
"There is no luck. There is only the Force", replied the younger Jedi in a near shout. He was already riled up? This was going to be very easy indeed.
"I see. And has the Force informed you of just how many Jedi have died by my hand?"
The pale Padawan offered no reply, but he twitched noticeably. His conviction was frail. Greck turned his attention to the senior interloper, most likely the mentor. Silver tresses cascaded from her hood, which concealed all but the wrinkled mouth, thin and cruel under the chronic hardships of a Jedi lifestyle. Her lightsaber was the color of electrum, like the nauseating light of industrial-strength lasers used in CIS droid factories. The golden blade careened marvelously through the air, which was instantly laced with panicked blaster fire from all directions. Greck did not flinch in the midst of this inevitable chaos. He watched patiently as each of his crewmen fell to the floor, and silence resumed.
It was very quick.
As the pair of Jedi closed in on him, their victory imminent, a voice erupted from behind one of the larger control panels. It was Lieutenant Kyn, that bumbling fool of an officer, who could not see anything in the galaxy that extended beyond the edge of his own cap.
"Colonel! Get down!" he screamed ineffectually.
The distraction was satisfactory in triggering further chaos, however. Greck drew his blaster the minute the Padawan turned to the source of the noise.
"Venrev, keep-"
The older Jedi was cut off by the sound of Greck's blaster. He'd wisely chosen the Jedi Master as his first target, and catching her off guard had been crucial in Greck's success. She collapsed to the floor with disappointing speed, meager possessions dropping with her; frail bones, cheap garments, delicate lightsaber, all of it.
"Master!"
This was the only sound Greck heard before finding himself flat on his back, and a pair of small fists swatting at his face. Annoyed, he shoved the young lad off, and rolled to his feet.
The Padawan rose and summoned the lightsaber of his fallen master. It glowed in his hands with a ferocity that could be matched only by that seen in his eyes. The CIS Colonel patted the dust from his uniform as though he'd merely taken a bad fall.
Greck hated children.
The first lunge was easily dodged, a haphazard misdirection of the boy's anger. There was nothing left for this pathetic Padawan now. Nothing but this sad attempt at revenge, and then he would become one with the Force, like his master.
The second swipe passed admittedly closer to its target, but was far too sluggish. Greck seized the armed wrist of the boy and, rather than deal him a crippling blow, merely twisted it to release the weapon and allow it to clatter upon the deck. A gasp of pain, and the boy dropped to all fours. This was not an act of mercy; the boy was merely an agitation for the Colonel, not a true threat to his safety.
Two moves. Greck was in no rush, but there were several tasks remaining on his schedule for the day. Sadly, this left him little time for personal indulgences. The colonel raised his blaster, precisely aligning the weapon sight as though his target was a distant one. The Jedi remained prostrate before him. Greck found the boy's lack of resistance to be utterly disappointing.
At least his end would be quick.