Disclaimer: I do not own some of the characters in this story, and I do not own the Star Wars universe. Some of the content in this story, however, is original and that is mine. Please do not steal.
Part I
The Iridonian waited in the shadows, a strong breeze blowing in from the window behind him. Tirelessly, he watched the Jedi sleep. At his side, a small gray remote hovered a few feet off the ground. He had been contacted by the medical droids in the small hospital annex the day before, and he had returned to the hospital to recover the Jedi, as he had sworn to do. An uneasy feeling persisted in the Iridonian's chest, a feeling which the Force had stirred in him as he made the journey to Jaroon, a tiny, inconsequential jungle planet in the outer stretches of the galaxy. And now he was there, back again on Jaroon, back to find that the Jedi had awoken. Finally, the last of their troop had recovered.
The Jedi's chest rose and fell gently under the stiff duvet; he appeared peaceful and whole, the last of his injuries having healed months ago. A reddish-blonde beard darkened his jaw, and his hair had grown out into soft yellow waves. Bao-dur took a step toward the hospital bed, he had been waiting for hours for the Jedi to stir, and his patient, silent watch had provoked painful memories, memories he had hoped to forget.
"You will come for him," she had said, standing in the hallway outside that very room. It was a year ago that she had left, a year ago that Bao-dur had been given this mission.
"Yes, General," the Iridonian replied, respectful even at the end. He was no fool, he knew this could be their last meeting and it was not in his nature to deny her anything. The woman nodded, meeting his eyes.
"This is your final task, your obligation to me is ended," she added.
"Will you return if he wakes?" Bao-dur asked.
"No. Where I am going, no one may follow. There is a very good chance I shall not return."
Bao-Dur saluted the petite Jedi. The woman turned to go, holding her shoulders back despite the exhaustion in her eyes. Bao-dur watched her take a few pained steps down the hall and then called out to her.
"Why are you doing this?"
"He must reach Dantooine. He has a destiny there and he will be needed. My destiny is apart, I must go to the Unknown Regions, I am our last hope against the Sith empire. I know it sounds crazy, but what choice do I have?"
She turned, hesitated, and then came back down the hall. Smiling, she hugged the Iridonian to her and they stood embracing for several minutes; Bao-dur could not remember how long exactly. It was good to have human contact, to touch someone else. He could feel the Force moving through her, sliding into him, bolstering his heart with a little jolt of courage. This was her power, he knew, the power to bring out the very best in her companions. If he could have convinced her to stay he would have tried, but he knew that her mind, once made up, was a formidable, concrete thing.
"And if he asks after you?" Bao-dur whispered. In his arms, she flinched.
"Tell him… Tell him that the Force unites us all."
Bao-dur watched her leave through a mist of tears, his remote hovering a few feet away, beeping mournfully. While he had been charged with a tricky task, the journey ahead of her was far worse. Bao-dur feared that she was making a mistake, giving up the one thing that could see her through to the end, the one thing that might bring her back alive.
Now, looking down at the wounded Jedi, Bao-Dur knew that it would not be as simple as the woman had predicted. Perhaps she had known Bao-Dur would encounter difficulties with the Jedi, and it warmed him to think that she believed him capable of helping such an important man. She trusted him, that much was clear, but the responsibility fell hard on his shoulders; the Jedi would want answers and Bao-Dur was not certain he was prepared to give them.
The Jedi groaned, his eyes opening slowly, blinking, refocusing. Bao-Dur came to the side of the bed and forced a smile. Two crystal blue eyes stared up at him, sleepy and uncertain.
"Do I know you?" the Jedi asked.
"Do not strain yourself, friend, it has been a long time since you looked on my face."
"Was I asleep?"
"In a way," Bao-Dur murmured. "There was an accident, a crash. You were wounded and brought here."
"How long was I asleep?" the Jedi stirred, his hands coming to his face, feeling the full beard.
"A year," the Iridonian replied, swallowing hard, "You've been gone for a year."
- - -
Dantooine had not experienced such a stretch of gray weather in centuries. The plains were darkened by thick storm clouds which had arrived in late summer and stayed into winter. Rain fell daily, encouraging the young, newly-planted trees among the Jedi enclave to thrive. Their icy blue blossoms persisted into winter and had only just begun to fall, scattering the pathways with little petal tear-drops, filling the air with their lush, over-ripe sweetness.
The Disciple's demeanor agreed with the weather; the clouds had come to mimic his mood. He had remarked, half-joking, to another Jedi that until he felt better the storm-front would remain. When Bao-Dur had brought him to the enclave, they found it in shambles with only a few Jedi working hard to rebuild the shattered halls and desecrated shrines. They had wandered the cracking pavement and marveled at the still-standing statues that were missing arms, ears, hands.
That had been months ago; now the enclave burst with new life and high expectations. Jedi trickled in from every corner of the galaxy. Some had simply been in hiding until the enclave was officially restored while others had only just felt the call of the Force recently. The Jedi had hesitated to announce the official re-opening of the enclave, but in the end, it was the Disciple who convinced them that hiding would only make them more vulnerable.
The wind picked up as the Disciple stood on a low hill overlooking the plains. After the initial flood of work to do, the enclave had settled down into a more relaxed schedule. There had been so much to do, clearing the Kinrath from the area, helping the residents of Dantooine rebuild their homes, establishing trade with nearby planets, training militia to help protect the citizens, cleaning out the destroyed enclave itself and ensuring the last of the laigrek nests were burned. Now, however, there was little to do but meditate, converse with the other Jedi, and send polite missives to suspected Jedi still in hiding. While at first the Disciple had looked forward to speaking with his fellow Jedi about the state of the galaxy, now he found himself infested with a restless energy.
The scent of the enclave's trees reached him even here, apart, and his stomach tightened. He had expected the enclave to fill him with hope and a new sense of duty, but instead he felt oddly smothered. Bao-Dur had insisted on staying, offering to help rebuild the security system and install upgrades. The Jedi were grateful and even asked the Iridonian to stay and train, to strengthen his ties to the Force.
"You're going to get sick if you stand out here all day. It's freezing."
The Disciple turned and found a pretty young Twi'lek peering at him. Despite his brooding, the Disciple smiled and bowed to the girl.
"Thank you, Mission. I had lost myself again in thought."
"You do that a lot, huh?"
The Disciple nodded, starting down the hill toward her. Together, they walked slowly toward the enclave and the blustering wind eased. Mission had arrived in the months of reconstruction, volunteering her services as a tech expert and also demonstrating an impressive knowledge of the Force. Her time with the Jedi Revan had inspired her to feel inklings of the Force and gradually she had begun to wield that little spark. Mission did not strike the Disciple as a particularly disciplined learner, but she had a great deal of energy and optimism, which the Order was in desperate need of. She was also, predictably, the secret target of every male's desire. The Disciple felt a vague attraction to her, as if it was his duty to find her alluring, and her feelings toward him remained hidden. However, the Disciple guessed that she preferred his company because of his neutrality; he did not openly stare at her, he seemed to truly respect her.
"Bao is worried about you," she went on, playing idly with one of her belts. "He says you shouldn't be wandering around in the cold."
"I'm quite fully recovered, if that is his concern."
"You know that's not true," she countered. "I mean you're remembering lots of stuff, sure, but Bao says there's still things you're fuzzy on."
"I know," he murmured. Mission seemed to sense his frailty on the subject and backed off.
"It's okay with me, though. Sometimes it's good to forget. I get a little sad, ya know, thinking of Zaalbar all by himself. He's smart though; I know he'll be fine on his own. Maybe it's me that needs him," Mission said.
"A good observation," the Disciple replied. "If you can recognize your dependence on his influence, you may eventually learn to outgrow it. We must all learn to draw power from our own knowledge; dependence on another can be dangerous."
Mission grew quiet, perhaps too quiet. The Disciple was moved to silence himself, surprised at what he had said. He had never championed solitude, but perhaps his amnesia had wiped that slate clean. It was easier now to see the advantages in self-reliance.
"People need other people," Mission finally stated.
"You are right."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, each reflecting on what she had said. For the Disciple, it was impossible to escape the feeling that an immense secret was being kept from him. He acknowledged, internally, that he was a man apart, separate from the new Order not only because of his extraordinary knowledge of the Force, but because Mission, Bao and the rest of them knew something he did not. Frequently he found that when he entered a room, the conversation fell silent and the Jedi would awkwardly begin a new discussion, different from the first.
The Disciple had not born this feeling silently. He had raged, sometimes to the point of absurdity, at poor Bao-Dur. The Iridonian insisted that the Jedi attempt to recall his memories on his own and without the aid of Bao-Dur, who worried that he would color the Disciple's perceptions of past events. This evasion was successful until the Disciple's own heart began to inform him of omissions. What did they know?
When they reached the entrance to the enclave, Mission stopped him.
"I need to ask you something," she said, glancing around to make sure they were alone.
"You may ask anything of me, Mission."
"Bao… Do you… Does he like me?"
"Like you? Of course, everyone here is devoted to you," the Disciple replied.
"Okay maybe that's not what I mean. Maybe… Just forget it."
The Disciple attempted to call her back, but Mission had fled, bolting through the doors of the enclave and sprinting away, her blue cheeks tinged with humiliation. It was not until he reached the library and immersed himself in a new text by an Ithorian separatist that Mission's question returned to his thoughts. The Disciple knew, of course, what she was hinting at, but he did not feel in the least qualified to speak for Bao-Dur, especially regarding matters of the heart. It had been in his way to remain out of these squabbles, choosing instead to observe from a distance.
There was something else, however, in her query that unnerved him. For some reason, it had stirred a memory, faint, on the very edge of his brain. He often found that he could not remember long stretches of his past, including, most regrettably, his own name. Bao-Dur informed him that he had never gone by his name and since he did not know it, it would be difficult to rediscover.
"My name," he whispered, setting down the datapad he had been reading. The others in the library faded away, and he felt alone. He closed his eyes, searching, allowing the solitude to comfort
him, strengthen him. And there it was again, the sense that a great secret loomed just over his head, on everyone's mind, unavailable to him. The planet itself seemed set against him, as if a giant, invisible hand was pushing on him from above, forcing him toward the ground, shrouding him in ignorance. Though the Jedi in the enclave were powerful, the Disciple had trained harder, longer and understood the Force more intimately than any of them.
Concentrating, he spread his mind out, searching for the source of the secret, discovering that instead of one person hiding the information, many were. An entire network of minds worked to keep the secret, holding it somewhere, barricaded behind a joint wall of energy.
"Impossible," the Disciple murmured, opening his eyes. They were conspiring, everyone with even a shred of Force ability on the planet; they were all hiding the secret together. But he now had an advantage, he knew, seeing this betrayal would allow him to search for its weak points without suspicion. He would have the secret, and he would know his past.