I do not own Star Wars. Please don't sue me.
An Answer to an Unasked Question
The cantina was too crowded for Meaghan Caoilfhionn's tastes, which is to say, there were more than three people in it. Apart from the bartender and the serving droid, there was a Wookiee, an Ithorian, two Rodians playing an increasingly unfriendly game of pazaak in the corner, and ... something, with blue hair, a synthflesh device over half the face and a very long double-edged vibroblade strapped to the back.
And her. Funny how with everything she had once been - Jedi Knight, decorated general, war hero, mass murderer, world-destroyer, exile, thief, stowaway, captain, bounty hunter, target, bodyguard, victim, card shark, mark, smuggler, slicer, anything and everything a sentient could do on the edges of known space - she didn't even feel comfortable in a bar any more. Being around other people felt a lot like getting entangled in the tendrils of a Manaan stringfish - stinging and irritation, followed by a tight binding feeling around the chest, and a helpless struggle to free oneself ending in unconsciousness.
After this round, I'll clear out. Meaghan stared down at her glass, noticed the brown flecks floating in the ginger liquid and grimaced. On second thought, there's no time like the present.
She started to rise, then remembered she hadn't paid. In the few seconds it took to dig out the credits, someone just out of her line of sight sat down on the stool next to hers. "Is this seat taken?"
The voice, though pleasant, was low and indeterminate of gender, age or race. It belonged to the blue-haired sentient with the vibroblade strapped to the back. It smiled, or rather, it half-smiled.
Meaghan didn't bother trying to return it. "No, you can have it. I'm clearing out."
"I hope I'm not scaring you off?"
She placed the credits on the counter. "Not exactly."
The sentient chuckled. "No, it would take more than a bizarre bar patron to scare off the hero of Malachor V."
Meaghan's blood ran cold. "How did - "
The sentient shifted on the stool, leaning towards Meaghan - not quite enough to be in her personal space, but enough to speak more softly. "Oh, it isn't that hard, if one knows what one's looking for - and most people don't in this part of the galaxy. You've done a good job covering your tracks; or at least, I assume you have, if you're still alive and walking around after ten years. But you haven't done a single thing to change your appearance. Send you back to Republic space, walk you past someone who followed the news holos during the War, they'd nail you within two tries."
It took Meaghan's drink and threw it back in a single gulp, then turned and smiled at her. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
Her voice came out strained. "Strangely, I'm not comforted."
Another laugh, but this one sounded human, and feminine. Meaghan stared uneasily at the sentient, who just half-grinned back at her. "Ah, a sense of humor! You'll last a while yet."
Meaghan felt a strange sensation, similar to getting drunk or waking up slowly from a particularly realistic dream. "Who in the Nine Hells are y - what do you want with me?"
The serving droid rolled up, took a large glass off its tray and set it in front of the sentient, then took Meaghan's credits. "Would you like a refill?" it inquired, its synthesized voice nearly garbled by static.
"I'll pass," Meaghan muttered.
The droid rolled off, and the sentient leaned forward on the bar, still studying Meaghan closely. "You started to ask me who I was, then stopped. Why's that?"
"I'm beginning to get the feeling that even if you told me who you really were, and if it meant anything to me, I wouldn't like it."
The sentient didn't laugh this time, but made a sound of agreement as it - she? - took a swig from the glass. "A definite possibility these days." After another swig, it added, "It's irrelevant, in any case. What I'm here to say could be said by just about anyone. Probably would sound better from some, but that's not my point. My point is, what are you doing here?"
Meaghan stared down at the bar. It was a good question; one she hadn't bothered to ask herself in years. "Don't know anymore," she said finally, not completely sure why she was answering. "I guess it's become habit - bury myself deep, keep my own company, take any job that'll keep me alive another day, drink until I don't remember what I'm trying to forget, sleep with one eye open, and catch an off-world flight before anybody gets too close." She laughed flatly. "I guess you could say I've been running, though I don't know what from any more."
The sentient made an indeterminate sound as it swirled a finger in its drink. "So why are you still running?"
Meaghan sighed in irritation. "I don't know. Habit, I guess, like I said."
"Have you thought that might be a sign you should stop?"
The former Jedi shifted, almost angry. "No - and before you ask another question about something that's none of your business, maybe you could answer a few of mine. Do you make a point of hassling random bar-sitters about their life choices? What do you care about why I'm here, what I'm running from? Why are you here, anyway?"
The sentient chuckled very softly, more like an exhale that sounded vaguely like a laugh. "Sorry. Asking nosy questions is something of a hobby for me - though I guess most people would call it a bad habit." It took a drink, then looked off into the distance.
The expression on its face - or the half that showed of its face - made Meaghan feel suddenly strange. Like she had seen it before, somewhere.
"I wanted to give you some advice," the sentient said, giving an ironic half-smile. "Of course, the irony of me giving advice, to you of all people ..."
It took another drink while Meaghan stared. The bitterness in the last statement was nearly palpable. "I don't understand," she said.
"No, you wouldn't." It sighed, and drained the last of the glass. "I'm sorry. I'm really not trying to confuse you. I guess ... h***, I'll just come out and say it anyway.
"If you look around you, General, you'd find most people here are running or hiding from something; the law, an ex, a price on their head, themselves; but there are very few things in life you can outrun. Guilt isn't one of them. Believe me, I know."
Meaghan stared down at her hands. She had learned early on not to trust anyone on the Rim, no matter how genuine they seemed; but something about the way the sentient spoke wormed its way past her defenses and whispered she could trust it. "So are you one of the few who isn't running?"
"Yeah. For better or for worse, I've never really been one to run. I'm the idiot who stares certain death in the eye and charges, always either skilled enough or lucky enough to survive it. Something most people would call a 'gift'." Another mirthless laugh. "But then, this isn't about me. This isn't even about you. It's about all those people in the galaxy, the ones you think you betrayed during the Mandalorian Wars."
Meaghan closed her eyes.
A hand rested on hers. "Wait, General, I know this is unpleasant but please keep listening to me - I know what it's like to have something in your past you think you can't ever make up for, believe me. And I know what it's like to take on the endless forces of corruption, violence and evil in the galaxy, over and over and over again, and get knocked on your a** every time. And I can't promise that you'll achieve one thing you set out to do. But I can tell you, you'll get a h*** of a lot closer if you try than you will out here."
Tears stung at Meaghan's eyes as she tried to close them tighter. "And what," she asked in a taut voice, "do you think someone like me could do?"
The hand slipped into Meaghan's, squeezed tightly then slid back out. "More than you know, Meg," the sentient said softly. "Much more than you know."
There was the soft clink of more credits being placed on the counter, and though she didn't hear a sound Meaghan could sense the sentient had stood. Then she was alone, the noise and crowd in the bar somehow much farther away than they had been a few minutes ago.
She opened her eyes, and blinked. Unless the sentient had been trying to buy the entire bar, it had left too many credits behind. Unless, of course ...
Meaghan slid the credits into her hand, catching them between her fingers and studying them. Combined with the ones from her last job, there might be enough to get her back to Republic space.
She didn't know where she would go once she got there, much less what she would do. If anyone even wanted her help - a burnt-out exiled Jedi cut off from the Force, best known for the worst massacre in history ...
I can't promise you'll achieve one thing you set out to do. But I can tell you, you'll get a h*** of a lot closer if you try than you will out here.
Meaghan closed her hand around the credits, and got up. If she hurried, she might be able to catch the last shuttle to the space port.