The velvety darkness of space unfolded around a derelict old cruiser as it exited hyperspace. The little freighter was in poor condition. The hull, already rusting away, was peppered with great black scorch marks, still steaming from the hot lasers which had impacted there. The starboard stabilizer had been shorn off entirely, causing the cruiser to list to one side. The exhaust was smoking profusely.
Inside the cruiser, things weren't much better. A tall young man jerked the safety straps off and peeled himself away from the pilot's seat. He staggered towards the rear of the ship. Pulling away a panel in the hall off of the engine, he began taking stock of his situation.
"Hyperfuel is gone." He squinted at the damaged monitor, struggling to see the readouts. "And sublight fuel is draining fast." Brow furrowed in concern, he returned to the pilot's seat and began checking navigational systems to determine his location.
Meisen Vento was lucky. He had jumped without setting coordinates in order to get away, and had his ship been intact, he'd have ended up in the emptiness of space, too far to reach anything. However, because he'd lost that right stabilizer, he'd drifted considerably, ending up just within landing distance of a habitable planet.
He was in the Ross system. He hadn't heard of it before, but the databank on his ship let him know that while it was a mostly untamed planet, with wide stretches of varying ecosystems, it had a few large cities towards its equator. It seemed to be outside the notice of both the Empire and of Crimson Dawn.
This had all started that morning. Meisen had been slummed up on Nar Shadda. There weren't many options for formal schooling outside of the Imperial Academy, and while he didn't have much feeling for the Rebellion, he also didn't fancy cutting them or any number of peaceful peoples down in the name of the Empire. So, with not much more than the clothes on his back, he'd made his way from his own backwater planet to Nar Shadda's spaceport. He'd done nothing more than a few odd jobs, mostly menial tasks normally entrusted to droids. Meisen had barely managed to scrape by.
He'd learned quickly that means of self-protection were vital out in the galaxy. He had been mugged at blasterpoint after a delivery. The thief, thinking that the container Meisen carried still held its contents, had cornered him in a dark and empty alley. Luckily, after the thief realized that Meisen didn't have anything of value, he ran off. Meisen went straight home, broke out his meager savings, and bought himself a sidearm. It was an old and secondhand model, and tended to fire just a hair off-center, but its mere presence was enough to simaltaneuosly ward off most petty thieves and provide a sense of security to Meisen.
It was two months after the mugging that he had been offered the job. Meisen had headed to a greasy bar that served as a bounty board for those looking to make a quick buck. He got there early that morning, before any small bounty chaser had gotten to that day's bounties. KD-45I, the dusty old droid that served as bartender and bounty giver, looked up as he walked in.
"Vento!" KD greeted urgently. "Come over here! Quick!" Meisen had never been adressed by name, even surname, by the old droid. He made his way past a few snoring drunks from the night before and stopped at the bar.
"I didn't know you knew my name." Meisen said, taking a seat. KD wasn't capable of squinting, but his intention was clear as his eyes dimmed and his head tilted.
"I make it a point to know the name of everyone who enters this bar, Meisen Vento." KD said. "You're in luck today. Someone just posted this bounty. It's a real catch." KD pushed a datacard towards Meisen.
Meisen studied the datacard, eyes wide. The poster was offering a hundred thousand credits, and a ship, in exchange for intercepting cargo of unspecified contents, and delivery of said cargo to a dead-drop on Coreillia.
"Is this legit, KD?" Meisen asked, looking back up from the datacard.
"Vento, if I were in better condition, I wouldn't even be offering this to you." he replied. "If you had any brains, you'd take it now before anyone else shows up, or finds out about it." Meisen hesitated briefly, then slid the datacard off the counter and into his pocket.
"Thank you, KD."
He contacted the anonymous poster, accepting the job. The poster replied back almost immediately. They provided further instructions concerning the job.
Your ship will be at the south side hangar, at port forty-seven.
Your money per diem will be in the smuggler's compartment, as will equipment you may need.
The cargo is aboard a pleasure yacht that will be docked in the same hangar, at port eighty-two.
UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES are you to open the cargo. It is of a sensitive nature, and readouts with specific values must be regularly observed in order to maintain the integrity of the cargo.
Meisen had made his way immediately to the aforementioned hangar, and located his new ship. It was a small cruiser, and moderately careworn, but it would have taken him years of odd jobs to pay for anything like it.
Once aboard, he took stock of everything. The ship didn't have a formal name, but instead a designation comprised of twenty or so numbers. He made his way towards the cargo hold. Behind a false panel was a case, full of credits, as well as as illegal, non-Imperial currency, which would be useful in the Outer Rim. A pair of macrobinoculars and other assorted bits of gear and equipment filled the small space.
Meisen sat himself down at the controls, introspective. He had woken up this morning with meager savings and no immediate plan for his life other than survive. Now, he could go anywhere in the galaxy, and he would be able to pay for most anything he could want. It was a little too good to be true. There had to be a catch.
Once he had arrived at port eighty-two, he knew what the catch was.
The yacht was a stark contrast to the little cruiser he'd gotten. It was immense, and sleek. Everything was crisp and clean. But what most drew his eye, and stopped his heart in his throat, was the symbol emblazoned on the side. It was the symbol of the Crimson Dawn.
The Crimson Dawn were the most ruthless gang in the galaxy, despite the posturing and insinuating of the Hutts and the Pikes. They operated with the most brutal prejudice. Never was anything stolen away under the nose of its owner. It was taken, by force. There would be no mistaking the perpetrator.
Meisen regretted even walking into the bar that morning. He broke into a cold and anxious sweat. He'd gotten in way over his head. How could he be expected to steal from Crimson Dawn?
He pulled away from the yacht, trying to put some distance between himself and the possibility of meeting anyone from Crimson Dawn. It was at that moment that things seemed to get even worse.
A detachment of stormtroopers entered the hangar, their armored boots echoing throughout the hall as they marched in unison. Meisen's mind began to race a mile a minute. Were they here for him? Had he been set up? Who would want him arrested, or dead? Glancing wildly around the hangar, expecting to be watched, he caught a glimpse of an Imperial troop transport at the far end.
His heart rate began to slow again. They were simply returning to their shuttle. At that moment, the yacht, which bore the name Scarlet Lance, began to open, and several well-dressed and fierce looking gangsters stepped out. They laughed harshly amongst themselves.
Most of the detachment of stormtroopers continued past the gang members without even a glance, but one lone stormtrooper held back.
"Hey," he called to the gangsters. They stopped, and the rest of the stormtroopers halted as well, turning incredulously to their fellow's confrontation.
"Yes, Imperial?" The tallest and haughtiest of the gangsters peered down his nose at the stormtrooper.
"I had friends at the Imperial Center. They were killed by you gangster scum." The stormtrooper clutched his rifle in fury, staring them down as best he could with a helmet. Meisen couldn't see his face, but he could tell by his body, rigid and locked, that he was scowling with such an intense hatred that he could have melted his own armor had it been heat.
"We had no business in that, little trooper," the gangster replied condescendingly. He and his crew began to walk past again.
"Come on," hissed one of the other stormtroopers. "Leave it alone!" But he could not. He removed his helmet, and spat at the feet of the gangsters.
"That's what I think of trash like you," he said, eyes blazing.
Without any sort of warning, the tall gangster spun around, blaster in hand, and fired six times right through the stormtrooper. With that, chaos broke out in the hangar. Passerby sprinted to exits and ships, trying to escape the madness that the hangar had devolved to. The detachment of stormtroopers had broken off and dodged for cover, and began firing on the gangsters, who had done the same.
Meisen followed suit with the other uninvolved parties, making a mad dash for the door or the ship, when a thought stopped him.
The gangsters were occupied.
No one would notice him stealing the cargo.
Without really believing his own audacity, he turned around and headed for the Scarlet Lance. Clinging to the walls to avoid the laserfire that filled the main area of the hangar, he stole his way onto the yacht.
Once in the cargo hold, he realized for the first time that the cargo was enormous. He'd be incredibly lucky to get away with it unnoticed. He hoped that both Imperial and gangster would hold out for a while longer.
The cargo itself was an enormous slab of carbonite, almost six feet long, and two feet wide and deep. A series of instruments lined one side, reporting different measurements and scans.
Meisen looked around the hold, and spotted the repulsor lift the gangsters had used to transport the slab on board. Hefting the slab up with all his might, he managed to position the lift under it. Once turned on, the slab moved as easily as if it didn't weigh a thing.
Poking his head out from the yacht, he saw that the gangsters had nearly decimated all of the stormtroopers, and the remaining stormtroopers were raising their hands in the air.
Meisen cursed. He'd wanted more time, but he would have to do it now. Pulling the slab behind him, he crept out of the yacht, and then made a run for his ship. He was almost there when he heard shouts behind him. Reaching the door of his ship, he entered just as two blaster bolts slammed into the hull. He hurried aboard, pulled the carbonite slab in behind him, and got ready to leave.
Meisen had never really flown before. He hadn't flown anything interplanetary, at least. He had flown a few skimmers, a few basic speeders, but never a starship. The controls were basically the same, though. He wrenched away from the floor, fighting gravity's pull, as the engines of the Scarlet Lance fired up. Meisen pulled away from the yacht and through the bay doors just in time. The Scarlet Lance began firing on his ship. He shot off into the upper atmosphere, trying to put distance between himself and the gangsters.
He got into space, and had begun looking into the navacomputer for Coreillia's coordinates when the yacht caught up, and they had brought friends: two agile snub fighters accompanied the Scarlet Lance, and as they came into view, they opened fire on Meisen's ship.
Meisen jerked the controls hard, the cruiser shuddering as it fought to turn out of the path of the lasers. Meisen was not prepared for anything like this. He'd never wanted to be prepared for anything like this. In fact, Meisen didn't really know what he'd wanted to be prepared for in his life at all.
It was a strange thing, perhaps, to consider when fleeing for his life. But Meisen found himself thinking about what he wanted to do with his life. He'd never really had any plans; the odd jobs wouldn't be able to sustain him forever, but Meisen didn't have any specialized skills, or really even any passions. He just wanted to survive. A job like this was not meant for someone who just wanted to survive.
Meisen swerved again and again, dodging the majority of the laser blasts, with others glancing off of the old hull of the ship.
Things once again took a turn for the worse.
A Star Destroyer appeared from hyperspace, bearing down on the yacht and the cruiser. It wasn't the standard class Destroyer, but a smaller variant. It was perhaps an eighth of the size. It still dwarfed both the Scarlet Lance and Meisen's cruiser. A light blinked on the dashboard. They were hailing him. Meisen hit the receive button.
"Attention, members of Crimson Dawn. You have attacked and killed members of the Imperial Armed Infantry. Surrender to our authority and submit to processing for your crimes."
Meisen swore again. Now the Empire thought he was mixed up in all this. He had to get away.
The Star Destroyer activated their tractor beam, and the two snubfighters began to glide backwards towards the belly of the ship. The yacht turned from Meisen's ship, and began to outrun the Star Destroyer before the tractor beam could have effect on it.
The Scarlet Lance swept past Meisen, taking off the right stabilizer as it collided partially with his ship. The little freighter spun wildly, the momentum of the impact throwing him into a spiral. Meisen was panicking. At any minute, he'd be dragged aboard that Star Destroyer and processed as a murderous gangster. Impulsively, he pushed forward the hyperspeed levers, knowing that the outcome could be worse.
And now he was here. Drifting in space, but close enough to land on Ross and get his ship patched up. His descent couldn't be automated; he would have to take the ship down manually to account for the missing stabilizer.
Accelerating gingerly, he began steering towards the planet. Meisen glanced again at the navacomputer, looking for the coordinates of the smallest city. He steered towards the southern hemisphere.
As the patches of green and blue became trees and water, a warning signal came on. The left stabilizer had come loose from its mount from the stress. It fell away before Meisen even had time to react. The ship began to plummet rapidly, heading straight for the forest floor below. With a bone-shaking thud, the ship crashed.
Wiping a trickle of blood from his head, he looked around hazily. The crash had stunned him, driven the wind from his lungs. Managing to focus on the navacomputer, he saw that he had crash-landed not far from the city he'd been aiming for. Once again unbuckling the straps from the chair, he fell to the floor of the ship.
Another alarm sounded urgently from the cargo hold. Staggering to his feet, Meisen lumbered stiffly off to see the problem.
The alarm that had sounded was one of the scanners on the side of the cargo. The readouts were dipping below the required standards. Meisen could see why. The carbonite had been thrown about between the chase and the crash, and it had also begun to melt. Coming around to the other side to inspect the damage more fully, Meisen stopped dead in his tracks.
The other side had melted more severely, and the contents were now partially exposed. A woman's arm hung limply from the carbonite, her skin beginning to turn blue. Meisen could see what was happening now to cause the alarm, which was clearly linked to biometric scanners. The carbonite had melted, exposing her arm and bringing her out of hibernation. However, the rest of her body was still trapped inside. She had no way of breathing.
Panicking, Meisen swung back around to the front, looking for the carbon controls. Finding them, he spun the dial to destabilize the rest of the carbonite. He hoped it would be quick enough. He stood back, and watched the carbonite begin to glow. Slowly, the carbonite lost its rigid shape, and the woman's form began to show through. As the carbonite fell more fully away, Meisen saw that the woman was young, probably about his age, and very beautiful. He felt her forehead, as well as her pulse.
She was unconscious, but breathing. She had coppery blonde hair, and her fair skin was dotted with freckles, especially around her nose. She looked…mistreated. She was too thin, and there were a few half-healed cuts and bruises that probably extended over her entire body.
Meisen could only think of one explanation. She had to have been taken by the Crimson Dawn as part of their being trafficking operations. She must have been a slave…or worse.
He put his head in his hands. He had gotten into something far more sinister and far more dangerous than he'd liked. He should take the money and gear from the smuggler's hold and cut his losses. But as he looked up again, and saw the girl's mistreated form, he knew he couldn't leave her.
Meisen made to the outskirts of town by what looked to be the early afternoon. He stopped first thing at a mechanic's workshop. Stepping around the many piles of loose parts, circuits, and tools, he came to a man who sat tinkering with a protocol droid's arm.
"Do you repair ships?" Meisen asked.
"You must be the one that crashed in the forest," the mechanic replied, hardly looking up.
"That's right," Meisen said warily.
"What happened?" the man asked, still not looking up. Meisen fumbled to concoct a believable story.
"Well, I got caught up in some debris exiting hyperspace, and—
"I meant, what happened with your ship? What needs to be fixed?" Meisen was relieved.
"I've lost both stabilizers, I'm low on fuel, both sublight and hyperfuel, and there was some cosmetic damage as well." Meisen thought for a moment. "There might be other things, but that's what I was able to see."
The mechanic put down what he was tinkering with and looked up at last.
"I can be down tomorrow morning," he said. "We'll discuss cost when I get a better look at the damage." He wiped his oil-stained hand on his smock, and held it out to Meisen. "Name's Kain Dohres."
"Meisen Vento," he replied, taking his hand and shaking it. "Where can I buy supplies?"
Pockets lighter, arms full of boxes and bags, Meisen stepped back onto his ship. Dropping off the food supplies in the cockpit, he headed to the cargo hold.
The girl was still unconscious, but her breathing seemed more regular and peaceful. He felt her forehead and took her pulse again. She wasn't as hot as before.
Now Meisen reached into the other box he'd purchased, retrieving a first aid kit. He first used a diagnostic scanner. After a moment, a synthesized voice emanated from the device.
"Patient is underweight and fighting off infection. Patient is recovering from numerous bruises and abrasions. Suggested action: intravenous nourishment and mild antibiotics." The device shuddered, the internal mechanisms working. "Records unable to identify patient."
Meisen sat for a moment, disappointed that the scanner hadn't been able to tell him who she was. Slightly put-out, he reached back into the box and retrieved an antibiotic patch and applied it to her arm.
As darkness fell, Meissen made his way back into town. He had waited until the streets were mostly empty before bringing the girl into town. He'd found temporary lodgings so that they could wait out the repairs on the ship.
She was very light and easy to carry, due to the malnourishment. Meisen kept glancing around, making sure no one could be watching.
Once inside, he saw that the landlord had somewhat exaggerated the amount of space in the apartment. It was cramped, furnished with only the barest of necessities. It was dimly lit, dirty, and had one small bed shoved against the far wall. Meisen immediately lay the girl in the bed, and sat himself at the small table in the other corner. It had been such a long day…
Meisen woke up, still at the table. He rubbed his eyes blearily, and then stretched his arms. He caught sight of the time. He was late to meet the mechanic, Dohres, at his ship. He jumped up, slipped back into his shoes, and strapped his gun to his side. Taking one glance at the girl, who was still unconscious, he left and bolted the apartment.
Coming into the clearing where his ship was, Meisen saw that Dohres had already arrived, accompanied by several droids.
"Sorry I'm late," Meisen called as he came up to the ship. "Yesterday was a very long day."
"Indeed," Dohres said, inspecting one of the many blast marks that blackened the hull. "What was it you said you were caught up in? Space debris?" Dohres glanced at the gun at Meisen's side, then away again.
"Yeah, space debris." Meisen replied quietly. "Probably remains of a meteor that didn't make it through the atmosphere." Dohres didn't look like he was convinced.
"Look, Vento. I'm not an idiot. I don't need to know exactly what happened. But I won't do work for a gangster or a crook, and your ship looks like it's belonged to both."
"Dohres, I'm not either. As a matter of fact, I'm on the run from gangsters. That's why I need the ship repaired as fast as possible." Dohres considered him for a moment.
"All right, Vento." He seemed content with his answer. Dohres turned to the ship. "Well, we've located what's left of your left stabilizer, about forty miles from here. I'd rather repair that one than replace it. I haven't got time to go after it, though."
"I can take care of it," Meisen said.
"Good man," Dohres said, smiling. "I've got replacement parts for the rest of your ship at my shop. I've even got some stuff you might want for your next run-in with these gangsters of yours, if you're willing." He looked meaningfully at Meisen.
"We'll see. Do you have the coordinates for the stablizer?" Dohres nodded, and then called one of the droids that had been welding holes over.
"Yes?" the droid asked, standing expectantly before Dohres.
"Get the coordinates of that stabilizer to Mr. Vento, here." Dohres said, jerking his thumb toward Meisen, "And lend him a speeder. He'll need it."
The speeder was a little clunky. It kept dipping towards the ground, and the automatic transmission shuddered every time it changed gear. Meisen was already sore from the jerky ride.
He neared the coordinates that the droid had given him. Up ahead, where the stabilizer was meant to be, was a rocky ravine. Meisen slowed as the coordinates came within walking distance. Shutting off the speeder, he heard stifled voices coming from the ravine. Leaping lightly from the speeder, he drew his blaster and crept up to the entrance. He waited for a few minutes.
"Do you think they're gone?" said a voice from the ravine.
"Shh!" replied another urgently. "They could still be here!"
"Maybe there were just passing by," interjected a third voice. The voices fell silent again for a few moments. "Let's get back to it."
Meisen peered around the corner hesitantly. Three beings were circled around the stabilizer, picking it apart. Two were species he didn't recognize, though they had a bit of an arachnid litheness about them. The third was human. Meisen cursed internally. Scavengers. Then he caught sight of the patch on the man's jacket, and swore internally again. The man had a Crimson Dawn symbol on his shoulder. What was he going to do? Did they track him here?
Meisen deliberated for a moment, hidden from view. He hadn't ever taken a life; the blaster at his side was more a deterrent than a weapon. But, to save his own skin…
He could fake it. He could pretend to be a stone-cold killer, and hope that was enough to scare them off. That seemed his only option. His only peaceful option, at least. Pulling his gun, he strode swaggeringly into the ravine. He aimed at the man.
"I don't think any of that belongs to you, folks." Meisen said, affecting a bit of a growl into his speech. He kept his eyes narrow, and stood bolt upright. It would take a lot to convince them that he meant business.
The three had spun around when he spoke, and the two arachnid-like beings fumbled for their blasters at their belts. They each had two pairs of arms, two pairs of legs, and four pairs of eyes. The man had dark, hooded eyes, and a rough prosthetic in place of his left hand.
"Well, the way I see it is, we're here takin' it, and that make it ours," the man replied coolly. Meisen noticed that the prosthetic at the end of his left arm had reconfigured into a blaster, pointed at him.
"I'm giving you all the benefit of the doubt, because it seems that you all are unaware of who you're stealing from." Meisen primed his blaster. Internally he was shaking to bits, but he steeled his nerves and kept his bluff. He could feel a trickle of sweat slide down the back of his neck. He hoped they wouldn't see him sweat. They began to circle slowly, guns pointed at each other.
"And who might that be?" The man smirked. Meisen began to worry. His ruse clearly wasn't working.
And then he felt it. A whisper in his mind. His entire body filled with a kind of energy; the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He didn't know what it was, but his hand stopped shaking.
"Me," he said.
It was as if time had slowed. He saw the two arachnids pull their blasters up to aim at him, and the end of the man's prosthesis began to glow. Meisen spun and dodged the three blaster bolts that came hurling his way. They were so close that he could feel the heat emanating from them. Spinning back around, he fired three times.
And just as quickly as it had started, it was over. Time seemed to catch up to him. The three scavengers looked down in mild surprise, and then keeled over. They had each been shot through the heart.
Meisen's hands were shaking so uncontrollably that it took him a few tries to holster his blaster. He could still feel that…power…coursing through him, but it was beginning to ebb. All three of the gangsters lay on the ground, chests smoking faintly. Meisen fell into a sitting position.
In the space of two days, many unexpected and confusing things had happened to him. He picked up the wrong job, the job of a lifetime, at the bar; he'd gotten involved with both the Crimson Dawn and the Empire; the cargo he'd been hired to retrieve was a human being. Out of all of this, nothing had shaken him quite like this. He had killed three people, and he had no idea how. He had never experienced anything like that energy he'd felt. He had felt so attuned to his surroundings.
Suddenly remembering what he was there for, he got up, and moved towards the stabilizer, stepping around the corpses as he went. They had begun to dismantle the stabilizer, but all of the pieces were still piled around nearby. He gathered up the loose pieces, and returned to the borrowed speeder. Driving nearer to the stabilizer, he managed to lift it into the bed of the speeder and strap it down.
He returned to the main crash site as quickly as he could, nervous now that he knew that Crimson Dawn had a presence on the planet, and even worse, in the area. Pulling up to the ship, he saw that a lot of headway had already been made. Almost all of the cosmetic damage had been repaired, including a lot of rust and other wear and tear the ship had before the fight and the crash. The droids were hard at work, but Dohres was nowhere to be seen. One of the droids, upon spotting Meisen, approached.
"Master Dohres has returned to his shop, and has requested that you bring the stabilizer to him there." Meisen nodded, and sped off back to town.
He parked the speeder around the back of Dohres' shop, where the man himself was pulling the innards out of a stabilizer and soldering different connections onto the mass of wires he held in his hand.
"Have any trouble locating it?" Dohres said, not looking up.
"A bit," Meisen replied, unsure of whether or not he should go into detail. He liked the man; he had a good feeling about him. But Meisen wasn't sure if he should trust him…at least, with everything. He made up his mind. "I ran into some scavengers…members of the Crimson Dawn gang." Dohres looked up.
"Damn," he said. "That scum had stayed away from here for so long that I was beginning to think they might never bother us." He stepped away from the stabilizer and clasped Meisen's shoulder. "Are you all right? What happened with them?"
"I'm fine," Meisen said. "But they're dead." Dohres stood, speechless for a moment.
"I'm sorry, son." he said finally. "Good to know you made it out." Looking to dispel the the bad mood, he pulled him over to the stabilizer. "Now, come take a look at this," he said, gesturing to the stabilizer he'd been working on.
Weeks passed as Meisen waited on the repairs to his ship. Of course, they weren't entirely repairs, as much modifications. Dohres had insisted that Meisen allow him to install a few new components.
The girl had improved significantly. She was no longer on the antibiotic patch, and the intravenous nourishment had filled her out to a healthy size. The few remaining bruises were the palest yellow, almost completely faded. She was, however, still asleep. Meisen was beginning to worry that he would have to take her to a medical center, which this town unfortunately did not have.
He had begun making trips to the data center in town, researching ways to bring a person out of a coma. Most of them involved access to expensive and delicate medical equipment. After three weeks of research, he had given up on the databanks. As he was leaving the center, he saw someone entering another hall off from the service desk.
"What's in there?" Meisen asked the amicable Bothan woman at the desk.
"That's the library, where we keep records in the physical format."
"Physical format?" Meisen asked, confused. The woman chuckled.
"Come, follow me," she said. "I'll show you." She went into the other hall, and he followed after her. Entering into the other hall, he saw many shelves, each stacked different rectangular objects.
"What are they?" he asked, looking around the hall. The woman laughed again.
"These are books," she replied, pulling one from a shelf and opening it before him. "This is how information was preserved before the advent of digital technology. The words are printed on paper, usually derived from wood."
"Wood?" he asked, turning one of the pages. It was incredibly thin, bleach white, and flexible.
"Yes, wood. It goes through a process, though I am not sure of the details." Meisen looked around the hall again. The woman replaced the book on the shelf. "You are welcome to research here. Let me know if you need help." She turned and left him there in the library.
He walked along the shelves, examining the spine of each book, looking for something that might be able to help him. After about an hour, he had reached the last shelf. He had determined that most of the information here was historical, and probably wouldn't be able to help him.
At the very end of the shelf, tucked away in a corner, he came across a particularly ancient tome. It didn't have anything written on the spine, nor the cover; rather, it had a circular symbol with a sort of blade in the center. Curious, he reached out to pull it from the shelf. As his fingers brushed the edge of the spine, that surge of power he had felt in the ravine flowed through him again, causing him to drop the book as though shocked by it. Hands shaking, he reached out again, and pulled it from the shelf. He felt the energy again, though he didn't drop the book again. The energy seemed to greet him, if that were possible. It seemed somehow alive.
Meisen opened the book, the cover creaking like old leather. He began to read the preface.
"This tome sets out to define the ancient religion of the FORCE, most notably understood and practiced by the order of the Jedi.
"The Force is an energy that binds everything in the universe together. It guides and inspires. Those who search after the Force may have increased reflexes and intuitions. Those who study it more intensely, such as the Jedi, have manifested extraordinary powers in a variety of ways."
Meisen began to feel very light-headed. This coudln't be what he was experiencing. The Force? Jedi? He'd heard stories of the Jedi, mostly as aggressors that attempted to overthrow the Republic. He didn't know much more than that.
And this Force…he had never heard of such a thing. Some energy that flowed throughout the universe? It couldn't be real…though the stories of Jedi usually told of fantastic power wielded by them…rumor had it that Darth Vader, and possibly the Emperor himself, were privilege to extraordinary means of control.
He flipped through the pages of the heavy book, engrossed in this strange new religion he had discovered.
It was hours before the Bothan woman returned to inform him that the research center was closing. She allowed him to borrow the book, which he carried with him, still pondering the things he'd read. It was early evening, and he headed back to his apartment. Perhaps it was the fact that he was carrying the book, but he still felt that tenuous connection to that energy. He'd begun to concede that it might indeed be the Force that the book spoke of.
In fact, there was a lot in the book that he'd never heard. The book claimed that the Jedi were not the power-hungry usurpers that everyone spoke of, but rather an order of knights who sought to maintain peace and balance in the galaxy. Meisen was more than inclined to believe the book; the galaxy seemed a right mess, and the Jedi were supposedly extinct.
He had also discovered that this connection to the Force could be strengthened; his reflexes could be faster, his perceptions more poignant. He might even be able to manipulate things with the Force.
But the most interesting thing he had read was that of the Force's power over the mind. According to the tome, he could sense, possibly communicate, with others in their minds through the Force. Setting the tome at the table, he turned to face the girl who hadn't moved in six weeks. She seemed a different person, no longer the malnourished and mistreated creature he'd discovered in the carbonite. He sat facing her.
He slowed his breathing, following the process the book had detailed to connect with the Force. He felt the energy, which had been idling near the back of his mind, leap up again, like an old pet. Now, he reached out with his mind, with his heart. He could feel himself still sitting in the chair, but he could also feel an extension of himself, of his thought, moving across the room towards the girl. He could feel her mind, active and scared; like a caged animal. He touched her mind.
Terrible images blazed in his mind. Scenes of brutal violence and violation, and the most heart-wrenching pain. Whatever repair her body had gone through, her mind had not.
It was almost enough to throw him out, but Meisen gritted his teeth and pressed on. He tried clumsily to speak with her.
Hello? The mental screams stopped. Meisen spoke again. Hello? He felt her mind struggle to respond.
What's…going on? Who is this? They were less words than feelings, but they felt slurred.
My name is Meisen Vento. I've taken you from those who were hurting you, but I need you to wake up.
I can't. The reply came with a feeling of despair. I've been trying.
Perhaps I can help. He pushed further into her mind, and felt her struggle against him. Calm down. It is me. He searched her mind, finding a dark area that seemed to be void of the Force. Willing the Force to him, he pushed some of it into the dark area, until it began to light up. He sensed her body stir. I hope we will speak soon.
Pulling himself away from her mind, his natural sense began to come to him again. Blinking in the light, he saw the girl stir lightly. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened her eyes before shielding them clumsily and stiffly with her hand. She attempted to speak, but her voice was too faint. She began to cough.
Meisen quickly transferred to the bed, helping her to sit up and lean on him. Finally her coughing subsided, and she attempted to speak again, her voice stronger.
"Meisen Vento?" she asked weakly. He nodded.
The girl lay her head down on his shoulder, and began to sob, chesting heaving with terrible emotion. Through the Force, he could feel the toll that the abuse had taken rise to the surface once more.
The girl hadn't had the strength to stay awake for very long, and had fallen into a deep sleep after half an hour. Meisen could tell this time that it was merely sleep, and no longer a coma. He found that his connection to the Force seemed to have increased tenfold, as well his belief that it indeed was the Force that he was experiencing. His senses were heightened; he did not feel fatigued as he should after such a long day.
The Force seemed to whisper to him; it communicated using those powerful emotions. It told him of another time, where peace was upheld by virtuous and kind people with the same connection he had. It spoke of a time when this order had grown old, and prideful, and blind. The Force had retreated from them, leaving only the barest of abilities; more show tricks than use of the Force. It told him how the order was destroyed by two most vile abusers and corrupters of the Force. It told him of waiting. Waiting for a long time to be felt again, to have a connection with a physical being besides those two perverters that used its power to threaten and to maim and to kill.
It told him so much in those simple terms that he hardly noticed the time slip away, and soon the sun had risen again. As light fell from the window onto the girl's face, she stirred. Opening her eyes blearily, she came to focus on Meisen again.
"Good morning," he said. "Are you feeling better?" It was a useless question; he could sense that majority of the trauma had passed, though it would never leave her.
"Yes," she replied, moving to a sitting position on the bed.
"What is your name?" he asked. His connection to the Force was still limited, at least according to the book's description of the power that could be achieved. He could sense intense emotions and sometimes be privy to experiences, but more complex, logical information still eluded him.