Ch 1: 15 BBY, Halla Sector

"You must control your anger, Zajac."

The woman's soothing voice does nothing to calm me down, and as my fist slams into the wall I feel knuckles crack and a flare of pain that makes me wince and double over. I hug my maimed hand to my chest and my teeth grit, slender fangs glinting in the sparse lighting of this cargo bay.

"WE COULD HAVE SAVED THEM!" I wail, my black-furred ears folding back against my rough-cut black hair.

Seated meditatively on a gangplank above me, her tender is expression patient and empathetic. She looks down at me with large, reflective eyes that glint out from her mane of brown hair. A slender muzzle makes her look delicate, as do her long, severely pointed ears. She's a Bothan, and though I don't know very much about her people, I know that among them she must be considered well-bred and aristocratic.

It only makes me feel worse. My tense expression deepens, my teeth gritting into a yellow snarl as my own amber eyes look up at her imploringly. Begging her to make this better, even though I know that she's already done all she can.

"Please..." I mewl shakily, but already I can feel the ship's engines rumbling to life as we come out of light speed. By now we're impossibly far away, but my heart is still there.

With one last glance, the woman above me rises to her bare feet and pads silently along the walkway, where the hiss of an opening hatch admits her into the crew quarters of the ship. I'm left alone in a pit half-filled with crates and covered bundles, and on one of these I sit and cradle my face in the hand I haven't damaged, weeping quietly in the shadows.

When I wake up I'm in a small room. The cot beneath me is soft and clean and warm, and I find that my hand has been bandaged. For a moment I don't remember where I am or how I got here, but as I move to sit up I begin to recall – a Bothan had come to the rebuilt slave processing facility on Kadavo, ostensibly to get a preview of the stock that was to be shipped out for sale. I was among them, the target of the Zygerrian slaver's sadism because I, too, am Zygerrian. Born with skin the color of caffa and hair and fur as dark as night, I had been sold by my extended family after my parents had died. They weren't willing to keep around someone so obviously misborn, what with my strange powers and all.

I was still grieving my parents even when I'd been sent to Kadavo, and I didn't have the heart to try and get away. I didn't even put up a fight as I was led away from my holding cell, nor when I was drugged, loaded into the emptied can of a defunct R2 unit, and somehow rolled along past security. My collar locator had been removed and left in an air shaft, likely leading security to think I had gotten away on my own. When I became lucid I felt like I was in a coffin with my knees pressed up to my chest. I could hardly breathe, only watch through the slight gaps in the seals of the droid's shell as the Bothan walked into her ship and simply flew away. How long ago had that been? Hours? Days?

My right hand flexes gingerly, the ache in my knuckles still very much there. Selfishly I'd blown up at her, demanding why we hadn't saved more people, as if saving me hadn't been outrageously selfless. I get to my feet and grimace at the memory as I look around for a sanitation unit. A slender door to my right hisses open as I key in a green button on a nearby panel, and inside I see a toilet, shower, and sink. The sight almost brings me to tears – as a slave, I haven't been allowed to truly bathe for months.

By the time I'm done, a cloud of steam is filling my small cabin – I'd forgotten to seal up the door – so I switch on the vents as I towel off. The banadage is some sort of plastic adhesive and just flexible enough to let me use that hand a little bit. Jeez, did I break a bone or something? As I look at my hand and concentrate, thinking about the pain, a sudden gut clenching agony splinters from my knuckle down to my wrist. My arm shakes and I almost collapse, but I manage to keep my feet. Very quickly I get dressed, tugging on my standard-issue stock uniform as well as I can, one-handed and faint.

I'm not very familiar around ships, so it takes a few minutes before I track down the Bothan. She's in a greenhouse, the UV lights making the white parts of her robes gleam. Slowly her eyes open as I shakily walk in, and before I collapse she lifts a hand. Immediately I feel some... thing press against my chest to keep me upright, and I grip at a pipe near the wall.

"My hand..." I manage to say, my stomach threatening to disgorge its contents... which would be nothing, come to think of it. She'd stolen me before we'd been fed for the day.

The Bothan rises to her feet, her elegant legs unfolding beneath her heavy brown robes as she approaches me. Seeing how I'm about ready to pass out again, she wraps an arm around me and holds me up, guiding me to the medical bay. There I'm lain down on a padded table and my hand is gently scanned by the on-board 21B droid.

It's pleasant, unobtrusive voice chimes in with "There is a longitudinal fracture of the metacarpal bone of the index finger of the right hand."

The Bothan stands on the other side of the table thoughtfully. "That was not present on the first scan an hour ago." She looks down at me and tilts her head. "Zajac, did you strike anything else?"

I shake my head. "No, Mistress..."

Her hand lifts and I pause, and she curls all her fingers but her index, as if to make a point. "Ora." She smiles, curling her index finger to join the others, her fur ruffling along her cheeks just a little. "You should address me as Ora. I did not purchase you."

With a swallow I nod. "Yes, Ora. I... I was looking at my hand, thinking about it, feeling the pain...knowing it..." Ora narrows her eyes thoughtfully, and I continue. "And then it hurt so much I thought I'd collapse. I didn't do anything else, I promise!"

She nods and looks at the 21B's scan image of my hand, and on that long bone is a dark fracture leading down from my knuckle to my wrist, like someone had taken a hammer to it.

"How did that get there?" I ask softly, folding my ears back. Turning to her, I ask "May I sit up?"

Ora nods and orders the 21B to tend to my wrist and hand. I sit upright, hugging my knees nervously with my good hand as the droid takes off the plastic bandage and injects my right wrist with something. The sting makes me grit my teeth, but soon I can't feel any pain there anymore. Really, I can't feel anything from the wrist up, though before I can wiggle my fingers too much my hand is put into a more serious cast.

"Zajac..." Ora says calmly, gathering my attention. My ears swivel towards her, and her own swivel towards me as she caresses her silky chin fur. "...I did not come upon you by chance. I was guided to you. Something told me to look on Kadavo for something important, something precious."

My nose wrinkles. "Me?"

Ora nods. "Yes, I believe so. If my suspicions are correct, you broke your own bone by thinking about it." My eyes widen, and she holds up a hand, smiling softly. "Close your eyes right now, and think about Gi Dumpling Soup. Have you ever had it?"

My nerves are jangled but I nod, my lips pressed tightly together for a minute while I close my eyes. "Yes."

"I have had it as well. It is made with fish, is it not?"

Again I nod. "It is made with river fishes. It's a Mandalorian dish. My family had a cook who was Mandalorian, and she made it for us when we were sick."

Ora's hand settles lightly on my shoulder, her thumb caressing the bony joint through my clothing. "What was her name?"

I swallow, calming down. "Her name was Miina. We were nice to her." Taking in a nervous breath, I ask "May I open my eyes now?"

"Yes, but keep your hand still. I am not finished."

When I open my eyes I find that Ora's other hand is resting on my cast, and a green warm glow emanates from her skin. I can't feel anything because of the numbing injection, so I'm content to watch her work. After a few moments the glowing subsides and she breathes out, smiling at me. "There. Let us have 21B scan you one more time."

I nod and wait, obediently letting the droid scan my wrist and hand through the cast one more time. The image on the screen shows that my fracture has knitted back together, and the splits in the cartilage of my knuckles is also healed. My ears perk and I gasp, looking over at her. "I would much rather do that trick, Ora!"

She smiles, her teeth sharp and predatory, but finer than mine. "I would like to teach you such things, among others. If you would want to learn." My nod is so enthusiastic that 21B begins to protest, and I pout and fold my ears back as Ora laughs. "Zajac, have you heard of the Force?"

Just then my life turned sideways, and I realized suddenly who and what she is. Ora is a Jedi.

And she's found me.