Outside of Kel Ahnr's studio, Coruscant, 6 hours later.
"Rodi?"
"We are out of the studio, Tan."
"Right. I'm always forgetting. How do you remember which one of your names to use in each situation?"
"Long practice. What's up, do you need something?"
Tannith scuffed his boot against the duracrete and smiled, showing slightly uneven white teeth. "Just a ride home, if you can. My speeder is getting intimate with the mechanics right now."
Kyp snickered. "Gang rape? What did you do to the poor vehicle now?"
"Forgot to change the cooling liquid in time, if you would believe it. And you know I hate cabs. So…"
"No problem. Come on. I had to park a few levels from here for conspiracy purposes." Kyp winked at the other man. "My new speeder is a little too noticeable."
"I bet," Tannith smirked. He easily fell in step alongside Kyp; hands in pockets, shoulders hunched. The musician actually was a bit taller than the Jedi, but his habitual relaxed slouch made them even. "You are rather noticeable yourself. You're not afraid someone will recognize you when you're entering the studio?"
"Nobody will recognize me, Tan." Kyp answered simply. "I'm being very careful."
The musician felt a little shiver travel down his spine. Sometimes, after hours spent in studio, making the magic of music come alive together, eating and drinking together, laughing and bantering together, it was all too easy to forget about the immense, dangerous power that man carried inside himself. It was creepy. But if not for Kyp's power, where would be Tannith Leit now? In deep poodoo, no question about that, if not still in jail. Tan, boy, you are really picking the wrong man to be paranoid about, especially after all these years! He shook his head slowly. Dark brown hair fell into his eyes and he blew it away, not bothering to take his hands out of his jacket's pockets.
"You know, Kyp, I never even thanked you properly for what you did…" he began hesitantly.
The Jedi stopped and turned to him so abruptly, that his cloak whistled in the still air. Dark eyes – Tan could never decide which color they were, exactly, for they seemed to assume different colors in different kinds of lighting – glared at him from under the hood.
"Don't you even begin!" Kyp wasn't angry, just exasperated. "I did it because I wanted to and for no other reason. You don't owe me anything, even gratitude."
"Sorry," Tannith smiled. "But you know…"
"I know. Let's leave it at that, Tan." They made a dozen more steps. "What brought it up, by the way? It has been a good seven years."
The musician shrugged. "Dunno. It just popped in my head. Probably I'm getting conventional in my old age."
"Yeah, and rancors are beginning to learn how to fly," the Jedi said dryly, but didn't ask anything more.
Silence fell between them. It wasn't awkward; for some reason Tan never felt awkward with the other man and he suspected the Jedi didn't even know the meaning of the word "awkward". Kyp's ever-present self-confidence was something all the band members unconsciously used to rely on. Tannith wasn't an exception, though he was very much aware of it, being acquainted with the younger man for couple of years longer than the others. He, however, tried his best not to become dependent on Kyp emotionally. He has had quite enough of dependence in his life.
"Coruscant to Tannith! Coruscant to Tannith! Come on, snap out of it, whatever it is. We're here."
The musician blinked, looked around and whistled a very expressive harmonic that went from high to low register and died on the note that betrayed his utter astonishment. The sleek, metallic green, silver-detailed speeder was simple and old-fashioned in design, but it was, without any doubt, a very new model, not to mention a custom one. Silver-toned windows obscured the view of the insides of this beauty, but Tannith suspected that its interior had some…additions that didn't come from the maker's assembly line.
Kyp touched something on its side and the door slid open. The Jedi bowed his head and made a grand gesture with his left hand, inviting him in. Tan mimicked a curtsey.
"Thank you, kind sir!" he drawled, imitating a high-pitched woman's voice. "Your generosity truly has no boundaries!"
Kyp laughed, throwing his head back and almost dislodging his hood in the process. "Just get the kriff in already!"
"I live to obey." Tan unceremoniously dropped his butt into a soft leather seat. "Man, you surely don't believe in the virtue of scarcity!"
"I lived in scarcity for years. Found nothing beneficial in it. May as well go for something different." Kyp got into the driver's seat, shook off the hood and started the engine. He was humming.
Tannith suspected that the other man was still on an endorphin high from the successful music session. The Jedi Master rarely looked so relaxed; maybe it was a good time to ask some questions. Not exactly fair to take advantage of his good mood, but hey, life wasn't fair! Then he listened more carefully to what Kyp was humming.
"Kyp?"
"Hmmm?"
"What's the deal with this song? Why you don't want to release it now?"
"I don't know, actually. It's just a feeling."
"Did you have a vision or whatever?"
"Why do you think so?"
"It's different from your usual stuff."
"Not much different. And you know I like experimenting."
"Yes, but it's also… ominous somehow. Like it's not exactly for this time, or this place, or… oh, I got it! It sounds like a song for a war. Battle song. But we don't have any war now, do we?"
"As far as I know, no. Well, aside from the usual troubles. But to answer your question – no, I didn't have any visions about it, you know I rarely do. It just came and refused to be ignored. Let's hope I'll not feel the need to release it."
"Hope so." Tan looked on the other man. Kyp was driving expertly, dodging other vehicles and changing levels and lines despite the fact that his eyes were focused somewhere far ahead.
"Can I ask you something else?"
Kyp turned his head and visibly focused. Oh-ho, there goes my chance… But the Jedi Master just smiled. "You can ask."
"Where did you study music? I mean, from what I know of your biography, you didn't have any time to attend any musical institution, but you are obviously very well schooled. Usually someone has to study for about a decade to get to this level…"
"I did."
Tannith waited for couple of minutes, but Kyp didn't offer anything more. The musician sighed and dropped his head on the plush headrest. Well, this puzzle, obviously, would stay unresolved. It buggered him for many years already; he could stand to wait a couple more. Sooner or later, it'll come out. Secrets usually do.
Solo's apartment, Coruscant, 1 hour later.
Kyp closed the door after himself and stayed still in the dark for couple of minutes with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. He liked this smell, the mix of Corellian spices, a faint traces of a light Alderaanian perfume Leia favored, a wooden essence from the carved wall panels that still held the smell despite years of exposure, wisps of mechanic oil and spacecraft antifreeze from some obscure parts of some obscure engines scattered carelessly all over the place. It was a scent of home. Not his home, but a home nonetheless and therefore soothing. It was empty now; the kids were on Yavin, Chewie was visiting his family on Kashyyyk and Han and Leia were on some diplomatic mission, which, thankfully, wasn't expected to be either long or dangerous. Han said something about stopping on Yavin 4 for a couple of days after completing the mission. I should go there for a day or two before I return to my Dozen, he mused; we haven't had a chance to talk for quite a while.
"Lights on, half-power." Kyp opened his eyes and took off his cape. He was hungry and tired. Six hours of music session, on top of a day full of running various supply errands for the Dozen, arguing with the contractors and shipmasters… that was enough to drain even his considerable energy stock. Not to mention the talk with Luke, who clearly wasn't happy with him.
Skywalker wasn't complaining, precisely, but he made it very clear that he didn't think Kyp's 'lack of connection' to the other Jedi was an appropriate behavior for a Jedi Master. It was a bit surprising; over the years, Luke should have already become accustomed to his frequent absences. Perhaps he thought Kyp would change his habits after becoming a Master? If it was the case, he was going to be disappointed. Luckily, his former teacher appeared unaware of Kyp's not-so-solitary quest for justice, which also wasn't going to thrill the older Jedi. Kyp managed to divert their conversation from the matter of his current activities, namely the reason why he was on Coruscant. He was acutely aware that he couldn't give the Grand Master an honest answer, and that Luke would surely sense the lie if he tried to fool him. Well, Kyp supposed it was an occupational hazard of living a double life. You always have to pay for good things. One way or the other. Be happy you have something to pay for.
So, food, shower, bed. For a minute here Kyp was tempted to rearrange his order of priorities, but the idea of waking in the middle of a night from the noises in his stomach or from the stink of his unwashed body didn't seem appealing either. So, he took out some frozen entrées and tossed them into a heater. That didn't take long and in a couple of minutes the food was steaming and ready. He ate it absently, propping his head on one hand, eyes half-closed and not even feeling the taste. His previous excitement was wearing off quickly and, as it often happened with him, the gloom began to settle in its place. He quickly threw the dishes in the disintegrator and headed to the shower.
It helped. Kyp was able to understand Luke fully in this respect; for him, too, a hot water shower was still something very close to miracle. They had never had anything that luxurious on Deyer, where energy was always in deficit, and on Kessel hot showers, or, for that matter, any water showers at all were out of a question. Hot water soothed him, relaxed tense muscles in his shoulders and arms and washed away the dirt accumulated during this long day. If I only could wash away some of my memories with it. I'm tired of remembering.
Kyp stepped out of shower cabin and stopped before the big, full-height mirror, installed on one of the walls. He took his comb from the stand and ran it through his black, wavy, shoulder-length hair. Then he paused.
He didn't look at himself in a mirror often, not like that, anyway. Sure, he paid attention to his appearance, as anybody who saw his wardrobe would have noticed. He knew he was handsome; he was told that often enough. Appearance could be a weapon; people tended to treat you much better if you were good-looking and your clothes were trendy. He smirked: Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I was as ugly as a Hutt. Thankfully, I'm not. But he rarely looked at his mirror double and saw himself, not some image he wanted to project at the time. Kyp put the brush back at its place and moved closer to the reflective glass. He was definitely in a contemplative mood today. Now he was staying eye-to-eye with his image, appraising his naked self like he would have apprised a potential adversary or a potential friend.
"Kyp Durron," he said aloud, looking at himself. "Jedi Master." He raised his hand and traced the silver sparks in his reflection's hair, then the faint lines around his eyes. "Thirty years." He drew his fingers along the contours of his well-muscled shoulders and pectorals. He wasn't like that ten years ago; he was thin then, almost too thin, and gangly. Things changed. He dropped his hand and gave his double one last look.
"You still look good, pal. But know what? You are not young anymore. Well, probably it's for the better." He turned and headed to the guest room and to his much-anticipated bed.
Half an hour later he was still fully awake. Tannith's questions stirred something in him, something that had lay dormant for years. He didn't know which one out of his extensive collection of unpleasant memories it was, but it was boiling just under the surface of his consciousness, something long forgotten and painful. He was afraid to fall asleep, and a trance was out of question; he was on a sleepless regime for too long already. At the end Kyp decided to jump the proverbial blaster and deal with whatever nightmare his memory will manage to drag out at the morning. When he gradually slipped into the reality of a dream, his last conscious thought was: I knew it would happen!
He was at Kessel again.
Kessel Prison, 4 years ABY.
He was cold and lonely. Very lonely. His parents were killed two weeks ago and he was completely alone, and he still couldn't wrap his mind around that fact. He was hurting and missing them terribly and now he was also weak. After the revolt nobody bothered to feed the inmates for two days and when they did, he managed to get only a little for himself. Someone had thrown him into a wall during this chaotic fight and taken most of his food while he lay dazed on the floor. He was left with only a piece of bread that was in his hand in that moment.
After that things didn't get much better. When guards were looking, he could eat as much as others, but there weren't enough guards these days and they were distracted. And every time they were looking the other way, one man or the other was taking his food, sometimes hitting him if he tried to resist. He was almost constantly dizzy from the hunger now, but he still had to go to the mines and work his shift. Today he barely dragged himself back. He didn't think he would manage it again tomorrow.
And, as if it wasn't enough, these men were looking at him. He couldn't understand the meaning of their looks, but something was telling him that they didn't bode well for his safety. They were looking at him like they wanted something from him and were ready to take this something by force if he wouldn't agree. But what could he give them? He owned nothing!
"Durron!" the inmate who was in charge of all things guards didn't bother themselves with, the bugor, called to him. "Collect the dishes and take them to the kitchen."
Kyp looked at him dazedly, then dragged himself upright and went to collect the plates. When he turned to take them to the kitchen, he didn't notice that three of the men who were sitting at his table stood up and followed. One of them mouthed "Thanks!" to the bugor and winked at him.
He also didn't notice that the man who was sitting two tables from them lifted his head and looked at the trio. He frowned, then took a piece of bread from his plate and stood up. "I'll take the dishes," he said to his bugor, receiving a nod in agreement.
Kyp put the stack of the plates in one of the sinks and turned back. The world around him was draped in a thick grey mist and the only thing he was able to do was just dragging his legs forward; left, then right, then left again and somehow managing not to stumble. So he didn't even realize what was happening when he was suddenly dragged into the small empty room halfway between the kitchen and the mess hall. He opened his mouth to cry, but someone's big palm covered half of his face with such force that he couldn't take a breath, much less make a sound. Then the palm lifted a little, but as soon as he opened his mouth again another hand expertly stuffed a piece of a dirty rag in it. Kyp's hands were dragged up his back and held there and his head was pushed down. Cold, hard fingers fumbled with his pants, trying to take them down, gripping his buttocks painfully. Kyp kicked the one who did it, or tried to, but all it earned him was a hard slap to his face with a half-opened hand, almost noiseless, but hard enough to nearly make him black out.
"Be quiet!" someone snapped and the hands returned again. Kyp saw a swarm of golden flecks invade his vision, dancing before his eyes, calling to him, teasing him, and he was falling, falling into a bottomless black whirlwind, almost nothing, almost there, almost…
"Leave the kid alone!" a deep, metallic voice rang painfully in his head. "I said, hands off!"
The hands that were on his ass retreated, the other hand that was holding his arms freed them, and Kyp sagged on the cold floor, half-unconscious. He couldn't see anything, the golden moths still danced merrily in the darkness before his eyes, but he could hear.
"It's not your business, labuh!" one of Kyp's attackers snarled.
"I'm making it my business," the metallic voice said. "This boy is mine."
"You son of a stinking she-Hutt!" the one that was closer to Kyp hissed. "I'll get you for this!"
"In your dreams. Do you really want to get in trouble with me?"
Silence.
"Thought so. Get the kriff out."
Retreating steps.
"Kid?" Someone was working the gag out of his mouth. "Don't faint on me. Breathe."
Kyp obeyed. After a couple of deep breaths, his vision cleared and even his head wasn't hurting. Much. Now he was able to see who saved him. It was a big man, very tall, very broad-shouldered, with the big, long-fingered hands and a roguish, wrinkled face under the curly ebony hair, generously sparkled with silver. Kyp remembered that he had seen this man before, and that for some unknown reason the other prisoners and even guards treated him with more respect than they treated most others. Then Kyp recalled what the stranger had said just couple of minutes before: "This boy is mine!" His? He didn't like the sound of it.
"What do you want from me?" Kyp asked warily.
The big man laughed and gave him a piece of bread. "Nothing, kid. Absolutely nothing. Eat and let's go out of here."
