Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me.
Chapter 2. A patient or…a prisoner?
As the days passed by, my health steadily improved. And as a correlating function so did my frustration. The ceiling of my room held precisely thirty-six white-painted durasteel plates. I was confident, as I had counted them innumerable of times just to pass the time, and then double-checked my calculations just to be sure. The seam between a specific two adjacent plates was broader and more profound than it should have been. So I had managed to spend a whopping three seconds by mentally complaining about the sloppy construction work. Seemed like the paint had even blistered a little? Something you would not imagine seeing in a Jedi Enclave.
White was the primary color of my surroundings. Walls were painted with a dull shade; the floor was glossier as were the few pieces of furnishing. Even my clothes and my bed covers followed the same trend. I could not help to wonder if the Jedi had some kind of a bizarre plan of drowning my brain into all this whiteness to keep me from exhausting myself with any intellectual activity. The only window in my room, of size just a bit larger than a gizka, provided the only mild exception. However, it was located so high on the wall that I could barely catch a glimpse of the sky from my bed. And if I was fortunate, I could possibly distinguish a slowly gliding shape of one of the brith - those flat flying creatures which were native to Dantooine.
To put it lightly, I was bloody bored. I was starting to be curious to see if pure boredom could kill a man.
My days were defined by the recurring cycle of four visits which were divided between Zaza and the mute service droid. Therefore it felt like the moment of galactic victory when Zaza appeared to my room carrying a datapad and gave me full permission to sit on my bed whenever I felt like it. In addition, the datapad provided me access to the data network of the Enclave. Although it was strictly limited, at least I could finally get a touch of what was going on out in the galaxy.
It was blatantly obvious the galaxy lived a time of drastic changes. And somehow, I had succeeded in either sleeping through all those or getting the information wiped out of my head. All holonews shouted only the same lines: the death of Darth Revan, the Dark Lord of the Sith. The mysterious, masked Sith Lord had finally managed to get himself killed - good riddance. His apprentice, Darth Malak – the guy with some significant jaw issues - had declared himself the new Dark Lord of the Sith. And yet again, the Jedi had been in the eye of the storm.
One single Jedi strike team had been able to penetrate Darth Revan's defenses and infiltrated the Dark Lord's command ship; an almost-suicidal attack, which against all the odds had ended in Revan's demise.
According to rumors, only one Jedi had been still alive and present when the Dark Lord had drawn his last breath. These days Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan, the leader of the strike team, was virtually the Republic's new poster girl. She was a living epitome of the hope for victory.
Quite a woman, I thought.
One might think that the death of the Dark Lord might have lent wings to the Republic to turn the tide of the war. One might have thought this one remarkable victory could have crumbled the Sith war effort enough for the Republic to drive them to where ever they had emerged from. However, newscasts were as depressing as ever.
It was more than evident the rampage of the Sith had not been seized, possibly not so much as slowed down. The wounded beast was infuriated and vengeful. Dozens of headlines told grim tales about lost battles, mourned for annihilated battleships and their deceased crews, and whispered rumors of seemingly endless enemy armadas. Even I, while not an expert of any warfare tactics aside from my short training, could make the conclusion that things did not look too bright for the Republic.
The supposed slayer of Darth Revan was portrayed basically as the last line of defense. Bastila Shan was young, in her early twenties, and strikingly beautiful with her auburn hair, delicate form, and large eyes. And was told, her command of the Force was deadly. If one took everything the newscasts described by word, one would imagine her as one capable of manipulating enemies' minds, and close to being able to make a Sith Interdictor-class destroyer dive into the nearest star by just sheer willpower.
To be honest, I was quite sure most of her remarkable talents were results of pure exaggeration. After all, hope was needed. War was always and ultimately lost if there was no will left to fight.
If even half of that is real, she is quite a woman, indeed. Too bad Jedi women generally warm up to flirting equally as well as a she-krayt guarding her eggs.
I had mentally laughed at that thought for a couple of minutes. Yes, the Jedi Enclave was not a place for my tastes.
The datapad was also packed full of all kinds of Jedi guidelines and pieces of wisdom. I strongly suspected the main reason for adding those was Zaza – the healer probably wanted me to dig deep into the files in the faint hope of my head absorbing some of that knowledge. Possibly, for a Jedi, a former smuggler was someone who needed some extra advice about virtuous ways of life. Being locked up in a few square meter sized white room with nothing more important to do was a good motivator, so I took my time in getting acquainted with also that information. If nothing else, I was curious.
In a few files I bumped to the Jedi code, their code of conduct, which summarized well the life philosophy of these extraordinary beings:
"There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force."
...
...Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.
I flinched when the single line emerged in my mind, like a lone star in the deep dark space. I had buried myself within the datapad for a long time because the sky appearing through my window had turned pitch-black. I pressed the controls beside my bed. Those switched the lights of the room instantly off, leaving me blind for a moment. The dark blur evolved into distinguishable shapes as my eyes were forced to adjust to the lack of lighting. And then I saw them.
The stars.
They dotted the night sky. Their soothing lights cut holes into the darkness, painting the dull black cloth with their unique, playful patterns. Reminding me there was so much more in the universe than this room, the Enclave or this planet - the eternity was somewhere there, beyond. And then I could no longer bear either to just lie on the bed or even to sit still.
...I had to get out of the bloody bed.
Carefully, I let my legs descend to the floor and spent a moment feeling the coolness under my toes. I leaned a part of my weight slowly on my legs, exploring their ability to carry the mass of my body. A spike of pain flared violently somewhere deep within my neck when I heaved my full body weight on my muscles. I had started to sweat, heavily. The window was no more than a single step away.
Finally, I stood at my objective, physically shaking but triumphant, hands crossed over my chest the exact way they were in the bizarre memory. The night sky fully opened before my eyes and I could not think of a place where I desired more: to steer my ship between the stars. Still, at the moment, stars were far away.
Of course, I did not reveal to Zaza that I had started taking steps without her permission. But she found it out by herself quickly, as she stormed into my room during one of those moments when I had mentally submerged myself in the scenery appearing through my window.
The timing was actually all too perfect... I could not rule out a possible interference of her Jedi skills. After an earned lecture about deathly dangers of disobedience, I was humbly back in my bed again - although just temporarily. The bed had shrunk too small: a fact I tended to remind her often about during her visits.
Most likely my frequent bursts of frustration were finally too much for the gentle Jedi healer because eventually, she granted me access, reluctantly, to the nearby inner courtyard of the Enclave. Nonetheless, my outside-time was limited to the maximum of thirty minutes, and I was not allowed to leave the room without an escort. I felt humiliated.
"I thought the Jedi do not torture their prisoners," I protested quietly towards her back when she was leaving the room, believing she was out of range for hearing. Her movement ceased in the middle of a step.
"Young one," she started with a no-nonsense tone. "I believe you are still too weak to exert your body. Your emotions indicate that your mind has been strongly shaken, and it might be wise for you to ponder upon your inner feelings for at least a week more without any interruptions."
I could not help but bark out a laugh. After all, a Jedi and a sense of humor seemed not to be an utterly impossible equation. She had gifted me with a small smile when she finally stepped out of the door, and later that day Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena had appeared in my room.
My own personal prison warden.
Sandra was young, in her middle twenties, and a beautiful brand-new Knight. She was as over-zealous as a materialized Jedi code of conduit, which was the reason I suspected Zaza had picked her as my escort. Her task was to keep me in order and monitor I would not kill myself with too much exercise, and she was perfect for that. Born in Taris, and had received her training in nowhere less than Coruscant before getting transferred to Dantooine. Her small, delicate features were encircled by a cloud of crimson, curly locks. Her character was as cold as the icy Deralian winter wind. If the circumstances had been different, I might have asked her out for a drink, since I certainly did enjoy challenges.
On my first trip, I almost made it to the courtyard when fifteen minutes were up, and Sandra strictly commanded me to turn back. All my muscles, pined away in bed, had given everything they had, sucked empty of anything faintly reminiscent of power. My walking speed gave a realistic impression of how it feels to be sixty years older. Not to mention the headache - this had cruelly and relentlessly returned to remind me of my half-functional brain.
When I eventually managed to drag my aching body to the bed, supporting my body weight to the young Jedi Knight, I slept till the next afternoon without a single break.
Regardless of the rough start, the opportunity of getting out of the room refreshed both my body and my mind. Day by day, my step grew longer, and I started to regain my strength, getting further and further within the limits of my precious thirty minutes. After a few days, I had the first opportunity of sitting on the bench, which was located beside the enormous tree in the middle of the yard, sheltered by its branches. I was quite a sight: enjoying the day in my horrifyingly white sick-robes, a wide grin spread on my face, a slightly bored-looking Jedi Knight by my side. When I noticed that I collected sidelong glances from Jedi younglings, Hell, I certainly did understand why.
Indeed.
The mirror in my room had revealed something a kath hound had first eaten and then vomited back out after noticing it tasted disgusting. I was not far over thirty years, but without knowing that I would have added approximately twenty more to my age. The dark bags under my eyes created an interesting contrast with the pure white clothes. The right side of my face was still swollen, and the gigantic bruise formed under my skin made my features look amusingly misshapen. Like I had taken a nap and rested my head against a freshly painted pale brown wall and was still carrying half of it with me.
I would not recognize myself now, even if I were bloody standing next to me.
Zaza had given my new looks a suitable finishing touch with a shaving, which was surprisingly careless for a Jedi. Short and lengthier spots of stubble alternated on my cheeks. My head had been shaven bald before the operation. At least my hair was obediently growing back, although, with mild horror, I perceived a line of white hairs amidst the dark brown. Those had decided to take root beside the fading scar, now covered in short hair. Under all that mess, I could recollect, was hidden a face some women had even deemed handsome.
I started to feel like a human again when I had gotten rid of the ticklish uneven bristle. For some reason, another one of the healer's curious principles, entrusting me with a razor had not been an easy matter. Finally, following numerous requests, she had given up when I had snapped sarcastically that I carried no intention of harming myself albeit I was bored. Even if my physical condition was far from healthy, at least shaving my kriffin' beard was something I could get through with success.
Zaza's strong tendency to act overly protective often felt odd to me. But possibly the empathic Jedi wanted to make sure my recovery was progressing as it should.
...She does not trust me. She sees a razor in my hand as a weapon - as a danger to herself and others.
Again, a lone cynical thought without a source appeared in my mind, but I killed it right on the spot.
It was so absurd I almost barked with laughter. Even if the Jedi healer did not trust me for some reason – and I knew no why she wouldn't – I was surrounded by, only the Force knew how many lightsabers and warriors with exceptional skills. Even if I somehow lost the last bits of my sanity and went on some absurd, mass murdering crusade with the razor as my only weapon, it would have been like trying to attack an army with a toothpick.
Why would any Jedi consider me, an ordinary soldier and not even a notable one, a danger? The injury must have damaged my brain more than I had presumed.
Unquestionably, having somebody continually watching over my shoulder ate my patience - slowly but surely. The time outside the room was strictly restricted although the duration was slightly increased following progressing healing of my body. I was allowed to wander the hallways and the inner courtyard of the Enclave quite freely, but the council chambers and training rooms were off-limits. The massive durasteel doors to these rooms were extremely and stubbornly locked - as I had taken note when I had tried to gain entrance once when Sandra's eyes were fixed elsewhere. My warden always led me to my 'cell' – the name I had sarcastically given to my room - precisely on time by second even if I had the stamina to continue.
As the months passed by, I had started to compare my situation more and more to the kind of a prisoner.
Moreover, during darker, more cynical moments I had even started to slightly suspect the Jedi were somehow tied to the current state of my health. I could not think of any other reason why they wanted to keep me trapped in the Enclave instead of transferring me to the nearest Republic military base. I should not have been their problem. My condition was well beyond being stabilized, and thus there was no reason for keeping me locked in here.
...But the Jedi were known not to lie. Perhaps they sometimes modified the truth, but they indeed did not lie. Why would they bloody have started it in my case?
The young, distant Jedi Knight did not provide much company, and she embodied the majority of my social contacts. The other Jedi, except for Zaza, kept their distance. Aside from a few conversations about her native planet, Sandra apparently was not keen on revealing details about her life. Our short conversations tended to be quite one-sided.
It was only a matter of time when the nothing-to-do drove me to go against Zaza's orders, and I started rehabilitating my body on my own. If anything, I had always been poor in just twiddling my thumbs. I believed growing weakness in my body or an incipient headache functioned as the best indicators if I was forcing myself over the limits.
I started to create specific routines to pass the time. The space within my room allowed me to take five strides until I reached a wall and was forced to turn around. The floor provided a reasonable amount of friction for strength-enhancing and other bodyweight exercises. Each and every single day I set a target – how many steps I needed to take or the number of workouts that had to be performed – and made sure I beat it.
It was euphoric to finally fall on the bed, every single drop of sweat drained from my body. Thinking it was impossible to move the aching, tired muscles. And then to get up once more and do a single extra exercise – and to notice my body could pull it through.
One could compare this to the behavior of a caged wild beast. It would not go far because often I felt like one: a caged Jedi pet.
I tortured myself. I don't know where the desire to go to such an extent - to explore the final limits of my body - originated itself from. Possibly something within me wanted to rebel against these circumstances I was forced to tolerate, conditions that were a result of some absurd whim of fate. Perhaps I wanted to prove to Zaza that whatever she thought was the correct rate of recovery, I could do it better. Or maybe I just wanted to get the bloody Hell out of this place and could not care less even if I had to take the risk of kicking the bucket on the way.
Zaza's visits had become less frequent when Sandra had taken the role as my escort and my guard. Possibly she had more important issues on her mind now that my condition was apparently not directly life-threatening. If the Jedi healer did pay me a visit, it was sometimes because of a particular required medical examination. But usually, she mainly wanted to know if I had been able to recover any lost memories from my past. I had not.
I started to be sure: what was lost had no intention of returning.
Lost memories did not trouble me anymore. In my opinion, there probably was not much to see anyway. Maybe some smuggling trips or a couple of holes which had been left to my youth waited for their fillings. This all was in the past. As I had assigned myself to the service of the Republic for the next a few years, I had no intention of dwelling in there.
Zaza apparently did not agree. Eventually, I had gotten tired of repeating the exact same answers to her questions and had used some quite harsh expressions when requesting her to leave the interiors of my head alone. And she did, reluctantly, but only when I had promised to let her know if any new memories surfaced. For all what I cared, the issue was now fully covered.
Slowly, but steadily my body started to regain its lost strength. I could not anymore recall the last time when the blinding headache had clouded my thoughts. My muscles no more cried in agony when I took them to their limits. And I could not comprehend why my movement outside the room was still restricted, or why in the Force's sake I needed a full-fletched Jedi Knight to watch my steps. Although Sandra never said it out loud, the same thought appeared to have crossed her mind.
"What do you think, Jedi? Is there a possibility you might have something more important to do than to walk as my shadow?" I had once asked her incidentally while we were yet again walking out in the inner courtyard.
"The Council decides which mission is the best use of my skills, soldier," she answered serenely, no emotions.
"It is a war out there. And you guard one single soldier who does not even need guidance. Almost all the other Jedi Knights are out and fighting. And yet, you linger here," I mused quietly. I had hit a sore spot since her lips tightened to a thin line.
"A Jedi's most important task is to guard the peace, not wage war," she answered quietly, like repeating a long-learned sentence. But I could perceive, fundamentally she agreed with me.
As the months had passed by, the newscasts had turned nothing but grimmer. Darth Malak and the Sith had not been able to penetrate into the Core World space, yet, but far too many planets in the Mid and Outer Rims had been lost to advancing Sith armies. Numerous significant military targets had been wiped off the galactic map.
Inevitably, The Republic was crumbling. The Jedi Enclave had become desolate, hallways only whispering the echoes of the life which had once existed here. Also, my place was supposed to be elsewhere, aboard a battleship or on some planet, sighting the nearest Sith with my blaster pistol.
Numerous of times I had appealed to Zaza to release me into service.
"Patience, young one," had been the only answer I had received, which made me gnash my teeth. 'Frustration' was a far too mild term to describe my feelings.
Luckily, the Jedi could not keep me forever. Although there were some holes left in my memories, those did not make me incapable of taking my place as a Republic soldier. Even Zaza had to admit there was nothing wrong with my physical condition anymore. And so, a particular day Sandra had barged into my room. Without a knock – as always. Just then, I was balancing on my hands, chest bare, and my legs high up on the wall.
"Dress up, soldier," she barked, trying to keep the coolness in her voice. And then letting her eyes accidentally linger on my chest half a second too long before turning her back to me.
Although there were a few shadows of scars marking my skin, I was starting to be in a pretty good physical shape, and her reaction had just proved it. A grin spread across my face and, purposely, I did not hurry when bringing my exercise to an end. She waited with patience and turned to confront my face only after I had announced I was modest again.
"Tomorrow you will be transferred on a Republic warship, the Endar Spire. Start gathering your stuff, soldier," she announced with a mild smile on her lips, not being able to entirely conceal the relief in her voice.
Just like that, five months and seventeen days since my awakening, my unplanned visit to the Jedi Enclave had finally ended. While observing the nearing, pale hull of the Hammerhead-class cruiser through the window of the small transport vessel, I would have felt triumphant. Unless Sandra had not been standing right next to me, her presence planting a single seed of doubt in my mind.
Was I truly free?
