Chapter 2 – Conversion
On Tatooine a stranger walked. He wore long robes, carrying a seemingly wooden staff that bore a large blue gem inlaid at the top. What was odd is that his irises were almost as white as his albino skin. An elderly gentleman observed him while sitting in his hover chair, still somewhat angry at the death of his wife and the loss of a leg. One he was steadfast about refusing to have replaced with cybernetics.
His son, Owen, was visible in the distance giving instructions to the droids. While his son's wife, Beru, was inside the habitat, cooking – something he and his wife used to do together, now all that was gone leaving just memories. Good memories but a bitter taste. The stranger got closer, robe flapping in the wind, pushing down his hood to reveal dark hair.
"What can I do for you?"
"You grow no crops here?"
A rueful smile obviously someone who had never been to Tatooine before, easy to get here but hard to get away, not a lot of career specialisation here except the seedy variety. "When you've got two suns to contend with not a lot tends to grow under these harsh conditions with no rain."
"Perhaps a miracle then?" teased the man. "By morning you will have arable crops for a mile in every direction."
A suspicious look crossed Lars face. "You a Jedi?" He half smiled considering the edict from the Emperor Palpatine that all Jedi were to be hunted down. "I won't tell if you are," his eyes shone with honesty and trust. It was the least he could do considering his ex-son-in law was a Jedi. Something about the man felt odd though…….if only he could place it.
The Prior stood there, not that his enhanced humanoid physique would suffer any debilitation from the heat for quite a while, when the power of the Ori could overwhelm any restrictions easily, for were they not gods? He would give the man a miracle then the worshippers would come flocking. He could read the man's mind with ease as there were no mental barriers to speak of…..fruit the size of my head. Tomorrow the man would be surprised by what he saw, but that was another day.
By the time Cliegg looked the man of no name was walking away in the desert, alone. If he was a Jedi there would no danger from Sand people. Another sigh escaped his lips as a gentle hand touched his shoulder. "Father, who was that?"
He did not know how to answer for in truth the man was an unknown. "I don't know son, I don't know." There was a shout from the kitchen causing the elder Lars to look up at the soon to be setting sun.
"Father, dinner's ready," he nodded, a tear escaping one eye, shed for the woman he still loved.
Without his wife, food was bland, time was meaningless, he was old – there would be no one else. No hope for company for one such as him, thankful for a healthy son who would at least carry on his line. A glass of strong brandy from Kashyyk helped a tired man sleep, which carried dreams of a woman he missed. When he woke sunlight blasted through the windows waking him, cursing as he must've forgotten to pull the blind down in a drunken haze. Damn it! There was shouting and excitement outside, it sounded like Owen. Throwing the covers off to dress quickly, eager to find out what the commotion was all about, harrumphing as he went up the stairs on his hover chair.
The image that greeted the elder Lars was somewhat unexpected. Rubbing his eyes yet the sight remained, so he rubbed them again. Yet a third time but the luscious greenery in his vision remained. Too much Wookie brandy; perhaps it was a hallucination? Pushing the button on a keypad the hover hair moved towards the foliage at a faster pace than was safe. But modern technology stopped him just in time.
Reaching out grasped some foliage rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It certainly felt real. By the Sith, what was going on?
"Father, isn't it wonderful fruit the size of an astromech?"
Cliegg leant down to examine the fruit, pressed it with a finger. "Let's cut one off and eat it." Owen and his wife carried it, although by rights it would be fair to say more dragged it to the kitchen by which time both completely out of breath. It took a few minutes to realise they weren't going to get it on the worktop without droid help, so he settled for skinning it right there. As they ate the fruit it turned out to be incredibly juicy and sweet – able to thoroughly slate a desert thirst, yet providing plenty of sugar for energy.
All three together had barely managed a twentieth of one fruit, let alone the thousands that must be sitting there waiting for harvesting. What was better this would make them right beyond their wildest dreams.
"If we get this every season – exporting it across the"…….he was just almost about to say Republic, but it wasn't anymore. It was a Galactic Empire.
"I know father, I know. Rich!" As the plates were being cleaned away, there was a tap of wood on stairs in the habitat, each tap getting closer. His son turned abruptly to find the albino skinned man there leaning casually on the staff.
"Are you pleased with the bounty provided by the Ori?"
Owen did a double take, blinking briefly to look at his dad, then his wife. "Who?"
The Prior smiled enigmatically. "The Ori are Gods who provided this miracle for you. All I ask of you is to read of this and worship," he explained, placing down the book of Origin on the tabletop.
"Dad, no"
"It's okay son. So you're telling me that if we worship these Ori, read this book. They will provide this," he said, licking dry lips, "indefinitely?"
The albino nodded again, "They are just Gods, showering the devout with gifts, but they do not hesitate to punish the wicked", a pause, "or undeserving".
Cliegg understood the threat clearly. Could he worship such beings? Living to be old yet rich, he could almost taste the wealth on his tongue. His family had been poor far too long.
Owen spoke his next thought aloud though, "Will you", he began, swallowing nervously, "they, protect us from the Empire?"
"If you truly worship, no one shall be allowed to hurt you. Hallowed are the Ori."
"Hallowed are the Ori," all three spoke in unison.
"Tell others of your miracle here."
Owen nodded.
By the second day much of the fruit remained, unspoiled by the heat. By the end of the week it was all cleared away, replaced the following morning by yet more. All three took turns to read the Book of Origin aloud to the other two, even forming rotas as to who would read it at night. What had started as purely for greed sake had eventually turned into actual belief, not just him but Owen and Beru too, giving an old man hope that there might be something better waiting.
The Prior left satisfied, beginning his long walk through the desert towards Mos Eisley, one that would take many, many days to complete. It took only a day before the first shipment of fruit was being sent across the planet for sale. This first batch had netted mega-credits, making the Lars family rich beyond their wildest dreams. By the time the Prior reached Mos Eisley, many recognised him as the family had obviously given an accurate description. Now would follow what always transpired. Some would resist, but eventually all would worship. A sick man limped by, looking up in hope.
Tapping his staff on the floor, a white light shone from gem. Within moments the limb was fully restored as though there had never been any infirmity. He handed the man another Book of Origin. "Hallowed are the Ori." Should he heal a few more or get the hard bit over and done with? Making his way to towards the nearest seedy establishment he would show those delinquents in this the galaxy the power of the Ori. Entering was disconcerting as he could not believe the number of xenos present. Many looked up at his arrival.
"We don't want your sort here," scowled the barman. "Get out!"
Ignoring the outburst continued into the room which was full of acrid smoke, not that it was of any concern in the slightest - but it never ceased to amaze the servant how and why they damaged their bodies so. He felt a wave of hostility, raising a transparent psychokinetic shield. He glanced around to find an energy weapon was pointed in his direction. Spreading his arms wide, throwing the staff to the ground.
"Hallowed are the Ori," feeling the shield dissipate the incoming energy.
"What the…." exclaimed the xeno. It had green skin, large body that seemed slightly bloated, horns, tusks and preponderance for drooling. Disgusting thought the Prior.
"He's some kind of Jedi, report him," growled some kind of large furry Xeno, not that the language was the same as the others – but the gift of the Gods allowed the understanding of all languages.
Others took up arms, not that it ever did any good for were the Ori not gods? With but a thought the staff flew back into his waiting hands as he walked towards the hostile entourage. The inlaid gem at the top of the staff glowed once more as the original hostile was suddenly all hunched over, seeming to age before their very eyes growing more and more decrepit by the second.
Its eyes pleaded for surcease, compassion, not wanting to die.
"Was compassion not shown by the tale of Markon wandering in the desert?" Another flash, the creature was whole, unharmed, again. The discharge of energy weapons had ceased too, his last action having drained them of all energy.
Many stared in disbelief and wonder, even the legends of the strongest Jedi or Sith had never been able to do that. He could sense the anger and seething hatred of many, but most stood there in awe. Not sure what to think, or how to feel. Without further ado walked serenely, calmly from the cantina, out onto the streets.
An hour later one tough from the bar found him wandering. It was slightly taller than he was, with blue skin, large horns, long fleshy parts where ears were, downward pointing horns which seemed somewhat flaccid.
"Come," he beckoned, "my mother is ill. Beyond any hope."
He was led past many buildings which reminded the Prior of some of the structures back home, primitive, without the curse of technology. Something the Ori would banish. Where he walked the crowd parted either afraid or, hoping for benediction at a later time. There was no mistaking the stench of death upon approach, as the door was opened with a bang to reveal a somewhat sparse home, with little in the way of accoutrements or excess belonging. He approved.
Lying on a bed was a female that did not have long left in this world. Knowing what would be asked before it was even said, placing a hand to his lips indicating silence. That same hand was laid reverently upon the female's brow, this time the staff did not glow. Her pallor was a deathly ivory colour now deepened gradually reaching her usual dark blue. Her son noticed an old burn on her hand healed without trace.
His heart beat faster, emotions joyous, at seeing his mother whole and well again. "Thank you, thank you!" Even these words did not, could not truly represent how he felt at this time.
The Prior warmed at his joy knowing another convert to Origin had been won. "Tell others of the miracle that happened here."
The other could only nod, tears flowing as mother and son embraced.
With a thought the book of Origin appeared in his hands which he placed gently upon a nearby table. On his walk back to the cantina he was accosted by armed soldiers in white armour and helmets who within moments they surrounded him, but it did not matter. This final miracle would be like ferrocrete, solid and almost unmovable.
"Don't move"
"Hands up" another ordered.
Telepathically signalling the ship he disappeared in a blinding flash of light.
Down on the surface of the planet the soldiers were left staring at the empty space, dumfounded, trying to piece together what had happened.
"Some kind of Jedi trick"
"Search the nearby city, find him."
One soldier that had a slight error in his DNA during the process of cloning enabling the ability to think freely – taking on more of the original model than anticipated. His name was Morin. "He vanished, must be some kind of teleport"
"But that's impossible"
"We must inform Lord Vader" Morin said authoritatively, "immediately". Even the squadron leader obeyed without question, but such was their lot in life – obey without question, die in droves.
Hours later Lord Vader sat aboard the newly commission Star Destroyer, one of a new fleet. Anger filled his very being, hatred his core. He hated Darth Sidious for allowing Padme to follow him, anger at her for fleeing. But his new burgeoning powers would allow Anakin to overthrow the Dark Lord in time, even becoming Emperor, so that he could track her down. One day she would be at his side again. So overcome was he, that he did not heed that little voice at the back of his consciousness that knew this last statement was a lie.
He could tell that the clone trooper coming towards him was carrying bad news of some description, he could sense it. Although something did feel slightly out of character, off about him. "What is it?" he snapped.
Quickly going to attention and saluting, Morin began his report. "My Lord, I suspect this strange being may be a Jedi. He healed a sick mother of a local criminal. Created an abundance of crops which produce huge edible fruit weekly for a moisture farmer leaving only this," he said passing the book to Lord Vader.
Brows furrowed in anger, he asked, "Which moisture farmer," his voice cracking like a whip.
"Cliegg Lars sir"
For days now he'd wanted to punish someone but he would not let it be the man whose farm interned the body of his late mother.
"Do you want me to arrest either the criminal or the farmer?"
"Leave them."
"Yes sir. Something really strange happened when my men were about to apprehend the suspect."
Lord Vader watched absently, saying nothing, so Morin took that as a signal to continue. "We had him surrounded then he vanished in a bright light. Most of my squad thought it a Jedi trick, but I suspect it was some form of teleportation"
"That's impossible"
"So the Squadron Leader said sir, but just because we think it is impossible doesn't mean to say it is"
Gathering his rather disturbing thoughts, this clone trooper was truly a strange one, thinking in a way unbecoming of a clone, not blindly following orders. Free thinking, perhaps they would do well to clone this soldier for officer material. He would arrange it imminently, but the problem still persisted. "Good thinking soldier. What's your name?"
"Morin, sir."
"You've just earned yourself a promotion to Field Captain, don't make me regret it."
"I won't sir. Thank you sir." Bowing once more, took his leave back to the troops, with the good news.
Back on Coruscant Emperor Palpatine sat behind his desk, grabbing it briefly for support as the walls seemed to ebb and flow like waves becoming unreal. After a minute his perceptions returned to normal recognising the sensation for what it was - there was a deep disturbance in the force; he had ever felt it this strongly before. Never, even with the birth of the Chosen One had this happened. It was as if his connection to the force was coming undone.
Sensing the presence of another glanced up to see Jorus C'Boath approaching. He carried an aura of confidence and command that could felt dozens of meters away. Having once been part of the Outward Bound flight having single handed taken over the whole ship, killing most of the passengers; any lucky survivors, hadn't been all that lucky as the Chiss Admiral, Thrawn, had destroyed the ship with all hands onboard. Not before Sidious had taken genetic samples for later cloning.
So it was this day that the clone of C'Boath now stood before him, "You summoned me my Master."
Staring into eyes that very mirrored his - containing a thirst, a lust for power and control. "I want you to conduct a search for technical schematics relating to the Old Republic," pausing to wait for the order to sink in, "particularly unknown technologies."
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "Hasn't this kind of thing been done to death already?"
During his travels on Korriban he'd found abandoned research details on battle stations, and in the rubble of Orb Mantell schematics on advanced laser weaponry for use on large platforms, designed to crack open planets. "I want you to look for anything that may prove useful in our conquest of this galaxy. Take this. Are my orders clear?" He asked, passing over a data cube.
"They are clear my Master."
"Good. Do not let me keep you."
His servant turned on his heels walking briskly away leaving him alone to personal thoughts. The next part of the plan would involve yet more clones. So far he had taken samples from both Dooku and Anakin, while cloning the latter could prove troublesome a younger version of the former would be useful. Particularly if Sith Alchemy was used to further perfect the body, adding certain safeguards.
This plan was already underway in his secret lab; located on Byss in the Core Worlds, hidden from all but his Inner Sanctum –Vader would ever be that, they were tools, his, to use and throw away as required.
On board his ship the Prior meditated on the Godliness of the Ori, their grandeur and power. He found it settling and peaceful. He would be instrumental in turning this galaxy to Origin. It came out of the hyperspace anomaly emitting a burst of cronau radiation above a planet of lush forests and vegetation. He would free whoever lived there showing them illumination of the Ori teachings.
A loyal servant came to his room, "We're here."
He chose to say nothing, letting the man understand that talking was not necessary and that idle chatter led hearts away Origin by needless speculation. It was so written. Light enveloped briefly as the ship faded from view to be replaced by a huge forest with trees hundreds of feet tall creating a canopy of green. He nodded in approval. Very few aerial battles would take place within the forest leaving only ground combat. As though to ratify his very thoughts discharges of energy could be heard in the distance.
Within minutes of walking in the direction of laser fire it was obvious who the aggressors were, more of the soldiers in white armour. None treated the new arrival as a threat for he bore neither weapon nor aggressive attitude, only humility. "Do you wish freedom or slavery?" he shouted, voice enhanced through the power of the Ori.
To drive home his intent, a gesture sent a walking mechanical two legged construct flying end over end, smashing into the white armoured soldiers. All died in the conflagration that followed. A growl of triumph greeted his actions from the hairy xeno locals. His shield of psycho-energy harmlessly absorbed dozens of blasts and stepping forward with deliberate slowness demonstrated his invulnerability. Another gesture threw dozens of soldiers far into the distance at almost a hundred miles per hour. All that could be heard were screams, of bodies breaking and then silence.
Great huge hairy xenos almost seven feet tall, many adorned with weapons, begun to fight with renewed vigour. What few soldiers remained was easily cut down, dispatched without mercy despite their pleas for clemency.
His ESP sensed yet more soldiers coming this way, trying to creep through the foliage. Fools! Most never had chance to register surprise as their hiding places suddenly became infernos as fire suddenly gripped a hundred of meters of forest. Any within was quickly deprived of oxygen then the mercy of unconsciousness took over as they saw no more, ever again.
Those quick enough to escape the conflagration rushed out only to be shot.
The fire went out as quickly as it started amid triumphant growls. Intuition told the Prior these creatures were a warrior race and would not submit willingly to Origin, so he would need to turn them to his cause. Lessons had been learnt long ago with the children of the Atlanteans who had resisted them despite any attempts to show illumination – spurning their teachings had caused others to follow them leaving no other choice but to kill untold innocents who would have benefited from the blessings of his Gods.
So now they converted the easy, slowly bringing over the doubtful a piece at a time – there was no need in unnecessary death. They would all benefit from the Ori – he would personally bring their light to this galaxy of heathens.
What was required now was a demonstration of power. Moving eastwards he beckoned them. "Come."
They spoke in their own language consisting of growls and grunts in which they deliberated whether to stay or follow. In the end they followed. Twenty minutes of walking took his intrepid little band towards a clearing where a large mechanical four legged being walked with many, many soldiers.
In the space between green forests aerial vehicles patrolled. By stepping into the clearing he issued a non-verbal challenge, the intent clear, here I stand, come and get me. They fired not just at him, but those who accompanied the Prior. Encompassing all in a psychokinetic shield they watched in relief as energy impacted only to be harmlessly absorbed. None were hit.
A huge gout of electrical energy issued from his staff to strike the behemoth, blowing its head clean from the body. The beast toppled to the ground, inert, dead. The xeno's combined their firepower but the forcefields of the fighters were just too strong repelling any small arms fire. It was like giants hands tossing the fighters about, his psychokinetic winds forcing one fighter to careen into as pyrotechnic explosions lit the sky. The others chose wisely to retreat.
The compassion of Markon was an important tenet in Origin so he spared the remaining soldiers, allowing them to live. Such an action was twofold as it would also allow them to spread tales of his power to others. The prophet Markon dated back many thousands of years but his principles still held even now, tales of heroism and valour.
The living were only able to resist attempts to read their mind for so long, so during the brief stillness he'd read the mind of a dying soldier, hoping to get any missing information. It had been quite enlightening, his enemy was the Galactic Empire and the hairy repulsive xenos were called Wookies.
The Wookie alongside him was tall, even by their standards being almost eight feet tall with innumerable flecks of grey within the brown mane. He turned, imparting a phrase from Origin, "Ishad parted the white sea on the shores of Vael. Remember this."
The creature growled its understanding. Telepathically he activated the transporter within his orbiting ship vanishing in another flash of light.
They were delighted, freedom from tyranny, free from the Empire. They had a colossal party that night to celebrate, none went hungry. Neither Chewbacca nor his younger nephew joined in, both feeling that something was wrong.
Larrful had tried to explain it to the Elders that night likening the feeling to being caught in a hunter's sight waiting for a kill shot that never came. Usually now he just described it as a niggling feeling that would never go away. Some accused the young Wookie to preferring slavery and subjugation, something Chewbacca had been steadfast in defending as completely wrong.
Many now ignored them both as beings whose opinion was not worth poo doo. So in the days that followed of rebuilding they had talked about it ostensibly weighing the pros and cons. In the end though they had little choice as neither was at heart a home maker so they decided to leave in the hopes of seeking out the hidden plot.
One night they crept into one of the remaining Galactic Empire shuttles, equipped with a hyperdrive making sure there were no remaining guards, once done they boarded waiting for the hatch to close behind them.