Problems on the road

Kavar looked at the senate building in dread as they approached. Would the masters sense him? "I want you to think of a small animal you know that hides instead of fighting." He told them.

"Are they Choobies?" Bastila asked.

He laughed. "No, they aren't Choobies. Do you know an animal on Talravin that hides?"

"Kalrags." Bastila said. "They're bugs about this big," She put her fingers about four centimeters apart. "If you don't clean up the dishes after a meal, they come out of the woodwork to eat and it takes forever to kill them. If they see you, they scurry under things, dishes, flatware, and hide."

"Can you pretend to be a Kalrag?"

"As long as someone doesn't swat me." She replied. "And someone explains what Choobies are."

"We will later." Marai said.

"That's what they always say." Bastila commented sadly. "I asked my daddy what fierfeck meant and he didn't answer before I went away." She cuddled her dragon. "Now he won't be able to, unless he finds me."

"Add that to your list, Marai." Kavar ordered.

She looked at him coolly. "And you can explain shutta for her."

He rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"Anytime."

Kavar was ready to snap back when one of the dashboard lights flashed amber. He had enough time to note the location, Grav Coil 2, when it first flashed, then stayed solid red. He was reaching for the panel to do a diagnostic when there was a puff of oily smoke from the right hand forward section of the hull, then an instant later the aircar spun, nosing down and began to spin as it plunged toward the surface a kilometer below.

Atris in Transport-land:

Atris wasn't sure who she was more angry at; the universe in general, or herself. It had seemed a good idea to merely go home when Marai still tried to avoid her, but she had left the Temple so abruptly that she had not bothered to even plan for her trip home. Before she had become a Jedi hopeful, her parents had always dealt with money. Living for eight years among the Jedi she had never even handled money beyond the small amounts used for snacks and the occasional keepsake. When Jedi younglings traveled, it was more like a herd of nerf being taken to market, the older Jedi acting like nerf-hounds to keep them together, and the entire mass chivvied along from vehicle to ship to van to bus to train.

So this was her first experience traveling alone, and worst yet, dealing with the financial arrangements for that evolution.

She had brought every credit she had, fifteen, and it had taken only one to catch the local transport tram from the station near the temple to the transport center. But she needed two hundred for the cheapest transport from Coruscant to Echana, and that one would stop at every intervening planet on the Corellian Trade Spine between here and there, taking weeks.

She briefly considered merely walking up to the ticket kiosk, and telling the vender-droid that she was a Jedi on a mission. But that would cause it's own problems. While she was tall for her age of thirteen standard years, she still looked thirteen. That wasn't a real problem because the near human race that lived on Kreela looked like young humans too right up to dying of old age, but no one could imitate that silly accent that Kreelans had, and they usually had red or brown hair, not the silver of her own.

Besides, if she booked passage as a Jedi the council would be notified, after all, it would be their accounts that would pay for it. Not a wise move to break with the Jedi and return home secretly when you were using their money!

She paused by a long blank wall of windows looking out at the ships that were arriving, loading, unloading, and the crowds doing so as well. She had dressed in some casual clothes she had for lounging around among the other younglings and apprentices back on Cornet, and again her mind went back to Marai.

The legend was clear about Kashin-Dra. The Shadow warrior would be defeated not by force of arms, but by the love of his mate. On her home world bonding to a mate didn't differentiate by sex; her mother's business partners had been a bonded same sex couple and had seemed to be happy even if they were both men. Of course what she knew about sex on her home world could have been written on a store purchase card with a laundry marker. She wasn't sure how two females would go about it beyond giggling comments by mother to father about warm oil massages and hot tubs.

She touched the ceremonial dagger her father had given her before she left home. She could sell it, but to her people a blade was a symbol of grace given by the Goddess herself. Only weapons smiths were allowed to sell a blade. It could be given, traded, surrendered, taken, destroyed, even lost. But never sold. You would be throwing away her gifts if you did.

It was also used in meditation, when the Echani prayed. You would go through one of the Kitra; the stylized motions of actual combat as you concentrated on what you needed to have, be it knowledge, understanding, and, in her case, assistance in finances. She drew the blade, walking to an interior wall, stopping a step from it, closed her eyes and began the second kitra.

To the uninformed, it must have looked like she was in deadly combat with an invisible enemy armed as she was, all in slow motion. In her mind she pictured that opponent, and just out of spite, she used Marai's face. Watch the blade in the edge of her sight, instead watch the face and shoulders, where the intent of her opponent would be revealed. Marai's hands would shift as she contemplated an attack, and Atris' hands would match with the proper riposte, yet they were too far apart to strike at each other except for a throw. She moved as if she considered it, and her opponent's weight shifted in the proper counter to dodge a thrown blade. It went on for several minutes, until she struck and Marai fell to the ground dying. Atris stopped, going back to position one, and opened her eyes.

A crowd had gathered, and as she opened her eyes, they began applauding and shouting. There was a flurry of clicks as thrown credit chips began to land at her feet. She looked around confused until a young child ran forward, gathered them up, and handed them to her. "That was wicked!" The young boy said before running back to his parents.

She did a quick count, she had almost doubled her money. "Maybe you need music to go with it." Someone commented. It was a young Twi-Lek her own age with a synthesizer board over his shoulder and a couple of friends.

"I beg your pardon?"

"To go with your dance." He motioned toward the coins in her hand. "You get better performance tips when you have something like music." He knelt, set out his board, and ran his fingers across the keys. It sounded like a small electronic organ. "Start again, and I'll play accompaniment. We'll split what we get."

"Maybe I need something longer than this." She motioned to the blade. "You need a sword or ritual brand to dance the more complex Kitra."

"Zulik." He spoke to the Twi-Lek boy with him rapidly in their language. He ran off, coming back a few moments later with odds and ends of piping, some with cleaning heads still attached. One was a broken mop handle about the length of a standard sword. Atris took it, weighing the wooden shaft in her hand. Then she closed her eyes again, and began to dance. After a moment, soft music enfolded her, and she began to match it in speed.