By the Light of a Dying Star
Chapter 3: Coruscant Days
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars
She dreams.
In her dreams there is a desert, a vast, ever-changing thing that shimmers in the noon-day light. It stretches into the horizon, an endless plain of crests and dips where the sand swirls and dances in eddies of motion. It is still. There is an eternity in the desert, an unchanging feel of forever that echoes in the lay of the sand and whispers in the wind that blows hot on her face. The sand is bleached white by the starlight that rains dry from the heavens and she knows just by looking at it that she stands on the bones of a people lost.
She walks forward, compelled by a feeling she knows not, the sand coarse and rough on her bare feet and naked skin. The desert is a place of rebirth, where time begins anew with every sandstorm and so it is fitting that she walks this place as bare as the day she was born, free to be moulded by the sun and the wind.
She takes slow steps through the dunes and the ground burns hot. There is power here, she can feel it buzzing through the air in a delighted hum. It likes being felt, this power, and she gets a sense that once upon an age it was the lifeblood of this place, cascading onto a people who relished in it. The desert is like Brion in that sense, overflowing with potential and carrying the aftertaste of a tragedy that sours what should be pure life.
In her dreams she sees a boy.
He rises from the sand, sculpted from the power that fills every grain; his hair is the colour of the golden ground and his eyes like the blue diamond sky. He is fully formed and perfect, his features cherubic and innocent and his presence shines with a beautiful naivety that glows like a new-born star. The power in the desert caresses him, it sighs with pleasure as it strokes non-existent fingers against his form.
He looks to the sky in wonder and longing, stretching desperately towards the mysteries it holds. Above his head the day has faded into night and the light of a thousand worlds bathes his face in beauty, the galaxy adorning his brow.
Time passes.
The boy in the desert grows into a man, he rises tall amongst the dunes and fills out with age. His shoulders strong enough to bear a man's responsibilities and his face soft enough to hold the hopes and dreams of a boy. He is beautiful in his adulthood, impossibly handsome, all soft spun-gold curls and plains of bronzed flesh. His eyes blaze with blue fire and while they still watch the sky, it is resolve and determination that fill them now, a drive to protect the stars and worlds he could cradle in his hands.
She feels as his presence changes, what once was the childlike glow of a fledgling sun now blazes like a supernova. It is raw and powerful and shines with the light of a thousand stars. The air around him crackles with intensity and the power of the desert sings a forgotten battle cry that fans the blaze higher. The light of his presence is scouring, it's like the desert in the way it makes and forms new what it touches, hardening and softening at the same time. She cannot help but look on in awe as the boy-now-man radiates glory more profound than any king.
But something changes.
The air becomes heavy and the gold of the desert starts to grey. The whitewashed bone-sand becomes ashes in the greyscale, only the man keeps his colour. His frame is wrought with tension and the precise lines of muscle beneath his skin are coiled and ready to fight. The corners of his eyes bleed a sickly molten yellow and his expression is dark and burdened.
He no longer looks to the sky, which is now dark, but to the ground, to the desert that gave him life. He digs his hands into it desperately, churning the grains in his battle worn fingers with the fervour of a starving man at a feast. He is searching –but for what she cannot discern. There is a despair in his eyes, an anguish in the lines of his body as his search proves fruitless.
And then there is rage.
The desert is shocked into motion as the misery of the man all at once becomes anger. It is a simple thing, a hate born of pain and fear and isolation that whips the wind into action. The ash-sand swirls around him in a storm of dead pasts, of dead futures and the power it holds and that in the air grows heavy and intense. His eyes blaze a terrible aureolin and overflow with the passion of an avenging god.
She instinctively raises her hands to shield herself from the tempest of his power, to protect herself from the buffeting winds and sand projectiles that rip across her skin. His power rages a terrifying inferno in her senses, blocking out and destroying the peace of the desert with the force of his emotion. The desert is no longer still, the hills and valleys of sand shift like waves in a storm, following the commands of the man.
He is petrifying and awesome all at once in his fury, the power of it enough to burn down worlds. The desert screams in wrath as the hellfire of his power grabs and burns until-
-PAIN PAIN PAIN! The man falls to the ground and writhes in agony as the flames of his own power eat at his skin. They burn his beautiful flesh like acid, corroding his perfect desert-born form and she screams in tandem with him as the force of his suffering explodes through the desert in a shockwave of pure power. He claws at his raw, flaking skin with blunt nails and rivulets of blood trail down his body, pooling on the desert floor in a macabre splash of colour. The pain intensifies and so does his shrieking. She desperately wants to comfort him, to offer solace and smother the raging inferno of his power with the chilling ice of her own.
But she can't.
She is powerless and must watch on as this man, this beautiful, brave soul, destroys himself with the strength of his own fury.
Eventually the man's screams of agony diminish and fade as soon there is nothing left to burn, all that remains is a pool of thick crimson that sits on the surface of the sand. She watches in horror as it coagulates and becomes tarlike, grows and moves like a living thing, seeping through the ground and spreading tendrils of black poison. The desert grows darker as the bloodstain slithers and pollutes the sand, painting it a gory carmine that spreads in every direction like a sea of blood. The stars go dark one by one as the man no longer shelters them from the encroaching black and the silence in the desert is eerie and forbidding.
She forces her feet to move through the sodden sand, the thick blood welling up in her foot prints as she goes. She feels numb, a dazed kind of horror-struck as the hellish recollection of the burning man's dying screeches plays on repeat through her mind. She drags her bare form through the soundless sea of red sand slowly as the saturated ground grips at her feet like gelatinous sludge, the dark sky the heart of a black hole.
Then there is a light.
It appears in the distance at first, far on the edge of the scarlet horizon, past the rippling red dunes. She squints her eyes, trying to see it more clearly through the crimson gloom and takes cautious steps in its direction. Something about it draws her, a tranquil island of bright in an ocean of dark. It calls her towards it, offering a familiarity she can't place and a feeling of acceptance she can't name.
The light aches with pain, an anguish as strong as any the burning man felt that sings through the blood-soaked landscape towards her. She can feel it in her bones: a regret beyond all others, a guilt so deep it doesn't have a name and a betrayal so agonising that even the stars would cry if they felt it. She falters slightly in her steps as she feels it.
But somehow even the pain is familiar.
It twists through her body with an ease born of times past, working throbbing fingers through disused emotional pathways within her mind like it already knows them. Something about that strangeness spurs her onwards and she breaks into a run. The light calls her, it knows her, and somewhere deep in her subconscious she knows it too. There is suddenly this need to reach the light, to see what it is, to understand why she knows it and to bask in the comfort she knows its presence will bring.
And so she runs.
She sprints through the desert, her white curls whipping behind her in a platinum banner and her dark eyes riveted to the light ahead. She stumbles up the dunes and trips down gulleys of sand. Her hands and feet are stained red by the viscous fluid that permeates the granules and her white skin is splattered like a murder victim's. She grows closer with every step, she can feel it pulling at her mind. The desert is no longer silent here, it sings soft mournful tunes of broken hearts and broken bonds and she feels ever more desperate to reach the light. She is just about to cross the last dune, the final barrier and she picks up speed, anticipation burning in her chest, she is almost there-
-But because it is both too early and too late, the dream fades.
-*8*-
"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to start the day!"
Isharia groaned as the cheerful tones of her alarm washed over her and squeezed her eyes shut against the thin streams of sunlight that glowed peach under her eyes.
"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to start the day!"
It was far too early for this. Determined to ignore it, she turned her head back into her pillow and nuzzled into it, spreading a hazy black smear across the white cotton and sighing sleepily.
"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to start the day!"
She scowled toward the pillow in annoyance and angrily ripped it from underneath her head to jam it over her ear, desperately trying to block out the overly happy voice and preserve the last vestiges of sleep.
"Wake up! Wake up! It's time to start th-"
"Alright! Alright! I'm awake!" she cried in frustration, flinging the pillow away in irritation and opening her eyes to glare at the cutesy, anthropomorphic felinx hologram floating in front of her.
It merely blinked its large, blue eyes at her, puffy tail flicking lazily around its holographic green body before continuing, "Today is Benduday 17th Avenu at 10:45am Coruscant standard time. The weather outside is a temperate 20˚C but with chance of cold winds coming down from the north, so be sure to wear a jacket! There are queues on the T-534D Eastbound heading towards the University and on the P-872G Southbound towards the Senate due to congestion so avoid-"
"Yeah, whatever, deactivate," Isharia interrupted, rolling her eyes and sluggishly waving a hand to the side. The hologram shot her a mildly affronted glare, crossing its furry arms before giving a pompous sniff and fizzling out.
'Why did I ever buy that thing?' she thought, running a hand over her face, 'All it's done get annoyed with me and me with it.'
She heaved a sigh and pulled herself up, running a hand through her tangled mess of curls and wincing as her fingers twisted and tugged at the knotted strands. The morning sun shone bright through the expansive windows covering one wall and she watched idly as traffic buzzed about outside in a flurry of life. It was a beautiful morning, the sky was an endless swathe of blue, not a cloud in sight, and the steel monoliths of the city gleamed like mirrors in the sun.
Yawning, she looked over to the other side of the bed and was surprised to find it devoid of slumbering Zeltron. The duvet and sheets were rumpled from where Shayla had slept on top of them during the night and there was a rainbow of smudges and stains spotting the pillow from her makeup. Reaching over, Isharia ran her hand over the area and upon feeling the absence of any lingering warmth from body heat, concluded she had woken up some time ago.
'What has the galaxy come to that I wake later than a Zeltron?' Isharia groaned, rubbing her hands over her eyes in an attempt to dislodge any sleep. She blinked blearily and, with great effort, swung her legs over the side of the bed before reaching up above her head to stretch and work out the kinks in her upper body. She grimaced slightly upon feeling the cracks in her spine as she arched her back, 'That shouldn't do that,' she thought frowning, 'twenty-five going on sixty,' she sighed, shaking her her arms flop back down to her sides, she cupped her neck and tilted her head back to gaze up at the ceiling, 'Force, I am so tired,' she thought wearily. Taking a deep breath, she tried to chase off the lingering dregs of slumber and bent down to remove her heeled boots, still enclosing her feet from last night's misadventure on the lower levels.
They were her favourite boots, an elaborate affair of laces and leather that she had guiltily purchased on impulse from an exclusive boutique in CoCo Town on her last trip to the area. They had been mightily expensive, costing more than some beings earnt in a month, but she just had to buy them. Between her boots, her speeder and some of the other items in her apartment, it was evident that Isharia had no real self-control when it came to shopping. 'Must work on that,' she thought with a grimace as she loosened the ties on her boots.
Pulling both boots off, she hauled herself off the bed and stumbled half-asleep towards the door, intent on heading to the refresher for a long, hot shower. She had never been very good with mornings, sleep taking an unusually long time to loosen its hold on her; her brain never seemed to want to function properly until at least eleven o'clock. She raised a hand to her mouth and yawned loudly, blinking her bloodshot eyes blearily and fumbling for the door handle.
Opening the door and stepping through, the first thing she noticed upon entering the main space of her apartment was the pungent aroma of caf. It wafted toward her nose in a scented cloud, the bitter fragrance tantalising her olfactory senses and subconsciously relaxing her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting out a pleased hum and a small smile. Following the scent, she walked out into the open living space of her apartment and leant against the wall, surveying the area with sleepy, half lidded eyes. Across from her was Shayla, puttering around the kitchen in a pair of Isharia's old black joggers and a fluorescent green vest that clashed horribly with her skin and hair. Her blue tresses were pulled back in a rough ponytail, sleek where they were damp, Shayla obviously having used her 'fresher sometime this morning.
"Morning!" Shayla called cheerily over her shoulder, raising one hand in an absentminded wave.
"Morning," Isharia grunted back from against the wall.
"Wow, you're cheery this morning," Shayla replied, raising an eyebrow as she turned around and leant back on the countertop. Catching a sight of Isharia, her eyes went wide and lit up with mirth as she bit her lip in an attempt to contain the laughter threatening to bubble out from between her lips.
Noticing her reaction, Isharia's eyes narrowed drowsily at the Zeltron and she drew herself slowly off the wall and crossed her arms, "What?" she enquired shortly.
"'Shar," she said, amusement colouring her tone, "You look like you just crawled out of an alley."
Isharia glared groggily at her, "Thanks," she retorted unimpressed, "bet you looked a million credits when you woke up this morning too," she added sarcastically.
Shayla raised both eyebrows and smiled, "I'd forgotten just how miserable you are in the mornings." Reaching over, she grabbed a mug of caf sat steaming behind her and raised it to her mouth to take a sip, licking her lips she said, "I'd thought you'd be a bit more cheerful after eightish hours of sleep."
Isharia sighed and scratched the back of her head, shifting her gaze over to the city skyline on the right, "Sleep debt," she said, watching as a garish yellow speederbus few past, brightly coloured holodrama advertisements flashing on its side, "haven't slept a full night in weeks." She turned her head back to Shayla and gave her a wan smile, "Been too busy preparing my proposal and preliminary write ups, not to mention all the shavit Ranil left me to sort through," she said dropping her hand and heaving a haggard sigh, "you would not believe how disorganised that man is."
"He left you his work?" Shayla said incredulously, "What a sleemo! Why did you have to do it anyway?"
Isharia walked into the room, pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, wincing slightly at the sound the metal legs made as they scraped the faux wood. She looked tiredly back up at Shayla and replied, "Seniority mainly. I'm hardly the most qualified person on the project but I've been involved the longest and since I've had the most direct contact with the data, specimens and Jedi -virtues of being Ranil's student-cum-assistant- it falls to me to sort through it all," she leant back on the chair and covered her face with her hands before sliding them down to her neck, "and by the stars," she moaned, "there's a lot of it."
"Wow, that sucks,"
"Tell me about it," Isharia said with a humourless smile, "luckily it's all done now and I've either sent it to Dr Ranil or stored it on the university systems, although I've kept some of it for myself, it makes for quite an interesting read."
"Really?" Shayla quirked an eyebrow disbelievingly.
"A lot of it's mainly theoretical," she shrugged, "But," she said with a sly smile, "reading through it I have my suspicions that Ranil's sudden move to the Outer Rim was more than just a research change, my theory is that it was the Order's subtle way of saying back off," she said, clasping her hands and resting her chin on them.
"Oh? Why would you say that?" Shayla asked, coming to sit in front of her, lilac eyes sparking with devious curiosity.
"Because, Shayla-dearest, he went to Bandomeer," she answered with a devilish grin.
"Bandomeer?" Shayla said, wrinkling her nose, "What's that got to do with anything? Isn't that a mining world?"
"Indeed, but that's not all that's on Bandomeer."
Shayla's brow furrowed in thought and she gazed intently at her mug of caf, watching the dark liquid swirl as if the answer could be found within its filtered depths. Suddenly her head shot back up and she stared at Isharia with incredulity, "No way," she breathed in shock, "the Jedi Agricultural Corps? That's so sneaky of them!" she exclaimed.
"I know right?" Isharia said with a self-satisfied smirk, "What are the odds that a hitherto unknown lifeform just so happens to be discovered on Bandomeer? And not just any lifeform, one right up Ranil's street, too?"
Shayla shook her head in amazement and laughed delightedly, "I can just see it now, 'Jedi Order Prevents Medical Research, Innocent Scientist Sent Away To Outer Rim,' my editor would love it," she said sweeping one hand out above her to illustrate and grinning impishly at her friend.
"No, Shayla," Isharia sighed, immediately sobering, "you can't write a story about this," she said with a shake of her head.
"Why not?" the Zeltron replied with a put-upon pout.
"Because the only real proof you have are my vague suspicions and some research I really don't want to share."
Shayla sighed heavily, "Well, if you insist. What was the project about anyway?" she asked as she took another sip of her caf.
"Midichlorian research, using midichlorians in medicine," Isharia answered.
Shayla hummed thoughtfully, "Aren't they those things that make someone Force sensitive?" she asked, tapping pursed lips.
Isharia snorted, "Well first of all, they make you alive, Shay," she corrected, raising an eyebrow.
Shayla rolled her eyes in exasperation, "Alright, whatever, why is that so bad though?"
Isharia unclasped her hands and laid them flat on the table, her palms leaving prints on the clear surface, "The premise is fine, the project was based around the idea that since midichlorians are present in all organic matter –down to a cellular level- they can be used to heal. Their presence is intrinsic to life and the theory was that by using a combination of Jedi healing techniques and modern medicine we can coax them into actively working for the good of their host: heal wounds, drive out disease, fix old scars, the possibilities are endless really."
"Wow," Shayla blinked, "that's amazing!" she exclaimed, "Why would the Jedi want to stop that?"
Isharia exhaled heavily, and leant back, "Because the places Ranil's research was going weren't really all that ethical, nor the sort of information you really want going public, and Ranil's a scientist, scientists publish."
"Oh?" Shayla enquired with an intrigued frown.
"I really shouldn't be telling you this," Isharia said shaking her head, she then looked directly into Shayla's eyes and continued, "despite not being Force sensitive, Ranil did an awful lot of research into the connection between living things and the Force, he also made an awful lot of postulates that most people would never even think of. I've read his private notes, some of it's crazy. He theorised that the connection between life, the Force and midichlorians could be used to extend someone's life indefinitely if done correctly, a sort of stasis or continual self-healing. Another thing he spoke a lot about was the use of the connection to create life from scratch, Immaculate Conception if you will."
"By karking Teta," Shayla breathed, "Immortality and life from nothing!?" she cried, "What the Sith Hell was that man hoping to do!?"
Isharia shrugged, "Nothing in his notes indicated an intention of doing anything with the information, just knowledge for knowledge's sake," she sighed, "but that's not even the worst of it, some of his latest scribbles and conjectures included hypotheses about bringing things back from the dead."
Shayla let her head fall back to rest on the back of her chair with an explosive sigh, "No wonder the Jedi sent him away if they saw that, that is not the sort of stuff you want circulating. No wonder you kept the notes, too," she said, staring up at the plaster ceiling.
Isharia hummed in agreement. She had been equally shocked when she'd first read the notes, utterly flummoxed by some of the ideas carelessly scrawled across the multitude of random datapads that dotted Ranil's old office. She'd first discovered the writings about two months ago when she'd (sort of) inherited his office after he left for Bandomeer. As the longest running member of the team apart from Ranil himself and some of the Jedi, serving as an intern, third year project student and qualified part-time assistant/scientist, it had fallen to her to go in and sort out all the files.
It had been intimidating at first, there had been seven and a half years' worth of readings, analyses, notes and old requisition forms to sort through –most of which having been left in haphazard piles all around the small space. As part of her job, she'd had to read through every piece: every scuffed and worn datapad, every dry scrap of flimsiplast number-crunching, every tiny forgotten datachip, it all had to be organized. Whereas most people would probably have just sorted through the important looking bits and thrown the rest away, Isharia, feeling unusually motivated, had diligently gone through every single piece. It had been by doing this that she'd found Ranil's notes and boy, what a shocker those had been.
Instead of the usual random observations on how well various specimens were doing, what chemical ratios would be needed for buffers, so on and so forth, Isharia had found a treasure trove of advanced theoretical and philosophical workings. Piles and piles of scrap ends and battered datapads filled to the brim with frontier science. It was fascinating. There had been innumerable pages of collected evidence on how the Force worked, how it connected to life and how life responded to it. Citations and complied data stretching back thousands of years' worth of Force study along with treatises and essays on varying Force wielding cultures, how they used the Force and their own descriptions of the science around it; she had even been shocked to find sentences and passages from her own work, from that report Dr Ranil had made her write after that first visit to the temple. Each segment was carefully annotated and expanded on by the man himself, vague links and connections formed between seemingly irrelevant pieces of information working together to form a broader understanding.
It had been the single most interesting thing she'd ever read. She'd been bamboozled by Ranil's sheer genius, the fact that he, a Force-blind researcher, had been able to put together what some thirty thousand years' worth of Brionian Force study hadn't knocked the earth from beneath her feet.
But it also made her worried.
With the taint over Coruscant spreading day by day and the Dark growing steadily stronger the information contained in these mismatched files could be the destruction of everything in the wrong hands. Who knew what could happen if the knowledge of how to gain immortality reached the wrong person? Even in it's purely hypothetical state it was still extremely dangerous, the last time sustained immortality had been achieved, the Sith emperor had inflicted almost two thousand years' worth of death on the galaxy and almost a century of ceaseless and bloody war. Isharia was most certainly not going to let that happen again. Brion remembered the Old Sith Wars much more clearly than the Republic, their devastation imprinted firmly on the cultural psyche of her people. She would rather be spaced into a black hole and be torn apart atom by atom than have anything to do with the wholesale slaughter this sort of information this could lead to.
"Hmm, I wonder what the Jedi said that made him leave?" Shayla murmured thoughtfully.
Isharia absentmindedly drummed her fingers on the table, 'You and me both,' she thought. Sighing, she stood up and said decisively, "Right. So, I'm going to go get a shower since somebody was less than complementary about my appearance."
Shayla looked back at her and shrugged, "I make no apologies for the truth."
Isharia glared, 'I'll remember that the next time she dyes her hair yellow,' "Anyway, I'll be back in about half an hour, please don't break anything."
Shayla rolled her eyes, "Stars, 'Shar, I'm not a child, I have used your kitchen before, y'know."
She raised both her brows and returned, "Sometimes I do wonder."
Shayla shot her a dirty look and stood up to move back into the kitchen, "Off you go, I'll make you some brunch for when you're out," she said moving her hand in a shooing motion.
Isharia grinned and left for the 'fresher.
-*8*-
After spending some two hours just standing under the pleasant warmth of her shower, Isharia felt slightly more normal. Shayla hadn't been lying when she'd said Isharia had looked as though she'd crawled out from an alley: her mane of white curls had been puffed up in a manic frizz of nigh untameable knots and her face had sported the most horrific pair of panda eyes. Her low-cut marron blouse had been riddled with creases and hung raggedly off one shoulder while her leather trousers had smelt vaguely of cheap spirits. This, coupled with the normal deathly pallor of her skin, had meant that she'd resembled something from a horror-holo more than anything.
It had taken one of those two hours just to deal with her hair. Unfortunately, she'd inherited her father's unruly curls, which were hellish to deal with normally let alone slept on, stiff with hairspray and twisted around all the grips she'd attempted to tame them with. At times like these she really envied her mother, whose silky-smooth locks had hung shiny and straight. Her father's hair had always been short enough that it was easily dealt with, but when Isharia had tried cutting hers Shayla had laughed herself silly at the way stuck out around her head in a bizarre white halo.
After her shower, she headed into her own room to dry off and change. Upon entering she grimaced at the pile of datapads scattered haphazardly across her bed, their shiny black screens glinting in the noonday light.
'Urgh,' she thought with a scowl, 'I forgot about all that.'
The rest of her room wasn't much better, datapads and random items of clothing were strewn all around the room where she'd flung them last night in her mad dash to get ready to pick Shayla up. She wasn't the most organised of people in general, but years of being fastidiously neat among the Hunters had taught her benefits of tidiness, so while her room was normally somewhat messy, it was never to this extent.
'This is going to be a pain to clean,' she thought eyeing a knocked over perfume bottle with reluctance.
Walking towards the bed, she dropped the towel she was using to dry the ends of her damp hair and stretched over to grab one of the datapads. Picking up the one closest to her, she idly tucked a loose curl behind her ear and typed in the passcode she used for all her work files. The screen briefly flashed electric green before streams of code filled the display in a river of numbers. After a few moments, it settled down and tiny icon files popped up on the black background. Apparently, this was one of the devices she had used to store Ranil's research, humming to herself she tapped the first document open.
[NOTE 57]
Pre-RR documents indicate existence of immortal man (Sith(?)), immortality linked to 'Dark Side'?
Master Yoda GM Jedi claims over 900 years standard, longevity linked to Force? Species? No. of midichlorians?
Specimens R & J show definite link between rate of healing and no. of midichlorians, indicative of longer life span too?
Analysis of historical texts infer that ancient Jedi lived longer than natural lifespans, Jedi Code maintains that dying Jedi 'enter the Force', their bodies? Spirits? Souls? What is connection between midichlorians, the host and the Force?
Isharia sighed and switched off the datapad before throwing it back on the bed where it landed with and muffled thump. 'One of Ranil's earlier ones, then,' she thought looking over at where it landed, 'All the dangerous stuff is in the later files.' Huffing, she reached over and scooped up all the datapads before unceremoniously dumping them on top of her chest of drawers, the gust of air created by the movement blowing her notes off the top in a whirl of flimsiplast.
She glared momentarily at the mess created but made no move to clear it up before grabbing a pair of leggings and a baggy t-shirt she'd left on the back of her chair and pulling them on. She had foregone to drying her hair (the only person who would see her today being Shayla and Force knows she'd seen her looking much worse) and gave only a cursory glance to the mirror sitting on her dressing table before grabbing the datapad marked PhD1 in bold red marker and heading back to the main space.
Smiling briefly to herself at the smell of caf that still hovered in the air, she raised an eyebrow at the sounds of a trashy holo that filtered down the corridor. Walking back into the main part of her apartment she found Shayla sprawled out on her sofa, eyes glued to some tacky reality show with her hand loosely grasping the remote.
Smirking to herself, she crept up behind the distracted Zeltron and leant down so her mouth was right next her ear and said, "So what are you watching?"
Shayla's whole body flinched at the sound of Isharia's voice so close to her ear and her hand flew up to clutch the green fabric of her vest right over her heart. Closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she sat up and turned around to glare daggers at her friend, "Would you please not do that?" she scolded irritably, forgetting her show.
Isharia merely gave her an innocent look and leant over to cross her arms on the back of the sofa, "You haven't answered my question," she said nodding her head at the HoloScreen up on the wall.
Shayla settled back on the sofa, "Following the Fendorans," she answered, looking back at the screen, "It's about some utterly ridiculous rich family that live over by the Great Western Sea. They're all completely talentless and bratty but somehow annoyingly successful," she said, gesturing angrily toward the screen where a buxom blonde woman was busy complaining loudly about her boyfriend, "I mean, how do they do it? There is literally no reason for them to be as famous as they are."
"Maybe one of them made a sex tape? Worked for Jorani Sanus."
Shayla scrunched her nose in derision and scowled, "Yeah, but Jorani Sanus is the daughter of a crazy successful property magnate; she was made from the start. If I made a sex tape all that would happen is that it would up on some Zeltron fetish site, it's not as if it would be a unique thing either. Besides," she said with an angry frown, "The only one here with anything to recommend themselves is Fantine Fendoran, and that's only because she's a supermodel."
Isharia rolled her eyes and sighed, "Why do you watch it if you hate them all so much?"
Shayla looked back to Isharia and shrugged, "Sometimes you just gotta feel pity for all the stupid in the galaxy."
Isharia made a noise of disgust and stood back up, looking down at Shayla she said, "I thought you were going to make me brunch."
"Hmm?" Shayla hummed absently, already engrossed in the holoshow again, "Oh, right, yeah. S'over on the table. Made you an omelette with all that gross healthy stuff you keep in your cooler, got out some of that smoothie, too."
"Tah," Isharia threw over her shoulder as she went to sit down and eat.
"Whatever," Shayla returned with a wave of her hand.
Sitting down at her table, Isharia picked up her knife and fork and dug in. Shayla had done well this time, the omelette was delicious: a mix of Bellssan peppers, topatoes, Ojomian onions and roba. As much as Isharia joked about Shayla burning down her kitchen, the Zeltron was an excellent cook and always managed to whip up something scrumptious no matter the ingredients.
Taking a sip of her green veg smoothie, Isharia thought over her plans for tomorrow. The Temple representative should be coming at about midday, some healer by the name of Stass Allie that she'd never met. Some light enquires of the few Jedi researchers and healers that she knew revealed that Master Allie was a respected Tholothian Jedi that sat on the Circle of Jedi Healers, something that did absolutely nothing for her nerves. The fact that someone so high in rank was coming to talk with her set her on edge, the Jedi obviously judged her research as something they needed to seriously debate over, something not particularly surprising considering the subject matter.
However, the main reason for her trepidation was more than just nervous jitters about the future of her research. She'd been working alongside the Jedi for some seven years now and although they all knew she was Force sensitive, none of them had any inkling about anything more. A few of the younger members she'd worked with had even taken it upon themselves to 'teach' her some tricks (nothing particularly useful, but it gave her an excuse when she slipped up and levitated something). But someone of Stass Allie's calibre would be different. As a member of the Circle of Jedi Healers she would be both highly skilled in the Force and incredibly perceptive; her own medical training and Force based first-aid from her Hunter days had taught her that anyone who used the Force to heal had to be incredibly in tune with their patients. This meant that of all the Jedi she'd met, it made Master Allie the most likely to sense the refined nature of her Force presence (thank Illumin'ar she'd never met Master Yoda, she wouldn't last two seconds faced with his abilities).
She frowned as she chewed a forkful of omelette, her shields would have to be impenetrable tomorrow, tighter and more walled up than a high security prison. After swallowing, she quietly sighed, she hated all this secrecy, this inability to exercise her powers to their fullest. But Isharia knew it was the price to pay for being free of Brion, Brionians were possibly the most xenophobic people out there and if the Republic were to discover them they would be downright hostile. It all came back to past dealings Brion had had with the rest of the galaxy, every time anyone from outside the system had come to their planet ruin had followed.
"Hey 'Shar?" came Shayla's voice from behind her, distracting her from her dark thoughts.
"Hmm?" she hummed in reply, scraping up the last bits of her meal.
"What's your research actually on?"
Isharia put her knife and fork down and swivelled round in her seat to look at Shayla in surprise, "I never told you?" she said in disbelief.
"Nope," Shayla replied popping the p, her eyes still glued to the screen.
"Huh," Isharia frowned in consternation, "could've sworn I did," she muttered almost to herself, shrugging lightly she answered, "It's on neurological development in Force sensitives."
Shayla turned away from the screen to look at her in puzzlement, "Neuro-what now?"
"Brain development."
"Why didn't you just say that then?"
"I thought you'd be smart enough to understand," Isharia said rolling her eyes, "obviously I was wrong."
Shayla briefly shot her an unimpressed look before continuing, "Why do you keep talking about it like it's a controversial thing, though? Doesn't sound like it is." She then peered at her with a suspicious frown, "Unless you're sticking rods in Jedi brains or something."
Isharia gave her a flat look, "Yes that's exactly what I'm doing, I'm sticking rods in their brains before pulling them out through their nostrils to store in jars."
Shayla shrugged and switched off the holoscreen, "Stranger things have happened, and anyway, isn't there some religious group in the Outer Rim that does that?"
"I wouldn't know, Shayla," Isharia sighed before getting up to put her dirty plate and cutlery in the dishwasher, shutting the appliance door, she turned around and said, "and the reason I talk about it like it's controversial is because it is. I'm not just studying how brain development progresses and differs between Force sensitives and Force nulls, but also how it differs between Jedi and non-Jedi."
"Yeah, so?" Shayla replied, still unconvinced.
"So, I'm going to be studying brain development in children, Jedi children, who were raised on the Jedi code without parental affection, something that studies already show has a negative effect." Isharia ran a hand through her still damp hair and grimaced, "Currently authorities ignore it -because apparently Force sensitive Jedi children aren't normal children, which is utter banthashit if you ask me- but if my research were to show that there is a significant difference between Force sensitives raised among Jedi and those not, there would be serious ramifications for the Order."
Shayla sat up and gazed at Isharia in shock, eyebrows climbing almost to her hairline, "Seriously? Your research has the ability to completely discredit the entire Jedi Order and have them brought in front of the High Court on child neglect charges," she let out a low whistle and shook her head in awe, "you, my friend, have balls of steel."
Isharia rolled her eyes, "That's not why I'm doing it, Shayla. Personally, I hope that that isn't the outcome, I hardly want to be responsible for the social, moral and political mess that would cause."
"Why are you doing it then?" Shayla inquired, forehead crinkling in confusion.
Isharia leaned back on the counter behind her and lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, "I dunno. Just interested I suppose," she said before she pursed her lips in thought, "although if it does turn out something's wrong, I really want it dealt with, plus I hope the information will be useful in the future."
Shayla snorted in disgust, "Doctors, so altruistic, doing it for the future."
Isharia raised her eyes to the heavens, 'Force save me from hedonistic Zeltrons,' she thought tiredly as she walked back over to the table to pick up her discarded datapad,
The reasons she'd listed were a fairly accurate assessment of her motives, from her years working at the Temple she had quietly observed many younglings and padawans, watching from the side-lines but nothing more. From just being there she had noticed that, for all their differences, Jedi younglings and Brionian children were brought up fairly similarly. Both groups tended to face disapproval for large displays of emotion (although Brionians more than Jedi) and both were raised to a sort of 'for the good of the whole' approach. She knew from her own experiences that the typical Brionian upbringing didn't exactly make for particularly emotionally mature adults, so she was curious to see how Jedi children were affected.
But also, she wanted examine young Force sensitives though the Force.
That was actually the most dangerous part of her work, because she had to do it without anyone knowing. Jedi were biased towards their own methods and she knew that all Force sensitive children developed incredibly strong Force bonds with their parents, whether their parents were sensitive or not, and she wanted to see what effect severing those vital ties at such young ages had. Isharia knew that the moment she collected enough evidence that something was wrong she would be straight to the High Council, and if that didn't work, Shayla and the HNN. She had the deepest respect for the Order and their purpose, but she would not see the mental wellbeing of children sacrificed at the altar of their fear of the Dark Side.
"Anyway, enough about me, what's happening in the life of Shayla Pavas at the moment?" she said fiddling with the screen.
The Zeltron languorously laid down so she was flat on her stomach with her head resting on her arms and gave a self-satisfied smirk, "Guess who's interviewing the new Nabooan senator for the holonews next week!" she intoned smugly.
Isharia abruptly looked up and blinked in shock, "You? Really? Oh my stars, Shayla! That's amazing!" she cried as her face broke into a beaming smile, "The things that'll do for your career!"
Her friend smiled proudly, "I know right? Editor just came in yesterday and said that Kalan was sick with Findris flu and since I'm the only one at our part of HNN with any background in interplanetary politics I'd be interviewing her."
Isharia shook her head in amazement, "Talk about a lucky break, that's primetime news right there!" she looked back at Shayla and frowned, "You'll need to make it perfect though, especially if you want to do it again."
"I know, I know," Shayla said with a dismissive wave before grinning back at Isharia, "I got to meet her yesterday, you know? Her name's Padmé Amidala and she's adorable."
"Adorable," Isharia repeated drily, quirking an eyebrow and folding her arms across her chest.
"Yup, she's this titchy little thing," Shayla said, gesturing with her hand close to the ground, "almost smaller than you –and you're practically a Drall- with these big, brown eyes and curly brown hair, I could just eat her up. Totally adorable," she gushed.
"I really hope you didn't say that to her face."
Shayla rolled her violet eyes, "No, of course I didn't," she huffed, "but she is like literally the cutest thing ever, looks a bit like how I imagine those…what do you call them? The little things with wings that cause mischief and sit and look pretty."
"Fairies."
Shayla clicked her fingers in triumph, "Fairies! Yeah that's it! She looked like a fairy," she finished with a pleased smile.
Isharia's face tightened with concern, "Well I hope for the Chommell Sector's sake that her personality is better than a fairy's," she said with a frown.
"Nah, they'll be fine, she's the one that was queen when the Naboo incident went down," the Zeltron replied with an airy wave, "she's got dealing with political shavit and doing well under pressure sorted."
Isharia's eyebrows rose in surprise, "Huh," she said quietly, "you'd think she'd want out of politics after that," she commented, her brow puckered with consideration.
Shayla shrugged, rolling over so she was on her back and swiping her blue hair from underneath her so it fanned out on the white fabric like a spill of navy ink, "Maybe she just likes the challenge, I wouldn't know, never been too interested in becoming a politician," she said contemplatively, staring up at the ceiling.
"Thank the stars for that," Isharia commented wryly as she moved to sit on the armchair next to the sofa.
Shayla craned her neck back to level an insulted glower at her friend, "I happen to think I would've made a great politician," she argued, her fuchsia lips pouting in mock offense.
"Shay, the first thing you would've done would be to make orgies mandatory for attractive people –yourself included," Isharia replied flatly
Shayla lips stretched into a feral grin and her eyes glinted somewhat predatorily, "Don't pretend you wouldn't enjoy it," she purred.
"Not all of us are sex addicts," Isharia shot back, switching her datapad on.
Shayla sighed and went back to studying the ceiling, "Your loss," she shrugged.
Isharia raised her eyebrows with a sigh and sank back into the somewhat worn white fabric of her chair to go over her preliminary research plans. If the Jedi gave her the go ahead the first thing she needed to do was establish a sample. Among the Jedi younglings that would be easy enough, even restricted to her own area of specialisation (humanoid and near-human species), the hard part however, was going to be finding Force sensitive children on Coruscant not already snapped up by the Jedi. The extensive midichlorian testing they did at birth in the Core meant that not only was it going to be extremely difficult to find children both not in the Order and fitting her other criteria, but she'd also be facing up to parents and carers that really didn't want those facts advertised.
For her main samples she needed a selection of Order younglings, and also groups of children in stable families and those not, both Force sensitive and blind. The aim of her study was to establish whether Force sensitivity had an effect on the development of the humanoid brain and whether or not the different ways in which Force sensitive children were brought up contributed to their continued growth in regards to their sensitivity. It was a rather ambitious study, and not one that had been done before. For as long as scientists, doctors and philosophers had been researching the nature of life's connection to the Force, no one had thought to do it in regards to neurology. She was quite excited about it to be honest, she'd long wanted to analyse the particulars of the effect Force sensitivity had on a person, especially faced with the conflicting views of the Jedi Order and Brion.
Shooting one last glance at Shayla, who appeared to be dozing, she got to work on refining her research schedule and plans for her appeal to Master Allie tomorrow.