Chapter 10: New Horizons

Akima looked up from the directions left on her door and saw Master Vandar sitting quietly, cross-legged, on the grass and looking at the base of the giant Blba tree at the courtyard's center. Akima dropped down heavily to join him and gave Zhar a bleary-eyed glance. She idly wondered at what time the Masters actually got up – they always seemed to be awake.

"Good morning, apprentice Mahe."

Akima didn't trust her voice to come out with anything approaching civility at this hour, so she contented herself with a nod.

Master Vandar gave her a one-eyed glance. "Appear well, you do not, Apprentice. Return to your rest, and meet again we will in a week's time."

"No!" Akima ground her teeth for a second, silently cursing her sleep-addled mind. She blinked furiously and shook her head, trying to wake up. "I mean, I feel fine, Master Vandar, please, can we not continue?"

The master gave her a hard stare for a few moments, and Akima could practically feel the energy crackle between them. Yes, he was definitely displeased by her argument with Zhar. She was definitely awake after a few moments of that little battle of wills. Finally he gave a deep sigh and looked back towards the Blba tree.

"Force give me strength. Very well. Sit, and continue with your first lesson, we shall." The master sat back and closed his eyes.

…

…

…

Akima fought the temptation to say something as the silence stretched on. It was a test, it had to be. Master Vandar had no reason to like her after causing trouble, and no doubt he was waiting for her to do something wrong, or fall to sleep, especially after her contradicting him like that. So she waited.

And she waited.

…

And she waited.

…

Light crept slowly over the horizon, creeping its way inch after inch along the dirt, and Akima fought her impatience by slipping into the timeless white room, with just enough consciousness left to be aware of her surroundings.

About the time the shadows disappeared altogether and the sun stared down from above them the uncomfortable itch to act had broken through the walls of the white room. Akima let out a tiny puff of frustrated air and froze as Master Vandar instantly turned to stare are her. With a grimace she forced herself back into the white room and her breathing started to slow again, settling back down into the routine.

The first hints of shadows had begun to appear before he turned away again.

It was not long before the itch returned, pursuing her. It felt weird, off somehow, and she rounded on it instinctively. She wouldn't let it win. She would sit here without moving. But she needed to do something, to think about something, or it would drive her crazy. Even in the white room she'd had some stimulus, something to think about. The itch closed in again.

She was desperate. So, without moving a muscle, she tried turning her focus outward. In the white room there had always been a little hole, a tiny break just large enough that she could hear and understand the lectures on the little screen. Now she transformed that little hole into a window and let the outside come in, just a little.

Through half-closed lids she tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could through that little hole. She saw the carefully manicured green grass of the courtyard. She saw the shiny skin of the Blba tree where the spiny bark had been painstakingly peeled away. She saw its prickly needles blowing gently in the wind. She saw the smooth, sculpted buildings of the main academy buildings. She looked further and saw the ripple patterns like waves in the sea as the wind flowed through the massive fields of meter-high grass. She saw the distant farming outposts with their sturdy buildings and high, delicate windmills turning steadily in the breeze.

She heard the distant whine of repulsorlifts firing as the weekly supply shuttle lifted off from the hangar. She heard the gentle tinkle of laughter of a pair of younglings crossing the courtyard from one building to another. She heard the distant yelp of Kath Hounds playing on the plains. She heard the sound of the wind.

And she heard something else, something so huge it threatened to overwhelm her and she ran from it, turning her attention back inwards. She felt the smooth texture of her Jedi tunic against her skin and the rougher fabric of her outer tunic against her arms. She felt the tickle of the grass against her legs and feet, the breeze toying with a loose strand of hair. Then she felt something different, something familiar and unexpected; she felt her luck. That small, warm feeling was there in the feelings, the sights, the sounds around her, there as if it had always been there and she'd only just opened her eyes for the first time.

She gasped as she felt the white room explode and she was surrounded by it, drowning in it as it flooded into every sense, every last corner of her consciousness. It was like, it was like . . . like the moment she had escaped from slavery, the whole world opened up in an instant before her. She could go anywhere, but not only that, she was everywhere. She was with the Kath Hounds, but now she could actually feel the simple excitement of their simple game of tag. At the same time she was with the younglings, but now she could feel their happiness, their worries, their hopes and fears. She felt the wind, but she also was the wind, flying across the plains. She fled from the cacophony of life to the closest quiet place she could feel and found herself in the blba tree, with a consciousness so slow it would take a century to complete a thought.

Feel the Force, you do, at last.

The thought in her head was not her own and surprised her enough that she couldn't hold it any longer. She slammed the walls of the white room back into place, the window she'd opened locked tight, so tight that there was no light left at all, and the darkness closed in around her.

…

"Awaken, you must, Apprentice."

Akima shook her head, trying to clear up her bleary eyes. Her head pounded and it took a moment to realize she was laying face-down in the grass. She tried to sit up, only to be gently restrained by Master Vandar's three-fingered hand. "Slowly, young one. Overwhelming, the Force can be, the first time."

Akima slowly sat up and looked at Vandar, for once at eye-level with the diminutive master. Her head ached and she felt disoriented, almost surreal without that overwhelming vista.

"It was . . . it was . . ." She struggled to put the immensity of her experience into words. "How can it be so big, how can it be everywhere, all at once?"

Master Vandard nodded slowly. "Know much, we do, of the Force. But much there that we do not. It's nature, a mystery remains. Try again, you must, to reach out."

Akima shuddered at the thought. It had been so huge, so overwhelming. She was a tiny dot, a dust mote in the hurricane of life that was the Force, threatening to sweep her away to be lost forever.

Master Vandar watched the discomfort flit across her face. "Time, it requires, to gain full control. Keep trying, you must."

Akima nodded and swallowed hard. Okay. One more time. She closed her eyes and found herself in the white room. Inside she was alone, but also safe. It was outside that the Force lay, just out of reach. She could almost feel its vibrancy pulsing and swirling against the far side of those four white walls. She pressed against them but they held firm. She shoved harder, but the wall solid, impenetrable. What was this? The white room was her safe place – it had never fought her before. She pushed harder, mentally straining to pull the wall apart, to bore a hole, anything.

Sweat began popping out on her forehead as she set her teeth and tore at the wall with all her might. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, a crack widened, growing to the size of her little finger.

A faint, whispy trickle of the Force flowed through. She tried to grab it, to hold onto it, but it slipped through her fingers and the hole in the wall resealed itself in an instant.

Akima gasped as the tension finally eased and collapsed back in her bed, panting for air. At her side Master Vandar only frowned thoughtfully. "Demonstrated, you have, a powerful connection to the Force. But the Force is our ally; be able to call up it at need, you must." He nodded slowly to himself. "Yes. Continue to practice, you shall. See Master Zhar in the morning, I ask of you." And with that, he slowly turned and walked out of the room.

Akima sighed and lay back down against her pillow, part relieved the Master was gone, part overwhelmed by what she'd experienced, and part frustrated with herself for not being able to duplicate her earlier success.

As the day wore on frustration definitely gained ground, in no small part thanks to the serene but somehow implacable Mon Calamari nurse who insisted she needed to stay in bed until lunch at the very earliest. So she had nothing to do for most of the day but lie in bed. So she worked at it, pushing, pulling, trying to feel that amazing terrifying feeling again. At first her efforts were hesitant, cautious, but as nothing happened her efforts became stronger, more erratic and frustrated. Still nothing It was like trying to move a limb she'd never known she had before.

She baled the sheets up in her fists. Come on, Force, come on! Where are you?

"Are you okay?"

Akima jumped at the small voice and turned to see a little girl with the white gown of an assistant nurse draped over her tan youngling tunic. Akima softened her frustrated grimace. "Yes, I'm alright."

The girl gave Akima a surprisingly scrutinizing lok before glancing pointedly at her balled up fists. "Are you sure? Because Master Kilgore said to always make really really sure."

Akima felt herself relax at the sight of this little girl, no more than six or seven, doing her best to speak seriously in her small, squeaky voice and with huge eyes at her own temerity in questioning someone so much older than herself. But she had her duty, and she'd gathered her courage and done it.

Akima warmed to see it and felt almost . . . protective of this precious little girl. There was so much out there that would smash a girl like that to pieces, so much she would hopefully never know about. Akima thought for a moment and hid a smile as she thought of a way to reward the little assistance for her diligence. Hm . . . it might start a rumor with the Masters, but what the hell, she was already in trouble with them anyways. And this way the girl would feel good about her work.

"Yes, actually . . . maybe you can help me." She didn't have to fake it to make her face portray some nervousness. "Um, what's your name, anyways?"

The girl stepped up to the bedside and scooped up one of her hands in both of her own like she'd seen Master Kilgore do sometimes. "My name is Bastila Shan, and I'm here to help you."

Akima struggled to keep the serious look on her face from being overwhelmed by the smile threatening to break out. "Okay Bastila. I'm . . . I'm having trouble reaching out to the Force."

"Okay, come sit down on the floor with me."

Akima raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's okay. Master Kilgore says that my gift is to feel other people. He thinks I can be a great Jedi healer someday."

Akima let Bastila pull her down to the floor, unable to put a brake on Bastila's transformation from nervous assistant to eager helper. She sat down across from the girl in the still-awkward lotus position the Jedi favored. Bastila took her hands palm-up in each of her own.

"Now close your eyes and reach out for the Force."

Akima hesitated. If anyone else had tried this it would have come off as abrasive, even demeaning, but Bastila was so disarming . . . Akima decided impulsively to throw caution to the winds and reached out.

As always, it was hard. This time the struggle took a different shape in her mind. Instead of the white walls blocking her out, the Force was a sphere of white. She tried to grab hold of it, but it was so slippery it slid through her fingers. Her face tightened around her closed eyes as she tried again, but it squirted out of her hands.

She forgot Bastila, forgot the Masters, forgot everything as she chased that little white ball relentlessly, but the faster she moved, the harder she tried, the faster the ball would get away from her.

Ten minutes later a bead of sweat dripped out of her hair and down her forehead, distracting her, and the ball was gone completely. She sighed and opened her eyes. She saw Bastila and started in surprise, remembering what she was doing there as she looked down at the girl holding her hands. What she saw made her blood run cold.

Tears were pouring down her face from beneath her still-closed eyes.

"I'm so sorry Bastila, are you alright? I didn't mean to . . ." to what? She didn't know what she'd done, much less how she'd done it.

Bastila released her hands and wiped a closed fist across her nose with a sniff.

"No, don't apologize," she squeaked. "I'm helping you, remember? Besides, Master Kilgore always says I could get hurt when I try to help people."

"Well, I'm sorry." Akima tried to stand but Bastila reached out and gave her hand a gentle tug. "Wait! I haven't helped you yet!"

Akima was definitely done with this little plan, but she didn't want to upset the girl further, so she settled back down and repressed a sigh. "Alright, what did you find?"

"There is . . . it's so . . ."

Bastila took a moment to get ahold of herself. "Sorry. This is hard. You're not like anyone I've tried to help before." She sniffed again and took a deep breath. "I've never felt someone who is so afraid before."

Akima tensed, but Bastila didn't seem to notice, she was so focused on getting the words out.

"You're trying to force it, to control the Force, but you can't. That's what the Dark Side does. But it makes you afraid, almost like . . . like . . ." Her face scrunched up, looking for the right words. "Its like you think that that means the Force is controlling you." Her eyes popped open and a big smile wiped away her former tears. "But it doesn't! The Force doesn't control anybody, it helps you! It's like a friend, like somebody who helps you out but doesn't ask for anything back except to be a good Jedi. So just think of it like that!"

Akima felt like she'd been punched in the stomach by a Wookiee. An oversized Wookiee. With six arms. Ugh, she couldn't even come upt with a good metaphor. She wasn't afraid . . . was she?

"Uh . . . th-thanks, Bastila. I'll need to think about that. Thanks, you've, um, you've really helped me out."

Bastila's face positively glowed with pleasure at her half-hearted compliment, but Akima had more pressing things to think about. Bastila glanced at the chrono and squeaked in dismay.

"Oh no! I was only supposed to stay for five minutes!" She put on her serious face again. "Now, Master Jedi, please return to your bed. You need your rest."

Akima was only half-aware of Bastila leading hr back to her bunk and turning out the light.

Master Zhar tried to reign in his Lekku which were twitching in annoyance. That they continued rebelliously simply annoyed him further, which made them twitch all the more. He sighed and brought his focus back to the morning Council meeting.

"Masters, I continue to feel that training this Akima, this woman, is a mistake. She is too old, too headstrong, to be taught."

He looked around the Council chambers at his fellow Masters. Master Vandar held his peace from his tiny custom-built Council chair, respectfully allowing Master Vrook to direct the meeting.

"Master Zhar, you have expressed your feelings on this matter very clearly. We see that they remain unchanged." Master Vrook kept a firm grip on his own impatience at Zhar's hard-headedness. While the man was a gifted teacher of the blade, he could be . . . trying, and Vrook looked forward to the end of his time as a guest instructor and Council Member. But he had to be patient with him

"Master Dorak, what was your impression?"

Dorak stared into the distance, beyond the Council chambers, his fingers steepled in front of him. "There is much fear in her."

"There, you see?"

The usually placid Dorak gave Zhar a look that silenced him. "Yes, there is much fear in her, but she has locked it away deep inside. It must be dealt with, but later, under the direction of a Master. The fear she has now is mostly directed towards us; both what the Jedi, and she, are truly capable of, and of what might happen to her if she is sent away. I believe that if we fully accept her, her fear will dissipate."

Vrook nodded slowly. He had been chosen to be the neutral party, the one who did not teach her, so that he could see with unbiased eyes. The decision was ultimately his, though he half suspected that this was Vandar's way to testing him.

"As you say, Master Dorak. Master Vandar, your thoughts, if you will."

"Resist my efforts for some time, she did, to help her reach the Force. Strength, she has, and stubbornness. Much fear, I too, did detect. And yet . . . when feel the Force, a powerful connection she had. Sense the thoughts of the Blba tree, she did."

Vrook frowned thoughtfully. That was, indeed, a powerful connection to the Force. It had taken him nearly a year of hard meditation to feel the same, and he had known what he was looking for. She could become a powerful Jedi. And what one with as much power with the Force, and as much fear as the Masters felt in her, could do if left without guidance, especially with a grudge against Jedi . . . well, it hardly bore thinking on.

"Come to a decision, you have, Master Vrook."

He looked down into Vandar's knowing eyes, and wondered what they saw in him. Those eyes had been watching him since he was a youngling himself. Even though he was a Master, and a member of the Dantooine Council to boot, those eyes always made him feel like a youngling again. Did Vandar really think of them as equals? No, this was no time for uncertainty.

"She shall be trained, and in formed that she will stay until her Initiate Trials are complete. If she fails, she will join the Jedi Service Corp. If she succeeds, she will be made a Padawan under Knight Kae, as we discussed."

That last bit was mostly to appease Zhar. Arren Kae was notorious for being hard on Padawans and declaring them unfit for the Knight Trials. The Council had reassigned several Padawans of hers that had later passed the Knight Trials and were now serving well as Jedi Knights. That hadn't earned her many friends within the order, and more than a few grudges. But it wasn't entirely for Zhar's benefit. Knight Kae may be only a Jedi Knight, but she was certainly a master at rooting out fear and holding it up to the light. She still scared him sometimes. And facing her fears was exactly what Akima needed.

"Accept your decision, the Council does, Master Vrook."

Vrook turned to watch as the little Master clambered to his feet and walked slowly away, and wondered what would have happened if Master Vandar had said no. For all their talk of equality, it was hard to see past the 700 year gap to see each other as equals.

"I give her a no-go, and I'm sticking to it."

"State your reason, Drill Sargent."

Gunnery Sargent Merko Harkman crossed his arms and leaned back into his cheap metal folding chair. Alern must be really annoyed with him if he was back to being "Drill Sargent" in this normally informa, meeting. "I don't like her. Normally I can get inside their heads, figure out what makes them tick, but not with this one. She's an unknown, unreliable."

"But Merko, she's passed every test we can throw at her." Sargent Kirnak rubbed his temples and glanced at his two senior officers around the table. "Her ability to stay focused without moving is off the charts, and she was better with most explosives than I am the day she first got here. I say give her the recommendation. She might turn into a lifer, and heavens know we could use more solid officers right now."

The last war had really hit them hard, and recruitment was way down across the whole sector. "And besides, if she doesn't pan out our butts are covered by her test scores.

Lt. Colonel Alern leaned forward. "Merko?"

"Sir?"

"Do it."

"Yes sir."

Merko ticked the box for recommendation for Advanced Reconnaissance Training and repressed a sigh. Only two hundred and twenty-seven to go.

"Who's next?"

"Next we have . . ."

There was a note slipped under her door when Akima woke up. Akima rolled to her feet, rubbing here eyes and yawning, before picking up the slip of paper. "Master Zhar is expecting you in the training room immediately after you've eaten."

Time to hurry.

She needed to get back on Zhar's good side, or at least get to a point where they could tolerate each other. Akima pulled out her outer tunic from the small closet she'd been provided before pulling her hair back into a tight bun and stamping her feet into her boots.

She dashed through the dining hall as quickly as she could to grab some thick bread with some sort of sweet jelly she didn't recognize smeared on it, and scarfed it down in the few seconds it took to get to the training hall in the way that only soldiers can.

Master Zhar, of course, was already there, hands clasped formally behind his back, and he spoke without preamble as she stepped up onto the padded practice floor.

"The Council has determined that you are to be accepted as an Initiate until your Initiate Trials. I am to instruct you in the basics of Jedi combat techniques. And before you object, Initiate, yes, I mean the basics. As you . . . ascertained from Padawan Leskin, combat with the Force is fundamentally different from combat without it."

Zhar pulled a datapad from one of the pouches at his waist and handed it to her. "This datapad has been issued to you for the duration of your stay on Dantooine. Sit and take notes. You will be tested at our next session."

Akima accepted the datapad and sat on the floor while Zhar stepped into the middle of the floor and began to lecture.

"Fighting with the Force is unique. In the galaxy at large most sword combat, even between masters, lasts a handful of seconds. The brains of most humanoids cannot react with sufficient speed for fights to last much longer. With the Force, this is no longer the case. The fight then becomes more about technique, approach, mindset. Among the Jedi they are known as forms. While there are techniques and moves unique to each form, they are as much about the mental approach as they are about move sets.

Most students struggle to grasp this simple concept, so I shall dispense with the tedious questions and demonstrate the principal. Stand."

Akima set the datapad aside and climbed to her feet just in time to catch the wooden training sword Zhar tossed at her.

"Now attack me, but freeze on my command."

Akima rushed him and raised her blade for an overhand blow.

"Stop."

Akima fought the temptation to ignore the command and just smash the schleemo in the face and froze.

"Through the Force I have seen this attack coming. However, with such a . . . reckless, shall we say, attack, I have options to respond. Many options. In the heat of battle, it can be difficult to be decisive about which of the many options I have to choose from. The mind cannot process everything the Force can suggest quickly enough without a narrowing focus, a filter, to slim down the options. That filter is a lightsaber form.

"Form I, Shii-Cho, is the most basic of the forms, based on traditional fighting styles without the Force. I will not review the strike zones or elements of this style, as you have demonstrated proficiency. The aim of this form is to keep the opponent's blade as far from you as possible to compensate for reaction times."

He bent his knees, right foot behind left, and brought his own wooden blade up over his head in a two-handed grip parallel to the floor, in a blcok she'd seen a thousand times, a block they'd learned her first day of close quarters combat training.

"Simple, but effective against most opponents. Now, Form II, Makashi."

Akima's muscles started to ache, holding her extended position, but she forced herself to listen closely.

"This form was designed for dueling Force-sensitive opponents. They are too fast for Shii-Cho to be an effective, as it relies on blocks happening far from the body. My thoughts, my focus, turn now to efficiency, timing, balance, and narrow, precise movement. The Force, instead of trying to show me every possible parry and counter, now directs me thus."

Zhar switched to a one-handed grip and took a half-step to the side. He brought his blade, now vertical, sideways into her own, deflecting it slightly, before sliding it down her own blade to tap her hand.

Akima nodded. So this was what Leskin had been trying to pull off. This style required technique, timing, control . . . she liked it. It was still insane, but it had an idealistic appeal to it, like the stories of old weapons masters who could read a move from the barest twitch and react perfectly. Jedi just cheated and had the Force tell them what to do.

"Form III, Soresu. The most defensive of the forms, it is designed to defend against multiple opponents at variable ranges. As quick and efficient as Makashi, it dispenses most of its attacking power to avoid openings in defense. Thinking in form III, the Force guides me thus."

Zhar returned to the two-handed grip. Again he sidestepped, but this time his parry was stronger, pushing her off-balance to the side while he brought the blade in a tight circle back up to a guard stance almost instantly.

"Form IV, Ataru. This form is more aggressive, and designed to end fights quickly. To think in this form is to focus on speed, agility, and attack. This is the most visually impressive style and is heavily favored by the more . . . adolescent Padawans." He shook his head in disgust. "Regardless of their idiocy, the Form has its advantages. The Force guides me to respond to your attack thus."

He leaped out from under Akima's frozen attack in an impossibly tight and quick somersault, flicking his hand as he came out of it to send his blade into the back of her knee none too gently. It must have been guided by the Force, because there was no way he could actually see her well enough to aim a strike like that.

Akima winced but stayed silent. He wasn't going to provoke her again.

Zhar continued talking as he returned to his place beneath Akima's attack.

"Form V, Shien and Djem So. An advanced form, it takes the defensive power of Soresu and focuses on using the enemy's attacks and strengths to force openings in their defense. It is the most physically demanding style, as it forces the user to meet the opponent's strength head on with defensive moves before forcing attacks. Shien focuses more on combating ranged weapons, while the Djem So variant emphasizes melee weapons. In this form I focus on power, control, and strength. The Force directs me thus."

As he had for Shii-Cho, Zhar crouched and brought his blade up in a straight parry, but this time he pushed off hard through his knees, tossing her blade up into the air and following up immediately with a vicious slash across her stomach which he pulled. Mostly.

"Form VI, Niman. This form is a simplified version of each form combined together. It has no great strengths, and no great weaknesses. It is for those . . . uninterested in the fighting arts, and merely provides an organization of techniques to which the Force can easily guide the Jedi to defend himself. The mental pattern is focus, balance, and equilibrium. As it is mostly practiced by Consulars, it incorporates more use of the Force to attack and defend directly."

Zhar pulled his blade into a guard position and simply stepped backwards, out of range of the attack, but of any counterattack as well. Instead, he released a hand from his blade and pushed it forward towards her, palm open.

Akima felt somethingpush against her. It didn't push that hard, but it caught her completely off-guard and sent her flopping to the floor in an ungainly heap.

Not fair. She didn't know he could do that! Those Force powers always thought they were exaggerated in the stories, beyond the sort of tricks she'd seen Elaine do. But it seemed like he could move things from . . . wait, does that mean I can learn to do that?

"Resume your position, Initiate."

Akima scrambled to her feet and tried not to look as stunned as she felt at the prospect of, well, of having telekinetic superpowers. It was like she was in some crazy vid, only everyone was taking it very seriously.

"Form VII, Juyo. The most controversial style, it is also the most difficult to master, and the most dangerous. It is a form of complete attack. Unlike Form V's variations, which use the opponent's attacks to force openings in their defenses, Juyo uses their aggression, their anger, against them by mirroring it back within the Jedi himself. It is . . . difficult to do without succumbing to those emotions. It is ferocity given form. In this state of mind, the Force guides me thus."

Akima was a little nervous with that description, but she held her position. Unlike with the prior forms, Zhar closed his eyes and took a moment before raising his blade.

He brought it up fast in a Shii-Cho horizontal parry, but even further away form his body, half-way between them. He launched explosively off his feet, keeping their blades far from their bodies, and smashed his shoulder into her with a shove. There was no more artful way to put it, it was a shove. However, for all its ungainliness, there was a lot of power behind it and it bowled her over backwards and down to the floor with a curse.

She swarmed to her feet, furious, but paused as she Zhar frozen where he had ended his move, eyes clenched shut and breathing heavily. She could see beads of sweat on his bare head, trickling slowly down his Lekku, which spasmed compulsively.

Akima's anger was lost in confused alarm. "Um . . . Master Zhar? Are you alright?"

Slowly Zhar recovered into a neutral stance, his breathing calmed, and he finally opened his eyes. "Forgive me, Initiate."

That shocked Akima as much as his episode.

"The form is . . ." he struggled for the right word, "taxing on the practitioner. I have learned as much of it as was required to become a weapon master, but I do not like it, and I do not teach it. It is too dangerous."

His voice started to regain its usual trace of hidden sneer, and Akima knew he would be alright.

"Now, return to your seat and I will discuss each form more in-depth, including the history of its development, changes over time, and notable practitioners of each."

Form I, Shii-Cho, was originally developed over 15,000 years ago, back when . . ."

And on it went. Master Zhar was adamant that she grasp the theoretical and historical grounding for each style before even attempting a single move, and he lectured non-stop for hours. Akima slipped into the white room, determined not to miss anything and put her in an even worse spot with Zhar than she already was. At last, he let her go for lunch.

…

Akima stood in line for lunch with a mob of chattering younglings, most of whom looked to be around eight. They were loud, energetic, and all over the place, which took her back a little bit. She remembered the others that age in the factory. They had seemed . . . older. They would run around during free time, of course, play all the same games, but there was a . . . a something, an intelligence? A knowing glint? Wariness, yes, that was it. They looked at you with both an eight-year-old's eyes and the eyes of someone watching for you to make the first move, waiting for danger. These younglings though, they didn't. They seemed almost, well, stupid, for lack of a better word. They just didn't have that layer to them.

It was, more than anything else, the thing that convinced her she was safe here. Kids like that had never suffered.

Still, it was a disquieting thought as the bored-looking Padawan who had rotated into the chore for the day absently plopped some kind of stew into her bowl. She gave it an experimental prod with her spoon. She couldn't identify it, but it didn't twitch, so she figured it was safe enough. She filled a glass with water from the dispenser and turned to confront the same problem she'd had in countless mess halls – where to sit?

The other Jedi came in in groups from their various classes. They were the same age, they'd literally grown up together; not exactly easy cliques to break into.

A handful of Masters sat eating quietly together, the swarm of children (wisely directed by the Padawan cook to the opposite side of the hall from the Masters) was together, groups of teenagers, and . . .

"Hey Akima! Over here!"

The voice cut through the hubbub of the hall and Akima saw Alek waving over to her. Akima smiled and walked over to slide her legs between the bench and table next to Alek.

He grinned at her before turning back to the table. "Hey everyone, this is Akima, the legendary Initiate that got into a shouting match with Zhar and not only didn't get vaporized on the spot, but won."

Akima smiled, but inside she felt her pulse quicken, her adrenaline spike. There were too many people, too close. She could feel Alek against her elbow, someone else rubbed against her other arm, touching her, grabbing at her. She fell back into instinct mode, sizing up her opponents, looking for the exit, time to move, time to run, RU—

"Akima, are you alright? That is how you say your name, right? I didn't botch it?"

She snapped out of it. She was there, in the cafeteria, surrounded by Jedi. She was safe. She shuddered and let out the breath she'd drawn in to make a break for it. "Y-yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just still a little shaken up from it. Zhar is not somebody you want to get on the wrong side of."

The earned her some chuckles and heads nodded in agreement. Hopefully it would explain her lapse. She ate a spoonful of surprisingly good soup.

"So Akima, meet my friends."

A perfect opportunity. If she wanted to drop off the Masters' map, she needed a crowd to blend into. She paid close attention to each , bringing all of the lessons of years in the white room and entertaining 'clients' to bear.

"this is Fenton Strongarm, and no, I'm not kidding, that really is his last name." Fenton, sitting across from Alek, smiled at him and nodded towards Akima pleasantly, while Alek continued. "He's a born Jedi Guardian if ever there was one. Strong as a Krayt Drago, as protective as a Nexu, and dumb as a rock." Fenton's smile died. "Hey! Care to say that again in the practice ring?"

Alek put up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, you win." He smiled as he said it, all a joke.

Akima added her own silent analysis to Alek's.

Fenton was bigger than Alek, though judging by his hands and head he'd already reached his full size. He was built big, too, and toned by a serious exercise regimen. His brown hair was cropped short over brown eyes and pale skin. He'd looked at Alek first, with a smile, but more neutrally at her. He was pleased at being singled out fast. A fan of Alek, but not so lacking in self-confidence as to depend on being built up. A follower. Simple, honest flattery and admiration were the key there.

"This," said Alek as he gestured to the boy next to Fenton, across from Akima, "is Kanthor Pa'alsivor." The boy nodded distractedly, pulling his eyes away from the datapad he was studying just long enough to acknowledge her. His hair was long and unkempt, his tunic a little disheveled.

Alek rolled his eyes. "He's smarter than the rest of us put together, but would starve to death if we didn't remind him to come to meals."

Easy. Pay attention to him and she'd have him. Keeping his attention, however, would be harder.

"This is Desir Banadon." Alec motioned to the boy sitting on her other side, who grinned at her with perfectly white teeth. "He came to the academy here later than the rest of us." Desir's dark brown eyes shot to Alek for a fraction of a second, though his smile didn't twitch. "Which means that he learned how to get into, and out of, trouble better than anyone else I know."

This one was tougher. The carefully styled hair, the practiced smile, it was greasy. But that glance when Alek had said he was different—there was fear there, fear of isolation; lack of confidence? To early to tell.

"And that," said Alek, pointing to a girl two benches down and surrounded by a flock of girls all upa nd down the age scale, "is the girl I'm going to marry some day. Meetra Surick."

"Alek, you know it's against the rules to—"

Alek interrupted Kanthor, who hadn't looked up from his datapad. They spoke with the lazy assurance of an argument they'd had many times before.

"I know Kanthor, but a man can dream, can't he?"

Akima considered Alek. The others differed to him, making him a leader. He joked about breaking the rules, but openly, confidently, with none of the tension that normally went with serious suggestions. He was committed then, so strong in his belief he could joke about it, because he would never break it. That was unusual. This was normally the age that humans, particularly men, were starting to feel the effects of the hormone rush and questioned everything. What made Alek different?

Alek waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Akima's considering gaze.

He was confident enough to talk about girls he liked, and to interact with her without a hint of trepidation. He would be hard to win over – she'd have to earn his respect, and probably work out his sense of humor. Time to probe a little.

"I don't know, Alek," she said, eying Meetra's back speculatively, "she seems a little . . . small . . . for you." If small counted as being about half his height.

"Nonsense," replied Alek with another grin, "size matters not to a Jedi."

"That's what she said." Akima almost laughed out loud, not at the puerile thought, but at the idea of it coming out of the mouth of a Jedi, even one like Desir. Neither the comment, nor Alek's best attempt at an offended look, were much like how Jedi were portrayed in the vids. "Come on, Alek. Even if you could get with her, which you wouldn't, it would look ridiculous. I can see it now, he reached out an arm as if seeing a vision, "she tries to give you a hug and reaches up and, (he gasped dramatically) returns your passion by reaching out to hug your knees."

"Enough about my love life, Desir. So Akima, would you care to raise the maturity level of our conversation by telling us a bit about yourself? Where are you from?"

She'd already told him that. Was he just being considerate of his friends? Alek moved up another run in her esteem. But she still had to answer the question, and it was a delicate one. She had to play this just right. Strong but humble, I think.

"I'm, ah, I'm from a little planet on the edge of the rim. It wasn't glamorous, like you guys growing up with the other Jedi, but I learned to work hard, working every day, dealing with people . . ." To put it mildly.

Fenton looked at her a little wide-eyed. "What was it like out there, really? All I've heard are stories . . ." He shot Desire a skeptical glance. "I don't remember anything from, you know, form before."

Well, her experience hadn't exactly been positive. "it was . . . well, it was difficult, not like what I've seen of you Jedi at all. You have to work hard for everythign you get, every bite to teat, and sometimes even that isn't enough."

Even Kanthor was listening now. "Wow," muttered Fenton, "I didn't think it would be that bad."

"Where you get your tattoos from?" That was Desir. "A night on the town, partying a little too hard, and—"

"They're slave tattoos from the Tammuz Sector," said Kanthor from behind his datapad.

Akima's jaw actually dropped. How in the galaxy . . .?

Kanthor looked up at the sudden silence and was startled to see everyone looking back at him. "What? It was in the reading from a few months ago."

Fenton turned back to her, disgust across his face. "Slaver scum. Don't worry Akima, you're safe now."

It was a remarkably presumptuous, naive, and insensitive thing to say, but his heart was in the right place at least. Well, that hadn't gone exactly as she'd hoped for, but maybe she could salvage it before she became the outsider, or worse, the pity object.

"Look guys, I know I'm new here and you don't owe me anything, but could you please not mention that to anybody? It's kind of a secret."

They nodded seriously, and she was in. There was nothing like a shared secret to bring a group together. And now, for some diversion.

Akima smiled in relief. "Thanks guys. Elaine said I shouldn't spread it around. She's the Jedi who brought me here."

Alek put up a hand. "Wait, you mean Master Elaine? The one that just got back from a secret mission from the Council? Now that's a story we have to hear." Alek winked at her as he said it, running with her open play to change the subject, and she couldn't help but feel some real gratitude for the goofy, confident, clever Jedi Padawan.

"Well . . . okay. So I was out in this field one day, and out of nowhere this mysterious robed figure just appears in front of me, and . . ."

Akima smiled as she told a wildly, and deliberately, edited version of that particular adventure, and the boys hung on every word.