By Sapadu
Chapter 10: The Final Countdown
"I guess there is no one to blame, We're leaving ground. Will things ever be the same again?"
Viro was not particularly surprised to see Triclops in a deep mediation over a dream. The surface of the floor rippled as he stepped in closer, peering over Triclops' shoulder to see what the dream was.
"That's the Skywalker brat, isn't it?" He asked, recognizing the profile of the young man whom was being led up a set of black, metal stairs towards the hooded, black figure of the Emperor, reclining on his throne. There was no mistaking it- this boy could only BE the son of Anakin Skywalker, and if the physical resemblance wasn't enough, then there were so many other things, from the way he walked and moved to the fact that Triclops and Viro could practically see his aura in the Force.
There was also no doubt that this scene Triclops was watching was the same dream he'd been having for the last God-knew-how-many years. The three key players were set together, the setting was just as he'd predicted, and everything was in place.
Triclops was frowning.
"He knows..." Viro raised an eyebrow at Triclops, before looking back at the images that moved in the reflection of Triclops' dream. It was virtually the same as every other time he'd dreamt it- Viro was completely at a loss as for what could be different enough that he could see something...
The Emperor was smiling.
'I'm looking forward to completing your training. In time, you will call me 'Master'.'
He knew.
The same way he'd known about Triclops and Kendalina- the Emperor knew everything that Triclops had dreamt. Viro didn't know how or why or what it meant, but there was something very innately wrong about the very idea that he had something in common with this man, and it made Viro mad that the Emperor had either foreseen the exact same thing, or that he'd somehow found out what Triclops had been dreaming.
Very mad.
"...The HELL?" He demanded, kicking uselessly at the reflection on the floor. All that it did was distort the image by sending ripples across the surface. Triclops continued to watch, impassively, almost sorrowfully.
"It does not matter. There is nothing we can do, now." Triclops whispered, watching as the Emperor continued to speak, his voice insidious and menacing, even if Triclops wasn't listening to the words. There was just something about the man's voice that felt like poison being dripped into his ear.
"Hey- look on the bright side! Maybe with the Skywalker brat as his new apprentice, maybe the other bastards the old man let gang-rape you might finally bite it."
Triclops saw no humor in this statement. Viro had pulled up a different, particular memory, one of a room full of Sith, all in black cloaks that looked as though someone had snatched them out of the night sky, surrounding him as laughter echoed in the background.
"That would not make the past go away, though. And then, even if he did, what would become of the others who have been picked as decoys? They would become useless and disposable, once again." Triclops asked. Viro blinked at him, eyebrows raised, before sighing and flopping down next to where Triclops had folded his legs under himself. It had been Triclops' only quirk that they'd ever really butted heads over- Triclops' willingness to show mercy and compassion to complete and total strangers.
'But now, you must know your father can never be turned back from the Dark Side. So will it be with you.'
Triclops' eyes quivered, wanting to close, but he couldn't look away. It almost felt like cowardice, like selfishness for him to try to ignore this.
"Old man likes to hear himself talk, doesn't he?" Viro asked. Triclops didn't answer. There was a knot in his stomach, that feeling of utter terror and impending horror, destruction, and pain and knowing how it would come and that nothing could be done to stop it.
He hated it. He hated being so damn useless all the time. He hated how he could only see what was to come, but never, never prevent it. He hated how he couldn't even tell those poor souls who were doomed from the moment they were born what their fate would be.
'Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen.'
"As he has... that's a load of shit, and he KNOWS it!" Viro snapped, "WE were the ones who saw it, you old bastard- don't go taking all the credit!" Viro slammed his fist down into the water-like surface of the dreamscape, again having no effect but to send ripples through the image. Triclops continued to watch, unimpressed.
"That is... not something you should be worried about..." He said, slowly. Viro didn't listen.
"How the hell is he finding all this shit out, anyway? I sure as hell didn't say anything- hell, neither of us ever MET the old fart! We've been sleeping this whole time, anyway, so how is he figuring this stuff out?" Viro demanded, looking quite outraged that the Emperor knew so much when he had worked so hard to prevent that.
Triclops still didn't look up at him, despite the all-out temper tantrum that his other face was throwing.
"Kendalina did say that the aim of the experiments had been to force us to sleep-talk. It is possible they succeeded at last." He said, evenly. Viro snorted.
"Not likely. The place we are now is a weapon's factory- even if we were speaking in our sleep, these people sure aren't listening for a dream about the Skywalker brat and his connection or lack thereof with that old bastard." Viro said, turning his back on the scene. It was that comment that made Triclops frown. Now that he thought about it, it DIDN'T make sense. He wasn't sure about what powers the Emperor claimed to have, but Master Yoda had always said that no powers of Force-sight could allow someone to see into the future so clearly.
That had been why the Jedi had always doubted Triclops.
So how did the Emperor know, for sure, that Skywalker would be his next apprentice? Hell, the man even knew the responses on the drop of a needle to whatever the Skywalker brat said- every line was exactly like Triclops had seen, and the Emperor KNEW it. He'd even laughed when the boy had threatened to kill him- laughed in the way that said 'Just like I knew it would'.
What were they missing?
"Hey, boy..." Viro had apparently been pondering this as well, because he pushed off from the floor and stood up, "...Remember when you found out about the eye and how we can use it to walk into other people's dreams?" Triclops blinked, but nodded, "You immediately took a walk through other people's minds to talk to Girl, right?" Triclops nodded, again, and Viro was starting to frown, almost suspiciously, "What if..."
Triclops continued to blink.
"Zeebo... what's 'die-ing'?" Ken asked, taking a break from his studies. Well, okay, he'd just been reading the file on Luke Skywalker for the hundred-millionth time, but it counted as study if he'd been taking notes on subjects from Skywalker's life for what to study next. Really, if it had relevance in that person's life, Ken could bear with it when he had to learn about it.
Zeebo stopped picking at his tail feathers- not just paused, but stopped. Ken had obviously said something very, very bad.
"Why're you asking me, not the droids?" Zeebo finally replied, tersely. It was weird to hear it coming from a mooka, but Ken didn't care- he needed to know the answer to his question.
"Because Dee-Jay and the others do not answer me correctly." Ken said, "I will ask them, but Dee-Jay will pull out a dictionary or encyclopedia and give me the definition or explain it through biology or something like that. I still do not understand what it means to die, though."
Zeebo was silent for a long, long time, but it seemed to be in contemplation of Ken's predicament as well as how best to answer.
"Well... think of dying like a droid breaking." Zeebo said, slowly. Ken thought about that- he understood that well enough, since Chip had broken a few times. Heck, once Chip had busted an eye-sensor and Dee-Jay had even let Ken fix that, himself. It had been a feat that had caused Ken to cut himself three different times and get his hands and face dirtier than they had ever been in his life, but Chip's eye had gotten fixed, and pretty well, too.
"Okay..."
"When a droid gets broken, you can fix it- Humans and other creatures are kind of the same. The difference is that for little things like scrapes, dents, bruises, and cuts, those heal on their own. There's some stuff that, if it happens to a living being, something called 'surgery' needs to happen, but then, the body will heal itself." Zeebo continued- Ken didn't interrupt, since he'd long ago learned that if Zeebo was going to actually waste his breath over something, it was worth listening to.
After a moment of consideration, Ken nodded.
"So... Injuries are like breaks in droids, only they fix themselves with enough time and the right treatment?" He said, his brain managing to wrap itself around the concept. Now that he thought about it, those cuts he'd gotten from fixing Chip, or anytime he'd fallen and scraped his knee, or bumped his toe on something, all that Dee-Jay did was clean it and put a sterilized bandage over it to 'prevent infection' and in a few weeks, or sometimes days, Ken would peel off the bandage and the cut would be gone like magic.
"Well, sometimes, a droid gets broken to the point that it's impossible to repair- a chip gets shot, or the wires that control everything are too old, or something- right?" Zeebo pushed. Ken thought about that for a moment. It made sense. He nodded.
"For Humans and other creatures, it's the same. Sometimes, things happen that break them to the point they can't be repaired. The being, whatever it is, doesn't come back again, even if the body gets fixed. It's just not possible for it to work anymore." Zeebo finished. Ken thought about that, too.
It wasn't as easy to think about that- it scared him, somehow.
"...Dying is... breaking... and never being able to be fixed again?" Ken asked, unsure if he had heard that right. Zeebo's beady black eyes remained fixed on him as the mooka nodded.
Ken thought about it for a few minutes more. It made his head and chest hurt.
"Why?" Zeebo asked again, but this time, Ken could tell it was more of a 'Why-are-you-asking-at-all?' Why than a 'Why-don't-you-ask-the-droids?' Why.
"...I had a dream last night..." Ken said, slowly. Zeebo continued to watch him instead of going back to preening, so Ken knew he wanted more than just that, "...Someone with a face that was all wrinkled and pale... He had a hood over his head, so all I saw was his face... and his eyes, sometimes, when the light was just right, but they were all... gross- red and yellow, like he was sick or something..." Zeebo said nothing, "He was pointing his hands at me... and lightning was coming out of his fingertips, all of it was coming at me and then... he stopped for just a moment and said... he said 'Now, young Skywalker, you will die.'"
Zeebo continued to blink, but he suddenly spoke up, which made Ken jump as he had forgotten Zeebo had been there at all.
"You had a dream about someone being killed?" Zeebo asked. Ken blinked, but shook his head.
"I dunno... I woke up right after he said it..."
It was her fifth round of shots. Arbra was a nice place, sure, but couldn't the place provide some sort of vegetation that made better alcohol? Her fifth round, and Kaoln was still sober. She wasn't even adding water or juice or ANYTHING to dilute the stuff.
These were bad days. Days when the Rogues wouldn't leave her the hell alone, days when she wished she had somewhere to go, days when she even wished Master Orewahime was still around to give her orders and box her ears when she didn't do things right. It wasn't that she LIKED doing things wrong and getting her ears boxed for it... it was just that right now, she really felt dead in the water. There was nothing to give her any indication of whether she was going in the right direction or not. No reprimands if she was doing something wrong, nor rewards if she was doing something right. Everything was simply received, as though she were doing nothing at all. And even then, that would have at least earned scorn from other people, except she couldn't stand being lazy, so she did something.
Kaoln HATED the uncertainty.
Someone sat down next to her. Kaoln cast him the barest of glances. She saw the crest of X-wings flying away from the Alliance seal in a sunburst. A Rogue Squadron member.
"Heyya there, Darkie! You lonely tonight?" And a pervert. Kaoln toyed with her empty shot glasses, lining them up and ignoring him. She signaled to the bartender and got another round. Okay, so he wasn't really a bartender, but now was a rare moment of lull for the Rebs. Another one of the guys- another Rogue, but one by the name of Janson- had pulled together this little makeshift bar, complete with stools, the counter, and stock, out of the scrap metal that would have otherwise just been compacted. It was nice to have a drink when the days sweeps were done and relax a little.
It was not so nice when you wanted to get stone drunk off your ass.
"Listen, sweet cheeks, the least you could do is LISTEN when some guy's offering to let you spend the night at his place..." The Rogue pushed. Kaoln continued to ignore him- Most of the Rogues were nice enough, good drinking buddies, and their commander was a self-proclaimed Jedi to boot. Not a bad group to have. But occasionally, you had some guys like this one who thought with a different head than the one on their shoulders.
These kinds of guys made her very, very grouchy. It was even worse because she REALLY didn't want to deck the guy if she could avoid it, but the way he was pulling the cheesy lines, she wondered if she'd have much choice in a moment.
What would the Furies think of this if they could see their greatest leader's own apprentice being hassled by a testosterone-drunk pilot?
A clawed hand pushed a larger drink towards her. Kaoln looked up to see a female face half burned off sending her a twisted grin. It was the kind of look that said 'Just say the word and he's dead.' Definitely one of the Furies.
Kaoln took the drink and swigged it down. It was more of a malt than a drink, but it was also tart and bitter, like coffee or something had been added, and the sweetness of the foam on top balanced out the burn of the alcohol. Not too bad.
"...So... can I buy you a drink or not?" The Rogue pushed. Kaoln cast him a glare. Really, she wished she had a glass of water to pull the classic maneuver of throwing it in the guy's face, but she didn't. So, she settled for kicked the guy off his stool. In the spot that he was sitting on his stool, to be precise. For a few moments, the whole bar was silent before Kaoln thought she heard something like 'Oh, my spleen' from the ground.
"Gemmer, get over here and leave the Lezzers alone." The other Rogues called. Kaoln smirked to herself, running a hand over her shaved head- She'd done it last night, cut all her hair off and in the remaining thin layer of dark, tightly curled, coarse hair, she'd shaved the insignia of the old Jedi Order. She should have worn something like a scarf or helmet or something over her head before coming here tonight- no wonder guys were flocking to her.
"Ah, the Rogue Squadron- the official commander is the Skywalker brat, but the man who really pulls all the strings is Wes Janson." Said Gwen, who had passed Kaoln the margarita. Kaoln had to smirk- she knew this girl well. They'd been smuggling together for years, knowing each other through Master Orewahime, one as her apprentice and the other as her subordinate in the Furies, they'd even slept together a few times. It was always good to have a partner in crime.
"...Wonder what Master Orewahime would say about all this...?" Kaoln finally said. Gwen stole one of Kaoln's shots and chugged it, but Kaoln didn't care.
"...Is the hatchling okay?" She asked, finally. Kaoln shrugged.
"Master Retaw took care of the little spawn. I don't even know if he's still alive anymore." Kaoln muttered. If she thought about it, she could probably feel him through the Force, but she really didn't care to try. If something had happened to that boy... Somehow, Kaoln didn't think she'd be able to face Master Orewahime, even though the little hatchling had been entrusted to Master Retaw in the end.
"Princess wouldn't blame you, y'know." Gwen had apparently read her mind, "She'd understand. She was like that. And, anyway... I doubt any brood of Master Orewahime would be killed off so easy. It's like... against the genes or something..." Kaoln snorted a little, but eventually pushed away from the bar and stood up, scratching at her knees- they'd had an accident with some lime and powdered sand in the base as they'd built up a barrier to prevent flooding, and the stuff had gotten everywhere. Kaoln still had white dust all over her except for her face, which she had scrubbed nice and shiny clean until it was the right shade of dark brown again.
Gwen followed her- they had a run to do tomorrow, anyway. Smuggling was difficult enough, but weapons were even worse than spice. The worst that could happen to your spice cargo would be that you got there and it was bad, but with weapons, they might not be made right or might even be time bombs in disguise. One could go off, take your whole ship with it, and nobody would even think to look for your remains. It wasn't pleasant.
"Something's bothering you." Gwen, said, simply. Kaoln grimaced, not meeting her bed-partner's eyes.
"I just have this feeling... this foreboding... that something really bad is about to go down..."
Kaoln glanced over at the calender- A single date was circled in bright red. Written on it was 'Endor Day'.
The countdown had begun.
The Massai Temples were a sight to behold, Mehgan had to admit that. What she didn't like doing was standing there, lingering. There was something in her bones that just tingled, as though warning her that something bad was about to happen. She didn't want to be around the ancient pyramids when it DID, if only so that the pyramids wouldn't be destroyed.
There was a loud smash and the sound of stones falling and crumbling under the weight of something, almost as though a meteor had landed on the Temples. Mehgan jumped and flipped, completely out of the way of the falling rubble before she spun around to face what it was.
It was a single person pod- almost like an escape pod, except different. And then, it opened up and a round, compact man with spectacles and a bristly beard waddled out of it. For a moment, Mehgan watched, cautiously, from behind a rock, wondering who or what he was.
Then, the man opened his mouth. Out of it came six other men, some smaller than him, some taller, some larger, and all of them in long robes that glittered like the night sky. One of them, a man easily over 200 centimeters, glared around for a moment before he gestured, violently, at the rock Mehgan had been crouched behind. It exploded.
"It's been a pain trying to find you- Master Retaw." His voice was mocking and disdainful as he spoke her name, but Mehgan stayed on her guard, shifting into an attack stance, just in case.
"I wasn't aware I knew anyone with your face well enough to give out my name." She replied, sternly. All of them looked human, or at least humanoid- the shortest one, just barely up to her waist, had a stubby, rolled-in nose that was unmistakably Bimm. There was a short one with a face that seemed overly red and a wiry frame, an average, firmly built man whose face was currently fixated in a yawn and a single lazy eye, a taller one, almost on eye-to-eye level with her with what looked like incredibly long lower eyelashes, but were really just scars, a handsome faced man just slightly shorter than the one with the scars, and the incredibly tall one that seemed to loom over them all.
The only thing they had in common were their beards and hair color, even to the point that Mehgan could see how some of the men had even dyed their own hair to the pitch black it was. Some had bristly beards, some had smooth beards, some had matted beards, and the handsome man had even done his in an elegant braid down his front.
"You'd be amazed at how quickly information travels when you go to the right sources." The tall one said, smugly. Mehgan glared, wondering if she should reprimand him, but the man continued talking, "We've been looking for you- now, you will give us information we have been in need of."
Mehgan considered this a moment, before asking, politely,
"What would some young punks like you want with an old hag like me?" Her words seemed to have done the trick, as all the men outright gaped at her, "I may not look it, but I'm easily twice everyone's age here. Hell, I might even be three or FOUR times some of you little rascals in years." The four was stretching it, but some of their faces were so young that they could have easily been a fifth her age. The fact that she was well into her hundreds by now also didn't hurt.
"Punks? Little rascals?" Asked the red-faced one, though he was quickly turning purple and the words came out as a demand, as though he were thinking 'She better NOT have just said that.'
"Ouch." Agreed the fat one.
"Sticks and stones, love." Put in the one with the braids. Mehgan rolled her eyes. This was an odd crew, but they undoubtedly knew what they were doing. They came to her for information, they'd said, which meant they knew she had some information to conceal. And considering that Mehgan had been living as a hermit for the past ten years, for anyone to find out would take superior information gathering skills.
"Tell me who you are, first. Then, I'll decide if I want to talk to you." Mehgan said, evenly. The tall man with the big nose snorted, derisively. From what she could tell, he was probably thinking along the lines of 'As though you have a choice in the matter.' He opened his mouth, probably about to say just that. Whatever- she could deal with egotists.
The short, bimm-faced one stopped his taller teammate by holding a hand out, as though to block him.
"Your demand is reasonable, but first, we shall tell you what we know." He said, but with a smug air in his voice. He thought he would be impressing her, with whatever he was about to say, or perhaps he thought he would be intimidating her, or perhaps it was some other display that was meant to put her in her place, "You go by the name Mehgan Retaw. You were born on the marshes of a minor moon in the Outer Rim to a still undocumented and unnamed species comprised entirely of asexually reproducing females who spend their childhoods as tadpoles before they grow into a more humanoid shape, which can take from ten to twenty years. Because of this incredibly slow aging process, a female could take fifty years before she begins to reach an adolescent human body and sixty years before she reaches the adult stage. Mehgan Retaw, whom you are, took precisely seventy-three years before she reached her full maturity, being a particularly late bloomer, especially as a Jedi. You spent fifty years as a youngling, even with the age delay taken into account, before being assigned to the Exploration Corps of the Jedi Order. The Jedi Master who found you, Master Mace Windu, took custody of you when you were brought to the Temple, and would later become your Master at the request of a former apprentice, Depa Billaba."
Mehgan ground her teeth- they sure did their jobs right, she had to grant them that. For an unnamed and undocumented species, they sure had the details on her biology. It was enough to make her wonder if they knew exactly why Depa had requested Master Windu take her on as an apprentice- it had been one thing for Master Windu to accept out of sympathy and for the secret to be just between the three of them, but if someone else had KNOWN...
"Under his tutelage, you rose to the rank of a Knight in just one year. After that year, you were sent on a mission to gather children to become Jedi, which took you to the Corellian system, the twin worlds of Tralus and Talus, upon one of which, you encountered the Ancient and Most Noble House of Zuka. Within that house, you found the perfect candidate to become a Jedi in the form of the newest born daughter to the head of the family, Lord Ibal Zuka, and the woman Mina Orewahime Zuka, and the younger sister of the Young Lord, Dalhouise Zuka. She was a blind baby, and would have been one of a set of triplets, but her brothers died during birth, and her official name was 'Girl'. However, as the years went on and she learned to talk, she gave herself a name as 'Kendalina Orewahime'. It was under this name that, upon her fifth birthday, you took the risk of kidnapping her and, after a year of evasive flying and planet hopping, returned to the Jedi Temple."
Mehgan felt her blood running cold- she had almost forgotten that little detail about Kendalina's escape from that horrible house. Technically, she HAD kidnapped the little girl- she remembered the sentry ships chasing her and Kendalina all the way past the border. It had been a fight worthy of some of the Clone Wars, how she had shot them down, one by one, but at the same time, she had felt such great remorse for being forced to kill the police who were just doing their jobs. She'd shat bricks that whole year, jumping from planet to planet and just barely avoiding detectives from the Correllian system before she'd made it back to the diplomatic immunity of the Jedi Temple. And the whole time, Kendalina hadn't even been aware of it, too young and too blind and too scared to understand what was going on.
"After your return to the Jedi Temple, you continued to act as a mentor and the legal guardian of this girl, your guardianship later expanding to a young, three-eyed, nameless boy that she found hidden in the cargo bay of an incoming ship. This boy was called 'Triclops' by everyone, for nobody could find any documentation or identification of this boy. And the two of them grew up. Right before your eyes."
Mehgan felt her hands shaking. All those memories were coming back, just like she was reliving them again. She could feel the two of them in her arms, Kendalina kicking and flailing while Triclops clung to her shirt and winced as Kendalina's limbs occasionally hit him or yanked his hair. She could smell the particular odor of a baby just learning how to control her bladder and dress herself. She could hear the footsteps of a troublemaker running from the scene of the crime where she had just made a mess in the Jedi Dining Hall and the protests of her partner in crime insisting that they should go back and clean up.
Mehgan remembered the day that Kendalina first started to talk back to her, instead of obediently following orders. It had been just two months before they'd reached Coruscant. Mehgan had told her to eat her vegetables. Kendalina's reply was 'Why should I eat something that tastes THIS gross?' In the end, Kendalina hadn't eaten them, but did take twice as many servings of fruit. Mehgan had let it go.
She remembered the day that Triclops had first smiled. Mehgan had been arguing with Kendalina about bedtimes. Kendalina said that it was still light out and they should still be able to do things while it was light out. Mehgan had insisted that bedtimes were standard, no matter if it was light or dark. Finally, after a long, heated argument wherein Kendalina displayed an inborn Correllian talent for swearing, Triclops suggested they compromise by adjusting bedtimes to when it got dark but by setting earlier wake-up times with earlier bedtimes. Both Mehgan and Kendalina had been so floored by the logic that Triclops had burst into laughter at the looks on their faces.
Mehgan kept her face stoic.
"Obviously, you were very important to them- there came a time that the Jedi Council called for your expulsion from the Order and excommunication from the Temple. The official reason was because you had attacked an unarmed civilian, but of course the REAL reason was because you grew too attached- attracted, I should say- to your apprentice. Attachment was one thing, but to another female and a child, no less... Even if, legally, you had done nothing wrong, the mere fact that you cared that deeply was an unpardonable offense. Despite this, these two children, instead of turning on you or at least remaining at the Temple but simply begrudging the Council, wasted no time in setting out after you to bring you back. And not only that, but they spared no expense to do it- they rented their own apartment, took jobs, shouldered responsibilities that most adults would shirk if they could, and even willingly broke laws, finally finding you and promptly taking you back to the Temple and even pushing for your readmittance into the Order. And, of course, your first action was to submit your padawan for the Trials, and she became the youngest ever Jedi Knight at the age of thirteen."
Mehgan glared.
"Why are you saying this?" She asked, voice feeling weak in her throat. The bimm-faced man, whom had been doing all this narration with perfect stoicism, suddenly smiled.
"That beloved apprentice of yours had a child. A son. With the same boy that she found in the cargo bay that fateful day. It was because you cared for her so much that you accepted the duty of protecting that boy, hiding him away, and keeping his very existence a secret."
Mehgan continued to scowl, but this man was speaking in a smirking, haughty tone, as though he had just achieved a great feat by coming to his declaration.
"You ask who we are? We..." He paused for a grand effect, "Are the clients of Young Lord Zuka. We have given him his mission- to find this boy and bring him to us."
There was a silence. At long last, Mehgan started to laugh. To her own ears, it sounded a little less than sane.
"Oh, is that all?" She asked, smiling thinly, "You could have just said so in the beginning, you know..."
The bimm-faced man chuckled, just a little. Mehgan chuckled back, lowering her chin onto her collarbone.
They wanted Kendal. They wanted Kendalina's son. They were going to take him away, away from the Lost City, away to wherever they lived, away to a new life, new home, new family. It seemed so obvious, so utterly stupid, that Mehgan felt like she should have known right from the start. Why ELSE would they come hunting down an old Jedi hag like her, except to learn the secrets that she'd been guarding, to find a younger, more capable, more easily influenced...
Mehgan's smile was mutated as she began to frown and opened her eyes to scowl at the seven Sith- that's all they COULD be- gathered before her. Then she smashed her fist against the Temple.
It should be noted that, when the pod had landed, only a small corner of the Massai Temple had been crushed under it, leaving a small crater, but the Temple itself still intact. The reason this should be noted is because Mehgan's fist made such large cracks in the Temple stone that the entire north face of the Temple crumbled, letting light into every room that the northern walls had covered.
It was enough that all seven of the Sith men jumped backwards and if Mehgan had been watching their faces, she would have seen some definite fear in their eyes.
"I'll KILL you!" She hissed. The Sith actually did start to look a little panicked, except for the Bimm one, who shouted towards the others to take defensive action. Mehgan didn't wait- her hand went down to saber ready position and her lightsaber came out of her sleeve, ready to be ignited at a moment's notice.
"Man, I KNEW this would be troublesome..." Groaned the lazy-eyed one. She didn't care- her lightsaber was on with a snap-hiss.
"I thought the Jedi were above utter slaughter like this, Master Retaw." Sneered the Bimm. Mehgan scowled, but brandished her blade.
"You have until the count of three. Then, I start using this." She declared. Until three to do what, she didn't mention, because she really didn't care. She didn't care if they ran away, or committed ritual suicide, or whatever, but just as long as they were GONE, she would be happy, "One!"
They all backed away, but not nearly far enough for Mehgan's liking. And that Bimm one was still standing perfectly still, looking for all the world like he had nothing to lose.
"The news reached us about how that apprentice of yours was killed- executed, officially, but I'm sure you would call it murder. And her own brother was the executioner, too. Even for the Empire, that DOES seem a little harsh, doesn't it?"
"Two!"
"After all that, you'd still show such affection for her child- She must have been terribly important to you. Why, even though she's dead, you still protect this child of hers, despite the fact that you resent his very existence. She must have been VERY important to you..."
"Three!"
Mehgan was very, very ready to kill these men- she didn't care if it WAS against the Jedi Code. Fuck the Code. Fuck the Jedi Order. And most importantly, fuck these guys. They were going to die. Period.
"We can resurrect that student of yours. With the technique the Emperor has developed."
Mehgan stopped.
The Bimm smiled at her.
"Well? You counted to three. Yet, we're all still alive. Does this mean we have your interest?" He asked. Mehgan didn't answer- she didn't hear him. She wasn't even aware of where she was anymore. It was as though the whole world had tilted on it's side and faded out.
Master Retaw, what's this? It's so warm... That's sunlight, Kendalina. ...I LIKE sunlight...
The little blind girl who reached out and gripped her finger when she found her, alone, in her cradle. The same little girl who so quickly grew into a woman that leveled a building and even survived an encounter with Darth Vader. The girl who had gone out of her way to spoil the younglings when the Masters weren't looking with 'Inappropriate' stories and little toys. The young woman who single-handedly saved the life of a dying patient when the other medics refused to continue operating on 'His kind of trash'. The Medical Jedi woman who had discovered three different medicines from a single fungi while aiding the Rebellion before her capture. She was dead now but...
Kendalina has taught me a new word, but what does it mean? What's the word? ...I think it is 'Asshead'... But I am not sure...
Kendalina had died... and, somehow or another, taken Triclops with her. She had been the single light and beacon in his life, his role-model, his sister, his companion, his mother, his teacher, his god. Triclops had smiled the brightest when Kendalina was around and had been saddest when she was gone. Everything about Triclops had been based off of the Kendalina who'd, essentially, raised him. Now, that Triclops was gone. Mehgan didn't know if he had been literally killed or not, but one thing was for sure- even if he was alive, he wasn't living, and she would never see either of their smiles or hear either of them laugh ever again.
But... Kendalina could be... resurrected?
"...That boy... If I told you where I hid that boy..." Mehgan said, slowly, "...What would you do with him?" Her voice felt like a twig that could be snapped at any moment and the look she was getting from these men was only making it worse.
After a long moment, a different man answered- the one with the braided beard.
"He wouldn't be harmed- kids are too sweet at his age, anyway." Under normal circumstances, Mehgan would have questioned that. She would have been suspicious and angry and particular. She would have noticed the slight, subtle tone in the man's voice that reminded her of someone else. These were not normal circumstances- all she heard were the words.
"I'm asking you..." Her voice sounded strained as she spoke- every word seemed to stretch, thin and taut and filmy, like hot rubber that was being pulled into a thin, thin screen but was beginning to tear from being stretched too much, "...What you would do with him."
There was a beat, and then the tall man answered.
"The Emperor has need of that boy." He said, "The same technique which he can use to bring people back to life, for some reason, isn't working for himself. But that boy might." It wasn't the words, but the offhanded casualness they were spoken with, the factual tone as though discussing how best to repair a broken computer, that seemed to pump some semblance of anger back into Mehgan.
"You would use an innocent boy as a container for a Sith..." She muttered, feeling her blood temperature rise. The man who was taller than her sneered, his lip audibly curling under his beard and hood.
"It's only appropriate for that boy to show some respect for his elders." He replied, coldly. Mehgan frowned, allowing her nose to crinkle.
"Elders?" She could see the green eyes of the man with scars under them light up, almost gleefully.
"So, you never found out, then?" For some strange reason, the man spoke very blandly, almost completely void of emotion. Only that gleaming delight in his eyes gave the barest illusion of feeling, "Did that apprentice never share what she learned about the genetic parentage of her mate, the father of that boy?"
Mehgan could feel her pupils dilating as she frowned.
"The father of that boy is none other than the biological offspring of the Emperor, himself."
Oh.
There was a sudden stop of all activity in Mehgan's brain, followed by a surge of memories and pieces that weren't supposed to exist fitting together. No birth records. No name. The slave trade. It made sense. But... Mehgan could still recall the mute little boy who had cowered behind Kendalina before the Council, who had never so much as stepped on a bug underfoot, who had treasured holophotos of baby animals and had always willingly played with the younglings, no matter how much they screamed at him or pulled his hair or poked him in any of his three eyes.
Sweet, innocent, little Triclops... had been directly related to... the Sith Lord?
"Of course, you needn't answer now. Preparations would need to be made, in any case. But do think it over. And we will be... popping back... from time to time to check up on you and be sure you're alright..."
Mehgan didn't hear them. She didn't notice as they all returned to their ship and disappeared into the night sky again. Everything in her brain felt numb as she stood amongst the rubble that had been part of the Massai Temple just a few minutes ago.
She couldn't stop shaking.
The funny thing about time is how differently it can pass- for some people a whole year will seem like nothing, while for others, it never seems to end. In physics, there is a theory somewhat similar to this- not the theory of relativity, but it essentially goes like this- if a man with a son were to depart from the planet Earth in a spaceship and travel the galaxy for a number of years, when the man returned, his son would be older than him. This is because of a quirk in time itself, for some complicated reason that very few people besides expert scientists would understand. Hell, I don't understand it.
The third year after the Battle of Yavin seemed to take forever to change to the fourth. The man known to anyone who ever had known of his existence by the name of 'Triclops' seemed to remain the same as ever, ageless in his sleep. He only continued to dream, his vision of the fall of the young Skywalker growing clearer and clearer everyday. He knew it by heart now, so well that he could tell you exactly how many breaths the father and son would take as they dueled.
Meanwhile, the boy christened as 'Kendall' grew another year. He cleaned out the Jedi Library on all information about this man called 'Palpatine', especially after his nightmare about being electrocuted in the place of Skywalker. He learned how to repair a droid with a glitch in it's speech and how to levitate small objects, completely under his control. He grew another eight centimeters.
The Emperor watched everything from his dark throne, waiting in the shadows for the day to come when the son of Skywalker would bow before him. All of his visions were sent to the seven propaganda Prophets, to make into prophecies and keep the public in order. This would be the final, crippling blow to the Rebellion and all those foolish enough to dare defy him. After the turning of Skywalker and the destruction of the Alliance, those remaining would not even have the pleasure of his mercy. They would be crushed, like the insects they were.
The Prophets of the Dark Side- the real ones, that is- pondered over the visions they had seen. All of them had been quite shocked when the boy they had attacked so long ago appeared to them as a grown man and quite freely given them this vision of triumph for the Dark Side. But now, Kadann and Jedgar were growing anxious- all was not well, and those false Prophets the Emperor had created were more than disturbing to all of them.
The abandoned prisoner, number 06167514, now known as Prophet Gornash or Darth Levitan, continued with his days in the same mind-numbing fashion. He kept to himself, mostly, but a few particularly outstanding days did come, including an incident involving the hem of 'Kadann's robe, some glue, and some extra hot pepper powder. Tilus claimed credit when they went under interrogation. Darth Phegor finally gave his false name as 'Barnaby', Darth Noma managed to set fire to three different guards simply by swearing at them, and Gornash met Darth Asmod. The first two had been agreeable, almost enjoyable days, but the last experience was the one thing that Gornash had no desire to repeat- Tilus had shivered and moaned and gnawed at his knuckles, squeaking every time someone so much as breathed loudly around him for the rest of the day. Gornash, Tilus, and Barnaby all came to the unanimous conclusion that Darth Asmod was a MOST unsavory character.
Mehgan Retaw sat in her cave, keeping watch over the Lost City from a distance, all the while contemplating the choice set before her and pondering Master Yoda's question. More questions came, plaguing her, as the offer set down by those so-called 'Prophets'. What to do? What would Triclops want? What would KENDALINA want? Was it worth it? To give up their child just for a chance for the two of them to come back to her... Would Kendalina do it for her? For Triclops? Or would she tell the Prophets to kiss her ass and then proceed to find her own way to get the best of both worlds?
Kaoln smuggled her weapons, drank her booze, and had the occasional tryst in bed with Gwen. When she wasn't eating, sleeping, or working, she kept her eye on the Skywalker brat, wondering how in the Hell he expected to be a Jedi when there was nobody around to train him. And, really, even if there WERE... who would?
Dalhouise Zuka played with the twins and helped his wife look after the triplets who had just been born, all the while searching for his nephew under the orders of the anonymous sponsor. It was just a guise anyway- if he didn't find that boy, there would be consequences, no matter what.
For all of them, time dragged that one, fateful year. For some, it seemed best that way- they would only have a year to live anyway, so make it last until the day that Vader was toppled by his own son and sent the Galaxy into chaos. For others, they simply wished the year would end, and put them out of their misery instead of prolonging the suffering.
It was thus quite a shock when Endor Day came and the moment when Luke Skywalker, historically, threw down his saber and refused the Emperor, came. It was but a single moment, but the wonderful results it brought suddenly made the whole, hellish year disappear in a flash. The reason why it went so quickly was because it had been both unexpected and an incredible relief, and all Humans know that relief is an emotion that is singularly hard to savor.
A/N: Finally, this chapter is DONE! Feel free to keep guessing as to what the Prophets are supposed to be.
The title song is by Europe.