"Hold still--"
The little boy was squirming again, distracted. It made it harder for Lydie to concentrate on the Force, harder to trace it to a single sentient and measure the amount, determine the origin--
"Do you speak Basic?" Lydie murmured, opening one eye and smirking. The little boy giggled, a Twi'lek with still short, stubby green lekku. Lydie took that to mean that he did.
If he spoke it, he ignored it too. The little boy clambered up from where he had been sitting and ran off to join the rest of the children playing in the apprentice wards.
Strong in the Force. Then again, they all were. No child was brought to the Jedi Temple unless they were confirmed Force-sensitive or at least showed signs that they might be. When they only showed signs that they might be, it was up to med-droids, the Council, and good old-fashioned feelings to determine whether the Force was really there or not.
And the responsibility of stretching out with their feelings usually fell on elder Padawans or newly appointed Jedi Knights like Lydie Korr.
She unfolded her legs from under her and stretched her arms behind her head, scanning the room for any apprentices arguing over a toy or sitting alone from the rest. The only child not with at least one or two others was the oddity in the room— the only definite Force-sensitive who not to be considered a potential apprentice. Celyn Onasi sat by the side of her bed, head bent down like she was either sad or busy with something.
Lydie pushed herself up from the floor, straightening her robes before walking over to where the little girl sat with her knees up against her chest, for once not busy dismantling a datapad or a lightsaber hilt.
"Hi, Celyn."
The Onasi girl looked up at her but didn't say anything.
"Some of the other apprentices are playing trin sticks," Lydie said, sitting down next to her. "I think they still need a fourth player."
Celyn shook her head. "I don't want to play." She rested her chin on top of her knees.
The little girl's feelings were fairly written on her forehead, but Lydie had found through her current role as apprentice caretaker that Celyn wasn't used to others being able to see inside her head, and reacted somewhat violently when people knew something she hadn't told them.
"Is something wrong?" she prompted the little girl instead.
"I miss my mommy and Father and Dustil. I want them to come back."
"Oh." Lydie nodded. "You know, most of the apprentices here haven't seen their parents or families since they came here. They probably miss them too. I missed mine, when I was an apprentice."
Celyn glanced sideways at her. "Where was your family?"
"Well, I'm Zabrak, so my family lived on Iridonia, which is the Zabrak homeworld."
"I know," the little girl replied defensively, even though she hadn't. "Zabraks have horns, and two hearts. And inden—indentations in their skin."
Lydie brushed the palm of her hand over the tips of her horns and across the curved indentations on her cheek self-consciously. "That's right. And most of us live in colonies all around the galaxy, except for the few that still live on Iridonia. But Iridonia's not a very nice place to live. The weather's bad, and everyone tries to farm but they don't make a lot of money, so sometimes parents like mine send their Force-sensitive children to the Jedi so they'll have a better life."
"My parents didn't send me here," Celyn insisted. "They're coming back."
But the little girl now placed her hands on top of her knees, partially obscuring the frown on her face. She'd been here for a few months now, and if her admiral father or her Jedi mother (the former Dark Lord Revan, it was whispered) were ever coming back, there hadn't yet been any word on when that might be.
"But you still miss them," Lydie added. "Just like all the other apprentices miss their parents. Instead of thinking about how they want to be home, though, they're learning new things and playing with each other."
"And getting visitors."
Both Celyn and Lydie looked up at the black-haired man standing over them. He was young, maybe not much older than mid-twenties, and there was a lightsaber hanging from his belt. But he was wearing civilian clothes, and Lydie had never seen him in the Temple before.
"Hello there," the man said, one side of his mouth lifted. The smirk went just a little more crooked when his eyes moved from Celyn to Lydie.
"Celyn, do you know this man?" she asked, looking at the little girl. Celyn shook her head.
The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You mean after whining like a baby mynock that he needed me to check up on his kid sister, Onasi didn't even tell you I was coming?"
Lydie pushed herself up from the floor. "Are you authorized to be here?"
"Are you?" the man answered back, stepping between where she stood and Celyn sat and plopping himself down on the small apprentice bed. "Dustil Onasi—this girl's half-brother—asked me to come."
Despite the clear patrician accent in his voice, the quick, defensive, street smart way he chose his words didn't seem very patrician to Lydie.
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "And who are you?"
The man cleared his throat, sitting up a little from his sloached position. "Uh, Mekel. Mekel Jin. I'm Dustil's friend."
"Dustil doesn't have any friends," Celyn said, glancing up at Lydie. "Except for Tova."
Mekel Jin laughed. "That's because your brother's whipped, Celyn. Can you spell whipped?"
Celyn's brow furrowed, making a crooked sort of squiggle between her eyes.
"I remember you now. You came to see us once, on Telos. Dustil told Father you're a smug son of a schutta."
Mekel snorted. "Well, you can tell Dustil that I said he's a self-righteous piece of—"
"The apprentices here range from three to six years old," Lydie interrupted quickly. "They really aren't used to outside visitors. We're taking very good care of Celyn while her parents are gone."
His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "My apologies, Miss…?"
"Knight Korr. Lydie. Lydie Korr." Her face felt warmer with every flubbed up introduction.
Mekel smirked as if pleased with himself. "Well, Knight Korr, don't take this the wrong way, but where Dustil and I come from isn't exactly a place where the ways of the Jedi are trusted."
"Where you come from? You mean Telos?"
"No, I—" Mekel paused, narrowing his eyes and leaning sideways to see around her. He groaned. "Oh, fracking fantastic—"
"Mekel?"
This time, it was HoloNet reporter Tova Vin walking over to them, with a not-so-camera-ready look on her face. Lydie wondered when the apprentice wards had become so popular.
"Swearing in front of children." The corner of the blonde's mouth twitched. "I can't really say I'm surprised."
"Hi, Tova," Celyn Onasi said.
Tova gave her a smile. "Hi there, sweetie. Everything all right? Is Mekel bothering you?"
"Is Mekel bothering you?" Mekel repeated in a mocking, high-pitched imitation of Tova's voice. "Don't you think I have better things to do with my time than hang around the bloody Jedi Temple daycare center? No offense, of course, to those who do," he added, glancing at Lydie again.
The blonde cocked an eyebrow, folding her arms. "I don't know. Do you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. But it was your feckless fiancé who asked— no, begged me to come make sure his little sister was all right while he went groping around blindly in the Unknown Regions. And me, being the charitable individual that I am, decided I would take time out of my busy schedule to do so."
Tova gave Mekel her now-trademark withering stare. "Remind me again why you're invited to my wedding."
"Oh, probably only because Dustil owes me for the ninth or tenth time I saved his hide on Korriban—"
"I don't think now is the best time for Celyn to have visitors," Lydie interrupted, stepping forward. "Especially not two of them."
Tova Vin gave her a perfect, white-toothed smile. "Fine with me. Mekel will have to come back later."
"Me?" Mekel put his arm smoothly around Lydie's shoulders. "We were having a perfectly fine visit before you showed up, weren't we?"
"Enough."
Lydie sincerely hoped Visas Marr was the last person who would be visiting the apprentice wards today. With half of her face concealed beneath the veil, the Miraluka's expressions were often hard to read, but her mouth was very clearly in an annoyed frown.
"Celyn and I have work to do," she told them, turning her head first from Tova, who folded her hands behind her back and managed to keep her chin up despite looking chastened, to Mekel, who instantly dropped his arm from Lydie's shoulders and cleared his throat into his hand.
"I apologize for interrupting, Master Jedi," Tova said, bowing slightly. "I'll come back tomorrow, Celyn." She gave the little girl a quick smile before turning and exiting down the hallway.
"Please show Mister Jin out, Knight Korr," the Miraluka said. Even with the veil, Lydie could still feel the direct stare that accompanied the order. She decided she would take the long way, through the meditation gardens. Visas didn't look like she wanted whatever work she was about to do to be interrupted.
She nodded. "Yes, Master Marr."
Visas waited until the Zabrak and Dustil's friend of questionable moral alignment (the uncertainty was a large black spot on him, obscured like it was censored from even the eyes of the Force) were gone to turn her gaze back to Celyn Onasi. The little girl pushed herself up from the floor and wrapped her arms around Visas before she could react.
"I missed you." Celyn tilted her head back to look up. "You haven't come to see me for a long time. Where were you?"
"I had a mission," Visas answered, trying to slowly extricate herself from the little girl's embrace. Touch for a Miraluka was a far more intense sense than it was for other sentients. Through Celyn's arms, Visas could feel all of her loneliness, brief excitement at having company, and growing uncertainty as to the fate of her family and, consequently, herself.
It was an emotional place Visas did not feel comfortable residing in. It too closely resembled places she had been before.
"Would you be interested in trying to see your mother again?" she asked. The Council had a summons waiting for her the moment she had landed in the Temple docks, anxious for an update on Revan's activity and the progress of Sarii and Admiral Onasi's mission.
Celyn nodded vigorously. "Maybe we'll see her on her way home." She sat back down, crossing her legs and wriggling until she was satisfied with her sitting position. Her eyes were already scrunched closed, but she kept opening one eye, looking to see if Visas was ready yet.
The corners of her mouth twitched, and Visas allowed them to turn into a smile as she seated herself across from the girl. A few of the other apprentices glanced up momentarily at them, but were easily distracted by their games or toys.
"Concentrate," Visas told Celyn. "Reach out with your mind, and try to see through the Force."
Within an instant, as if she had had the images queued up in her mind, the little girl found her mother.
For a moment, all she could feel was angry. The anger was an acceptable emotion in this place, and Katrina latched onto it, fed it, tried to make it overshadow the tingle in her chest and the momentary arhythm of her heartbeat.
Carth Onasi, her Carth Onasi, was still standing open-mouthed and gaping at her, the horror in his eyes fresh like they were back on the Hawk just moments after escaping the Leviathan. Far more open than his mouth was his mind, every thought and feeling he was having floating free in the air like he had consciously released them. Katrina could feel Sila and the others shifting, becoming more alert in preparation for what was coming.
"He found her!"
Visas winced at the sudden break in the vision, at the high pitched squeal from Celyn Onasi as she clapped her hands in delight.
"I knew he would! He promised he would," the little girl added excitedly. "Now he's going to bring her back—"
"Apparently you have not realized the gravity of the situation Revan is currently mired in," Visas snapped.
Celyn frowned.
"It doesn't matter if Mommy's stuck on that planet with Sith or if she was doing bad things anymore. Father's going to help her get out of there. He saves people all the time. He's a hero—"
"Your father is only a sentient, and an aging, stubborn sentient at that. He is surrounded by Force users more powerful than any Jedi in this Temple—"
"But he's Father," the child said forcefully, closing her eyes again. "He can do it."
"Katrina," Carth repeated, swallowing. "What's going on here?"
'Katrina' gave Sila and the others the past, false as it was. It gave them the part of her life when she had really believed she was Katrina Taresi, Republic scout turned newly-inducted Jedi, who had fallen in love with Carth and helped him find his Sith son. More importantly, it brought them dangerously close to the part of her life when she had found out who she truly was, and the actual choices she had made since then.
"Admiral—" She tried to make 'Admiral' sound the same to his ears as it did every time she said it; soft and teasing. "That isn't my name."
"Revan," Carth corrected, his voice hard. "What is going on?"
"Lord Revan was interested in learning the truth about the Jedi and the Force," Sila said. "Perhaps she did not have time to write."
"The truth?" Carth's panic was all over his face. "The truth is that they've got you brainwashed or…or converted, or whatever it is they do."
"Conversion is often done to make a thing more useful, to improve it." Sila's voice was all seduction and hiss. "Self-improvement should never be viewed as a negative thing."
"They terrorize this entire system," Carth snapped, ignoring Sila. "They're responsible for everything that goes on on Remli Prime. They took Dustil, Katrina. Does that sound like true Jedi behavior to you?"
'Dustil' exposed his love for his son, his worry over where he was and what was happening to him, his fear that whatever he thought had happened to her would repeat itself with him. 'Remli Prime' and 'true Jedi' were connected with disgust, exasperation, determination that the Republic and the Jedi Order—still safely concealed in systems unknown to Sila and the others—would come here and right those wrongs.
The Republic and the Order and the systems they were in wouldn't be concealed for long if Carth kept talking.
Frack, Carth, please keep your mouth shut—
Celyn Onasi's eyes opened abruptly. "Why doesn't Mommy want Father to talk?"
"Admiral Onasi puts himself in a more perilous situation with every word he utters," Visas answered. "He is inadvertently giving the Sith information about himself—about you, your mother, Revan's Padawan—information the Sith will use to create nightmarish images that may make him forget why he is there."
"And he can't hear her because he doesn't have the Force," Celyn Onasi added, sucking in a breath and leaning forward with her hands on her knees. "She has to make him be quiet."
"It's easy to mistake the effects of correctly applied power for terror," One of the others—Lord Pobeda—commented. Basic did not come as easily to his vocal cords as it did to Sila's, and his words were heavy with air like he was asthmatic. "Surely your son can illuminate you. He knows all too well what fate the powerless meet."
Carth glared at him, but turned back to Katrina. In his head, she could see what Dustil had told him about this place and these creatures finally coming back. "After everything we did, everything we went through with the others and the…the mission…"
Yes, good, please Carth, realize what the hell you're doing and omit words like Star Forge and Telos and Celyn and Dustil—
"Now you're just going to throw it all away? For what? This power they're showing you?" He was derisive but there was something wild and desperate in his eyes. "You're a Jedi, Revan. You didn't fall back before and I'm not going to let you do it now. You're my wife, and you're going to have to kill me before I leave you here—"
"Fall?" Maybe if she just talked over him, she could shock him into silence. "I haven't fallen, Carth. I now know so much more than I did before coming here. I've seen impossible things happen through the Force. That kind of knowledge can't be located anywhere other than on a higher plane."
"And is it worth it?" Carth demanded. "Is that worth throwing everything else away and letting the galaxy come close to destruction again because you want to find out something new and know more than everybody else?"
"Don't do this," he pleaded desperately. "I love you, and that…that might not mean anything to you, but she loves you, and I…I just can't accept that you'll turn your back on her too—"
With the deliberate emphasis he was putting on 'she' and 'her', Katrina wondered why he didn't just come out and tell them every childhood story he had about Celyn. She struggled to keep them out of his head, to keep them away from following the train of thought.
Frack, frack, damn fracking hell, Carth, shut up—
"You turned your back on her once too, Admiral," Sila murmured. "Didn't you?"
Carth's head turned, and for an instant, Katrina could see it happening: him struggling to make sense of what Sila was implying, unwittingly giving Sila something to work with. It's not real, Carth. None of this is real—
"Shut up," he finally snapped, turning back to Katrina. She felt her rapid heartbeat relax slightly.
"Now I don't know what they've done to you, or what they've showed you, but I'm here, and I came all this way, and I'm not letting you go without a fight—"
'All this way' brought back memories of each planet they had visited, from Krett back to Remli Prime, from Teren to the Outer Rim supply outposts all the way back to Coruscant. 'Without a fight' gave them all the times Carth Onasi had been a hero, all the times he hadn't left people behind, all the times he had fought and won for the Republic, and all the secrets he now knew as an Admiral.
She tried to wire his jaw shut. She tried to force his teeth together, keep his lips from moving, but she still wasn't very good at physical manipulation. All she succeeded in doing was making his upper lip shake like he was going to snarl at her—
Visas broke the connection, bringing them back to the soft noise of the apprentices playing and the afternoon sun shining in the wards.
Celyn squinted, trying to find the images. She cracked one eyelid open. "I want to watch. Why did we stop?"
Visas stared back at Celyn's eager little face and calmly rested a palm on the child's shoulder.
"Celyn, I fear your mother will have to do something drastic to stop your father. She will have to hurt him."
Celyn thought about this quietly for a moment.
"She's good though," the little girl said, glancing up at the Miraluka. "She's just pretending to be bad. And if she has to hurt Father to make him stop talking, he'll…it'll be okay, because she's just pretending, right?"
There was no sufficient answer in Basic or any other language for Visas to give. She hesitated a moment, and then allowed the child to find the only person who might give her one.
He was going to keep talking. He was going to keep talking and she could feel them now, gingerly poking at his memories, trying to claw through hers and paint accurate pictures of them: the Republic, the Jedi Order. Celyn. Dustil. Morgana.
Carth took a cautionary step towards her, holding his hand out like she might take it and he could whisk her away from all this without so much as a single round of blaster fire.
"Please, beautiful," he said, almost a whisper. "You're better than this. You're a Jedi, rememb—"
The 'b' dropped into a sickening grunt when the lightning hit his chest. Through this new, terrible power of the true Sith, she knew that every inch of him felt like it was splitting open and tearing. Stars flew by his eyes faster than a trip through hyperspace and twice as blinding. Carth bit down on his lip involuntarily and tasted his own searing hot blood. Though he didn't have the Force, she could hear his thought, finally not of Dustil or Morgana or Celyn or the Republic.
Beautiful…please—
"You are a stubborn man, Admiral." The words came out of her mouth, though it was easier to say them if she pretended they were coming from one of the red-skinned creatures watching silently around her. It was hard to be audible over Carth's screaming. "But that will serve you well once you realize the truth."
She lowered her hand, and Carth fell back onto the glossy black floor, coughing and gasping for air, curling inward like there would be less pain if there was less of him.
Let me remove him from the complex, she told Sila. There are aspects of our past relationship that would be useful in convincing him, though not entirely appropriate within these walls.
The laughter of the Sith echoed throughout her head and everyone else's. If you think it best, Lord Revan.
She suddenly missed being called Katrina.