It was something of an obscenity in my mind that the day the Empire "reclaimed" my homeworld, the sun shone brightly out of a clear blue sky. Lourden stood at my side as the shadow of the first Star Destroyer eclipsed the shimmering light of mid-morning, his young fingers curling in mine in apprehension. Too young, he was, to really understand what was going on. Too old to be lied to about it. Instead, we clung together, he and I, silent statues exposed on the sandy beach near our family home. Our morning swim all but forgotten.
He'd seen it first, the strange cloud that moved faster than the others. Its shape too triangular, too perfectly formed to be anything created from nature. It took forever for my eyes to register what it was, to force sanity to except the unreality of the situation. It simply couldn't be… the Empire had no interest in our world. We were a peaceful place, focusing on art and music, our main export being crafted things like furniture or the training of craftsman to attend other worlds and their needs.
Our homeworld wasn't in any positon to offer military advantage, both too far from Coruscant and too close to a major shipping lane. Neither New Republic nor the Empire seemed willing to interfere with the hyperspace shipping lanes, what with both sides in heavy need of supplies and credit alike. We should have been as safe as it was possible to be in the turbulent shifting of power after the Emperor's demise.
Except that we weren't anymore.
Somehow, someway, our star system had found itself in the path of the Imperial war machine. Without a strong military of our own, all we could do was capitulate to their demands.
How little I knew in those few moments it would be the last time I could naïvely stand aside and think of the war as someone else's problem. If I knew then what I knew now, I would have hugged Lourden to me and told him to run, told myself to run, too. Flee into the mountains and to hide within the caves, and pull them down on top of us rather than face this future of servitude.
For all the books and the parables we'd read as children had lied to us. Sometimes it was truly better to die than hope for a rescue. Hope, I would soon learn, was the folly of madmen and the playthings of children. Stars, I wish I had died right there than face Lourden on the day of my conscription.
No matter how many times I tried to force that thought away, it always resurfaced. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that I was a prisoner again, that all my hard-won respect and minor freedoms on the Chimera were gone. Perhaps it was a thought always there in the back of my mind, buried beneath the fear and the constant stress of my position in the Empire. Whatever the reason, now I saw it all the time. I saw the shuttle land in the town square. I saw the officers walk down the ramp, the stormtroopers flowing around them like white glittering insects, all in perfect formation.
I felt my father's arms wrap around my shoulders, my mother doing likewise to Lourden. Though the last was purely fear, purely a mother's instinct to protect. Lourden was far too young to be taken into conscription. But me? There wasn't anything anyone could do to stop them if they took me. Even the strong arms of my beloved father.
Those stormtroopers ringed the gathering of our city, pouring from other shuttles landing in perfect timing with the first. We'd barely noticed those others, what with our attention on the lead. But enough had landed to cover the entire square. There was no escape. No place to run. The rifles held ceremoniously served as a deadly reminder to us all. If anyone tried to run, we just knew they and their family would meet their fates right there and then.
Stars, I could feel my father shaking, trembling slightly. Not in fear of his life but in fear of ours. In fear of what he might do if one of us was taken.
I stood there in the circle of his arms, listening in muted horror as the names called one by one. Cries and weeping filled the air after each pronouncement, children and siblings, husbands and wives pulled from loving embraces by firm and cold hands. I felt more than heard the scream somewhere behind me, the shrill sound cut off by the base-like strike of a single blaster bolt.
The deafening silence in the wake of that shot made the Commander's last order all the more surreal.
"Idelas, Aria."
My name. Following in the wake of blood and death as if Fate trumpeted the path of my future. Mockingly carried about on a summer breeze, echoing in the empty and bright and too hot afternoon. Had I thought the day beautiful before? I was mistaken.
I couldn't feel his arms anymore, couldn't think past the unreality of the situation. It… it wasn't right to hear my name spoken in those emotionless, clipped tones. Tones I would come to use myself one day on a young woman every bit as naïve as I was that day. But in that moment, all I heard was heavy bootsteps marching in my direction.
"Idelas," The officer called again, this time impatiently, icy eyes scanning the crowd. "Aria Idelas, you have been called to serve your Empire. Step forward for that honor now, or face the consequences."
Dad froze behind me, and at the time I thought it was pure indecision. Did he fight to save me and leave mom and Lourden to the whims of Fate? Did we try to run? Looking back on it now, knowing what I know now, it wasn't incision or fear that held him in place. It was the calm of a warrior assessing his situation, his options. I knew that calm, felt it every time I hit the practice mat with one of Reese's men.
Looking back now, I know there were no options. The troopers would have burned us all down if I hadn't stepped away.
The officer lifted his hand, as if to signal the troopers to start shooting. We'd heard horror stories to that effect on conquered worlds. One person refused the conscription notice and twenty were executed. I couldn't let that happen.
"Here!" I shouted, pulling away from my father and waving my hands in the air. "I'm Aria Idelas."
"Ari, no!" Lourden screamed. "No, don't let them take you away. We'll never see you again. Don't leave!"
The crowd parted ahead of us, great waves of people rolling away from the white-armored horrors, creating a clear path for my 'honor guard' to bring me to my new life. I knelt before Lourden, took his hands in mine and kissed them.
"Only for a while," I lied, smiling. "I'll only be gone for a little while. Just you wait; I'll be back before you know it. If the Empire has taken our world, surely that means there's only a little left to conquer. You'll se—"
Cold hands, armored hands, landed on my shoulders. I rose before they could tug, turning my back to my family, to my brother so he couldn't see the tears. "I'm ready, sirs."
They said nothing as they flanked me, and I couldn't turn around to see my family. I couldn't let the last image of my homeworld be my father's pale face as he held my brother back. I couldn't see my mother's shaking form as she sobbed into my father's shoulder, couldn't see Lourden's screaming face. I would break if I did. I would've tried to run. We all would have died.
I couldn't let that happen.
"Idelas?" The officer asked as I was presented to him.
I didn't know if I was to bow or nod or something. So I lowered my eyes and squeaked out a barely audible "Yes, sir."
The once-over he gave me let me know where I rated in his eyes. Somewhere beneath pond scum. The way he blew out an impatient breath let me know I was right.
"Next time you make me wait on you, conscript, you'll eat your dinner through a straw. Am I clear?"
I was glad my eyes were lowered, because the tears that fell were heavy and fat. "Yes, sir." I squeaked again.
He made a disgusted sound and waved a hand. "Process her."
That hand on my shoulder shoved and I stumbled up the ramp to join the others of my city. I barely had time to wave to Lourden; to pretend to smile at him like this truly was a great honor. A great adventure that I was about to go on and that I would be fine.
Another lie. The first of many I'd make in the name of survival.
"Idelas, Aria. Human. Born in… ," the droid recited my salient facts, reaching for my arm and injecting a transmitter beneath the skin of my right hand. "You are processed. Welcome to the Empire."
"Jorus C'Baoth. Human. Born in Reithcas, on Bortras, on 4/3/112, Pre-Empire Date."
I jerked awake, the subdued mutter of that repulsive name enough to rip me from the depths of sleep. Trembling hands searched in vain for a blaster or vibroblade and came up empty. Conscripts weren't permitted to have weapons unless supervised by an officer, so I'd never really had one of my own. Still, all those sessions with Reese and his team were enough to instill that reflex in me, and I was more than annoyed when my hands slid across empty sheets.
More infuriating than that, however, was how long it took me to reach full wakefulness. Cobweb thin tendrils of that dream clung to the edges of my consciousness, trying to drag me back to a memory I'd thought long forgotten. Part of me now understood why our every waking moment on the Chimera was filled with duty and activities. It made it a lot harder to long for a home we no longer had when it took all our effort to complete the daily tasks.
I longed for that duty right now. Longed for the discipline more than I could ever say.
Groggily, I shook my head, raking fingers through my too-long hair. Not more than a month into captivity and I was already losing my edge. I had to get away from this place, and for more reasons than being a prisoner of war. I had to get away from the dreams before I went mad.
Light drifted through the open doorway between my room and the common area, curiosity mixed with irritation drifted across my thoughts. I knew the source, had felt this same thing for the past two weeks we'd lived together.
"Give it a rest, Skywalker," I called, throwing back the blankets and sitting upright. "You're not going to find anything in those files we haven't found already, and you know it."
He didn't reply. He didn't have to, his emotions registering that he heard my call and found it slightly amusing. Just as I didn't have to see him to know exactly what he was doing. Skywalker sat calmly at the only terminal in our crappy two-bedroom apartment somewhere in the bowels of Corurscant. His back straight, shoulders tight with purpose. And those eyes, those blue eyes that reminded me so much of the sky that horrible day I was conscripted, calmly searched the old imperial archive for information regarding that mad Jedi monster.
Calmly, I knew, because I could feel his thoughts passing across my own like a soothing wave in a glassy ocean, enveloping me without really invading anything, and receding like the tide the moment I tried to touch his thoughts in return.
Stars, he was so different from C'Baoth, from any other mind I'd ever touched. C'Baoth was fire, a literal conflagration of madness incinerating anything it touched. He wanted to burn me, consume me in his madness and use me as a living tendril of his flame. Reese was all iron discipline wrapped around a heart of honor. Tam was logic and comfort all mixed together, like a brick and mortar maze that even he didn't understand fully. So many of his pathways were dead ends because of that.
But Skywalker was… an unending sea of compassion. I'd drown before I ever reached the core of his thoughts. Unlike the impregnable walls that defined my relationships with Reese and Tam, and even the Admiral, his protections from me were amorphous. Inviting, even. I knew that if I put my hand in those invisible waters, they'd yield for me. He'd let me go deep into the sea that was his being if I was willing to learn from him, but never deep enough to tap into his connection with the Force.
He'd made that mistake once, costing the New Republic a sizable portion of their capitol ships and landing me in Rebellion control. I had a feeling Skywalker was the type that learned very quickly from every tiny infraction he committed. I'd never get the chance to draw on his power again without his permission.
But that wouldn't stop him from trying to reach out to me, especially when I'd woken from one of my dreams.
As quickly as his touch came, it vanished, his attention turning back to the records before him. I tossed a parting image at him, one expressing slight annoyance that he'd bothered to check on me at all, and that he was still awake at this ungodly hour. Dawn wasn't that far away according to the chronometer on the wall. Our 'hidden' apartment was too far down in the levels of Coruscant to receive any real sunlight. The artificial sunlight generators would power on in a matter of hours, pumping the life-giving imitation sunlight into the corridors.
He needed to sleep, the sensation of his fatigue reinforcing my own, becoming a heavy weight behind my eyes. "Go to sleep, Skywalker," I called again, letting my irritation show. "Whatever it is you're working on, you won't puzzle out when you can't think straight."
"Soon," he called back, and if he were annoyed with me, it didn't show. "Thank you."
I groaned, the sound coming out more like a growl. He wasn't going to go back to sleep any more than I was. He'd slip into that Jedi meditative trance for an hour or two, and then he'd be refreshed. It was something he was trying to teach me, and something I really didn't want to learn. It reminded me too much of the drug the Admiral had given me before we landed on Mrkyr. And I wasn't ready to face being a living weapon just yet.
I slipped on a robe, taking time to place the repulsorcuff around the stump of my leg. Standing was always tricky, the cuff never truly calibrated to work for me. Apparently the Rebel doctors in charge of my car did the bare minimum to keep me alive and barely mobile. I shook my head myself. I was the most notorious person in the New Republic now, the poster child for all they hated. Why would they give a care about my treatment?
That was precisely why Skywalker and his sister had me moved here, under the Jedi's personal care. Well, one of the many reasons, I was certain.
I got one step towards the door before he called out "lightsaber" in that calm tone.
I ground my teeth, reaching out through the Force and calling my "lightsaber" to my hand. It trembled on the bedside table, rocking back and forth under my request. I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth, and pushed harder. The rocking became a roll, the empty metal tube that was supposed to symbolize my lightstaber had I been a real Jedi, tumbled to the floor and rolled towards my foot.
I sat hard on the bed, panting, before snatching up the thing and fastening it to my robe sash.
"There," I growled, limping over to the chair next to him, and crossing my arms over my chest. "Happy?"
Skywalker nodded without glancing up from the screen. "That weapon is your life, Ari, as much as it is a badge of who and what you are. Don't forget that."
I leveled a stare at him. "I'd tell you—yet again—that what I am is an Imperial Officer held against her will. That I'm not a Jedi, and I'm not your apprentice. But I'm sure it'd go in one ear and out the other—like always."
One corner of his mouth tilted in what I knew was a barely suppressed smile. It was an old argument, this one. But if I wanted to leave my room, I had to have my "lightsaber" with me. The whole thing reminded me too much of my conscript training. If I wanted food for the day, I had to earn it by achieving whatever goal my trainer had for me that day.
He glanced up at that, at that last thought I let dance freely in the air between us. A moment, perhaps a millisecond, of shame and insecurity filtered through his calm before he shrugged. "Both have their purpose," he replied. "They were teaching you what you needed to know to survive. I'm trying to do the same. You need to know how to control your power, or that pool of darkness in your vision will never go away."
As if summoned, the whirlpool of darkness appeared in the corner of my vision. Enticing me to dump all of my emotion into it, all of my cares and woes and anger and frustration. All of my emotion and it would grant me immunity in return, power to overcome the hurt and worry. So easy not to have to feel anything ever again—
I jerked my mind away from it, banishing it to its corner of my painting. Not yet, I told it. I wasn't ready to surrender all that I was just yet.
Skywalker's hand drifted up, brushing a tear from my face before I knew it. "You should go back to sleep. You're still healing, and you need your strength."
"What I need is a ride back to the Empire," I looked away, crossing my arms over my chest. "But it looks like we both won't get what we want."
His answer to that was a simple shrug, and to turn back to his research.
I rubbed my hands over my face, letting all my annoyance and frustration pour through his thoughts. It emptied liked black sludge into his ocean of calm, dispersing into the endless waves as if it had never been. He wasn't letting me go. I had no idea where I was—somewhere on a level called 1313? All I knew was that I was still on Coruscant, and that it was dangerous for either of us to go alone at this level.
Hence the fake lightsaber and endless teaching on how to use it.
"I already told you all you need to know," I snapped, jabbing a finger at the screen. "He's a madman, a through-and-through psychopath that wants to control all Jedi. What more do you need?"
"Everything," He turned towards me. "I want to understand what drove him to this point. Maybe if I knew what lead to his fall, I might be able to bring him back."
"Really," I deadpanned. "You are the last Jedi in the galaxy, and you want to spend all your time chasing after madmen and angry women in an attempt to… what? Reform us?"
"Something like that."
"I take it back. You're just as mad as he is."
That earned a chuckle. "A Jedi cannot become caught up in galactic maters so much that he—" he slanted a look my way—"or she forgets the individual. If I am the last Jedi, then it's my duty to pass on what I have learned and to heal those that may have lost their way."
"Or abduct people that have no interest in following your path."
Again, he smiled, unruffled by my pithy remarks. "You say that now, yet every action you took while serving the Empire was very Jedi-like. Every action was intended to heal and protect, not to harm."
"Which is why you won't let Councilor Fey'lya have is his way?"
He nodded. "One of many reasons, actually."
We were referring to my status as a prisoner of war, and how several members of the New Republic wanted to see me put on trial for my so-called 'war crimes.' The moron currently spearheading that little project was none other than Councilor Borsk Fey'lya. In the month or more of my captivity, he'd added more atrocities to my list of crimes, including the subjugation of several worlds I'd never heard of, and the destruction of an Elomin task force somewhere near Obroa-Ski, among others.
If one listened to that monster, I was solely responsible for the genetic experiments recently uncovered in the Relva system. Which I found darkly amusing, considering I would have had to start them when I was barely twelve years old.
Still, it made for a very spectacular list of crimes, and most of the galaxy now wanted to see me publically executed for them. So it was rather alarming that Grand Admiral Thrawn hadn't responded yet. And yet it wasn't.
"I've told you, you aren't going to hit the mark that way. I've been here for a month or more and he's yet to respond to your requests."
He made a slight face at that. "True. Though I don't think he's abandoned you."
I chuckled darkly. "You really don't know him. Your Council is doing all his work for him, you realize. The more they point at me, the more I become a smoke screen for him. No one believes he exists while I'm here, while your Council has my face to blame their failures upon. Compared to what's been said about me, he's clean."
That face he made turned into a scowl real fast. "I know. That's why I have to find C'Baoth and quickly."
I blinked at him again and again. "I don't follow."
"Only because you don't—"
"Because I don't open myself to the Force and let it guide me," I finished for him, mockingly. "You speak like a broken holorecording."
For some reason, that brought a wistful smile to his lips. "My second master would disagree with that."
I caught a flash of an image, a tiny creature with the kindness, saddest eyes I'd ever seen. The weight of power and knowledge and centuries of life bowed his little shoulders into a permanent slump, though there were flashes of humor in his strange speech patterns, his actions. Strict and stern as a teacher, kind and good as a mentor, and fatherly and wise when needed.
My throat tightened as the image faded, feeling the sheltering arms of my father for a moment.
"You will be free again, Ari," Luke said softly, those blue eyes gently staring into mine. "Your entire destiny isn't in the service of the Empire."
I brushed away another tear with an angry hand before he could. "Number one, stay out of my thoughts," I snarled, pushing myself to my feet—well, my foot and repulsor cuff—and limping away. "Number two, if my destiny isn't with the Empire, it sure as kriff isn't with the Jedi."
"You touch the Force. Your destiny is always with the Jedi. Where are you going?"
"The kitchen," I snapped back.
"Help yourself to the hot chocolate."
"The what?"
"The drink Lando made for us the last time dropped off the supplies. It helps me rest after nightmares. Maybe it will work for you."
Just the thought of Lando Calrissian was enough to raise my ire. The fact that he'd taken no small joy in drugging me and shoving me into a packing crate to smuggle me out of the Imperial Palace to… wherever here was… earned him more hatred in my book. And now I lived and died at his whim, at the supplies this so-called 'honest businessman' brought to us monthly.
"Just how did you convince him not to kill me or turn me over to Fey'lya?"
A shadow of darkness passed over his thoughts, the only hint of worry I'd felt in him in a long while. "It wasn't easy," he confessed. "Let's suffice it to say he'd rather see you here where he knows you're not doing any harm than in the hands of someone that might trade you for political favors."
I poured two mugs of the cocoa, carrying one back to him. "He should have done one or the other, Skywalker."
"Luke," he corrected for the millionth time, lifting the mug in a salute. "And thank you."
I rolled my eyes and sat next to him again, sipping mine. "You would have gotten up to get your own anyway. This isn't kindness, by the way. The sooner you get what you want from me, the sooner I can get back to what I want."
"And what is that?"
"You know what it is."
"No," he shook his head. "I honestly don't."
"I want to go back to the Empire. I want to save the Grand Admiral."
"Then why are you dreaming of your homeworld and not there?"
The chocolate lost some of its flavor at that. "I'm done here."
"Ari, wait," he caught my wrist gently. "I'm sorry I offended you. One day you'll have to face the answer to that question, I just want you to be prepared."
"I'm not yours, Skywalker," I pulled free of his hand. "Unless you're willing to serve the Empire, I'm not going to study under you. How many times do I have to say that?"
"I serve the people, as do you. Does it matter what government they call themselves?"
"Look—"
"Okay, okay," He lifted both hands in defeat. "I won't press again. Go back to sleep."
I stood there, staring at him for a long moment. Then I sat again with a heavy sigh. "I won't sleep unless you sleep. You bleed emotions all over the place and it's getting in my way."
Again, he grimaced. "Sorry. Perhaps you'll show me the wall trick again. In return, I'll teach you something—and it doesn't have to be the meditative trance. I'll let you choose."
"Whatever," I rubbed at my eyes again. "So, what will it take for you to kriffing go to sleep?"
He tapped the screen lightly with a fingertip. "Let's finish this information on C'Baoth."
"You never did answer my question."
"Which one?"
"Why is it so important for you to save C'Baoth and me?"
He continued to stare at the screen, though I could feel him stretching out towards the Force. "You both have something to teach me. Something vitally important for the future," he blinked, eyes focusing on the present once again. "Sorry, that's all I know."
I sighed once more and picked up my hot chocolate, unable to ignore the nagging sensation that he was right. Worse, that I had something vital to learn from him in return. "Okay. Let's get this over with."
When sleep came again, it was blissfully dreamless.