The Desert

Strangely, of all the alien places the Mantis has taken her, Tatooine is where she feels most at home.

It's a miserable place. The heat and sand are insufferable in combination. Somehow, the space-proof hull of the ship isn't sand-proof—the grit burrows in through every seam and crack.

It doesn't take long for her to discover that none of her clothes are sand proof either.

Cal's training continues. It's tougher than it was on Dathomir. She rises before the suns every morning to meet him on the dunes, and they spar until the heat forces them back inside. In hindsight, it's clear that Cal was taking the lessons slowly before, pacing her, making sure she didn't go too far, too fast. Now, there's a fervent energy in his eyes with every swing, a ragged edge of desperation in his voice with every instruction he shouts.

"Watch your feet!"

"Slow, too slow!"

"Watch your form! Don't overextend!"

"Sloppy, try again!"

Anna remains diligent. She doesn't complain, even when her limbs feel like cement and her sweat stings her eyes. She doesn't bring up how every day it feels like the boy she met on Sriluur is twisting into something darker, sharper, the kindness in his eyes replaced by a grim determination. Is it determination, or a lust for revenge?

Yes, the lessons are different now. They're not about defense anymore; they're about defeating the opponent as quickly and efficiently as possible. The techniques are familiar in a twisted way, reminding her of the smart and dirty ways she learned to defend herself on the streets, where the brutes she scrapped with were often three times her size. Brutal, but almost elegant. Maybe that's why she picks it up so quickly.

Cere would have never approved.

Some days, she's almost glad about the way things turned out. She doesn't need to think about the past when she's living in the present. The present is simple. The present makes sense. Train hard, stay hidden. Survive. It's close to normal.

Some nights, she cries into her pillow because this isn't how things were supposed to turn out. Because getting her memories back was supposed to make things clearer, not more confusing. Because a small voice now whispers in her ear that her own sister could be the agent of darkness hunting them across the galaxy, a voice that only gets louder no matter how hard she tries to shut it up.

She jerks awake in the darkness of her quarters, shivering and covered in sweat. She was dreaming again, something with screams and fire. Nothing new there. Pushing herself to the edge of the bed, she lets the images slip from her mind as she focuses on combing back her hair and tying it into something that won't pose a hazard during training. Greez has suggested she cut it once or twice, but she can't bring herself to do it. It's the last thing she has left from her old life, as silly as that is.

She pulls a light tunic over her underclothes, feeling the sweat soak into the fabric as it slides across her grimy skin. Water is precious here, and she hasn't done much more than wipe herself down with a damp towel in weeks. She probably smells disgusting. At least her nose has gotten used to it. She's gotten used to the luxury of regular showers, and now that it's been taken away again, it really, really sucks.

Pants, boots, and arm-wraps she puts on meticulously, making sure to tuck in snugly around her ankles and waist to keep the sand out just that little bit longer. She plucks the lightsaber from her nightstand, hefting the weight in her hand as she watches the metal gleam in the faint lighting.

The lightsaber. It will never be hers. Underneath Cal's hodgepodge of mechanical additions is still the weapon of an Inquisitor. A weapon of the enemy. Every time she sees that blood-red blade, she's reminded of it.

She clips the lightsaber onto her belt and makes her way out of the ship.

Stars still wink in the sky above, but the horizon is brightening, the edges of the most distant dunes glowing like hot embers. She trudges up the side of the nearest dune, her feet sinking into the sand with each step. It's a gruelling climb, but her breathing is calm when she reaches her meditation spot at the top. Some days, Cal is here before her, but today it seems she has the place to herself for a while. Letting her eyes unfocus, she takes a deep breath and raises her hands.

It's something to look forward to now, this daily ritual, these moments of tranquility when her mind is clear and she can sense the Force in a sheen of quicksilver around every grain of sand and mote of dust around her. She's gotten better at meditating. Closing her eyes, she reaches out, trying to understand the song of the wind and the shape of the stars. She reaches inward, too, searching, grasping.

Tuning into the Force has become easier with practice, but as hard as she tries, she hasn't been able to bring back the fire. She can feel… something, but whatever's inside her is formless and dormant, slipping out of reach like sand between her fingers.

Elsa could do this at seven. Then again, she was always the quicker learner.

Two chirps from directly behind her pull her out of her trance. The tendrils of sand floating around her dissolve back into the ground as she opens her eyes.

"Didn't mean to startle you," a familiar voice says with a hint of humour.

Cal stands behind her on the spine of the dune, BD-1 poking over his shoulder with his head tilted in greeting.

"Good morning." Anna smiles at the droid, but her smile falls when she notices the bags under Cal's eyes.

"Let's get started," Cal says, abruptly serious. "It'll be light soon."

He draws his lightsaber without ceremony, igniting the blade and holding it out in front of him. Anna's body moves on its own, twisting out of the way as the rod of plasma sears the air where she was an instant ago. The sight of the blazing green light still sends a thrill of fear through her—the practice emitter means it won't kill her, but it doesn't exactly tickle either. As Cal carries his downward strike into a horizontal swing, she draws the Inquisitor saber with a jerk of her arm, igniting her own blade in time to catch Cal's before it meets her stomach.

"Cal, can we talk?"

But Cal is already batting aside her saber and lunging in for a stab. She feints to the side, bringing her blade down to direct his momentum into the ground. Red clashes with green with a sharp screech. Cal's eyes lock with hers for a split second, then something slams into her like a gust without wind, picking her off her feet and throwing her into the sand.

"An Inquisitor isn't just a stormtrooper with a lightsaber!" Cal admonishes. "The Force is as powerful an enemy as it is an ally."

Anna grits her teeth as she rises from the ground. Sand in her clothes. Cal comes at her full sprint, lightsaber droning as it pumps up and down with his arms. The scar across the bridge of his nose is accented by the pre-dawn light, his cheeks seeming sallow and haggard. Her heart twinges at the sight. He looks so tired.

Instinctively, she raises her lightsaber to block Cal's next attack. Parry, backpedal, parry again.

She's tried to talk to him before. She's tried many times. Except for that first day on Tatooine, Cal hasn't responded except to insist that he's fine, that her training is his only priority now. But they live in the same ship, and as hard as Cal tries, he can't hide everything from her. She hears him tinkering away in the engine bay during hours he should be resting. She sees the way he picks at his food, even though he should be starving with the amount of effort that goes into their daily training sessions. Sometimes, she thinks she hears his sobs through the walls.

Duck, feint to the side, block. She feels the pressure before she sees Cal's free hand push toward her again and she steels herself, pushing back against the bubble of Force momentum with her own. Her feet drag across the sand, but she stands her ground. Cal's mask of grim concentration frustrates her for deeper reasons than she can figure out right now, and she feels the Force swell around her in response.

Well, she'll be damned if she doesn't use this to her advantage.

As Cal plants his feet for another blow, she splays her fingers and pushes at the air, sending a blast toward her mentor. Cal staggers backward with a shout of surprise, but his reflexes are much quicker than hers. The air between them shimmers with tension as Cal pushes back, and suddenly it feels like she's trying to push a landspeeder with a busted antigrav. Just like that, she's losing again.

The frustration flares like a wave. Sweat beads on her forehead.

Then, abruptly, something clicks. A different path, an invitation from the wind. Clumps of sand drift up around her, hovering in mid-air and vibrating with unstable energy. The sand begins rotating around her, slowly at first, then faster and faster until it's a tornado obscuring her view of her opponent. She can feel it all, every molecule around her as obvious as the suns in the sky.

All it needs is the right push.

She hears BD-1 let out a frightened trill through the scratching wind as the tornado tears apart in streaks of liquid fire. Instantly, the air stills. A shocked Cal Kestis stares up at her, on his back at the edge of the shards of glass now surrounding Anna in a perfect circle. His lightsaber is clutched tightly in one hand, still lit.

It takes a few breaths for Anna to realize that she's shaking.

Cal's lightsaber extinguishes with a soft hiss. BD-1 trundles forward, touching the glittering sheen crusted over the sand with a hesitant foot.

"Alright," Cal breathes, pushing himself up and dusting off his smoldering pant-legs. "Alright. We can talk."

The walk back is quiet. If they didn't need to breathe, it would have been silent. By the time they reach the Mantis, the first of the suns has risen high into the sky, its yellow glow reflecting off the sand and filtering through the half-open blinds screening the lounge windows.

Anna sips from a canteen of water. Cal sits hunched over on the other side of the couch, staring down at the lounge table like its blank surface is the galaxy's most interesting holovid. The arrangement reminds Anna of that first conversation after Sakiya, back when she was terrified of simply being next to a real-life Jedi. She wants to laugh. Instead, she takes the Inquisitor saber off her hip and places it on the table. Cal looks up at the noise. He doesn't say anything.

Guess she'll have to start.

"When you rescued me on Sakiya, I thought you were going to use me as a hostage. Do you remember that?"

Cal remains silent for a bit longer.

"Yeah, yeah I remember," he says with a low, humourless chuckle. "I felt so guilty for dragging you into my mess. I still do, sometimes."

"Why?"

Cal looks at her and sighs. "Because, will of the Force or not, you're being put through things nobody should have to go through. And sometimes it feels like that's my fault."

Anna blinks. Is that what this is all about?

"I'm not a child, you know." She leans back, crosses her arms. "I've been fending for myself a long time. Being one of the Empire's most wanted is a small price to pay for having friends for once. More than friends—a family."

Cal winces. "Yeah… well, this family's smaller than it used to be."

There it is.

"You're still not better, are you?" she asks gently.

Cal lets out a breath through his nose.

"I haven't been sleeping," he admits. "Guess you've noticed."

"Nightmares?"

Cal nods. "I can see them when I close my eyes. Master Topal. Prauf. Even Trilla sometimes. And now… now Cere."

"Cal, it's not your-"

"Not my fault that they died?" Cal shakes his head. BD-1 pushes up against his side, but Cal stares straight ahead, ignoring the droid. "Master Topal died rescuing me during Order 66. Prauf died trying to hide me from the Inquisitors. Cere died helping us escape a trap that I lead us into." He fixes Anna with bloodshot eyes burning with loathing. "They saved me, but I couldn't save them. Not a single one."

He's quiet for a moment, bracing his elbows on his knees and clenching his hands in front of him.

"I'm scared, Anna." The words are barely audible. "The odds have never been on our side. I've lost so many mentors already. I can't lose my Padawan, too."

Anna takes Cal's hands in her own in a swift motion.

"Hey, I'm right here. I'm with you, no matter what happens. This is my fight, too."

"Of course it is." Cal looks back down at the table, shoulders slumped. "Cere said you're our last hope. Did you know that? I don't want to put that kind of pressure on you but… well, the pressure's on me, too, isn't it? What if I don't train you well enough? What if you die because I wasn't a good enough teacher?" He looks up again with softer eyes that sink into her like daggers. "What if you turn to the Dark Side?"

There's a lump in Anna's throat now, but she pushes past it, forcing her words to be steady.

"Cal. You're the bravest, most stubborn person I've ever met. The entire galaxy's been trying to kill you for years, but you're still here. That's got to count for something. I believe in you, more than anyone or anything." She gives his hands a gentle squeeze. "And I won't lose myself to the Dark Side. I know who the enemy is, trust me."

She doesn't know how long they spend there, but it's long enough for the single tear that squeezes its way out of the corner of Cal's left eye to make it all the way to the tip of his chin, hanging in a translucent bead as if too nervous to fall.

Then suddenly, the cockpit door is sliding open. They both turn at the noise like startled scazz.

"We're running low on salt again so I was thinking of heading into town. Anything you guys need me to pick up?" Greez freezes on his way into the lounge, his eyes immediately locking onto their still-coupled hands. "Sorry, is this a bad time? I… I can come back later."

The terrarium is still providing for a large portion of their food needs, but it isn't enough. It doesn't take too long before they start running out of money. Cere was the one keeping them afloat by skimming credits off bank transfers, but Cere isn't here anymore, and Imperial credits are no good out here, anyway.

Eventually, Greez agrees to let Anna help with the situation. Thirteen years in the Outer Rim has taught her a thing or two about making money in backwater places on backwater planets, after all. Cal tries to object, but it doesn't last—it's not like he can deny that they're in a tough spot. Staying hidden won't do them any good if they starve, and the reality is "Anna Arrel's" face is on far fewer wanted posters than Cal Kestis's.

The first trip into town with Greez is like a breath of fresh air. Not that the air in town is particularly fresh, but it isn't the air that's been stifling Anna these past weeks. Being parked in the shadow of a massive dune, the Mantis is out of sight of both the town to the East and the roving bands of Jawas in their lumbering sandcrawlers out toward the Western sands. It's only after diving into the crowded hubbub of Freles township that she realizes just how lonely the past month of isolation has been. Just the sight of people has her grinning beneath the scarf covering her face. The smell of the smoke rising from chimneys and grills mixed with the musk of passers-by makes the scene feel like a slice of the past.

Her real past, the part she lived for over a decade. Not the part that came before, the part that feels so much more like a nightmare than something that actually happened.

"Where are we going, Greez?" she asks, instinctively filing away the details of her surroundings in case someone tries to jump them. Old habits.

"There's always work at the cantina," Greez answers with a shrug. His words are slightly muffled by the respirator covering the lower half of his face.

The Latero leans over and points toward a nondescript building at the end of the street. The dwellings and shops here are made of squat domes of sandstone, rising out of the dusty streets like sleeping tortoises. Bulky animals and landspeeders laden with cargo netting plod along at the center of the road, while vendors and pedestrians alike huddle in the shadows to avoid the suns' searing gaze. Anna's eyes linger on a rack of strange creatures being slow-roasted on a long spit, half squid and half lizard.

She raises a hand to shield her gaze from the sun as she turns her attention to the building Greez indicated. Canvas banners hang in tatters from the corners of the side facing them, proclaiming the name of the establishment in both Aurebesh and Huttese as they approach.

The Wandering Sandfly

They stop in unison in front of the industrial-steel blast door that serves as an entrance to the establishment. Greez smacks one of his fists against the sensor nested into the wall, and the door shudders open with a groan and a shower of red dust.

"Just follow my lead, kid. Trouble won't find ya unless you go looking for it."

The air inside is cool and still, pulsing with the deep beat of what sounds like a recording of the newest hit by The Hu. A short set of stairs leads down into a darkened basement lounge with booths carved out of the stone walls, many occupied by figures huddled over glowing beverages. A simple circular bar wraps around the column at the center of the room, tended by a pudgy, bored-looking Dug currently cleaning grubby glasses with an equally grubby cloth.

Anna's hand moves under the folds of her thin coat to rest over the comforting handle of her blaster. Taverns were never her cup of tea—she was never one for cups of anything from these places. As a teenage orphan girl, drunk was the last thing she wanted to be somewhere like this.

"Mudd," the bartender greets in dry tones without looking up. "Back so soon?"

Anna has to restrain herself from raising an eyebrow at the fake name. Of course Greez used a fake name. That's the smart thing to do. She scrambles to think of one for herself.

"What can I say?" Greez—Mudd—drawls. "The money goes quick. Thought you weren't the type to ask questions."

The Dug chuckles humorlessly. "No, never questions. You actually gonna get a drink this time?"

"Sure, give me a shot of hard malt, neat."

"Coming right up. Anything for your lady-friend there?"

"No, I don't drink," Anna answers, wincing at how high-pitched the words come out. She clears her throat before continuing in a deeper voice. "Mudd here says you got work for us."

"I might, yeah. Depends on the kind of work." The bartender raises an eyebrow at her. "What's your name, girlie?"

"My name is… Kendra." She needs a last name, quick. "Kendra Arrel." Might as well keep using it if it's made up.

"Kendra, nice to make yer acquaintance."

The Dug waddles over to the menagerie of bottles stacked along the shelf and pours Greez's drink before disappearing around the other side of the pillar to help an old, orange-skinned Twi'lek with a missing headtail.

Anna feels a hand on her arm.

"Hey, take it easy," Greez mutters under his breath. "You're too tense. Maybe you need this more than me."

He offers her the glass of cloudy brown liquor, which she declines with a hard shake of her head. A port opens on the Latero's respirator as he raises his glass and gulps down the shot with a shrug.

The bartender returns, bringing her foot-hands down on the counter with a startling slap.

"Sorry, never introduced myself. Name's Herita. I've been working here for longer than a lot of these folks been alive." The piercings adorning the tendrils hanging from her long snout gleam under the faint yellow lights. "I take it you're in cahoots with Mudd?"

She glances toward Greez, who answers with a nod.

"Yeah, Kendra's with me. She's handy with a wrench or a slicing kit."

"What about that blaster she keeps under her coat there? She handy with that, too?"

Anna slowly moves her hand back into view, gritting her teeth under her scarf. She didn't even realize she was still gripping the blaster. Leaving the lightsaber back on the ship was a good choice.

"I can take care of myself, if that's what you're asking," she says carefully.

Herita holds her gaze for a long moment before cracking a toothy grin.

"Good. In that case, I might have some work for you after all." The Dug leans in conspiratorially. "The township has attracted some unwanted attention from gangsters recently. We're a small town. Most of these folks are simple moisture farmers—no match for a bunch of armed thugs. I'm getting the sense that you two might be made of sterner stuff. You chase these criminals outta my town, and I'll pay you handsomely."

Anna shares a glance with Greez. Greez speaks first.

"We're gonna need more details than that."

"I knew I could count on yer interest, Mudd," Herita chuckles. "The thugs in question are holed up in an abandoned farm shack out on the other side of town, I can show you a map. Big fellas, never got a close look at 'em, but I hear they've been harassing people for information about the Hutts." She sniffs in disdain, nostrils flaring. "Galaxy's already gone to shavit with the Empire getting their fingers in everyone's pies, the last thing Feles needs is for a crime war to break out on our turf. I know you ain't from around here, but if you do this for us, I can make sure you're not wanting for food or water for as long as you need to stay here."

"And if we refuse?" Anna asks evenly.

"Then you'll have to go somewhere else for work," Herita huffs, backing away from the counter and spreading her arms. "Look, just take it or leave it, I ain't twisting yer arm."

Anna glances anxiously back to Greez.

"Better this than going back to gambling," the Latero grumbles to himself. "Alright, let's see the map."

Herita crouches down under the counter and comes back up with a small datapad, which she hands over to the Latero.

"X marks the spot. Come back when the job's done and we'll talk payment."

"I've heard that one before," Greez growls. "Fifty peggats up front, or the deal's off."

The smile slips from the Dug's lips to be replaced by a grimace.

"I can do thirty. No more," she says in a raised voice. Chips scratch against the rough countertop as Herita slaps a stack down with a meaty foot-hand, pushing it toward Greez. "I promise I'll have more when you come back. If I don't, well, you can go ahead and shoot me."

Greez glances once more to Anna, a silent question in his eyes. Anna nods quickly. She doesn't want to be here anymore. Herita's painting them as the bad guys. Greez palms the chips one by one with agonizing slowness, inspecting each before transferring them into the satchel at his waist.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Herita," he finally sighs. "Let's go."

Anna turns from the counter and fixes her gaze on the stairs leading back up to the surface, trying to ignore the stares of the rest of the patrons. Her nerves are buzzing with tension, almost as bad as they were when she signed up for that spice-running gig with the Haxion Brood. Only when the monolithic door slides open in front of them, washing away the dim lights of the cantina with blinding desert sun, do her fists unclench.

Neither of them say anything until they're a few blocks away.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Anna finally whispers. "I think I've had enough of those for about three lifetimes."

Greez barks a laugh. "Kid, everyone wants to come out on top in every deal. It's always a trap, one way or another."

"Enough with the Grandpa Greez act," Anna says, rolling her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Greez raises the datapad in front of his face, pausing in his steps.

"Well, seems like the place Herita thinks the gangsters are haunting is on the opposite end of town from the ship. That's good news, at least. Can't hurt to at least scope it out."

"Should we get Cal?" Anna eyes the faint blip on the gridded screen.

"Probably a good idea."

As they continue down the dusty road back in the direction of the dunes, Anna feels a tickle of unease at the back of her neck.

This whole fiasco started with gangsters, after all.