Ch. 2- Trust in the Force
1.
Lola was parched. She'd been walking around the dusty town for hours; the twin Suns had played their ceaseless tag game nearly halfway across the sky, since she'd left B5 and the Destiny Comet at the landing zone. She'd had no joy finding a ship, or a crew. It seemed that strangers were not generally welcomed here, let alone trusted, especially if the stranger happened to arrive in a craft unlike anything seen by the citizens before. She supposed the fact that her lightsaber was in full view, also contributed to the effect of folks falling over one another to give her a wide berth. A very wide berth.
She shrugged. It had been simply too hot to pound the pavements in that heavy robe, at least she'd not actually had to light her 'saber yet. She looked doubtfully up at the run-down, beat-up looking Cantina, shifted the weight of her knapsack, which was once more slung onto her right shoulder, and stepped inside.
2.
The sound of the noisy jazz band hit her immediately, and surprised her so, that she stood for quite a few moments atop the small flight of sandy steps, that led down into the dimly lit Cantina. She took the opportunity to survey the interior.
It was, actually, not as bad as she'd been expecting. Sure, it was dusty and a stench, of sour ale and the gut wrenchings of countless different species, insisted on attacking Lola's nasal passages, but all of the tables she could see looked in relatively good shape. Well, in one piece anyway. It appeared as though the place had, quite literally, been a hole blasted out of the huge sandstone mountain, and there was some evidence of the drunken brawls, that this place had been famous for back in the old days. Which were probably these days, she corrected herself. The back wall, for instance, the one that held up the actual bar, was so uneven and scarred, with blast shots, that the room had possibly retreated a few feet, since the place had been - how to put this- 'constructed'. Looking up, Lola saw that the ceiling, for want of a more appropriate word, was just as afraid of blaster fire, as it had become so unstable that some brave soul had thought to install a coarse web of sturdy wooden girders.
The room, it seemed, was also quite undecided about what shape it wanted to be. It looked to be aiming for a cross between a rectangle and an oval; what it actually achieved, however, was more like a circle, which had been squeezed between someone's thumb and forefinger, so that the ends bulged, threatening to buckle under the strain, creating an attractive pile of rubble. Into the western end had been built a stage, upon which a band, made up of five identical, if strangely evolved, humanoids, played furiously, their lidless eyes barely acknowledging her entrance. Her Dad had once said to her that, this band would carry on playing if the planet were scheduled for destruction, and Lola wondered that they did not demand a cage, or at least some sort of barrier to protect them from other peoples' 'business'.
Descending the steps, Lola noted that, apart from the band, and a rather bored looking bar keeper, she was the only one here. Both the circular tables, scattered about the Cantina floor, and the more private booths, which lined its edges, were utterly empty. She shrugged, someone was bound to drop in sooner, or later, and all she wanted right now was a quiet drink, anyway.
She shook off any uncertainties she may have had, and strode, head held high, over to the bar. Her sitting on a stool at the bar's end seemed to awaken the barkeeper from whatever thoughts he'd been mulling over.
"What'll it be, Miss?" he asked, leaning on the bar top, then added, as if reading her face, "You just hang 'round fer an 'arf hour, or so, folks'll be streamin' in b' then."
Lola didn't really think he believed this, but ordered a Correllian Spiced Ale, anyway. She took it from him, and gave him a handful of Republic credits in return.
He looked at her, and then at the coins in his palm, "Miss, I don't know where ye be from, but these 'ere credits be worth squat on this planet."
Oh, she frowned. He frowned, too. The ale bubbled in the tankard.
"On the house," sighed the little man, as he rummaged around in his pockets.
"Allow me, Lightning, my friend," said a masculine voice from behind Lola. It appeared she had been wrong about the room being deserted.
A crisp note, bearing the profile of some Hutt, or other, - they all looked the same to Lola- was placed on the bar beside her drink, the hand brushing her own and stroking the nape of her neck as it was withdrawn.
"Ain't got me no friends," pouted the barkeeper, Lightning, as he deposited the bill. Lola bristled, as she span, on the stool, to face the second man who'd dared to lay his hand on her that day.
3.
He was a Jedi, she saw, and human. A tall being, perhaps, just a fraction above her own height, and of slim build. This, Lola had already decided, was where their similarities ended. Although, his almost grey eyes had a kind of playful flicker to them, not so dissimilar to the mischief caged behind her own eyes.
His long brown hair was caught back in a loose ponytail, by a length of coarse banther hair cord. He wore his dark Jedi robe open, the beige tunic, worn beneath this, was gathered at the waist, by a wide belt of black animal hide. He flashed Lola a condescending smile, of perfect white teeth, which appeared even more brilliant against the full, moist frame of his oyster-pink lips. He winked at her, as he watched her taking in all of this detail, and Lola blinked, suddenly aware that she'd been staring into his eyes, as if caught in an invisible trap.
Lola could feel the blood rising in her cheeks, yet at the same time boiling inside of her. She struggled to maintain her composure, desperately trying to keep in mind her Uncle's teachings of fear, aggression, anger, and hate being, pathways to the Dark Side. It was at this point, as she was remembering her training techniques, that she decided to perform a Force Detect on the stranger.
Lola gasped in horror, despite all her efforts to remain calm; for the first time in her life, Lola found herself face-to-face with a Sith.
"You have been trained well," said the stranger, still wearing that infuriating grin. "I'm Alc. Yrvron Alc. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Lola stood, squaring her shoulders, glad that she was wearing her boots, as the extra couple of inches that they granted her, meant that she had to look down on the Sith.
"I am Lola Skywalker, daughter of the Empress Leia Organa Solo of New Alderaan. And this meeting will bring no great pleasure, of that you may be assured, Sith."
"We shall see, Princess," he said, and, bowing, he laid his forehead on the back of her hand, before placing a delicate kiss there also. "We shall see."
Lola pulled away quickly, feeling the soft touch of his lips, long after they'd departed, as if they'd burned into her skin. She looked at her hand, then at the Sith, astonished.
"You are far from home Miss Skywalker," he stated, before adding, " And out of time, I fear."
Lola's right hand reached for her 'saber, instinctively. Alc merely stood chuckling.
"You need not be afraid, Princess. I have no desire to harm you. On the contrary, you need my help."
"I," Lola recoiled, "Need the help of a Sith?! Why, the very idea is laughable."
"Be that as it may, Miss Skywalker, you do need me. Like I said," he picked up her drink, and began to walk casually over to an empty booth, which stood beneath a large and extremely dirty window. "You are out of time."
To her absolute horror, Lola found herself following the stranger and thinking that maybe she did need to hear him out, afterall.
4.
"So talk, Sith," Lola snarled, as she slid into the seat opposite him, "What do you know?"
"First thing, Princess. The name is Alc, not Sith. Believe me, it's not a title I'm proud of." This last utterance was said with an air of reluctance, indeed, the Sith looked almost repentant. Lola, however, was unmoved.
"Very well. Alc." She hissed. "But know this, neither is my name Princess. You will address me by my proper title."
The Sith's grin widened, as he bowed his head, in a mocking gesture, "Yes, Your Highness."
"Whatever," Lola responded, nonchalantly. "Miss Skywalker will be quite adequate. But for Yaddle's sake, what do you know?"
"I know that you're looking for someone," the Sith replied, hesitantly, "Someone very close to you." He paused, expectantly, as if waiting for Lola to confirm the fact. When she didn't, and merely continued to regard him with extreme suspicion, he cleared his throat, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, before he began again.
"You came here- to Mos Eisley, that is, - to seek help?"
Lola gave in, and nodded solemnly.
"And, this is where it gets tricky. Am I right?"
Something in the way that he spoke irritated the girl to her very teeth. He was doing it on purpose, of that Lola was certain, deliberately prolonging her agony. Perhaps, it was the way in which he was so sure of himself. Lola seethed with unrealised rage.
"Yes," she snarled. "This is where it gets very tricky, Sith- I mean, Alc. You see, I know exactly where I am, but not when I am, I have no idea as to how to get back to when I should be, my Uncle's probably hot on my tail as we speak, and fixing to chain my hide to the palace forever. And, as if that wasn't enough, the only person I've managed to find, on this sandpit of a planet, willing to help me, is by his very nature a sworn enemy. Now if that doesn't qualify for predicament of the season, tell me another."
Clear out of steam, Lola inhaled deeply, before taking a generous gulp of Ale. The Sith was gaping at her, stunned at her outburst, and Lola had to admit, she was more than a little surprised herself. It wasn't often that she flew of the handle like that, she was adamant that she would not allow it to happen again, no matter how he tried to push her.
The Sith was about to make a response, Lola saw, when he was silenced by a crowd of rowdy workers entering the cantina. Lola followed the mob's progress to the bar, which was hindered somewhat by numerous pushings and shovings, as each member jockeyed to be the first served at the bar. Lightning, however, was having none of it, and merely continued to take his time pulling a large draught of, what Lola recognised as, Whyren's Reserve. Eventually, he handed the brimming vessel to a man, who'd broken away from the main body of revellers, and was standing patiently at the end of the bar, close to where Lola had been sitting.
He had not, insofar as Lola had noticed, spoken a word, but on receipt of this drink, gave an animated cry of, "Cheers, Light, Bud! Put it on me tab, wouldja?!" The barkeeper, who was now in his own, unique "unhurried, 'cos death gets us all eventually, anyway" way, tending to his next customer, shook his head upon his squat little neck, and mumbled something about not being anybody's bud.
5.
The Whyren's man ambled his way through the crowds of creatures, now streaming in behind the initial eager bunch, nodding heartily to various patrons as he made his way over to the booth where Alc and Lola were. He strode proudly, seemingly without intending to, so that he came across, not as arrogant, but contented. He was dressed in a flight suit, very similar to that which Lola was wearing, only his was of a royal blue material, which exquisitely set off his rugged-looking jet-black hair, and deep blue eyes. He slid himself into the seat next to the Sith, and chugged back most of his drink, before nudging the other man, conspiratorially, giving a far-from-subtle wink, and bellowing, "Who's your lady friend, Alc? Huh? Huh? Aren't you goin' t'introduce us?"
Both Alc and Lola glared at the man, panic more than evident on each of their faces, the Whyren's man, however, was oblivious to the hostile looks being hurled in his direction, and extended a manly hand to the young beauty, who was sat before him.
"Name's Garat Jax. Most just call me Jax." He smiled, warmly, the effect of which was almost immediate. Lola took his offering and grinned back...
"Pleased to meet you, Garat," she smiled, "I'm Lola Skywalker. Call me Lola."
In the seat opposite her, it was the Sith's turn to bristle, and Lola noted his reaction with mild satisfaction.
"Miss Skywalker, here," he began. "Is in a spot of bother, Jax."
"Hmmm," replied the other man, listening though not really hearing. He was still holding Lola's hand, and his eyes were fixed on hers. "Anything I can help you with?" he asked her.
Lola, glad of the distraction from the Sith, smiled ever more sweetly. Making no attempt to recover her hand, she spoke softly, "I'm not sure," at which point she found herself looking at Alc for some sort of confirmation, an act that she regretted almost instantly, discovering that she was once again caught in the snowstorm of his gaze.
Alc looked slightly bemused, and cleared his throat uneasily, "I'm afraid," he ventured, "I have to be going. See a man about a ship type thing, y'know. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, hopefully by then I'll be able to give you some sort of ...h-explanation for ...all of this."
With that he bowed hastily, turned on the heel of his sand crunchers, leapt up the gravelly steps, and dashed out onto the thronging Mos Eisley street.
6.
Early the next morning, a refreshed, and slightly more optimistic Lola strolled in through the entry lobby of the Cantina, and was amazed to find both Garat and the Sith already sitting in the booth, and deep in conversation. There were several empty glasses, of various shapes and sizes, scattered about the table. Alc looked up as she entered, gave a barely perceivable smile, and beckoned her over.
"Greetings, Miss Skywalker."
"Howdy, Lola. Feeling better?"
Lola shrugged, and wandered across to the booth. Despite all the empties, there was a freshly drawn tankard of Corellian Ale bubbling away amidst the clutter. It was thrust in her direction as she sat in the seat opposite the two men.
"I took the liberty," muttered Alc, trying in vain to cover up a telltale grin at the look of shock on the young girl's face. "Sleep well, Miss Skywalker?" It was more a statement, than an inquiry.
"Yes, thank you," she replied, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Well, actually, thanks to Garat here." She gestured amicably to the booth's other occupant.
Yrvron's steely gaze darted to his friend, who chuckled nervously, giving Alc a "Who me?" look, "Hey, cool it, Alc, Buddy. The kid had no place to stay, no money. All I did was get her a room at the Hotel."
Alc mumbled. And, Garat, winking stealthily at Lola, took her hand and began to stroke her soft skin, absently.
"Of course, had I known yesterday that she was royalty, I would have invited her back to my place, and treated her like the Princess she is." He wiggled his eyebrows comically, and Lola struggled to keep herself from giggling. The Sith, however, was less than amused at Garat's comment, and cleared his throat loudly.
"When I have your full attention," he fumed, enviously.
Garat's roving hands immediately found themselves beneath the table, firmly in his own lap, and the Princess's expression promptly sobered. The Sith's eyes glowered icily, no longer grey, but a blue so pale that they almost became white.
"Go ahead," Lola gulped, unable to divert her own eyes from those harsh diamond-like pools.
"I've been trying to explain to Garat, here," he began frostily. "But, he's just not ...grasping it."
"Okay, okay, okay," chortled the man in the flight suit, restored to his former jovial self, " So, I'm having trouble following the whole story."
"I only know a part of it myself, Garat," smiled Lola.
Alc sighed, obviously in need of further inspiration. He ordered another round of drinks. Garat rolled his eyes, giving off the impression that he either thought Alc deranged, or drunk on his own ego.
"Right," said Alc, downing a Tequila. He turned the glass over, and placed it on the table in front of him. An empty Whyren's glass was then overturned and placed a few inches from the shot glass, followed by an Ale tankard, which found itself in between the other two upside down vessels. The Sith spaced them out a little before pointing to each of them in turn, "Me, Lola, Jax." He nodded decisively, confirming that they understood before continuing, "Garat, the Whyren's glass, is from this time, that is, the present. Yes?"
Lola took a mouthful of ale, and nodded. That's simple enough, she thought.
"You, Miss Skywalker, are from the future, well, Jax's future, at any rate. Whereas I, the Tequila glass, am from your future."
"But," Garat interrupted, "That still doesn't explain how you two are here."
"Or," Lola added, "What's happened to my dad. I mean, why can't anyone find him?"
"Because he's not there."
Lola's brow furrowed.
"I'll explain it all," Alc promised. "Just bear with me." He ordered another round of drinks, seeing that both Garat and Lola had finished. A few of the glasses were cleared from the table as the fresh ones were deposited.
"Ok, Miss Skywalker, when we met up yesterday, you were correct in detecting that I, in my lifetime, was a Sith, but it was neither my choice to become one or to remain as such for so long. I knew no other way of life, as I was grafted in at a very early age, and trained under Vader himself. But enough about that, the fact is, I saw the wrong I was doing a few years ago, for me that is, to you, it would be a few years from your present, and for Jax it would be even further in the future. Since, I have been retraining, as a Jedi, and in order to attain Knighthood status, the Jedi Council, of my present, assign to me various tasks, utilising one of my Force talents, which is creating doorways in time. The mission I was assigned to last, without going into too much detail, was to infiltrate a group of space pirates, incidentally from your past, Lola, and Garat's future."
He paused, wondering if the Princess had noticed. It appeared not, she had downed half of her Ale already. He smiled inwardly, feeling something there, and brought in another up turned receptacle, which he positioned between the Whyren's glass, and Lola's Ale tankard.
"This is The Flaming Talon," he told them. "Soon to become one of the most famed and feared band of cut-throats to stalk the Outer Rim territories." He glanced to Lola.
"Yes," she affirmed. "I have heard of them. They were moving in on Coruscant."
"Yes, well," Alc went on. " My Council believed it might be a better idea if they didn't actually get that far this time."
"Why?" asked Lola.
"I'd rather not say," came his reply. "It will not happen. Not if I can help it." His jaw was set tight, his eyes, which had started to calm down to a placid sky blue, began to twinkle with that white-ish radiance once more. Atop the table his fists clenched with determination, as if trying to fight some inner demons, whilst in his minds eye he saw the massacre once more, was once again amidst the carnage, screams echoing all around him for, what seemed to be, an eternity, before he realised they were his, as he cradled the lifeless head in his lap, stroking the lava like curls that fell across her face, and not noticing the way the blood that oozed from the gash on her right cheek discoloured his robe.
"What is it?" Lola asked, her voice full of concern. She reached out across the table, and gently touched his fist. This seemed to bring the Sith back to the present, well the present present anyway.
"Huh? Oh, nothing. Never mind, like I said I won't let it happen this time." He smiled slightly.
"O' course, y'won't, Alc Buddy," Garat chipped in. "You're gonna fix it, right?"
"Right. Where was I? Round of drinks?"
The other two looked at each other, reading the worry on each others faces, "Yes," said the girl. "Please...go on..."