Chapter 4: Absentis Frusta

The jungles of Yavin 4 were teeming with life. A weighted mist hung on the air. Whisper birds twittered their morning song. Their soft, melodic whistles and cheeps drifting in and around the congregated purple massassi trees, as they rustled on the cool breeze.

Caleb felt it all. The peaceful harmony flowing through the Force. Sitting cross-legged on the damp forest floor, he breathed it in, allowing the calming energy to pass through him. For the past three weeks since their arrival, his master had insisted on bringing him out here every morning to help try and ease his mind. Sometimes it worked. But not always.

Today, like so many before it, the overwhelming feelings of dread and loss invaded his senses. It had been this way since the purge. An overarching emptiness. Where there once was light and warmth, existed only darkness. The darkness rolled upon him like a tempest, barrelling through his thoughts until only one image remained.

Sweat beaded on his brow. His breaths became short and laboured. It was coming; he could feel it. The very same image that plagued his dreams.

The shadows morphed into midnight, enveloping him in its insidious black nothingness. They swirled and swarmed around a kneeling figure; the only thing visible in the dark. Two crystal blue eyes stared up into the nothingness, unflinching and determined. A deafening snap-hiss cracked through the silence, followed by the blood-curdling thrum of a lightsaber.

Before he could wrench himself away the scarlet blade stabbed forward. A silent scream. The beam retracted and the figure fell, the yellow-blonde braid swinging to rest on the floor.

"No..." Caleb whispered, his heart pounding, his breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. Every time it was the same. No matter how hard he tried to dismiss it, the vision replayed.

"The same dream?"

He lifted his gaze from the floor and nodded, meeting the comforting stare of the older Jedi seated before him. Similarly dressed in his heavy brown robe, worn more now out of sentimentality as opposed to uniform, Ferus Olin; his Master, assessed him. The blonde streak in his thick brown hair had turned a remarkable silver, falling gracefully down his temple and framing his warm caramel eyes.

"I can't get it out of my mind," Caleb said, dragging his hands shakily through his hair. "The more I try to push it away, the more real the dream becomes."

Ferus sighed. "Our fears only have as much power over us as we give them, Caleb." He rose to his feet and brushed the soil from his clothes. "You must learn to let go of them."

"But what if they do mean something?" Caleb asked, rising to join him.

The two men looked to the tree canopy as a loud rumbling echoed overhead. Leaves cascaded to the ground, shaken free from their limbs.

Ferus placed his hand on his shoulder. "Come. I can see this is distressing you," he said, urging him forward. "If it will help ease your mind, we can try contacting them again."

"Thank you, Master."

Reaching the end of the jungle, Caleb caught sight of the small freighter that he assumed to be the source of the earlier rumbling. Deck officers scrambled around it, unloading its cargo and tethering the shunting vehicles to its landing gear. It looked tiny in comparison to the Great Temple, the cavernous hangar bay at the base resembling that of a giant mouth that could swallow it in one effortless gulp.

As they walked closer, he noted that none of the crates being transported bared any markings of origin. It struck him as peculiar. Imperial cargo was always stamped with the recognisable insignia. He looked to his Master. He too seemed interested in the crates, his eyes narrowing as they drew near.

They carried on toward the Temple. Two officers hurried passed them, heading for the ship.

"Haxen! Roland! It's about time you two pirates got back!" the Officer he now recognised as Colonel Draven, yelled out over the din.

Caleb stopped with his Master and turned around, watching the group. The Colonel and his offsider, Dustil Forell, stopped by the two mercenaries as they made their way from the loading ramp. He remembered the other men now. The slimmer, dark haired merc was Haxen Delto, one of the members that had greeted them when they first arrived at the base. Roland, the stocky, red-bearded man to his left, had been in the hangar when he and Ferus were guided to their headquarters. He could still feel the cold-prickling sensation that had shivered down his spine when he'd glared at them from behind his crate.

"I was starting to think the Imps got you lot," Forell remarked gruffly, folding his arms over his chest with a huff.

"Hah! Blasted Imps were there, alright!" Roland said, throwing his rifle over his shoulder with a laugh. "But we showed 'em, didn't we Hax?"

Haxen gave a half-smile and glanced back at the team unloading their payload. "Yes, I suppose we did."

"The transfer station is secured?" Draven asked, looking between the two mercs.

"For now, yes. I have left the boys there to keep watch, they'll let us know if any trouble comes up," Haxen said.

"Well, that is good news. Did you manage to get anything worthwhile?" Forell asked, gesturing to the containers. "Food? Ammunitions?"

"I'll say!" Roland grunted with a toothy grin. "The first ship was loaded with Corellian whiskey. Just in time too, me and the boys had worked up quite the thirst."

Haxen shook his head and tapped his comrade heavily on the shoulder. "The second was some type of export frigate. A few containers of produce, nothing major. But it's a start."

The four men started toward the temple. "With a bit of luck, we can accumulate enough supplies to last the next few seasons, before the Empire wises up and moves to take the station back from us," Draven said, walking with the group. "For now, I'll have the scanning crew monitor the shipping lanes. You never know when the motherlode will come along."

Caleb locked stares with Roland and shivered as he and the others approached. His red bushy brows furrowed heavily over his now darkening glare.

"What you lookin' at Jedi?" he growled, baring his teeth. "Why don't you an' your pretty Master there, take those fancy light swords of yours and get outta my way." He shoved past them, spat on the floor and carried on, muttering under his breath.

A weighted hand dropped on Caleb's shoulder.

"Pay him no mind," Ferus said, as he looked up to him in confusion. "Not everyone in the Galaxy sees the Jedi as good, and it is not for us to try and convince them." He took him by the arm and started for the temple. "Now come, let us see if we can reach them this time. Perhaps that will help lift your mood."

"Yes, Master," Caleb said quietly, following him from the deck.

A static hiss filled the modest sleeping quarters. Ferus, seated at a dusty desk, fiddled with the frequency and gain controls on the old long-range transmitter. It had been gifted to Caleb and his Master by Senator Bail Organa a few days after they got here. There wasn't much to the device: a large metal box held together with rivet bolts, a microphone attached by a short, twisted cable and a handful of small knobs and dials that linked to the main screen. For nearly two days, Caleb had sat in front of it, scanning through channels and listening to garbled recordings, in the hopes that he could reach Jaina and Master Kenobi. In the end, he'd finally given up out of frustration.

Clutching his old Jedi comlink in his hand, Caleb paced back and forth by the open window overlooking the forest. He entertained the idea of turning it on. During their time on Naboo, the palm-sized devices had been their primary means of communication. They'd even given the late Queen Apailana one, so she could reach them when needed. For all the good it did her. He shuddered. He could remember that day like it was yesterday. The ice-cold chill in the air. The hate. The anger. The way her mouth gaped open as the Sith Lord, Darth Vader, drove his bloodied red lightsaber through her chest.

The very same way Jaina's mouth did in his dream.

"I thought I told you to put that away," Ferus said.

Caleb huffed and stuffed the comlink into his robe pocket. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master." He folded his arms and turned back to the window.

"We cannot use those anymore, Caleb. For all we know, the Empire could be monitoring them, looking for survivors. It is simply not worth the risk."

"I know."

The static hiss jolted and crackled for a second before returning to the same white noise from before. He heard his Master push away from the desk and walk up behind him.

"Look, I know Jaina means a lot to you," Ferus said, joining him by the window.

Caleb sighed and focused on the trees in the distance. "I miss her," he whispered.

"I miss her too. But you are allowing your fears and attachment to cloud your judgement." He placed his hand on his shoulder and turned him to face him. "That is why you are struggling to meditate; you are blinded by emotion."

"You sound like my old Master," he moaned, looking away.

"I remember Master Depa Billaba from my time at the Temple. She was a very wise and powerful Jedi. I think I will take that as a compliment," Ferus said with a chuckle.

Caleb knew he was trying to lift his spirits. He gazed up at him, seeing the warm, softened expression on his face and sighed. It was hard to feel anything but pain and sorrow these days. After watching his first Master give her life to save him during Order Sixty-six, he often felt like he had abandoned her. That he should have stayed and fought, instead of running away like she'd told him to.

Finding Jaina on the refugee barge as he fled Coruscant, had given him someone else to talk to. Another padawan who had suffered the same trauma as he had. The two of them had formed a close bond on their way to Naboo; crying on each other's shoulders as they both tried to understand what had happened. When Ferus had discovered them digging around for scraps in Theed, he took them under his wing and gave them food and shelter. Despite his initial protests, he eventually accepted their calling him Master, and had even tried to continue with their training.

But with Jaina gone, he felt like a large piece of him was now missing. As much as he wanted to try and please Ferus, the constant images of her death were driving him insane. He wanted to do something. Anything. And being stuck here, out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a group of mercenaries that hated Jedi, wasn't helping.

"Why don't you come and help me with the transmitter?" Ferus asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Between the two of us, we might have a little more success."

Caleb nodded and followed him to the desk. They sat and searched for close to an hour before a knock came from the door.

"Come in, it's open," Ferus said, still fussing with the knobs.

Bail Organa walked in, carrying a datapad in his hand. "I was hoping I would find the two of you in here," he said in his usual hopeful tone. He was dressed in one of his long blue-grey tunics, the type that buttoned up on one shoulder. With his neatly kept, short brown hair and trimmed beard, he had a distinct air of professionalism around him.

"We have been trying to reach Master Obi-wan on the transmitter," Ferus said, turning off the scanner.

"Have you had any luck?" Organa asked.

"Unfortunately, not."

The Senator shook his head. "Well, he can be rather difficult to reach at times. But I suppose that stands to reason with the current climate of things."

"I suppose so," Ferus agreed. He clasped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. "So, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning, Bail? By the way you are carrying that datapad with you, I am hoping you are here to tell me some good news."

"It's more of a request, actually," Organa said, leaning on the doorframe.

"A request?"

"Yes," he said, moving to the desk and placing the terminal down in front of him. "I have to return to Coruscant shortly, and I was wondering if the two of you would be interested in joining me."

Caleb stared between the two men. The thought of returning to the Capitol wasn't particularly appealing, but it was slightly less repulsive than staying here and doing nothing with the mercenaries.

"Coruscant?" Ferus asked, leaning forward. "Why?"

Organa stroked his chin and walked over to stand by the window. "The Emperor has called for a special session of congress. All Senate representatives are expected to be there." He spun to face them and folded his arms. "Mon Mothma and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity for us to all meet up and discuss ... other matters. She has expressed interest in meeting the two of you, and to be honest, I would really appreciate your more specialized input."

Ferus rose from his seat and narrowed his gaze. "More specialized input?" he asked, sceptically. "More specialized in what way, exactly?"

"In your way, Ferus. In the ... Jedi way," Bail whispered, as if uttering the words too loud could damn him. "The other Senators are passionate; loyal to the Republic. But what they lack is knowledge. Not all of them understand what it is we are truly up against. Not in the same way that ... you and I do."

Ferus walked back to the desk, slumped into the chair and massaged his temples.

Caleb could understand his Master's hesitation. Going to Coruscant was risky. But, if the other Senators didn't understand what they were actually up against, then what chance did they really have?

"What do you think, Caleb?" Ferus asked, straightening up in his seat and turning to face him. "Feel like getting away from here for a while?"

Caleb smiled and tapped the hilt of his lightsaber. "I'm already packed."