Symmetry and Imperfection

Part 4

~

"Abhaia?" Perran Jasc felt a clammy, cold sensation grip his body. Melenk and Karris were the two canniest warriors he had. As humiliating as it had been to send them out after a runaway Healer, a mere girl, it had been necessary. The child was a commodity far too valuable to be left in the hands of its traitor mother.

Abhaia's kill-trail was attracting unwanted attention. He had to being her in, and deal with her as he had dealt with his wife and daughter.

"None other." The words came on a soft, almost affectionate laugh. "Melenk and Karris can't talk right now. In fact, they'll never speak again in this reality unless Vader has made a study of necromancy."

The girl might well have been discussing how she had enjoyed a particularly fine pastry for all the concern in her voice.

"Abhaia, granddaughter, listen to me. You have managed to attract some undesirable notice, child. Now, I can help you out of..."

"What notice is that, grandfather? I've managed to nick Vader's curiosity? I figured on that."

The satisfaction in her voice was unmistakable even as he wanted to disbelieve it. How could he have misread the situation so badly, how could he have underestimated the girl's will? She had shown no signs of having a backbone before, even as a child, she had refused to learn any offensive combat skills whatsoever.

Judging from the reports that had reached him, that had changed. She had perverted her Healer's talent into an offensive weapon and used it with impunity. Even her style of combat was based upon her knowledge of humanoid physiology. Who would have thought the girl would turn feral? Her grandmother had been a philosopher, her mother a historian, but Abhaia's behavior had never indicated that she had absorbed any of her foremothers' treason, much less any Darksider leanings.

"You see," she continued, "I've been doing a lot of thinking. I had a lot of time before your men caught up with me. It took some time for the last piece to fall into place; if nothing else, I owe you thanks for sending that bolthead Melenk after me."

Jasc's thin lips all but disappeared as he clenched his jaw. Melenk and Karris were dead; he knew the fact the way that he knew his own name. Damn the girl! Her death-trail had not spared any Jedi who crossed her path, whether they were of his group or not. Now, in addition to Vader, he had to contend with other factions backtrailing her, trying to find out where this virago had come from, and if there were others like her.

In time, Perran Jasc told himself that he would welcome the attentions of the other fugitives, but developments were critical in this stage of the plan. He was doing his best to prevent the bloodlines of the Jedi from being wiped out of the galaxy. If some liberties had been taken, some small pains afforded to the beings whose blood was worth more than platinum, the long-term goal would be worth it. In time, they would be hailed as saviors, as heroes, as the champions of justice and of light who defeated the Emperor and his abomination, Vader.

However, at this point in his strategy, other Jedi might not understand or agree with his methods.

Abhaia continued, "When he noted that my signature had... altered, it gave me the last clue that I needed. I always wondered how someone that was known, had been known for many years could suddenly 'go Dark.' This always puzzled me, how nobody saw Palpatine, or Dooku, or Vader coming. It doesn't happen all at once, Grandfather. It happens in increments, gradually changing everything."

Abhaia's voice broke, and through the Force, a wave of grief and rage smashed into him, robbing him of breath.

"I'm not who I was, if I ever was that person. I will keep my daughter free and safe. I will bring you down. I will destroy you and all of your plans. I will see you dead and if I must, I will do it with the last breath in my body. This I swear and this I choose!" The last was delivered in a growl that raised the hair on the back of Jasc's neck.

"Darksider! You put your whole family in danger ..."

"What family? You killed them. You killed the women you abducted if they didn't knuckle under fast enough. You commit atrocity upon atrocity and call yourself a Jedi. You are the abomination! You are the Darksider!" Abhaia's voice dropped and he heard a trace of the gentle Healer she had been. "I'm... not proud of killing, of the pain I've willingly inflicted. I can't justify it, but it will keep my child safe, and if I have to burn the whole damn galaxy to do it, I will."

The matter-of-fact statement convinced him, more than anything else she had said that she was in deadly earnest.

"The Dark swallow you..."

"And may you see in me all that you deny in yourself. Send your misled warriors, Grandfather, but in the end you must deal with the Dark of your creation. Find me if you can."

A crunch and a squeal of feedback was followed the polite contralto tones of the computer; "Your signal has been terminated."

~

The light freighter Maze Dancer was small, and to all scrutiny, too old and worn to be worth stealing. From the small autocafe, Abhaia had been quietly observing the comings and goings of the docking ring denizens, bit so far nobody had approached the ship.

She stood patiently, drinking a caffaperkie, luxuriating in the feel of a full stomach and warming her hands on the white ceramic mug. Five minutes in a public 'fresher had washed the blood out of her hair and allowed her to change. Her bloody clothing was in the recycling system of the station, along with her long braid of black hair.

Visits to small second-hand shops and a chandler allowed her to rid herself of a reasonable amount of the stolen funds, but without having too much in the way of conspicuously new or pricey goods. She was now dressed in a loose gray shipsuit, soft black mid-calf boots, a utility belt with a blaster, and a billed cap pulled low. To all appearances, she was simply hire-crew awaiting her boarding call.

The station's command sounded shift change, and people poured into the corridors. A bulk freighter's tender sounded a boarding klaxon, the officer at the gate hollering, "All hands! All hands! Final call!" as the crew assembled. A launch from a passenger liner disgorged a flutter of colorfully clad tourists into the dull corridor.

Hefting her duffel, she worked her way into the crowd, then down the passageway to the lock for the Maze Dancer. She was not worried about the security measures here, there were no retinal scanners or DNA matching equipment. Those who were this far out on the Outer Rim valued their anonymity as much as stations like this one valued their clientele. Slipping the memory stick into the slot, she was gratified that neither Karris nor Melenk had thought to program any other password.

Once in the lock, she closed and dogged it shut, changing the indicator light from the green of a clear lock to the yellow that warned of imminent departure.

The ship was joined to the station via the lock and the umbilicals that supplied air and water, or pumped out the environmental wastes. A small panel just outside the cofferdam let her check her balance with the station environmental authority and deduct the charges from the landing bond before she disengaged. The entry to the ship was unlocked, and once in the cockpit, Abhaia noticed that instead of being shut down, then engines had been left on standby.

The navicomp gave her plenty of destinations to consider, from the Soruura system with its hundred moons to the specialized tech worlds of Kamino or Deka. If she wanted to disappear, she could. She had a ship, the basic training to pilot and navigate it, and many reasons to want to lose herself.

For a moment, she allowed herself to be caught by that image: Starting over. Becoming someone else. Being free.

... and leave those women and children to suffer as grandfather's bloodstock.

She tapped her fingers on the edge of the console, sifting through the bits and pieces of information she had picked up in her time as a fugitive. It was amazing what you could hear while traveling in steerage. Where one might by drugs, or classified weaponry, or who what syndicates were hiring. There was even a recruiting station of sorts on most ships, though of a type that would be frowned on by both Empire and Alliance.

What she needed was some time; even a Healer had to make time for her own healing. Tears pricked her eyes and blurred the console in front of her.

I'm not a Healer. Not anymore.

Suddenly she was shaking, crying so hard that she could scarcely breathe, sickened by everything that she had done since the day she decided to turn and fight instead of running. The images in her mind were so brutally clear that she covered her eyes with her hands, trying to deny the sight. The fear, anger and shame were overwhelming her. The self-loathing was a black hole ripping her soul apart and sucking her into a place where light could not exist.

She was a Healer, and she had used that gift to just to kill Melenk and Karris, but to torture them and a dozen others.

Abhaia threw back her head and screamed.

~

In hyperspace, Vader felt a crosscurrent in the Dark side, a ripple of incandescent emotional agony.

The man he had once been had endured the same pain. Vader thought of it as the pain of raw metal as it was purified and tempered into something finer and stronger. He in turn would take this raw steel woman and forge her into a purposeful weapon instead of the random and erratic thing she was now.

He stilled his mind and sent out his own wave, seeking the origin of the agony.

::: Hear me... :::

~