Symmetry and Imperfection

Part 8

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Jilla's Tap and Table was one of the larger cafes on Kal Madedo and easily the most popular.

The food was fresh, the drinks came with a tamper-evident seal, and the entire staff was composed of former military. Even the dancers were rumored to be ex-snipers; if there were going to be a brawl, they would be more likely to shoot the instigators than the bystanders and look good doing it. The tables were placed so that the clients had privacy, but mirrors all around the room assured that no one could sneak up on those who might have a touch of justifiable paranoia. Even the music was designed to take advantage of the room's special acoustic design; no occupant of the club could hear another's conversation unless they were within a meter of each other.

Privacy was a prime offering of Jilla's, so the tables and bar were full at all hours.

This early in the evening, the decoratively pierced metal shutters were open to catch the soft ocean breezes. The clients were less raucous, more interested in dinner and their disparate discussions than in the games of chance or pursuit of dancers.

Abhaia stepped through the scan port at the main entrance and nodded to the bouncer. Heading to a small table in a corner of the establishment, she surreptitiously scanned the occupants of the room. This had become her table; it had a view of the entrance and two clear escape routes. She knew she was being hunted by a minimum of three parties and wanted none of them to surprise her.

A soft laugh escaped her. If Vader so much as put his nose in-system, the occupants of this room would leave so fast that they would take the oxygen with them.

There were some men of her grandfather's here, she'd seen or sensed five of them, but they had missed her. Lio P'ledni and Orin Zarath were two she remembered quite well. It seemed that a certain percentage of the injuries in her infirmary back home were usually attributable to their actions. They were dangerous, even to other warriors.

Is that why you warned him, then?

Abhaia dismissed the internal question with an uneasy shift of her shoulders.

The "Other" she had encountered in her Force meditation was here. He was a Jedi, possibly a real one, not one like Grandfather's men. Like the ones that her mother used to tell her about in whispered bedtime stories, like the one grandmother Isabail had been.

This Other was a snag to her plans. Abhaia had no idea whose interest he represented, what he wanted with her, or if he wanted her alive or dead. By all rights, she should have let Lio and Orin spit him and good riddance.

But she hadn't.

She had risked revealing herself not only to this other, but to Grandfather and his toadies and to Vader as well. The most frightening part of it was that she could not explain why she had done so.

The waiter, a broad-shouldered man with a much-broken nose and quick brown eyes, came to her side. "M'lady?" he gruffed.

"The mixed green salad with grilled kiku breast and vinaigrette, a round of whole-grain bread with allic spread and a glass of Gorani green tea, iced, please."

The man grunted another "m'lady" at her and stomped off as if serving such girly food was an affront to his dignity. Rumor had it that the waiters were all former sergeants of the Imperial officer's mess. After hearing one cursing a blue streak at the kitchen staff, Abhaia was prepared to believe it.

Relaxing into the deep, armor-backed chair, Abhaia again surveyed the room, using the mirrors to study every possible angle. For a moment, she studied the room's strangest occupant - herself. Perhaps the reason grandfather's men had missed her was the simple fact that she looked so very different now. Drab little Abi the Healer was nowhere in evidence. Instead, an exotic scarlet-clad woman stood - or sat, Abhaia thought with a smile - in her place.

Her knee-high boots, cloak, leggings, and tunic were the true, bright red of arterial blood and embroidered with a subtle design in a darker red. Even her visible weaponry was meant to draw the eye, a well-worn blaster rode in a holster on her right thigh and a pair of onyx-hilted dueler's vibroblades stuck out of her boots. With her braid shorn away, Abhaia's straight black hair was shorter in back and longer in front, while black kohl made her blue eyes stand out even more intensely.

Even her own grandfather might not recognize her if she sat down next to him.

The waiter brought her meal and drink, his temper somewhat mollified by the substantial tip she gave him. Abhaia had developed a taste for gambling, especially sabaac and other card games. The subtle clues of body language were all she needed to win tidy amounts at nearly every game she staked into. Sure, she could use the Force to weight dice or make wheels stop where she wanted them to, but with cards, there was always the chance that she could be wrong about the tilt of a head or the twitch of a finger. It was a tame little thrill.

Eating quickly, she mulled over her option for the evening. She would not be ready for Vader to become involved until a substantial balance of Grandfather's forces was in place. Five were here, with another forty-odd inbound from various locations where they had been searching for her. Grandfather was holding just outside the gas giants in the outer vacuum of the Kalini system; he never went into a fight unless he was certain that he could win. In the end, she would take the fight to him.

A shiver radiated outward from her bones and she pushed the remains of her meal away.

Vader.

Abhaia had just thought to use Dark to fight Dark, but the Sith Lord wanted something from her. Just what that something was, she both wanted and feared to find out.

Again she locked down her feelings; he could find her, could touch her that way. For now, she decided to lose herself in a game, it would take all of her concentration to monitor her fellow player's reactions. That would keep her composed and invisible.

A patron entered the bar, and peered around in the dim light, doing a marked double take at Abhaia before making a tentative approach. Abhaia stood, one hand resting casually on the grip of her blaster as the figure stepped timidly out of the shadows.

"A-Abi? Is that really you? You look like a holoseries heroine!" The blue-gray swathed figure swept back the hood of the tunic to reveal short golden hair and cloud-gray eyes in a heart-shaped face. "Oh, Force, Abi! It is you, isn't it?"

"Neve!" Abhaia cut off the words with a hug so fierce that she felt her friend's ribs creak. Neve hugged back nearly as hard, crying and laughing at the same time.

After a short time, Abhaia pushed Neve back and wiped tears from her own face. "What's happening back there, Neve? Did you escape, too? How did you find me?" Neve's sad smile brought Abhaia's joy crashing down.

"They're afraid, Abi. There have been small scout ships poking around. Vader is supposed to be out looking for you. When you escaped, they lost something, Abi, and you know how they hate to lose." Neve sat slowly, twisting her fingers. "People are trying to escape. Most don't make it, but thanks to you, they have the steel to try now."

Abhaia did not so much sit in her chair as fall into it. People were trying to emulate her? And they were dying for mistaking her act of cowardice for an example of bravery?

Distraught, Abhaia got to her feet, nearly ready to go find one of her pursuers and turn herself in, but was stopped by Neve's shackle-like grip on her wrist. Abhaia and Neve had been crechè-mates, they had known each other all their lives. They had seen each other through the tragedies and small triumphs that characterized life in the women's quarters. When Abhaia had been raped and later determined that she was pregnant, Neve had held her and rocked her as one would a child. Neve was a Healer of a different sort; Neve healed the deepest wounds of the heart.

"Listen to me, Abi. This is what they want you to do. They know you're an empath, and they are playing on that." Neve shook the captive arm. "Think! They want you to hurt because they know that you won't think straight! You won't be able to think until the hurting stops!"

"But...!" Abhaia scrambled for an argument. She should have gone back. She could have tried to sneak Neve out with her. Should have...

"Abi, did you have your baby?" Neve had been party to Abhaia's decision not to terminate, not judging any side of the argument, just letting her friend know that she would still be loved whatever was decided.

A smile of regret and love crossed Abhaia's face, and she nodded. "I named her Arien. She was... is... beautiful, Neve."

"And she's free, isn't she? Somewhere that she can grow up safe and healthy, strong and loved?"

"Yes." The word was a fervent prayer.

"If you give in, they will torture you. You will eventually tell them what they want to know. Then they will kill you and they will find your Arien." Neve's voice was cold with anger. "You will be dead and that precious little one you fought for will be a breeding slave to a malignant old man."

Abhaia's head snapped up at the vision of her child in Perran Jasc's control; rage swirled and set a cold fire in her marrow.

Neve forestalled any response, rushing the words out of her mouth. "Don't go back. Keep fighting or die losing. They took every one of the ships off world, and every last so-called warrior. Do what you have to so that none of those krechti make it back."

Tears were filling Neve's eyes and her grip was cutting off circulation to Abhaia's hands. Abhaia felt something wrong, shrilling an alarm deep in her Healer's senses.

"My time is short, Abi. Shorter than I ever imagined. Just know this, take this with you: Lightsider or Darksider, you are loved. I love you. I will love you until time stops and memory dies. You are my Abi, my friend, part of my heart for always. I was never, ever angry that you left. I love you. I..." Neve leaped up, one hand clawing at her chest as she spun and stumbled away from the table.

Abhaia caught her friend and eased her to the ground. Vaguely, she could hear a bouncer calling for a medunit and put a bounce on it, dammit! Slipping into empathic trance, she felt traced the pain to a small device in Neve's chest, right on top of the aorta. It was heating, getting ready to...

"I'm sorry, Abi..."

Screaming, searing pain roared through Abhaia's link to Neve, followed by a sense of freedom and peace before the fire that was Neve went out.

Abhaia knelt by her friend's empty husk, lifting and cradling the body tenderly. With her fingers, she closed the blank gray eyes, cherishing every memory of Neve, locking them away in her heart. Removing her red cloak, she spread it over her friend, ignoring the thicket of legs that surrounded them. She rained tender kisses and tears on her cheeks, lips, eyelids, and chin before covering the now blank face. At least her friend's expression showed only death's peace.

Neve was not there anymore.

Abhaia stood, arms crossed over her chest, head down, her breathing deep and even. She felt the sliding away of another presence, shying from contact, fear and a sneaking pleasure coloring it. Without moving or change in her breathing, Abhaia struck.

She slowly raised her head and those who had circled her went stumbling back as if hit by a moving wall, all but for the one sweating, terrified man who stood as if rooted to the floor.

The rage-storm broke inside her.

~