The darkness that pervaded all around her was not the night. She was unsure how she knew this, but it did not trouble her since she was fairly certain that she had gotten herself to wherever-she-was. The air was cold and moist and rich with the scent of decay. Buzzing and chirping, both distant and near, filtered to her ears. Behind her, the only man she had ever loved spoke.
"I ask again: is it glory you are seeking?" he said in his tone of genteel skepticism. She could picture the thin line of his mouth twisted in an ugly expression of distaste. Stars, she adored him. As he drew nearer, she could see him pulling his cloak tightly around chest and arms and pushing a layer of decomposing leaves away with his boot to expose the black soil beneath.
"You're not frightened, my lord?" she said, raising the electric torch in her hand a little higher. Its yellow glow barely penetrated to the leviathan trunk of a nearby tree ten meters ahead.
"No," he said, sounding more stung than she had expected, "and 'my lord' is not in fact the proper honorific." Was he indeed afraid, then?
"Forgive me, old friend," she said. "I've a hard time with the ins and outs of hierarchy you know. And I have no care for glory either." Her love drew closer, brow furrowed and the fringe of his dark hair peeking out beneath his hood.
I am not myself, she thought.
"We retread an old path," he said. "Therefore, I think it cannot be the pursuit of knowledge that brought us here."
"The archive entry was incomplete," she replied. "You are right; it is an old path and no Jedi has walked for far too long." She looked into the darkness, though truly it was not her eyes but her other senses and the Force that saw.
I will remember every detail.
It was astounding how much life could abide in this lightless world. It shone more prominent in the Force than the musty smell of earth was strong in her nose, scurrying and winging and moldering all around them. And there was him, to her always the brightest light in life's constellation.
"What shall we find?" he asked.
"If we are true and not a little lucky, the same thing he found a thousand years ago." She added in a low tone more to herself than to him, "they will understand." He had come to stand beside her now. She turned back to assess his interest–and the sight of his face opened a wound in her heart. It was not that he looked bored; in fact, he finally seemed intrigued. But she was reminded then, looking into his black eyes, his face so close to her own, how he did not love her in return, not with anything more than friendly affection. This feeling, at least, she thought she would retain, more clearly than the strange day-darkness or the giant trees or her mission about which she was being so unhelpfully vague. This weary sadness refreshed pumped through her body like venom and she knew that she would still remember this much when she woke because it was her first experience of heartbreak or lovesickness.
Then there came a roar from darkness emitted from no creature she had sensed and they ran.
Did they run?
Were they running?
Had they run? The clarity with which each detail had presented itself to her until now was melting into a haze.
She was running. She was fleeing, climbing up, up the rough bark of one of the colossal trees, scaling it out of the darkness until she made it to the apartment's window. It was narrow, a square less than a meter in height or width but it was this apartment's only window and therefore the only access point besides the door, which must remain locked.
The tough but bulky armor of her shoulder was catching on the frame when she awoke, shooting upright and kicking a tangled woolen blanket from her legs. She was back in her cot in the temple and not wandering the forest of darkness or breaking and entering some dingy apartment. It was her own lock of hair that was caught in her mouth and her own back that was sore. She was Mara Jade and she was not in love with anyone. But the unwelcome ache in her heart still lingered.
They had decided that she would take the last name Thit because it was a very common name among the Naboo and also Jaen was related to a family of Thits who, if absolutely need be, she vouched would claim Qi'ra as one of their own. The lie of it did not faze her. A bit of forgery, casual fraud, these things were nothing new, business as usual. However, she had her reservations both towards adopting any false name long term and more specifically about the name "Thit." Long years among the scrumrats had developed her instinct for juvenile humor, so she did not miss how easily "Thit" might be rendered as "teet" in some jester's mouth. But she had left that old cadre behind, she reminded herself, and perhaps could be less on guard for prurient and unclever japes in her present circumstance. If she tallied up all these little improvements, she thought, she might learn to be at ease with all the changes.
Her new companions rarely joked with her and showed unkindness only in polite ways, in half-hearted encouragements like "I'm sure you'll get it next time" or "you're doing really good for being so new to this." Even the simpering protocol droid's perfect manners began to seem like tepidness. The faintness of their every affectation towards her almost made her appreciate the unveiled resentment displayed to her by Lane, whose glowering eyes at table, in the training room, and even in the library were a ceaseless blaze of suspicion.
Lane Dulokét was not officially the captain of their little order, but she may as well have been for deference that the other five girls showed her. Qi'ra had suspected at first that she had been singled out for Lane's contempt for not submitting quickly enough to their unspoken hierarchy, but no. Lane was not actually a tyrant in search of sycophants, just extremely self-serious. This condition was one only Camilla Cessam–or Milla–could mollify. She would wrap her arms around Lane's shoulders, tug on her ear lobe, and coo something about writing to her mother and Lane would stop fussing so much over whatever little thing. On the matter of Qi'ra's induction into their group, however, even Milla could not soften Lane, not that she especially tried to.
"They are not handmaidens, technically," Senator Amidala had explained. "They were trained to be, but officially only a candidate who is chosen to serve the Queen is a handmaiden."
Qi'ra came to understand that Amidala, who had served as Queen of Naboo once, was so beloved by the people of her planet that her successors had extended her the continuing privilege of a royal guard, an elite force that served as both bodyguards and advisors. Qi'ra's as-yet brief stint among them suggested that their service was indeed more than ornamental. Certainly, much of their day-to-day impact was little more than flourish, flanking the Senator at meetings and councils, wearing their shimmering cloaks and hoods, saying nothing but looking beautiful and mysterious. However, in private, mostly during evening sessions in her office, each woman could play the role of sounding board for their mistress, reflecting with her on issues ranging from the structuring of the new Republic Navy to a bill coming to the Senate floor on genetic copyright and, if it came to that, not one appeared to lack either the capacity of ability to kill. It was hard to conceive why Padmé Amidala thought Qi'ra, who was not a particularly good fighter, had no political experience or connections, and most significantly was not Naboo, was fit to join their ranks.
"From your own account, it seems to me that you have plenty of political experience–of a sort, if not in this exact arena," the Senator had cajoled her. "As for the fighting, well, I have six experts who can train you."
They certainly tried, patiently and dutifully if unenthusiastically, to bring her up to their standards in both hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. The former art gave her the most grief, not because she was worse with her fists than with a blaster, but it was easier to bear missing a target over and over than it was to be caught in another wristlock or thrown to the mat by Lane or Milla or Yadorra or even Jaen. And, as ever, they would all be polite and sedate in victory, even Lane. They were too disciplined to take things too far and hurt her by accident and too chivalrous to gloat for even an instant, not that she merited much exertion or pride as a conquest. So, the pains in her arms and shoulders and especially her legs were earned only by her own striving and clumsiness.
The main benefit of her new lifestyle was the days off that she could spend with Han when they would rent a speeder and explore Coruscant without a care for curfew or pockets to pick (or having their own pockets picked). They could roam the upper city and try wonderful and awful new food and watch broadcasts of unfamiliar sports in bars. They had no friends, but strangers liked Han, especially now that he was usually dressed in the tidy gray duds of an academy cadet. Sometimes pub owners or other strangers would even buy them drinks and praise his life decisions and they would privately smirk to themselves about how everyone thought he was such a good boy .
One time they had even tried out sitting in a rich-person park. It was five square acres of manicured lawn and topiaries and very boring on its own merits but still a nice experience overall.
"I still think you should take that offer," Han had told her. "That thing, the apartment thing."
"I still haven't ruled it out," she had admitted. The Senator, ever a fountain of generosity, had informed Qi'ra that she need not live in the Amidalas' household complex; if she preferred they could find her her own separate apartment in the upper city. It was a tempting prospect, to have her own space where her own visitors could come and go without concern for surveillance or judgement from her boss and her boss's underlings. Plainly, however, such an arrangement would be out of joint with the expectations for the other handmaidens–the real handmaidens. While she was unsure if the temperature of her relationship to the six would ever rise above lukewarm, she was not willing to give up on winning them over just yet. Distancing herself, even if only physically, from the house that she newly served could only chill their attitude towards her further. It would look to them like disinterest at best and disloyalty at worst. So, for the time being she shared quarters with Jaen.
"I still don't get why you care," Han had drawled. It was not the first time he had broached the topic. "I mean, I think you're very charming, obviously. You'd win me over. But it doesn't seem like you have a single ally in that place."
"Actually, it turns out I do," she had told him and he had made a surprise little frown.
"You mean the nice one? Jaen, your bunkmate?"
"No, the daughter ."
Leia was only recently ten years old, and yet her favor was perhaps the most valuable currency in the household. Precocious and adored, her taste was like sacred writ to the staff and especially the handmaidens, whose duty it was to attend the children as much as the Senator herself. For reasons that Qi'ra could not seem to winkle out of the young girl, the little princess had decided that her mother's latest hire was fascinating. She would study Qi'ra's expressions and reactions with a gimlet eye and pepper her with questions whenever she could. In a display of great tact for a child, she never asked about Qi'ra's past, what it was like to be a gangster or an orphan, and even avoided the topic of Corellia most times, even on occasions when she got Qi'ra in private. Rather, she would pursue Qi'ra's opinion on the things happening around them, from little things like what did Qi'ra think of her dress "and don't just say it's pretty" to more philosophical matters about politics or the Jedi Code.
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with their code," Qi'ra had told her, at which point the child had screwed up her face and summarized as ably as she could.
"They think that you shouldn't feel things because it stops you from thinking straight–wait, well, really they just think that they shouldn't feel things so that they don't get selfish and can help people better."
"Goodness," Qi'ra had said, "they aren't allowed to feel anything ?"
"I guess that's just the ideal," she had said, furling and unfurling her hands absently. "The point is not to let emotion cloud your judgment."
"I suppose it can do that," Qi'ra had allowed. "We could be contrarian, though, and argue that some emotions can provide clarity."
"You mean, that your feelings could help you make a good decision?"
"Something like that, yes."
That had made the girl grin and she had quickly agreed, "I think that's right too."
Not long thereafter, on one of the occasions when the twins joined the handmaidens in their martial training exercises, during which times they mostly trained together under the supervision of Biallé or Camilla at escaping different holds, Leia had observed Qi'ra's frustrations with a quizzical look that soon transformed to displeasure.
And that was how she met the Jedi again.
Leia informed her one evening that she was to meet her in the training room after dinner. While she was not actually obliged to do anything that Leia or her brother Luke commanded her, after conferring with Jaen she decided that she had probably better go anyway. There, in the middle of the sparring floor, backlit gloriously by the setting sun out the west-facing windows that reflected off her red hair in a copper halo, stood Mara.
"Oh," she said flatly as Qi'ra entered, "it's you."
"Be nice," commanded Leia, hopping up from a bench by the wall, her brother following closely after her. Qi'ra was not certain if the command was directed more at her or Mara.
"Leia," she acknowledged her with a suppressed sigh, "what's this, then?"
"You need help," said Leia, matter-of-factly. "Mara will help you."
"Help?" Mara interjected skeptically. "Help with what?" So, she had not agreed to whatever arrangement Leia had cooked up either.
"The handmaidens are teaching Qi'ra how to fight, but they're bad at it," the little girl explained.
"Aren't they your teachers as well?" Mara retorted.
"Yes, but they're bad at teaching Qi'ra," snapped Leia, impatiently.
"And you're a good teacher," Luke piped up. "You teach us too and you're better than them–but don't tell Lane I said so!"
Qi'ra decided to intercede. "Leia, Luke, this is very sweet, but Mara's right. I know I've made a slow start of it, but the other handmaidens are helping me as best they can–"
"Oh, shush," Leia cut her off. "They are not. Anyway, you need to catch up and Mara can teach so you can beat them." There was a definite appeal to that potential, Qi'ra had to admit, almost as if the ten year old could sense her inner desire. It would be oh so satisfying to throw a haughty handmaiden to the mat, for a change. Mara was less enthused at the idea.
"Will I though?" she said.
"You will," Leia confirmed and after exchanging a look with her brother she said in a stately tone that mimicked her mother, "we invoke the terms of the Coaxium Accord."
At this nonsense, the Jedi looked genuinely taken aback. She considered the twins in disbelief for a moment. Finally, she said simply, "for this?" Qi'ra had no idea what negotiation was happening between Mara and the children in that moment, but she understood enough to be lightly insulted.
"Yes," said Leia, stalwart and flinty.
"When you come to teach us Suriko, you can teach Qi'ra too," said Luke, bouncing on his toes and sounding not a little excited. Mara sighed and looked defeated. Whatever pact Leia had invoked was clearly binding.
"You've been waiting a long time for this," the Jedi intoned portentously. "Alright, if you're sure that's what you want. Just give me a minute to talk to my new pupil. Alone." Leia nodded, pleased at her triumph, and tugged her brother toward the door.
"Don't be a bully!" she warned.
"I won't" Mara promised indignantly. Then, Qi'ra and the Jedi were alone.
They took a moment to size each other up, Mara performing a startlingly accurate impression of Lane's signature glare and Qi'ra trying her best to look inscrutable. She recalled, a little alarmed, hearing that the Jedi could read minds. But then, she had already tricked this Jedi once. There was yet a kernel of shame lodged in her heart over how she had exposed Mara to death at the hands of the White Worms, suppressed only by her certainty that she herself would not have mourned any harm that might have come to Qi'ra and Han. As a veteran of the world of criminal enterprise, Qi'ra might have been ready to let this little history slide. A professional did not wear a chip on her shoulder over such a minor thing as another party acting in their own interest. Thefts, run-arounds, double-crosses, even attempted murder: these were all de rigeur. The Jedi, however, was too assured of the goodness of her every mandate and intention to ever accept an enemy as anything less than a villain.
"I don't know how you got Leia to be your champion," she said, "but if I ever hear that you threatened or deceived her somehow, it'll be the end of you."
Qi'ra scoffed. "If you've known that girl for a week you know can't be easily fooled. And I would never threaten a child."
"No," snarled Mara, "you'd just sell one to gangsters or whatever other criminal scum!"
"I didn't do that," said Qi'ra, but she thought she sounded a little meek. She knew that she had been uninvolved in whatever plans there had been to kidnap Luke, if indeed it had ever been planned at all. Yet she could not shake the guilty feeling that, if Proxima had asked her either to abduct the boy or arrange his sale to some cartel or syndicate, she would have done it. "Look," she said, "whatever agreement you have with the twins, it doesn't bind me. I can refuse even if you can't."
Mara sighed, which she did quite a lot, apparently. "I am a Jedi," she said, almost as if she were reminding herself of the fact, "and I won't let a personal grudge stop me from performing my duty, which is to protect the Amidalas. It boggles my mind, but you are my ally in that mission now, so I will help you "–the last two words were spoken through her teeth–"for the family's sake."
"And because Leia is making you," Qi'ra appended. She couldn't help it. There was too much self-righteousness being thrown at her that she needed a cut of cynicism to help it go down.
Mara made a clicking sound with her tongue and placed her hands on her hips. "Yes, well, do you accept my help or not?"
Qi'ra considered. It could not be so much worse training with the Jedi than it was training with the handmaidens and there was always the chance that it would be more productive. Moreover, it would please Leia, the value of which could not be gainsaid. It was clear to her as well that Mara was not an incidental figure in the household and she was unlikely to be able to completely avoid her. That being the case, she would do well to try and ease the tension between them. Han had called her charming , and she had proven as much on harder targets than this. And this was, after all, the game that her new mistress had laid before her to play, was it not? If she could perform this act of grammarie, fool the well-dressed and well-spoken gens du monde into mistaking that she belonged among them, then Padmé Amidala would open the gates for her to the world of power, real power . So really, this could be good practice either way.
"Very well," she said. "I suppose I'm in no position to turn down aid."
With the distinct look of someone who was swallowing a barbed comment, Mara nodded and said, "then let's begin."
"My Padawan had a strange vision the other night," said Anakin. It was evening and the stars were shining ever more clearly in the last gloaming of the twilight. He was sitting on the steps in a courtyard of the Jedi Temple, listening to the soothing trickle of water in the Silver Fountain. A few steps down, his head level with Anakin's knees, sat his old Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, reclining on one elbow.
"Oh dear," said Obi-Wan, making a playful frown, "a Padawan vision . Nothing too serious, I hope."
"No," said Anakin, "just curious is all. Vivid."
Obi-Wan stroked his beard. "Was it about someone she knows?"
"No," said Anakin again, "that was the curious part. She says she dreamt she was someone else. She couldn't tell who or where she was but she thought that she was a Jedi and she was hunting for something."
"Mara has always been sensitive to echoes in the Force," said Obi-Wan. "If she dreamt she was another Jedi, then perhaps her sleeping mind simply," he waved one hand in an airy gesture, "slipped into an impression left by some old Master."
"I suggested something like that too," said Anakin. He massaged the rough-spun fabric of his robe between his fingers and wondered if it would be overstepping to share too many more details of what his Padawan had disclosed to him. It was not as if the subject of the vision had been deeply personal to Mara, but she had still seemed unsettled by the emotional intensity of what she had felt in that dream, as if the feelings really had been her own. Ultimately, he judged that Obi-Wan was enough within Mara's confidence that she would not mind.
"There was someone accompanying her in this dream," he said, his voice lowered a little despite himself, but not so quiet that it was as if they were conspiring. "She thought that she–or whoever she was–was in love with him."
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow and shifted a little so that he faced Anakin more fully. "So, she had a fully empathetic vision, then? I can see why she would find that unsettling."
"Have you ever had a vision like that, Master?" Anakin asked. His experience with the far sight had only ever shown him praeceptions of his own life, the people he knew and had loved–actually known and actually loved–some of which had come to pass while others, fearful possibilities, had not. One had even driven him nigh on to the precipice of madness. It frightened him still, how he so easily could have slipped into the darkness. He might have done truly anything to prevent the future he saw. Not even "might"; He very nearly had and it had not been his own judgment that had restrained him at the last minute. It was for just such reasons that the Jedi mistrusted visions, though he wished that they would refrain from reflecting that suspicion onto the person of his Padawan. It was not Mara's fault that the Force echoed the past to her; indeed it seemed that this exact power had caused her no small amount of grief as a child before she had learned to better control it.
The other man shook his head. "No, but I don't exactly feel left out. Your apprentice has always been sensitive to emotion, though, others' and her own." He added, poking Anakin in the knee, "you don't pick the easy ones, do you."
"I didn't pick Ahsoka," Anakin reminded him. His voice still strained a little at her memory. "And I wasn't just being dramatic when I said I had to train Mara."
" Meant to was, I think, your exact phrasing." Anakin and Obi-Wan turned to see Quinlan Vos approaching from behind them. He made a respectful bow and took a seat on the step next to Anakin.
"Master Vos," Anakin gave him a nod, "still haven't forgiven me for that, have you."
"Well, now you're definitely being dramatic, Skywalker," said Vos. "Am I the obvious teacher for a natural psychometrist? Sure, but I suppose the Hero of the Republic is a pretty alright alternative." He clapped Anakin on the shoulder. "I can see you've made a real honest effort with her."
Anakin and Obi-Wan chuckled obligingly, but Anakin could still sense the regret beneath Vos' humor. It had been Vos, after all, who had discovered Mara as a child on Nar Shaddaa, Vos who had looked out for in those first lonely years of training as an initiate, and Anakin knew that he had waited years to take another apprentice in anticipation of Mara's readiness. The bond of master and apprentice was the only devotion of one being to another that the Jedi allowed themselves and, Anakin considered as he found himself now as often sitting beside his former Master, even years from that time of indenture could not dissolve it. Vos had found a child who was like himself, a seer of traces of the past, as if fate had meant them for one another, and devoted himself to her care and still, Anakin, sight unseen, had slumped between them and declared himself the mentor destiny intended for Mara Jade.
"She's a credit to your art," said Anakin. "I suppose you heard about her recent escapade on Corellia."
"I did," acknowledged Vos. "Picked out a trail all the way to a secret underground lair. Good stuff."
"And then dove right in without calling for backup," said Obi-Wan. "Now, who does that remind me of?" He tapped his chin in feigned reflection.
"Yeah, but the boy was alright," Vos pointed out. "You can't argue with results, Master Kenobi." Anakin and Vos both knew perfectly well that Obi-Wan could argue with the result until the banthas came home, but the matter was old enough by now that he did not seem to have the energy to re-litigate it.
"The boy is alright, isn't he?" Vos asked, looking to Anakin in a way that made his hackles raise instinctively.
He only took a slightly deeper breath, however, and said, "it seems that way. He wasn't hurt and Mara says he found the whole ordeal exciting."
Vos grunted. "He has no idea, then."
"That's well enough," retorted Obi-Wan. "He is a child. He shouldn't live in fear."
"Yeah, but he's Senator Amidala's kid," Vos pointed out. "He'll be a target for as long as she has power, him and the girl."
"Well," said Obi-Wan firmly, "I'm sure the Senator has taken all necessary precautions in their regard."
"With a little Jedi help," Vos couldn't help but add, to which Obi-Wan responded, "quite."
Anakin, for his part, was still troubled by the incident, though he told himself it was not out of any undue interest in Luke or Leia. It had never all seemed to fit together, how some gangster had, seemingly randomly, identified and abducted Luke. From all the reports he had compiled, the White Worm syndicate were small-time but they were not stupid. They must have known they could not hope to successfully ransom a Republic Senator's son. Even if they could have arranged and made the trade-off, it would have raised their profile too much. The CSF would have had no choice but to bust their ring, pursue their every enterprise into oblivion. The obvious move would have been to sell Luke up the ladder to some more equipped, more mobile crime syndicate, but who? Had they already arranged a buyer or were they prepared to hold Luke for as long as it took to take bids? The latter seemed unlikely.
No, there was some other mastermind here, someone much higher up than Lady Proxima, who had targeted the children, but who and why remained a mystery. But he had already expressed this theory to Obi-Wan and did not want to rile Vos with it now.
"Anyway," Vos was saying, "I wanted to borrow that apprentice of yours, Skywalker. Just for a bit."
"How long of a 'bit' are we talking?" asked Anakin. Knowing Vos, he could mean months, and Anakin would rather not have Mara drawn away from her role as protector of the Amidalas. It would not be so easy to find a suitable replacement.
"It'll only take an hour," Vos reassured him. "I just need another psychometrist to check something."
Anakin and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. "Surely there's nothing Mara could see that you can't Vos," said Obi-Wan, a little teasingly.
"Every gift is different," Vos dismissed him. "She might attune to something I missed." He did look troubled though. Obi-Wan had struck on something.
"What's this about, Quinlan," Anakin probed. "Quit being coy."
"We caught a body," said Vos. Nothing strange there. Vos had long worked with Coruscant Police. His detection skills made his a valuable asset to their investigators, even if some of them were a little wary of using visions as the source of leads. He continued, "I surveyed the scene, but there were not objects that were giving me a useful resonance. Then I found one that just… gave me no reading at all."
"Is that so strange," asked Obi-Wan.
Vos shook his head. "No, but… I don't know how to explain it. It could be nothing. But I felt like–like all traces of the Force had been erased. Maybe I'm mad, but I just want a second opinion. Young Cal Kestis is detailed off-planet and Mara's always been more sensitive than me."
"What's the object," asked Anakin. Despite his own preoccupations, he was intrigued.
"It's just this pouch," Vos shrugged. "Nothing special, but it looks like the victim might have pulled it off the attacker's utility belt, or something."
"I still think you may be overreacting, Quinlan," said Obi-Wan. "It doesn't seem like the kind of item that someone would leave a strong impression on. Come to think of it, how long has it been since you took a retreat? You might go meditate in the mountains of Ossus or–"
"The victim was one of the clones," Vos cut him off. They were silent for several moments. The clone troopers were a tricky subject nowadays. Their performance at the end of the war had left them figures of controversy–no, pariahs, in truth. Yet, to the Jedi who had fought, which still accounted for all but the youngest generation of Knights, they were still comrades. Battle had forged close relationships between the Jedi commanders and their units. Every soldier, genetically identical to one another, was individual to them.
When Vos broke the three Masters' reverent silence, the news he delivered at last made the cause of his disquiet clear.
"The murder weapon was a lightsaber."
