Signs of Life

By JalendaviLady

Chapter 8

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Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.

If you recognize any characters, locations, or things in the following story, George Lucas owns them.

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Duria Rhsycandor paced through the corridor outside the medcenter aboard Home One, mouse-brown braid trailing behind her.

How could Biggs do this? After all Vader did to him... to everyone... to us? How can he stand to do that? To speak for that monster?

The doors opened and a medic let her in.

She charged past and into the depths of the medcenter, goal firmly in her mind.

She slapped the door control and stormed in.

"BIGGS DARKLIGHTER, HOW COULD YOU!?!?!?"

She could hear the medcenter go quiet.

His eyes flickered open, two diamonds shining in the dim light of the room. "Because I had to, Duria."

"Why?" Tears ran down her face.

"You wouldn't be able to understand."

She wandered in, letting the door close behind her. "What can't I understand? Biggs, he nearly killed you! You're paralyzed, and while the medics keep saying it can be treated once someone with enough skill shows up, it's been 3 years. 3 years," she sobbed, burying a hand in his hair just above the neck brace that kept what little hope there was of treatment intact.

He sighed and was silent for a moment. "Have you heard the rumors yet, Duria?"

"That it was the Empire that did that to him? Yeah. Haven't heard them confirmed yet."

"The healers told me once they found out. I had guessed as much."

"How... could you have guessed?" She could hear the anger leaving her voice. I never could stay mad at him for long, not even before everything happened.

"When I was at the Academy, I saw the way things were. The more indispensable one was to the war effort, the faster one got booted out of the medcenter. Our instructors limped to their ships more often than I'd like to remember. When I heard he was still alive with broken life-support, I had no doubt the same rules had applied to him."

"And that was enough reason for you to beg for his pardon?"

"No, but it sealed it. You never heard Luke talk when he was young. You never saw what life was like in Anchorhead. If they had done anything to Anakin... it would have killed Luke. His entire life he's wanted to know anything he could about his father... You saw how he was after Bespin. He functioned somehow, but he was more withdrawn than I get. The only thing that pulled him out of it, I'd bet, is the hope that somehow he could get Vader to turn back. This way... if Luke was right, the Alliance gets an ally and Luke gets a father."

"And if he's wrong...?" She moved closer, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

"Then the Alliance deals with him for the new crimes and everyone tries to keep Luke sane after the loss. Anakin's fate's in his own hands, now. His decisions are his own. What remains of his life is his to do with as he pleases."

...

One week later, Mon Mothma stood on the bridge of Home One, receiving the latest repair reports for the fleet.

"Admiral Ackbar?" a young tech interrupted.

"What is it, which is so important you would disturb us?" His voice was gruff, but there was a shine of deep humor in his eyes. Mon knew well that the young communications officer was one of the bridge crew Ackbar was keeping well under his wing for one reason or another. The young woman had an excellent command of many common languages, human and non-human, and besides that, Ackbar seemed to genuinely like the girl. Miram Nakcria. She would make a good diplomat, if we didn't need her skills here.

"Someone is hailing anyone in command here. The language they're using sounds like an old Coruscant dialect of a spacers cant. How should I respond?"

"Ask who is seeking to contact the Alliance." Mon moved over close to the young officer.

She chattered something into the microphone. "Says he is Alend Clovindi, leader of the local region's SkyLord population."

"'SkyLord'? A new species?"

"He sounds human, ma'am."

"And he is hailing us why?"

More banter. "There apparently was an attempted attack on a nearby planet by some species... I can't translate the name... ShriRuk, I think. Pretty nasty stuff, ma'am, judging from the tone of his voice. He says his people routed the attack. He wanted us to know, in case they try anything again."

Ackbar gasped. "He gives information freely?"

Another small exchange. "He says if we wish his ship and the data they have on these ShriRuk can be here in two weeks... He asks only for parts to help repair the hyperdrive on his ship... Apparently it sustained minor damage during the fight."

"Ask him if anyone on his ship knows Basic," Mon prompted.

A bit of chatter. "His granddaughter seems to, if I understand correctly."

"Let him know we'll need her to translate for him when he arrives."

She said something in a slow, steady voice, then listened for a moment. "He says she will be glad to. Apparently she's grown up hearing about the people of the living planets, even eavesdropped on hypercomm communications to learn the language. He says she's managed to become quite fluent and didn't have any trouble talking to anyone they met on the world that was attacked."

"Thank the Force for children's programming," Ackbar whispered under his breath. Mon tried to resist a giggle.

"He also says that his people are wondering if we have a mindHealer."

"Why do they need a mindHealer?"

She asked. "They captured a human that the ShriRuk had apparently brainwashed. He's a mental wreck apparently. They want to see if anyone can help him."

"Tell him we'll do what we can."

She repeated the assurance. "He sends his thanks and says he will be here in 14 days. And then he broke the connection."

Mon turned to Ackbar. "Excuse me, but I must go see if our resident ex-Sith knows anything about these SkyLords. Maybe the Jedi had a legend about them or perhaps he heard rumors elsewhere."

He nodded a respectful assent and she left.

...