Signs of Life
By JalendaviLady
Chapter 23
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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Anakin hovered into the main docking bay. He preferred a wheelchair, but for this the repulsorchair was better. He needed to move as fast as a man could walk, and he could neither roll or stumble that fast.
The young rebel officer who was the other designated translator walked over, holding out her hand. "I am Miram Nakcria."
{And I am Anakin Skywalker. May the One who created all things smile on our meeting, Miram.}
Her jaw dropped.
{Lady Mothma did not warn you that I am a native speaker?}
{No, she didn't. Native?}
He nodded. {Alend is my uncle.}
{Isn't the correct form address more formal?}
{The elder and more venerated a SkyLord leader, the more informal the address those under him use. I am his nephew, and I am traveling through his territory. Granted, I am not under him, but I will show him that deference.}
{Did Mon Mothma tell you we are meeting them on the moon surface?}
{Indeed, it is so.} He had been rather surprised to discover that the fleet hadn't moved from Endor. But the Empire seemed to be completely uninterested in the territory. It had no strategical value, no particularly impressive mineral resources, and even Anakin had no clue why Palpatine had decided to base the construction of the [i]Death Star[/i] there. "You ready to go?"
"Sure. I assume I'm flying?"
"I suppose."
"Must be strange."
"Hmm?" Anakin looked over at Miram.
"Being around other Force-users again, I mean."
"It's already been strange. This is just a new level of strange. I haven't seen Alend in probably 40 years." He leaned back, trying to relax. "How long until we get there?"
"Another half hour to an hour."
He nodded.
"Anything more about SkyLord politics and culture I should know?"
"There is a great stress on praising the Maker for everything that happens, be it ill or good. They are a very spiritual people. Expect it.
"The leaders of the clans are fairly independent; any agreement with Alend will hold for Alend's clan, the Clovindis, alone.
"The SkyLord people are very insular. From what I can tell, they have few recent contacts beyond their own people, most of whom are likely smugglers and others on that end of society.
"A very simplistic pidgin Basic existed in my father's clan. It may or may not exist among the Clovindi as well; for all I know, my mother may have been the one to bring it to my father's clan.
""Other than that... I was three when I left my people, so I only have snatches of memory and the mannerisms and instruction of my mother to work with. I wish I could tell you more."
"It's better than going in knowing nothing, Anakin. Thank you." She smiled at him, and he could not help grinning back.
And then he was falling, clutching for a handhold anywhere in physical reality and in the Force.
Death.
Fear.
Blind rage.
Every dark emotion known to the human species, and many only known to other sentient species.
All poured into a single point in space. One could call it a black hole in the Force, if only the word "black" were potent enough to describe it.
This was the stain left on the universe by the physical death of a Sith Master.
Anakin woke to find himself braced against the wall of the shuttle's tiny refresher.
Miram reached over to press the button and put a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "You doing better now? You blacked out for a moment there. And then you started whispering something over and over."
"I think." A wave of sudden fear washed over him. "What was I whispering?"
"Sounded like a mantra of some kind... Lot of repetitions of 'there is no...' but I couldn't catch anything else."
Great. The only phrase shared by both the Jedi and the Sith Codes. "Where are we now?"
"The SkyLord's ship. It was closest, and it didn't seem like a good course of action to go down to the surface since I didn't know why you got sick..."
{Such is fine, Miram. I am not injured, so far as I can tell, but I would prefer our return voyage not pass through the same part of space as we were traveling when I became ill.}
{May I ask why?}
{I have my suspicions and worries, but such things are of no danger to anything but the physical comfort of the Force-strong.}
{Then the system is still safe?}
{Indeed. But it would be prudent to warn both Alliance and SkyLords of the place, so that the Force-strong are not accidentally sent near that spot.} If I reacted like that, I have no clue how violent or severe Luke's reaction might be, particularly given how much exposure he's had to Dark Side attacks recently.
A warm Force-presence entered the tiny hallway behind Anakin's back. Who?
{Feeling any better, young one?} The voice was eerily familiar.
Anakin didn't consciously remember ever hearing it, but spun around shakily, crying out without thought, {Uncle Alend!}
The elderly SkyLord, tufts of silver just beginning to overcome brown locks on his head, smiled and held his nephew at arm's length. {It is good to see you again, son of my sister. Once you get cleaned up and feel steady on your feet, there are others who wish to meet you.}
{I understand, Alend. And data to receive, as promised.}
{Of course. But we of the Clovindi Clan must welcome one of our own home, if only for a short while.} He Force-called a wet cloth to his hand and started wiping Anakin's face.}
Anakin closed his eyes in a mix of relief and shame. {Uncle, did you hear?} It was a child's question, meant to ascertain how much an adult knew before admitting a wrong-doing. Oh please, Maker, don't let it have been the Sith Code I was repeating. Please.
{I heard. And I have heard other things since. The people have not forgotten what a strange woman with hair the color of an old star taught us ages past as she searched for the Deep Ones. You are welcome here, Anakin, as is your companion Miram. Now come, I believe you will want a clean shirt before anyone else sees you.} A folded SkyLord-style tunic floated up behind Alend.
{I thank you for your forethought, Uncle. Some privacy here, may I ask?}
{Indeed, and I shall bring the wheelchair from the front of the ship when you have changed. Come, Miram, and I shall tell you enough of those ranking here that you may know them when they enter your sight.} The SkyLord and the communications officer wandered off, chatting softly.
Didn't expect that to go that smoothly, he thought as he removed the shirt he had been wearing when he became ill.
The shirt smelled faintly of a hundred little odors almost forgotten. Faded memories nearly overwhelmed him as he pulled it over his head. It is good to be home.