× CHAPTER THREE ×

All was dark.
She tried to alter her eyes to give them night vision, but she was so fatigued that she couldn't move, much less shapeshift. Racara felt like screaming, and knew she probably had, many a time, without realizing the screeches resounding in her skull were being vocalized. Her body lacked the strength to writhe in the physical anguish she felt. Her Master, after she'd confronted him, had tortured her with his lightsaber and had left her to die a slow, agonizing death.
She was fifteen years old.
Racara compelled herself to take deep breaths, ignoring, to the best of her ability, the searing throes she felt. Her mind drifted over her past; regrets, long kept hidden under her expressionless Jedi exterior, surfaced like geyser breaking through a planet's crust.
She should've said good-bye to Yoda… Told the Masters what she knew, regardless whether they believed her or not… Attacked Drevon back when he'd gone after Mana…
Recalling Mana, Racara winced. She never had opened that gift Mana had given her, the last time they'd met at the Temple, four years ago. Then, almost a year later, Racara had caught a glimpse of her. She'd nearly had to drag her Master out of there to keep him from hurting her.
Three years had passed, and no one knew where Mana Lee had gone. The Masters believed she had been kidnapped, as a doctor reported having treated a woman of her description on a dilapidated private vessel. The doctor claimed the pilot had either been a bounty hunter or a scoundrel, judging from his appearance. Racara wondered how they explained Mana's pregnancy…
She felt a surge of sudden vigor course through her veins. She got on her feet in one fluid motion, careful not to waste any energy in the process. She still had to get off world, regain her strength, and begin healing herself before she was too far gone, and died. She was near death already.
Racara, supporting herself as much as possible with the slimy walls about her in the narrow alleyways, slowly, painfully made her way to a nearby bar. Even though she was so young, she entered.
Using the backs of the chairs to help bear her weight, she edged into the nearest unoccupied seat. It was then she realized her problem: she'd gone blind.
Racara's unseeing eyes looked down. She gasped as a huge weight fell on her chest, nearly crushing it. A massive fist enveloped her neck, and she felt her feet leave the floor. She heard a crowd of beings jeering at her, probably believing her to be some older individual trying to look docile.
Racara allowed herself to go limp, having neither strength nor desire to fight. Her Padawan braid, separate from the remainder of her hair, fell free from where she'd tucked it away, prior to her fight with Drevon. Privately, she wondered how it hadn't fallen earlier…
Silence ensued. The first voice she heard sounded timid. "I think you'd better put her down, Jeg."
Jeg's response was a snarl. "An' why should I do that, Forn? I'm tellin' ya, he owes me money!"
"You think Keil would risk hiding as a Jedi Padawan just to avoid paying your petty debt?" Forn's voice sounded stronger now. "Besides, since when did Keil hide as a girl? You know he can't sound like one."
"I haven't heard this one make a noise yet!" Jeg growled.
"That's because you haven't let her!" Forn shot back. "I say again, put her down! If it is Keil, I'll help you get him!"
Black was dancing on the edges of Racara's vision. She couldn't black out! She'd never wake up! Gathering all the air she could into her damaged lungs, she let out an earsplitting and definitely female shriek.
Startled, Jeg dropped her. She hit the floor and remained there, panting for air. Coughs racked her body. Her preceding wounds were brought back to fore, made worse by the throttling she'd received. Her eyes misted from the pain and she scarcely refrained from whimpering. She bit her lip so hard it bled.
Disregarding the pangs, she got up, her body reacting sluggishly to the commands she gave it. Using the Force to locate their position, she faced the gathering. Despite her best efforts, a few tears fell from her eyes and she whimpered softly.
A man whose voice she recognized as Forn's took her arm and assisted her to a chair, asking, "Are you all right, dearie?"
"All right? Whatchya talkin' about? She's blind, you nitwit!" a new, younger masculine voice rebuked.
Jeg growled, "Keil…"
Racara heard the clink! of a credit pouch being flung on a table. "There. That's all I owe you plus a little extra. Happy?"
Rapaciously, Jeg totaled the credits Keil had given him. His fist struck the table, still too angry to be deprived of his projected quarry. "Give me double what's in the bag, and I won't touch a hair on your head."
Keil snorted. "Uh, sure, Jeg! That'll be th' day! Th' day you refrain from beatin' someone up solely 'cause they meet your demands, I'll sell my ship an' retire."
This declaration was met with jibes and taunts. From what Racara was able to gather, Keil was a good deal younger than the others here. How old that made him, she had no idea. The funny thing was, she had this uncanny notion that he was about her age…
A table was smashed. Apparently, Jeg was making good on his threat. Luckily, Keil seemed to have ducked at the last second.
Or maybe not so luckily… "Keil?" she cautiously ventured.
There was a smash! as Keil jumped back far enough so Jeg's fist went through the counter instead of him. "Yeah?"
"You wouldn't happen to be a Temple castaway, would you?"
"Nope." His nonchalant tone and the calmness with which he dodged the huge… whatever Jeg was, confused Racara. He claimed to have never been to the Temple, yet his self-control was astounding. That he was Force-sensitive, she was almost certain.
Within a blink of an eye, the sound of flesh searing was heard, and Jeg was on the floor, howling. Racara deftly deactivated her lightsaber and hooked it back on her belt before Jeg realized she'd helped Keil.
Keil sauntered over to her. "Thanks." He tossed some credits to the proprietor; probably Forn, she guessed, straining her ears for any hints she could gain about her surroundings. "Hey! Quit askin' her how she is an' get th' gal a bite t' eat!" Racara heard his clothes rustle as he shifted to look at her.
She felt herself fading, her mind in a daze. A plate was set in front of her. She tried to pick up her fork, but her arm wouldn't move. "My arm…" she faintly murmured.
Meanwhile, Keil seemed to grow anxious, probably after examining her condition. "Uh, guys?"
"What?"
"Yeah, what?" Needless to say, they didn't appreciate the youngster speaking to them as equals.
"We need t' do somethin', fast! This gal's hurt real bad!"
"Uh, sure."
"Whatever, Keil." Their responses were detached, not really listening to him.
"No, I'm serious!" Keil exclaimed. "Look at her! She's covered in bruises, an' those burns!"
"What about them?" Jeg showed a drunken interest, having just been burned himself.
He lifted the edge of Racara's tunic slightly, to get a good look at her side. "They're like what you have, Jeg, only these are pretty deep! It's as if she fought another Jedi who tried t' kill her!"
Jeg, bombed, didn't respond. "Well," Keil muttered. "I can do somethin'."
He fed Racara, careful not to hurt her. A middle aged pilot jeered, "Ya're sure sweet on that chick, ain't ya, boy?"
Keil shot him a peculiar look. "Not really. She's just a kid."
"So're you!" he crowed.
Keil raised one eyebrow and shook his head. "Whatever." A changeling, himself, he idly wondered how often the girl in front of him used her abilities. He almost laughed, suddenly realizing: Hm. Let's see. She's really badly hurt, so a doctor would probably be th' best idea. Picking her up gingerly, so as to keep her injuries from becoming any worse, he left the bar and took her to the nearest hospital, all the while recalling the pretty credible saying that helping people was a good way to get one's own head cut off…

Many light-years away, a man arrived home, later than usual. His wife was weeping into her pillow. He slid beside her, giving her a small squeeze. "What is it?" he murmured softly.
His wife sniffled. "She's dying, Yak!"
Yak frowned. "Who? Who's dying?"
Mana, her eyes puffy with crying, looked at him mournfully. "Racara confronted Drevon, and she isn't going to make it! She's too weak to heal herself!"
There was a pause. "Mana, can't you… give her strength somehow, to keep her alive?"
Mana stared at him for a long moment, and Yak felt like a fool. After all, he wasn't Force-sensitive. What did he know? Finally, she looked away, her voice hesitant. "I don't know if this will work, but I… I think I'll be sleeping in tomorrow."
Yak sighed. Well, he'd tried to help. "How long?" Mana always knew how long she'd oversleep, and invariably got up the instant she awoke. Yet another evidence of Jedi discipline that they had to keep under wraps so no one would contact the Temple.
Mana fluffed her pillow. "Oh, probably a couple…" she snuggled under the covers, "weeks."
"Weeks??!!" Yak started.
"Um-hm." She gave him one of those smiles he adored, that had made him give her a second glance even when she'd been verboten territory; a Jedi. " 'Night, darling." She closed her eyes, serenely drawing a deep breath. "Tell Ronnie that it's Mommy who's on a trip, now."
Yak nodded, swallowing painfully at this last reminder that in the four years they'd been married, she'd scarcely seen him. " 'Night, beloved." He cast a glance over his shoulder to their shared computer terminal, wondering if she knew of the message he'd received. If she did, which was very likely, that last statement was definitely a hint of what she wanted him to do about it…

Weeks later, Keil and a young Shi'ido were chatting in the recovery room. She'd just gotten out of the bacta tank a few days ago, and seemed to have suffered some mental damage. She could speak and rationalize normally, but much of her memory was missing and she had difficulty with her motor functions. Her five senses seemed to be the only things in perfect working order. He handed her her old utility belt, the only thing she'd had that had been worth salvaging. Her tunic and cloak had been ruined, even their style unrecognizable, slashed in numerous places by some sort of energy weapon. Keil believed it had been a lightsaber, and had told the doctors such. They'd laughed at him.
The redhead's lime eyes narrowed as she carefully examined the belt. "I'm afraid your lightsaber disappeared," he apologized. "Everythin' else is still there, though."
Cocking her head to one side, she looked at him curiously. "My what?"
Keil blinked. "Your lightsaber."
The Shi'ido frowned, having no memory of the item. She shrugged. "Whatever."
Keil had difficulty not goggling at her. A Jedi with no memory of her training? It was unheard of, but here one was, in front of him! He swallowed nervously. "Well?" he prodded
She cocked her head to one side. "Well, what?"
"Do you recognize th' belt?"
She frowned, suspiciously eying the belt. "Should I?"
He nodded. "Yes. It's yours."
The girl nodded once in acknowledgement. "Oh." She placed the utility belt on the side table.
Her lips quirked in the sly manner he was coming to enjoy seeing. Okay, pull yourself together! he sharply rebuked himself. She's what? Half your age? You don't even know her name! He sighed inwardly. Okay, so he wasn't that much older than her; but still, she was just a kid, and he was… well, never mind what he was! His face darkened, his features contorting into a scowl. He'd been on his own for… a long time. If there were any memories of either of his parents, they were buried so deep that he couldn't access them even if he wanted to—which he didn't. Keil moodily twirled a credit chip in his fingers, brooding over all the times he'd been cheated, abused. He didn't let people get away with that, now. His eyes blazed with an inward flame.
The girl gingerly placed her hand over his. Startled, he looked at her questioningly. "You mustn't do that," she whispered softly, her gaze troubled.
Immediately protective, he took her hand in both of his. "I mustn't do what?"
Her eyes bore into his. "Hate," she said simply. "You need to forgive those who have wronged you."
Leaning back, Keil eyed the young Shi'ido before him. "What makes you say that?"
She shivered, as if cold, but Keil sensed it was an inward chill. She tried to meet his gaze a few times, then gave up. "I don't know!" she finally admitted, exasperated. "But something tells me you need to control your anger. I don't know why, but it—it terrifies me, as if something happened to me because of it; something I can't remember." She shook her head. "It's weird."
"I'm sure it is." Keil forced himself to relax, to not become wrathful towards those who'd hurt him; at least while around the Shi'ido. He frowned, hoping it wouldn't take too long for the girl to recover. As yet, no one knew so much as her name. In the meantime, he needed another flying job. He turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" she asked anxiously, and, he thought, a little panicked.
"I've got t' get back t' work. I'll come by again when I have a chance." Keil flashed her a grin. "Don't worry; I'll be back!" He departed, expecting to only be gone a few days…

Yak stared despairingly at his three-year-old son, wondering how he would possibly communicate with him…

Author's Note:
Two chapters…