Mutual Incompatibility
A familiar feeling of weariness and apprehension began to creep over Bastila as she approached the door of her apartment, a cramped, nondescript box tucked away on the 654th floor of one of Coruscant's ubiquitous skyscrapers. It had been a particularly exhausting day – one of the young Padawans she was minding had briefly gone missing, sparking panic throughout the Temple – and the prospect of another evening spent with her Mandalorian husband, one Canderous Ordo, was by no means a cheering one.
Of course, she could hardly claim that she hadn't been warned. She recalled all too well the stunned silence that had greeted her when she had finally announced their engagement, the expressions of stupefied disbelief on the faces of her fellow crewmembers. Carth had actually taken her aside afterwards and gently asked if she were feeling quite all right, and if her brief flirtation with the Dark Side might not have affected her more than she thought. At the time she had found this highly insulting, and had not hesitated to say so – but now, after experiencing the reality of life with Canderous, she could no longer avoid the sneaking suspicion that her friend may have had a point.
Perhaps it would be different today, she told herself, as her fingers mechanically inserted the keycard and punched in the code to open the door. It could be that the impossible had happened and some of her lectures and exhortations had finally sunk in. Maybe she'd find him repairing the holovid set, or cooking dinner, rather than –
– sitting at the kitchen table with his back to her, cleaning his blaster rifle. Her heart plummeted as she spotted the pool of filthy grease which had oozed over the table; it would take hours to clean up, and it wasn't as if she could afford droids on her meagre Jedi salary. And of course, she knew very well by now that there wasn't the slightest chance of getting Canderous to do it himself.
All at once it was more than she could stand. "Canderous," she said sharply. "Canderous, we need to talk."
Her husband, who hadn't even noticed her come in, grunted vaguely and raised his head just a fraction. "Sure, whatever," he mumbled, without looking round, or apparently having heard a word she said.
"Canderous!" The anger in her voice finally penetrated through to him. With a reluctant sigh he laid his rifle down and turned his head to face her, his brow creasing into a deep frown.
"What is it now, Princess?" he demanded, clearly annoyed at having an important task interrupted for so trivial a purpose as a talk with his wife.
He knew how she hated that nickname, and yet he would persist in calling her by it. With an effort, she swallowed down the cutting rebuke which had sprung to her lips. "We need to talk," she repeated. "About our marriage."
"What about it?"
She forced herself to speak calmly. "I don't think it's going very well, do you?"
Canderous groaned. "Look, if this is about the oil stains again – "
"It's not about the oil stains, Canderous," she explained patiently. "It's about everything. Our entire relationship. You know, I'm starting to wonder if it was really a good idea in the first place."
Her husband stared at her, scratching his head with a mixture of irritation and bewilderment. "Why not?"
Bastila felt a pang of exhaustion. Where to begin? "Well, for a start, you're thirty years older than me and come from a background and culture completely opposite to mine."
"So?"
"So?" She threw up her hands in frustration. "We have nothing in common, Canderous. Every time we try to talk about anything, we end up fighting. Can you think of one discussion we've had that hasn't ended up in an argument?"
Now that she came to mention it, he couldn't. "We have no shared interests," she went on. "Our priorities are completely different. We never spend any time together, and whenever we do spend time together, all we ever do is fight!"
"And that's my fault, I suppose?" he said sarcastically. After all, he thought, it wasn't as if he hadn't tried to share his own interests with her. It was hardly his fault that she had absolutely no appreciation of military strategy and didn't know a Mandalorian Heavy Blaster from a Zabrak Tystel Mark III.
"Neither of us is at fault," she countered. "Or perhaps both of us are. But that doesn't change anything, does it?"
He sighed. "OK, so we have nothing in common and we never talk to each other. Any other complaints, your Highness?"
"Yes," she answered shortly. "Your accepting commissions from the Sith, for example. Whatever happened to all those promises about finding a cause to fight for?"
"Don't blame me, sweetheart," he drawled, shrugging. "I went to the Republic and they wouldn't have me."
"Hardly surprising," she said frostily. "Given that you openly admit to having committed numerous war crimes and worked as a hired killer for the Exchange."
Canderous regarded her levelly. "I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not, Princess. If the Republic commanders don't want me, that's their problem." His tone was one of complete indifference. "Until I find something better, I'll work for whoever pays me. I have to eat as well, remember?"
"You could at least avoid the Sith," she almost spat. "For my sake, if nothing else. Is even that too much to ask?"
"Why should I care who controls the galaxy? It's all the same to me, now the clans are gone." The look on Bastila's face convinced him that it would be best not to say any more on this subject. "Anyway," he pointed out quickly, "you helped a Sith yourself just the other day."
"You mean the one we took prisoner? He was injured and begging for mercy, Canderous." She shook her head in disbelief. "I suppose you'd just have put a blaster bolt through his head?"
"Yes, I would," he replied, without the slightest hesitation. Bastila felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. But then again, why in the world had she expected anything else? This man had spend his entire life razing planets to the ground and slaughtering men, women and children alike; it was hardly likely that he would suddenly develop a conscience after forty years of cold-blooded killing.
She must have been mad. Why, why, had she ever even considered marrying a semi-psychopathic Mandalorian mercenary? Had she honestly expected this boorish thug to magically transform into a caring, affectionate husband? She could only conclude that Carth had been entirely right; she must simply have taken leave of her senses.
"Canderous," she said wearily, "may I ask you something?" He shrugged again. "Why exactly did you marry me?"
Oh, for Force's sake, not this touchy-feely stuff again... "Why did you marry me?" he asked, stalling for time.
"To be honest, I have no idea," she replied coldly. "A fit of temporary insanity, perhaps?"
Canderous was tired of this. He stood up, drawing himself up to his full height. "Listen, sister – "
"Don't call me that, Canderous. I'm your wife, not your sister."
He gritted his teeth. "Listen, Bastila. I married you because – " He hesitated. "Well, because..."
Why had he married her, come to that? Not for her personality, that was for sure – from their very first meeting they had got on about as well as a couple of pit rancors in a combat arena. "We have great sex, don't we?" he asked defensively.
"We had sex once, and it was a disaster," she said icily. "Don't you remember?"
Oh, yeah. How could he have forgotten? 'Disaster' hardly began to describe it; the sound of her ear-splitting shriek would remain with him for the rest of his days, as would the stream of expletives which had followed immediately afterwards. He hadn't even realised she knew most of those words - hell, even he didn't recognise all of them.
"Well, I don't see what you're complaining about," he had argued when she finally paused for breath. "You never even told me you were – "
"I'm a Jedi!" she fumed. "What did you expect?" The row had gone on in this manner for some considerable time, and had ended with her threatening to carve him up with her lightsaber if he ever came near her again. And from the look on her face as she said this, he'd got the feeling that she wasn't joking.
He stared at his wife in mounting confusion, gradually realising that he didn't actually have an answer to her question. Whatever had possessed him to get involved with this prissy little Jedi princess? All she ever seemed to do was nag at him and lecture him for failing to live up to her precious Jedi Code. He'd never had any time for her during their mission together, so what in Mandalore's name had prompted him to change his mind – or her to change hers?
Bastila's heart sank as he continued to stand there in uncomfortable silence. She took a step closer to him, looking intently into his face. "Do you love me, Canderous?" she asked, so softly that he could barely hear her.
But she already knew the answer. Even by Mandalorian standards, Canderous lacked humanity; at least Jagi had shown grief over the death of his comrades, whereas he had merely viewed it as a regrettable but necessary inconvenience. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't recall him ever having displayed a trace of empathy, compassion, or consideration for the feelings of another sentient being. The unfortunate but obvious truth stared her in the face: he simply wasn't capable of loving her, or indeed anyone else.
Her husband ran a hand through his steel-grey hair, avoiding her eyes. "Look, Mandalorians don't go in for the hearts-and-flowers stuff," he pointed out at last. "You knew that when you married me. So why did you bother if I'm not the type you want?"
She hung her head. "I don't know," she said miserably. "I don't know. All I know is that this has turned out to be a huge mistake."
"Too right," he muttered. Another long, uncomfortable silence followed, neither of them knowing quite what to say next. "So what do we do now?" asked Canderous eventually.
Bastila pursed her lips. "Well," she said uncertainly, "one rather obvious solution presents itself."
"Not to me, it doesn't."
She heaved a frustrated sigh. "Seven letters, beginning with D," she said wearily. The penny dropped almost immediately.
"You want a divorce?" he asked, with massive relief. "Well, why didn't you just say so?" For a moment he'd been afraid she was going to suggest counselling or something.
Bastila looked at him in surprise. "You don't mind?"
"Nah." He shrugged, thankful to have got out of this so easily. "You're right. This whole thing was a big mistake."
-----
"And you're absolutely certain you want to get divorced?" The solicitor was gazing at the ill-matched pair with undisguised astonishment. "Three weeks of marriage is... not a long time. Are you sure you don't want to try again?"
"It was quite long enough," said Bastila through clenched teeth, and Canderous nodded in wholehearted agreement.
"Very well." He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a couple of datapads. "What reason shall I give as grounds for seeking a divorce?"
Bastila had already thought of this. "Mutual incompatibility," she replied, without a moment's hesitation.
"She means that we can't stand each other," Canderous added drily.
The solicitor nodded and made a few entries into the datapads, before handing one to each of them. "OK. If you'll just fill in these forms and hand them back to me, I'll get proceedings started as soon as possible..."
Once outside the office, the soon-to-be-divorced couple looked at each other awkwardly, both wondering how to proceed. "Well, I guess that's it then," said Canderous at last.
His wife nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is."
"Are we still going to share the apartment together?" he asked gruffly.
"I don't see any reason to, do you?" He shook his head, and she handed him her keycard. "You can stay there, if you want. I'll go back to my old room at the Temple."
"Fine by me."
There was another long silence. As Bastila looked at her husband for what she knew would probably be the last time, it struck her that he really wasn't too bad-looking, in a rather coarse, rugged type of way. It was a shame, in a sense...
She shook herself out of it hastily. If there was one thing that the past three weeks had taught her, it was that no amount of physical attraction could make up for a yawning gulf in attitude and personality. Besides, there were millions of other good-looking men out there – some of whom had presumably heard of the concept of 'foreplay'. If she really needed a man, it could hardly be a great challenge to find someone who was better suited to her than Canderous Ordo.
"Goodbye," she said in as friendly a tone as possible, and held out her hand to Canderous before turning to leave. He watched her go with only the slightest tinge of regret. Sure, she was pretty... but the thought of being stuck with her for the rest of his life with her made his blood run cold. Damn, he'd had a lucky escape there...
He should have known better than to get involved with a girl like that, he thought, as he walked out into the street. Human women were far too high-maintenance, and Jedi worst of all. And he'd never been the marrying type, in any case; romance just wasn't his thing.
His attention was caught by the heavy, rhythmic music booming out from the doorway of a nearby club. He looked into the darkened windows, and a grin slowly spread over his face as he saw the posters displaying pictures of Twi'lek dancing girls – and realised that now, with Bastila gone, there was absolutely nothing to stop him from going in. Now this looked like his kind of place...
THE END