"Freedom is an elusive concept. Some men hold themselves prisoner even when they have the power to do as they please and go where they choose, while others are free in their hearts, even as shackles restrain them."
— Zensunni Wisdom from the Wandering
Of Relations and Meanderings
Hazed. I might as well have been hazed all my life. It is all I am, at the moment. My thoughts blur together, melding into an unmanageable clump that is at the same time a viscous liquid—I am completely unable to discern one thought from another. My sense of touch is gone awry, it seems. Though my arms, in reality, lie still from shoulder to finger, it feels as if they slowly turn about, twisting and going back again to turn the other way, then sinking beneath the surface of the bed before rising into the air. These sensations do not happen in order, however; they come all at once, overwhelming my confused mind.
I shake my head quickly a few times, trying to clear it, to feel the solidity of the bed beneath me. I wriggle my arms, making them feel what they really are lying on in a proper manner. I remember my legs, and the rest of my body, and I tense and relax all the muscles I have control of, feeling and knowing every component is still here. I am still here, in this concrete world, and that one bit of knowledge must worm its way into the darkened recesses of my mind.
A bitter sensation roils within me, but I recognise it as not my own. Good Friend has suffered a defeat at my hands, as I have returned my senses to here and now.
Where I belong. I brush my senses against that closed wound where the bond between me and my Master was so violently torn away. This present moment is indeed where I need to stay during my waking hours—it is my duty to remain so throughout my life.
Cool fingertips lightly brush across my eyelids. The mild chill sinks underneath, soothing my eyes from their heated rest. I open them slowly, bringing them to focus in the ever-present white light of this room that is both my hospital and my prison.
It is her. The woman slowly paces down the left side of my bed, travelling upon footsteps I cannot hear no matter how I enhance my hearing. She seems to float upon the air, so smoothly she moves. Her dark hair is long and loose, completely obscuring her face from my perspective and falling in lazy curls past her waist. Though black in appearance, a bit of red comes out where the highlights glow. Then the throaty melody reaches me, hovering about the alto range, smooth and rich, and possibly the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. Her long-fingered hand trails along the side of the bed as she sings, her strange guttural words somehow complementing the ethereal notes in a way I'm not sure I wish to think upon for too long.
Somehow her solitary song is backed up by subconscious music, and I know the chords simply by hearing them, a mystery I don't really care to work out as of yet. I run their identities through my thoughts to keep my mind working as my eyes are lulled shut again.
Her voice softens deceptively as she seats herself on the left corner of the foot of my bed—I only know through feeling the bed sink incrementally.
I must stay awake. I must stay alert, and on my guard. But isn't it all right? Perhaps I'm supposed to sleep…perhaps that's why she's here…
No, I mouth. But it seems it's too late as her voice sinks to a near-whisper, winding up the imperceptible fabric of the music she is casting over me.
My eyes snap open and I immediately find myself looking into the dark and turbulent depths of her eyes.
She smiles gently, a mothering expression, and says to me: "You cannot escape it. It is your destiny."
With an effort, I rotate the speaking membrane back into place to reply. "No one can dictate the destiny of another. It's not the way of things."
"That remains to be seen, does it not?"
I pinch my brow, remembering something. "And where is your child now?"
All traces of the kindness upon her face flee as she looks upon me with a blank yet dangerous expression, as if she has no idea what I speak of, but wishes me to drop the subject all the same.
"Where is he?" I repeat.
The fury that gathers in her face is startling. Suddenly the negligible breeze in the room accelerates to a frenetic gale, whipping her hair about her face and her robes about her feet, and I can hardly help flinching as she stands quickly, a conflagration kindling in her eyes, her voice coming to my ears in a superhuman roar, "All is lost! Because of you!" She points a stiffened finger at me, the wind still howling in my ears as I cringe in my restraints, alone and helpless before her maddened wrath.
The squall makes her into a menacing creature, her hair lashing the air about her, her eyes seeming to glow, boring into me. The white light of the room increases to an almost unbearable point, and the dim thought enters my mind: It's too bad the Viceroy isn't here to see this.
Her long pale fingers twine themselves into her hair as she tilts her face upward and wails, "We had the way! We knew what the future would hold! And now it has betrayed us! It has scattered us back into the ashes we once were! How much longer must we wait?! This one ignorant child!" she howls furiously, looking back down at me. Her face has contorted itself into the most fearful expression I believe I will ever behold; I am utterly terrified by the look in her fathomless eyes alone. Her rage has sapped the warmth from the air, and I lie upon the bed shivering, lonely and fearful, reduced to little more than a crècheling before her tempest.
Her feet carry her onto the edge of the bed, and she stands over my feet, looking down upon me balefully. "You… you will see light not much longer, one way or another. Remember this, little one: you are mere clay."
My breath sticks stubbornly somewhere in my throat as she vanishes; the light goes back down to its usual radiance and the gale dwindles down to the insubstantial breeze it had been before her arrival, but the air. The air is still cold. I can see the small condensed cloud of moisture that exits my mouth, puffing out with each breath, though it is reduced from what it might have been had the filter inside my throat been rotated to its ineffective position.
Mere clay? Am I to be shaped, to be fashioned into something else? By whose hands? My mind sticks itself into that resolute stubbornness that has sometimes worked against me, sometimes for me. I don't think so. I won't allow it.
Good Friend's voice chortles within my mind. Oh, no? You are painfully mistaken, daft little Padawan. You underestimate the hold that the dark side can have on a person.
From which you cannot escape, I retort.
Why would I wish that? Everything I desire is here. The same would go for you, if you would but let it.
Why should I trust you? You've tried to kill me. That's not exactly an effective method of turning someone.
And why shouldn't it be? There are no three ways about it; you will turn, or you will die.
I gaze up to the ceiling. So be it.
As always, I have a choice. Either I can become ensnared in the dark path, or forgo these paths at all. Neither of them are particularly welcome to me, but I know which one I will choose, should the time come, and I have little doubt it shall.
Sleep rarely comes easily to one who waits, especially when it is known that at the end of the waiting period will come a time that will determine the rest of one's life—or the lack of it thereupon. My eyes refuse to remain closed for much more than a few minutes at a time, and the muscles within my eyelids jitter incessantly while they are shut. Minutes stretch into hours, hours into seeming years, and sleep does not come. Forgoing all hope of it, I begin to sink into a light meditation with the utmost care, on the alert for any intrusions on the part of Good Friend.
To my relief, he remains silent. I'm very encouraged by this seeming success of mine, but I dare not go any deeper into a more vulnerable place. Either he does not care to trespass at the moment, or he's waiting to ambush me once I've passed the point of no return, in a manner of speaking. I am most assuredly not willing to gamble on the two outcomes, and I settle for an insubstantial trance.
…With the odd sensation that someone is watching me. The feeling grows; I snap out of my meditation, looking about as much of the room as I'm able, and feeling out the rest with the Force.
No one exists beyond me, Good Friend, and the watchful droidekas. I am mystified once again, something that's been happening alarmingly often of late. I try to find any trail that the watcher might be making—and just as soon as I begin to scent one out, it vanishes into the steady patterns of the Force.
What on Kessel? I shake my head once, staring back up to the ceiling.
I thought things had already become inexplicably strange. I know I'm wrong as the bindings that keep me restrained to the bed suddenly release with a loud click and withdraw into their slots, leaving me free to move.
I sit up, startled, and look about. The droidekas do not seem to be alarmed; rather the contrary. They waddle back a few paces, and power down, to my astonishment.
I swing my legs off and stand up cautiously, never taking my eyes off the destroyer droids, never letting my senses vacate the surrounding rooms. It seems this entire section is abandoned by all sentient life forms.
Is this a trap? An experiment to see how far I'll go? My bare feet are pricked by the coldness of the deeply burnished floor. I look down to see my reflection, and I notice the mercenaries must have been none too gentle with me. One of my cheekbones is marked with dark purple, but even more noticeable…
My heart seems to slow to a dead stop, moving forward again with great difficulty as my fingers reach up to brush against the hair behind my ear where my Padawan braid once hung. I can feel the spot where it was shorn off; the base of the braid is still a bit longer than the rest. Why did they take it? As a hostage, I thought every bit of my identity would have been important to their purposes. If I'm not a hostage, what am I? I try to swallow the knot that my throat has worked itself into, and glance at the droidekas. They are every bit as motionless as when last I checked, literally dead to the world, having not budged a millimetre.
I take a long, deep breath. It's plain they want me to explore—and explore is what I'll do. Even if my poking around could provide them with some advantages, I want to know this ship, at least my immediate surroundings, as a mental map would gain me advantages of my own.
The room is still quite cold; I shiver, rubbing my arms. My undertunic really isn't thick at all and provides almost no thermal protection. Having bare feet doesn't exactly help the situation, either, and I can only hope the rest of the ship will be warmer than the medical room. I mince across the floor on silent feet, heading for the door that the Sullustan came through. It's like the other door—bland, rectangular, and white, no panelling or decorative markings of any kind. I hesitantly reach to the panel, and the door comes open with a muted hiss.
The air is warmer outside the room, thankfully; I can feel it drifting in, coming up and over the escaping cold air, leaving my bare feet still freezing but bathing my upper body in warmth. I step outside into the somewhat dim corridor, noting the similarity in design to the Federation blockade ship that my Master and I had first arrived on. It isn't very long, only a few meters, and it ends in a junction with another hall.
I walk to the end, and look each side down the three-way intersection. To the right the lighting is noticeably better, and the hall itself longer.
I turn my head to the left. Nothing there, really, only a few meters of dim corridor with a pair of darkened doors at the end, looking neglected and lonely.
Whatever happens, I know I must see what lies this side of the corridor, or I'll become far too restless for my own good. Even if there's nothing here.
I am only a few steps in when I see a small form at the end of the hall, obscured by the poor lighting. I squint, coming closer to see it better.
It's the baby of my previous visions, wandering about alone and bewildered, looking at one of the doors before gazing up at me pitifully, raising his chubby hands in a wish to be brought up into my arms. Though I try to convince myself he's only an insubstantial vision, I bend down to pick him up, and to my surprise my fingertips brush against the little body of what feels to be a real child—
Get lost, snarls the voice of Good Friend, not aimed at me this time.
The child starts and takes a couple of unsteady steps backward, looking at me in confusion. I try to placate him by kneeling down to his eye level, and holding out my arms to him—
Get lost. There's no room for little babies here.
The child begins to cry, turning away and pacing unsteadily down the hall. I try to catch up, but when I reach down to touch his shoulder in reassurance, he is gone.
I stand up, turning my cold thoughts to Good Friend. What business was it of yours? You had no right to turn him away, vision though he was.
He doesn't reply, but I receive the distinct sensation that he is smirking. Disgusted, I look about at my surroundings, my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.
There are only two doors at this end of the hall, close to the end and on opposite sides, both a matte black and as plain as the one I exited the medical room through. I choose the door that the baby had looked at, perhaps out of instinct, that feeling of simply knowing it's the one I must go through.
That's the moment that Good Friend's smirk vanishes.
The door slides open with no resistance, revealing a room about the same size as the medical chamber, the walls a metallic gray. I step in, looking about—and I freeze at the sight that the far right wall presents to me, lit underneath brilliant white lights.
Old men, women of all ages, and a few children, encased within individual vertical transparent plasteel chambers that seem to be built into the wall, eyes closed, immobile, and silent, all wearing a style of clothing I've come to recognise as a vague standard fashion on Naboo.
My heart leaps to my throat, and I approach the chambers quickly. Dead? I cannot feel anything from them. Oh, the chaos this evidence would create in the Senate, if I could but gather a record of tangible proof and send it back! The Trade Federation would be shut down, and—
Then I see the computer panel on the very end of the row of chambers. I hurry over, wondering if it could offer me any information on the state of these captives, though I have little hope they are still alive. My eyes scan over the numerous screens and mazes of buttons, searching for any kind of indication.
I find one. It is a monitor of life, keeping track of the vital signs of the people. It reads they have been gassed, sent into a safe hibernation. Hope rises in me as I look over the information it provides. Perhaps I could take one of these people with me, find an escape pod or vehicle of some kind, and blast out of here. Taking them all would never work; it would likely mean death for the whole group. But if I could get one, just one to bring along, we might be able to slip through.
I find an indicator of hibernation depth on each of the people, and locate a reading on the person that is least into the deep slumber, thinking they will be the easiest to revive with the least side effects. The reading only offers an identifying number, and as the chambers are not labelled, I have no idea who I am awakening. But all I can do is hope for the best.
I press the button that will rouse the person's consciousness from the hibernation trance, and dial for the opening of that specific chamber. The gasses must have been most effective in rendering them unconscious; I can sense nothing from them. But then, the Force has been feeling somewhat clouded of late, in a strange way I've never felt before.
For about a minute, there is no activity whatsoever. I grow a little nervous, wondering if anything went wrong, and check the computer frequently. It gradually gives a small beep, and I turn back around to the chambers, reaching out with my senses to locate the one that is waking.
A mind stirs near the end of the row; I walk quickly down, hoping to get there before the chamber starts opening, in case the waking form falls out onto the floor. I reach the chamber in plenty of time, though, as about ten seconds pass before the chamber's sealed door pushes out a little, and slides to the side.
She's perhaps as tall as I, or slightly shorter, though it's difficult to tell with her on the raised floor of the chamber. Her dark hair is loose and mostly straight, falling over her shoulders. I guess her to be about twenty years of age, give or take a few.
She stirs, her limp body leaning against the support beginning to posture itself, enough for her to stand free of the support. I reach up to my throat, wanting to be able to speak once she comes around, and hold myself ready to catch her if she falls, as she still seems very unsteady and not nearly fully awake.
"M… Mom?" she croaks, her eyes fluttering halfway open, and her knees buckle. The design of the support makes her topple forwards—I quickly move under her, catching her with the Force to keep the whole of her above the ground, and turn her over, my hands outstretched as I manipulate the eddies of energy, gently bending her into a sitting position and lowering her slowly to the ground, putting a hand to her back as soon as she touches down.
Her mind is filled with confusion, that much I can sense; she tilts her head back to look at me vaguely with a pair of deep brown eyes and asks in a numb-sounding voice, "Wh-where's Mom?"
"Relax," I tell her. "Your mother's safe for the moment." That much is likely. Either her mother's in one of these chambers, or back on Naboo. I find her hand and clasp it in my own for some small measure of reassurance. Physical contact and familiarity are two of the best things for easing a troubled and confused human mind, I know. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi. What's your name?"
She swallows. "Sola. I'm Sola Naberrie. Where am I?"
"In a Federation ship," I tell her quietly. "But don't worry. I'm a friend to Queen Amida—"
She gasps then, and her back goes rigid. "Is she all right? Did anything happen to her? Do you know where she is?"
"Her Highness…" I trail off, troubled. "She's all right, though I believe she's been captured."
Sola clutches my hand tightly, in a painful and surprisingly strong grip. "Oh, Padmé… I was so worried this would happen… she's my little sister," she chokes. "And I'm so afraid they're going to use our parents and me as leverage, for her to sign that…" She clenches her teeth, closing her eyes tightly. "…the treaty…"
"I told the Jedi of Naboo's situation," I say, trying to avoid wincing. Her crushing grip magnified considerably over her last word. "They'll be there shortly, and I don't doubt your sister will be all right."
She lets her head tilt back to look at me again, squinting slightly, and letting her fingers relax, to my relief. "Everything's dark and blurry," she says softly. "I don't feel so good."
"That happens after a while in hibernation. You'll be able to see just fine in a while," I reassure her. "Without the light that's in here, you might have been totally blind for a time."
Sola gives the slightest hint of a smile. "Thank elysium for small favours. But how did you get here?"
I glance back at the door for a moment. "I was also captured by the Federation. But they seem to have released me, to a certain extent. I'm not sure why."
She pauses, for what seems a long while. "Odd," she says finally. "But then, everything has been. I don't know why they came to Naboo in the first place." She shivers. "Are you going to get us out of here?"
"I'm afraid I can only take one," I tell her grimly. "Even two would be too much of a risk while escaping, and I don't know how many one of their escape pods can contain. If we get away successfully, we must somehow get to Coruscant—"
"But I can't leave without Mom," she says, her emotions in an uproar. "She might die here, and wherever Dad is…" She trails off, heaving a stilted sigh.
"Is your mother in this group?"
She nods numbly. "I think so. But I can't see her. I can't see anything properly."
"Do you want me to help and try to clear your vision up sooner?" I ask. "It might take hours on its own."
I get a sceptical look from her. "And how exactly would you do that?"
"I'm a Jedi Padawan," I tell her. "It should be possible for me to speed up the process with the Force."
Sola reaches out with an unsteady hand and grabs the front of my tunic collar tightly, pulling down. "No mind-tricks."
"Of course not," I agree.
She pauses for a moment, then lets go and relaxes. "Okay, I guess. How will you do that?"
"I'll put you into a light trance of sorts. From there, I'll use the same healing techniques I use on myself. It can be a little difficult working it on another, but I've done it before. I think it should take anywhere from twenty minutes to half an hour for a relatively small thing like this." I look around the room in vain for something in the way of soft fabric to put under her head. "You'll have to put your head on the floor, I'm afraid."
She shakes her head, and begins to tug off her overcoat that covers her dress. Both pieces are elaborate but not overly so, simple enough to avoid gaudiness by a wide margin. She struggles with the coat for a moment, and we both seem to realise at the same time that she's sitting on the bottom hem. She pushes herself off the floor a bit and slips it out from underneath her, then balls it into a heap, shoving it at the floor and resting her head on it, then looks up at the general area of my head expectantly.
"It will help me if you clear your mind," I suggest.
She hesitates. I can see her reluctance to allow a complete stranger into her mind, but I sense she has a certain degree of trust in most things Jedi. Hopefully most of Naboo's population shares those sentiments, or it will be a much more difficult job for my Masters to clear up.
"I'm ready," she tells me quietly, and closes her eyes.
Sola has a strong mind, much like her sister. It isn't too difficult for her to push away surface thoughts and focus herself into a quieted presence. She finds a calm centre, despite what she's been put through, what she has seen over the Trade Federation's occupation of Naboo. The ability to lay fears completely aside, even temporarily, is a skill not quickly learned. I almost fall to wondering what the rest of her family might be like when I snap back to my duty here.
Shunting my own thoughts away, I extend my hand, moving it to within one or two centimetres of her forehead, letting it hover there as I gather the Force. She inhales deeply, and I pull her into a trance as the breath comes out, her consciousness leaving with the air from her lungs.
Once I'm satisfied she's in securely enough, I turn my scrutiny to her eyes, moving my hand just a little so to come over her smoothed brow. Her eyes are lazy with inaction and difficult to stir into a better form of action; it takes about as long as I anticipated. The minutes pass by very quickly while I am at work, and I can feel them fleeing, able to keep track of them to an extent, accurately enough for a good estimate. Ten pass by, and another ten; her eyes are nearly worked into a proper state.
Then, suddenly, I know I'm finished, and I pull back my senses, drawing her back to reality as I do so. I sit back, clasping my hands over my knees, waiting for her to come around. It isn't long before she stirs, her eyes opening to bare slits.
"Did you start yet?" she asks fuzzily.
"I'm finished."
Sola rubs her eyes, and opens them as far as she can while they're still unadjusted to the light. She looks at me, and a tentative smile tugs at her lips. "It worked. I can see perfectly."
I do my best to return the smile. "It only served as a catalyst, but it will be much easier for you to see where you're going."
That makes her sober instantly, the slight smile vanishing without a trace, and she sits up to look at the rest of the group still contained within the transparent chambers. "But what about them? Can't you even bring one more?" She twists herself around to face me. "They all have to be in terrible danger. Half of us have close connections with Padmé, and the rest with some other important official on Naboo. If you don't do something…"
"I am doing something, but there's only so much I can do." I raise my eyebrows helplessly. "It's the way things are right now. I told you of the dangers of escaping this ship."
I can see her face fall, but she half-turns back toward the group and points to one of the chambers. "What about Palo? He might be able to help. The rest of the men are old or too young, but…" She trails off desperately. "Why did you pick me, anyway, and not one of the others?"
The comely dark-haired youth she pointed out looks healthy enough, but I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I brought you out of hibernation because you were the one that was the closest to consciousness. We're already wasting time, as it is." I stand up, and offer her my hand. "Please. I doubt you'll be in any more danger than you already are if you come with me."
The look she gives me is tainted with disappointment and dread, but she clasps my hand all the same and allows me to help her up, snatching her overcoat off the floor on the way. Once standing, albeit a little shakily, she shakes the coat out and dons it again, flicking a speck of dust off the front.
"All right," she says. "Let's go for a walk."
All three of us.
I stumble back at Good Friend's voice, gasping at his sudden intrusion.
Sola is at my side instantly, gripping my shoulder firmly but gently. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"I… I'm fine." I straighten up, trying to collect myself.
How long do you think the wench will last? Perhaps an hour, if she's lucky, noting your bad fortune.
No such thing as luck. I notice the alarmed look remaining on her face. "Don't worry about me. We'd best be going."
She tentatively nods once. "After you."
Good Friend's snide laughter fills my mind as I clench my teeth and head for the door. You're not blinding me with your "truths". They're pitiful makeshift sticks, at best. You'd better try coming up with some effective weapons, or I might just be here forever.
Is that a challenge? I grit out at him, coming out into the hall with Sola close behind.
Call it as you will. It doesn't matter—it's not your game.
I inhale deeply, pouring out my anger with the next breath. I can feel Sola's apprehension; I turn to her, stopping for a moment, keeping my voice low. "It's all right—I'm not angry with you. Now, I'm going to have to switch off my voice for silence's sake, so this breathing of mine won't carry down the halls. If I need to speak with you, I'll send you a mental message. All right?"
"I suppose so," she says cautiously, stealing a curious glance at the mechanism within my throat. "I guess that explains what that is."
I smile for a moment, and press the button. The membrane rotates back, and I can breathe silently once more. I nod at her to follow, and we carry on down the hall.
So, where do you think you're headed to now?
Away from you. I wish fervently that were possible. You already know what I want.
So does the hidden planner, as you call him. He's been watching you. I'm not the only one who knows of your wishes.
My mind works away furiously as I hesitate, then turn a corner, trusting the Force to lead me where I need to go, if it is with me today. So he is Force-sensitive, then.
You should have guessed.
Perhaps. I take Sola's hand and quickly pull her into an alcove with me. The same Sullustan that had come to check up on me is passing down the hall, totally absorbed with his datapad. I wait until he has turned the corner, then check both ways, and keep travelling. Of course, how am I to know? You might be playing the whole thing as a trick to keep yourself amused while leading me in circles.
You've got a sharp mind at times, I must admit. But you're wrong about that. He is indeed real, and still waiting.
Somehow, I cannot help a brief grin. He's trying to unnerve me, obviously, but it doesn't seem to be going as well as he'd planned. I am waiting, as well. I want to meet this planner for myself.
I doubt you know what you speak of, little Jedi.
I tire of the conversation, ignoring his voice and pressing on through the hall.
"Could you slow down a little?" Sola's whisper comes to me.
I reduce my pace and throw an apologetic glance over my shoulder. I'd almost forgotten about her. That fact surprises me. Perhaps Good Friend occupies more of my attention than I'd thought. Either that, or my concentration is beginning to slip again.
I grit my teeth, determined to stop focusing on negativity. I must keep my mind on what needs to be accomplished at the moment. All I need to do is access an information centre of some kind, that will allow me to pull up a map of this ship and show me where the docking bays and escape pods are.
There are none.
Ridiculous. Every ship of an adequate size has escape pods of some sort or another. If you're trying to dishearten me, you'd better try another approach.
Sola tugs at my sleeve and whispers, "Jedi Kenobi."
I look over my shoulder to see her pointing at an open door across the hall.
"It looks like a computer station," she adds.
I smile at her, and glance both ways down the corridor before moving into the room, Sola following. It's good to know there are two brains working on this puzzle instead of one; for a fearful former captive, she seems to possess a sharp enough mind, thinking along the same lines as I, and noticing things I might miss over the interruptions of the pestering Zabrak, or even my own thoughts.
We split up inside the empty room, scanning along the rows of computers. I find myself wishing for some sort of droid to be handy that could slice into the information here, but we'll have to make do with what we're offered.
Many of the terminals incessantly scroll off what might as well be gibberish, for all I can see it. The lettering moves so quickly I cannot even tell if it's a language I'm familiar with. I wonder at the point of having a screen when none but droids can read it, and move on to the next terminals.
About three-quarters of the way down the row, I finally reach what looks to be a layout of the ship from the top view, outlined plainly and comprehensively on a much larger two-dimensional screen. Finally, something made for the biological eye. I look across the room to where Sola searches her row, and reach out to her mind. As expected, I find some things are similar to her sister's, and others radically different. Though they are unmistakably quite individual in their own respects, the family link aids me in finding my way to communicate with Sola, more quickly than if she had been an unconnected and complete stranger.
[Sola? Can you hear me?]
She gives a start, looking about her, at all the machinery and then back at me.
I smile tentatively. [Sola?]
"That's you, isn't it?" she whispers.
I nod, hoping the idea doesn't disturb her too much. I hadn't received that impression when I'd mentioned it before, but it never hurts to check again. [Am I coming through clearly?]
Her mouth twitches; I can see she's fascinated with the concept. "Yes, very clearly."
[Good. I believe I've found a map of this ship.]
She hurries around the island row of machinery in the middle of the room to my side, peering at the monitor. "Looks like it. But where would the escape pods be?" she wonders aloud in a voice so quiet it barely reaches my ear unassisted. "I can't see them anywhere."
I can feel the fine hair at the back of my neck prickle, just a bit. [Neither can I. There must be some, somewhere.] I break the connection for a moment, taking a few deep breaths to ease my slightly strained concentration while I look over the diagram again.
"But they always appear on layouts." Sola's brow pinches. "It's as if this ship has none. But that's ridiculous." She pauses, looking at me. "Isn't it?"
I nod, finding the connection again. [That's what I thought.] I sigh lightly. [All right, then—check for a hangar bay of some sort. Perhaps we can commandeer a light craft.]
She stares, and remembers to keep her voice down just in time. "You mean steal one?"
[It's a risk they made when they took prisoners,] I tell her. [Escapes happen. Perhaps not often, but they happen. It's not at all immoral when it's their mistake to begin with.] I imagine I look somewhat mischievous at this point, and try to quench the feeling. I must remain practical, at least, and not overly reckless if this is going to work.
"I guess having a Jedi on board tips the odds a little," she mutters to herself, and jabs one slender finger at a spot on the screen. "What about that?"
I inspect the spot briefly, then allow a hint of a smile to show. [That looks good.]
I think over my rough plan as we carry on through the halls. From the layout, I could see where one of the main breakers for the lighting of the hangar bay is. Once we arrive just outside of the bay, I hope to make off with a small fuse, rendering the interior almost completely black, and from there I should be able to use the Force to feel my way to a ship while guiding Sola along. It's risky enough…but I doubt any ship that would have a complete lack of escape pods would be heavily armed in the least and won't easily be able to pick us off as we escape. It might even be a mere weaponless transport we're on. The idea doesn't exactly make sense, either, but more than the thought of a battleship without pods.
I am still very uneasy as we make our way through the various corridors, especially due to the fact that we encounter no one at all, not even an underfoot mouse droid. Sola seems to notice this as well; I can feel her nervousness behind me, continually blossoming in the back of my mind. I must brush it off and give it no opportunity to distract me. It's no time to be fearful, that I know.
Eventually we do come upon a wide entrance that I recognise as the hangar bay's from the readouts we were able to pull up.
"This is it," whispers Sola. "Should I stick with you?"
I pause for a moment, then nod. [Better that you should be close at hand, in case we're forced to run.]
She nods in assent, and I turn my attention and senses to the covered panel. The metal cover, while tight, is meant to be opened when necessary, and I have little trouble in locating the bolts and quietly popping them with a directed flick of my fingers. I reach out with my hands and gently pull the cover off, putting it down on the floor without so much as a bump while Sola keeps watch. She wouldn't have to, necessarily, but I'm very grateful for the help all the same as I pick through massive tangles and arteries of wiring, switches, and… I find what I'm looking for.
I experience a twinge of dismay when the fuse does not come free. It simply refuses to separate from the wiring, so I take both soldered ends and apply a good amount of strength, snapping it and consequently taking apart the circuit of electricity.
"What if the door doesn't open now?" Sola asks.
I wince inwardly. It's a good question. One that I, unfortunately, did not happen to think of. Hesitantly, I reach out to touch the door panel, hoping it will work, and gesture for Sola to press herself against the wall beside me, out of sight. As she does so, I tap the controls.
To our collective relief, the door does slide open—but the light emanating from within the bay immediately steals it away.
"Why are the lights still on?" Sola whispers worriedly. "I thought you broke the fuse."
[I did. There must be another separate connection.] I don't add, I have a very bad feeling about this.
I press myself against the wall, trying to think, and reach out into the bay, wishing to see what sort of sapients are in there at the moment.
It's a mind so elusive I almost miss it, and I would have if there had been any others in the bay. I frown, attempting to surround the mind, as it were, for a better possibility of scrutiny, but it evades my grasp again. I try to box it in once more, and it slips away.
[There's one in there,] I send to Sola, [but I can't seem to sense it clearly.]
"Only one?" She swallows. "Maybe we should run for it, then."
I grab her arm as she begins to move. [I cannot allow you to do that. I don't know what's in there—]
"Neither do I," she returns quietly in a surprisingly cool voice. "But I'm going."
Exasperated, I resort to using my eyes as I slowly come around the corner, and I freeze at the same time that I hear Sola's gasp.
"Ah, my boy!" says the Senator, smiling broadly and coming around a yacht. "I'm very pleased you were able to make it here on time."