I don't think this is working out very well. The dislike must be mutual. Another week has zoomed by, no exaggeration, and we managed to find reasons to fight over anything and everything. From the way we were going to furnish the apartment – his style is rather Spartan and mine is nonexistent – to whose turn it was to do something – he's better at cooking than I am - to the fact that he keeps leaving his dirty, smelly socks all over the place. I have come to the conclusion that all men are slobs. We bicker like a married couple. Force forbid. He's a good looking slob, but I wouldn't marry him for all the money in the galaxy. It's Imperial money, anyway.
I have come to realize that he has issues. My job interview is tomorrow. I asked him what he was going to do for a living. There's nothing wrong with a little innocent curiosity, right? He just blinked at me said nothing. I then proceeded to very tactfully ask him if he intended to live off me. He simply said no – no explanation, either. He did not seem too thrilled about my questions. In fact, he looked angry – I could see a beautiful vein pulsating in his forehead.
Then he took a breather, offered me a soft-spoken apology and smiled. A bitter, painful, broken smile, the one I loathe to see. It's a rupture in his mask. Sometimes it lets the sadness through. Every time he does that, something tears through me. Something awakens in me. Something gives me that dreadful sinking feeling. I feel ill.
I hate it when he tries to be enigmatic. I know he's not lying because he keeps disappearing without the slightest warning. Sometimes he's gone just a couple of hours; sometimes for most of the day. So, not only does he have issues, but he has a mysterious occupation. I hope that whatever he's doing isn't illegal.
oOo
I came back from my interview exhausted but in a positive mood. As positive as it could get. I am quite certain that I will get the job. I glanced at my wrist chrono; it was 1800 already. Garen was in the kitchen. I could smell the delicious aroma of simmering vegetables and spices. In the short time I'd known him, I had never seen him handle meat. Just like Lani, I realized with a spike of pain. I had once asked her about it and she had looked at me strangely. I kicked off my shoes and went to help him.
We ate supper in the living room. I had almost lit a candle, but had then thought better of it. It was pretty quiet except for some trivial conversation. After we cleared the dishes, I went to brew some tea – one of our shared creature comforts. When I came back into the room, he was on the other side of the room, examining something.
"Who was she?"
For a moment, it was disconcerting that he had employed the past tense. Then rational thought kicked in. Of course, it was the Jedi robes. The holo was fairly recent, taken only a couple of years ago. She was a slender, radiant woman, nowhere near as plain as me. Wavy black hair cascaded down her back, her skin was tanned bronze and her lively brown eyes sparkled brighter than her smile. Just looking at her drew forth another pang.
"Her name was Lani…She was my sister." This rather obvious fact was harder to announce than I thought it would be. My throat was raw. My voice was scratchy.
"She was always a better person than I was. A part of me wanted her dead."
It was awful. There had been times when I had loathed her, when I had almost wished I could see her mauled, fractured corpse. She had been too gentle, too exquisite, too flawless. I hadn't really hated her, but by the time I had figured it out, it had been too late. Too much had been left unsaid.
"Seems familiar…" He said more to himself than anyone else, looking distant.
"Was she dim-witted?"
I could only gape at him. Of all the things he could have said…I could have slapped him if only I had been without self-control. My reply was forceful and indignant.
"No, of course not! She was very bright."
Oh, how ironic it was that I became so fiercely protective of her once she was gone. He gazed at me with smooth, aqueous blue eyes.
"Then I am certain that she knew your true feelings well before you did."
Something about his words seemed to ease my mind…But he doesn't know who I really am.
oOo
Something horrible had happened. Right here, only a few kilometres away. I had been shaken from my thoughts by a deafening, chaotic noise and a flash of eerily bright light. I had flirted with the notion of going to check it out, but thought better of it. Some ten minutes later, I turned on the news.
As I had suspected, a bombing. As it turned out, someone had blown up the better part of the Royal palace and many buildings that surrounded it – thousands dead, thousands more injured. The footage was gruesome. It was rumored that Viceroy Organa had been killed. A terrorist attack, they said – some nutcase using violence to prove their point to the government.
That would have been a plausible explanation if this had not been Alderaan. Though I hadn't lived here for long, I knew such things were far from commonplace – I had come here for the beauty, and peace, and culture…People here did not like war or destruction of any kind. Either something had changed or there was more to it.
What I strongly suspected – and still hoped it wasn't so – was that it had come from an outside source. It was the most logical answer. While inhabited by many pacifists, this place was not exactly loyal and was far from content with the new order as they termed it. There were whispers of a rebellion – still in the planning stages, but a source of hope for my colleagues. Some of them – Conner, for one, he could never keep his mouth shut – said he would work for them once it took off. I admit it would be rewarding to put my skills to a worthy cause, but I don't know if I would want to get involved.
What if they decided that Alderaan was getting too rebellious for their tastes and chose to remind them of who exactly was in charge – what better way than a strike to its very heart? Nonsense, I thought to myself. My imagination was running away with me. It was too soon. There was not a shred of evidence.
Garen had been out when it happened. I don't know where. He never says where he is going. Over twenty-four hours have passed, and he still hasn't come back.
