9 THE EPIC: FLASHBACK - FENCING LESSON
"Doum? He's on your side! You're threatening him? And if I refuse?" Cescily almost raised her voice to Vader.
"I'm sure, if we look into your affiliations, we can find additional to persuade you." His deep mechanical tone reverberated, practically echoing off the metal walls of the tiny room aboard the Executor. For a moment, Cescily managed a direct, harsh stare. And in that instant she noticed that among all the precision surrounding the entire operation and Vader himself, his mask was not symmetrical- as though it was hand forged.
A scoff and she turned away bewildered. This was wasn't about her. All that she would undertake, just to save Mag Doum. But his life was real. And for the rest, she had no idea what was really being asked— or what was in store for her.
For two standard months after Arda-2, Cescily remained aboard the Executor for her training to infiltrate the Rebel Alliance. Almost all of it was physical, anticipating the device. However, she was coached to retain high function under extreme stress (which would later come in very handy, when the party went up in flames).
"Does he wear that getup all the time?" she asked Captain Piett. She wondered what went on inside that massive helmet. He would interject unhurried, studied comments. They displayed curiosity and perfect logic, but little emotion (beyond anger).
It was a privilege to even been seen conversing with Vader. Onlookers whispered. There was always tension. Cescily was so pleased she could respond without stuttering- that she could throw an intelligent thought together, and occasionally manage eye contact. If the light catches the shaded lenses a certain way, might she see his eyes within?
He is eons apart from everyone, unreal physical scale and all else. The overwhelming ability. He incited inadequateness or fear in those around, depending on one's sense of competitiveness.
In the gymnasium, she asked about the silver and black cylinder, always hanging from a clip on his belt.
"It is the weapon of a Sith."
'And what 'Sith' did you slay to take possession of it?' she wondered.
He unclipped it to show her. She should have been honored, but she knew not. He ignited the blood red beam, and having nothing convenient to demonstrate, slashed the floor before her feet.
She jumped wide eyed, incredulous of the damage and also at his casualness in inflicting it to his own ship. He tossed her a similar cylinder.
"Practice units- they electrocute, but do not cut." And he brandished one just like it. Little doubt she would encounter fencing, but he wanted to test her spirit. He approached and Cescily backed away a step without realizing. Vader could be standing a perfectly reasonable distance, and it felt like an overwhelming invasion of personal space. If he moved in to close the gap, it was unbearable…
He stood ready. Feet apart. Saber lit and poised. Briefly she considered the sight and for how many souls it had been their very last. She began to apologize for her inability to make a good fight, and he sent the first blow. The sting to her shoulder was incredible.
"I understand," he teased.
The saber swung her way again. She tried to jump back but it made contact. Then she quickly lit her own and took vicious, but unskilled swings at him. He warded them off with ease and laughed.
'He actually laughed at me!'
The swiftness to which he moved his bulk with the weight of the armor, the fluid air dance of the cape, were riveting. With one hand she reached out to try to hold his saber arm away so he could not strike her. The limb was hard and ungiving. It was mechanical. Underneath the barrier, where did the cyborg end and the person start? It was only logical that he must have some reason for wearing a full body suit with life-sustaining electronics. But in one respect he was like everyone else hiding their wounded insides. For some it was spice, or fighting a war. For him it was dark leather and metal.
It was the wrong strategy. She should be using her weapon to push him away. He swatted her off with ease. Cescily was angry at him for the unfair blows he knew she could not fend off. She was angry at him for making them fight. She was angry at him not speaking to her like a real person, and she was angry at him for having no apparent weakness.
At last he saw that she was exhausted and bruised and he stopped. "You'll feel better tomorrow, Eva."
Then he began to demonstrate the technique. He patiently walked her through defense positions and later moved on to offense. He showed her the patterns then had her repeat them again and again, letting every blow meet his body. He was inhuman.
And for her cooperation, Doum was alive and sitting behind a desk on Kalist VI- somehow always managing to be assigned the most perilous or unpleasant Imperial bases. For how many rebel, and otherwise lives lost? She should have known, but she focused on saving the one life meaningful to her. And then something had changed- instead of being a reason, it had become an excuse to fulfill Vader's will. She had tried to be a good person. She just wasn't.