Findings Log — 11247
Andara
Dr Mary Au'Rona
The moment I got the cradle for the Great Holocron back on board the Converso, Artie installed it in the holding bay for an extensive battery of tests.
I was a wreck, and spent that whole day locked in my quarters crying into my bedding. The next day I showered, ate, and then set to work. I put thoughts of Lor San Tekka as far from my mind as I could manage. Artie never pressed me about my absence; he was good like that.
It was pretty clear within the first rounds of mock ups that the Jedi contraption would be a source of just as many questions as answers. I obsessed over squeezing every drop of value out of the relic like a sponge, and I think Artie did too. It was science and research, professional and methodic: I lived for this stuff.
Artie and I broke down the tech to find that the cradle was more than an empty storage case. Legend says the Jedi used the Force to access the archives within a holocron. But the longer we worked with this unit, the less we believed it to be that simple. The housing unit for the Great Holocron acted like the last few teeth of a vastly intricate key which, when triggered properly, unlocked it for output and input.
Not much to go on at first, but it was more than enough for Artie.
He took the lead for those few weeks of drifting through the space above Coruscant. Time passes so differently in the void that it is hard to measure it by anything but necessities: bathroom breaks, meals, sleep cycles, upkeep of hygiene and the like. The cycle never ended. Working was all my brain could do to stay sane.
Any time I was not at the console, or sleeping, I was thinking about our next move. I could go back to Marleyvane; I knew Artie would be happy for the trip home, but a nagging feeling kept me wary of that idea. This cradle was a start, but I needed something more tangible before I would risk the judgmental eyes of the scholarly world.
And there was more: What if donors got word of my intentions and it spooked them? AJ's hesitation left me apprehensive of others.
Artie, however, took to the work like a Terregian frog in a rain puddle. Give the old tin-can a terminal and some time, then watch him turn data into poetry. It was almost artistic. By the end of the first month with the Cradle in his capable care, he had its systems fully mapped out.
His next move was programming a digital representation of the housing unit and a manipulable holocron to test theoretical interactions between the two. It was purely hypothetical, but gave us a baseline to work from. All the while he reminded me that we would never get anywhere without a real live holocron.
He was right, and it took me a while to think of it, but AJ gave me more than just a trinket from Jedi history. He reminded me of something I knew that no one else in the galaxy did: I knew where Lor San Tekka came from.
Artie was quite dismissive when I told him we needed to go back to my homeworld on a hunch. "What's a hunch?" he beeped at me, begrudgingly transmitting hyperspace coordinates to the Converso.
"It's like knowing a result without being able to show the math," I said. Artie just beeped back something discourteous about logic and the contents of a human head. I stood to leave the cockpit. "Just let me know when we are entering atmosphere."
Artie whooped at me a few hours later and I made my way into the conn just as we dropped out of hyperspace.
"That's Andara," I said. "That's home. I think this will be worth it, buddy. If we can only get Mum on our side, that is."
Artie beeped inquisitively and handled the flying in atmosphere. A fluffy white raincloud rolled past us. Artie carefully vectored around the heaviest parts of weather and lowered power to avoid overheating in the dense atmosphere. Once the peninsula was in sight, I took over and coaxed the Converso into a dune-top landing.
As the ship touched down, Artie intoned: "Why don't we just fly to Lor San Tekka's home?"
"There's no safe landing on that tiny island," I said as I recovered my datapad from its charging station. "I don't know what we're looking for, either. We will need my mother's help." I didn't want Artie to know how I felt about that prospect.
The gangplank lowered till it was buried in the sand. Artie and I descended and reached the bottom in time to see my mother come running up the hill. "Bubby!" Mum said and squeezed me with her spindly arms as soon as I was in reach, "I can't believe you're really here. My big girl, what a delight it is to see you. Are you eating and exercising enough? You look thin. Are you hungry? Are you getting enough rest?"
"I'm fine, Mum," I pushed her groping hands off of my cheeks and blouse, "this is R3-J9. You can call him Artie."
"Pleasure to meet you," she curtsied to him, and I covered my eyes as she continued. "We don't get a lot of astromechs here on Andara. Something about the humidity, I hear. But there are droids in town. Have you ever heard of the B-1 battle droid?"
Artie, who fought many battle droids in the Clone Wars, whirled his head around excitedly, beeping and chittering with my mother as she led us into the house. He would tell her something, wait for her to read his display, then laugh along once she finished. It was cute, for about ten seconds.
"How long till the rains start?" I tried to interrupt their bonding time, but it was no use. Mum and Artie went inside and I took a moment to myself. The mustard yellow home was built upon half a dozen clay stilts that gradually accumulated sand over many decades. Rolling dunes sprayed tiny clouds into the wind, patches of flax and marram swayed, but the old house remained stoic.
A rumbling in the far distance sought to chase me inside, but I waited. I was a different person, but this place was not. It hadn't changed a bit, except that it looked smaller than before. A part of me knew that it would always be home; a better part knew I could never live this life ever again.
It had been nearly ten years since a young, inquisitive Mary last crossed that threshold. Another roll of thunder reached for me from the gray horizon. I let out a big breath, then went home. I entered just in time to hear Artie finish telling an old war story about Ewoks playing drums on stormtrooper helmets. "R3, that's enough of that," I scolded from the foyer. "You too, Mum. You both should be ashamed of yourselves."
Mum was confused by my response until she read Artie's story for herself and nearly peed herself laughing. Artie chuckled, and then unrolled a series of cuss words which implied I wouldn't be fun at a party. He kept that specific transcript secret from Mum, but I flipped him the bird anyway.
She said she would make some tea, and Artie followed her. I stood in the entranceway and watched them go. The interior of the house felt just as similar yet shrunken as the exterior. It didn't help that Mum was a pack rat. Every surface was covered with memories or trinkets; walls, floors, shelves and ledges—everywhere a nick-knack. It was too much for any one house, but Mum was happiest amongst the clutter of memories.
I heard a snorting chortle erupt from my mother in the kitchen. Artie joined in and I rolled my eyes, then made a b-line for my old room. I got inside, slammed the door shut behind me, and leapt on my bed. It caught my weight with a creaking thunk, and shuddered beneath me. Even the bed looked smaller than I remembered.
A flush of heat rose into my cheeks as I thought about just how foolish I was being. Coming back home was a mistake, I thought to myself and buried my head in my hands.
"You okay in there?" Mum's banged on the door and made me jump.
"Gracious, Mum!" I said at the fright. An odd sound under the bed caught my attention. It was as though something had fallen free from the underside of the mattress. I scrambled off, down onto my hands and knees, and found a little wooden box lying on the floor. "What is this?"
"It's nothing, Bubby." Mum was standing in the door and her eyes told me more than her lips could. "It's not yours, give it to me."
"This is my room, Mum."
"Since when?" She looked like she wanted to snatch it from my hands. Good, I thought, got you now.
"I can't believe you would say that to your own daughter," I said.
She stopped me before I could overplay my hand. Folded her arms and leaned on one leg. "What do you want?"
"I'm going to Pop's island," I said and shook the little box next to my ear. It sounded like something metal was rattling inside. "I'm here to find answers about the Church. Please don't try to stop me."
Mum didn't say another word to me the rest of the afternoon. We set up the pontoon boat and hurried across the bay to beat the bad weather. The winds were hard and Artie got nervous about the distant lightning, but I assured him that was just what hurricane season looks like on Andara. He got chatty when he was nervous, and Mum was more than willing to read his ranting beeps and moaning whistles.
"Lightning is to a droid as radiation is to you biologicals," I think I heard him say at one point. Sounded like a stretch to me but I was not about to engage either of them.
The voyage across the bay felt very quick, probably because I was so distracted by conflicting emotions and thoughts. Going back to Pop's old home was one of the last things I ever wanted to do: behind maybe Rancor orthodontics or nursing a baby Hutt. But I had a feeling in my gut, one that grew stronger when I found the little wooden box, that we were headed toward as many answers as questions.
Science is the pursuit; that's what this was all about. I had to believe that.
Pop's island was an overgrown, unkempt jungle of bushy fruit trees and bowing palms. We beached and tied off the pontoon, then climbed through reeds and over rocks until Lor San Tekka's lonely shack came into view. The gray sunlight was dipping low through the cloud cover, but showed enough to guide us safely up to the door.
Artie beeped something about odd radiation readings that were non-harmful but still a cause for concern. I thought I could feel what he meant, but I did not say anything. Mum was reluctant but unlocked the cabin then turned around and sat down on a mossy rock. She looked planted there and I was fine with that.
Artie was right; there was a radiating energy, much like an ambient space-heater, emanating from somewhere within the house. I shouldered the door open slowly. It was heavy and stuck at first, but I managed.
"Artie, scan for anything and everything." He whirred and beeped and flashed his headlamp around the dank, dark hovel. I in turn used my datapad as a glowing rectangle of white-light and it filled the space instantly. "That's better," I said and walked to the center of the hut.
The whole house was barely larger than my bedroom, but covered with just as much clutter as Mum's. It was claustrophobic and dusty; like a long-abandoned, tacky shop full of things noone would ever want to buy. I lifted a bolt of cloth from a stool and found the letters "C-O-T-F" sewn into it. "I'm keeping this," I said to myself and began to fold it.
"It's not yours!" Mum yelled and startled me. She was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and eyes wide and wet. "Your Pop kept his secrets for a reason, you know?"
"You've been an invaluable help, Mum." I don't know why, but I tossed the little blanket back on the chair and turned away.
"Why do you want to go digging through the past?" she said, unmoving. "You've never believed in the Church before. Don't tell me you found faith at that science school?"
I pulled the little wooden box out of my pocket and shook it again in my hands. Mum went silent and looked away. "Was Pop hiding something here? Is that what this is for?"
"Don't," was all she could say.
Artie whooped and beeped, then cast his lamplight directly on a set of floorboards in the north-east corner. I ran over and traced my fingers along some discolored wood planks with an odd accumulation of black dust in their cracks.
"There's air coming through here," I looked back at the doorway, but Mum was still averting her eyes. "It's hot, too. Artie, get in there."
A couple of his modular compartments burst open to produce a saw and a clamping arm which he immediately set to work. As he sawed into the floorboards, I walked over to the doorframe that kept my mother on her feet.
Her eyes lifted only high enough to track the little wooden box in my hands. I wanted to hug her, and I wanted to throw her out. Instead, I smashed the container against the wall. Mum yelped as it splintered and a metal key spilled out onto the floor.
I picked it up and slowly turned it over in my hands. It was heavy for how small it was and made of tarnished steel or perhaps silver. It was the shape of an ancient analog key, but it had four sets of teeth in 90 degree intervals around the finger, to form the shape of an "x".
I looked inquisitively into my mother's eyes, but she would not face me. Fear was shaking through her and for an instant, I felt it too. Artie beeped and whined and I knew he had found what we came for. With the metal key in hand, I went over to the fresh hole in the floor and began to dig through the black, ashen sand.
It was anxious exciting work. Soon my hand struck something hard and hot. "Yow!" I cried, wrenching my hand free and sucking on the burnt fingertips. Artie chortled and then used his winch to dislodge a black-iron safe from beneath the sandy foundation. Thin lines of smoke rose from the corners of the box and bore only one small, x-shaped hole in the breast of one its side.
Artie and I looked at each other, then the key in my hand, then back at each other. "You want to do it?" I asked him. He pretended to power down. "Thanks, coward."
I reached out and placed the four-sided key into the hole and it clicked flush. Artie suddenly lit back up and whistled at the satisfying sound. The key twisted slowly, and I could feel invisible gears turning as it spun on its axis. Then finally the lock sounded a loud thunk, followed by a hiss like that of an airlock, and a hinge creaked open.
Slowly, I pulled the key like a handle of a door, while Artie let out the equivalent of an "oooOOooo" sound.
The door swung around like a safe, then the roof and walls folded backward and left only its contents on a raised metal platform. My jaw dropped as I beheld three octahedrons of black stone that glowed an ominous, lava red. They looked like a set, but had different runes and images carved into their sides.
Captivated, I reached out to try and touch one, but the radiating heat was too much for me to risk it. Artie beeped disapprovingly, nearly bowled me over to keep me from hurting myself. His mechanical arms picked the relics up one at a time and placed them safely within one of his compartments. As soon as they were out of sight, I realized I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of them.
I looked back and saw my mother was sobbing and clutching the pendant around her neck. I was doing the same thing, unconsciously groping the leather cord and worn gem that hung down to my breast. My mother and I just stood there, unsure what to do or say next. Artie rolled past us and made for the boat.
"He was a good man, your Pop," Mum finally said, crying again as she desperately tried to explain something she did not need to. "He loved the Force and the Jedi and everyone in the whole galaxy. You'd never meet anyone he's done harm to. Just because he kept some terrible secrets, didn't mean he was a bad man."
"Do you know what those are?"
"Artifacts," Mum said, "from the Dark Side." She turned to walk down the hill to the beach. I closed the shack behind me and followed her. "He was only keeping them to make sure they could never hurt anyone. I'm sure of it. Don't you let those liberal science teachers tell you otherwise. Lor San Tekka was a good man."
"He was the best man, Mum," I said, and fought down a very hard gulp. I could not cry, not today, not in front of her.
When Artie and I got back to the Converso, he immediately went into the hold and began fashioning a housing unit for the trio of artifacts, while I prepped for takeoff.
"You can't stay the night?" Mum asked from the bottom of the gangplank.
"If I stay the night we'll get caught in the storm."
"So stay two nights," she said as she kicked a rock in the sand before her feet.
"I love you, Mum. I hope you know that nothing will change that."
"I do, Bubby. Here," she said and took off her necklace and held it out to me. I descended the platform slowly and reached out to take it. Before I could reach it she dropped it onto the metal ramp, then stomped on the large, green pendant.
"Mum!" I exclaimed. She stooped to retrieve the leather necklace and lifted it into my hand. Instead of a broken crystal between the leather braid, there was a Zaetech dual-selenium core datachip dangling in its place. It was old tech, far older than Lor San Tekka's time, and made of such quality that it looked strong enough to survive a black hole.
I leapt into my Mum's arms and kissed both of her cheeks, then stormed up the ramp and closed the ship up tight. I slung my mother's (grandfathers?) old datachip over my head and wiped away tears as I sat in the cockpit. We made it into atmosphere before I started bawling. The thought that I really had to stop leaving planets this way crossed my mind, and made me feel silly.
"Ugh—" I exclaimed aloud to Artie and the rest of the universe, "I hate homecomings."
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