Chapter 24: Introspection
Marina woke up restless. Atris had been 'considering' what to do with her for the past two days. During that time she'd slept a lot, eaten well, and rested to her heart's content, and for the first time in a long time, she felt fully recovered. That was great, but she'd also been running and fighting for her life non-stop, and the transition to total inactivity was really starting to grate on her nerves. Add to that that she was growing more and more certain that no matter what she did, she wasn't going to get out of this mess without a lot more running and fighting, and she was itching to train, to prepare, to do something other than sit there waiting for it all to finally crash down on top of her.
And so, in desperation, she called out to her Echani guard. The woman hadn't volunteered a name, assuming Marina could tell them apart in the first place, but she was fairly confident they rotated guard duty, because this one was in her mid-20's. "Hey, I'm going crazy in here, is there anything I can do? You Echani are big on combat, right? How about a sparring match?"
The Echani looked up from her position in front of the door, considered her for a long moment, then nodded. "I would welcome the chance to instruct you. I have been anxious to teach you many principles of combat ever since you invaded this place."
Marina blinked. Passive aggressive much? And if by 'invaded' she meant 'got shot out of the sky and held captive,' then sure, she'd 'invaded' this place. But the Echani had opened the door and was leading the way out; that was worth ignoring a little attitude for.
"Follow me to our place of training, and we shall see if you have the endurance to learn the most basic of our teachings." She stepped into a large room, and Marina followed inside. The place was set up like a gym, with a large sparring ring, workout equipment, even some free weights. It wasn't particularly professional, mostly cobbled together bits and pieces, but considering how isolated they were, it was an impressive setup. At the center of the room, two of the Echani were sparring, their fists and feet a blur of action, and abruptly Marina was reconsidering the wisdom of her request. Oh, and she'd almost missed the youngest sister way off in the corner doing pushups. The Echani looked up, and Marina couldn't help but notice that she looked . . . difference from her sisters. Well . . . that could be awkward. But before she could consider it, her attention was drawn back to her guard.
"Before we begin, are you familiar with Echani traditions?"
"Somewhat. It's been a long time though."
The handmaiden nodded. "Then I shall explain. Combat, for the Echani, is a mode of expression, of communication. To fight while armored is like speaking with your eyes closed; much of the communication is lost. We shall provide you with protective sparring clothing to prevent unnecessary injury. The match will end when you cannot continue, yield, or have been forced off of the training mat."
Marina was definitely starting to have second thoughts about this, especially without knowing what they considered to be a "necessary" injury, but to back out now would be to lose what little respect she might have from these people. That, and the thought of going mad in her room was very slightly less appealing than getting beat up by some Echani.
The Handmaiden provided the white (what a surprise) sparring gear that was a little worryingly light, but she didn't offer to let her change in any private spot, presumably so she couldn't stage a secret getaway attempt to run mostly naked through a meter of solid snow across an entire continent, so she changed very self-consciously right there. The Handmaidens ignored her completely, and her guard had made no move to change into her own gear. Either she was incredibly overconfident, or more likely, their athletic day wear was already sufficiently protected.
"Are you prepared? Do you understand the rules, or shall I repeat them for you?"
Marina hid a flash of irritation. Odds were that this was a cultural formalism thing, not a calculated slight. Probably. "Yeah—stay on the mat, no armor, and no killing each other."
The Handmaiden nodded. "this fight will be with hands and feet only. No stimulants, shields, weapons, or other forms of assistance. Also, do not call upon any Jedi techniques during our contest. If you do, the battle will be over. In turn, I will not use our higher forms, for this is only an opening battle between us, a test of each other's strength."
Marina blinked. It hadn't even occurred to her to use 'Jedi techniques.' On the other hand, if she seriously meant 'don't use the Force' then she didn't get how the Force worked. But not using any specific techniques . . . she couldn't exactly reliably do any of them even if she wanted to, but if they'd give her a handicap in return for it, hey, all the better.
"I understand and accept your terms."
"Then we proceed to the battle."
They each stepped onto the mat as the other sisters yielded it, and the Handmaiden slipped into a well-practiced stance. Marina, too, assumed the self-defense posture that Rev— that she'd been required to take upon entering the war. It had been fairly basic, but she'd brushed up on it a little bit over the years since wandering around the outer rim. Looking over at the Handmaiden, however, she was abruptly quite certain that 'brushing up' wasn't even close to good enough.
Outside the makeshift ring, the other two sisters stuck around to watch, faces impassive. Even the little sister paused her workout routine to watch.
Can't win a long fight, commit to all-out attack, catch off-guard with speed, target neck, eyes, spine . . . No! this isn't a real fight, it's a sparring match. Don't be stupid, Marina. She took another breath and started forward hesitantly, sorting through vague recollections about Echani fighting styles.
There were virtually unlimited styles of martial arts across the astounding number of worlds and species in the galaxy, but every last one of them fell into one of two categories. They were either meant to demonstrate skill and learning, or they were meant to harm or kill as quickly and efficiently as possible. The Echani rather clearly practiced the former, while the Republic military was definitely the latter, for obvious reasons.
The problem was, they didn't mix very well. Skill-based styles had rules, either self-imposed, such as striving not to harm the opponent, or external, for sport variations. You demonstrated mastery and self-control and progressed to more advanced tiers over time, learning more advanced techniques. They also tended to focus on pins and limb control.
Violence-based styles were the polar opposite. There were no rules, and the goal was to survive. There were usually no tiers, no real sense of progression-the move sets were designed to be as simple and brutally effective as possible, aggressively moving to hurt them before they could hurt you. They focused more on strikes targeting vulnerabilities eyes, the neck, solar plexus, and their species equivalents.
Marina might, possibly, be able to take down this Handmaiden, but it was very doubtful she could compete with her. And why was all this occurring to her only now? Yeah, she was antsy, a bad mix of anxious and . . . and overwhelmed with energy from the Force, but that was no excuse to be impulsive and stupid.
Too late now.
The Handmaiden, tired of waiting, moved in. True to her word, she kept her attacks slow and very simple. Marina blocked the first kick awkwardly and stepped back from a jab. She was slow, already at risk of being driven out of the ring, and wide open to attack, but bizarrely, her opponent didn't press the advantage, instead letting her rest herself.
The Handmaiden wasn't trying ot win.
That's when it finally clicked in her head. They'd been using the same words, but they hadn't meant the same thing. This wasn't a fight, or even what she would call a sparring match, a mock fight—this was a game. Marina started to relax a little, her motions becoming smoother, easier. She offered a little counterattack of her own, easily thwarted, and the game was on.
The pace gradually picked up as Marina grew more comfortable, strikes to blocks to counter-strikes to grabs to throws to strikes all over again. In fact, it was kind of fun.
But as the seconds stretched to minutes she started sucking air and sweating an unflattering amount. Ugh. She'd forgotten just how big a gap there was between civilian in-shape and combat in-shape. But her defense hadn't faltered yet, and she couldn't help but grin as the Handmaiden looked almost flustered leaning out of a strike on zone two—
Marina froze, locked up completely, and took the Handmaiden's left-handed counter-jab right on the chin. She staggered back, dazed, but the Handmaiden made no move to pursue.
"Enough. There is more to you than I had expected, Exile."
Marina rubbed her jaw, only half listening. She'd been fighting using strike zones, even widening her stance, without conscious thought, not until right at the end had she realized . . . Damn but she should have thought this through first. She hadn't had a 'pretend' fight in a very long time. Was it any surprise, really, that she would revert to her training all the way back then, to start using the basic Jedi training form of Shii-Cho?
"Yeah, well, there's a lot less to me than I expected, so maybe it balances out."
The Handmaiden blinked, caught more off-guard by the comment than anything she'd thrown at the woman in the fight. She didn't even look tired!
"I do not follow. Are you challenging my reading of you from our battle?"
Marina looked around until she found an unused towel and plopped down on a bench to mop off her face. "Not really. I guess I just don't think there is much there to read. I'm just . . . me. I have an unhappy past and I run from it. End of story."
The Handmaiden considered her. "that is . . . not what I saw."
Marina rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine. How's this for some reading then—you're obviously dying to tell me about it, but you hesitate because it's supposedly so personal, so you're awkwardly trying to get me to as you about it first. Fine." She put up her hands in a mock defensive posture. "Give me your best shot, anonymous Handmaiden number four."
The woman's eyes narrowed marginally at the mocking air. "As you wish . . . and as you say, I do wish to explain, and to warn you. You are the most . . . unusual person I have ever read. At first you were empty, an instructor's lesson in practice, a reflection of nothing. Some strive for that, and it reveals much of their character, but you did not strive for emptiness, did not seek it. Instead, you took refuge there. Only slowly and carefully was I able to coax you out. And there, hidden beneath the hollow shell, was a soul starving for connection, for an anchor point. And yet, you fear it, have conditioned yourself to shut down, mind and body at the first hint of connection."
Marina just stared at her, shaken. "That's . . . that's not . . . I was just surprised I still remembered some old training is all."
The Handmaiden shook her head. "It is not the training, the lightsaber form you began to use, that you fear—it is the connection to the Jedi it brings back to you that frightens you. You say that you are running from your past, which is true, but there is more . . . It is difficult to describe in words. It is as if you stood at the summit of your mind, in the small space that is conscious thought. You stand guard at the gateway, on endless vigil against the slightest hint of reminder, of connection, from your memory, your subconscious, and from the universe. You are not running from your past—you are a fortress under siege, unable to cope with it, and thus every waking moment is dominated by it."
Marina stared slack-jawed at the damning portrait of herself that was far more accurate than she'd ever permitted herself to see. "I . . . but . . . how could you possibly . . ."
The Handmaiden hesitated once more, biting her lip in indecision. "I . . . forgive me, it is far too personal, but . . . what happened to you? I have never seen someone in such pain."
For a split second the damn cracked and she was back there, drowning in an ocean of agony while ten thousand voices screamed in pain and rage and fear and—
She slammed it shut once more with a choked off, single half-gasp, half-sob.
"Sister," snapped an authoritative voice, the oldest Handmaiden, "you forget yourself. My apologies, Exile. As a sign of penitence, you shall be guarded by the least of us until youi are summoned once more by our mistress. I understand she intends to speak to you in the morning."
Marina just nodded, numb in the echo of that emotional whiplash, and silently walked towards the showers. She did not see the eyes of each Handmaiden on her as she went.
By midafternoon Marina was . . . well, not bored, not after all the . . . excitement, but in need of a distraction from her thoughts which kept going back to dangerous places. Stars, she could still hear the woman's words.
"So, do you have a name, or do you all just go by 'Handmaiden?'"
Her guard, the youngest and only distinguishable sister, met her gaze coolly. "Handmaiden will suffice, for it is what I am. And you, you are the Exile, the one Atris warned us about."
Marina sighed, maybe a little dramatically, and lounged carelessly across her bed. "Me? She thinks I'm the dangerous one?" Marina lesson learned, considered carefully before asking what Atris had said. But it was Atris—it would almost certainly be wrong and annoy her, and she could use something she could safely resent. "Alright, shoot: what does Atris say about me?"
"She said . . . that you betrayed the Jedi by going to war when it was forbidden to you. You turned on you r masters, your teachings, and yourself."
Marina clammed up, bristling, but she didn't freeze up again. Lesson very much not learned, apparently. But seriously, what kind of 'warning' was that? She'd expected stupid and thoughtless and self-centered, not her personal history! And it wasn't even right, to boot!
"She's . . . exaggerating," Marina forced out past not-quite-clenched teeth, hoping the woman would let it go.
"That is not all she says. She says you know nothing of loyalty to any cause except your own, animal instinct. And she told us why you fell to the Dark Side."
Marina started to relax again. There, that was more in line with what she'd been hoping for. Stars Atris was an idiot.
The young Handmaiden watched her reactions with a hint of confusion.
"Oh, I fell to the Dark Side? Well that's good to know. So . . . when did that happen?"
The Handmaiden was clearly thrown off by her reaction and spoke slowly, as if feeling out a trap. "Atris says that you fell to the Dark Side in the Mandalorian Wars when you gave in to your lust for battle. Once you tasted war, you could not give it up."
"I see . . . so, I was so desperate to fight I ran away from my duties and fell to the Dark Side . . . and then stopped fighting for no reason, returned to the Jedi Counsel whose main job it is to stope the Dark Side and they decided the best course was to set me loose on the galaxy and pretend I never existed. And then, of course, the Sith were so jealous of my powers they decided to hunt me down and assassinate me. Do I have that right? Sometimes the details get fuzzy."
Okay, so maybe she was still a little shaken.
"I . . . believe that is the extent of her expressed thoughts for you. There are variations at times, but all arise from the same foundation."
Marina blinked. Her 'expressed' feelings? On the other hand, she'd just had a rather pointed demonstration in how effective the Echani readings could be. "What do you think her true feelings are then?"
The Handmaiden backpedaled immediately. "That is very personal information, and even so, I could not say without having seen you and Mistress Atris fight."
Marina sighed. "Well then, I'll have to settle for her wildly inaccurate and laughably inconsistent opinion of me then."
The Handmaiden pursed her lips for a moment, but did not speak, and Marina settled in for the evening. She didn't know what Atris intended to do with her in the morning, but if she was that upset and illogical when Marina wasn't around, well, then she wanted to be as well-rested for tomorrow as she could be, prepared for whatever might happen.
"After lengthy meditation, I have determined how to best make use of you."
Marina bristled at that, but managed to keep it from showing. That didn't sound like she was going to be summarily executed, so that was a good start. And if Atris was willing to let her walk away, even knowing about her little hidey-hole here, then letting the woman work her over for a bit was a small price to pay. And besides, Atris had three of her Echani backing her up.
"you cannot remain here. So long as you and your companions remain, you risk drawing the carrion feeders, bounty hunters, and criminals here, and I cannot permit that."
Marina crossed her arms. "So you're staking me out. Again."
Atris' eyes narrowed marginally, but she had herself well under control this time. "You are to seek out other former Jedi. In the face of open Sith action, even they will be moved to act. Find them and gather them on Dantooine. Once you have gathered all you can find, I will meet you there with further instructions."
Marina unclenched her jaw and forced herself to match Atris' flat intonation. "If that is what I must do, then so be it. I will leave immediately." Without further ad so turned and walked off from their meeting point on the bridge. The Handmaidens looked highly affronted at the lack of proper respect, but it didn't stop the youngest from tagging along behind to keep an eye on her.
Once they were out of earshot, Marina turned to ask for directions. "Alright, we have permission to leave. Now, where can I find the others?"
The Handmaiden nodded, face inscrutable. "You will find them in the main irrigation channel room, in the northern part of the plateau interior. The particle emitters there that once governed the flow of water on Telos can double as force cages."
"You kept them in force cages? For days?!"
They were caged for their safety, until we could determine your intent. Atris cautioned us against your tactics, fearing that your allies would create a distraction. Your companions gave us little trouble, however. The human male could have presented some challenge, if he had resisted, but he chose not to. Once you spoke with Mistress Atris and did not attempt to fight or flee, they were transferred to adjoining rooms."
Marin paused. "Wait, what? Atton could have given you problems?"
The Handmaiden nodded once more. "He has had sufficient Echani training to be entrusted with our battle form. It is not as . . . communicative as the higher forms, but it s more . . . effective."
How have I never heard about this? "Uh, where would he have gotten that kind of training?"
"I do not know. The Echani battle form is known to be taught by some special forces groups. If the source is a mystery to you, perhaps you should ask him. It would be wise to know those you travel with."
Marina blinked. This felt . . . weird. The Handmaidens had been a duracrete wall in terms of offering information (aside from informing her of her personal failings, that was), and now she was being all warm and fuzzy with both information and even advice. "Right. I'll keep that in mind. Let's go."
For all the base's impressive subterranean size, the heated, habitable portion was actually quite small. Between that, the Handmaiden's instructions, and the vague feeling of which direction Kreia was in, she managed to find the others quickly. They'd been put up in small adjoining rooms. The sisters guarding the doors didn't move to stop her as she unlocked the first one, and instead excused themselves without a word to return to their master. Only her guard, the youngest, stuck around, and she did her best to blend into the background.
Kreia, of course, was already on her feet and ready to move before the door had even opened. "Did you find what you came here for?"
Mrain blinked, somehow taken aback by Kreia's presence. For how intimidating she was in person, it was strange how easy it was to not focus on her when she wasn't around.
"That . . .depends on what it was I was looking for," she replied non-committedly.
Kreia nodded in approval, as if she'd said something wise. "There is something from your past here, something unresolved. I feel we did not come here by chance. You were led here. This woman who resides here, she did something to you once, something that hangs over you still."
Marina grimaced. "Why do I feel like you already know exactly who is here and what she did to me?"
"I had suspected, but until now I was uncertain. So you have encountered one of the former members of the Council. Your experience at their hands has left its marks. Be warned—unresolved events from our past can create wounds in the present, and the future. And more importantly, they can distract you, weaken you. It could prove fatal against the enemies we face. Tell me . . . which of them is here?"
"The esteemed Jedi Master Atris," Marina bit off bitterly."
Kreia arched an eyebrow slightly at the emotion in Marina's voice. "There is a Jedi here, perhaps. In that you are correct. Yet there are no students, and this woman, this Atris, surrounds herself with those who cannot feel the Force. Curious."
Marina looked up, startled out of her resentment and self-pity. "She'll have a hard time healing the galaxy and rebuilding the Order all by herself. But why do you say the Handmaidens aren't students?"
"Indeed she will, little one. Plans are fragile things, and life often dashes expectations to the ground. Perhaps students will come to her in time—but for now, she is surrounded by these Handmaidens, servants who cannot feel the Force. Their minds are walls, trained to resist tricks of the mind. This discipline blinds them to the Force as well, even if they were sensitive to it."
Marina watched Kreia closely. "And how do you know that? Were you reading their minds?"
"Invade the mind of another? It is not something to be done carelessly, or when there is nothing to be gained."
Marina snorted. "I'm going to take that as a yes. Come on, let's get the others and get out of here before Atris changes her mind."
The next cell opened to reveal Bao Dur. He, too, climbed to his feet quickly. "General! I am sorry, I must have lost consciousness in the crash."
Marina waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We're getting out of here. You ready to go?"
"I am, general."
"Then let's go."
Marina unlocked the door to the next room. Atton was on his feet in an instant, eyes darting back and forth between the Marina and Kreia, his expression icy rage for a split second before melting to nothing.
Marina glanced at Kreia curiously, wondering what that was about, but the inscrutable woman merely shrugged, expression blank. Great.
"Ah, hey, you're back with us princess. We were just on our way to rescue you from those ghost women."
Well, that sure sounded like classic Atton. "Right. You okay? We're leaving."
"Yeah, sure, don't worry about me, I'm fine. Uh, how did things go in there? Are we finished with these people?"
"So to speak."
Atton blinked. "Well, that's not exactly what I was hoping to hear."
Marina sighed. "Look, Atton, I don't know what your game is, but seriously, you've done enough, done far more than I could have asked of you. Whatever you might think you owe me, you've already paid it. First stop after this and you're a free man, no strings attached."
Atton barked a single, cold laugh, dropping the innocent/cute Atton act for a moment. "No strings, huh? You know, half the time you have me convinced you really aren't a Jedi, and then you say something incredibly naïve like that, General."
Marina's hands clenched into fists. "So what is it, Atton? Are you after the bounty? Is that it?"
Atton glanced pointedly at the Handmaiden, and his mask was back in place. "Ha ha, nah, I was just complaining. Sometimes the extended jail time starts to get to you, you know? We need to stick together. And who knows—I may be able to help you out of a tight spot at some point."
Marina frankly considered leaving him there to rot, but he had saved her life a time or two. She wasn't, quite, prepared to abandon him to a life in prison.
"Whatever. Let's get out of here. Handmaiden, where is the ship?"
The youngest Handmaiden looked up at her. "You will find it down that passage, along with your astromech droid."
"Thanks." Marina started to turn away, but the Handmaiden abruptly started to put out a hand to stop her, then snatched it back. "E-excuse me, Exile. But before you go, I . . . I have a question for you, if I may ask it." She took a breath, steeling yourself. "You have touched the Force. What does it feel like?"
Marina paused, caught completely off-guard by the question.
"Please, I . . . wish to know."
The ex-Jedi thought back, mind shying away from more recent, painful memories, further back, back to years and years ago when she was but a young, hopeful Padawan running with childish glee through the golden plains of Dantooine. She stared into space, oblivious of the Handmaiden, of the others around her listening, while she watched that little girl run.
"Imagine awakening, and hearing the heartbeat of the galaxy for the first time."
Kreia, too, seemed to be watching another place, another time, as she unexpectedly added to the description. "It is like a cloud, a mist that drifts from living creature to living creature, set in motion by currents and eddies. It is the eye of the storm, the passions of all living things turned into energy, into a chorus. It is the rising swell of the end of life, the promise of new territories and new blood, the call of new mysteries in the dark."
The Handmaiden nodded slowly. "I see. Thank you both. I appreciate you sharing your knowledge with me. But now I must go—I have been summoned by Mistress Atris." She turned and darted away.
Marian, too, turned and was startled to see both Atton and Bao-Dur watching her closely. "Er, right. Let's keep moving."
They turned without a word and carried on down the corridor until it opened into another room sporting some impressive computer support, with stacks of processors all hooked up to a central server. And into that array was plugged a familiar-looking astromech droid.
"You!" pointed Atton in outrage. "Well, if it isn't the one who stole the Ebon Hawk. Not so smug now, are you, you little thief."
Kreia sighed. "Don't be a fool. Atris stole both the ship and the droid."
Atton sneered. "Says you."
T3-M4 ignored them both and whistled at Marina.
She squatted next to the droid, bring its domed head to eye level. "Ignore him, T3. It isn't your fault they took the ship."
The droid warbled urgently, and Marina frowned. "Hold on—what information are you talking about?" The droid explained, and she felt her eyebrows raise. "Your entire memory? Why would she want what's in your memory core?"
The droid launched into what promised to be a long and involved story, so she interrupted with a raised hand. "Look, now is not really the time. Let's head over to the ship and you can fill me in once we're underway, alright?"
The droid tweeted an affirmative, and its three tripod legs whirred and lifted up on wheels to roll after them. They carried on down and into the hangar bay, where at long last the Ebon Hawk sat waiting for them.
Marina kept expecting the Handmaidens or Atris to burst through a door and demand their surrender anew, but the loading ramp lowered without incident and they all piled into the cockpit, Atton naturally easing into the pilot's seat.
He flicked switches in rapid succession, firing up and checking the secondary systems, before engaging the main drive, which rumbled to life with a satisfying thunder. "Just give her a few minutes to warm up and we're good to go. She's already fueled up."
Marina paced restlessly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But aside from a glitch with he cargo bay doors, nothing happened, and one of the Handmaidens cleared them to leave.
"Alright, you ready to get out of here?"
Atton glanced back at Marina, who nodded. "Hit it."
He grinned and grabbed the controls. His shoulders seemed to relax as he eased the repulsorlifts to life, and his whole body bled tension Marina hadn't realized was there as he fired the main engines and they soared away towards the freedom of open space.