20 Years Before the Battle of Yavin - The Clone Wars rage…
Outer Rim - Praumia System
Planet: Praumia-2, Capital of the system, locally known simply as Praumia
"...And that concludes my report." Commodore Obarrel managed to hide her nervousness well. The battle had not gone nearly as well as she had planned, but that just how combat went. Now she just had to wait on the judgement of Separatist High Command.
The several holograms that surrounded her talked quietly amongst themselves for several minutes. She took the time to cautiously observe the room in which she stood. The room was dark. There were no windows, and the only light came from a spotlight above her, and from holograms. She stood on a raised platform of polished stone, surrounded by a seamless wooden table on all sides save directly behind her. Probably carved from an Ardygg tree on Praumia-3, she assumed. No tree on Praumia-2 grew large enough to make a seamless table this size. On the opposite side of the table several holograms of various corporate heads and admirals discussed her fate. Directly in front of her, the calculating gaze of Count Dooku seemed to pierce into her very soul.
After a time, the various discussions stopped, and Count Dooku weaved his fingers together, the blue light of his hologram shimmering as he did so. When he spoke, it was directly to Obarrel. "The total damage report is one Munificent-class lost, moderate damage to three others, with little to no damage on the other twelve. All Republic vessels save for one Acclamator-class were destroyed." Dooku paused to take a breath, then continued. "A Jedi Knight was killed, and his Venator-class Star Destroyer reduced to scrap. The surviving Acclamator escaped." He looked over to San Hill, who began speaking.
"While we are not particularly pleased that you lost one of our ships, we do concede that you took precautions to avoid it." The Banking Clan representative leveled a blank stare at her. "We will have to talk to our engineers about the reactors." The Muun nodded at the count, who resumed speaking.
"As you may know, our Parliament wished for the ore and mines to be brought back under our control. They were quick to point out that you did this, despite the losses you accrued." The count smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "As a matter of fact, we have determined that the Acclamator that escaped did not manage to steal any of the ore from the planet. Your tactics appear to have forced them to leave without the shipments." He nodded at her. "That is something that we appreciate." Letting his hands come apart, he gestured to the cyborg Admiral on his left.
Admiral Trench was the next to address Obarrel. "High Command has elected to commend you, Commodore. If your next mission goes well, you may even be looking at a promotion to Admiral. You are dismissed, Commodore. Good day."
Obarrel bowed, crossing her arms and placing her hands on her shoulders. A traditional Praumian gesture of respect. "Thank you, Admiral."
Trench chuckled. "Praumians." His hologram winked out, followed by the other navy representatives.
The Commerce Guild representatives shut off their holograms soon after, leaving Obarrel alone with Count Dooku. The count inclined his head. "I assume that your ships are currently being serviced in orbit as we speak?"
Obarrel hesitated, then nodded. "They are currently undergoing repairs. The lesser damaged ships are currently being serviced here, or are waiting to be serviced."
The count raised an eyebrow. "And the others?"
Obarrel looked him in the eye. "I thought it best that they be serviced in the Borgath system, so I left them in the care of the Borgathian shipyards." She managed to hide her disdain. While they couldn't hold a candle to the system-spanning Kuat Drive Yards, the Borgathians had the largest official set of shipyards in the sector. The shipyards in orbit over Praumia-2 were barely large enough to service something the size of a Munificent-class. Hence why the Confederate Parliament had ordered that the Borgath system be the local staging ground for the Separatist Navy.
The count said nothing for a moment, then stood. "That is acceptable. As there are no matters of importance in the local area, you are now given some time off." The count seemed to smile again. "Breathe some fresh air from home, brag that you killed a Republic warmonger. Enjoy yourself." The hologram shut off abruptly, leaving her alone in the room.
Obarrel released the breath that she had been holding. "Yes, sir," she muttered, a trace of humor coloring her voice.
She stepped off of the raised platform and made her way out of the room. She pulled her comm from her sleeve and activated it. "Former Officer Erinn Obarrel ready to report in. Over."
She didn't have to wait long for a reply. "Of course." The voice on the other end spoke in noticeably accented Basic. "The coordinates will be transmitted to your vehicle. Be there in twenty minutes."
"On my way," Obarrel acknowledged. She left the building, doing her best to ignore the sweltering heat of the desert around her. She made her way to her speeder and followed the newly programmed route to her next destination. The speeder rapidly left the domed stone structure behind as it sped towards the city of Glavni, the capital of Istok.
"Report, Former Officer Obarrel." The Head Representative of Istok's Council of 30 had a thin face, and her blonde hair was so pale it was nearly white, a close match for her skin.
"Of course, Head Representative Svensen." For Obarrel, the shift from Basic to Praumian was a simple one. During her decades of service in the Praumian Defense Fleet, she had learned to speak Basic in addition to the Praumian system's "native" language. "I am slowly gaining favor with the High Command of the Confederacy. It was hinted that with more successes I may be promoted to Admiral. I was commended, and personally given time off by the Count himself." Obarrel fell silent, waiting on the three gathered officials before her.
The room that she was now in couldn't have been more different than the one she had been in just a short time before. It was brightly lit, with windows that showed the bustling city beyond. The Head Representatives of Praumia's three Councils of 30 sat in padded stone chairs less than two meters from where she stood.
The Head Representative of Nishi said nothing. His tawny-skinned fingers tapped on the arm of his chair, clearly consumed by his own thoughts. Obarrel blinked. She recognized him. Muljadi. He had been a newly elected Representative when she had been ordered to join the Separatist Navy, and now he was already the Head of Nishi's Council of 30. He was barely twenty-five standard years old! Now she was really starting to feel her own fifty-six standard years.
The Head Representative from Nyaraka was silent for a moment, holding a hand to his umber-skinned ear. Listening to the other members of Nyaraka's Council of 30, Obarrel guessed. After a short time, he spoke. "The Nyarakan Council of 30 believes that this is a good sign. Personally, I recommend that you stay on guard. Mentions of a promotion may be nothing more than dangling a sweet-cake in front of your face." He smiled. "Nevertheless. Thank you for the report, Former Officer Obarrel." He faced the two other representatives. "I trust that this is satisfactory? I don't think that I need to remind either of you that we have more pressing matters to attend to."
Svensen's eyes narrowed. "Of course I do not need reminding, Head Representative Kalu." She shifted her gaze back to Obarrel. "We are done here. You may leave."
Obarrel performed the same gesture that she had given to the Separatist High Command, and the three Head Representatives stood so that they could mirror it, if at a slightly shallower angle. She prepared to leave, but motion from Head Representative Muljadi caught her eye. She raised an eyebrow. The other two Head Representatives had already vanished out the door opposite the one she had entered.
Muljadi's face was hard to read. "I wish to thank you for what you are doing for our people." His tone held a note of sincere gratitude and honesty. "Praumia's heart beats for you." Without waiting for a response, he swiftly left the room to join his fellow Head Representatives.
Obarrel allowed herself to smile. At least some people appreciated the work she did for Praumia, unlike the ungrateful daughter that she was about to visit. Her face clouded slightly. Her only daughter may have looked like a near carbon copy of her, but the similarities essentially ended there. She walked out the door that she had entered from, musing to herself as she did so. The remainder of her family liked her well enough. That would suffice. She should call ahead to let them know that she was on her way. It had been a while since she had seen her daughter. Time supposedly healed all wounds, right? How bad could things possibly go?
Fairly badly, if her son-in-law answering the door was any indication.
"Valek, how have you been?" She kept her voice friendly, although it was hardly necessary. Valek Toghar was a practical man. He figured that being nice to people was just a useful thing to do.
"Pretty good, Mam." He grinned brightly, his beige skin wrinkling. She never figured out where he got that dialect from. She had asked when they first met, but he didn't feel comfortable explaining, so she never asked again. "Why don'cha come on in? Ula's already at the table with the kids." His smile got even wider. "I'm sure Jax will be glad to see ya, even if Ula isn't so keen on ya dropping in."
Obarrel matched his grin. "Well, don't mind if I do then." She crossed the threshold and Valek closed the door behind her. It slid closed with a slight hiss. She made her way to the dining room, noting changes to the holo-pictures on the walls that had happened since she had visited last.
There was a holo-picture of Sera, the second oldest grandchild, standing with her newly won trophy for track. A painting with a label below it declaring that it had been made by Arun, the second youngest. The final holo-picture was of little Miira playing in the desert sand with her shovel. One child was conspicuously absent in the holos. She rolled her eyes. Of course Ula didn't want to have any recent images of Jax. Last she heard, her oldest grandchild had recently entered the first set of pre-military courses at his academy. How on Praumia he had managed to convince his mother to allow him to take them was beyond her.
She rounded the corner into the dining room. The light conversation that had previously permeated the room ground to a halt. Ula barely looked up from where she sat at one end of the long table. "Hello, Mother." Her gray eyes, the same as Obarrel's deceased husband's, gazed impassively at Obarrel for a moment, then shifted downwards. She went back to arranging her meal.
Her grandchildren were far more vibrant, snapping their heads toward her nearly in unison. Their greetings overlapped, but each was distinct enough for her to pick out from the rest.
"Grandmother!" Not quite as cold as her mother, but not too open. That was Sera.
"Hiya, Granmam!" Arun. The boy took after his father.
"Gramama!" There was little Miira. Without a doubt.
"Hey, Grandma!" And that had to be Jax.
Then Arun nudged Sera's foot beneath the table and the previous conversation restarted, if in quieter tones.
Obarrel made her way to the table and pointed at one of the two empty chairs. "Is this one mine?"
Sera answered her. "Yes, but you'll need to serve yourself." She pointed towards the kitchen, deeper in the house. "It's in the big pot."
Valek chose that moment to enter the dining room. "Wait just a short minute there. I thought we raised you kids bet'r than to make guests do work." He sounded more hurt than annoyed.
Ula's response could have frozen Mon Cala. "Any guest that corrupts one of my children with her warmongering ways loses all guest privileges."
The room went dead silent. Obarrel glanced at Jax, who wisely chose to say nothing. She rolled her eyes. "I'm fully capable of serving myself." She started towards the kitchen, then glanced back over her shoulder. "I'd hardly take the credit for his actions. He's fifteen, isn't he?" She began walking again. "Would you rather have him take after you?" She dipped the spoon into the pot, pulled it out, and dropped a helping onto her plate. "He has plenty of time to start on that particular path." She could feel Ula staring daggers into the back of her head, but she chose to continue anyway. "It wouldn't be too hard." She let a dry smile creep onto her face as she made her way back into the dining room. "I mean, really. All he would have to do would be to drop out of the academy at eighteen, marry a rich artisan and make you a grandmother in less than a year-"
Valek started coughing loudly. Or was he choking on his food? Obarrel didn't bother to look. She was too busy staring at the anger-clouded face of her only child.
"Jax will not be like you," Ula ground out. "Once this rebellious phase rolls through, he'll see that taking military classes was a waste of his time. A path that he never should have chosen, one that would have brought him, and his family," her glare at her mother intensified, "nothing but pain."
Obarrel winced. She had definitely gone too far. She sat and began eating without another word. It was probably a good thing that she didn't bring up the Jedi that she had killed recently. Ula would find out anyway, once the news filtered through the Separatist-aligned Holonet channels. Thankfully, the tense atmosphere didn't last.
"Can I go outside now?" Miira pleaded.
Valek looked at his youngest, then at her barely touched plate. With mirth in his eyes, he snapped his gaze back to her hopeful expression. "Should we have made ya mud pies to eat?" He shook his head. "Finish yur food first, then ya can go play in the dirt."
Miira pouted but resumed poking at her plate. Sera decided to break the silence next.
"So, Daani and the rest of the team are meeting at her house after school tomorrow. I can go to that, right?"
Ula smiled at her. "Of course."
The meal continued in silence for a short time, with only the sound of clinking utensils breaking the monotony.
Jax looked at his mother. "Hey, Mom. Can I be excused now?"
Ula didn't even look up. "Sure. Just put your dishes away."
Jax carried his empty plate, cutlery, and cup into the kitchen. When he was done, he passed the dining room table and met Obarrel's eyes. The same eyes as hers, Obarrel noted. A brown so dark that they were nearly black. He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod, then disappeared down a connecting hallway.
Obarrel smiled, then returned to efficiently emptying her plate. Once she finished, she stood, pushing her chair back slowly. "I think I'm done here. Thank you for the meal." Looking at her daughter's opening mouth, she cut off what she knew was coming. "And yes, I will put away the dishes that I used."
Obarrel swiftly carried her dishes into the kitchen, her mismatched legs beating an alternating rhythm on the patterned stone flooring. When she was finished, she returned to the dining room.
She nodded everyone left at the table. "Thank you again for allowing me to eat here." Valek and the children turned to wave at her, their various goodbyes overlapping. Ula didn't look up, instead giving a short hand gesture that Obarrel knew Ula wouldn't have given if the kids weren't distracted.
Obarrel shook her head and turned to leave, then paused. "I'll see myself out, Valek." She made her way out of the dining room and back into the hallway near the door to the city outside. As she neared the door, she noticed one of the holos near the door. It was a simple holo-picture, just showing a gray-eyed man from the chest up holding a small girl of about six in his arms. She felt a familiar pang of sorrow. She should have been there for the picture.
"I can't change the past," she muttered bitterly. "If Ula wants to hold on to old grudges, so be it." She opened the door and walked through. It hissed closed behind her as she continued down the path towards her vehicle.
"Oh, come on."
A series of escalating tones sounded.
"No, no, no!"
The beeps were replaced with a single, low tone.
"Failed again! Gah…"
Jax was hunched over a tactical screen simulator, glaring at the red letters that panned across his screen. He rubbed his eyes. "Ok. Maybe the fourth time's the charm." The device that he was using let him replay decades-old battles that the Praumian defense fleet had fought against pirates and invaders. It was almost like a video game. If he beat all of them, his instructors would allow him to practice using scenarios from other systems.
Jax reset the scenario and started from the beginning. "Ok, so I have two Kaze-class light frigates and they have…" He continued to talk to himself, trying to tune out the sounds of his parents arguing in another room.
"Why did you invite her here?"
"I thought it might be a good time for the two of ya to talk."
"Right after she finishes a battle where she slaughtered people? Did you see what just came over the Holonet? She killed a Jedi, Valek!"
"Dear, I'm sure that she gave the misguided fellow a chance to surrender-"
"Misguided?! Are you serious? Do you want to go down this road again?"
"Not really, Dear."
Jax glanced at the clock, before sighing and pausing the program. "Right as I was starting to do well." He rubbed his hand across his face. "Looks like I'm putting Miira to bed tonight."
Jax stood, opening the door to his room. "What I wouldn't give for something to make Mom and Grandma get along." He shook his head as he headed toward Miira's room. "Not even the Force could do that."
AN: Here's the next Chapter of Sparks That Set The Future Alight, one of the many stories set in this new Saga.
If you have any questions about this new Saga, please see my profile, or PM me if the Profile doesn't cover enough.
If you wish to follow the entire Saga as it comes out, I have a community set up that the stories are a part of. Following the community may make it easier to follow the Saga as a whole.
The Head Representative names and appearances are not based on any real-life persons. If anyone is curious as to what Jax looks like, I imagine him looking a bit like an older version of Hiro Hamada.
Also, for those who are like, "Why is Count Dooku so chill and giving her time off? That's weird!" Military officers do technically get time off, but he also has another purpose. More slander against the Senate-bound Jedi. Also, remember that Dooku is a noble, the complete head of the Separatist State, more or less. I'll flesh that out in another story. Whatever he says goes, kind of. Again, I'll work out the kinks later.
And there's no sinister meaning with the dark and light eye colors. I don't think that any color eye is inherently better or more enlightened. It's just playing into the somewhat cliché "You have the same eyes as …" thing. Perhaps I'm doing it too literally, but since Star Wars has always dealt with a lot of family themes, I figured I might as well do it literally in this case.
Here's the Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is officially part of Star Wars, Legends or Canon. I do not claim ownership of any of the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, or any published authors. I am not making any money from this story.