Chapter 1: The Satellite
Some of the older masters wouldn't have approved, but Nimueh felt some twisted amusement upon reaching the hangar, her young padawan trailing behind her. It was always funny to see the way Gaius' eyebrows shot up in disapproval in the sight of her. She fleshed him a dark smile.
"This is not the work of soldiers, Nimueh. This is a negotiation. You shouldn't be here."
While there was a warning in his tone, she merely shrugged. Gaius was always antagonistic towards Guardians, she had long since learnt that he felt that they were ancient relics of a long gone era, where the militaristic aspect of the Order was a matter of survival against the overwhelming strength of their opponents.
"You've got your orders, I've got mine."
"And whose orders are these?" he wondered out loud, clearly distrusting her. Then again, she doubted he would have ever truly forgiven her, one decade, two, it wouldn't matter.
"Master Kilgharrah has sent me," Nimueh smirked. "Now, you may take it up with him if you dislike it — but I honestly doubt you will."
"Hmpf." The old man shuffled for a moment with his sand coloured robes. "And I see your padawan is coming along as well."
"Yes — you do remember Mordred, don't you?" she gestured distractedly to the young man behind her. The top of his hair was cropped short, only a long braid of dark hair falling through behind his left ear, but the small pony tail behind his head was already curling. "I recall you saying he was very talented upon our last meeting."
"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Master," the boy said, with a soft smile. It eased Gaius' dark expression somewhat. Mordred usually had that effect on people.
"And how is the young kaleesh you brought with you last time?" Gaius asked, referring to one of the few children that had survived the kidnapping perpetrated by the Yam'rii during the last outbreak of the war that had raged for years between Huk and Kalee; the child they taken to the Jedi Temple both because it was his right and honour to be one of them; at the same time, it tasted sour to strip the Kaleesh of even more. Nimueh had had more than enough of the Senate's policies, but her hands had been tied.
"He seems to be adjusting well," Mordred answered, with a tiny smile. Nimueh was aware at how attached the two padawans had grown to the little boy they rescued, who was, in all honesty, a very sweet, very engaging child. Others might have considered it a dangerous thing, but Nimueh was a firm believer that developing relationships with the younglings made training them easier; allowing for better choosing of padawans when time came. It might even be that this kaleesh boy would one day train under Mordred. She was sure her padawan had entertained the thought even though he hadn't spoken to her about facing trials so far — he was, though, almost ready and they both knew it. "He has joined the Dragon clan."
"Not Heliost as you hoped, then." Gaius pointed out, recalling the excited babble of the padawans while they left the war-torn Kalee. "You were in Heliost around the same time as my padawan, were you not?" he said, looking somewhat pained at the memory of the willful girl he had agreed to train. "I recall you were good friends."
"Yes," Mordred agreed, with a bigger smile — it was not a secret to anyone that Mordred and Morgana had been thick as thieves as children and were in constant contact with each other even when far apart; their lasting and strong friendship made Nimueh's heart warm at the same time as it reawakened the longing she knew would never be solved. "Will she be joining us?"
"She will," he sighed, long suffering "and it's pure luck she is running late, or you wouldn't have caught us here."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry;" Nimueh winked at the old Master, amused. "The captain has been informed we were meant to go too — he wouldn't leave without me."
Gaius grumbled something, turning to board the ship and she just laughed, under Mordred's puzzled face. Whatever else, it was going to be an entertaining trip.
"I know, I know — I'm sorry — but the quartermaster was very specific about the equipment and —" Morgana was surprised to see there were more people there than she was expecting. "Oh. Master Nimueh!" she said, with a small bow.
Morgana couldn't help but look at the beautiful woman that was smirking at them the extra bag she had been given still in her hand. They had met a few times before, but there was something — peculiar — about Nimueh that showed in various small details. Her eyes blue eyes twinkled with humour, but her red blood lips were almost cruel. Her long, dark hair was bond in few different braids, framing her her garment were just a shade above Morgana's sand-coloured ones, Nimueh wore tight fitting leggings, and metal straps circled her calves, securing her boots. The top of the outfit looked almost like bandages; hugging her form closely and allowing a glimpse of her muscled belly. On her hips, instead of a lightsaber, clung a saberstaff, twice the length of Morgana's own saber, and decorated with delicate curls of bronze against silver whose loveliness clashed violently with the practicality of the clothing. The brown nondescript robe seemed to be her only concession towards the Jedi dress code, almost an afterthought.
"Never mind that now, we should have already left," Gaius said, gesturing. "I'll just warn the captain we are ready."
Before she could reply, her mentor had left, and she was alone with her best friend's master — which, as far as she could remember, had never happened before.
"You should put that down," the Jedi said, her smile kinder in the absence of Gaius. "Not that I think you can't handle it for long periods of time — it's just that we'll be taking off in seconds and I doubt the quartermaster wanted this to be damaged in any way before we even reach our destination."
Morgana let out a small laugh at that — she was right, of course. She put the bag away in the overhead compartment, and it was the perfect timing, the ship moving ahead at the exact moment she closed the latch and turned towards the woman again.
"He would probably kill me," she leaned her head a bit to the side. "Well, he would if it wasn't against the Code or whatever."
The woman was clearly analysing her carefully. They had met before — the last time barely over one year before — and sure, Nimueh had been intimidating, but she hadn't looked at Morgana that way, as if she was trying to figure her out. Morgana took a deep breath, fighting against the anxiety and curiosity that threatened to show up. This was not the way things were supposed to be done. She tried to start meditating now, before her feelings became evident for the other woman. Morgana was almost back into complete serenity when the master's voice disrupted it.
"You are Uther's daughter."
There was no question in her tone, just a small hint of surprise, as if it had escaped the master before. The question pierced through her calm as little could. Why did people need to keep reminding her of it? Being Uther's daughter had brought her no favours within the Order, and possibly even brought her more trouble than she should have gone through. It seemed she could never completely shake it off, for all that the Jedi parted younglings from their family still in infancy and discouraged any sort of recognition of blood bonds.
"Yes." She answered, and she knew it was not courteous enough, or respectful, but at the moment she didn't care — every second was a struggle to control her frustration and annoyance. Uther just had a way of having he rules bend to his favour, and it drove Morgana mad.
"You don't like him," the woman opened up a wider smile, as if this was a pleasant surprise instead of a trait to be despised in a Jedi. "Don't worry, child — I don't think highly of him either. I'm sure it's mutual — oh, well, he really hates me. He never managed to truly accept that Iwon battles he lost — back in the Albion Wars — before you were even born."
Morgana observed her for a second — she didn't look old enough to have fought in it, and yet, from everything she had heard before, Morgana knew it to be true — and a that she had been of particular importance to it.
"A Jedi does not worry," she answered, but in her voice the words seemed to be simple parroting instead of a fundamental truth about their order, "but I have heard much about the Albion wars, and about you."
"Most of it terrible, I presume — your master is not found of me either."
Morgana allowed the laughter to be heard, keeping her smile even after it. Master Nimueh, unlike many other older Jedi, inspired relaxation and confidence, at least when she wasn't trying to look belligerent. Morgana wondered how much of it had been related to Gaius' presence.
"I don't think Gaius thinks much of any Guardian. He considers fighting… Uncivilised." She shrugged.
"Ah — well. I think that he'll be grateful once his old ass is in trouble and he needs to be saved through…" Nimueh bit her lip, smiling as if it was a private joke. "Aggressive negotiations."
Morgana laughed at this, amused as well, until Gaius returned, interrupting the moment.
"There will be no need for it," he grumbled, before raising his eyebrow of doom towards Morgana. "And you shouldn't let this trip get in the way of your studying routine — I believe you haven't done your aimed seven meditations today."
"Seven?" Nimueh asked, with a smile. "Funny, just five were required last time I checked."
"Master Gaius likes to hold high standards," Morgana said, raising her eyebrows in a silent agreement that it was too much. "And says that it helps control my temper."
"Indeed — control is what you need to master in order to sit the tests. So, if you ever want to stop being a padawan, you better start working. You don't see Nimueh's padawan wasting time in chit-chat when he has training to accomplish, do you?"
"Mordred is here?" Morgana asked, happiness shooting through her, though it should have been obvious from the moment she saw Nimueh. They hadn't seen each other in over a year, as Mordred his master were often sent to the fringes of the galaxy. She had missed him fiercely.
"Yes," the two of them said at the same time, and for the first time, they looked to be completely at ease with each other's presence, in perfect agreement over the course of action they should take. "He will be happy to see you" said the woman, smiling, and even Gaius' expression grew softer.
"Go — meet him — I can see there will be no point in trying to meditate before a proper reunion."
Morgana didn't need to be told twice.
Mordred was just finishing his fourth daily meditation when the door opened up. He enjoyed the peace he could only experience when completely locked inside himself and away from other's people's thoughts for a second longer before opening up his eyes, to see who had come and was pleasantly surprised to see Morgana.
The time since they had seen each other personally hadn't changed her much — not that he had expected them to — and there was a comforting familiarity in seeing her again that only enhanced his inner peace. In a moment he took her in again — the light, sand-coloured uniform, the same belt all padawans wore, her saber locked firmly on it, her bead-adorned braid. Her ponytail was growing long now, twice the size of his, and in a darker shade of brown. Her face was still the same — beautiful and fierce, all straight angles softened when as her smile grew and she walked towards him.
Mordred stood up, to better receive her embrace, and was soon enveloped by her warm and the scent of flowers that seemed to follow her since they first met. She had seemed to much bigger than him then, so old and experienced when he was barely more than a babe, trying to adjust to life at the Coruscant temple. It seemed to be both long ago and no time at all. He hugged her back, allowing his hands to linger in her back as he felt himself pulled home.
Morgana pulled back a bit, but didn't let go, raising her right hand to caress his face, feeling the roughness that remained on his skin after shaving and smiling at it, clearly amused by the development.
"You've grown so much," she whispered, her voice soft and intimate.
"You are still the same," he answered, honestly. "Although, from what I saw last time we were together, I sort of expected you to have been knighted already."
"Ugh!" Morgana let go of him, stepping back. "Let's not even go there — I think Gaius is trying to keep me under his watch until I'm as grey as him."
Mordred smiled, she had never been one for patience — which was unfortunate in a Jedi, specially once that was being trained as a Consular.
"You know this is not true," he said, softly, and she grinned.
"I've met your master, though — she has grown even more scary than before."
"Nimueh can be… Very forceful…" Mordred knew how his words sounded careful, but Morgana's smile was playful. "I think she is still a bit disappointed with the whole Kalee business, she doesn't always see eye to eye with the Council" he confessed, with a sigh, because this was the exact reason they were on this mission in the first place. "But she is an excellent teacher. I could not have wished for a best match."
"I know - I've heard it all before!" Morgana teased, grinning, before composing herself and folding her hands together. "I'm afraid I must go now — Gaius will learn how to develop a true temper if I don't get on with my meditation practice."
She made a face, sticking her tongue out, and Mordred laughed.
"Will you join me for lightsaber work later?" he asked, wanting to prolong their moments together. "I think you'll find I have improved vastly."
"I expected no less — with you having all that practice and me so little!" she laughed once again, squeezing his hand. "It'll be a pleasure."
"It is settled then." Mordred smiled, happy to see her so at ease. He had feared that this mission to Camelot would only increase her normal temper, but it seemed that it was not the case — he didn't pretend to understand the reasons why the council agreed with Uther on this particular instance, as it seemed very unlikely that it would help Morgana towards her development — much the opposite, really. Mordred was pretty sure that if they had resisted Uther's requests more often and moved her as far away from his influence as possible, she would probably have flourished much more and grown into a fine knight. But, he was merely a padawan, so what did he even know?
He watched as she sat down, getting ready to meditate, and smiled one last time at the sight of his old friend before leaving her to find peace in her own self.
Nimueh had long since stopped watching while Mordred trained with his lightsaber, the boy had grown more than a little skilled — he was a natural at it, really, learning fast and with reflexes that were enviable even in a Jedi. And yet — she couldn't help but feel curious about Gaius' padawan — a young woman, already, and Uther's daughter to boot. Mordred had mentioned that she was the first to instruct him on it, drilling him while they were younglings. He claimed the girl was good, and while her bloodline spoke in her favour, Nimueh had her doubts — normally, skilled fighters would be directed towards Guardians, and the Pendragon girl had been chosen for a Consular.
Unless, of course, this had Uther's hand too; it reeked of him, really, to push women away from the battlefield.
For all that she and Gaius disagreed in the best way to train future knights, it was clear that her training held fast; none of the two did so much as glance her way as she walked it. She sat on the side bench, observing their posture. Mordred was adopting a very defencive stance, his blue lightsaber shining in front of him; while Morgana's yellow one attacked him relentlessly. She moved with a grace that was seldom seen, as if fighting was dancing, and she was fast. Her style was fluid, working with Niman as was expected for a Consular, the bladework simple but effective. Mordred remained somewhat impassive, keeping his footwork sure and steady, and this was what gave it away that he was actually holding back.
"You're not doing her any favours, Mordred!" Nimueh warned, and a small frown marred his face, while Morgana stepped back and turned off her lightsaber.
"What?" she said, looking at him.
"You shouldn't have turned it off," he replied, looking at her. "Come on — turn it back up."
"Don't you dare going soft on me — this is — why?" Morgana seemed to be having some issues controlling her frustration, and Nimueh could well sympathise with her feelings.
"I just…" Mordred seemed truly at loss to understand what he had done wrong. "I didn't want to push you. I know you haven't been practising much and…"
"And you thought you'd spare her the embarrassment of being beaten by a boy she once taught." Nimueh completed, allowing her disapproval to show. "It's a rare opportunity for her to be able to train with a Guardian, you should face her honestly, with everything you've got."
Morgana gave her a grateful nod, and turned her saber back on.
"Now — show me how good you've got." She taunted, stepping ahead and slashing at his leg. Mordred parried it easily, and moved away. "Come on — I want to see it!"
Nimueh watched as her apprentice squared his shoulders and moved forward in a forceful stab before jumping to avoid her blade and starting again. There was no mistaking the Ataru form in his jumps and starts, the way he now relentlessly searched for an opening but the true surprise was to see Morgana retreat; not because she was overwhelmed, but because she was adapting to this new style. She moved less and more slowly, but her blade was everywhere, keeping him away. Her arms were kept close to the body, and deflected Mordred's attempts to reach her. Mordred jumped in a cartwheel aimed to land in a position that would mean he was pressing her against the wall, and for a moment it seemed like he would finally strike a hit, but the young woman naturally raised her hand, using the Force to push him out of range. The first time, Mordred seemed shocked, and Morgana smirked at him, raising one of her eyebrows in a clear provocation. Mordred just snorted and shook his head, before starting again, a new spring in his step, as if he had just found what he had been missing in that duel. Yet, the same was true of Morgana, after a few moments, she was clearly moving before he was, meeting him halfway during the gestures, ready before he was even truly striking the blow.
Eventually, Mordred became a bit sloppier, his breathing heavy, and Morgana was careful even in grazing his clothing to mark her victory.
"Impressive," Nimueh declared, with a wide smile. "You would have made a fine Guardian."
"Thank you, Master." Morgana said, with a small bow and a wide smile.
"It's a great defence," Mordred conceded, although he looked somewhat pained. "And a smart use of telekinetic, too — I should have expected that."
"You are so skilled!" Morgana cooed back. "All I did was holding back and trying to find a moment to strike."
Nimueh raised an eyebrow as he blushed, but Morgana took no notice of it.
"I honestly can't understand why you were paired with Gaius..." Nimueh mused out loud, and Morgana gave a grimace. A touchy subject, then.
"It has been an honour to learn under him," she answered, loyal even when Nimueh could sense everything going on within her — all her frustration, how much she had truly enjoyed being able to do this, how much she missed having more opportunities like this.
"I'm sure it has." Nimueh agreed, it would do no good to question her, but she would talk to Gaius about it soon enough. It made no sense; the girl had all the traits of a fine Guardian, or even Sentinel. And yet — she had been selected to study the more elaborate mysteries of the Force when she clearly lacked patience to do so. If there was some clear latent talent for healing or something else that were the traditional business of Sages, she would have understood, but, at least for now, Nimueh couldn't even start to understand the choice. "And with that, I believe it is time for you two to have supper and then try to rest for a bit. We'll be there soon enough."
She stood up, leaving the two padawans alone. She and Gaius were going to have a conversation soon.
Morgana tried as much as she could to control herself, and her body was as quiet as it could be as they waited for the elevator to rise. It still didn't seem enough, judging by the looks she got from her others around her.
"Are you nervous about going to Camelot?" Mordred enquired, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear — as if it'd make any difference in such a confined space.
"I'm nervous about the Trade Federation," she disassembled quickly. "They are not found of women."
That earned her raised eyebrows from both masters; it was incredible how while they didn't seem to get on well, they still were in perfect accordance in this, just when she needed support.
"You're not a woman, you're a Jedi and an Ambassador." Gaius said, his voice firm. Nimueh gave him a disapproving look, which emboldened Morgana.
"I'm just a padawan —" she corrected, but he raised his eyebrow even higher. "Right…"
Nimueh gave one step ahead, and held her arm tightly.
"You are a Jedi, an ambassador and a woman — you have the power here, and you hold the cards — and they'll just have to accept it. Don't let their short-sightedness get to you."
It was one of those things easier said than done. Morgana often wished she had been paired with another woman, and although they were not exactly few — though there were far less human females than in some other races, they were far outnumbered in the Order to the point where sometimes it became difficult to know your place. She supposed Jedi were supposed to be above such minor things are gender, but it certainly didn't feel so most of the time.
"I'll try — harder — it's what I can do, after all."
Nimueh granted her a nod, and Mordred tried a small smile, while Gaius face smoothed a bit. She took a deep breath, reigning in any questions she might have about the whole set up as they walked out and were received by a droid. It was clearly a human relations model, shiny and silver, with a soothing voice. The only thing that irked her was how it had been shaped — there was a clear suggestion of breasts in it, and its voice was softer than the normal tone. Nimueh shot her a side look that made it very clear that she had noticed it too and wasn't pleased.
Still, there was nothing to do but to enter the room they were meant to talk on and wait. The droid returned, bringing refreshments, and they settled around the table — except for Mordred, who stood attention in a corner, observing everything although there was nothing to be seen but them and a simple set of chairs and a meeting table. She felt boredom coming as the minutes passed them by, none of them speaking. After a while, it changed into something else, that was not exactly anxiety, but something else, more complex. Foreboding, perhaps.
"I have a bad feeling about this..." she said, and Gaius waved her words away.
"They are cowards, the negotiations will be short and to the point — we'll be out of here in no time."
Morgana frowned and opened up her mouth to argue, but gave up in the middle. It was not as if he had ever listened to her when she said things would go wrong.
"No, I feel it too," Mordred agreed, his eyes scanning the room. "Not just about now — in general. As if something was happening within the Force."
She was grateful for his support, still her Master didn't even bother looking back at him.
"Keep your mind on the present, padawan." Gaius told him, as he had told her many times before. "Focus in the task at hand — there is very little point in worrying about what will undoubtedly come."
"And keep your reflexes sharp," added Nimueh. "This is taking far longer than usual."
"They are stalling and creating strategies — not surprising. This was not a visit they were warned about."
Morgana just took a deep breath and decided to use the time she had to meditate. She honestly doubted that anything save an exploding ship would be reason for her to neglect it under Gaius tutelage. She allowed her body to relax and her eyelids dropped as she looked inside, seeking harmony with the Force and ignoring the weird tugs it kept giving her. The time would come to face it, but for now she could just breathe and concentrate.
Almost a full hour had passed when the tug was so sharp that it made her open her eyes.
"Watch out!" She heard herself saying, and in seconds the reason was clear to all — there was gas being flooded in the chamber.
Morgana took a deep breath, getting as much air as she could and slowing her body accordingly to avoid being contaminated. She heard as Mordred turned up his lightsaber, and saw the light of Nimueh's azure blades coming out as well. The two of them stepped ahead, as if protecting the two consulars, but it took only one second before Gaius turned on his Amber blade and Morgana followed her master's actions.
It was an easier wait, now that they knew what to expect, for the door to open. She heard the minor commotion of the droids before Nimueh and Mordred were already outside, making short work of them. As Morgana stepped out of the room, she noticed that the smoke had followed them in its attempt of dissipating. She could only see the corridor through a fog barrier, the bits of droids spread on the floor giving the scene a grim look, which she tried to ignore as her hand moves in tandem with Gaius', striking at the remaining droids.
"There goes your bad feeling." Gaius grumbled, slashing at a droid.
"And here comes the reason we were sent with you!" Nimueh said, gesturing to five rolling forms coming quick in their direction. Even through the chaos, Morgana felt a sense of contentment in knowing she hadn't been wrong.
"With shields!" Mordred announced, unnecessarily as they stopped in formation and activated the damn spheres around them. They could stay there forever, and there was very little the Jedi would be able to do about it.
"We'll cover," Nimueh said, deflecting a shot. "Go to the bridge, we'll catch up."
Gaius lost no time in moving to the left, leaving them there, and Morgana shot them a last glance before following. It was useless to worry — Nimueh was a Master and Mordred was highly skilled, it would take far more than a handful of droids to stop them. When she turned, she saw the doors to the bridge had been closed — and her master was facing cold iron. He was not going to be happy about this.
"This is not the way we do things!" He complained, before plunging his blade through the door. It warmed and soon was glowing hot, and she turned her back to Gaius, ready to face whatever came to get them. It was just in time, as more droids came around.
She could still hear the fighting going on in the other corridor, the unmistakable sounds of lightsabers cutting through the air. Help would take a while, it seemed, but instead of apprehension, it gave her a thrill to have the responsibility to fight. It was easy — so easy — to slip into the same state that she used when meditating, the blade moving swiftly with her arm, covering and protecting everything. She didn't need to move much, for these droids weren't particularly smart. It was a simple matter of knowing where they would strike, hold the fire coming at them, and reflect them back at the shooters.
"They've closed another layer," Gaius grumbled, renewing his efforts on the door. Morgana barely registered it as she kept on moving and dispatching the droids that seemed to pour towards them.
She was just about to enquire on his progress when the sounds of Mordred and Nimueh's approach hit her, and Gaius himself turned to look at their running forms, as they slashed and pushed droids away to get closer to them.
"There are too many of them." Nimueh announced, but she seemed content with this turn of events. "I fear we'll need a new plan — and a shortcut."
Mordred was already above them, having opened up the ventilation shaft over their heads. Nimueh gestured for her to follow, before finishing up two droids with a single slice. She was good. Morgana jumped, following Mordred as he crawled, not caring why. Soon she heard Gaius joining them, and Nimueh's arrival was followed by a thud as the bars were put back in place.
It was a bit claustrophobic and uncomfortable, and very unlike most missions they had been sent on, but this was a joy instead of an issue. It didn't take long for Mordred to find a suitable exit and drop down, the rest of them following the suit quickly. Morgana soon noticed they were back at the hangar where they had landed not so long ago.
"We'll get our ship and…" Gaius started, but Mordred interrupted him.
"I'm afraid this is not a possibility," he said, gesturing ahead. There was a huge scorch mark on the ground where it had been when they left, and barely any sign of the old, faithful defender corvette that had brought them, or of the small crew they had left behind.
"Joy." Gaius deadpanned, while Nimueh frowned.
"This is an invasion, not a blockade." she said. "Look at this — it's an army."
Morgana knew she was right before looking:she could see rows and rows of ships, filled with skinny, skeleton-like droids, at the hangar that had been empty not so long ago. They might not be a particularly sturdy or smart model; but the cheapness in their making was counterbalanced by the sheer numbers, that would end up overwhelming opposing forces. Clearly this didn't help improving Gaius mood.
"We could take a escape pod…" Mordred started, but it was his turn to be cut down.
"They'd scan for life forms and hit us in the air," Nimueh dismissed the idea. "It would be better to have a real ship, however small…"
"And then they'd scan us and take us down." Gaius repeated her words.
"We'd have a better fighting chance."
"We didn't come to fight," he reminded her, and when she opened up her mouth to protest, he continued. "Think smart, not fast. We'll separate — hide inside different ships — and land with them."
"We'll be too late to be of much help!" Nimueh complained, but it was a sound idea.
"We'll be able, hopefully, to talk to the Order once we land, and we'll do whatever is in our power to help — even if we can't stop the invasion from happening altogether — and whatever we are able to do will be more that we'd get by getting seen. Now, cloak yourselves."
Morgana didn't argue, but pulled her hood and concentrated on being unnoticeable. It was not that difficult when it came to droids — and she was the first to get into a ship and ready for their next destination.
Well, as ready as she'd ever be.