1.
He stared at the half-written sentence and it seemed to gaze back at him with amusement.
He wanted to write something meaningful to Reena, something that crystallized the turmoil within him: his loyalty to his master and his fears that Nimbo was leading the galaxy to disaster, the forbidden knowledge at his disposal and his fears of exploring it. But he could not speak plainly of the latter and, eschewing a direct explanation, he found that everything he set down on the page did not seem right, was not what he had really intended to say.
They exchanged letters regularly at first but over the course of months their missives dwindled and their tone had grown distant. Reena was accompanying Master Shayn to another archaeological expedition, this one at one of one the far corners of the galaxy, months of travel away. Her last letter felt as if she had composed it purely out of a sense of obligation: a perfunctory recitation of the daily difficulties her expedition faced, life without running water and all that, with a jarringly formal sign-off.
He wanted to write something that would rekindle the spark of friendship between them. This, however, was easier said than done, and he spent the better part of an afternoon struggling to think of what he could say. At one point, he tried to describe what his life was really like these days, but that turned out be extraordinarily dull. For lack of better ideas, he tried writing her about a dream he had recently which disturbed him greatly. It had the same vividness, the same feeling as the prophetic dreams he had when he was younger. In the dream, he was walking down a busy street with an oddly vacant stare in his eyes. Outwardly everything had appeared perfectly normal, but each step was somehow painful, each one more difficult than the last. He felt himself drowning in the effort it took to put one foot in front of the other.
There was something strangely disquieting about it though he could not say what it was. He would have easily dismissed it from his thoughts had it not felt so much like his dreams of long ago when he saw events that would later come to pass. He tried to explain all this in the letter but it had come out jumbled and after a while he crumpled up the paper and threw it away.
He was only glad to be interrupted when Wrasho casually strolled into his room, seeming altogether too pleased with himself, followed by Krava, the oldest of the padawans under Nimbo's tutelage.
"We have stayed within the walls of this temple long enough," Krava said, "and we tire of its empty halls. Care to take a closer look at the locals with us?"
They were not, in fact, supposed to leave the temple; their master had forbidden it, likely out of fear that he would have to answer for their behavior should one of them get caught up in some mischief within the city proper. Besides, Nimbo told them on the day they arrived here, trips to the planet would likely prove distracting; they should focus on their meditation, their saber skills, all the things that were supposed to constitute the bulk of their training.
All the same, Noval felt that he could not bear to spend any more time in his room in front of the empty parchment.
Shortly thereafter, the three of them mind-tricked the guards at the entrance of the temple and strode down into the city below. All three were in a cheerful mood; even if their master found out about this escapade, they would likely receive only a symbolic punishment, Nimbo himself being known for having routinely broken the order's rules in his youth.
The tension hung heavy in the air and they sensed it almost as soon as they stepped out of the temple. Clumps of Gamorrean mercenaries were standing about in heavy armor, often riddled with blaster-holes; uniformed policemen looked at them uneasily at every intersection, their hands never straying too far from their blasters; pedestrians seemed to rush forward and avoid eye contact.
They ambled about the city without hurry, gazing at the pretty palaces and mansions built millennia ago which, along with the towering monuments to recent military victories, constituted the chief attractions of the city. The contrast between the flowery, graceful air of the older architecture and the overpowering, brutal feeling conveyed by the recent additions was a reminder that the planet was not always mired in war, that there was a time when the people here devoted themselves to nobler pursuits.
In truth, there were more impressive places in the galaxy; still, all of them felt terribly excited at the newness of it all. The brightly-tiled sunburned roofs and cobblestone alleyways were so deliciously unlike the endless expanse of crop fields surrounding the academy on Dantooine.
Soon the afternoon lull came, darkness covering the planet as the twin suns occluded each other in the sky. It would be several hours before the air was full of sunlight again and meanwhile little was visible. After a bit of awkward meandering, they entered the first cantina they stumbled upon.
Inside the mood seemed more relaxed. A band of Bith was playing a cheery tune on their flutes and happiness seemed reflected in the faces of the crowd. People wearing Ulth colors were drinking together with their Plessians counterparts. A Twilek blissfully flailed her arms in front of the band, apparently lost in the melody.
They looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments before, by some wordless mutual agreement, sidling up to the bar and ordering drinks. Alcohol was frowned upon in the Jedi tradition, along with other drugs that distort the mind; but there seemed to be an understanding between the three of them that such things were not to be mentioned now. They were out in defiance of their master's orders, and what was one more rule to be broken?
They carried their drinks to a secluded table at the corner. Catching a whiff of the conversations around them, it seemed as if nearly everyone was talking about the agreement struck by the ambassadors on the previous day (an agreement which, Noval knew, was supposed to be kept secret), likely accounting for the cheerful mood around the cantina. For the moment, Noval felt simply glad to be here, happy to sit and soak up the chemically-induced feelings of glee. He looked at his companions, all sitting with drinks in front of them, also seeming elated by the escape from their daily routine.
"Do you think it'll work?" Krava was the first among them to break the silence.
"Sure," Wrasho replied in between sips of his ale. It went without saying the it they were discussing was their master's strategy of mind-tricking the ambassadors.
Krava stared off into the distance. "But," she said, looking uncomfortable, "if so, why don't the Jedi do this more often? Why didn't the master do it on his first day here?"
Wrasho shrugged. "Probably the same ethical concerns that keep Jedi from doing the million other things they aren't supposed to do."
Krava did not seem fully convinced. "I don't know," she said slowly, "given how strict the order can be, most Jedi seem surprisingly blase about the ethics of mind tricks. What do you think, Noval?"
But Noval was distracted. He suddenly felt a spike of anxiety, a sharp sting of fear that seemed to tear right through him. He had to grip his hands firmly on the table to prevent himself from falling off his stool. His ability to read the surface thoughts of others had become an unconscious habit and he realized with a start that the emotions he felt were not his own.
It was someone walking towards him. He felt lost in the feelings for a moment, lost in a desire to be unfettered, a desperate need to be away from something. The strength of the emotions propelled them above the noisy ambience of the crowd. It was nearby now and, impulsively, he reached out his hand and touched it.
"It" turned out to be a young woman in an elegant tunic the color of emerald, dark haired with hazel eyes, looking startled to have a stranger catch her hand. She looked at him with a startled mixture of confusion and apprehension.
"Apologies," he improvised, clumsily letting go of her arm, "but this is the first night in the city for me and my friends and," he paused searchingly, "and we were wondering if you might like to join us?"
It was, in restrospect, a somewhat silly thing to say to a woman walking past their table. Krava gave him an irritated glare and Wrasho seemed to be smirking at what must have appeared to be a very ham-handed approach. The woman hesitated briefly, casting a calculating glance at him and his friends, before flashing them a quick smile.
"Why, thank you," she said as she sat down, "that would be lovely. I always enjoy meeting new people."
2.
An awkward silence ensued. Noval had few occasions to practice small talk in the academy and racked his brain for something to say. Wrasho and Krava looked at him quizzically, likely thinking he should be the one to initiate conversation with a stranger he had invited to their table.
Fortunately, once their guest had ceased casting glances around the cantina, she had only to look at them to break the ice.
"You must be from off-world," she said.
"What gave us away?" Noval thought they were blending in splendidly, having traded their Jedi robes for the nondescript overalls that seemed de rigeur on this planet.
"A million different things," she said. "The colors of your garments. Your manner of sitting. The way you speak. You are neither Ulth nor Plessian."
"We are clerks with one of the diplomatic delegations," Krava interjected, not wishing to attract attention to three Jedi padawans who were not where they should be. "And it occurs to me that we have not been properly introduced."
They said their names, and when it came to their visitor she introduced herself as Eeso.
"We do not normally ask strangers to join us," Noval said looking at her, "but I couldn't help noticing that you were trying very hard to hide from something."
She seemed to hesitate before nodding.
"You are perceptive," she said, "it is nothing of any great importance. Members of the Ulth delegation are forbidden from leaving the embassy after hours," she said. "But, tonight, I felt an urge to be elsewhere."
She sipped the purple, syrupy drink that was Noval's until a few moments ago.
"We can sympathize with that," Wrasho grinned.
"Is anyone looking for you?" Krava asked, with more curiosity than concern in her voice.
Eeso nodded offhandedly. "Our royal security corps, I'm afraid. But it'll be an hour or two before they find me and I intend to make good use of that time."
Noval closed his eyes. The noisy sounds of the cantina tapered off until he heard only the breath of life around him. He did not know how to read her mind - Nerra had not taught him that much - but he could sense her feelings more clearly now that she was in front of him. He felt her anxiety, her desire to escape. She was not deceiving them, though he sensed there was also much she was not telling them.
"Why makes you so certain they will find you at all?" Wrasho asked.
Eeso held out her arm and pointed at the large, nebulous spot in the middle. "A tracker. All of us have them. But it can only localize me to a city block or so."
"But enough of such dreary things," she said, standing up. "As I said, I intend to make use of the time I have here. Does anyone want to dance?"
"I do," Wrasho said, which was just as well since Noval did not know how.
3.
Somehow Eeso convinced the Bith to change their tune; the music became faster, the beats louder, and the floor started to teem with people. The aliens in the cantina looked on with amusement and disapproval at the largely human dancefloor.
A tall man with a chiseled face asked Krava to dance and she obliged after a moment's hesitation. Alone at the table, Noval sat back and and tuned his mind to the thoughts fluttering all around him. It was an oddly relaxing exercise, to experience the feelings of hundreds of people simultaneously.
Nerra had once told him that relying on sight to perceive the world is akin to staring at the galaxy through a crack in the door, and he was slowly coming to understand the truth of her words. What he could sense most clearly now was an amalgamation of the feelings around him, wave after wave of unadulterated pleasure from a crowd lost in the music. He envied them, having never experienced this sensation himself, the utter abandonment that comes from immersing yourself in the rhythm.
Occasionally, he sensed a fragment of thought that he recognized as coming from one of his friends, or from the girl he invited to their table. He could tell that all three were enjoying himself, Krava and Wrasho despite the occasional scruple coming from the guilty knowledge that the order would frown upon their current behavior. Eeso's pleasure, by contrast, seemed to wholehearted and without any such reservations.
A few minutes later he found himself jolted out of this thoughts as he sensed something out of the ordinary. He looked around and calmly rose from the table, making his way to the dance floor and tapping Eeso on the shoulder once he had found her in the undifferentiated mass of people. He pointed towards the men who just entered the bar, six at each entrance.
Her face plainly showed her disappointment.
"Come with me," he said, almost yelling, his voice barely heard above the din of the music. She looked searchingly around the cantina before nodding. He took her by the hand and slowly led her to one of the exits.
Why did he decide to help her? He wondered at that himself. Perhaps it was instinct, a gut reaction to her desire to get away which seemed to mirror what he felt within his own soul.
As he approached the exit, it suddenly occurred to him that, alone, he could not mind-trick six men simultaneously.
What to do? He enumerated his options and none seemed satisfactory.
He ran his mind over the thoughts of the men standing at the door, feeling each of them and choosing one from their number. He felt this man's concentration, his eyes scouring the cantina, his cold resolve to follow, always, whatever orders he was given.
Noval pushed deeper.
He had asked Nerra once about manipulating minds but she had only smiled cryptically and said he would learn about such things in time. He felt himself lost now in the jumble of the man's thoughts, almost as if swayed about in a turbulent stream. A sense of revulsion came over him. Something was inexplicably wrong. The foreigness of the images streaming before his eyes was like a heavy weight on his chest. With some effort, he steadied himself and plunged forward.
But moments later he felt again that he couldn't bear it, that he had to get away. The urge was too strong to resist. The stream of thoughts began to feel like a current beneath an ocean's surface, and he was out of breadth, swimming up towards the air and out of the man's mind. He tried fighting the compulsion, tried to push himself back in the direction of the depths, all to no end.
The man himself was on his knees now, head cradled in his hands. Though he scarcely realized the cause of his sudden, piercing headache, unconsciously he was fighting back. Noval felt his will slowly ejected out of the man's mind; yet, just before he was flung out, he managed to tug at one of the images rushing by, softly whispering, there, that one.
The man suddenly began pointing to the corner of the dancefloor, yelling something to those who stood beside him. A few seconds later, all six of them rushed inside the cantina. After waiting patiently for a few moments, Noval calmly walked out the door with Eeso at his side.
4.
"How did you know they were about to leave?" she asked as soon as they had turned down a side street.
Noval remained silent. He was debating how much he should tell her when she answered her own question.
"You're a Jedi."
He nodded. There was little point in denying it.
"Are you the famous master Nimbo?"
He couldn't help but laugh.
"I am far too young to be a master. I am one of master Nimbo's many padawans."
Eeso looked at him as if taking his measure for the first time.
"Thank you," she said.
He nodded.
"I envy you, you know. Supposedly Jedi travel the galaxy, a million different worlds always at your beck and call. It must be a life full of wonder."
"I'm sure life in the Ulth diplomatic corps is not so bad," Noval replied.
"It is not so bad," she said, looking away. "There are worse fates in life. Some might say I am very fortunate."
She cast another look at Noval. He sensed she was on the verge of saying more and kept his silence.
"The world of the Ulth is very..." she seemed to be struggling to find the right word "...regimented. Our stations are fixed at birth. What we do in life is decided ahead of time. That I will be doing a stint with the embassy for a year or two was decided long ago by my family, for instance. "
"There must be some comfort in that," Noval said.
She shrugged.
"Some say so. I have yet to find the comfort in it."
"We are not so different," he replied after a short pause, "the Jedi order is not what you imagine it to be. It feels like a prison at times."
She looked at him with interest. "Really?"
"The teachings of the masters are not very flexible," he said, "and we must all conform to them."
He thought for a few moments.
"Two years ago, one of the padawans in my class committed an unforgivable sin. He would say, to anyone who would bother to hear him out, that the force was, by its very nature, evil. Do you know what the force is?"
"That mysterious source of energy the Jedi draw their power from?"
"Right," Noval said. "Jedi are often fond of thinking the force has a will of its own, that the coincidences that happen to us have somehow been engineered by the force for some unknown purpose. My master has decreed several times since landing on this planet that the force has brought him here."
"Now Gil - that was the padawan's name - took this one step further. If the force does have a purpose, Gil would say, it is not a good one. After all, the galaxy has been in quite a bit of disarray for a while, hasn't it? And if the force has a will of it's own and a power to shape events, its hard to believe it has not achieved its goals, whatever those may be."
"And this did not go well for Gil?"
"Indeed. The masters left him alone for a few while, hoping he would come to his senses. But, if anything, Gil seemed to get more strident, more impatient with the masters for refusing to see the truth of his words. He thought his insights had important implications for how the Jedi order went about its work."
"One day, he publicly confronted one of the great masters of the order. He said that this galaxy was the best of all possible galaxies, at least as far as the force or any power that shapes events within it is concerned. He challenged the master to explain why the Sith appear as often as they do if the force is powerful and benevolent. The master said nothing but the next day Gil was nowhere to be found."
"He was not killed, was he?"
"No," Noval laughed, "nothing so dramatic as that. He was put on the first ship off Dantoine with a few credits in his pocket. We still get letters from him occasionally. I believe he is a farmer now. Supposed to be quite good at it too."
She nodded. "I can see why you feel as if you're in cage."
"Tell me," she went on. "What does the force feel like?"
"It is a difficult thing to describe," Noval said.
"Please, I wish to know."
It was not a question he could answer well, for the force felt entirely unlike anything else. It was like describing the taste of chocolate to someone who had never tried it.
"Imagine awakening and hearing the heartbeat of the galaxy for the first time..." he began. But that was unsatisfactory, somehow it wasn't right.
He had discussed the very same question with Nerra some months ago and now he could think of nothing else but to repeat what she had said to him then.
"It is like a cloud, a mist that drifts from living creature to creature, set in motion by currents and eddies," he began.
"It is the eye of the storm, the passions of all living things turned into energy, into a chorus. It is the rising end at the swell of life, the promise of new territories and new blood, the call of new mysteries in the dark."
"I see," she said when it was clear he had finished. "Thank you, I suppose."
They walked quietly for a while before she broke the silence.
"I don't imagine you've heard about Prince Atre?"
Noval shook his head.
"It is not something the Ulth like to publicize. Atre was the fifth in line to the throne. A short, easily excited boy who, to the ire of his overseers, liked history books much more than he liked swordfights. He was never without a book under his arm," she laughed, "in fact, he often tried to read as he walked, holding the book in front of him. As you might imagine, he had a lot of bruises on his forehead."
"He had a bit too much to drink on the eve of the last solstice and got into a heated argument with one of the minor nobles who occupied the seat beside him at the feast. Several witnesses heard him declare that both sides were equally to blame for the civil war that broke this planet into Ulth and Plessians."
"I forget what he said, exactly. He had many details to back him up - supposed agreements that the Ulth had broken, opportunities for peace discarded out of bloodlust or desire for revenge. I have no idea if any of it was true."
"I take it things ended badly for him?" Noval asked.
Eeso nodded.
"It was the details that did him in. Had he been less thorough, he might have laughed it off as some kind of drunken joke, a misunderstood attempt at irony perhaps. As things stood, his arguments were a little too convincing. There were no excuses that could be made. He hasn't been since in over a year. The official story is that he has fallen ill and sent to a sanatorium in the mountains to recover in the open air."
"We used to play as kids, you now," Eeso went on, looking at him shyly, "ah - despite the difference in our stations. His father had borrowed some money from mine, and my family had secretly hoped he would take to me and we would elope. It didn't happen."
"I wonder where he is at times. In a prison cell, with only his jailer to keep him company? Was our regent merciful - was Atre allowed to live his out his life under an assumed name on some distant planet? Likely I will never know."
They walked in silence. There seemed to be little more to say on the subject.
"What do you think of the progress of the negotiations?" Noval asked when the quietness had become awkward.
"Disastrous," she replied distractedly. "Whatever stratagem your master employed will not last. The royal families on both sides will conclude that trickery was involved."
"Are you sure?" Noval was hoping to receive a different answer.
She nodded. "Besides, these negotiations were doomed to fail from the start. The royals on both sides despise each other. Their allies had forced these negotiations on them; they did not agree to sit across a table on their own, I can assure you of that. The hatred on my side is particularly virulent. The conflict had become a matter of honor and honor can only be satisfied by blood."
"It is not an easy thing to describe," she said, looking tentatively at Noval. "Among the Ulth, concepts like honor and dignity are paramount. Concepts that have disappeared entirely from much of the galaxy. The Ulth emperor would sooner strange his own children than forego a chance to revenge himself on the Plessians."
"Is there any way my master could have succeeded?"
She shrugged. "I don't see how. He didn't even have the two monarchs in front of him, only some envoys powerless to make any real concessions."
"In truth," she looked tentatively at Noval now, "this is why I felt the need to get away today. Look around you - " she gestured at the cobbles on the street around her and the dark afternoon sky, "this is one of the last days of a peaceful world. Tomorrow or in the days thereafter, everything here will change. I look at it all and wonder how much will remain standing in a year's time."
Noval looked around. It was indeed a beautiful city. They were standing beside a row of guild-houses, each one adorned with a family crest and a bevy of ornate stone figurines, each one in a stated of excited nudity. It would be a shame if all this were reduced to rubble.
"I can help you escape," he replied, the words seeming to form themselves in his mouth. "If you would like, I can arrange transport for you off-world."
She stared at him intensely and said nothing.
"You escaped your handlers once," he went on, "you could do so again. We could meet in one of the spaceports. I'll find a pilot to take you off this planet, someone who is paid in advance and honest."
She looked away. They turned the corner of one one of the major bridges of the city, a tiled walkway punctuated by elaborate statues of heroes from the city's past. Rays of sunlight were starting to fall as the suns began to move away from each other in the sky.
"And then what?" she asked. "What would I do once I am off this world?"
"Anything," Noval said. "Anything you want. I would help you as much as I can..."
He let his words hang in the air.
"No," she said at last, "though I thank you. It is very kind of you to offer, really. But my place is here, in the only world I have ever known."
He nodded without surprise.
"In any case," she said, smiling, "the first glimmer of light is here and it is high time I made my way back. Thank you again, for what you did, and for what you offered me."
"My pleasure," Noval said sincerely.
"Our paths will cross again, I hope." She gave him a quick half-bow before turning away and quickly disappearing into one of the cramped alleys that lined the city.
He walked back to the temple slowly. His heart booming with a sense of adventure; but he was saddened that she had left without offering to keep in touch. Well, she knew he was his master's padawan; if she wanted, she could find him without much difficulty.
He was ready to mind-trick the guards at the entrance but they seemed to think there was little out of the ordinary in a Jedi padawan walking into the temple, even at this hour. Once in his room, he collapsed onto his bed and instantly fell into a heavy slumber that lasted for many hours - until he was finally awakened, on the following day, by the sound of explosions and blaster fire.