6th day of Month 14 ABG (After Battle of Geonosis)
"I hear Qorik is nice this time of year," were Djinn Altis's words, Kuallue muses, and whether or not Altis had intended his comment to be serious, he had ended up being quite right.
Even trapped within a cyanogen chamber, for the oxygen in the atmosphere is toxic to Celegians, Kuallue finds himself enjoying the environment in Qorik, the second-largest city on Obroa-skai. The days are long, and the last traces of snow melted away about a month ago, leaving a green landscape, flourishing in the warm, moist summer air. Obroa-skai is known as a chilly world, relatively far from its sun, and in Kuallue's last visit, just over a century ago, it lived up to that reputation.
This time, he was sure to install a heating element into his cyanogen chamber. However, to his pleasant surprise, he hasn't found any need for it. The outside has been comfortable day after day, and he enjoys the view of distant mountains to the west with towering conifers dotting the landscape in between countless buildings.
What humans would call eyes are much less noticeable on Celegians, for they are small and blend in with the mottled gray and maroon pattern on Kuallue's skin, but he moves two of these organs towards the transparisteel wall of his tank. Propelled by four tentacles hanging beneath him, his bulbous head lurches forward through the hazy yellow of cyanogen gas.
The movement provides him a better view of the Obroan Galactic Observatory's interior, an ornate facility of black marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and plentiful windows to the outside. Computer terminals occupied by a dozen or so scholars in his line of sight all connect them to the Observatory's vast databanks, which store data on countless planets of the galaxy,
It is still and mostly quiet, with all of them immersed in their research. Using two of his four large tentacles, Kuallue deftly manipulates the datapad affixed to the side of the transparisteel, which has full access to the Observatory's databanks, a privilege that is free to him thanks to his status as a Jedi.
Jedi have long been respected on Obroa-skai: Dating back hundreds of generations, Jedi scholars have supported Obroan academics, and the Jedi Academy on Obroa-skai is almost 3,000 years old. The Observatory itself was built originally as a satellite facility of the Obroan Jedi Academy.
He works in silence, using the datapad's analysis capabilities to sift through vast mountains of data with help from the Observatory's powerful central processor. The number of planets in the galaxy never fails to amaze him: Even with limited search parameters and superprocessors at his disposal, finding the right planets is a massive undertaking.
Of course, the search for "standard" planets that humans can survive on is a huge industry, but Kuallue's search is more unique. It's a level of uniqueness that attracts the attention of one of the research assistants. He is one of the native Obroans, a four-eyed pinniped who slinks his way over, viewing reports on the datapad attached to his stubby left arm. They were significantly bulkier when Kuallue had visited in the wintertime, but now they look to be roughly human-sized.
"Excuse me, Master Jedi," the assistant greets in a deep, gargling voice, "I'm Brollow, one of the assistants here, and I've noticed you've been sending inquiries regarding planets with high iron content. You want to consider using the pre-written functions in our database which can identify potential yields for mining."
Mining iron for durasteel is probably crucial to the war effort these days, but that isn't what brought him to Obroa-skai. Kuallue conveys that he isn't interested in mining yields, as he's more interested in habitability. Although they can hear, Celegians have no vocal cords and cannot produce anything more than muffled gurgles with their uncoordinated mouths.
As such, his response is telepathic, operating outside the realm of language and words, conveying ideas as images and pure abstractions of their innate essences. It is an ability innate to his kind, though in Kuallue's case, it is further enhanced by the Force.
"With all due respect, you'll need extremely different parameters to find anything habitable," Brollow remarks, rubbing his fin-like hand over his wide mouth with confusion. "With such a high tectonic activity filter and the mineral compositions you're looking for, the carbon monoxide content would be through the roof on any worlds you find."
Kuallue explains that high carbon monoxide would be exactly what he's hoping for. The R'tunb breathe it and need to react with iron, forming the lakes of iron carbonyl which they drink from.
"Interesting," ponders the assistant, "and I must confess I've never heard of such a species."
Kuallue replies that he can't fault him, since their unique environmental demands generally force R'tunb to keep to their homeworld. He also confesses that hadn't known of them either until recently, when hundreds of thousands were displaced by a civil war.
Although he isn't particularly informed of the details, apparently one side is funded by the Republic, and the other is a Separatist proxy. Refugees need a place to go, but no other known planet matches their environment.
"Well good on you for helping them out, then! I'll be praying for a swift resolution to their conflict, but until then, I may be able to find some databases that would be of use to you," he replies, turning away to examine his own datapad.
While Kuallue appreciates his effort, he hardly needs the help. Master Altis hand-picked him for this assignment when he proposed that the best Jedi astronomers find the R'tunb a planet to settle. He should be able to tackle the job on his own, which is fortunate, since Coruscant Jedi are apparently too busy to help. After all, who has time to deal with such humanitarian problems when there's a war to be perpetuated? As such, Kuallue's only companions on Obroa-skai are his family.
Another way that they are unlike orthodox members of the Jedi Order is that Djinn Altis and his followers have no laws against having and enjoying family. Even now, he is telepathically in communion with both his wife, Uyuo, and his five-year-old son.
Because their communication lacks words, names do not come naturally to them. It is only for the sake of other species that Celegians ever take on a name, as was the case when the Jedi Order gave him the name Kuallue. Similarly, Uyuo got hers when she moved off Celegia for work, but they haven't felt the need to name their son yet.
Uyuo and their son are eating a late lunch, she reveals to him, and he conveys back his excitement at how the new algorithm that he is writing should allow him to identify atmospheres high in carbon monoxide at a much faster rate than before.
The two of them are having wraps of diced dwabbu and seavines, although one of theirs is falling apart all over the table. Their son also poured himself a far too large pile of sicik sauce in what was apparently an intentional effort to be macho. Uyuo teases him, mockingly demanding that he must clear his plate before he can have dessert or leave the table.
Today should be a fun day, too, for Kuallue is planning to head home about an hour earlier than usual to go with them to a bolo-ball game between Team Qorik and the visiting Team Nivev. He barely follows the sport, but it's a fun atmosphere to be in.
For decades he was warned about the dangers of passion by the Jedi, but it's at moments like these when he can't fathom what possible downside there could be in allowing himself to be a part of this family. There is such a joy from being in a loving community that he could never have achieved when he was the objective yet austere Jedi Knight.
He could never even consider returning to that lifestyle, being without his family. The Coruscant Jedi may call that selfish, yet here he sits, helping to find a home for refugees, all while they are dragged into continuing violence on behalf of a corrupt Senate. He's gone the entire war without harming more than a blister gnat.
Every morning upon entering the Observatory, he affirms that he is a Jedi by scanning a card that claims as much. Some days he does it without a thought; on others, like today, he wonders if that's an accurate assessment.
"Jedi" is more than a series of lines to form written characters or a sequence of pressure waves in the air to make sounds. It carries a meaning. But does it mean membership in an organization, or does it mean a way of life? Djinn Altis, who fancies himself a Jedi, uses the latter definition, but others prefer the former. Issues like this are why Kuallue often marvels at the fact that humans are able to think and perceive the world around them at all without getting lost in semantics. Their entire reality is masked by the language that they use to describe it.
At once, he feels the urge to snap out of his ponderings, a sudden sense of motivation to complete his work. But the feeling is not just any motivation, it is brought on by a sense of urgency and… fear. Still frantically typing away, he explores the feeling and begins to suspect that it is much more than that.
The origin is entirely external, for it is from the Force. He wonders if the alarm is a sense of the present, or a warning of the future.
At once, he reaches out to Uyuo and his son both with natural telepathy and using the Force to sense them. Even as they affirm that all is normal and radiate little more than benign curiosity at his concern, the feeling deepens.
Something terrible is about to happen.
At once, his datapad and dozens of others around the room chime, vibrate, and light up. His eyes scan over the alert, reading intently but quickly.
OBROA-SKAI PLANETARY EMERGENCY ALERT
INVADING WARSHIPS HAVE BREACHED THE PLANET'S ORBIT
LANDING CRAFT ARE APPROACHING ALONG VECTORS TOWARD DOADT AND QORIK
RESIDENTS OF THESE AREAS SHOULD SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER
ALL OTHERS SHOULD REMAIN ALERT
Looking out the window, he can already see the sky slightly discolored by the now-activated citywide shield overhead, with approaching starships appearing as nothing more than faint black dots in the distance.
Turbolaser blasts ascend into the sky, disappearing in the distance as they rush to meet the attackers, but it is the faint shield that holds his attention. Though he cannot see it now, he knows that it originates from three generators, one of which is little more than a block away from his home.
Beside him, all four of Brollow's eyes are wide as he approaches the window, his terror radiating in the Force. "Master Jedi, can you defend us?" he stammers.
Kuallue takes a look at the mass of enemies, in far greater numbers than he could possibly hope to defeat, even if he had chosen to be an active participant in this war. He gives the poor being a firm rejection to his plea, explaining that he has chosen to remain neutral in this war, promoting peace rather than continuing a cycle of violence.
With one last look out the window, he hurriedly activates the mechanical legs underneath his cyanogen tank, joining a crowd of departing scholars. The Galactic Observatory would be a valuable asset for any military, so Kuallue wouldn't be surprised if it were the focal point of an attack.
But deep down inside, he knows that this decision to flee is motivated by something far greater than his wish to be neutral. No, he must be at home. Uyuo and his son must be protected. He conveys to them the danger immediately in all its honest details, of how the droids' ruthless assault could kill thousands. That sort of outburst is what sends his son into a frenzy, and he immediately describes his plans to climb upstairs and use the Force to smash the bad guy spaceships.
His son may be a great Jedi someday, but not right now. He is more interested in using his tentacles to build out of toy plastic blocks than using telekinetic powers on the Dynamitron. Although Kuallue has never directly told his son, his powers are well beneath what Kuallue's were at age five. Kuallue took decades to reach knighthood, much less mastery, and even now with 146 years of knowledge, he still could not hope to accomplish such a telekinetic feat. The distances involved are too great, and the starships are too massive. Perhaps no one could throw them around.
When Kuallue explains their limitations telepathically, the revelation causes his son to cry out in despair, expressing his deep sorrow over the evils that are bound to come. Kuallue considers his response carefully: It is good for him to be upset by the galaxy's injustices, but also, he risks being overwhelmed by the despair if he focuses too much on them. Uyuo responds first, soothing him that he can focus on the good things in the galaxy.
Kuallue then instructs that the most important thing that they need to do is to stay out of the battle droids' way and get in their cyanogen tanks. Both ask why that would be necessary, but Kuallue insists, firmly explaining that any kind of stray shot or shrapnel would have a chance of rupturing the home's airtight walls, potentially exposing them to the dangerous oxygen atmosphere.
They agree, finally, and begin to go over in that direction.
As Kuallue makes his way toward the speeder parking with the rest of the crowd, he walks past a large floor-to-ceiling window that looks in the direction of his home and the shield generator. Indeed, vulture droids are swarming like insects in that direction.
It is absolute chaos in that part of the city; turbolasers stationed on the ground shoot down some of the droids, and Republic starfighters dance around with others. The vulture droids attack with no regard for their own or anyone's survival, gunning for their prey even when it makes them easy targets.
Once damaged, they seem to intentionally steer towards the generator, crashing into it as one last act of service to ensure their owners get every last credit worth of value. However, a crashing starfighter spiraling out of control is far from a precise weapon.
Suddenly, Kuallue is bombarded with information. The sinking feeling from the Force morphs into a deep feeling of despair and pain, and both Uyuo and their son cry out in a sudden message of distress.
Whatever care Kuallue had for civil norms goes out the window, as he knows that he must get home as soon as physically possible. Telekinetically, he shatters the transparisteel window and switches the tank to its more energy-consuming repulsorlift mode, floating out the window in order to cut across a courtyard. He clears above the civilians below, zooming towards his speeder.
As he does so, his family slowly explains more information. The house was hit by something, causing the second floor to fall down onto part of the home. They guess a turbolaser, but it would be highly unlikely for a laser to cause a collapse like that. More likely it would be one of the crashing vulture droids, Kuallue presumes.
The ceiling caved in, collapsing on their son. Uyuo is unharmed. The tank he had gotten into apparently saved his life, holding the weight of durasteel above them long enough for him to wriggle out. Apparently, however, the efforts damaged part of the transparisteel, so it will no longer be airtight.
Uyuo explains that the both of them can squeeze into her tank. It will be rather uncomfortable, but it will keep them alive until they can re-enter a cyanogen environment. With the home as damaged as it is, it's a certainty that oxygen is leaking in and cyanogen out.
By this point, Kuallue has made his way to his airspeeder. Quickly, he plugs his tank into the vehicle so that he can control it with his datapad, and immediately after, he zooms off into what is, of course, a chaotic airspace. Meanwhile, Uyuo is explaining that she had yet to get to her tank before the crash, as she was helping their son. Both of them now rush over to the other room where she keeps it, and…
Everything in the room is gone, for the crashed hull of a vulture droid fills up the entire space. Its wing has pierced right through the closet, so they have no functional cyanogen tanks in the entire home, and she can already see the yellow haze of cyanogen spilling out through a wide-open hole. She asks if they should warn people nearby of the leaking cyanogen. It is indeed dangerous to other species, but it should be quickly diluted by the huge volume of the outside atmosphere.
He assures her that the others will be fine, before urging that they get as far from the leak as possible and try to enter a room that's mostly airtight, hoping the residual cyanogen in it can keep them alive long enough for help to arrive.
Uyuo tells him that they'll go to the den. If Kuallue could get there, he might be able to use his telekinetic powers in the Force to slow the leaks. And yet, the hope is so incredibly faint. The time they've had together suddenly feels so short, the joys so shallow, and Kuallue is truly at a loss for any message to convey. He affirms that he loves them, with all of his being.
His family is by no means in a unique situation, for Kuallue can see that other buildings and vehicles nearby have been hit by crashing starfighters or stray blaster fire. But at a time like this, he passes them without a thought. His duties as a Jedi must take a backseat just for these few minutes at a time like this.
A maroon-haired, orange-skinned being lies face down on the permacrete, a laser bolt through the back. Kuallue can tell through the Force that he or she is definitely dead, but a nearby businessman nonetheless kneels over the body, checking for a pulse. There's nothing anyone can do about the situation.
A block later, his speeder zooms past a man trapped underneath the wing of a crashed V-19 Torrent. His legs are hopelessly crushed, and he is probably losing blood fast. Two passersby now struggle in vain to pull him out so that he may reach a hospital soon enough to spare his upper body.
Kuallue considers pulling over to help; his telekinetic powers could no doubt lift the wing if he took a few seconds to focus, but he simply doesn't have the time, and he is already a block past the incident at this point. To turn around quickly would be unsafe given the traffic, and the whole maneuver would cost him minutes that he could be spending with his family.
His son describes the pain, a wide array of symptoms from his lungs feeling like fire to his head feeling like ice to his tentacles growing heavier. Through the Force, he knows that they suffer the same, but Uyuo conveys little about her pain, trying to take the death with some measure of dignity. But there is no dignity of any kind for anyone. No telepathic thoughts, and certainly no words exist that could make the situation dignified. Not that it matters, for nothing could change anything. The two of them huddle in the corner, all while Kuallue is left swerving through traffic, violating every speeder safety law in the book.
The merciless carnage is still raining down from above, with vulture droids flying in low, too close to the rooftops for the defense turrets to risk any shots. The enemy pays no mind to the people of Obroa-skai, for their focus is solely on what they can take. Once the shield goes down, even more death will rain down by simple orbital bombardment. The Separatists will destroy anything that they deem inconvenient.
The best thing to do is exactly what Kuallue and his family have done, which is to stay out of their way, but even that is clearly no guarantee of safety. Uyuo and his son's tentacles drop to the ground out of physical weakness while Kuallue's droop to the bottom of his tank in despair. Uyuo reminds their son of the good times, of all that he was able to enjoy in his short life… their trip to Manda, the great tower of blocks that they built, and how he had excelled in the telepathic challenges assigned by Master So Plett.
It's such a pathetic list; five years is not enough for anyone to live. Though Kuallue doesn't dare express it, the five years that his son had do absolutely nothing to make up for the centuries of life that he deserved. Oh, how he wishes that he could give a century of his own life to either of them.
For one last time, one last time ever, the three of them all proclaim their love for another with telepathic messages that go deeper into Kuallue's heart than any human words ever could. Eventually, however, those communications become faint and distorted as their minds weaken. As Uyuo and his son lose their consciousness and ability for telepathy, Kuallue quickly makes one last promise. Suddenly, before he himself even realizes what he is committing to, he promises that he will ensure that something like this never happens again to anyone, that he will make sure those responsible for continuing the war are brought to justice, and that there will be peace in the galaxy.
He hears no telepathic response back. The Force tells him that their presences are dimmed, and that a total death is near.
In the Force, he reaches out in a presence of love and support, still rushing that he may see them in person one last time. They'll be dead by the time he arrives, but it matters not. He keeps driving on, and he keeps reaching out in the Force.
Their son perishes first, and suddenly he can no longer reach out to him. The Force has always been to him like a web, like a series of ropes connecting him to the universe, and one of those lines has now suddenly gone slack, the stake it was tied to now vanished.
Uyuo lasts for about thirty seconds longer. Another strand gone slack.
Just like his speeder floating above the pedways of Qorik, Kuallue is weightless and unattached to anything, floating in a void of nothingness, fumbling through slack ropes as he seeks anything to grab onto.
At last, he finally arrives to park the speeder onto their lawn, and he can see the vulture droid smashed into one side of the home, leaving a gaping hole from which the last bits of their life-giving cyanogen escape into the atmosphere. He dreads entering from the one still-intact doorway on the opposite end of the home, but he must. He must see them for one last time.
The sounds of battle above drown out his footsteps as he marches gloomily up those three duracrete steps into their rented living space. He pulls the door open with the Force, and he can hardly even see any cyanogen inside. The place is dead. Even the plant they brought from Celegia has already been wilted by the oxygen.
He turns the corner toward the den that they said they went into, hoping to use its doors to keep in a little bit of air. It was futile, no doubt. The transparisteel windows on the doors let him see both bodies even before he enters, crumpled up on the floor. Celegians are not lighter than air, as some think. Rather, they float around via a natural form of repulsorlift, one that requires life and energy.
Even when asleep, their tentacles tend to float around as if weightless, but now they are piled on the floor like rocks. The bodies are visibly grayer, his son has a pool of blood near where he must have been injured by the droid's initial impact.
No longer able to touch them through the Force, Kuallue longs for nothing more now than to embrace them physically, with his tentacles, or even to just look at them without a layer of transparisteel in the way.
But without cyanogen in the home anymore, neither is possible. He presses two tentacles against the transparisteel, perhaps trying to get a bit closer, perhaps hoping that it might just break, that he could be united with his family in the Netherworld of the Force. But no, he is just confined to his tank. All he can do is stare at them longingly, replaying memories and wishing that those dreams could come alive.
He reaches out once more in the Force, extending his awareness out to all of the individuals around him. His family are no longer anywhere to be found; nearby are only strangers. He doesn't feel any strands connecting himself to them. Their presences mean nothing. His only tie to reality is his last promise to those he loved: To stop the people responsible for atrocities like these.
In his grief, there is one strand still tied to him, which he finds at last. Closeness in the Force is not merely a measure of 3-Dimensional proximity, but it is created by relationships and connections. So, when Kuallue pulls on the strand, he expects it to point to one similar to him, maybe another Jedi on Obroa-skai who lost someone to Grievous, or perhaps some long-lost friend who could be of help.
But as he stretches his mind across this one tense line, he finds that his only remaining connection to anything in the Force is not a friend at all. This connection extends his awareness up through the roof and into the sky above, where the dreadful fleet descends onto Obroa-skai. The ships are full of activity, but the bulk of it feels almost entirely dead in the Force, as mindless droids account for most of the action. The only living being at the other end of Kuallue's telepathic projection is the monster behind it all, ordering his minions into committing his atrocities.
He is in the sky now, analyzing the Obroan response to his incursion, and he relishes in not just the deaths of his enemies, but also all of the other losses, including those of civilians like Kuallue's family. Though a completely bitter individual and single-minded in this regard, he is not mindless like the droids.
He fights because the carnage brings him the only form of joy he could ever hope to have: that of forcing others to become just like him. Perhaps inadvertently, Kuallue conveys his contempt telepathically, and he proclaims to this general that he will be coming to avenge and make things right.
In the message, he lets off that the general has hurt him, and as he reads the general's thoughts, it is clear that he is amused by the challenge, glad at Kuallue's suffering, and eager to hurt him some more. For this general has already killed many Jedi, Kuallue realizes, perhaps more Jedi than anyone in a millennium. This is not just any foe that he has vowed to stop. It is the Knight Slayer.
Kuallue has made a promise to his dying family and to himself that he is going to kill none other than General Grievous.