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Chapter 18

The Messenger

"You were the Chosen One!" Obi-Wan growled. "It was said that you would destroy the Sith—not join them!"

"What I'll destroy is the Force."

Obi-Wan's heart froze in his chest. Destroy the Force?

Vader screamed, streaking forward. Obi-Wan caught his blade. He pedaled back as Vader surged. The dark lord was an animal. He smashed and stabbed. Obi-Wan blocked but was quickly tiring.

Vader lost his footing. Obi-Wan seized his chance, cutting a gash up Vader's side. But as he went for the kill, lightning engulfed him. He fell shouting to his knees.

Vader maintained the lightning while he lifted his saber. "This is the end, my master."

Vader swung—Obi-Wan blocked. The Jedi's hands trembled with effort. Vader leaned heavily, forcing the blade down. Vengeance was here, sitting on his tongue, to be savored before consumption. In his mind's eye, he gripped Padme's flesh, ravished her body, atop Obi-Wan's corpse.

The ground exploded, throwing Vader aside. Above them, on the Tangent's ramp, Landon wielded a blaster.

Obi-Wan struggled to his feet. His eyes blinked clear.

The Tangent lowered as Landon fired at Wrath and Demic. Quinn jumped to the ship, followed by Palmer.

Obi-Wan turned to find Vader slashing. The Sith caught air as Obi-Wan leapt to the ramp of the Tangent.

Vader slammed his blade, piercing the ground so only the hilt could be seen. His primal scream echoed in the valley.

For a brief moment, Obi-Wan held his eyes. One final search for the seed of repentance. But the Sith was pure. Obi-Wan walked up the ramp with a weight off his heart.

The Tangent came about and streaked through the sky.

Padme launched into his arms. Obi-Wan staggered but caught her, allowing her head on his chest. "Are you all right?" she demanded.

Obi-Wan nodded. Over Padme's shoulder, Miler strode toward Landon.

"Nice flyin'," drawled Landon.

Miler punched him in the jaw, sending him reeling.

"Hey!" barked Obi-Wan.

Miler struck another blow and threw Landon to the floor. He climbed on top, punching him in the eye. Landon blocked the next blow, throwing him off.

Miler launched himself again, but Obi-Wan caught him. "Stop! What's happened here?"

"This blimey bastard almost killed us!" Miller yelled.

Landon staggered to his feet. "You were killing yourself! That chick was as good as dead!"

"I don' care if we were draggin' an anchor! Ya don' leave your crew!"

"Spoken like a Republic automaton."

"Landon, close your mouth," Obi-Wan gnarled. This pacified Miler, who presented his palms. Obi-Wan released him.

The crew was silent, rank strangers in a circle. Obi-Wan stood at the center, looking between them. He could feel the mission slipping away.

"This endeavor," he said in a measured voice, "is deadly enough without our adding to its danger. If we persist without trust, we will surely fail. And the blood of a galaxy will stain our hands." He paused, as if to force them to feel the weight of it. "I'm not sure I belong here. Perhaps you don't either. Yet here we are. So I want you to ask yourself: what happens next?"

The words hung in the air. For a long moment, no one moved.

"Let's get you looked at," Julian told Miler.

Miler blinked before nodding. Everyone dispersed, except Obi-Wan and Landon.

Obi-Wan stared him down. "Having a bad day?"

Landon wiped his bloody mouth. "I won't apologize."

"No. I expect not. But if you want to remain here, you won't do that again."

"Message received," Landon said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like some ice."

"Check the kitchen. I'd stay clear of the med bay."

Julian applied bacta to the wound, keeping Miler in the corner of his eye. "For what it's worth, he's not wrong." The doctor explained: "She didn't have a chance. Even if I got her on board, I couldn't have saved her. It nearly got you killed."

"You're a doctor, Julian. I know what that means."

Julian wondered how, but filed it for later. "Okay, mate, you're all done." He rolled back on his stool. "Try not to touch it. You'll be tender for a while."

The door hissed open. Julian tried not to smirk when Aayla entered.

"How's the patient?" she asked.

"He'll live," said Julian. "No scar, though, if you like that sort of thing."

Aayla walked to the bed, lifting her hand before dropping it. Her lips twisted nervously. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You, too, lass."

Her hand rested on the bed beside him. He thought of covering it with his own but found Julian watching. They lapsed into silence before Aayla stepped back.

"I should... go meditate," she said. "I'll see you around."

Miler wanted to respond but nothing came out. Aayla left, and he dropped his head with a groan.

"Very smooth," said Julian. "Thought I was watching a holo-film."

"Oh, shove off."

Julian clapped him on the arm. "Buck up, mate. I've got expert advice and some ale needs drinking."

"Just the ale, thanks."

Palmer examined his cramped quarters. It reminded him of his temple bunk (or maybe it didn't; memories have a way of fading into myth). He set his lightsaber on a table and walked to the wall. He checked the steel for signs of surveillance.

"You fought well for being out of practice."

Palmer smirked. He didn't bother turning. "Every day is a war. It's only you Jedi get particular with weapons."

Quinn leaned on the door frame. "You still carry yours. Does that make you a Jedi?"

"I'm an admirer of relics. As, I imagine, are you. 'The great Jedi historian,'" Palmer said bombastically. "Tell me: what will our place be, when all this is over?"

"You mistake history for the study of the past."

"And what would you call it?"

"Prophecy," replied Quinn. "What has been will always be. All the life in the universe is trapped in a loop."

Palmer turned, tracing his mustache. "You're wrong about that. We don't repeat our fathers' sins."

"And what of our fathers' good?"

Palmer hummed beneath his breath. Dusk light filled his eyes. "He who imitates evil always goes beyond the example that is set. He who imitates good always falls a little short."

"So we devolve, then. Each generation."

"In a thousand years, we'll be protein and acid."

Quinn's nostrils contracted. He flexed three clawed fingers. "Until that day."

Palmer smiled emptily. "Until that day."

Unless you're a Jedi, the Force means nothing. It's a simple matrix of physics and math. The same is true of pilots and hyperspace. Landon stared at the swirling mass. Thin bands of blue, cast against black, twirled like petals.

He looked at a banged-up holoframe perched on the dashboard. It held the image of a determined woman.

"Bweeeep."

"I don't speak droid," said Landon.

R2 plugged in to a nearby computer. It translated speech to a digital readout. "Why are you sitting here?" it read. "The auto-pilot is functioning normally."

"Why do we do anything?" Landon wondered.

"Biological and chemical imperatives," R2 replied.

Landon only smirked. But then feeling the droid's stare, he snapped his head. "Something else, short stack?"

"Who's in the holograph?" R2 asked.

Landon's forehead creased. The droid dithered at his ice-cold eyes.

"Don't ask that again," Landon said quietly.

Julian frowned at the bottle, finding little remained. "Miler," he mumbled, "there's a very good chance we're drunk right now."

Miler snatched the bottle, pouring two glasses. Julian crossed his eyes at the thought of another. "And what's wrong with bein' drunk?" Miler mused. "Better than thinkin'... an' dreamin'... an' fightin'..."

Julian sank on the couch. "I used to dream of fighting..."

"What—like a boxer?"

"Like you! Brave soldier of the Republic."

Miler chortled, taking a long drink. "There's nothin' brave about survivin'."

"That's where you're wrong! If you die, the war's over. If you survive... you have to fight again."

"Hmm. Never thought like that."

"Miler Crata," Julian slurred, lifting his glass in toast (and spilling ale everywhere). "I hereby declare you... the bravest blimey soldier in the history of this... c—civilization... or any other. You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar!"

Miler grinned. He took a swig, propped his feet on the table. He threw back his head and stared at the ceiling, remembering his academy graduation. How did it go again—the Republic March?

He sang in a bad baritone: "Repuuuublic soooollllldiers, maaaarrrch tooo gloooooorrrryyy... victooorrrryyy is hoooverin' o'er ye... bright-eyed frrrreeeeedom stands before yeeee... hear yeeeee not the caaaalllll."

Julian slammed his glass down. He joined the next verse, mock-conducting.

"At your sloth, she seems to wonder

if your faith's been torn asunder

Take your blaster and write history

for ye whom you love

Echoes loudly waking

Ship and planet shaking

'Til the sound spreads wide around

Their evil spirit breaking

Your foes your mercy taking

For you lot have not forsaken

The Republic never yields!"

Julian signaled the finish with a snap of his arms. "Now that is a song!" he said, reaching for the couch. He didn't care when he landed on the floor. "Three thousand years and it only gets better."

"Wish I could'a been there—at Korriban—when he wrote it. Tha', my friend, was the golden age." Miler's head dropped to one shoulder. "Men were men. Women were women. Different time. A better one."

"Bet they said the same thing—about earlier times," said Julian. "We glorify the past 'cause we're afraid of the future. We don't know if we're hero or villain—not 'til the song's wrote."

Miler blinked. "That's some deep shit, Julian. Are ya sure you're drunk?"

The doctor snickered, sliding onto the couch. "I think better when I'm drunk. Case in point: I know for a fact women are still women."

"How's that?"

"You're in love with one."

Miler froze mid-sip. He set the glass down. Flicking his eyes to the doctor, he found no smugness. "I barely know her."

"You barely know me."

"I'm not in love with you."

"That hurts, but continue."

Miler imagined her face against a canvass of stars. "I guess I don' understand. It's like—it's like I chose her b'fore I was born. And I been searchin' the whole galaxy 'fore I finally found her."

"That's good material. Mind if I use that?" Julian grinned at his glare. "Sorry. Keep going."

"That's it."

"What do you mean 'that's it?' What are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" cried Julian. "What about that soulmate stuff?"

Miler shook his head gloomily. "We got a mission. And either one of us could die. Maybe she could handle that, but I know I couldn't."

Julian studied him before rubbing his eyes. He forced the clutter from his mind, grasping a thought. It was too precious to lose. "I tell you about Utapau—my tour at the field clinic?"

"No."

"Hated it there. All rock and sink holes. The clinic was quiet, though; we were pretty far from the front line," Julian recalled. "Most of my patients were treated for heat exhaustion."

"Aye. It's a furnace down there."

"I only lost one man. That's pretty good for twenty days."

"He stroked out?"

Julian took a breath. "Friendly fire. His mate was cleaning a blaster—forgot to power down."

"Bloody hell," Miler mumbled.

"Right through the chest," Julian recalled dourly. "By the time he got to me, it was a matter of two minutes."

Miler tried to guess the point of the story. "You talked to him—before he—?"

Julian nodded. His chin inched toward his mouth. "He knew he was bleeding out. He kept fumbling for his pocket. I reached in, found a slip of paper. He said it was for Hayli—made me promise to give it to her."

"Who was she?"

"Another soldier. He said he'd loved her for years," Julian said, almost whispering. "So he died on my table and left me this note. I waited for her—to come back from the line—even after my tour ended. Then one day, she walked into my tent..."

The doctor swallowed. "I gave her the note, and I could feel her sadness down to my bones. She didn't say anything—just thanked me and left. But I've always known..." His forehead creased, eyes cast down. "I've always known she felt the same."

Miler looked off. The skin crinkled at his temples.

Julian turned to him solemnly. "Don't make me your messenger, Miler."

Aayla held her pose, suspended in the air, as objects floated around her. The physical world vanished; she was enveloped in the Force. It covered her like a dark and light shroud. And its beauty, even it be dreadful, brought her closer to truth. But was that enough?

The work of the Force is utterly lonely. Yet need it be so? Were the Jedi protocols not written by men? Was the Sith code not a man's interpretation? From the day she crawled, a cabal of masters dictated her experience of the Force. What would happen if she defined it herself? What would happen if she let herself—there is no emotion; there is peace; there is no ignorance; there is—what would happen if she let herself love?

A door chime ripped her from meditation. She plunked down on the floor, blinking rapidly. When the sound registered, she walked to the door. It slid open to reveal Miler.

He leaned on the frame, wearing a dreamy grin. "Good evenin'. Hope I'm not interruptin'."

Aayla smiled. "Not at all."

"Good! 'Cause I'm of a mind to tell ya somethin'."

"I'm of a mind to hear it," she replied sweetly. "Though I wonder if you should sleep on it. You appear quite drunk, Miler Crata."

Miler warped his face before conceding: "Aye, I am. And that's why I shouldn't sleep on it."

She searched his eyes, finding an impenetrable maelstrom. His grin began to widen. "Do you remember what you said to me?" he asked. "About vastness."

"'The universe is filled with people.'"

Miler pointed emphatically. "Aye! 'Filled with people.' Ya meet new ones each day—and ya get on with your bus'ness. Only I can't now. 'Cause since I met ya, you've been my bus'ness. I can't think of anythin' but you."

Aayla's face flushed. Her heart beat faster. Reality collapsed to one Miler-centric point.

"You were right—about loss," he said. "I lose everyone I love. My parents, my sister, my friends. And I thought I could fix it by lettin' go. But I realize now I gotta hold tighter. And every time I look at you, I wanna crush ya against me. I wanna press your lips to mine."

Aayla's brow creased. Her hands trembled at her sides.

Miler's bright, naive eyes bore into her depths. "I know it's wrong for ya. I know it couldn't be. But Aayla, I love ya. Call it madness—or the will of the Force—I love you."

There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance—

"In a trillion systems, in a trillion galaxies, I could never love anyone but you."

Aayla grabbed his collar, smashing her lips to his. Miler grunted, pulling her against him. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, relishing her groan. Aayla pulled him into the room and pushed him against the wall. She ran her hand through his hair while exploring his mouth.

He grabbed her hips, reversing positions. They were wild—frantic—releasing years of pain and frustration. Aayla tugged on his shirt, yanking it over his head. He pulled down her top, revealing her bra.

When she moved to kiss him, he suddenly grabbed her shoulders. He held her at arms' length. "Aayla," he breathed. "I want this—so badly. But you—your—are you—"

Aayla's eyes were clear, full of love. "I was born to be yours."

Miler captured her mouth, picking her up. He carried her to the bed and followed her to the mattress. His warm mouth trailed down her neck. She shuddered, back arching. Reality gave way to a bubble-universe confined to her cabin. There was only her, and Miler, and the hot current between them.

"I love you," she moaned.

The man tucked his gray beard, deeply solemn. The little girl wondered what had made him so sad.

"I know this will be confusing," he said gently. "It will be some time before you understand. But it's important that you remember. You must remember, okay?"

The little girl nodded, eyes wide and innocent.

"One day, you're going to meet a boy named Anakin Skywalker. And he'll seem kind, at first. He'll want you to love him. But whatever you do, you mustn't allow it. He is dangerous. He is evil. You cannot trust Anakin. Do you understand?"

Padme shot up in bed. Her hand flew to her chest, feeling her pounding heart. The dark room closed in on her. The black outlines of objects seemed to conspire.

She squeezed her eyes shut, head in her palm.

Good and bad dreams will haunt your nights, but never so much as those that are both. Too long had she grasped for the meaning of this one. She'd never seen the man's face—not clearly—until tonight. And now she knew: there was only one person who could help.

Obi-Wan sat at a workbench, sliding a pin into his saber hilt. Vader's lightning had damaged the mechanism. A fresh box of sabers sat in the corner, but this one was special. He'd won victories, suffered losses, and saved Padme with it.

He was grabbing a fastener when the door opened. He craned his neck to find Padme. "Hello there. Couldn't sleep?"

She shook her head.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

Padme walked to the far wall, rubbing her arms, feeling Obi-Wan's gaze. "There's something—" She swallowed. "You asked me once how I knew about Anakin—how I knew what he'd become without benefit of the Force."

"I remember."

"And then, the other night at the temple, we talked about dreams. I asked if dreams could be memories."

"You've remembered something," Obi-Wan said. "Something about Vader."

Padme's eyes snapped down. One hand twisted the other. "It was a long time ago. I was just a little girl. Six years old—perhaps seven. I was at the lake on Naboo, sitting alone in a field."

She said, "I was playing with the flowers when a stranger came. He had a gray beard—and the kindest eyes. He sat with me and we talked. I can't explain it, but it was like I knew him—like he'd always been there. And I could see in his eyes that he knew me."

She paused, feeling Obi-Wan's stare, a heaviness in her stomach. "He told me to remember something—something important. He said, one day, I'd meet a boy named Anakin. And that this boy was evil. He said I must never trust him."

Obi-Wan flinched. A small divot formed between his eyes.

"Obi-Wan..." She finally met his gaze. "I think the man was you."