Strange World • New World by TruView
FanFiction Author's Note: As Omega recounts the fourth and final vision of the exploits of Usiku (estranged daughter of the late Ahsoka Tano), she begins to sweat even more having served as a conduit for these prophetic visions so intensely. Will such efforts thoroughly motivate Master Offee to rear the child with a slightly less bias toward the light than would the Jedi or will she prove to be more creatively nuanced in her approach as guide and mentor to such a gifted Force-sensitive?
Dear readers while I am always anxious to convey a sample interpolation of the Star Wars Universe as I see it, please know that I remain as committed as ever to improving my use of the narrative voice in telling better stories. This means that the majority of what you're about to read will be in the first person –a practice I rarely ever take up; that being said, please forgive any missteps by a fellow fanfiction writer-contributor. Most importantly however, thank you for stopping in and smiling at my delusions. Enjoy!
"Okay, Omega. Tell me of your vision, but afterward you and the child will sleep here in the building instead of hiking back down to your ship."
"Thank you," She responded, "Let's See."
"Yes, Let's see." Barriss Offee repeated slowly taking Omega's hands in hers. "Now, close your eyes, try to relax, breath deeply, and open your mind to me. The Force will take care of the rest. Can you do that?"
Those instructions were easy to follow and the soft motherly reassuring voice Barriss affected made the whole exchange that much more pleasant for the young adult clone. Knowing that she would be able to confide in someone so completely, someone so capable as this living legend of a bygone era was a precious gift in and of itself. Though unseen, the facial expression Omega wore was one of genuine relief and gratitude because although motherhood is a sacred privilege given to one person, it is a responsibility shared by all in the family.
"Yes, Master Offee. I can."
[Fourth Vision, a lone starship exits hyperspace in the Quelii Sector Outer Rim in five, four, three, two...]
"By the Force, what was I thinking?" I say aloud still somewhat groggy from sleep. Yawning, I twist and turn my neck stretching until I hear the snap of bone. Like funko-pop figures for sale right out of a tatooine traveling circus filled with neon-colored Jawas, Myykians, and even smaller creatures –some not so humanoid, my whole head bobs all around combating morning stiffness while inadvertently needling my lekku so that it twitches and spasms with nervous energy. In addition, barely traceable currents of electromagnetism and the distillation of cosmic light waves run along both sides of my head feeding into specialized nerve clusters; these clusters reach up beyond the nuerocranium and back into that hollow space from which spring two very stunted montrals. They register in the way one might experience a ringing of the ears. Did I forget to mention that these sensations generally signal the entry and exit of warp tunnels when I find myself aboard ship? Planetside, this nifty little trick is an altogether different beast –allowing me to see in ways not unlike that of the Force. Ironically, the normal working montrals of a typical Togruta are used for pinpointing the whereabouts of eatable prey or lurking predators on the prowl over long distances. However, because mine are so woefully undersized, they cannot serve this purpose to any reliable degree. I suppose it's enough to know that they aren't merely vestigial and that some use, however small, is more than nothing at all. It is noteworthy that when I cover them with a cowl or a hoodie, I can easily pass a Twi'lek female …probably why I have such a strong affinity for them.
My birthday suit comes in only two colors: obsidian black and a deathly gray. Under close scrutiny however, only my eyes break with the obscene duality of colors by radiating the twilight of a mesmerizing emerald green. 'Refreshing, but cold', some have thought. If I were human, I'd be labeled an albino. The Togruta, mypeople, are a multi-colored species, reason being. Space-born as I am, my exposure to solar and cosmic radiation levels must have had some effect on certain aspects of my DNA prepping them in anticipation of the likely environment I was to inhabit. Ahsoka, my progenitor, spent a lot of time traveling the space ways long before I came into existence. That alteration in how my genes express might've come through her but I'll never know for sure since both she and my father are long dead. I've never met the extended family of either of their tribes. Needless to say, Togrutan fetuses are extremely sensitive to temperature, gravity fluctuations, and a host of other factors. Ahsoka never knew this apparently. These external influences help to develop a color-scheme later displayed on our bodies; but this lifetime art exhibit isn't a mere affectation. It's used to help camouflage us so that we blend into our surroundings. But enough of this epigenetics bantha fooder! The only reason I ever cared so much anyway was because I needed an explanation as to why I came out so different; and even then it is only best guess. My Togruti is atrocious, but my twi'lek is more than sufficient, and is surpassed only by my Mirialan and Galactic basic standard.
Instinctively my fingers dance over the controls checking atmospheric radiation levels the moment we reach realtime space. It's a purely machine job and no one ever wonders about it… I mean like ever.
"So far, so good." I sound cheerful or at least, I'm trying to...
I marvel at the fact that it's an ingenuous mixture of hydrogen and oxygen layered in the walls insulating me from the ravages of space-time just outside while serving a few other needs. This seamless pairing of science and technology at work never ceases to amaze me. The two are like brother and sister, while the Force itself is the enviable distant cousin tall dark and handsome. Well actually It's more like some inexplicable freak of nature with attributes that have no basis in reality. Still though, If I were not able to touch it– the Force, I mean –I'd have definitely become a scientist or an engineer which is the next best thing.
Any way, hull integrity is one hundred percent and all ship systems are well-above normal. There's no one else here with me except my trusty droid, an astromech unit that's been with me since the early days of piloting the Furious Angel back in my adolescence. Knowing how much I prefer debating with my own thoughts in these inaugural moments, R3 gives me the space to do just that by its silence. And then from out of no where a number of warnings sound off indicating an erroneous approach vector. Not needing my consent, the droid instantaneously mashes the numbers again and spits out a new set of coordinates obviating the need for my involvement. Ya know, through the Force I can feel almost every inch of this vessel in a way regular pilots cannot; in most cases, it makes flying so very easy even intuitive. But there are times where the whole experience can be quite maddening; like for example, hearing the low thrum of stealth engines in vacuum -no less- churn inside your own mind makes for the worst of sleeping aids believe you me, but I digress.
Recalling my attention to the situation at hand, I can't help but notice how darkly foreboding this world is. The tragedy that befell it during the time of the Clone Wars had been taught to me and others back home on Mirial without end as younglings: Essentially the separatist army was led by Count Dooku, a fallen Jedi-turned-Sith lord. He sent a huge detachment of his droid army to the rancor planet to deal a death blow to the Night Sisters in retaliation for a failed attempt on his life. That very attempt was spearheaded by non other than his former apprentice, Asajj Ventress (also a Night Sister). It was a complete rout, or very nearly so. Mother Talzin herself who was knowledgeable in the ways of Force magicks barely escaped. Ultimately, she and her clan were overcome.
Still, it's amazing though! Even at such a great distance away in translunar orbit, I can actually feel them. The closer I get to the planet, the more precisely I can interpret their agony, their overwhelming grief, their explosive anger, their unmistakable rage, or their barren hope for any semblance of retribution since most of their enemies are likewise, buried or obliterated. There's a cornucopia of other emotions, wants, and desires too;i.e., intermittent impulses of motherly joy at the sure prospect of child birth, and the tumultuous euphoria of achieving an orgasm in the arms of a lover –sometimes two, and not always of the opposite sex. It's all a fabrication though because I know that they are dead and gone. And yet, the intensity of it all has not been diminished by time. Even in death their zest for life remains. What power! I begin to suspect that it's been made manifest for the sole purpose of reeling me in. With the undead chorus of their fitful souls being amplified by their planetary resonance, they reach out for me… this native collection of Dathomir, specifically these, Night Sisters. They beckon me hither. They want that I should join them down beneath that sacred necropolis were the soil is blackest. And even though I strive to stay in the metaphorical light being mindful of the present, another part of me is… (I sigh) shamefully thrilled by the notion of sisterhood. It's a fact that both worries and intrigues me and so I push on in spite of my fears, in spite of my hesitation determined to know more of myself for myself –as I have always done.
"You may die there." Says a concerned Barriss Offee days earlier. "You don't actually have to go."
"Yes I do." I insists. "You know I do. These are my trials ...so-to-speak."
"I understand," Offee begins to concede, "It's just that THAT planet is bathed in Dark side Energy. It is Bogan."
I don't say anything cuz I already know what that word means and all that it entails. But eventually, I open my mouth to respond yet nothing sensible comes to mind so I close it again and my master continues.
"While it is clear you are no shining Knight, neither are you Sith. You straddle the fence too much for my liking."
"Are you afraid that Dathomir will nudge me over the edge into the abyss?" I humbly inquire with a sarcastic twinkle in my eye.
"You're such a poet and a philosopher, like your mother."
"My mother was no poet-philosopher. Please have a care for the woman who raised me through blood, sweat, and tears."
"My apologies." She bows her head solemnly trying to hide it but I see the reflective moisture build in her eyes as she fights to restrain a tidal wave of tears threatening to fall. Succeeding, she raises her head again and continues speaking more conscientiously, "No, she was not. She was a very practical woman and a good friend. Even so, I disagree with you going to that planet. And the answer to your original question is yes, I do worry about you falling to the Dark Side."
"It's an acceptable risk factor." I inform.
"Risk factors be damned!" There was more hurt than bite in those words, "I don't want any harm to come to you in such a place where I cannot render aid. And ultimately, if the cards don't fall in our favor, the next time we meet could be as enemies. That being said, I have no option but to trust that your instincts are right. More to the point, I hope that you are truly prepared for what comes next. Your trials await. May the Force be with you."
"Thank you Master Offee."
Generally, one learns that masters are not permitted to accompany their pupils when we go off to face our demons. But as I think back on our conversation, I see now why she was so reluctant to let me go. She was the principal catalyst for Ahsoka's expulsion of the Jedi academy before the schisms happened when it existed solely in the galactic capital of the old Republic, Cursascant. That woman died as a result of her wounds in a duel with her former friend and mentor while giving birth to me. Next, she had to witness Omega's passing. This was the female clone child of the bounty hunter Jango Fett who became the ward Ahsoka took under her wing decades ago. And now me, the product of her own biological contributions along with mister x whose death she will potentially witness (if she isn't going to personally oversee) my demise having fallen to the Darkside. Worst case scenario, I go and become a disciple of Darkside philosophy and then she has to come put me down. That would make three people she's killed either directly or indirectly because of past sins. Only now do I see how hard it must have been for her to have endured so much privately.
"I won't fail. I promise." I want to say to assuage her fears, but I don't because there is no fear. There is only the Force.
"What's that R3?" I asks. The droid kindly repeats himself. It let's me know that our approach vector will be good all the way through even down into the planetary atmosphere and that basically our ETA til touchdown is about forty-five minutes should we continue with sublight engines engaged otherwise, we'd have to tack on about another two hours.
"Continue with fast approach."
Bee Boop. It responds in the affirmative and then pipes a few more tones
"What was that? It's my funeral?!" I laugh with incredulity. "Wow, you've really developed a sense of humor over the years haven't you?" I ask.
For you readers who don't speak droid, R3 has just informed me that he's applied to the Jedi Academy on Dagobah, and Tython receiving rejection holovids from back from both establishments. Even the Mirialan Guard on my homeworld (Mirial, our second home) politely refused him pointing out that it was unable to touch the Force.
"Sorry, I didn't know. So what did you do when the MPG told you that?"
R3 sounds animated in his response and then I burst into raucous laughter except this time there are tears in my eyes. He's thinking about starting his own Jedi Academy for Droids with special talents. R3 says he can manipulate the force.
"What force is that?" I ask curiously.
Deet – Too – Deet – Beep The droid responds.
"What?! Electromagnetism!" I smile. "Fair enough. Good luck with that."
Four moons serenade the crimson planet. Together, their gravitational pull on the hull of my modified X-wing star fighter, the firefly, is stronger than strong. Inside the cockpit I would've been knocked about like a pair of chance cubes, but the sublight engines don't give these tidal forces time enough to do their work. In the pit of my stomach, I feel something turn wildly and ultimately come to the conclusion that it's nothing more than a growing apprehension gnawing away at me from within. Another twenty minutes will pass before the Firefly touchs down on the surface. In the meantime, my descent down through the murky atmosphere is treacherous. Several times the flight path had to be adjusted piecemeal in order to compensate for inexplicable turbulence.
"Oh." I say just under my breathe taken by surprise, "You saw that R3?!"
It responds in the negative and then prompts for an explanation.
"I saw a black clad figure standing atop the mountain looking up at us. And then…."
R3 is chiming excitedly pushing me to complete the statement. I do.
"And then the the figure lit his/her red light saber."