| abstract
| - Selu Kraen brought himself out the meditation stance slowly, easing his mind back into normal consciousness. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of a rather low-class apartment building across from the dreadlocked Kiffar Jedi Master Quinlan Vos, whose eyes were already open and watching him. “How was it?” asked Vos. “Amazing. It was like plunging into a cold lake and letting the water hit you all at once.” “Excellent.” “How long was I in the meditation?” “About forty minutes.” The look on his face told Quinlan that Selu was surprised by the duration. “It seemed like forever, Quinlan.” “The Force doesn’t rely on nor is bound by our sense of timing, Selu,” reproved Vos. “True,” Selu agreed. “What did you sense while you were meditating?” Quinlan asked him. “I sensed my family on Commenor.” “What else?” “I felt a disturbance in the Force, Master Vos. Not immediate, but a growing threat.” “I’ve sensed it as well.” “Do you know what it means?” “No, but the danger is near.” “Does that mean that we should get up now?” “Probably,” Vos said with a smile. “No sense in lying around getting fat and lazy.” The two Jedi-in-exile rose from their meditation positions. Nearly three weeks had passed since Selu had come to live with Quinlan Vos while his captain and employer, R’hask Sei’lar, was off on business with his first mate. His brother Sarth was still on Commenor, as far as he knew; hidden away in a Securer safe house, as were his parents and crewmate Cassi Trealus. Selu would have preferred to be on Commenor hunting for the Mistryl Shadow Guards who were trying to kidnap Sarth, but the Imperial embargo had kept him from leaving New Holstice to do so. His inability to act frustrated him, but he had learned much under his brief tutelage with Vos. However, there was nothing they could do about it with the blockade in place except prepare themselves for the possibility of escape from New Holstice. “Show me the technique you learned last night,” said Quinlan. Selu nodded and concentrated. Quinlan Vos had taught him how to hide himself in the Force. The previous night, it had required considerable concentration, but Selu felt more confident now. Carefully, he enveloped his presence in the Force, letting it diminish and disappear, so that he did not register in the energy field any more than a droid would. “Now add the camouflage,” Vos prompted. Focusing further, Selu fashioned a shroud of reflective energy around him from the reservoir of the Force, removing his image from the visible and infrared spectra. However, the use of the Force camouflage tactic made the immediate space around him increasingly warm as his body heat was trapped near him rather than allowed to dissipate. Even as he muffled all the sounds of his breathing and motions, he began trembling with the effort of layering so many difficult techniques. Selu sensed Vos’s mental probe searching for him and he evaded it, slipping deeper into the depths of the Force. Meanwhile, his own senses noticed that objects were being thrown around the room in an attempt to hit him or force him to reveal his location. More tests. Evading the objects was easy enough—a simple duck, sidestep or jump took care of most of them—but more difficult was suppressing the motion of the air caused by his sudden movements. Selu kept up the difficult evasion routine for five minutes until he was gasping for breath and his muscles were quivering. With a final burst of effort, he flung his lightsaber from his belt and camouflaged that also, stopping its emitter nozzle five centimeters from Vos’s chest. Then, he released his camouflage screen and allowed his Force presence to return. “I didn’t call an end to the exercise,” said Vos, puzzled. “I did,” Selu answered. The Jedi Master looked down and saw the lightsaber still floating in front of him. Were it to be activated, the green blade would spear through his sternum and spine. “Impressive. You moved the lightsaber to within striking distance while keeping yourself and it hidden from both the Force and the baser senses.” “I wanted to surprise you.” “That you did, Selu.” Selu grinned and bowed, tired as he was. “Thank you, Master.” “You’re welcome. I imagine you’re tired though—take a break,” said Vos. “You’ll need the rest. Also, don’t call me Master.” “Are you sensing something through the Force, or are you merely alluding to more exhausting instruction administered by yourself?” said Selu. “Perhaps they are one and the same,” said Vos enigmatically. A couple hours later, Selu had cleaned up, eaten, and taken a small nap. He felt much better upon awakening—better than he had in a while. He felt different since coming under Vos’s tutelage, almost like he was back in the Jedi Order again. Having finally come to grips with the deaths of his master, his friends, and his colleagues during the order had also helped, as the pain, guilt, and weight of the memories and pain had been holding him back, emotionally and in terms of using the Force. He was clean-shaven now, with his hair cut short, much like his brother Sarth. Tucked into the interior pockets of his raddan leather jacket were his lightsaber and a newly-constructed shoto similar to the one he had once born as part of the Jedi Order. His blaster, a DC-15s given to him by Spectre, was tucked away inside the Hawk-bat, as the local authorities took a dim view of weapons being openly flashed around. Wondering what Quinlan Vos was going to teach him next, Selu was about to find the Jedi Master when his ship’s comlink beeped at him for the first time in several weeks. Stopping suddenly, he picked up the device and activated it as Vos gave him a curious look. Then, all the color drained from his face and he spoke only this phrase to Vos in explanation. “I have to go.” Akatha Warehouses, New Holstice R’hask Sei’ar and Jorge Knrr were entirely bored with their cramped and uncomfortable accommodations. Not only were they locked up, but their crew was scattered and their ship was accumulating a large amount of landing fees with no way to recoup the losses. Early attempts to stave off boredom such as games and distractions quickly grew old and led to heated tempers between the two friends. As familiar with each other as they were, being imprisoned like this was a new experience for them and the monotony was almost unbearable. Finally, their jailor Neeves came in with news. “Well, well, if it isn’t the high and mighty Neeves,” said R’hask. “What can your humble servants do for you today?” jeered Jorge. “Glad to see you two have kept your sense of humor,” said Neeves dryly. “Why would we have a reason to be in a bad mood?” asked R’hask sarcastically. “Aside from being detained and imprisoned for no good reason by a bunch of revolutionaries.” Neeves’s normally un-expressive face tightened. “The Empire has finally lifted their embargo, so space traffic and news will be allowed in again soon.” “Well, that’s great,” said Jorge. “What does that mean for us?” “It means that you can go as soon as the Vigilance is gone, which should be soon,” said Neeves. “Return to your freelance trading life or take up philanthropy, I suppose. I’d give you an offer to join us, but I don’t think it would be well received.” “Of course it would. I mean, you’ve given us such wonderful accommodations and benefits so far, so why not make it permanent?” said R’hask, his voice dripping with facetiousness. Jorge merely cracked his knuckles. “The door’s unlocked, so just collect your things from the storage box in the hall and you can be off,” said Neeves. “We’ve already started loading everything on our ship, so there’s no need to keep you here.” With that, he turned and left. Without further encouragement, the two spacers raced over to their box and collected comlinks, weapons, and other bits of gear that had been confiscated. “Who are these guys anyway?” asked Jorge. “Well, it’s obvious they’re revolutionaries,” Sei’lar replied. “And I happen to know that they’re Naboo of some kind, though you could have figured that out by their accent and the Gungan.” “That’s what I thought,” replied Jorge. “Their caution, nastiness, and familiarity with security procedures also mean that they’re somewhat professional. If they’re Naboo, that means Royal Security Force.” “Which is strange, because they don’t usually journey offworld much,” said R’hask. “Maybe they wanted to get their weapons without attracting attention from the Empire. At any rate, they’re trying to free their world, and I can’t exactly blame them for that.” “Maybe.” As the two walked towards the exit, they noticed a HoloNet news display providing updates on galactic happenings after a long blackout. The display field showed images of a once-majestic city now burning and scarred by warfare. The holo anchor informed them that a Jedi-led uprising on Naboo against the Imperial government had recently been put down and that the head of government, Queen Apailana, had been killed in an unfortunate crossfire between the 501st legion and the insurgent force, but Imperial troops were restoring order. R’hask gave a grim nod to Jorge, and they both turned from the HoloNet display. On their way towards the exit as they walked across the now largely-empty floor of the warehouse, Jorge noticed Neeves, Skoors, and their companions staring at another HoloNet display in shock and horror, apparently confirming R’hask’s theory. “Looks like they were loading their stuff onto their ship to return to Naboo,” said Jorge. “Probably saved the weapons for last to avoid inspection,” agreed R’hask. “Yeah, it’s a good thing they weren’t there. Wouldn’t have had a chance against troopers,” noted Jorge. “At least they survived instead of bein’ killed.” “True,” said R’hask. “As sorry as I am for their loss, we’ve been here too long. We need to clear space soon before we lose more money or the authorities get here or both.” “No arguments there, Cap’n,” said Jorge, thumbing his ship’s comlink. “I’ll call Micor and have him meet us at the Hawk-bat.” R’hask stopped and looked over his shoulder one last time at the still-stunned would-be revolutionaries. “Poor rodders. They’ve got no reason to keep on living now. I kinda feel sorry for them, even if they locked us up. All they can do now is be glad that the Empire didn’t find them.” At that point, the main warehouse door exploded in a blinding flash of fire and flying metal fragments. The Naboo froze for a moment, then their training took over and they scattered for what meager cover existed in the nearly-empty warehouse. Through a jagged hole in a loading dock, a dozen white-armored troopers burst into the warehouse with blaster rifles spraying a dense covering fire of scarlet energy bolts. “Down!” screamed Jorge, knocking R’hask to the floor. Blaster bolts whined overhead, some of them ricocheting dangerously off of support columns or the floor. R’hask and Jorge crawled to cover behind a shipping crate as Neeves, Skoors, and his other two companions returned fire with hand blasters. One of the stormtroopers took a hit in his thigh armor and went down with a smoking leg plate and another was down with a chest injury. However, as one of the Naboo men leaned out to fire, a volley of blaster bolts caught him in the arm, face, and torso. He fell with a gurgling cry, only to be silenced by a ricochet. Neeves, too, appeared to have suffered an arm wound. “What do we do now?” whispered Jorge. In response, R’hask pulled out his blaster pistol, which his first mate’s eyes widened upon seeing. “You want to help them?” he asked incredulously. “We have to,” the captain replied simply. “This isn’t our fight,” insisted Jorge. “The Empire is not very forgiving when it comes to rebellion,” said R’hask. “We better hope that’s all of the troopers, too, or we’ll be deader than we are now. Our only chance is take this group out quickly and then escape fast.” “Well, you may be right, but if we die, I’ll never let you live it down,” Jorge retorted. The two partners leaned over the shipping crate, blasters at the ready and poured several bolts into the flanks of the troopers and two went down. The troopers fell back under a volley of blaster bolts, but did not leave. Suddenly, there was a muffled crump sound and the building shook. The two noticed a commotion on the upper floor of the warehouse. The structure had a group of upper floor offices accessed by a balcony that ran the length of the building which were in turn reached by a set of stairs that led to the warehouse floor instead of into the cluster of rooms below, which included their confinement area. The second level office doors burst open and four more troopers appeared on the balcony, flanking the Naboo and the spacers. Blaster fire from the new arrivals was accurate and Skoors the Gungan was hit by no less than seven blaster bolts, blasting his charred body into the container of blaster pistols he had been hiding behind. Several near misses scored the ground and containers near the spacers and Neeves, who was cursing steadily as he tried to fire in both directions. The balcony’s railing provided the troopers with cover and the advantage in height meant that there was no truly effective cover to hide from them. “Stang!” swore Jorge. “Just when I thought we had a chance!” Suddenly, in the middle of blazing combat and scorching blaster shots, R’hask Sei’lar looked at his cover and laughed out loud. A quick fusillade of shots from one of the Naboo dropped another stormtrooper, but the troopers on the balcony were delivering accurate fire even in the smoke-obscured warehouse. “Are you crazy?” demanded Jorge, ducking down to avoid a burst of six blasts that would have blown his head off. “No, just inspired,” said R’hask, shooting the lock off the shipping container they were ducked against. Popping the container open, he revealed its contents: A PLX-1 rocket launcher and four missiles. “Do you know how to use one of those?” asked Jorge. “Sure,” R’hask said. “Load the missile, point it at the target, and pull the trigger.” “This better work,” muttered Jorge. “Just cover me,” R’hask, loading one of the charges into the tube. Jorge nodded and took R’hask’s pistol in his off hand, sending suppression fire at the troopers on the balcony. Crouched behind the railing as they were, they had no idea what hit them when R’hask fired the heavy weapon. The missile, designed to penetrate heavy tank armor, impacted on the underside of the overhanging balcony’s permacrete floor with devastating results. Two of the troopers were blown off of the balcony entirely to land on the floor three or four meters below. Assuming they were still alive, they were out of the fight. Another had been directly under the rocket’s impact point and his legless, burning torso could be seen lying near the blast hole. The last one was staggering around with both of his hands held to his helmet, concussed and deafened. A carefully aimed shot to the head from Neeves ended his suffering. R’hask reloaded the launcher as Jorge and Neeves intensified their assault on the remaining troopers on the ground floor, who were still largely without cover. Clearly, they had not been expecting such heavy resistance or firepower, but their armor allowed them to keep fighting after indirect hits, unlike the spacers or Neeves, who took the brunt of each hit. The rocket blast and the loss of their flanking party had also shaken them, but they were clones, trained to handle such extreme situations. The Bothan captain leaned over the crate and fired a second round at the main group of troopers. However, the troopers were expecting the tactic and had spread out to avoid being taken out easily like their comrades had. The blast only killed two of them that Jorge saw, but the rest were temporarily knocked over or dazed by the explosion. “Run!” called Neeves as he sprinted back towards them towards the rear exit, firing blindly behind him. Jorge and R’hask followed suit, abandoning their cover and racing for the rear door, their paths never straight as they zigzagged their steps in attempt to throw off the blaster bolts sent after them. The safety of the door was tantalizingly close, its promise of safety only a few meters away, even as blaster bolts whined around them, warning of them their peril. They were almost free when the unthinkable happened. R’hask Sei’lar cried out in pain as a brilliant blaster bolt exploded through his right thigh. The energy instantly burned through his entire leg, disintegrating a segment of his femur and severing any number of muscles, tendons, and nerves critical to ambulatory motion. Sei’lar collapsed and the warehouse was suddenly filled with the foul odor of burning fur. Jorge and Neeves skidded to a stop as the Bothan went down. “We’ve got to go back!” screamed Jorge hoarsely. “If we do, they’ll get us all,” shouted Neeves in reply. Neeves was correct—the stormtroopers were advancing in a loose firing line now, sending blaster bolts sizzling back towards the pair of fugitives. Jorge, however, was halfway in motion back towards his fallen captain when Neeves, standing less than a meter from him, was struck by blaster bolts. Jorge literally watched the side of his face explode into a bloody mist laced with tissue flecks and bone fragments. Two more successive blasts seared into Neeve’s chest, burning through the somewhat armored vest he was wearing and setting his flesh on fire. Jorge himself was clipped in the arm by another burst, sending a shooting pain racing along his bicep. The sight of Neeves’s violent death right in front of him was too much for the veteran spacer. Abandoning all reason, he dropped his weapon and then turned and sprinted for the door, wide-eyed and terrified. The trauma of having someone’s head explode before his very eyes had reduced him from a rational sentient to a mindless animal, operating purely on instinct. His captain was momentarily forgotten until he was in an alley a block away from the warehouse. Jorge flattened himself against the wall, feverishly checking to ensure he wasn’t pursued, and then he realized that he had abandoned R’hask to the Empire. The additional shock and guilt of his callous betrayal was enough to bring him to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. The nausea generated by the death of Neeves overwhelmed him and he emptied his stomach, gasping and dizzy. His vision blurred and then he passed out in the alleyway where he had fallen, willing the horrific experiences of the past few minutes into non-existence. Selu Kraen sped through the streets at an inhuman pace, closely followed by Quinlan Vos. Dodging other pedestrians, the two Jedi were a mere blur to onlookers and most of the attention was still occupied by freshly restored news feeds detailing galactic events, such as the pacification of Naboo. “Come in, Jorge!” he called into the comlink, but he received no reply. “What’s going on?” asked Quinlan. “My crewmates are in trouble,” said Selu. “They need my help.” “You realize that the Empire will hunt us down if we reveal ourselves,” Quinlan warned as he ran alongside Selu. “Not if we do this right. If there are only a few troopers, we can take them before they can report in,” Selu replied. Stretching out with the Force, he immediately picked up the sensations of anger, death, and combat emanating from the warehouse. Sensing the pain and death caused him to increase his pace, until he was all-out Force-sprinting. Rounding a corner, he saw the warehouse, with smoke rising from it and skidded to a halt, Quinlan Vos closely behind him. Then they both heard the sound of muted sobbing coming from a nearby alley. Selu turned momentarily towards the sound, only to find that it was coming from Jorge. Swiftly, he walked over to the Corellian, who was down on his knees with his arms over his face, weeping. The blaster scorch marks and signs of combat were not lost on the Jedi. “Jorge, what happened? Where’s the captain?” Selu asked. Jorge’s only response was to continue sobbing and rocking back and forth, reduced by some sort of traumatic experience to a total loss of functionality. Selu took hold of Jorge’s shoulder and pulled him up, bringing him into eye contact with Jorge. Layering his voice with the Force, he stared directly into the Corellian’s wild eyes. “What happened?” he said sternly. “I-I left him. The rest are-are . . . dead,” said Jorge, his voice shaky and trembling. The first mate’s hands, held in front of him, were blood-stained and trembling violently and Selu realized that he would be of no further use. The choice on what to do was left up to Selu. Would he escape cleanly or would he risk re-opening the hunt for himself by rescuing his captain, who might already be dead? He weighed each option and came to a conclusion quickly. A sidelong glance to Quinlan Vos was enough. “I’m going in. Are you with me?” he asked the Jedi Master. “After you,” Vos replied. The two Jedi stretched out with the Force and shimmered into invisibility, with Vos clambering up onto the roof of the warehouse while Selu crept over to the rear entrance, cautiously peering around the edge. He was just in time to hear the sound of three blaster shots. Commenor Sarth Kraen glanced down at his right hand, where Cassi’s smooth, soft fingers were intertwined with his and smiled slightly. He and Cassi had finally gotten some “time away”- meaning that Spectre and Twone were only a few meters behind them with weapons at the ready. However, it was the most alone time they had seen in several weeks and he was thoroughly prepared to cherish it. In his left hand, he carried a small basket with delicious smells wafting from it. As the evening sun glinted off the leaves of the forest, he and Cassi reveled in simply walking through the forest together, enjoying the sounds of the breeze playing through the leaves and the various colors and sights of the woods. Eventually, they reached a small clearing. “Hungry?” asked Sarth. “Sure,” said Cassi. The two sat down and unpacked the picnic that Lena had prepared for them, smiling knowingly when Sarth had asked for her help with gathering a “small, portable meal for a couple people” earlier. Inside were several meat-filled pastry rolls and a carefully wrapped salad of local greens, along with a small bottle of something that Sarth didn’t recognize, along with cutlery and plates. Whatever it was, it sent a warm sensation down his throat when he drank it. However, Sarth kept being distracted from his meal by Cassi. She was beautiful and his head was swimming with excitement just from being around her. They chatted briefly as they ate about the various happenings in their hideout, but nothing of great significance. Cassi was overjoyed when Sarth had asked her to take a walk. She had wanted to spend more time alone with him. As much as she enjoyed the company of the elder Kraens, she felt somewhat out of place among so many strangers. And the fact that the police Investigator Annita Daowot had taken some interest in Sarth and had clearly known Sarth before was a concern of hers. The investigator had already tried to separate them and that act had planted a seed of resentment for Annita within her. As much as she enjoyed being with Sarth, the past few weeks had revealed to her how little she knew about the man she had gotten to know over the past several months. She found his knowledge and somewhat contemplative nature to be mystifying and he evoked the pure image of quiet leadership and strength to her. Her heart beat a little faster when she was with Sarth, but the threat on their lives and the other complications they had run into on Commenor worried her. “Sarth, thank you for taking me out on this picnic,” she said. “You’re welcome, Cassi. I’ve been meaning to do something like this for awhile, but I’ve had other things on my mind,” he answered. “Like what?” “Well, obviously Micor and Captain R’hask, and the Mistryl too. It’s strange, being hunted and forced to hide like this. I sure hope Annita is able to find them before they attack again.” As soon as Sarth saw the look on Cassi’s name when he mentioned Annita, he knew that it had been a poor choice of topic. “Sarth, is she on your mind?” asked Cassi. Sarth suddenly became aware of how close to the edge of a precipice he was treading. He’d solved multivariable six-dimensional algorithms that were easier to grasp than a woman’s mind. “Not like you are,” he said. “We were friends a long time ago. I helped her out in school and with some personal issues, that’s all.” “Personal issues?” asked Cassi innocently. Sarth winced. “Yes. Relating to her family life. If it’s okay with you Cassi, I’d rather not talk about it—not because I have anything to be guilty about, but because I don’t want to reveal information about her past.” Cassi wasn’t exactly okay with it, but she knew that this wasn’t the time or place to push the issue. She and Sarth were together, and there was no way some uptight detective was going to get in between them. “Fine with me,” she said, changing the topic. “So how bored do you think Spectre and Twone are with watching us?” Sarth’s good nature once again returned to his voice. “Oh probably pretty bored. Maybe we should give them the leftovers of this meal.” “They’d probably like that,” she said. “That’s what I like about you,” said Sarth. “You’re so agreeable.” “Is that the best compliment you have to offer?” she said with mock indignation. “Well, you put up with me,” said Sarth, drawing an even more outraged expression. After a pause, he continued, “And I love every second that I get to spend with you.” “Sarth Kraen, are you trying to tell me that you love me?” she asked earnestly. Sarth swallowed hard, caught by surprise by her sudden question, but felt a weight leave his shoulders as he realized that the admission would not harm him. “Yes,” he breathed. “I love you too,” she said. And then she was leaning in toward him and without thinking, Sarth reciprocated, meeting her halfway. Both their worlds were swept away as their lips met and they stopped only when she ran out of air. “Suddenly the Mistryl don’t seem so threatening,” said Sarth as he drew back. “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “Positive,” he said. “Let me demonstrate.” He pulled her in for another kiss and again lost all sense of reality except for the sweetness of her mouth and the rushing of blood in his head. “You’re right,” she said when they broke once more. “Nothing can take that feeling away.” “I’m glad you agree,” he said, taking her hand in his once more. They sat in the dusk light, marveling in the beauty of the forest and of each other for some time, holding each other’s hands and temporarily oblivious to the cares of the world around them. Young and in love, the planet could have exploded and it wouldn’t have mattered to them. The Mistryl, the armored troopers protecting them, the cramped and uncomfortable safe house, Selusda and R’hask—all were forgotten. Both of them wished this time could last forever; that they could sit side by side and hold hands and talk of the future and of their hopes and dreams. As night drew on though, they returned back to the house, to once again face the challenges of reality.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)