[X] Lightsaber forms.
[X] A living world. Imperious visages, plotting. The birth, and perhaps the death, of something beautiful.
Not long ago, you compared the process of learning Form VI to piloting a Podracer. The comparison still holds now, except in one respect: Podracing is much easier.
You don't quite manage to suppress a snarl of frustration as Obi-Wan sends your lightsaber skittering away across the floor again, ending your latest spar the same way as all of the others. You didn't expect to really beat him, of course—you've struggled to match Jedi your own age, and none of them can claim to have vanquished a Sith Lord. But the sting doesn't come from that. It comes from the openings he's left that you've failed to take advantage of, the slip-ups you know you've made that he's let you get away with. Your teacher is testing you, and you know you're failing.
"Okay, let's go again," you say, trying not to sound like you're demanding, or pleading for, another chance. "I think I figured out what was wrong with my footwork that time."
Obi-Wan shakes his head. "Anakin, your form is fine. That's not the problem."
You can tell there's another lecture coming on: one of your least favorite parts of Obi-Wan's tutelage. But as sick as you are of them, you're even more sick of losing, so you limit yourself to a frustrated sigh as you ask, "Then what is?"
He deactivates his saber and clips it to his side. "You already know that Niman is driven by the Force more than any other lightsaber form. You told me yourself that that was why you chose it, so that you could harness the strength of your connection. And there's nothing wrong with that choice. But you're still trying to push the Force into your movements, to use it to power your attacks."
"Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" you ask, blinking in incomprehension.
"Not exactly," Obi-Wan says, which is a diplomatic way of saying "no, Anakin, you're wrong". "Think of it as if you're trying to steer an ancient sailing ship. You can't choose the direction of the wind or the currents of the ocean, but you can set a course that lets them move you towards where you want to go."
Your mouth narrows into a thin line. Jedi equanimity has its uses sometimes, but there's a very fine line separating it from just letting yourself get pushed around. And at times like these, when you're being preached to about how it's morally righteous to allow yourself to be buffeted this way and that by the vagaries of an uncaring galaxy, it's hard to even tell that there's a line at all.
You're getting ready to say this, or something like it, to Obi-Wan when his datapad pings with a message. His eyes flicker over it for a few moments, taking in every detail, and a complicated series of expressions flits across his face before he looks back up at you. "It seems we'll have to cut this training session short. We're to report to Master Windu…for our first official mission assignment together."
The High Council Chamber seems oddly—but not unpleasantly—quiet without an array of imposing Masters occupying its ring of chairs. Besides you and Obi-Wan, the only people here to enjoy the view of the vast Coruscant sprawl are Master Windu and another Jedi you don't recognize, an elderly human woman with close-cropped gray hair and a sparkle of energy in her blue-green eyes that belies her age.
"Knight Kenobi, Padawan Skywalker, good afternoon," Master Windu says. "This is Master Thracia Cho Leem. She's here to give you your mission briefing, if she can maintain professionalism long enough to deliver it."
"If I can stop keeping you honest for long enough, you mean," she teases him.
Unsurprisingly, he fixes her with a look, but there's something curious about it. Having borne the brunt of his finely honed "Anger is against the Jedi Code but I am still Very Disappointed In You" expression, you can tell that this is not it. It's a rare Jedi who can get away with insubordination to a Councilor for anything less than matters of galactic import, and an even rarer one who can do it with Master Windu.
And the half-reproval only seems to embolden her. "I see this is the part where I act as if I'm awed by the wisdom and puissance of our leaders—"
"Thracia. The mission briefing."
Wait. They're on first-name terms? You're not sure Master Windu would even be on first-name terms with Master Yoda if he had more than one name. You file that fascinating piece of information away for later and perk up to listen.
Master Cho Leem chuckles for a moment, but the laugh lines around her mouth give way to worry lines creasing her forehead as she refocuses on why she's here. From her robe, she draws out a holo of a Jedi of an avian species you've never seen before, with brilliant blue, purple, and red plumage and a pale, chitinous face that tapers to a raptor's hooked beak.
"This," she says, "is my former Padawan, Vergere. Around the time of the Naboo Crisis, she took it upon herself to investigate some vague, but concerning, reports we'd heard of incursions from the Unknown Regions in the area of the Gardaji Rift. Her first report back contained something none of us had expected: a positive confirmation of the existence and location of the 'living world' of Zonama Sekot."
"Right," you scoff. "And what other spacer legends did she run into out there? Captain Nova? The ghost of Darth Phobos? The Mnggal-Mnggal?"
No one laughs.
You stare at her. "It's real?"
"It is," says Master Cho Leem. "And so are the organic starships it's said to produce, or so Vergere told us. She said she was planning to stay on the planet to investigate both these strange living ships and the original rumors she was following. But shortly before our confrontation with the Banking Clan over Kalee, we lost contact with her. And we haven't heard a word from her since."
Master Windu picks up where she leaves off. "By now the objectives of your mission should be becoming clear to you. Go to Zonama Sekot. Find Vergere and bring her back to us, if you can. Learn her fate, if you cannot. And determine if she encountered a threat to the Republic or the Order. We hope this isn't a search-and-rescue mission—but with the Sith returning and the galaxy destabilizing more every day, we can't afford to take any chances."
"We'll find her," you promise. "But what about the living starships? Can we bring one back?"
"Your priority is to locate Vergere and report on any threats she may have discovered," Master Windu reminds you sternly.
Of course—it's not as if you expected anything else. Still, you have to at least try to convince him. "I know that, but if what people say is true, these ships could change everything we know about space travel. Having some could give the Order an edge when we need one most."
"I wouldn't put too much stock in smugglers' tales, Anakin," Obi-Wan says.
Master Cho Leem raises an eyebrow at him. "Besides the one you're about to go chasing after, you mean?"
Obi-Wan chuckles and nods, gracefully conceding the point.
"The question is moot in any case," says Master Windu. "The Senate has assembled a scientific expedition with a Judicial Forces escort to travel to Zonama Sekot themselves. You'll be attached to them for the journey there—and analyzing the Sekotans' biotechnology will be their responsibility, not yours."
Your eyes narrow. "Let me get this straight. You have an inside line on technology that might change the galaxy…and you want to hand it over to the Senate?"
"The Senate at whose pleasure the Order serves, yes," Master Windu replies, fixing you with the Very Disappointed In You Expression.
You consider snapping something at him, possibly along the lines of "I hope you'll be happy with yourself when tech that we could have used to save Jedi and innocent people pops up at the next Kuati yacht auction", but bite it back. This mission is clearly too important to be pulled from before it begins just because you've chafed at a Councillor's dictates for the hundredth time.
Fortunately for you, Master Cho Leem takes that moment to try to make peace. "What really matters here is that a Jedi is missing in action and may be in danger, and we—and by that I mean both the Council and myself—believe that you two are the right people to help her. If in the course of doing that you manage to acquire a Sekotan ship for yourselves, I see no reason to force you to give it up. But…I've known Vergere since the day she hatched. She's unorthodox at best and maddeningly contrarian at worst, and she has a reach that often exceeds her grasp. She's also one of the finest Jedi Knights I have ever known. If anything were to happen to her, it would be a great loss for the galaxy, the Jedi Order…and me. All I ask is that you remember that as you go on."
You sigh. It still doesn't sit well with you to pass up an opportunity to do so much good in the galaxy. But in Master Cho Leem's face you can see something that you've found to be rare in Jedi Masters: openness. She's being level with you about what this mission means to her, and it doesn't seem fair to brush that aside.
"Okay," you say at last. "I will."
Preparing for an official mission turns out to be quite different than your past adventures would have led you to believe. On Naboo you hadn't yet joined the Order, and over Huk you'd been hastily deputized (without so much as a lightsaber to your name) as the only Jedi available to respond quickly enough. But now you get to see what Jedi do when they have time to prepare…and you find you're not at all fond of it.
Every piece of gear you bring with you must be officially logged and checked out, your navigational data must be backed up to the Temple's computers so you can be found if something should befall you, an official notice of a mission dispatch must be sent to the Senate, and so on and so forth. It's endless tedium, and Obi-Wan's insistence that it's important tedium doesn't make it any easier to bear—especially because he could clearly do these sorts of tasks in his sleep. You only manage to escape by offering to run pre-flight checks on your transport, which even Obi-Wan must grudgingly admit is important enough to let you go.
The transport itself looks as generic as they come. It's a stock Corellian freighter shaped like a long, flattened ovoid, with a narrow engine nacelle affixed to each side—a configuration familiar from countless types of ships from all over the galaxy. But inside, you encounter something you've never seen before.
You step up off the ramp and hear, of all things, a splash, as your boots come down in several inches of something liquid. Your first thought is that there's some sort of fuel or coolant leak, but you're quite sure that it doesn't smell like any chemical that's ever been in an engine. It takes you some time to place the scent, because you've only smelled it once or twice before in your life, and only ever on Naboo: brine. The ship is flooded with sea water.
Stranger still, everything seems to be in working order despite this bizarre situation. You may not be familiar with oceans, but you're familiar enough with chemistry and physics to know that this much salt water in a confined space would usually be playing havoc with sensitive electronics and metals. The only way a ship could exist in this state without something breaking down would be if it were specifically designed that way. Perhaps your pilot is a member of some aquatic species, flying a ship modified specifically for his own kind.
You're seized with a sudden curiosity about the ship's engine and how it runs in these conditions. Your pilot would probably be happy to tell you, of course, but between listening to someone talk about how something works and seeing it work for yourself, there's really no contest.
You slosh your way down the flooded corridors towards the engine room. The normal running lights that guide you through a ship are absent; in their place, a film of bioluminescent algae over the water's surface lights your way. It's clearly not an arrangement designed for human eyes, but the Force can guide you when your ordinary senses fail.
But as you reach out, you notice something curious: another Force presence. Not your pilot or his crew, but someone much more familiar. They're well hidden, so much so that you doubt even most other Jedi would have sensed them—but you, of course, are no ordinary Jedi. You hang a sharp right at the end of the corridor, bringing you up to a maintenance hatch that you yank open to reveal—
"Okay," says Iskat Akaris. "I know this looks weird. But I can explain."
"Yeah," you say, bemused. "I'd appreciate that."
She steps out of the maintenance shaft, unfurling and stretching her long limbs. There's a nervous tension in her face and bearing, but you can see it slackening as she looks at you. Most people in the Order who caught her like this, attempting to stow away on a mission, would likely have turned her over for discipline, but not you—after all, you, more than anyone, know what she's been going through.
"So," Iskat begins. "You know how our Initiate clan is starting to get looked at for apprenticeships now, right?"
"Sure. And I thought that'd be good news for you, considering how the Tournament went."
"So did I," she says ruefully. "But the Master I ended up with…her name's Sember Vey, and I'm pretty sure she hates me."
This is where a normal Jedi would interject and tell her that she's mistaken, that Jedi don't feel such things. You say nothing and let her go on.
"She watches me like a hawk-bat every waking moment of the day, but she barely says a word," says Iskat. "And she wants nothing to do with lightsabers, it's just endless meditation and study sessions—and how is that fair, that Serra loses to me and Darra doesn't even compete and somehow they both get apprenticed to saber experts while I get saddled with an archivist—" She's getting animated now, pacing back and forth across the watery floor, sending swirls of faintly glowing blue and green rippling away from her with each step. "I don't have a Master, Anakin, I have a minder. I only barely managed to give her the slip."
You know the feeling, and suddenly the pieces are beginning to fall into place. "So, you're trying to get on this mission to get away from her?"
"Well, yes, but—no, not really." Your question makes Iskat stop and think; she quits pacing and turns to face you. "I'm not just throwing a temper tantrum, it's not like that."
You never said, or implied, that she was. Maybe she's trying to convince herself more than you. "So what is it like?"
"It's…" Iskat sighs, and her chin drops wearily. The cool light from the water below makes her crimson skin look washed-out, giving her a wan, pale mien. "Anakin, they still don't trust me. Even after the Tournament, after everything I did to try to be a better person…they still look at me and all they see is the worst day of my life."
You try to think of a way to convince her that that isn't true—and find that you can't. You're not the right person to reassure someone of the Jedi Council's good intentions. The way they're treating Iskat is outrageous, completely unfair; but you can't pretend it's not real.
"That's why Sember—Master Vey—acts the way she does around me," Iskat goes on. "She's watching me for any signs that I'll slip, I know it. But if the Apprentice Tournament wasn't enough for me to prove myself, prove that I can be as good a Jedi as anyone, then maybe a real mission will be."
"Can I ask you a weird question?" you say, and then, at her nod, "Why do you care so much about what the Council, or even the rest of the Order, thinks of you? I can't imagine looking up at Master Windu and thinking, 'Wow, what I really need in my life is approval from him."
Iskat chuckles, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I can't explain it. Somehow I just…know, deep down, that I was meant to be a Jedi Knight. Like I was born to do this. It just hurts sometimes when it feels like I'm the only one who can see it."
"You're not the only one." The words spring to your lips, unbidden and immediate. They were easy to find: after all, they're what you would want to hear, if you were standing in her place. "I can see it too. But even if you were—"
"'There will always be a place in the galaxy for someone with a lightsaber and the will to do what's right,'" Iskat quotes softly.
You take a few seconds trying to place the origin of those words of wisdom before the realization hits you with the force of a turbolaser: it was you.
Iskat smiles faintly, and a little more genuinely this time, at the look on your face. "Serra mentioned after the Tournament that you'd said that to her, and you were right. And for me, that place is right here, right now."
She sounds so certain of it. But that very certainty, that determination to face whatever comes, sets your thoughts down a darker path. Your mind casts back to the image of Obi-Wan laying motionless on the platform over Huk, to the agony of feeling Qui-Gon be torn from the living world. You have no idea what you're going to face out there—but you, at least, know what it's like to have to endure the cruelties of the universe. Iskat may be your better with a blade, but she's also unprepared and more than a little desperate. Can you stand by your words if a friend follows them into the dark?
Can you stand by them still if she doesn't come back out again?
Iskat sees, or senses, your trepidation. Long, spindly fingers clasp around your wrist. "Anakin, this mission is my last shot. I need to be on it. I don't like to beg, but for this…I will, if I have to. Please."
The question, then, is not whether you'll consider dragging a close friend to the far reaches of the galaxy to face unknown dangers in open defiance of the wishes of her Master and the Jedi High Council. The question is: do you have it in you to turn her down?
[ ] Tell no one.
To hell with the Council. And to hell with the danger. Iskat deserves a fair chance.
You will give in to temptation…
[ ] Tell Obi-Wan.
Going to the Council is out of the question…but maybe, just maybe, your mentor will understand?
