The Suns of Solamonn - Chapters 3 and 4

Chapter Three

The guts of the gunship had been stripped down to their bare essentials and were as dark as the obsidian exterior. A quartet of jaundiced glo-sticks swung from the roof web, providing the only illumination and this, combined with the heady odor of engine oil and seven men, was too smothering for Scarp. He sat on a tub of something that had to be explosive, and rested his head on the cool metal of the exposed fuselage, staring through one of the vertical slits the troopers used for view ports. Below him a parched orange flatbed of Kiffu sped past in a blur, the solid color broken once or twice by the darker ruins of long abandoned lightning harvesters.


Kiffu truly was a ghost planet.
As he tried to quell the anxiety gnawing away at him, Scarp kept one ear on his brother and Sgt. Calz.
Pel was standing, hanging onto the overhead webbing and facing the old warrior.
“How long until we reach Miner’s Rest?”
Calz flipped open his holo-projector and the circling buildings sprang up into the gloom, surrounded by numerical data and flashing triangles. A green dot pulsed in the center of the stack.
“ETA fourteen minutes, twenty seconds. That green marker will be our ticket out of here.”
“Great, some more down-time.” The sarcastic voice drifted from the front of the ship and one of the other clones laughed.
Calz chose to ignore it and removed his helmet, fixing Pel with a tired stare. “OK, Jedi. We all know why we’re here, and you’ve made a wise choice to come along with us. However, I’ll be honest, I’ve seen what Jedi can do, and I admire your… abilities, but I don’t think we totally trust each other, and with good reason.”
“I sense no hostility in you, Sergeant.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You can quit with the mind reading. I don’t want you probing around in my head, and believe me, I’ve worked with enough of you to know when it’s happening.”
Calz hadn’t raised his voice at all, but his words couldn’t have made more impact if he had broadcast them through a Flaff’ert Horn.

“Understood, Sergeant.”
Pel studied the grizzled warhorse for a few seconds, at once amazed and saddened that a person who had not yet reached twenty years of age could look so old. He reflected on the Sergeant’s attitude toward him.
Everything truly had changed.

A little over a week ago, this trooper would have been calling him General, Commander or even Sir; now he was just ‘Jedi’. It was extraordinary how the word could be made to sound so contemptuous, but he understood how conflicted Calz and his men must have felt. Pel, Scarp and the younglings were the first force-users the troopers had met since Order 66, following their decision to ‘take matters into their own hands’. By now the lies had spread far and wide, propagating the belief that the Jedi Order had turned on the Republic, but thankfully there were clones that had begun to question their orders, ‘free thinkers that slipped through the Kaminoan nets’ as the Council had once described them; secretly encouraging their individual liberation.


“What about them?” Calz indicated with his thumb toward Soolad, Janst’orr and Lig huddled together on a stack of storage lockers in the middle of the deck, surrounded by dark armored troopers.
“The younglings?”
“We don’t need kids getting under our feet when we’re working.”
“I assure you, they won’t get in your way, Sergeant. These children could be more helpful than you seem to think.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ll admit they seem to be taking this pretty well.” He rubbed a raw scar on his chin and looked at the tiny padawans. “Do they even know what’s going on?”
“Not yet,” Pel smiled, “but they soon will.”



Virus, once known as CT-2206, gazed down at the trio of younglings and raised an eyebrow. The Bith looked like his eyes would burst at any second, and the little tentacle-head returned his stare with a frown. However, the one in the middle, the one with aqua stripes on her head tails, held his look and smiled in return.
“I’m a healer, too,” she suddenly said, taking him doubly by surprise.
The scout trooper, Peko, cocked his head and looked at Lig.
“You can talk then.”
“Of course.”
“So how‘d you know Virus is our medic?”
“The Force told me.”
Peko threw his hands up and strode around Virus to join the busy pilot in the cockpit.
The medic knelt down in front of Lig and removed his helmet.
“Don’t worry about Peko, he’s never got used to you lot…”
Janst’orr’s teeth flashed, but not in a grin. “What do you mean, ‘you lot’?”
“Force users, “ replied Virus unapologetically, “you freak him out.”
“We freak him out?” said Soolad quietly, turning to look at the other visors bearing down all around him. Lig placed her hand on the back of Soolad’s neck, and he relaxed instantaneously.


She smiled sweetly at the medic. “Where are we going, Virus?”
“Your bosses didn’t tell you yet?” Virus reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a long, cuboid container. He depressed a button on one end and a drawer slid out of it, revealing several tiny globes that seemed to quiver with the vibration of the ship’s thrusters.
“Thirsty?” he said to Lig, and he reached in, taking one of the gelatinous spheres and popping it into his mouth.
“Very,” she replied, and took one of the globes from his outstretched hand.
“What are you doing?” hissed Janst’orr, “it could be poison!”
“I don’t think so,” replied Lig, and she placed the ball onto her tongue. As she bit down it seemed to explode in her mouth, filling it with the sweetest water she had ever tasted and squirting out onto Virus’s chest plate.
“Don’t waste it!” he laughed, and then offered the container to Janst’orr and Soolad.
A quick check to see that Lig was still breathing was all it took for the other two to hastily grab a globe each and ram them into their mouths. They hadn’t had fresh water for days.
The look on their faces was enough to tell Virus that the treats were appreciated, and he hid the container back in his belt. “They’re Felucian grub polyps, pretty good eh?”
Soolad swallowed hard, then coughed. Janst’orr looked like she was chewing a swamp-wasp.


Virus nodded his head toward Pel as he continued. “When we met your boss here, he said you lot had been hiding that harvester for a week now.”
“That’s true,” said Lig, warming to the clone very quickly, “Masters Pel and Scarp brought us here for survival training, two days before the…” her voice petered out in a whisper.
“Before the order came through, I get it,” Virus sat fully on the floor of the deck now, his armored legs splayed either side of the younglings’ seats, “looks like the training paid off.”
He studied the little Togruta; her delicate features and tiny frame.
What was the Jedi Order thinking of, training children for the war?
He suddenly saw the irony in his line of thought and smiled ruefully to himself.


Lig looked at the troopers surrounding their little party, hanging on every word.
“Do you all have names?”
“Sure,” replied Virus, “we used to have numbers.”
“Before we became aruetiise, “ hissed the trooper next to Soolad.
Calz’s head snapped around and he looked vibro-daggers at the armored man. “If I hear that one more time from you I’ll be letting you off this crate, and we won’t land first.”
“Sorry, Sarge.”
Virus looked at his Sergeant, then back to the younglings. “You’ve already met Sergeant Calz,”
“Why is his armor different?” interrupted Soolad.
Virus looked back to Calz. The old man was deep in conversation with Pel. The reverence for him was palpable in Virus’s tone. “He’s one of the originals. He’s done it all. Refused promotions so that he could stay with his squad, and paid the price by being dumped on every backwater poodoo mound in the outer rim. I’d follow him to the end of the galaxy.”
“Looks like you’re gonna.”
The children turned with Virus to the source of the comment; it was the trooper who had just been reprimanded.
Virus winked at him. “All the way, Rece.” He turned back to Soolad who seemed to be most enamored with the statuesque troopers. “This is Rece, formally of the 38th, joined us with Peko, our scout.”
Soolad looked to the front of the ship and could see the top of the scout’s helmet above the brace.
Virus continued. “Rece can drive anything, as long as it weighs over sixty tons.”
“That’s just my speeder, ner’vod,” added Rece, a touch of lightness finally in his voice.
“On the other side of the cabin is Digger, he’s from my battalion, the 442nd.”
“Yeah, despite Virus’s best efforts, I’m still standing,” Digger chuckled from behind his visor.
Virus craned his head back to the cockpit. “You haven’t met our pilot yet. Another original, he served with the Sarge. Hey, Carud, give the kids a wave!”
A black-gloved hand appeared, silhouetted against the violet stained sky, and did a mid-air salute.


Lig had left her crate and moved closer to the bandaged man. His head was drooped and fresh bacta dripped down to soak into the bandages covering his face.
“Who is this?” she said, sidling closer still.
“That’s Rev, short for Marev, it means ‘fist’”
Lig looked more closely at Rev, and then placed her hand on his leg. He didn’t move. Virus watched her, curious.
“He’s first in and last out, which is why he usually ends up this way. He fought with General Windu.”
“Why is his armor different?” Soolad had edged forward to get a better look, but he still wasn’t brave enough to fully leave his seat.
“You like that?” Virus grinned, he’s scrapped so many SBDs now, that he’s taken to wearing their head plates, confuses the hell out of mechs, and scares the muck outta wets.”
Suddenly Lig’s tiny voice cut in.
“His head is broken.”
“What?” Virus shuffled over to where Lig stood, one hand on Rev’s bandaged forehead, the other on his arm.
“His head is broken. Master Pel?”
Pel looked over Calz’s shoulder and caught her look.
“Yes, youngling?”
“Can I mend him?”
Pel looked at Calz. The sergeant shrugged. “As long as she doesn’t kill him.”
Pel nodded at Lig, then noticed that Scarp was intensely watching her. Lig was Scarp’s pride and joy; it was inevitable that she would become his padawan. However, then there was the matter of training Soolad and Janst’orr.


Lig closed her eyes as Virus studied Rev’s vitals, displayed as a series of projected colored lines on his thigh plate. Other than the throb of the engines, all was still. Virus suddenly realized he was holding his breath and exhaled slowly, quietly, turning off his external mike so as not to distract the little force-user. Then, as soon as she had begun, Lig pulled back and smiled. “Everything’s back where it should be.”
Virus studied the lines, which were indeed reading normal rates for a fit young man. He leant forward as Rev slowly opened his exposed eye.
“How do you feel, Rev?”
The wounded clone coughed, and then spat a clear globule onto the deck. “Headache’s gone.”
Virus shook his head slowly and looked at Lig.
“He had a fractured skull.”
“Now it’s better.”
Sergeant Calz nodded curtly at Virus, then turned back to Pel. “She may be of use.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Sergeant.” Pel looked over to Scarp, who was beaming from ear to ear; the first time in many days.


As Lig sat back down, Janst’orr’s eyes followed her, and Lig could detect a trace of fear in her. Before she could act on this, a high voice sounded out.
“I’ve seen clones before,” it was Soolad, feeling braver now that the grub polyp had re-hydrated him a little, “and they’re white. And shiny.”
“Not all of them,” replied Virus, “you never seen RC’s?”
“He means commandos,” interjected Janst’orr, determined not to be left out of the conversation.
“Republic Commandos, missy,” corrected the medic, “and what about ARCs? Pretty as a shrill-hen, some of them.”
“Why are you called Ashes?” asked Lig.
“It’s a long story,” started Virus.
“And one that can wait,” interrupted Sergeant Calz, suddenly slinging his DC-15 onto his shoulder, “ETA three minutes.”
Virus jumped to his feet. “You kids better go sit with your bosses. Time for the Ashes to go to work.”

Chapter Four

RMP-0019 sat next to his pilot and tapped three gloved fingers on the central control hub that separated his seat from MPP-3232’s. He was fully aware that his squad had already established that his finger tapping denoted one of two things, anxiety or anger, and given their circumstances a wise clone would bet on the former. His modified LAAT lurched once more, plummeting then leveling as Kiffu’s lightning raged all around, and RMP-0019, known simply as Cap to his men when not on duty, surreptitiously tightened the straps securing him to his seat. It wouldn’t be seemly for a police captain to be tossed around inside this can like a dried heta bean.


Behind Cap, nine of his ten man squad sat bouncing with every shuddering lurch of the gunship, each man silently praying that their pilot would deliver them from the turbulence sooner rather than later, their visible thoughts distorted by the angled plexi-plast of their helmets. They sat in rows of four and five facing each other across the deck, sandwiched between the cockpit and the holding cells. Above them, slotted into the roof, were their DC-15s, net guns and foamers. The Republic Military Police were ready to take down anyone or anything, efficiently and without prejudice, and deliver them back to Coruscant. As ‘32 finally dropped the ship below the cloudbank, Cap heard a static pop in his earpiece and a familiar voice, his own voice, cut through the interference.
“Captain. 3278 reporting.”
“Go ahead, ’78.”
“Sir, contact confirmed, repeat, contact confirmed.”
Cap smiled and ceased his finger tapping. “Excellent work, ’78. Transmit coordinates.”
As a row of figures ticker-taped across the bottom of his visor, Cap relayed them to every man in his squad. “How old is this intel, ’78?”
“It’s fresh, Captain. The target is holding position right now – point oh five east of Miner’s Rest.”
“And you can confirm it’s Calz and the other renegades?”
“We’re the only other clones on this whole dreffin’ planet, Captain.”
“Good. Maintain position,” Cap glanced at 3232 who was holding up four fingers.
“ETA four minutes.”
“Four minutes, confirmed, Captain.”
Cap patched his mike into the squad network and spoke quietly.
“Gear up. We have confirmed contact and they are all in one place. ’42 and ’67, I want you manning the grapplers, we may have to execute an airborne arrest.”
“Yes, sir!” All nine, identical voices rang in his earpiece, and Cap thumbed the safety on his DC-15. On, off. On, off. If Calz wouldn’t come quietly, and he suspected he wouldn’t, then he would be removed from the wanted list, permanently.

Janst’orr watched from the back of her perch as the rear doors opened and Pel and Peko gunned the swoop out, dropping several meters before the repulsors kicked in and sent them screaming towards town. The doors closed immediately, and she turned to watch the activity ensuing on the flight deck. Scarp, Digger, Rece and Soolad were standing around Sergeant Calz, who had removed his wrist projector and settled it on a storage barrel having magnified the holographic image of Miner’s Rest, and the group watched as a new, golden circle rapidly approached the red outlines of the building.
“OK, they’re almost at the gates.” Calz had removed his helmet, and Janst’orr could see fresh lines etched into the skin around his eyes. This man had known a lifetime of stress in as many years as she had been alive. She looked past the huddled group to the front of the ship where Lig sat next to Rev, her eyes closed, her tiny hands on his face. Rev seemed to be sleeping. Virus watched them both as he monitored Rev’s vital signs.



Janst’orr could feel waves of jealousy washing over her, and she clenched her teeth, attempting speed meditation to calm the ripples. She knew her feelings of resentment towards Lig were wrong, and yet she didn’t understand why she had them in the first place. Master Scarp had repeatedly told her how everyone had their own strengths; Soolad’s force-push was unparalleled and Lig’s healing powers would make her the stuff of legend, but Janst’orr knew only one thing, how to wield a saber, and she prayed to the Mon Cal Gods that it wouldn’t be a red blade.

Calz dipped his finger into the projection and highlighted a cavernous space in the center. The buildings around it receded to nothing and enhanced details appeared on the three dimensional schematic.
“The docking bay has two exits,” he pointed at a bright square in one corner, “Peko and the Jedi will enter here, infiltrate the cruiser and open the loading hatch.”
“What if she puts up a fight?”
Calz looked at Digger and grinned, sheepishly. “If she thinks Peko is me, then she’ll welcome him with open arms.”
Virus interrupted from the front of the ship. “Should’ve put some gray in Peko’s hair if you wanted to pull that off.”
Digger and Rece chuckled as Calz pointed at Lig. “Careful, we’ve got her now. You’re expendable.”
Virus laughed and turned back to his data pad.
Scarp tugged his hair out of the overhead webbing and bent lower to stare at the schematic.
“Who’s she?”
Calz looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.
“The owner of the cruiser we’re stealing.”

Cap loosened his restraining straps and strode to the rear starboard section of the gunship where he patched his wrist-projector into a sprawling comm bank. The panels displayed a multitude of colored lights and waveforms, revealing the equipment’s extraordinary Intel capabilities. Normally, RMP-2388 would be manning this station, but he was sitting alert with his brothers, checking his kit, his face identically impassive as the rest of the team as they waited for Cap’s next command. ’42 and ’67 were standing with their backs to each other at huge, floor mounted tripods. Their hands gripped slender stocks and their thumbs hovered over the firing switches. The bodies of the grapplers were deceptively compact, but the menacing, multi-barbed hooks that emerged from the front of each device left nothing to the imagination.


Cap keyed in his pass code and the face of another Jango Fett clone shimmered into view. Cap saluted as the face spoke.
“RMP-0019, report.”
“Positive identification, Commander. We will be intercepting target in ninety seconds.”
A sudden flickering on the face was caused by electro-static interference from Kiffu, not through any emotional response from the clone commander.
“Message received, Captain. I will contact Lord Vader immediately. Carry on.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cap switched off the holo-link and turned to his men. Their blue armor gleamed, highlighted by violet slashes flitting through the door slits; their black shoulder pads denoted their status in the newly formed Republic Military Police and their new helmets, with the vertically extended visors, framed their hardened features. Cap couldn’t be more proud. He faced the front of the ship and gripped his rifle.
“’32, open the doors.”

The black gunship, commandeered and repainted by the Ashes over a week ago, hung motionless in the sky half a click outside the town walls, testament to Carud’s piloting skills as he countered the electro shock waves of Kiffu’s ceaseless storms. Calz stood at his shoulder and tapped him lightly on the helmet.
“The wind direction is perfect, ner’vod. How about conjuring up a little cover for our departure?”
“I hear you, Sarge,” nodded Carud, and he tapped a short command into his armament panel, loading a low yield seismic charge into one of the ship’s belly tubes.
“Smokescreen away.” He fired the tube, blasting the tiny device into the arid desert below them. The charge commenced to burrow for five meters through dry, orange clay and rock before exploding in a shower of pebbles and dust. The cloud of debris caught the breeze, and drifted towards Miner’s Rest.
“Perfect,” grinned Calz, “perfect, son. I haven’t seen this much dust since Geonosis…”
Suddenly his com-link burst into life and Peko’s urgent voice yelled in his ear.
“Sarge! Watch your sixes, we’ve encountered a Blue Boy, and where there’s one…”
“There’s a squad.” Calz finished. “Status?”
“He’s out cold, Sarge, but unconfirmed if he called in the troops.”
“Get that cruiser’s hatch open, Peko, we’re coming in.”
“Roger that, Sarge.”
Scarp made his way over to Calz.
“Blue Boys?”
“Police,” replied Calz, silently gesturing to the rest of his men, who immediately assumed defensive positions on either side of the ship, “The RMP has been on our tails for a week now. I think they’re looking to prove their worth.”
He strode to the middle of the gunship and ushered the younglings into a depression between two crates.
“Stay here, things could get messy.”
“But we…” Soolad began.
“Do as he says!” Scarp bellowed, and he swung his broadsaber from his back; no easy feat in the cramped quarters.


Carud swore from the front of the ship and craned his head back. “Sarge, this dust cloud has fouled up my sensors, it’s as good as an EMP!”
“Use your eyes then, Carud.”
“Viz is down to ten meters, Sarge. We could be… wait! There’s something to port!”
Calz rushed to the side of the ship and peered through one of the slats, then leapt back, pulling Digger and Rece with him. “Down!” he yelled, just as the ship rocked sideways as a grappling hook burst through the door like it was flimsi-film. The soldiers leapt to their feet, their yells muffled by the sound of the squealing crunch of tearing metal, and the entire door flew off and into the cloud. Orange dust filled the cabin and those without helmets had to cover their mouths.
Calz stood defiantly in the now exposed flank and shouted into the air.
“We won’t fight you, ner’vod!”
A dark shadow slowly solidified as the Police LAAT hovered into view, and Scarp could see six, blue-clad troopers with their guns raised, and one at a grappler which was at that moment disengaging the cable that held the gunship door.
Scarp watched as one of the policemen stepped to the edge of their own craft, and he could see though the large visor that he was identical to every other clone he had known. The man yelled back.
“That makes things easier, Calz! You’re under arrest.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
I’m not a soldier any more,” replied Cap, and my name is RMP-0019. Now, power down.”
“You know I can’t do that, ner’vod.”
“I am not your brother, Calz. You and the other traitors have no family.”
Scarp saw Rece bristle at this remark, as had Calz who placed a hand on Rece’s chest.
“Leave it, son,” he said quietly, “they are the traitors.”
Cap yelled once more across the swirling divide. “Final warning, power down!”
Calz looked at Scarp. “I can’t kill my brothers.”
Scarp returned his gaze with compassion. “There are alternatives, Sergeant. Soolad!”
The little Bith poked his bulbous head out from between the crates. “Master?”
Scarp gestured for him to join him. “I may need your help.”

Cap watched as his quarry appeared to huddle in a conference. He squinted as he tried to make out the two other figures standing by the clones. One was a giant humanoid, and the other one appeared to be a child. He spoke loud enough so that his men could hear him.
“Prepare yourselves. Sergeant Calz will not come quietly.”
Suddenly he heard one of his men mutter, “What is that?”
Cap turned, just in time to see a spinning blur of red and blue light disappear under his ship’s belly. There was a blinding flash and the LAAT lurched sideways. Cap found himself on top of a pile of his own men, staring at the open sky through the doorway.
“Pec stabilizers are gone, Captain! We’re going down!”
It was his pilot’s voice, and now the sky was starting to rotate above him. The sight was almost mesmerizing, but his current predicament took precedence.
“Level out!”
“I can’t, Captain! Five seconds to impact!”
Cap braced himself, and the final seconds seemed to stretch out forever. After a while he realized that they really had stretched out, and ten seconds later he opened his eyes and saw his men slowly untangling themselves and standing up, all of them walking towards the open door which displayed the electrified landscape of Kiffu. They had landed. But how?
“Captain, I can’t explain this, but…”
“Quiet, ’32! Find a working comm and contact the Commander. They need to know a Jedi is down here!”

Calz looked in astonishment at the huge Jedi Knight and the tiny Bith as they slumped together, sweating, in the middle of the cabin. He had watched the man’s saber fly out and take off the police ship’s stabilizers, and saw them spin down to certain doom, and then watched as Scarp and the youngling had reached out with their hands, grasping at invisible threads, and lowered the ailing ship gently to the ground. He had seen it all, yet he still didn’t believe it.


The air whipped through the exposed cabin, clearing out some of the dust as Carud flew the ship over the town walls and directly to the open-topped docking bay. Digger looked over the edge, and grinned when he saw Pel standing on the roof of a cruiser, its dorsal load bay open wide and ready to receive its package of AWOL clones.
As Carud skillfully piloted the craft downwards through the hatch, Pel leaped on and glanced at his brother and Soolad.
“So, what have you been up to?” he winked, “We thought you weren’t coming.”
As the ship’s debris-clogged thrusters finally powered down, Calz turned to his men.
“We’re not out of this yet, boys. Grab your lids and ‘15’s. Carud, get our new crate into the air.”
Calz’s men shouted their affirmation in unison, and went about their heavily practiced routines.
Calz turned to Scarp and Pel. “They know we’ve got Jedi with us. That’s going to bring down more heat than you could ever expect.”
Scarp pushed a few sodden strands of hair from his eyes and fixed the Sergeant with a smile.
“You have five Jedi with you, Sarge. That’s more heat than they’ll ever expect.”


Lig and Janst’orr emerged from their hiding place and joined the others as they disembarked one ship for another. Janst’orr watched as clones and force-users helped each other down from the deck. “Now where are we going?”
When no answer was forthcoming, she hoisted up her robes, and ran to join her tiny clan as they followed the clones into the depths of the ship.

Part 1 - The Bear Clan

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5 - PART 6 - PART 7 - PART 8 - PART 9 - PART 10 - PART 11 - PART 12 - PART 13 - PART 14 - PART 15 - PART 16


PROLOGUE

She had never seen a Jedi before, but the tall, handsome man had appeared out of the rainy night looking for a child.

"Orphaned?" she asked.

"Abandoned," he replied. "A few months old, female, red hair, blue eyes."

She led him into a small room where six babies lay in cribs. Five of them were sleeping peacefully, while the other one fussed and cried and flailed her arms in the air.

"Bad tempered, this one is," the nursery worker commented. "Always out of sorts."

The Jedi reached his hand into the crib and touched the baby's face. Instantly she stopped crying and wrapped her tiny hand around his finger. He picked her up and she smiled, and a ripple in the Force passed between them. She snuggled down into his arms and made cooing baby noises.

"I don't believe it!" the nurse said. "She's never smiled for anyone before, poor thing."

Another woman appeared in the doorway, the administrator of the orphanage. "We can't let just anyone come in here and take a child. By what right do you claim this baby?"

"I am Qui-Gon Jinn, a Jedi Knight. This child is Force sensitive. I claim her in the name of the Jedi Order."

* * *

"Well, Qui-Gon, what is that you have there?" Digeeta peeked into the blanket wrapped bundle he held in his arms as he stood before her in the Temple nursery.

"Will you take her yourself, Digeeta? She was abandoned and needs a lot of extra attention."

"Oh, the poor little one, of course I'll take her. I need a new youngling in my group. What is her name?"

"Traelyn," he replied, having pulled the name out of a trashy holonovel he'd read on board the starliner during the trip back from Locaria. "Traelyn Zavall."

* * *

PART 1 - THE BEAR CLAN

The day that Traelyn turned five standard years old, she was taken to meet her new master. Digeeta, her caregiver, led her to the classroom where Master Yoda was teaching the youngest of the Bear Clan students the fundamentals of the lightsaber.

Traelyn was fascinated by lightsabers, as she had watched the masters spar many times before, and the humming sounds and the flashing blades never failed to hold her attention.

But she was terrified of Master Yoda, and she clung to Digeeta, hiding behind her skirts as Master Yoda looked her over.

"Much fear I sense in this one, Digeeta. Sure are you that she is ready for this? A big step it is, to move into the mighty Bear Clan."

"Master Yoda," Digeeta said discreetly, "It is your disapproval that she fears, she is extremely sensitive to the feelings and thoughts of others. But she is strong with the Force, and very bright."

"Humm, then mindful of my own thoughts I should be!" Yoda replied with a chuckle.

An older boy came forward and offered Traelyn his hand, and led her to the back of the room to choose a training saber.

"My name is Obi-Wan," he said. "Do you remember me?"

"I'm Traelyn," she said softly, shaking her head.

"Would you like one of these?" he asked. "They're the best we have."

"Yes, thank you," she said. Then she smiled. "You talk like Digeeta."

He grinned. "So do you. Digeeta was my caregiver, too."

* * *

For three days, Traelyn did as she was told, followed the rules of the clan and made herself at home in the youngling dormitory. She also did not speak unless spoken to, she hid from Master Yoda and the other teachers as much as possible, and tried to go unnoticed.

On the fourth day the younglings gathered at the Temple Lake for swimming practice. The older children were jumping into the water from a high rock, and Traelyn looked up at it in trepidation. She climbed up on it and peered over the edge while two of the older girls snickered at her.

"She probably doesn't know how to swim," one of them said.

"Or she's just afraid," the other replied.

A flash of anger crossed Traelyn's mind, and unfortunately for Obi-Wan, he picked that particular moment to try to be helpful. "Come on, Traelyn, it's easy. I can teach you how to swim."

She turned away from the older girls and gave Obi-Wan a shove. "I already know how to swim!" she said angrily, and pushed him off the rock into the water.

He came up spitting water and laughing. The older girls turned away, and Traelyn stuck her tongue out at them just before jumping into the water.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Obi-Wan asked.

Traelyn smiled. "I like you, Obi-Wan," she said. "You make the Force feel funny!"

* * *

Seventy years later, Traelyn sighed as she lay back in the thermal pool beside the rebuilt Temple Lake. Younglings scampered about on the beach, while the older ones jumped into the water off that same rock that had terrified her so many years before.

Her body had recently been healed and rejuvenated by a long immersion in Bacta, and sitting in the steaming water of the therapeutic pool no longer appealed to her as it once had. Her muscles and joints no longer ached with age and she was restless sitting there where she used to feel at peace.

She envied the younglings and then realized there was no reason for it. She rose out of the warm water and marched up to the diving rock. She easily climbed up its side, and startled the younglings.

"Gramma!" Young Aidriac Kenobi said. "What are you doing up here?"

Traelyn chuckled and dove off the rock into the cool lake water, and swam to the other side. Obi-Wan was waiting for her.

Do I still make the Force feel funny to you?

"Always."

* * *

For two years Traelyn worked on her lightsaber technique. The weapon continued to fascinate her, and she became quite adept at its usage. Often Master Qui-Gon visited her, as he had during her nursery school days, and he delighted in teaching her new dueling moves.

But she struggled with her other studies, as her emotions overwhelmed her at times and often she could not control her sympathetic tendencies.

Whenever a classmate was hurt, she felt it. Whenever one of her friends was unhappy, she felt it. She told no one, except for Obi-Wan, who had no idea what to do about it, but he comforted her as best he could.

Then the day came when a group of Jedi Knights and Masters came to watch the younglings in action. The children demonstrated their Force abilities, and answered questions about Jedi history and duties. Master Yoda selected the best swordsmen to demonstrate their skills, and Traelyn and Obi-Wan were paired up in a duel.

Obi-Wan announced to the other younglings that he was going to win, no matter how good Traelyn might be, he was older and wiser and she was just a child, after all.

Traelyn's eyes glittered with excitement as she ignited her saber and rushed at Obi-Wan, wasting no time in attacking him. He grinned and took a defensive stance, and they fought back and forth across the room several times before Traelyn pulled a sneaky moved she'd learned from Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan went down, his saber flying across the room.

Triumphantly she stood over him, her saber touching the side of his neck while Miracosta, the oldest member of the clan and the match referee, declared her the winner.

"I beat you! I told you I would!" she bragged. She twirled her lightsaber around and around as she pranced around him.

As he rose from the floor, his face red with embarrassment, he told her she'd cheated, that he didn't know she knew that move, and all that extra help she got from Master Qui-Gon had made the match unfair.

They stood almost nose to nose, glaring at each other in anger. Then the tap-shuffle of Master Yoda's approach was heard in the silence of the room.

"Acting like Jedi, you two are not!" he declared. "You," he pointed at Obi-Wan, "making excuses for your failures, arrogant and reckless you are. And you," he pointed at Traelyn, "Are worse." And he shuffled away, leaving them both speechless.

Traelyn was crying and Obi-Wan was silent as they left the exhibition hall. The older children were laughing at them.

"Jedi, you are not," one of the girls said, mocking Yoda's voice. "A crybaby is what you are, thinking you're so great," she taunted Traelyn.

"You can't even beat a little girl," another boy said to Obi-Wan.

Traelyn grew angry, and shook with rage as she tried to contain her feelings. Obi-Wan pulled her away from the group and out of the room as her anger boiled over. She resisted him, but he was bigger and stronger than her, and he dragged her off before Yoda could catch wind of their turmoil. He led her off though a hidden door into an old, musty, unused tunnel beneath the main floor of the Temple.

With all the Force strength that he could muster, he shielded her anger from the Force as she sobbed against his shoulder.

"We'll never be Jedi, Obi-Wan," she said, shivering in the cold of the damp room. "I cannot control my fear, or my anger, or anything else! And Master Yoda called you reckless."

"Traelyn, we're still just younglings. Those things will come to you, you must learn to trust yourself, and I must learn to control my pride." He wrapped his cloak around her, and winced as she wiped her nose on the sleeve.

"Obi-Wan, you're the best friend I have. I'm sorry I beat you, I didn't think I was cheating."

"You weren't." he said. "I'll always be your friend, Traelyn." And with all the seriousness a ten year-old could muster, he said, "I love you."

"I know," she replied. A tremor in the Force rolled over them.

She smiled as he nodded his head, and hand in hand, they slipped out of the hidden room.

* * *

That's bittersweet memory, my love. We were so young and innocent.

"Would you do it all over again? Your life, I mean.

I would give my heart to you again, without hesitation. But the rest of my life...I don't know if I could survive the heartbreaks a second time.

She nodded. "I know what you mean. The paths of our lives didn't go according to plan."

When did you ever plan? He chuckled.

She threw her head back with laughter. "When did you ever not?"

With a splash of lake water, two younglings appeared on the beach.

"Hello, Grampa," young Traelyn Kenobi said.

"Hi, Grampa," said Aidriac. "Are you still dead?"

"Aidriac!" His sister admonished him. "That's not nice!"

Obi-Wan covered his smile with his ghostly hand. Yes, Aidriac, I'm still dead.

"I'm glad Gramma isn't dead," he replied. "She almost was, you know."

I know, but she wouldn't leave you.

Traelyn covered her face for a moment. "I'll never leave you. Any of you." And she looked right at Obi-Wan. "When you pledged your life to me, you didn't know it would last beyond your death."

Yes, I did. I don't know how, but I knew. And so did you. You would not have promised anything less.

The Suns of Solamonn - Chapters 1 and 2

Hello there!

This is a fan-fic in progress, which some of you may have seen on the OS and on my own blog - but I thought I could use another outlet and maybe get some feedback.
I'll post it in large-ish chunks until we are all caught up - let me know if these posts are too long for your liking though!

Chapter One.

Slender tendrils of lightning chased each other through the violet clouds of Kiffu, crackling and whispering as they collided and dissipated into the atmosphere. The air at ground level was dry and constantly charged, evident by the fine hairs standing to attention on Scarp's nape. The Jedi Knight ran his massive hand across the back of his neck, flattening the hairs temporarily, and then gazed at the sky, half expecting one of the electrical charges to smite him down like a burst from the fingertips of a Sith Lord.

Despite being slumped upon the fallen column he claimed for a seat, Scarp Hed'n was huge. He was one of the few humans who could rival a wookiee for height and girth, and combined with his armor and robes this made him an imposing figure. Even now as he sat, weary and unfocused, desperately trying to clear his mind so that he might meditate, he looked immovable.
Scarp's long hair hung unbraided and wild, framing his thickset, heavily scarred features. His eyes were tightly closed but, had they been open, their color would have rivaled the arcs of blue energy coursing through the skies above.



He grimaced and tightened his grip on his broadsaber, twisting the pommel into the dusty ground at his feet. His two-handed weapon had not been used for almost a week now, but he never let it out of his grip, even when sleeping, and he relished its support now more than ever.
Scarp shook his head again, trying to dislodge the waves of sorrow that washed over him, but he knew it was to no avail. Like his younger brother, Pel, Scarp was acutely sensitive to ripples in the living force, and the recent acts of utter evil and misery had pummeled him relentlessly for days as he listened to the screams of his betrayed brothers and sisters. It had been eight days since Pel had received a coded message spelling out the actions of the Republic and the details of Order 66, and this explained that single day when both brothers had been crippled by the psychic screams of the Jedi Order. Even now, new, terrified voices added to the mix, and Scarp knew that the survivors of the initial purge were being systematically hunted down. Meditation had never come easily to either brother, and Scarp was starting to believe that he would never know inner peace again.



"Master Hed'n, Master Hed'n! I'm doing it! Look!"
The tiny voice came from behind him, and Scarp opened his eyes, twisting his upper body to gaze at the latest efforts of the youngling.
Dwarfed by the towering ruins of the abandoned lightning harvester they called home, a tiny Togruta girl in Jedi robes kneeled before a dancing collection of levitating rocks. She looked at Scarp, excitement in her jet-black eyes, and the rocks fell to the ground. Her face fell equally fast and she sighed.
"I was doing it, Master Hed'n."
Scarp attempted a smile of encouragement, but it came off feeling like a sneer so he masked it quickly.
"Focus, Lig. Keep your mind on your actions, don't look for approval."
"Sorry, Master."
"And don't apologize to me. Save that for Master Pel, he is the disciplinarian."
"Yes, Master."
"Now, try again, and focus on the rocks until you see nothing but the rocks, feel nothing but the rocks, until you are the very rocks."
"Yes, Master."
Scarp finally managed a smile, then turned away from the aqua-striped youngling and scanned the far ruins.
"Now, where are the other two?"
Pidluk 'Lig' Sha'Ligg pulled herself to her feet and stared in the same direction.
"They are sparring, Master. Out by the wells."
"Thank you, Lig. Strange that I could not sense them."
Scarp threw back his hair, rubbing his temples as he stood, throwing the little Togruta into shadow. Sliding his broadsaber into his back sling, he began to stride towards the collection wells, and Lig gathered up the hem of her robes to scurry along in his wake.

As the knight and padawan reached the sunken levels of the harvester, the unmistakable hum of a training saber reverberated the parched air around them, followed by the short yelp of a child. Scarp rounded a pockmarked wall and leaned against a plasti-steel pillar that thrust seemingly without purpose into the sky. He watched as two children, a male Bith and a female Nautolan, squared off on opposite sides of a dark rimmed sinkhole. Lig sat at Scarp's feet, leaning back as far as she dared to rest upon his shins. She knew this would never have been allowed back at the temple, back when her universe made sense. Her comfort seeped into Scarp's consciousness, muting the swirling troubles echoing in his mind, and calming him, so much so that his breathing became deep and slow.
'She truly is a remarkable healer', he thought to himself, gazing down at her budding horns, a smile creasing the skin around his azure eyes as he noticed her perfect meditative form. Scarp then turned his attention back to the other younglings.

The Nautolan, Janst'orr, twirled a training saber in her left hand and smiled, reminding him for all the galaxy of Master Fisto. Janst'orr's coloration was decidedly darker than Kit's, but this only served to add contrast to her brilliant grin. If it hadn't been for the soothing thoughts of the little Togruta at his feet, Scarp would have surely relapsed into mourning for his lost friend. Suddenly the Bith threw his hands out before his scrawny, black-clad body, and Janst'orr flew back in a flurry of tan robes into a pile of stone flakes, scattering them into the air like razor confetti. She clicked off the training saber and threw her arms across her face to shelter from the inevitable rain of sharp stones, but it never came. Tentatively pushing one head tentacle from her face, she risked her large eyes to gaze at the cloud of stones, which floated above her head as if suspended on Kaleeshan glass threads.

"Very good, young Soolad." Scarp acknowledged the young Bith's skill with a trio of slow handclaps. "Now, allow Jan to regain her footing."
"Yes, Master Hed'n." The padawan nodded his bulbous head as he motioned with his hands in the air, drawing the shards of stone away from Janst'orr and allowing them to fall harmlessly down the collection well.
Scarp was impressed. He gently pushed Lig forward as he walked over to Janst'orr who was picking herself up sheepishly. Soolad walked around the well's perimeter to join him as he reached the little Nautolan.
"Your control has developed well, Soolad. You have a mightier force push than any youngling I have ever known."
Janst'orr shot Soolad a curt glance, and then craned her head to look at her master.
"It's not fair when he pushes me over like that."
Scarp immediately forgave her outburst, knowing full well that Pel would never allow a youngling to speak to him in such a manner.
"It is perfectly fair, youngling," he gently chided, "you held the weapon, Soolad merely held his ground."
The Bith approximated a grin beneath his cheek folds and winked one saucer-like eye at the fuming Nautolan.
"Shoulda let me use the saber, Jan."
Janst'orr bit and took a step toward him, her tapered fingers toying with the buttons on the saber's hilt.
"Master Hed'n gave it to me, Sooly."
"And for a very good reason, Jan," interrupted Scarp before the younglings could begin scrapping, "you have certainly proven yourself to be the blade master of our little class, might I ask where you picked up that flourish?"
"You mean this?" Janst'orr flicked on the saber, twirling its bright blue blade dangerously close to Soolad's face before shutting the weapon off. "I'm practicing Ataru. Master Yoda always let me..."
"Form four is a little advanced for a youngling," Scarp said, cutting her off, "I would prefer that you practice what I have shown you."
"But I've done that, Master."
Scarp cocked one eyebrow and fixed her with a hard stare; a stare known to whither wroshyr saplings. "Really?"
Two large pieces of sponge stone, hard enough to bruise, suddenly flew from the ground and seemed destined to connect with Janst'orr's chest. In a blur the blue blade simultaneously flashed on and cut through both missiles, repeatedly.
Janst'orr snapped off the saber and returned it to her belt.
Scarp poked at the pieces of sponge stone on the ground with the toe of his boot.
"Hmm, eight pieces. Master Yoda would be impressed."

Suddenly Lig snapped her head to one side and cocked it as if listening to a faint tune.
Scarp looked at her, and then realized whom she was sensing. He smiled as Lig and the other younglings ran to the edge of the ruins to watch a small dust cloud grow ever closer to their location.
“Master Pel is returning!” Soolad climbed onto a fallen column for a better view.
“Perhaps he brings food!” exclaimed Janst’orr, jumping onto Soolad’s perch and jostling him for the prime spot.
Scarp reached out with the force and probed his brother’s thoughts, but was surprised to find that Pel had clouded them. Try as he might, Scarp could not penetrate the swirling shroud that Pel had created, and the first tiny warning tingles began to dance on his scalp.
“Younglings, get back to the center of the structure.”
“But why…” Soolad began, however he was cut off by Scarp’s sharp rebuff.
“Obey me, youngling!”
Shocked, the little Bith slowly started to climb down, followed by Janst’orr.

Lig, however, had not moved. She pointed one tapered finger in the direction of Pel Hed’n. “There’s something behind him.”
The other two younglings paused and looked in the direction she was pointing. Scarp squinted as he looked past his brother’s rapidly approaching swoop, then his face fell in alarm as he recognized the unmistakably bulbous silhouette of the object in the sky behind him.
In an instant he had unsheathed his broadsaber and snapped it on, its red and blue twin blades combining to create a violet swath of energy. “Get behind me!” he yelled.
“What is that thing?” asked Soolad from behind Scarp’s leg.
Scarp narrowed his eyes and called on the force for strength.
“That, Soolad, is a Republic gunship.”

Chapter Two

The charged particles of Kiffu’s air stung like scatter-shot on Pel’s exposed lower face, although he knew the sensation he felt was just electro-static pinpricks, and that no physical damage was actually being done to him.

Through the enhanced display of his swoop goggles, he could see Scarp’s towering frame holding fast; his legs splayed in readiness, his twin blades creating a diagonal slash above and behind him. Pel could also see three tiny heads – actually two tiny heads and a Bith forehead – peeking out from behind a fallen column. He knew how confused they all felt, and he was acutely aware that the dark shape looming up behind him symbolized extinction to their tiny group. He tried to ignore the remorse eating away at his stomach.
‘I should have warned them…’




As Pel brought the bike to a stop, the staccato throb of the gunship’s engines grew louder, no longer masked by the whine of the swoop’s jets. He didn’t need to look back to see where it was, and instead leapt from his ride, barreling towards his brother with his hands outstretched.
“Scarp! No!”
It was too late. The gargantuan knight had already drawn back his arms and let fly with his broadsaber, which was now spinning above Pel’s head and in direct line with the gunship.
‘Typical Scarp’, Pel thought as he skidded to a halt and twisted to watch the weapon’s gently looping trajectory, ‘bring the ship down, then finish them off face to face’.

As Pel considered his course of action, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Around him, dust motes floated lazily on the air, kicked up by his own feet, settling into the folds of his dark green, Kiffuan poncho. The stammering roar of the gunship’s thrusters became a low and steady heartbeat, and Scarp’s saber rotated gracefully through the air, its multicolored blades creating kaleidoscopic pinwheels in the sky. As Pel watched it, he knew he had one of three choices. Try to leap for the weapon and grab it, bring it down with the force, or deactivate it. The latter choice seemed the most immediate and he stretched out with his mind until he saw the long hilt of Scarp’s saber, found the activation button, and slid it down, just as the weapon reached the gunship and bounced harmlessly off the cockpit. This entire action had taken fractions of a second, but to Pel it felt like a two-hour workout, and he paused to catch his breath.

Suddenly an object flew past his left shoulder, missing him by an arm’s length, and he saw the broadsaber snap back into Scarp’s mighty gloved hands as if on elastic. In an instant, Scarp had re-ignited the blade and was thundering towards Pel.
“Scarp! No! Stand down!” shouted Pel over the sound of the gunship behind him as it commenced its landing cycle.
“Are you insane?” yelled Scarp in return, reducing his speed not one iota.
“Trust me, brother!” replied Pel, and he sent a soothing pulse into Scarp’s mind, attempting to cool the giant’s blood.
Scarp was almost alongside Pel when he finally slowed, looking at his brother with confusion, but not turning off his saber.
“Scarp, trust me,” repeated Pel, this time more quietly, trying to keep the situation as calm as possible, “this isn’t what it seems.”
Scarp stopped and looked first at his brother, then at the military ship settling down behind him.
He adopted a defensive stance and spoke out of the side of his mouth, never once taking his eyes from the craft.
“Then, what is it, Pel?”

Lig watched the unfolding scene with wide eyes. The turmoil from the brothers’ minds bombarded her senses and she had to lean on Janst’orr for support. Masters Scarp and Pel were talking out of earshot, their voices reduced to whispers, and Lig couldn’t make out anything that was being said. The high-pitched howl from the gunship’s engines had finally subsided; the last of the dust clouds had settled, and Lig watched as the brothers walked steadily toward the craft.
“What are they doing?” Janst’orr sounded concerned. The little Nautolan’s voice always rose in pitch when she was troubled.
“I don’t know,“ replied Lig, “but they wouldn’t leave us.”
“How do you know that?” whispered Soolad as he bunched closer to Janst’orr than he had ever dared before.
“Master Pel is very calm, and Master Scarp’s anger has faded.” Lig’s quiet voice, along with the waves of tranquility emanating from her tiny frame, was immensely soothing, and her companions relaxed a little.

Lig turned her attention back to the two Jedi Knights as they reached the ship. The orange dust had settled enough for her to see the craft quite clearly now, and she marveled at its shape.
‘How could such a thing fly?’ she wondered as she looked at it.
The gunship did indeed look graceless, like a large bovine creature, belly-flopped onto the ground and wheezing gently. The entire ship was matte black, including the plasti-glass cockpit and weapon blisters, so black in fact that it seemed to suck the strobing blue light from the sky, creating its own, irregular, void. Heat shimmers rose from the tail section, creating glittering eruptions in the electrified air.

She watched, eyes wide, as her masters waited under the left wing of the craft. Then the entire side of the ship appeared to lift off and slide back, and a figure emerged. Lig heard Janst’orr catch her breath sharply, and felt her reaching for the training saber. She nestled closer to her, and reached around to rest her hand on Soolad’s shoulder, then the three of them began to breath as one; slowly, deeply.
The visitor was as tall as Master Pel and looked like a droid; however, Lig recognized the unmistakable curvature of a clone trooper’s armor, and the way in which those soldiers held themselves ramrod straight.
“That’s a clone!” whispered Soolad, “Aren’t we supposed to be fighting them now?”
“Not this one,” hissed Janst’orr, regaining some of her old spunkiness, “otherwise Master Scarp would have his head off already.”
The land may have been tinged with blue and violet, but Lig’s eyes had adapted to the color-shift many days ago, and yet she was having trouble picking out the features of the clone trooper’s suit.
“Aren’t they normally white?” said Soolad, deciding he had to ask all the unspoken questions of the moment.
“Yes.” replied Lig, peering harder as a second clone trooper exited the ship and joined his comrade in conversation with the Jedi brothers.
Suddenly Scarp turned in the younglings’ direction and indicated to them to join him.
Lig immediately stood up and began to skirt the edge of the column. Janst’orr leapt forward, her head tentacles flapping wildly, and grabbed Lig by the hood of her cloak.
“You’re not going out there, are you?”
“Why not, Jan? Master Scarp wants us there.”
“It could be a trap!”
“I don’t think so. I sense no hostility towards us. Coming Sooly?”
Lig looked for the little Bith, but he was already up and over the column, and jogging towards the gunship.
“For such a big head, he’s got very little brains…” grumbled Janst’orr as she allowed Lig to pull her towards the meeting between supposed enemies.

Scarp looked down as Soolad skidded to a halt, putting Scarp’s tree trunk of a leg between himself and the nearest trooper. The Bith’s eyes were wider than they had ever been, and his mouth folds quivered nervously.
“Calm yourself, youngling.” Scarp smiled at Soolad, then he stepped aside so that the armored visitor could see him better. “Sergeant Calz, this is Soolad G’att.”
The clone took a step forward and looked at the youngling. At least Soolad thought he was looking at him; for all he knew, the soldier could have had his eyes shut behind that visor.
“Force user?” Calz asked in a gruff and emotionless voice.
“They all are,” replied Pel, as Lig and Janst’orr arrived, “this youngling is Pidluk Lig, and this is Janst’orr Fenakkom.”
Sergeant Calz seemed to take more interest in Janst’orr than the others.
“She is a Nautolan.” It was a statement, not a question.
Janst’orr wanted to pipe up, but she felt voiceless, staring into the dark blue visor of the clone. Pel spoke for her. “Yes, she is.”
“I’ve seen them fight. Skillful warriors, underwater.”
“And on dry land, I think you’ll find,” added Scarp.

During the brief conversation, three more clone troopers had stepped down from the gunship’s running plate, and now stood facing the Jedi and their padawans, their weapons cradled in their arms.
Lig took this opportunity to study the five soldiers before her. They all wore full complements of armor, although there was something different about the Sergeant. Lig suddenly realized that he was wearing phase 1 armor; he looked just like the holo-recording images of the troopers from the Geonosis battle, the start of the Clone Wars. The other four troopers wore phase 2 armor, although two of them had different shaped helmets from the rest. None of them were the color they were supposed to be. Lig had only ever seen the clones wearing white or off-white armor, with the occasional splash of color to designate their division or rank. Aside from one olive green shoulder-piece on the Sergeant, all of them were dark gray, the color of smoke from an oil fire.

One of the other troopers, the one who wore the lightweight uniform of a scout, hefted his long DC-15x onto his shoulder and looked at the Sergeant.
“Five Jedi, Sarge! We hit pay dirt!”
“Stow it, Peko. I consider this lot three and a half.” Calz took a mini-projector from his belt and flipped it open in his palm. Several tiny buildings winked into view and rotated slowly in a red lined hologram.
“No time for socializing – if we’re getting off this dirtball, we’re doing it now.”
Lig looked up at Scarp, bewilderment in her dark eyes.
He looked at her, the twinkle gone from his eyes. “We are leaving, young one.”
The clone troopers moved as one, jumping onto the gunship as the engines powered up. The scout, Peko, fired up Pel’s swoop and steered it into a rear holding bay.
Pel looked at the other two younglings, who stared back at him, equally confused as Lig.
“Listen to us, younglings. Our best chance for survival rests with these men. We have to leave, now.”
“But, Master –“ began Janst’orr.
Calz’s rough tones drifted out from the interior of the gunship. “Today, gentlemen!”
Pel grimaced, and then took Janst’orr by her hand as Scarp scooped up Soolad and Lig, depositing them into the ship, yelling over the roar of the repulsors.
“We’ll explain on the way!”
The brothers leapt in as the gunship began to climb and the door slid shut.

Inside the belly of the black, metal beast, Lig gazed at the soldiers hanging onto webbing on either side of her. A sixth, helmet less, clone sat strapped into his seat, wrapped in bacta bandages, seemingly unconscious. Behind him she could make out the head of the pilot. One of the clones, wearing heavily dented phase 2 armor, leaned in close to her; so close she could see her own frightened eyes in his visor.
“Welcome to the Rang, missy.”
Scarp’s massive hand gently gripped her shoulder, and she heard him whisper in her ear. “It’s an old language. It means, Ashes.”

NOW UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT!

OKAY! Hansgirl, Jedi Master Mina and I, Granny-Wan, are now admins of this site. If you have any problems and or questions, please let us know. Keep in mind that Hansgirl and Mina have real lives, and I don't, so you might want to contact me if you want a quick answer.

CONTENT: This site is for SciFi/Fantasy related fiction or artwork It will most likely be Star Wars related, but others are welcome. I will try to keep these official announcements to a minimum. I'll try to only do that when I'm really bored, and/or annoyed. That being said, don’t make frivolous off-topic posts. Don't make posts linking to other blogs unless it's relevant to fan fiction! We come here to read fiction, so we expect to see fiction on the page.

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TRAELYN'S FIRST BALANCED FORCE DAY

Traelyn awoke in the middle of the night, a jolt in the Force causing all her senses to come awake. As always when she needed to think, she left her small shelter and wandered down to the river. Settling herself in her favorite spot, she leaned back against the rocks and closed her eyes, extending her consciousness into the Force.

Something was definitely different, the pall of the Dark Side that had clouded her Force vision for many years was gone, and she realized it was clarity that was confusing her, for the Force was clearer than it had been since she was child.

She sighed. If something had happened, Obi-Wan would eventually appear to tell her. She would have to be patient. The sounds of the water running by were soothing, and the warm water steamed in the cool night air.

Feeling a stirring in the Force, she opened her eyes to see Obi-Wan's ghostly form appearing in front of her. Incredibly, Anakin Skywalker was with him. Instinctively, Traelyn reached for her lightsaber before realizing that Anakin was also a ghost.

Instead of igniting the weapon, she just stared.

Traelyn, Obi-Wan said, Palpatine is dead. Anakin has returned to the light.

"I sensed a shift in the Force," she said cautiously. "But what is HE doing here?"

Anakin looked at the ground. I've come it apologize.

Traelyn laughed, humorlessly. "That's a good one."

An aura of light shimmered nearby, and Masters Qui-Gon and Yoda appeared next to her.

We've come to celebrate Balanced Force Day with you! Qui-Gon said.

"Balanced Force Day?"

Wonderful, it is. Clear and light, the Force is, replied Yoda.

Traelyn stared at all of them.

"Balanced Force Day? Big Frackin' Deal!" And she stomped off towards her shelter. Obi-Wan followed her.

Traelyn, what's wrong? This is a wonderful thing!

"Big Frackin' Deal!" She repeated. "It's a wonderful thing for all of you," she indicated the four dead men. "But I'm still stuck here on this moon! Twenty-Three years I've been here without stimcaf, chocolate or sex!"

Obi-Wan blushed, in spite of his blue appearance.

Traelyn! Qui-Gon said in shock. You don't understand, this may very well be the fall of the Empire!

"Right now, I'd join the Empire for a mocha latte and a good frack."

Yoda covered his head. Hear this, I cannot!

"Master Yoda, with all due respect, stick it in your pointy ear!"

Under The Stars

A Fic I've worked on, and am ready to have picked to pieces.

Title: Under the Stars
Author: Arwen Skywalker
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, if I did, the Legacy series wouldn't exist.
Summary: Leia spends some time thinking over Luke's words to her on Endor's moon.

************************************************************************************

Leia sat outside on an ewok flet, her knees pulled up underneath her chin. The night air was cool, and slight breezes rustled leaves. Han and Chewbacca were asleep a few feet away, and she should be too. They needed to meet up with the rest of the strike team in a few hours, and neutralize the power generator before the rest of the fleet arrived. Leia understood the need for rest, the need to be on her toes tomorrow, but her mind just wouldn't rest. No thanks to Luke.

Leia grimaced and bit her lip. He'd dumped a lot of information on her a few hours ago. She'd noticed him slipping out, and followed him, to ask again why he kept staring at her, and what was on his mind, but had not expected to the twist the conversation had taken. Luke had asked about her mother, her real mother of all things! She and Luke, and Han too, had talked of nearly everything in the galaxy over the last four years, except the one taboo subject, their families.

Sure, everyone knew Luke was a farmboy from Tatooine and Leia was the adopted daughter of the late, Leia stumbled over the word in her mind, Viceroy of Alderaan, but nothing else. She knew nothing of Han's childhood, except he'd spent some time on the streets and knew nothing of his parents. Of course, that was second-hand information passed on from Luke, and Leia was almost certain Han didn't know that she knew. One way they all three were similar, she reflected, none of them had known their biological parents.

And were similar no longer, she thought bitterly, and then corrected herself, she might know who they were, but she'd never known them in person. Leia sighed angrily, no, that wasn't true either. She knew far too much about the man, (was he even a man?) that Luke claimed for his father. "Father"? Leia thought scornfully, "I will never call him that. Monster? Torturer? definitely. Father? never."

And Luke had asked about her real mother, she'd found that very odd. They'd never spoken about that before, was now the time? But she'd answered him with what she had, no images, just feelings. She didn't even know how old she'd been when her real mother had died, and she had no memory of Luke, when had they been separated?
Her mother was Breha Organa, and she had been a wonderful mother, and Leia would always think of her when she thought of "mother". But there had been another woman once, for some reason she was sure of this, beautiful, kind, but sad. Too odd a combination to be made up. Leia had never dwelt on her real mother, she had never needed her. Which was good, because in the same way she knew real mother had existed once, she was sure she was gone for good.

Leia scowled at her knees, now she knew where the "sad" part came in. She knew that the Emperor and his pet terror had come to power a short time before she was born, short, as in less than seven standard days. Luke seemed to believe that their mother had loved "Anakin", a Jedi Knight who decided to turn evil and run around killing and torturing people, including all of his old comrades. And then Luke was crazy enough to believe that this "Anakin" still existed deep down, under the armor. And so her crazy brother (at least that felt right) had decided it was his duty to save said Anakin from himself. And so off he'd gone, despite her pleading for him not to leave, not to be so stupid as to walk up to the Imperial base and give himself up.

"But why must you face him?"

"Because there is good in him, I've felt it.

Leia would have laughed at that if she could. To the best of her knowledge, last time Luke had been near dear ol'da, he had come back minus one hand, covered in blood, and an emotional wreck. "Oh, yeah, lots of good in him, Luke, lots."

But enough about the evil machine-man. Leia turned her mind to Luke's more welcome revelation. They were sister and brother, not only that, but but they were twins. When he had told her, she had just had no doubts that it was the truth, that their connection was a sibling bond made so much sense. Now she wished that it felt wrong, that there was no way that it was true, if that was true, if Luke was really her brother, if that meant that he was right about that, that monster being her, her, no she couldn't even think it. The tears Leia had been holding back started to fall, and she buried her face in her knees.

"He can't be my father, Luke, he just can't", Leia sobbed. "He killed my family, my world, my friends! He has killed so many beings, so many! He tortured me, he tortured Han and froze him in carbonite, he would have done the same to you! He destroyed everything I cared about, he held me down while they blew apart Alderaan!. Leia was so angry she was shaking now, and she couldn't stop crying.

Eventually her sobs slowed. "It's just not fair" she said, in a voice that was as close to a whimper as she ever got. Leia picked her head up off her knees and looked up at the night sky. It was full of stars, like Alderaan's sky had been. Leia wiped her eyes on her shirt and was thankful that Han was such a sound sleeper. She loved him, she really did, as much as she'd fought the inevitable. She was not interested in explaining to Han why she was crying her eyes out in the middle of the night, what would she say? In her mind she could hear Han's concerned "what's wrong Leia?" Her mind laughed sarcastically and answered " oh, nothing much Han dear,I just found out that the wheezy machineman is my father, interesting, huh?"

"What would he say?" Leia wondered. Han loved her, she knew, but would he still knowing who her father was? Knowing that the man who had tortured him and shipped him off to Jabba was her legacy? Would he still be comfortable around Luke?

And speaking of Luke, what if he never came back? Leia shook her head. Luke was walking right into the Darth Vader and the Emperor's clutches, and was no doubt headed to the Death Star, which She and the other rebels were planning on destroying tomorrow. "Great planning there, Luke", she thought and added "I hope you know what you are doing".

Leia released her knees and lay back on the wood, stretching her cramped muscles. She stared up at the stars, thinking about Luke's declaration that she had the power he had. Impossible was her immediate reaction. Luke insisted she did. Leia wondered how you went about using this "Force" he talked about. She closed her eyes, and emptied her mind, using techniques she'd been taught on Alderaan. She took a deep breath and then tried to reach out and find Luke's presence, like he said he could sense Vader. As she reached out with her senses, she felt it. A warm sensation, like comforting light surrounding her. She tried to find something that felt like Luke, but couldn't. She didn't really know how to look anyway. Leia pulled herself back and opened her eyes to star at the stars again. She felt strangely comforted, as if someone was whispering that everything would be all right.

Leia stood up stiffly and stretched. She felt better and ready to sleep, and a few hours of sleep would be helpful. There was nothing she could do for Luke now anyway. She felt assured somehow that her brother would come back. Leia smiled up at the stars, and whispered "May the Force be with you, my brother".

A Quick Announcement...

For any of you interested, I have redone the RODM series into fanfiction form, and the first few episodes are already published at www.laughterforbloggers.blogspot.com.

~ Bravo 225

EPISODE VII - BLUE BANTHA BEER

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... STAR WARS, Episode VII, BLUE BANTHA BEER by Tyler Cannon, Age 9 & 3/4...

Luke Skywalker and his sister, Leia Organa, have returned to Coruscant to rebuild the Jedi Temple. They had spent the last three years learning Jedi skills and fighting Space Hillbillies.

Leia had married Han Solo right after the fall of the Empire. A strange influence in the Force, possibly caused by the proximity of the Space Hillbillies had caused the princess to have to five babies in three years. She was tired. Han was grumpy. Luke realized the hillbillies were a bad influence, so he banished them all to the Andromeda Galaxy.

In a desperate attempt to get away from changing diapers, Leia left her five children with Han and Luke, and set off on a journey across the galaxy to find more Jedi, especially those who are already potty trained.

Little did she know, that on a nearby planet, R2-D2 and C-3PO, their faithful droid companions, were being held hostage by the Space Hillbillies. They had made their way back from Andromeda by hitchhiking on the backs of rusty old spice freighters.

The princess had received an urgent message from C-3PO to report to the planet Lekatchu immediately. As she landed on the planet, her ship was surrounded by Space Hillbillies carrying double-barreled blasters, and drinking from twin moonshine jugs.

The head Hillbilly spoke first. "Bring my cuzzins back from Andromeda, iffin you ever wanta see your Pitiful Little Band of droids again!"

"Princess Leia!" Threepio cried from the edge of the forest where he was chained to a monstrous looking kettle. "Oh save me! And Artoo's here, too."

She could see that Artoo was plugged into the computer socket of the kettle, his data arm whirring back and forth as he adjusted the cooking temperature.

Leia was shocked to see that the droids were concocting some sort of intoxicating substance, or possibly a bio-weapon.

"Listen here," she said to the head Hillbilly, "Those droids are highly specialized, sophisticated machines. They are not programmed for making blue Bantha beer."

She unclipped her lightsaber and ignited the sinister looking pink blade. She waved it the boss hillbilly's face. He was not impressed, since he'd never seen a lightsaber before, so Leia demonstrated by cutting his suspenders and his pants fell to the ground, revealing his polka-dotted boxer shorts.

Embarrassed, he ran towards a levitating porta-potty and hid inside. Leia quickly ran to Threepio's side, and cut his chains with her saber. Gently she pulled Artoo loose from the computer socket, and he beeped at her in happiness.

A rickety metal shed stood behind the levitating porta-potty, and a middle-aged green woman was hanging her wash out on the line.

Leia stopped and stared in shock. "Diapers?" She screamed. "Nooooooooooo....." She ran screaming to her ship, the droids desperately trying to keep up. They barely reached the ramp before she activated the lift in her haste to take off.

Leia didn't stop shaking until she'd made the jump into hyperspace, heading back towards Coruscant. She spent her travel time reprogramming C-3PO to change diapers.

Her life from then on was exciting, as she traveled the galaxy with her brother Luke, kicking alien butt and taking names, from the Core to the Outer Rim. She became a legend among the Jedi, and her statue still stands today in front of the Temple, a lightsaber in one hand and a diaper pin in the other.

The End by Tyler Cannon

The secret super weapon you never knew the Empire had

Very short Star Wars story with Nuns (weird I know) and secret agents.

Today was a horrifying day for five Nuns and for two spies pretending to be Nuns. That Sunday in the Abbey seemed like any other would. The sisters of the church sat in one perfectly formed row comfortable in their new chairs. Their hair was tucked into their hats and their monotonous black and white uniforms that fit everyone perfectly, were wrinkle free.

The Nuns whispered to each other as they waited for the midnight mass. They wondered why no one else was there with them. Not even the high priest had entered the main room. Well, then again, he couldn’t have entered the room because he had been bound, gagged, and tied to his desk. But the sisters did not know that.

The people that did this to him wore black, one was female, she had brilliantly red hair, the other was male and had spiky black hair. As the nuns waited they also wondered why their new chairs had seat belts. Nobody bothered to fasten themselves in until two special investigators of the Imperial government ran in and ordered them to do so.

As soon as the belts were fastened the chairs lifted into the air. Looking to the agents much like a flock of seagulls. The now frightened and hysterical nuns looked down upon the agents. One of them had red hair and the other had black.

“Those hover- chairs sure do work,” one of the agents yelled over the nun’s wails and screams.

“I wonder how far they’ll go,” asked the other.

Sisters Bartholomew, Doyle, and Fletcher ended up in Corellia’s lake country where they gave up their oaths to the church in favor of partying on the beautiful white sand beaches.

Sister Rose died as her chair crashed through the largest stained glass window in the Abbey. The paramedics continue to look for pieces of her body that currently remain missing.

The fifth one ended up in Centerpoint station, her identity remains unknown.

The last sisters Skywalker and Solo were known Republic spies. What they were doing dressed up as nuns in the First National Abbey of Corellia is uncertain at the moment. But investigators from the five-oh-first persist in searching for the answers. Although none of the agents investigating had either red or black hair.

The Imperial government’s plan had been a great success, they had just come up with a new weapon for eradicating enemies. As had been proven by the disapearance of the two Jedi that had been spying on them. The lives of the nuns that were lost didn’t matter to them. All that counted was that their greatest threat could now be eliminated. All their enemies needed to do was sit down and they would be done for. The only problem being how to go about installing these chairs in the Republic senators offices, without the senators noticing.

The red and black haired agents were never seen or heard from again, they never reported back to the Imperial headquarters.

Can I have your attention, please?

It is an honour to present to you, dear readers, the winner of the Official Fan Fiction Challenge 2007!

And here comes the envelope. Thank you, dear assistent lady. May I say you look smashing in that dress? What? After the ceremony? I'd love to...

Ahem, sorry about that.

Now, on with the ceremony. Can I have a drumroll, please?

*drumroll starts*

Thank you.

The winner of the Fan Fiction Challenge 2007 is...

Wait, anyone's got a letter opener on them? Thank you.

The winner is... this is exciting... let me see...

What? That's impossible!

Is this correct?

Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we have not one, but two winners amongst us! Those winners are our beloved Senator Soph-ia and the lovely River!

*applause*

Coming home. . .

He ran until he hit the invisible wall that would let him go no further.

Luke looked at the smoldering scene before him. He realized that everything he had been so familiar with, everything he had known so intimately now looked completely foreign. He was viewing his homestead through different eyes; like a hostage released from a dark dungeon. He tried to focus on the changed images of a world he thought he knew. It was painful and brilliant all at once.

Luke felt every imaginable emotion take hold of him. It was the emotion he didn’t expect that caught him off guard. It swept over him like a cool wind and surprised him like a violent desert storm: it was peace.

Peace. How could anyone feel peace at a time like this?

The murder of Luke’s beloved Aunt Beru and his never-quite-good-enough Uncle Owen changed his life in a stunning flash. And yet, somehow he knew the change had little to do with Owen and Beru. Yes, they were the precipitants. But it was their time. He knew this. He felt it. Although their murders were horrific and inexcusable, Luke knew they were at peace after a long life of toil and hard labor. It was just hard to accept that HE himself could feel. . .peace.

Peace.

How else could one describe it? He did not mourn for his adopted family. He felt no obligation to stay, no ties to anyone or any place. But what Luke was feeling was more than lack of guilt or lack of ties. No – peace and freedom are two very different things.

Peace.

Looking back, Luke had always been restless growing up on the farm. It wasn’t where he belonged. And although Beru was loving and Owen was both watchful and dutiful, he knew they weren’t his. No – he had always felt alone.

And on this desert world of Tatooine, he was not only alone, but also out of place. He wondered at his oddities – his seemingly unique ability to see and feel things in a way that was very different from others. He felt guilt over his restlessness and shame at his lack of contentment. He despaired at his unrelenting desire to become something more. And yet he felt deeply for his family and for the universe at large. Compassion and empathy coursed through his veins with no outlet but the broken moisture evaporators and the occasional droid. He was being crushed by his own apathy. He knew he was not the dutiful son and farm-boy that he should be – and yet. . .

Peace.

Luke began to realize with a painful certainty that these murders would’ve never happened if he’d been there. He could’ve stopped them. He didn’t know exactly how, but he knew he could’ve saved his family. And even though he did feel both guilt and regret, he also realized that these senseless deaths had succeeded in pointing him in another direction. . .

Peace.

Somehow, Luke did not find himself swearing revenge for this horrific event. Oh – he knew how to be angry and how to feel hate. He had been angry for a long time: angry at the futility of farming the desert, angry at the loss of his real parents, angry at the limits set by his surrogate family and angry at his lot in life. But, like many others who had grown up in the desert wastelands, he learned early on that anger served no purpose. It didn’t change things. Only individual beings and the choices they made could change things. . .

Peace.

No, Luke did not swear revenge. Instead, the compassion that was part of his very nature moved him to action. His new clarity told him that there were others – many others – to be saved. In this knowledge, he found a way to escape the planet and to escape the apathy. He could not save Owen & Beru – but he could save others. And he knew exactly how he would save them.

Jedi. The word pounded in his head and beat through his heart. Jedi. Possessing unimaginable skills: courage, power, knowledge, control, strength. Jedi. Near mythical beings from a now golden age. Jedi. Gone from the universe, exterminated long ago. Jedi. No – there is another. Jedi. No – there is ANOTHER. Jedi. You are Jedi. Jedi. YOU are Jedi. Jedi. Your destiny, Luke, is to bring the return of the Jedi. . .

Peace.

Now, as he watched the effigies that had been his only family, Luke recognized the façade for what it was. And as it evaporated in the light of the harsh desert suns, so did his self-doubt. He knew with utter certainty who he was and what he had to do – as if a veil had fallen from his eyes. The universe – and his place in it – were suddenly blindingly clear.

Peace.

Luke Skywalker, orphaned farm-boy from Tatooine, had purpose. He was a Jedi. And this knowledge – this sudden and completely unquestionable certainty – gave him a peace he had never experienced before. The peace of purpose; of knowing one’s place in the universe. And the universe cried out for his presence like a dying mother clutching for her newborn. He was ready, now, to accept that long-awaited embrace.

Peace.

Luke knew that by putting on the mantle of the Jedi, he would be fulfilling a destiny he couldn’t even begin to understand – but one that he could never deny. Yet even as the acceptance of his new identity began to sink in, Luke felt familiar doubts and fears trying to claw through the peace. Doubt, fear and anger seemed desperate to break through this strong and threatening tranquility. It became clear that being a Jedi would not be easy – there would be tasks ahead far more difficult than burying his family – battles he could not even begin to imagine. Still – he knew he had to go – he had to try.

I want to come with you to Alderaan. There’s nothing here for me now. I want to learn the ways of the Force an become a Jedi like my father. . .

And for this brief and fateful moment, Luke Skywalker wrapped himself in the peace he felt – the real cloak of any true Jedi – and walked away with his new mentor, Obi-Wan Kenobi.

And – unlike many others – he never looked back.

Well. . .there you have it. My first fanfic ever. I think it's fine -- except for dialogue and scene descriptions and a general plot. Other than that, just fine! Well -- as you can tell, I write more like an "academic" than a storyteller. But this has been a good experience. It makes me appreciate even more those of you who have the special talent of being able to tell a good tale. Thanks to Luuke and to River for the encouragement and the suggestions.

Your Senator,
Soph-ia

PS -- that's not a plea for mercy, btw -- just an explanation of the facts! ;-)

wounds do not always heal...

Smoke was everywhere. The stifled echoing of boots just barely reached the ears. As if in a dream, Olana’s consciousness slowly returned. The limp forms of younglings, padawans, knights and masters alike littered the floor. But along with vision, hearing, and the rest of the senses, came the unforgettable feeling of flaming hot, then cold pain. The pain was everywhere. It did not matter where, it felt like everywhere.

Anakin. She had known there was something not right. No matter how many fellow Jedi had tried to tell her there was nothing to worry about. No matter how many citizens sang his praises during the war, there had always seemed to her to be something odd, something not quite right. Here was the proof. Lying all around her was the work of “The Chosen One”. The so-called savior had come in, Lightsaber brandished, with an entire legion of clones. They had then proceeded to cut down any Jedi they saw. Olana first instinct was to run to the younglings and find a way to get them out. But before she could, they had all run up to the Council’s chambers and she didn’t get there in time. The site of all those children, of all species, all together in death, by someone they were striving to be. No more.

Slowly, Olana Chion opened her eyes. The sound of the clones was getting fainter, but the smoke was building up. If she still wanted to survive, she had to get up despite the pain. Gingerly she rolled over on her side and propped up one elbow. Pain shot up and she started to take notice of her injuries. There were multiple saber wounds that had grazed her on both arms and legs, but still allowed her to walk. The biggest problem was her face and clothes.

No longer neat and clean were her robes. Instead, they were covered in scorch marks from where Anakin’s near misses had come in contact with her long robe. Also, an oozing of blood from where the almost killing bow to her face had been bleeding was drying up. Olana reached up to her tender face. The burn-like patch ran from her hairline down to her jaw. There was no way to get it healed now, and it would most likely leave a scar; a big scar.

Memories that she would rather forget started to flood her thoughts. As she ran down from the Council chamber, she had to fight her way through five? Ten clones? It did not matter. She had to get to Anakin before he did anything more damage. After rounding a few more corners, with each hallway filled with more dead Jedi, she found him. The horrors the reached her sight was maddening. Here was the Chosen one, fighting with his fellow Jedi and mowing them down with no effort at all. She tried to reach out to him, but she got back was hatred, anger, and fear. The dark side. Anakin Skywalker had fallen.

Olana shook her head. Now was not the time to dwell on past events. She had to get out; she had to get off Coruscant. If the clones were attacking Jedi, she could not go to them for help. She first had to find out what was going on. Slowly and carefully getting to her feet, a rush of nausea and dizziness swept over her. ‘Not now,’ She thought, ‘pull yourself together Jedi. Calm down.’ Looking around, she located her lightsaber; however, it had been ruined during the fight. “Great,” Olana said, holding up the pieces to see what could be salvaged. Nothing but the crystals. Taking them out, She put them in one of her pouches, and reached down to take a different one from a jedi laying nearby.

Slowly, and painfully, she started to make her way towards an exit. Wary of any sound she heard, she avoided any blaster fire, and soon found herself near one of the conference rooms. Looking inside, the holographic projection of the warring systems showing those that were in trouble and had jedi and clones stationed there. The projection was working its way through the presentation, but there was no one to hear it. The bodies of those there listening were strewn over the benches; datapads lays over, under, and in pieces. Olana went in and shut off the projector.

Taking one of the exits that was still untouched, Olana unlocked the force lock and came out of the Temple onto a back alley. Look to make sure no one was around, she started down to the one place where she knew she must reach, transport. It was then that she realized that she had no money to barter passage. Not daring to return to the Temple to search for some, Olana decided she would have to find a way to offer labor and knowledge in exchange instead. Wrapping her cloak closer and putting up her hood, Olana began to limp her way along.

She was ignored as she walked, and if anyone started to look, she carefully used the Force to push them to look at something else. Making her way slowly through the streets, it soon became harder and harder to avoid the clones on her own. They were just too numerous; and to think, that not too long ago the republic was saying that there were too few.

Slipping into a cantina, Olana stuck to the shadows of the walls. In the near darkness and strange lighting, she was close to invisible. However, a gathering was being formed around the holonet projector. Nearly everyone there was watching intently. Olana carefully made her was over to listen. Using some fore senses, she was able to make out the picture and sound of the Senate and Chancellor as he made a speech.

“…and the Jedi Rebellion has been foiled. The remaining Jedi will be hunted down and defeated.”

Rebellion? We were the ones who got attacked! What was wrong with the chancellor?

“the Republic will be reorganized into The First Galactic Empire, for a safe, and secure society.”

Olana could not believe what she was hearing. There, right in front of her, was the senate cheering…for an EMPIRE. Other thoughts raced through her head: How many other Jedi had survived. What would happen to them now? What would happen to her? It was safe to assume she was no longer safe. No one would help her is they knew she was a Jedi. If she showed any sign of being a Jedi, she would most likely be attacked.

There he was. Making his way towards the training room when she finally caught up with him. It was worse than she had originally thought. All around his wake were young Jedi, lying in some sort of sick line as they had fallen to his weapon.

“Anakin! What have you done?”

He stopped. Anakin turned around to face her. It was then that she saw just how bad it was. There was just one thing on his face. No remorse, only anger. “All the Jedi must be destroyed,” he shouted as he moved to her, “The Sith will rule the Galaxy…”

“Anakin, wait,” she screamed back, all the while backing up, her weapon in hand, but not activated, “Stop and think for a moment. These were children…”

“You’re not.”

Olana soon had no choice but to fight for her life. Anakin had always been better that her; bigger, stronger, no so more than ever. Her skills had gone down hill since she had been spending most of her time in the archives, but the desperation of the moment brought back into sharp focus all of her endless training, all her hard work in hopes that Obi-wan would choose her as his apprentice.

Backing away from the crowd gathered at the projector, Olana left the cantina and started down the streets again, moving as fast as her wounds would allow. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a family of four as they tried to make there way towards a large transport headed away from Coruscant. In the hustle to get on board, one of the children, a young girl, managed to get separated from her mother’s hand. Her mother shouted, but the father kept on going oblivious to the loss of the child. Olana moved in. Before anybody could reach her, Olana swept the child up in her arms and began to head for the transport. The girl started to hit her and kick her, which made the already tender burns and cuts begin to bleed. Finally, on the verge of collapse for the pain, Olana moved off to the side and set the child down.

“How old are you?”, Olana asked.

“I want my momma!” the little girl screamed, as she continued to beat on Olana.

Taking a hold of the girls hands, Olana slowly moved them away from her body and in front of the both of them. Unable to hit Olana the girl slowly stopped struggling. Looking up for the first time, she stared Olana straight in the face. Tears were coming down her face in a steady stream. Looking at each other for a moment, Olana had flashes of the younglings all about the floor. They were not much older than this one. Alone, and frightened, as someone them admired betrayed their long standing trust.

“What happened to your face?” the little girl asked. This statement brought Olana back to the present. Looking her right in the eyes, Olana said,

“I am going to take you back to your family. It will be easier if I carry you, however, I need to know if you are able to stay very still while I move. Can you do that?”

The girl nodded with a very serious face and held out her hands. Gingerly, Olana picked her up and set her on her right hip. The little girl squeezed he legs to keep from falling, but did it so that Olana would not scream in protest. Together, they made it onto the transport before it left. They soon began to wander around in search of the girl’s parents. When they reached a large holding area, Olana stopped, and took a good look around. The little one found them before long, tapped Olana and pointed them out. When the mother saw the two of them coming over, she jumped up and shouted, “Telesa!” in joy. Olana carefully handed Telesa over to her mother and nearly collapsed as the father and brother came over to embrace Telesa as well.

Reaching over, the brother managed to catch her before she slammed into the ground. “Hold up there! You alright? Here, have a seat. My name is Corban Stukes.”

“Many thanks Corban for your assistance,” Olana said quietly, “however, I believe your sister is in want of a hug from you.” Turning around, Corban grabbed his sister and proceeded to tickle her mercilessly. The squeal that came out of Telesa was such a happy noise that chuckles form all over the bay could be heard. No one protested to the noise.

While the two siblings were playing, their mother came over and sat next to Olana.

“I just wanted to thank you for finding her. They would not let us off to go and get her, and—and I thought I would not get to see her again.”

“You’re welcome.” Olana replied. Just then, a sharp pain from her left side surprised her. With a gasp, she reached down to find out what it was. When she did so, her hood fell away from her face, revealing the burn from Anakin’s saber.

She ducked under a broad swing from Anakin and dodged the stab that came nearly at the same time.

“running will not stop me,” Anakin taunted, he knew she was tiring out, “all that time reading has made you lazy.”

“all that time reading has made me able to recognize something is wrong when I see it,” she gasped back, the last stab had not missed entirely, “and I see something very wrong with you. They put you on the council! Why have you turned? Why?”

Anakin did not answer. He only pressed harder. Finally, he had her saber wrist and they were in a deadlock. He slowly pushed the two crackling blades closer to her face and moved his own in with it. When they were face to face, he smiled.

“I have become the most powerful Jedi ever.”

“you are no longer a jedi Anakin,” Olana gasped, “Obi-wan always had his doubts, and so did I.”

Anakin stopped smiling. Olana watched in horror as his eyes narrowed and he began to shake. For a moment, it looked like the chosen one’s eyes had turned the red and yellow of the sith, but she never got a chance to know for sure before he jerked his saber so that he cut hers in half and burned her face.

When Olana opened her eyes, Telesa’s mother was kneeling over her, daubing burn gel on her face. When she tried to sit up, the woman gently held her down.

“you got yourself into a bit of trouble young lady. What have you been doing?”

Giving in, Olana asked, “where is this transport headed anyway?”

“Alderaan,” came the answer from the father, “and from the looks of things, you are going to need a lot of medical care. We added you to the list of people who will need immediate care when we land, however, we could not find out your name, so, I decided to wait and ask you.”

Alderaan. Olana remembered hearing about that system. If she remembered correctly, they were a planet very opposed to the war; so opposed perhaps, that it might even be a safe haven for her. Obi-wan had often talked with the senators of Alderaan and Naboo. If she could get a hold of the senator with out drawing attention, she might have a chance to fully understand what was going on. But how?

“tell them, my name is Lana; and that I am a human.”

With those finally words, Olana, felt an even stronger bout of pain. It took almost all of her strength in the force at the time to keep from crying out. But all the force training in pain suppression could not keep the look of pain from her face.

When they finally arrived at Alderaan, Olana was not doing very well, the family she was with did not know what was wrong, but it was obvious that she needed immediate care. She was one of the first off the transport and into the medical facility.


“The droids are of no use,” said one medic as she gave Olana a look-over, “she is too far gone. If she is to survive, we must do it ourselves.” Reaching over, the medic began to strip away the bloody and burned clothes. Once she had the robe off, her hands fell on the belt and hook of Olana’s newly acquired lightsaber. She stopped. Staring at the weapon, the medic did not know what to do. All the reports she had heard from Coursant had said that the Jedi were not to be trusted anymore. But she had always known kindness and felt that they were trustworthy. The only person she could think of to give a final answer was—

“The Senator…” the patient had spoken for her. This dying Jedi had read her mind. Reaching down for her commlink, the medic made a direct call to the head of the medical team. “We need Senator Organa down here right now. This needs his immediate attention.

Olana was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open. Apparently Anakin had caused more damage that she had realized. The pain in her side was constant now, and getting worse. According to the medic nearby, the internal bleeding was too far along for anything to be done. The senator was on his way. The news of a surviving jedi had only gone to him and the medic. She was safe, at least, from any harm she had not already encountered. When Bail entered the room, she could tell he was surprised and troubled. He came over and sat down beside her. Slowly, he reached out and took her hand.


“I am so sorry,” he whispered.

“Do you know of any others?” Olana whispered, “Obi-wan perhaps? Master Windu? Yoda?”


“I can tell you that Kenobi and Yoda are both safe and in hiding. I can find a place for you as well-“

“Do not bother,” Olana cut him off, “I won’t last that long. My time has come to be joined with the force.”


Reluctantly, Bail nodded. He remained silent until Olana lost conciousness. It wasn’t long after until her hand went limp and she stopped breathing. When the medic jumped up, Bail turned to her and said, “No. She is gone. Let her be.”

On the other side of the building, the little girl Telesa wondered wy she felt so sad all of a sudden…