Someday... -- Part I: Dooku and Cerulian

My second, more abitious undertaking, is a 6-part saga covering the apprenticeship of several generations of Jedi, whose experiences during the early stages of their lives will someday influence the balance of the Force...and the destiny of a galaxy. Enjoy!


Somewhere, in a vast universe, in the center of a galaxy, near the heart of a world, a large, thin, domed structure stood overlooking the cradle of a civilization. Its architecture was relatively simple, disclosing a certain, nearly obsessive infatuation with functionality. The casual pedestrian might say that the structure was attractive, perhaps beautiful, depending upon the rays of light reflecting and refracting on the translucent surface of the building. The more observant citizen might even indicate that the beauty was not in the structure itself, but in its obvious sense of purpose. It looked as if it was meant to rest there, as if it was engraved in the soil. But those who called the structure home, who lived there, who learned there, who loved there, and, in some cases, who died there, knew exactly where the beauty of this structure lay.

It was alive.

The silent figure quickly strode through the hallways of the Jedi Temple, his stride barely containing a touch of impatience. His right hand, calloused from years of combat with the weapon of a Jedi Knight, rested instinctively near the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

The halls were not quite dark, but not fully illuminated, pulsated glow-rods imbedded in the walls and ceiling. Glowing a slight, pale blue, the polished walls were painted with subtle curves and flowing lines. The effect was one of peace, of gentle strength. The intricate threads of the Force flowed freely in this place.

Pausing suddenly in front of two large doors leading to a training room, the Jedi Master closed his eyes, feeling an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension. Breathing deeply in order to embrace the fullness of the Force, he rested one hand lightly on his lightsaber for comfort, the other hooked loosely in his tattered leather belt.

Waving his fingers slightly, he watched as the doors responded to his mild exertion through the Force. As they parted smoothly through a diagonal perforation, the Jedi Master strode into the room.

He was ambushed instantly by the formidable effects of a large number of low voices in a relatively small area. In the furthest corner of the training room, a cluster of younglings stood knotted together in obvious tension. A few attempted to meditate, sitting cross-legged on the smooth floor, their small hands clutching their lightsabers or resting lightly on their thighs. Some stood near the sides, passing their lightsabers from hand to hand behind their backs, or tossing them lightly in the air, and catching them in one fist. But most chatted in low voices, chuckling nervously, their fingers winding around and around their padawan braids.

A large, illuminated ring had been painted in the center of the room to create a simulation of a combat arena. Various instruments used in training, such as punching bags, balance beams, training remotes, and materials for obstacle courses, had been pushed to the rear of the room. To Thame’s right stood a fairly large assortment of Jedi Masters, speaking softly to one another or intently observing the prospective padawans near the edge of the room.

“Master Cerulian. Late are you.”

Thame Cerulian glanced downward distractedly, glimpsing the inevitable presence of Master Yoda.

“I’m sorry, my Master,” he said, again directing his gaze toward the younglings. “I was occupied with some work. But I did want to come to the exhibition this time. I feel that the Force is with me this day.”

“Ahhh, find a padawan you will, then, Master Cerulian. Very strong in the Force, these younglings are.” Yoda cast his large, unblinking eyes knowingly at the throngs of small children. “Powerful Jedi, they will become.”

Thame lowered his head sharply, seeing Master Yoda’s appearance soften to an unusual neutrality as he cast his inner gaze toward the strands of the Force.

“Hmmm, strange, this vision of the Force is…” he mumbled under his breath.

“You received a vision, Master?” asked Thame.

Yoda looked up as if just realizing that there were other beings present in the room. He blinked slowly, then leaned heavily on his small, twisted cane.

“Changing, the Force always is. Expanding, moving, touching…constant, the ways of the Force never are. But such change…strange it is. Different. In motion, large events are in the galaxy, and altered, the basic strands of the Force will be.” Yoda turned toward the padawans.

“Meditate on this, I must.”

As Yoda assembled the younglings in three straight, silent lines, Thame Cerulian tried to observe each of them individually. Of course, all were perfectly disciplined, their faces as impassive as possible for Force-sensitive eleven and twelve-year-olds, some already resting their hands on the cylindrical training lightsabers on their belts.

In the front row, third from the left, stood a small, slight, but outwardly confident, female Togruta. Her outward appearance was nearly as calm as the others, but she practically brimmed with Force energy and the idealistic exhilaration of youth. When he caught her eye, she flashed a charming little smile at him, and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“She’s a feisty little thing, isn’t she? Ha, already she can rip two tons of steel out from under five tons of durracrete. And she’ll charm the vibro-knife right out of the hands of the meanest of Weequays!”

Thame turned sharply toward the voice of his friend and fellow master, T’yll Fraam, laughing faintly as he clapped him on the shoulder.

“T’yll! I should’ve known you’d have already picked your padawan.”

“Picked her? No, no, dear friend, she picked me! About a year ago, she saw me in the west gardens, and asked if she could have one of the Proon fruits, you know, way up in the branches of those huge trees.”

Thame’s brow furrowed. “What in the name of the Force could she want with one of those?”

“Are you joking? The taste is like nothing else! Don’t you remember when we tried them when we were younglings?”

“Yes, and spent three days in the med clinic spewing waste from every centimeter of our bowels and every deciliter of acid in our guts for our trouble.”

“Well, I asked her what she wanted the fruit for. She said she wanted it for Master Yoda.”

“Master Yoda?”

T’yll laughed, throwing his head back just as he had as a padawan.

“Yes, Master Yoda. I told her our story about what happened with the fruit, and she said Yoda needs some fiber!”

“Fiber?” Thame felt his face grow hot. “What for?”

“She said he was constipated, and he needed to loosen up for Master Yaddle!” T’yll threw his head back again, and laughed, probably a bit too loudly. Thame chuckled lightly, his chest constricted in embarrassment, until, suddenly, deep within his soul, the Force convulsed.

Thame’s hand immediately dropped to the hilt of his lightsaber as his dark eyes pierced his surroundings, layer by layer. Time seemed to slow with the beating of his heart as he analyzed a section of the room with each breath, as smoothly as if reading from a holo-chart, every movement enhanced by the enigmatic influence of the Force.

His eyes dropped to the rows of younglings, now preparing to break off into pairs for the beginning of the first duel. Each face was oddly familiar, perplexingly well-known, consistent through the Force. But there was one aura, burning tightly through the Force, that he simply had not noticed before now. The solid emotions he was receiving through the Force were that of a young boy, probably one of the older ones in the group, confident and tranquil. He clearly radiated a rigid sense of control, keeping the Force in check…no…keeping himself in check.

Thame slowly shut his eyes, giving himself fully to the warm embrace of the Force. This boy was powerful, that much was certain, yet possessing of an inner conflict as inherent as that of the light and the darkness within the Force. As Thame permitted his soul to slip deeper and deeper into the Force, he forged through the sheer complexity of this young boy, sweat beginning to bead upon his forehead.

Defiant…yet so willing to immerse himself in another being’s will. Powerful…yet weakening at a moment’s uncertainty. A true servant of the light, yet holding a morbid fascination with the dark side of the Force.

Thame’s eyes snapped open and rested upon the face of a young boy near the end of the third row. He was taller than average, his face long and pale, his hair golden-bronze and meticulously arranged. As he faced his dueling opponent, Thame was surprised to see the boy grasp his lightsaber in a skillful, one-handed Makashi grip, and salute in a flourish both impressive and intimidating.

The duel began.

Three hours later, the younglings began to file out of the room, their chatter and laughter now louder with exhaustion and a newfound sense of freedom. As the masters clustered gradually toward the entrance, leaning toward one another in intent discussion, or finding their prospective apprentices and discreetly congratulating them, Thame floated anonymously toward the end of the disheveled mass, earnestly seeking this conflicted young boy.

Thame found him walking silently at the very end of what remained of the third line of padawans. Approaching him uncertainly, Thame laid his hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder, stopping him as the other Jedi continued to exit the training room.

“What’s your name, padawan?”

“Dooku, Master,” he replied, his tone self-possessed, and accentuated by a slight Coruscanti accent.

“Well, Dooku Master,” said Thame, cracking a slight smile. He inwardly cursed himself when Dooku refused to smile at his dull joke, wondering if he sounded as bad a T’yll. “You appear to have been studying the arts of Makashi.”

“Yes, Master,” Dooku said, still impervious.

“Do you…enjoy being a member of the Jedi Order?” asked Thame, gesturing innocently with one hand, and tucking the other into the folds of his robe.

“My duty is to the balance of the Force, Master.”

“Really?” asked Thame, cocking an eyebrow. “Then do you know what it is to serve the balance of the Force?”

“To preserve peace and justice in the Republic,” he said, answering smoothly what every youngling was taught from birth. “What if that peace and justice was preserved at the cost of an innocent life, Dooku?”

“That life will be returned to existence through the power of the Force.”

He’s good, thought Thame, jostling for the right words.

“What if you’re forced to take an innocent life, and then you find out that this was not done in service to the Force? What would you say to that individual’s family? What would you do?”

Sensing Dooku’s discomfort, he leaned closer. “What if you had to take the life of your own master? Would you trust yourself to do such a thing?”

Trust. Apparently, Thame had struck a nerve. To his credit, Dooku recovered well, but Thame had sensed that momentary insecurity that was so dangerous in this boy. Suddenly feeling guilty, Thame placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders.

Dooku looked up at him, his eyes dark and penetrating, questioning, and coldly defiant.

“Dooku, with time, and with a greater understanding of the Force, you will learn, truly, what it is to be a Jedi Knight. Someday, my padawan, you will find yourself thrust in a position in which the mind refuses to function, and a Jedi must release his thoughts, and permit the Force to guide and transport him. When this happens, you will know what is right. But not now, young apprentice. Not today. Today, you are not alone. Someday. Someday…”