StarWars. A Lifetime with Darkness. Padawan

[GorMartsen]

I was dying.

The blood gushed between my fingers as I fruitlessly tried to stop it.

Ages ago, joining the Royal Air Forces, I kinda knew I could end up dead, but it was all somewhere there. Maybe even heroic.

Nothing heroic was in my situation.

I was alone in the desert, with sand for miles around me and the wreck of my GR7 by my side.

I was still alive, yes. But with each passing moment, with each drop of blood falling down from my fingers, it was becoming obvious.

I was dying.

The only saving grace was the shadow of the ruins I hid in from the burning sun above me. It wasn't much, just a wall and the floor made of stones, smoothed by sand and time. But it didn't matter, cause the piece of my GR7 was sticking out of my chest, and no matter how tightly I held my hand around it, the blood kept gushing out on the stone under me.

As I struggled with my wound, part of my mind wandered about the intricated, half-withered patterns on the stones around me. It clearly would fascinate someone who would find my body later. Maybe they would think that I was killed by some cultist, or maybe they would find a tomb or a lost treasure right under my butt, and later, when this war was over, my name, my story, would be next to it in some museum exhibition. Back in London.

I could even see it.

It would have to be my best picture of me standing in uniform or a flight suit, next to my fallen partner—my GR7.

On 21 March 2003, Flight Lieutenant James Cameron, born in 1973, was shot over the dunes…

It struck me then. I was just thirty years old. I was just thirty years old…

And then I heard it. The voice. The whispers.

At first, I thought I was found, that locals had finally found time to investigate the crash, and I listened, trying to guess the direction they were coming from.

They didn't.

The whispers, the unrecognisable voice, it was coming from everywhere around me. There was something wrong about it. It was also getting stronger.

It made my hair stand on end.

Chanting. It was clearly some chanting.

It rose in volume, echoing between the dunes, and something within me stirred, gripping my heart with fear.

I wanted to scramble, to get away, but to my horror, my body didn't listen.

I didn't know when the sun had vanished, or when I stopped seeing dunes around me. Maybe I blinked, maybe I closed my eyes in horror, terrified of the voices, of the dancing shadows.

Shadows. I wasn't even sure when I began to see them, or if they were real. It felt as if they were always here.

And then… And then I saw something else.

Patterns.

They were green, or maybe yellow. Or maybe they weren't even there in the way I was.

But somehow it twisted me. It made my fear ten times stronger. But also… But also, it felt like it had always been like that.

That I had never left this space.

That the life of James Cameron was just an illusion, made by this whispering voice, chanting in my ears.

It was sticky. It fried me, burned me. It almost ate me.

And then… and then light shone through patterns, through the darkness, batting the miasms away, while blinding me.

"Padawan, are you alright?"

 

[GorMartsen]

Blinking rapidly, I tried to… to do what?

"Look at me," someone said, and it sounded quite bizarre to my ears.

I was sure as hell I didn't recognise the sounds of those words, but somehow… somehow I knew the meaning.

"Padawan, look at me," the voice repeated, and I tried to focus on it, to look up, but the room was spinning.

Everything was still shifting, merging. Full of patterns. But at least, it wasn't darkness anymore. The light was here.

"Master," I heard a younger voice, vibrating in my ears.

It was utterly alien.

But before I could even think why, something was violently pulled out of my hands, leaving a burning pain behind.

"Where did you get this?" demanded the voice, no longer caring. No longer worried.

It made me shiver. As if I knew what could happen next.

"What?" I heard myself saying, clattering with my teeth.

Cold. It was getting really cold. And the whispers. I felt them coming.

I didn't know how.

"Padawan, where did you get it?" the voice demanded. If only I knew what.

Wildly looking around, at the morphing, spinning room, I tried to catch the glipses of the shadows.

Those… those would come to.

Instead, I saw lights… so many lights. They weren't in the room with me, and yet I saw them moving. Some bright, some less so.

Two of those were rapidly approaching, leaving the glowing trail behind. And then they burst into the room, sending the door flying.

Making everything spin again.

Folding in half, I puked. And then puked more, as the sound of the crashing door weirdly echoed in my ears.

"What is going on here?" a new voice demanded, somehow muffled.

"I wish I knew," replied my Master with a sigh.

My Master?

"Fallen?" another voice joined, somewhere from the door.

"Not sure," my Master said, "you'd better to check on that artefact. He was holding it when I found him."

Artefact?

Shapes moved in the room, making me to jerk, to scramble against the bed behind me. And choke on my vomit.

"Put this on him," the first muffled voice said and before I knew, something cold-cold-cold wrapped around my wrists.

I felt as if I were dropped deep into water.

At least the room stopped spinning, and for the first time, I was able to see around. Somewhat clear.

Before me was darkskinned humanoid, dressed in beige robes. His deep black eyes were focused on me, piercing to my soul.

"Master?" I heard myself saying again.

I somehow knew that he was my Master, that I was his Padawan, that…

A pain split my head, and a well of information burst into it. Into me.

I saw myself, or not myself, by his side. I saw the years we had spent together. Me learning under him.

To become a Knight Jedi.

Here and there, it had twisted with memories of childhood, of lessons on the force. Or missions out of the temple.

It was too much, too fast. I felt lightheaded. And the shadows. They were back, together with the whispers.

I tried to scramble, to get away from them, pressing myself deeper into the wall behind me.

"No, No, No," I begged, I prayed, I…

Something picked at my neck, and I got dropped deep into darkness, back into the twisted space.

Full of patterns.

They shifted, they bent. And I fought against them, against memories.

… Initiate Taren, pay attention…

… Taren, how do you …

… Younglings, today we learn …

Memories after memories bloomed around me, sucking me in, and I fought against them.

Because Taren, he wasn't me.

He wasn't.

"He is conscious," a female voice reached me from somewhere else. It was furious.

"It couldn't be," someone objected. "I gave him a full dose. It had to knock him out cold."

"I will be a judge of that," the female voice replied, and somehow I felt the touch to my hand.

To my hand, that I had forgotten to have.

The wave of light washed over me, soothing patterns, soothing pain, and for the first time in forever, I felt at ease.

It was nice.

It wrapped around me, cosying me, and I let it.

"He is drifting," the female voice reached my ears, but I didn't care. I was at peace.

And away from shadows.

"Call on Master Io, now," a strained female voice reached me, piquing my interest. If barely.

I heard someone scrambling, someone talking, or even arguing. But it mattered even less.

The peace, the light surrounding me—it was all that mattered to me. And lurking shadows somewhere at the edge.

"What do we have here?" a new, deep, bubbling voice reached me, along with the new bright light. It cuddled me, holding me gently.

"Aversive reaction to inhibitor," the female voice replied, tired and distant now.

"I have cleaned most of it from his bloodstream, but…" the voice added, trailing at the end.

"I see," the bubbling voice replied, sure and stable.

The silence fell after that, and time stretched, but I didn't really care. As long… as long shadows were at the bay.

—

Lying with my eyes closed, I was thinking.

I came to my senses some time ago, and yet I didn't try to move, or somehow else gave away that I was almost fine.

Almost.

There was nothing "fine" about what had happened.

I wasn't sure if it was even real.

When I joined the Royal Air Force, I had my share of training in a wide variety of areas, including one that taught us how to behave when captured.

How to survive the torture.

And sure, I had recognised signs of being drugged, perhaps even with something of the DMT variety, but even that type of substance couldn't fake reality like that.

Couldn't fake my memories.

Jedi, Padawans, and different alien species.

I had a lifetime of Taren memories, with quite a few of those. Just like in a movie I had recently seen. Star Wars Clones, was it?

But there were differences as well, and the biggest was the Yoda. The all-wise, old, and cranky alien I saw in the movie was the oldest youngling Taren had ever known.

It made no sense. Nothing really did.

With a swish of the automatic doors, I heard someone enter the room, and I did my best not to react to the sound or their presence. Perhaps, if they believed I was sleeping, I might catch something that they didn't want me to hear.

"Report," an old and stern voice said.

Master Jin Dey.

"No incidents. The subject gained consciousness fifteen minutes ago and stayed alert since then," reported the other, slightly muffled voice, and I was sure I had heard it before.

When?

With a sigh, I opened my eyes, meeting a stern look from Master Dey. He was alone. Or so it seemed. I didn't need to think to hard to realise that there was someone else hidden from view, perhaps a Temple Guard.

"Master Dey, greetings," I said and, slightly raising hands, jingled with handcuffs that chained me to the bed. "Sorry, couldn't greet you properly as you see."

There was no love between Taren and Master Dey. Quite the opposite. Although Taren himself didn't know why. And now neither did I.

All I knew was that Master Dey used any opportunity to screw Taren over, often landing him in cleaning the salle or creche duty. Taren paid him with mock respect, and it had worked in driving this guy nuts.

Not today, though. Instead of grinding his sharp teeth, the male togruta smiled but stayed silent. He never kept his tongue, and that didn't bode well with me.

The door opened again, letting a few new sapients inside. My Master was one of them. His dark skin was even darker now. A sign of being troubled. I had learned it long ago.

Had I?

Taking my gaze away from my Master, I looked at two others who came with him. Master Io, mon calamari, was known to me, if only by the name and a few times I saw him from afar. He was the head of the Healing Halls.

The other person, though, made my heart skip a bit. Master Jedi Vocu Dam, a blue-skinned prae'tus in white robes. One of the High Council members.

Spellbond, I watched them come to my bed silently, all four of his hands hid in sleeves. The stare of his big, solid black eyes unnerved me to no end, as well as the silence that stretched in the room.

"Padawan Taren Lose, eighteen standard years old. Good grades. So-so discipline. Recommended to Sentinel," they said in a low rumbling voice, their eyes never leaving mine.

"Twenty hours ago, found by his Master, Yad Melle, in a delirious state, holding an unknown artefact and reeking with Dark Force," they added, and I instinctively gulped.

"Padawan, answer me. When did you come into possession of the mentioned artefact?" they asked, and I saw flashes of Taren memories behind my eyes.

Entering my dorms, I dropped a stack of holobooks on the bedside table and began to take my robes off.

I was quite tired. Not only did my Master run me through Soresu form for half a day, but I also had to spend a few hours digging in the Archives. Extra homework. What a joy.

Something clanked against the floor, falling out of my robes and with surprise, I found a dagger-looking object. It was old and withered, covered by carvings.

Bending over, I tried to pick it up and accidentally cut my fingers against a sharp edge.

A vertigo hit me, and the room began to…

Shaking my head, I blinked a few times, coming back to my senses, back to the room I was in.

Face to face to those black, endless eyes.

"It fell out of my robes," I said, wondering what it was. It clearly wasn't a mind-trick.

"Boy is lying. I bet he brought…" began Master Dey, but was cut short by the gesture of the top right arm of the High Council member, Master Vocu Dam.

"Did you leave your robes anywhere today?" they asked next, and again I saw flashes of memories.

How I took them off in salles, how I put them back after. Or how I kept them on the chair in the Archives while browsing through the shelves.

"In salles, I had a half-day training with my Master, and later in the Archives," I replied.

"How convenient," grumbled Master Dey.

"Perhaps," replied Master Vocu Dam, still staring in my eyes, and yet I saw the change.

It was minuscule and short-lived, but I surely felt as if a mountain had left my shoulders.

"Guard, take handcuffs off," they said, blinking to me with one eye, and I smiled back.

The easiest interrogation ever. No sweating, no demands on writing an incident report. Easy Peasy.

"I expect the Incident Report and a ten-page essay on handling unknown artefacts," they said next, making me blink owlishly at them.

No fucking way.

"That's it? A slap on the wrist?" I heard Master Dey again, but the approaching Temple Guard hid him from my view.

It came to my side and touched the left cuff with a strange-looking key. The cuff fell from my hand, immediately disappearing somewhere in Temple Guard robes.

But I no longer paid him attention.

All my being had focused on weird feelings, and, to my surprise, I had realised—it was the Force.

It was the Force, the way Taren always felt it.

 

[GorMartsen]

"Padawan," said my Master, and I blinked away the images of light sources all around me.

They were almost blining.

So much blinding that only now did I notice that Master Vocu Dam and Master Dey were gone, and the Temple Guard were nowhere to be found again.

"Yes, Master," I replied on autopilot, but already beginning to feel annoyed with it.

The longer I acted like Taren, the less I felt like James. It was weird. And the feeling of trepidation wasn't something I wanted to experience.

I was fucking grown man, not a child.

To my surprise, Master Yad didn't follow up with the punishment I had expected from him. If anything, he was unsure. A rare picture I had almost never seen before. Once or twice.

"You have been exposed to Dark Side of the Force," said Master Io in his bubbling voice, attracting my attention.

It was hard to read a mon calamari's expression, but what I knew about their species… his face was full of pity.

Why?

"It had left its mark on you," he continued, but I failed to understand what exactly it all meant.

"What are you not saying, Master Io?" I asked, feeling a lump in my throat.

You know… You know… You know…

"Your force imprint," finally said my Master in a grave voice. "It tainted".

But I barely paid attention to his words, busy looking around. The whispers. I was sure I heard them again. And where were the whispers, the shadows were not far behind.

My heart was beating in my throat, and I felt out of breath. Not… Not again.

Someone gripped my shoulder, and in panic, I tried to scramble, I tried to get away, as my ears got filled with the echoing sound of broken glass.

The light. The so familiar light enveloped me, and I blinked, feeling unexpectedly, unnaturally calm again.

"Breathe," Master Io said, holding me by my shoulder.

And so I did, almost missing the next words he said under his breath. "It's worse than I thought"

"What does it all mean?" I found myself asking.

The calmness that fell on me, though… It let me think straight, and I didn't like my own conclusion. Not with the way the room was trashed, and I was sure who did it.

There was no immediate reply, and I understood it. I was dangerous. Dangerous to others, and to myself. There was no easy way to say it to what they believed was a young boy.

"I am dangerous," I said aloud, looking back into Master Io's eyes.

"Yes," he simply answered, gently squeezing my shoulder.

It hit me then. That the taint they spoke about, it could be me, James's part. I was the one who shouldn't be here.

"I am not Taren," I replied, stilling my resolve.

I sure as hell didn't want to say that, didn't want to go, but I was already dead. I had died in Iraq's dunes.

The kid tho? He had a life to live.

"I am James Cameron," I began before they said anything, absently noting how alien my own name sounded in my mouth. "Flight Lieutenant of the Royal Air Force. I have died and somehow woke up in Taren's body. I think he is still somewhere here. Help him."

There was silence after my proclamation, and if not the calmness that possessed me, I was sure I would be shaking. But I didn't, and saying all of that made me lighter. I didn't know how hard it had weighed on me until now.

"Perhaps," finally began Master Io, "it would be better if you start from the beginning. What do you think has happened?"

"The hell if I know," I began, sighing. "But what I know is that I was dying in the dunes, back on my planet, and then something happened, I heard The Voice, The whispers. I saw some weird osik, and then I was in Taren's body, back here in the Temple."

"And what is your planet's name? Do you know its location?" asked Master Io.

"No," I shook my head, not taking my gaze away. "I am not even sure if it's in the same galaxy"

"Then how do you speak Basic?" he asked next, tilting his head.

"I don't. But Taren does, and so the body," I calmly replied.

"So, you say you remember everything that Taren did?" he asked next.

"Maybe," I replied and asked, "Do you remember everything you did, Master Io?"

"I suppose that's fair," he replied, showing me mon calamari's equivalent for a smile, and added, "I need to talk to Master Yad here for a moment, and while I do so, could you do me a favour?"

"Sure," I shrugged.

"Write down everything you remember about this J'mes Cam'ron, was it?" he asked, taking out a datapad from somewhere under his robes and passing it to me.

"James Cameron," I replied with a smile, accepting it.

"Jam's Cam'ron," he tried again, and I just nodded. It was close enough.

—

Typing away my life on the datapad, I didn't pay attention to anything that was happening around me, or to the door that a few times opened and closed.

All my focus was on my memories, on my life. on my own postmortem. My date of birth, a few passages about my parents, who were both deceased.

The path of my life that led me to those ruins in the dunes.

I skimmed over some parts and went into detail on the others. In a way, I was thrilled to leave my own footprint in the faraway galaxy, if only as a story.

I wasn't sure what would happen next, how they would go about extracting me, but I didn't want to think about it.

I made my peace with it already.

Minutes, hours tickled one by one, as I typed and typed, remembering this or that part, often falling into thinking about whether I wanted to write those down.

In the end, I did most of it and felt satisfied. I did live a good life after all. An honest one.

Setting the datapad down on the bed beside me, I finally looked around, feeling tired. Master Yad was still here, sitting on the chair, deep in thought, and so was Master Io, who was chatting in a low voice with another being by the door. A female, white-skinned togruta in black robes.

They all looked at me, probably sensing changes, but it was hard to tell what they thought.

"Sorry," I said with an apologetic smile, "It took a bit of time."

"No worries," said Master Io, "I did ask you to do that."

"My name is Ai Tan, Librarian," said the togruta with a bow, "would you mind if I see it?"

"Of course, Master Tan," I said, nodding, and passed the datapad.

I was surprised by how thorough Master Io was. Back on Earth, I would have ended up treated as delusional, probably already on some pills and locked in a padded room.

But not here.

"Librarian Tan would do," she corrected me absently, stepping to the wall and already skimming through my notes.

"I have some good and some bad news, young man," said Master Io, again attracting my attention.

I honestly didn't expect any. A ritual to purge me? Sure. But not the news.

"Be assured, I thoroughly checked everything on cases similar to yours, and have run a few more diagnostics before coming to my conclusion," he continued with what could only be a measured tone.

"I didn't notice," I replied. I really didn't.

"Oh, I am sure you didn't. You were quite busy, after all," he replied with a bubbling laugh before asking, "It was quite a deep active meditation, wouldn't you say?"

I silently nodded after a moment it took me to recall the meaning. My state while I was writing did fit that definition. Taren was familiar with it, after all.

"So the good news is," he continued, coming closer and placing his hand on my shoulder, "that there is no sign of possession, mind hopping or any other such force technique. You are you, Padawan Taren."

If not for the hand on my shoulder, I would have recoiled, objections already at the tip of my tongue, but I was stopped with the next words. "But there are signs of quite a unique Dark Force Technique—The False Face. And the inspection of the artefact you found in your possession has confirmed it."

Blinking a few times, I tried to process it, thoroughly failing, though.

"What are you saying, Master Io?" I asked, and I didn't like how my voice trembled.

"I am saying that if not for your Master's actions, if he were a bit late, you would have no memories of Taren's life," he answered, once more gently squeezing my shoulder.

"So, they weren't real?" I asked, not quite phrasing my words right. Or fully.

"Memories of Jam's Cam'ron? Oh, I am sure those are real, just not yours," he replied, catching what I had asked about anyway.

But instead of feeling comforted by his words, I felt split in half. I was sure he was wrong, but words failed me.

"Now we come to the bad news," he continued, and I choked on the words I had tried to say.

Those weren't good news.

"I failed to find any method that would free you from your newly accured memories," he said, making me blink at him stupidly.

"Safely. Any attempt to remove those memories would leave you brain-dead. A failsafe measure of the Technique, if you will," he added, and now it made sense.

"Dark side taint?" I asked, feeling small and meek. But also furrios.

They dare… they dare…

The reality before me split in half, as if a broken mirror, and shadows gathered in the corners.

"Yes, safety measure," he replied, "but rest assured, I will keep looking for a solution."

Mine… Mine… Mine…

The whispers were getting louder, and in that moment, all I wanted was to punch his face.

The light flashed through me, washing away the anger, and I looked in horror at the Master Io's face.

But it was only pity that I saw there.

 

[GorMartsen]

Sitting cross-legged on my bed above the blanket, I was meditating on my kyber from my saber. Taren in me would prefer to meditate on his lightsaber, tho, but nobody was insane enough to give me that.

Hence, the crystal that Master Yad had brought me. Separated from my Padawan's lightsaber.

Or was it Taren's and not mine?

I wasn't sure anymore, but Master Io's words made sense; I often had a hard time myself to say what was mine and what was Taren's.

It was a mess.

And while it was worrying or even horrifying, the real issue was the influence of the Dark Side. The whispers, voice and shadows. And the way they made me feel or act.

I had discussed them with Master Io; there was no way of hiding it from him. It was also he who had suggested that I meditate on my kyber crystal, one I found on Ilum.

Shining blue in my hands, it was already infused with the Light Side of the Force by Taren. The best way to stay grounded in the Light side for me.

And so I did, working on rebuilding my so-called mental shields. They had been torn apart by what had happened, making me so much more exposed to the Force.

Shields. A funny term.

The James part of me would have imagined some force-like field meant to deter an intruder, but it was nothing of the sort. The shields were a set of anchors across one's mind that held it all together in a specific state. It was elastic, in a way.

And here was where the problem lay.

Each anchor, according to what Taren had learned, was supposed to be based on the immovable personal psyche traits. It was like stretching an elastic band between the fingers.

But if you choose the wrong anchor, it snaps, biting into your palm. And my palm was sore by now.

Opening my eyes, I massaged the bridge of my nose. A gesture I knew was mine, but it was also Taren's. That thought made me freeze.

For a beninner shield, one needs at least three anchors. Any Initiate knew that. It was later that Taren rebuilt them, scaling up to seven. But I had failed to make even a beginner's one, no matter what I had selected as anchors—Taren's or Jame's traits.

What if… What if I had to choose traits that belong to both? Like my habit to massage the bridge og my nose?

Closing my eyes again, I began to slip into a trance, measuring my breathing, and yet still thinking.

Three traits. I needed only three psyche traits to prove it right or wrong.

Honesty. Empathy and… Vulgarity.

Two open, one hidden. Simple, one-dimensional, textbook.

The force wrapped around each, probing and pushing for truth, for hidden meanings, and finally settled in my mind.

Just for a second, I felt as if my head was wrapped in the band itself, but that was normal, even great. A textbook reaction that told me I had done it all right.

Opening my eyes again, I stretched my back, yawning. I had been at this for quite a while.

Now, all I needed was to give time for the shields to settle… and ask my Master to test them after.

Grabbing a datapad from the bedside table, I opened a new file. I still owned the Incident Report and the essay to the Master Jedi Vocu Dam. Taren didn't like to write either, nor did James.

At least, James had quite a bit of experience for later, one I could pull on.

Date: 2 Helona `190 CRC

Reported by: Padawan Taren Lose

Approximately at 14:00…

—

When the door to the room I was staying in opened, I was a few pages deep into an essay on handling unknown artefacts.

In hindsight, it was obvious what Taren did wrong, but how could one expect to find such an artefact in his robes, especially in the heart of the Jedi Temple?

"How are you, Taren?" I heard my Master asking, and with a sigh, I put aside my essay.

"Mostly fine, Master," I replied, still feeling conflicted.

Consciously, I understood that I had to adapt and accept that he was my Master, but each time I called him that…

"What about you?" I asked, and in that moment I realised it was James who asked, because Taren never did.

I wasn't the only one who realised that.

"You have changed," he said, taking a seat on the chair by the door.

I shrugged, not replying. What could one say to that? It was obvious, really.

"I spoke with Master Io," he continued, "and he gave me a list of techniques that should help you to cope."

His voice was calm, his posture as solid as ever, but now I was able to tell that he was sad. It took me a moment to realise that the source of feelings was our training bond.

"I have progressed too," I replied, "I rebuilt my shields, although it wasn't that easy. Had to go back to basics, you see. And then I finished the Incident Report, and now I am working—"

I stopped rambling, seeing Master Yad smiling. He rarely did so before.

"Master Io was right. You, Taren, are still you," he said. "The same eager kid I took as Padawan those long six years ago."

I wasn't sure of that, but Taren in me didn't want him sad.

"Any news on who put the artefact in my robes?" I asked instead, switching the topic.

"No," he shook his head, getting serious, "Master Dey keeps me at arm's length from investigation."

That reminded me.

"Do you know why he is so… prejudiced against me?" I asked a question I was wondering about for some time. Taren had never asked, but I wasn't Taren.

"He is not," he began, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes, "prejudiced against you. I am afraid, it's me who he is after"

"What for?" I exclaimed, and yep, here was Taren again. Oh, so protective Padawan.

"It's a long story," he sighed, shifting in his chair.

"I have plenty of time," I replied, slightly leaning forward. Taren knew Master Yad well, and I saw all the telltale signs when he was willing to talk rather than just shut the topic down.

"He was a friend of my Master. Before I was knighted, my Master and I were on a mission on the Cyphar in the Spirva sector. Now, could you tell me which hyperline it is?"

That was familiar to Taren grounds, and against my own wishes, I felt at ease. Taren liked those stories and secretly enjoyed questions.

"It's on Karfeddion–Kriselist hyperlane," I replied after a pause, the answer easily slipped from my tongue.

"Correct. So, the mission. It was supposed to be a purely diplomatic mission to ease tensions between two conflicting clans, but in the process, we uncovered a lab refining scarn into spice.

One thing led to another, and in the end, I was separated from my Master."

He fell silent after that, looking in the distance. I knew that distant look, full of remorse and old loss. It was eerie how similar it was to one I saw on my uncle's face when we spoke about the Falklands War over a bottle of whiskey.

"Anyway, his body was found later. Tortured. I was suspected of fault but was later proven innocent. But not to him," he finished with a meek smile.

I silently nodded, sending an understanding through our bond. It had explained Master Dey's behaviour somewhat. Not excused, tho.

"Wanna test my shield?" I asked.

We didn't have a bottle of something strong for a proper remembrance of his Master, and I promised myself to find one later, but for now, shifting gears would suffice.

At least I now knew why Taren never met his Grandmaster.

 

[GorMartsen]

My room didn't have a window. It was a fair precaution, especially in my case. I had already proven… violent, if not by choice.

And yet, I would have preferred to have one, so it could light my room with the lights of never-sleeping Coruscant.

Lying in bed, I was simply afraid of the dark.

It was stupid, really, but after everything that had happened to me, I couldn't help it.

I also knew that if not for the mental shields, I would have already been in full-blown panic, because those shadows in the corner? They kept moving.

And someone was chanting at the edge of my hearing ability.

Dark side of the force, fuck my ass.

I also knew that it was all unreal. I had checked it a few times, switching the lights off and on. There was nothing there. Just my fear.

Tired of trying to fall asleep, I sat on the bed, wrapping the warm blanket around my upper body. For some unknown reason, it was also quite a chilly night.

Flexing my wrists, I ran a full sequence of hand exercises. One meant for pre-saber practice. It warmed my palms nicely and brought back the warmth so needed to my fingers.

Something clearly had happened to the cooling system. I debated for a few moments whether I needed to report it. I was sure Master Dey would be happy if I tried to leave, and I was sure the Healer on duty wouldn't.

In the end, I decided against either, only tightly wrapping a blanket around myself. Cold wasn't that big of an issue if one had Force.

Recalling the Force Technique for handling the cold weather, I let the Force flow through my body, slightly nudging it to warm me.

Easy, fucking, peasy.

It wasn't really a surprise that those Jedi rarely used anything more than robes. There was even a saying, "The Force provides." You just had to be a really lazy Jedi if it didn't.

Even an average Padawan knew enough to survive in most harsh environments, to build a shelter… and grow crops from a few seeds lost in a pocket.

The Force provides indeed.

But while it all was fascinating, I was fucking interested in only in one thing. How to stop myself from being influenced by the Dark Side.

With a sigh, I reached for the datapad my Master had given me, with a few new techniques meant to help me… cope with my condition.

What a fucking joke.

Give it back…

The datapad fell out of my hand, clanking against the floor, and I wildly looked around. Did I just hear it?

Give it back…

Turning sharply to the door, I saw him then.

Taren.

He stepped closer to my bed, and I scambled backwards. He was tall, his skin as white as ever, and his blond hair in Padawan's haircut was all in ruin. He looked crazy.

Give it back, thief. Give it back…

He said again and again, slowly, oh so slowly closing on me, and I felt paralysed. It was the truth, was it?

I was just a thief here.

Wrong.

Blinking a few times, I saw nothing.

No crazy Taren, no moving shadows, only me curled in the corner of my bed, and my shields that just bounced back, pulling me out of my panic state.

Oh, fucking fantastic.

—

The caf—I found it early in the morning—had nothing on coffee. It looked and tasted like banta piss, and had no kick I had so hoped for.

Unless… If the med droid decided to give me decaf caf, which was probably what had happened.

Osik.

A few hours that I dozed off for weren't clearly enough for me, but I doubted I would have any good sleep anytime soon.

Not with banta osik that kept driving me nuts all night.

I needed something to do, something to get my shit together.

Shower? Training? Both.

Nodding to myself, I donned the tunic and threw the robes over my shoulders. And if some Master had troubles with that, I didn't care.

To my surprise, no one stopped me, which I quite expected to happen. Maybe even hoped. Anything was fine with me.

Walking empty halls towards salles, I looked at the aesthetics with new eyes, Taren never had. When he was just an initiate, youngling really, he had no point of reference to compare Temple to. And later, being a Padawan, he was already used to the Temple, barely really seeing it.

But not me.

The stone walls in the hall, polished by many touches, the wood-covered floor, and the wide-open windows with an arch above. It was interesting, especially with an occasional droid wandering around and turbolifts that connected floors.

Entering the salles, I opted to keep my robes, no longer trusting the changing room. Marching to the rack with training sabres, I was already planning my training sequence. Soresu? Ataru? Or just plain Shii-Cho?

"What are you doing here?" someone called me from behind.

Fucking finally.

"I am about to begin my saber practice," I said, turning around.

"Master Vin," I greeted the old and scarred Master of a near-human species, hiding my smile behind a bow.

I did hope to meet him here.

"And does your master know?" he asked, when I looked back again, with no trace of smile on my face.

Master Vin was a residential legend among the Taren's peers, especially when Taren was still a youngling. It was rumoured that Master Vin was alive when the New Sith Wars ended, and was here when some watchman brought that gremlin Yoda to the Temple.

I doubted the former but had no doubt about the latter. He did look like someone who had lived longer than a hundred years.

"I am sure he would have nothing against it," I replied.

"So you slipped away," he correctly stated.

"Naturally," I agreed, adding. "Like my sleep."

"You are too young for that," he grumbled, passing me on his way to the rack with training sabres.

"What are you waiting for?" he called without turning. "Grab one too if you forgot your own, and I'll help you find your sleep again."

I was surprised he didn't know what had happened to me, but then it was Master Vin, a grumpy old Jedi whom half the Temple believed to be a sadist.

Exactly what I needed.

"Of course, Master Vin," I happily replied.

—

Lying on the matted floor, I was out of breath. And drenched in my sweat. As I had discovered, knowing what to do and actually doing it weren't the same thing.

It was hard to keep my focus on filling up my body with the Force while being beaten up.

And beaten up I was. Thoroughly.

"Not bad, kid," Master Vin said, and for a second, I thought I had hallucinated it, like I had half of my night.

"Not your Shii-Cho, it's banta osik," he corrected himself, and the universe made sense again. "But you did a passable job with Force Enhancement."

And here it was again.

Picking myself up from the mat, I breathed in and out, letting the Force to wash over my body once again. It didn't bring that strength it did at first, but at least my knee stopped trembling.

From a corner of my eye, I saw Master Vin nodding approvingly, a rare thing to witness. Perhaps I really did something right, after all.

"Now, if you're done punishing yourself, care to explain what has happened?" he unexpectantly asked, proving me wrong.

Apparently, the rumour mill had worked as expected, bringing news across the Temple, and to him as well.

"Sorry, Master Vin. Ongoing investigation and all of that," I replied, hobbling to the rack with sabres.

Taren in me expected him to get angry, but James knew better and was proven right when Master Vin nodded approvingly again.

What a fucking day.

"See you, Master Vin," I said, picking up my robes from the floor on my way to exit.

Shower, I needed a shower.

"Tomorrow, at 6 in the morning," reached me when I was halfway through the door.

Stopping, I glanced over my shoulder fast enough to catch the vanishing concert on Master Vin's scarred face.

"I will be here," I nodded.

And I was sure I would. If Taren was still too young to understand it, James was not.

It was more than worth it.