Revenge of the Jedi/Part 13

Stepping out of the Second Chance ' s refresher, Tirien buckled on his equipment belt as Gizmo hopped around his boots, croaking, "Mmnnrrawhee!"

"Yes, all right," Tirien grumbled, retrieving some greens Narasi had left in the galley drawer. He held them still on his palm as Gizmo inhaled them, then scratched the gizka behind his ear nubs. "I know you miss Narasi, but she needs to train. She needs to be ready."

"Mmnnrrawhee!"

"Yes, I worry for her," Tirien admitted. "But I—"

He stopped, looking down at Gizmo; the big, deep-set eyes stared back. Tirien sighed. "Let us never speak of this again."

Gizmo hopped back into the cabinet Narasi had converted into a bed for him, wriggling down into the blankets while Tirien sighed. He did worry for Narasi, and not merely because of the danger that attended any attack on Gasald. Part of him had not wanted to tell her about Aldayr's presumed capture. The two Padawans were close, and Narasi, like Tirien, was fond of Mali; as he had predicted, she had been only too eager to go to Mali's aid. The need to deal with Gasald first had reined her in, but he could tell she was distracted. He told himself the alternative was worse—the last thing he wanted was for Gasald to spring the fact on her mid-duel and get her killed. And if she learned it from anyone but Tirien, she would resent him for keeping it from her.

And justly so, Tirien could admit to himself. She had already stepped up at Eriadu while he had disgraced himself by wallowing in guilt, and now he had drawn her into rebellion against the High Council; she had a right to expect honesty from him. Especially given what she had signed up for…

''I am not an assassin. And I will not train my Padawan to be one either.''

It had not been a year since he had given that bold proclamation to the High Council, and the hypocrisy of it gnawed at him. To be certain, Darth Alecto could not compare to Vedya Gasald, even if the Chancellor's assassination had been as much of a debacle for the Republic as Eriadu. But Tirien had opposed Mali's targeted strike on Gasald when they went to Milagro, only to wind up targeting Vaszas instead. He still wondered if there might be some faint flicker of light left in Alecto, but Gasald was beyond redemption; she had to be destroyed before more beings suffered at her hand.

But how?

Opening another cabinet set into a wall and sliding open the concealed compartment inside, Tirien drew out the two holocrons. Sitting on the floor and setting them side-by-side, he weighed his options for a moment before sighing and picking up the multifaceted green and purple holocron. Its high-speed arrival in the Second Chance had not even scuffed the casing; Tirien did not know what Slejux had done to protect it, but his final act had not been in vain.

But now Slejux was gone, and it fell to Tirien to continue his work.

He twisted the Force into the holocron, light shone through the crystal lattice, and the holocron rendered a hologram that resembled nothing more than a shell-less snail with a tongue as long as its body. A weird, low whine filled the air, and the holocron produced a deep voice that said, "Hello, Tirien Kal-Di."

"Master Kwhuel," Tirien said, bowing his head.

"I do not perceive Slejux's presence, and I do not imagine you stole this holocron from him. What has become of him?"

"Dead." Tirien gritted his teeth on the word. "And the Crescentia with him—the whole battle group. They were ambushed by Vedya Gasald."

After a moment of silence, the long tongue vibrated, the hum returned, and Kwhuel said, "That is unfortunate. This holocron has passed through many hands since I lived, but Slejux was among the most insightful beings to have communed with me.  As the Force is enriched by assuming his spirit unto itself, so is the galaxy impoverished by his loss."

"We won't allow his death—all their deaths—to be in vain. We're going after Gasald."

"To what end?"

Tirien frowned. "Gasald's destruction. She has to be stopped."

"Stopping her and destroying her need not be identical concepts."

"What other choice do we have? It'll be impossible to take her prisoner, especially out of her own flagship."

"Certainly any possibility becomes an impossibility when you concede to defeat before beginning the battle."

"Master, we're not talking about a telekinesis exercise for a Padawan. This woman is a Sith Overlord, surrounded by her lesser Sith.  Even getting to her and killing her will be a minor miracle."

"The Force does not work miracles, Tirien Kal-Di, but those who implement its will—its will, young Jedi, not their own—can achieve miraculous results."

Tirien squeezed his knees with his hands so he would not ball them into fists. "What would you have me do, Master? I don't have Nomi Sunrider's power to strip the Force from other beings, and I wouldn't use it if I did.  No one knows this morichro power to put her down without killing her.  We'd need a dozen Jedi Masters to try—"

"I am familiar with morichro."

Tirien stopped and stared. "You…really?"

Kwhuel gave only an electromagnetic hum which the holocron did not translate.

"You know morichro?"

"In life I knew this power, yes. As you can see, young Jedi, my body does not lend itself to the mechanics, let alone the demands, of lightsaber combat.  A Jedi at his best is in communion with the Force, letting it flow through himself to express its will, his body no more than a vessel for that greater understanding.  But the vessel retains its shape and properties even as it is transformed by that mystical union, and when the need arose for mundane combat, I could not rely on those skills you and so many of my brethren take for granted.  I needed another way, and the Force showed me its path."

It took a moment for the revelation to sink in, though as applied to Kwhuel it made sense. Tirien had first come across mention of the power a year ago, sifting through holocrons in the Archives, desperate for any power that would reunite him with the Force. Would it work? Could Gasald actually be taken alive? Her death would strike a blow to the Sith Empire, but taking her alive to Coruscant…

"Can you teach me?"

"I possess the knowledge, yes."

Tirien sighed; under normal circumstances he might have appreciated the semantic point, but the situation was as abnormal as they came. "Will you teach me?"

"To what point and purpose?"

Tirien stared. Trying to keep his voice respectful, he said, "Master, we're at war."

"According to Slejux, your martial abilities are already considerable."

"Just in the last two weeks I've faced Force powers I've never even seen in a nightmare." He gestured to Master Fane's holocron. "I've been trying to arm myself with the powers of the light to answer the dark. Master Fane has taught me to generate light, to block blaster bolts with my bare hands—and both of those powers have saved my life already.  Every power I know makes me that much likelier to survive the next unimaginable thing I come upon."

Kwhuel made that same magnetic hum that the holocron did not translate. "Morichro is a power capable of considerable harm in any but the most disciplined mind. It demands patience and self-control above all things.  The Force flows through each living thing; to employ morichro is to lull that living Force to sleep, and to spread that slumber from organ to organ until the body is all but inert.  Morichro hangs the living being in the twilight between life and death, but it hangs by a thread—err just a little, lose focus for a moment, and that life will slip from the Force's grasp and be gone forever, beyond recall."

"If I can use morichro against Gasald, it won't matter either way," Tirien pointed out. "We were going there to kill her anyway; if she dies—"

"No." The holocron did not raise its volume beyond Kwhuel's normal, humming monotone, but the intensity of the single word cut Tirien off. "You have the wrong mind. To be indifferent to a consequence is to invite that consequence, and to be indifferent to morichro's lethal potential is to accept the risk of the dark side in search of victory.  You seek power because it is powerful, young Jedi, not because the Force wills you to employ that power."

Tirien took a calming breath, counting to five to ensure a respectful tone when he replied. "Forgive me, Master. Perhaps you could assist me in achieving the right mind."

Khwuel's tongue wobbled before the holocron translated, "Perhaps I will do this thing. Return to me when you have addressed the threat of Lady Gasald."

Tirien blinked. "But I'm trying to learn new abilities for that mission."

"Better to perfect the skills you possess than to stray into powers for which your spirit is unprepared."

Tirien had been taken to task by Jedi Masters before—Master Toldin had had some choice words only a year before—but being called spiritually unfit for the further study of the Force stung deeper than most. He heard the heat in his voice as he said, "Slejux used his powers to protect this holocron—it was the last thing he did in this life. Now those of us who are left are going to bring his murderer to justice, and perhaps die in the process; have you nothing useful to tell me?"

Kwhuel answered him with silence, but just as Tirien became convinced the ancient Jedi would say nothing, the holocron said, "Let the Force be with you."

The holocron powered down.

Tirien stared at it, fighting the urge to fling it across the hold. He set his forehead in his hands, trying to think. He could consult Master Fane—and might, later—but he doubted he would find any further skills there. The mission against Gasald was never going to be easy, but if the Kaivalts failed to come through, it might be doomed from the start—he could not bring Gasald down with only Narasi and Yan. As if the pressure of the mission was not enough, now Narasi's survival hung on successful exfiltration once Gasald was dead; Tirien would have left her behind to allow himself to focus on the kill, but he knew Narasi would never allow it.

So he might have to come up with every stage of the mission—Narasi, for all her growing skills, was still young and lacked the relevant experience, and Yan, the Jedi ace, was out of practice fighting any enemy not streaking toward her at a hundred megalights, cannons blazing. They needed help, but there could be no question of pulling Mali away from his search for Aldayr. Tirien briefly considered reaching out to Kenza after all, but it served no one to save the Republic's southern front at the cost of the northern one.

An idea occurred to him, but before he could weigh the advantages and disadvantages, the boarding ramp lowered. Tirien shifted up to one knee, but relaxed when he saw Zaella enter, wearing fresh clothes but an unchanged sullen expression from the morning. She gave Tirien a chin nod and sat down across the deck. "Hey."

"Hello."

Stretching out one leg, she stared at the toe of her boot as she said, "Thanks for sticking up for me with Raina."

Tirien sighed, already regretting the needless cruelty of his last barb at Raina, though in the moment her condescension had had him nearly as frustrated as Zaella and Narasi. "I told her I trust you, Zaella, and I do. And because I do, I will stand up for you, but please try not to put me in a position where I have to.  I need Raina and Raven for this mission."

Zaella's head jerked up, and her thin eyebrows rose. "I…yeah, of course. Sorry.  It's just the way she was talking to me—"

"I understand," Tirien said, rubbing his stinging eyes; visions of fire consuming Ayson Sokos had haunted his sleep. "But I wouldn't tolerate Raina telling me how to train Narasi, so I'm extending her the same courtesy. I understand your larger point about how she views you, and I agree it's wrong, but the end result is nothing worse than that you can't spar with Renata, and that wasn't going to help you improve anyway."

Zaella looked unsure whether to laugh or not. "It was one hell of a jump up fighting you next."

"Fighting people better than you is the only way you do improve." When Zaella just nodded, Tirien cocked his head. "Did you need something, Zaella?"

Her eyes tightened. "You in the middle of something?"

I'm in the middle of planning to assassinate one of the galaxy's most powerful dark siders in one of the best-defended spots in her entire territory, but I will be for the next while now. "What's on your mind?"

She scuffed the deck with her heel. "It's just…you said you'd work with me on patching my shields."

Tirien sensed she was trying not to sound accusatory, but even though some castigation slipped into her voice anyway, he did not fault her for it. Having sensed for himself how very vulnerable she was to someone who knew how to hurt her, he could not imagine living with that kind of exposure indefinitely. He had hoped to consult with the Crescentia ' s masters, but now that chance was forever beyond him. He had given some thought to asking the Kaivalts for help too, but he doubted Raina would help 'the Sith', and though he trusted Raven a great deal, he did not trust Raven quite enough to keep things from his twin sister. Zaella would not appreciate her weakness becoming common knowledge.

"I did say that," Tirien admitted. "I discussed the matter with Master Fane's holocron while we were coming home, but I hoped to have more time to get other perspectives more informed than my own…"

"Everybody says you're such a great Jedi, right?" Zaella said. "Well, prove it."

"It's not a joke, Zaella."

Her smile faded and her amber eyes tightened. "No, it's not. But it's my mind—it's me in agony every time somebody pokes my brain the wrong way.  I get how serious this is, and I want it fixed.  And…"

She grimaced; one of her lekku twitched. "You keep saying you trust me. Well…I trust you too.  Just don't make me a vegetable or anything, okay?"

Rolling his eyes, Tirien sighed and said, "All right, come here."

He sat cross-legged, beckoning Zaella over until she was knees-to-knees with him. He remembered sitting like this in meditation with Narasi months ago, when she had first experienced visions on Alderaan. Laying two fingertips on each of Zaella's temples, he drew her head forward until he could rest his forehead against hers. "Close your eyes and try to clear your mind."

She blew out a shaky breath, a sweet smell like cinnamon. Trying not to get distracted, he reached into the Force, extending his perceptions into her mind. He wondered if envisioning it the way he had described it—like a brain with a deflector shield around it—would help him find the weak spots. He ran his thoughts over her mind, pressing at memories and emotions, until she gasped and jumped in his hands, lurching back away from the contact as she radiated pain in the Force.

"Gaaah! Yeah, right there, definitely still has holes," she hissed, covering her scrunched eyes with her palms.

"I'm sorry. I've never encountered this before you; I'm learning as I'm going.  That's why I'd hoped to speak to someone wiser than—"

"No, no, you can do it," Zaella insisted, shaking her head with a wince before sliding closer again. She laid her lekku back over her shoulders and said, "Just try to give me a little warning next time, okay?"

"I shouldn't need to do that again for a while," Tirien mused. "I think she targeted one of the pain centers of your mind—which fits your experience with Maia's Mind Shard."

"You mean the pain center of the brain?"

"No, the pain centers of the mind. Pain is a physiological reality, of course, but have you ever noticed how some beings scream in agony from a minor hurt, while others shrug off what should be a major one?" When Zaella frowned and nodded, Tirien said, "There are Jedi abilities like Crucitorn that minimize the perception of pain, but that's still in the mind—the body's still suffering whatever hurts the Jedi minimizes. I think Hadan must have broken one of the parts of your mind that helps your conscious mind process pain; that's why the pain feels so intense."

"That doesn't make sense," Zaella said, putting her hands on her hips. "On Ryloth…well, I'll spare you the gory details, but I've been through some nasty stuff. It takes a lot to make me scream."

She paused, and Tirien wondered what terrible hurt or critical caveat she might reveal, but she surprised him with a twisted, almost hesitant smirk. "I mean…in a bad way, anyway."

Closing his eyes and arching his eyebrows until Zaella laughed, Tirien said, "Moving right along…psychic pain is different from physical pain. Even physical pain isn't of a single species—deafening sound, a sharp cut, a blunt impact, intense burning, and deep cold all hurt, but in very different ways.  And that's not even getting to emotional pain."

"Yeah, she…she can do that too." Zaella shivered and crossed her arms. "So what do we do?"

He gestured her closer again, then said, "I'm going to guide you in meditation. Did you ever do any of the meditative exercises with Jebba in the mornings, or did you resist on principle?"

Snorting, she said, "A few. The whole 'focusing on the rain' thing that one morning; that was kinda…peaceful."

"You might try that same thing at the island's edge—the sound of the waves. But right now, that internalized focus is what we're after.  Close your eyes.  Now, reach into your mind…move past distractions…yes, I know you're still angry with Raina, but past that too…"

Zaella snickered, but Tirien felt her focusing harder. "Look for that pain in your mind…I know it won't be pleasant, but try to find the spot…I'm going to brush it gently, just to guide you…"

He felt her tense in his hands, and tried to keep a feather-light touch on her mind. She hissed when he slipped through the hole Hadan had carved in her mind, but Tirien said, "There! Focus, fight through it.  Press against the pain—imagine pushing the pain out of your mind."

She focused, but when the pain did not die away at once, Tirien felt her growing angrier and more frightened. Worse, she channeled those emotions into her efforts, and Tirien felt the power of the dark side sizzling the tips of his mental fingers. He stopped and took his physical hands away from her, but when she opened her eyes he shook his head. "None of that. The dark side is rooted in causing pain; it couldn't help you heal your injuries after Circumtore, and it won't heal your mind now."

Zaella's amber eyes tightened. "Didn't you hear Raina this morning? Not a Jedi, remember?  I'm trained in the dark side."

"Then consider this re-training. Try again, and stay calm.  You might rebuff me with enough rage, but the hole will still be there.  Don't fight me, just protect yourself."

Zaella sighed, and put her forehead back against his just gently enough that he could not call it a headbutt. He brushed the pain spot in her mind, and this time she actually grabbed onto his head, her fingertips digging in. Wondering if she was trying to share the pain around, he said, "Focus…stay calm…push out the pain…stay calm…push out the pain…"

He repeated the words, lowering his voice into a slow, monotone mantra to help her focus. Her arms trembled, but she started to press against him. When he sensed her temper fraying or fear picking at her concentration, he withdrew the pressure, urging her to calm until she leveled out. Tirien lost track of the time—his lungs, lips, and tongue continued the mantra of their own accord as his mind settled into Zaella's.

He remembered a mission to Kessel with Suwo when he had been no older than Narasi; a Republic spy had been apprehended by the Hutts and condemned to the Colicoid spice mines. Tirien and Suwo had rescued the spy and liberated a few other prisoners while they were there. Most had willingly followed the Jedi to escape, but one young boy had resisted, squinting against the bright lights; a Lutrillian had had to drag the boy out.

So it was with Zaella, Tirien thought—born into darkness, she came to the light only grudgingly and when he foreclosed every alternative. But come she did—slowly, haltingly, and with more than one backward segue into anger, but she trusted calm to carry her through more and more, and finally she pressed back against his mind with firm tranquility. He might have increased the pressure on her mind, but he did not want to strain her too hard or too far; instead he let her hold him at bay for an indeterminate time, then stopped the pressure and opened his eyes.

Zaella met his gaze with wide eyes and a dumbfounded, "It worked."

"Your blasé tone of unsurprise reassures me of your faith…"

She did not even roll her eyes. "I'm not a Jedi. I didn't think Jedi techniques would work for me."

"The light will protect you if you give it a chance."

He realized he had shifted to holding her face in his hands, and she still had his head in something just shy of a death grip. He let her go, but she latched on tighter as her eyes narrowed again—not in suspicion or annoyance, but an expression he thought very misplaced. "I should…thank you."

He tried to arch his neck, but she kept his head in place. "You did this yourself by trusting the Force; I just showed you the way."

"Still…" she purred, licking her full lips. "I'm very grateful…"

Tirien shifted. "You're welcome."

"Not what I had in mind," she whispered, and leaned in to kiss him.

Her smooth, glossed lips slid on his, and she cupped the back of his head; when he inhaled on reflex, he breathed in her floral scent—not the airy, candied smell of blueblossoms or Alderaanian flame lilies, but the headier smell of bachani, so sweet it was intoxicating. Was that calculated to lull him into blissful surrender, or was it the way one of her hands freed his face to claw down his chest that—

Tirien took her by the shoulders and pushed her back, as gently as he could while being sure he would overpower her if she resisted. Their lips broke apart with a pop, and Zaella's soft, sensual sigh of indrawn breath strained Tirien's willpower. It would be the easiest thing in the galaxy to pull her back in, brush his fingertips down her lekku to draw that quivering sigh from her again, bring the pillow from his bunk with a twist of the Force to cushion her head as he pressed her down into the deck…but though he knew she would give him whatever he wanted, it was not, in truth, what she wanted. It was far from the only problem, but it was more than enough.

"Zaella…"

She opened her eyes, half-seductive, half-confused. "Don't you want this?"

"Putting aside the fact that you're barely older than my Padawan…" The idea of explaining this to Narasi cleared away any lingering hesitation Tirien had been feeling. "You don't want this. Not really."

Her eyes tightened as she took his wrists in her hands, rubbing them with her thumbs. "I owe you."

"You don't," he said. Her heady scent was still too close, and her touch too warm; Tirien stood and put some space between them. "I'm a Jedi Knight; that's not how we work."

Zaella's jaw tensed, and her hands squeezed into fists. "You did me a favor. I don't like being in debt."

"You're not; Jedi do the right thing because it's the right thing, not for payment." He softened his voice to add, "And even if we did, this is not Ryloth, and you are not a form of payment."

Zaella stared at him for several long seconds, then turned her face away from his. "I…just forget it. Thanks for the help."

She got to her feet and started toward the ramp. "Zaella…"

She slapped the ramp button without a backward glance, but Tirien narrowed his eyes and raised a hand. The ramp hissed, then groaned as it fought against him, but the Force held it in place. "Zaella."

She had stopped at the top of the ramp, her back to him, but after a moment she sighed, hung her head, and palmed the control again. Once the ramp re-socketed itself and Tirien let it go, Zaella turned around. Seduction had fled from her face and taken anger with it, leaving only despondence; her shoulders drooped and her lekku twisted tighter on themselves. "What do you want from me?"

Tirien studied her for a second, but he had passed his limit for coddling her, handling her like the baradium in the core of the bomb a few meters away, like she would shatter or consume them all at one wrong touch. "The truth? You fought Brokkodd with us when you didn't have to, and likely saved Narasi's life; Yan certainly counts you among the people who saved hers.  I want everyone to see that truth in you.  I want you to prove Raina wrong—to be the good person Narasi and I believe you can be."

Zaella hovered on the verge of speech, and twice she opened her mouth to try, but nothing came out. Nodding as if she had spoken the jumble of thoughts in her mind, he said, "Your mind isn't fixed. That kind of damage will need a lot of meditative work to fully repair.  We'll need more sessions like this."

He hesitated, then hazarded, "The first part, I mean."

Zaella laughed once; she closed her eyes and shook her head, but some traces of her smile lingered. "Right."

"But work on meditation on your own. Clear your thoughts, and look for that calm defense."

"Yeah, I'll work on it." She dropped the ramp, and this time Tirien let it go. She rounded the bulkhead, but then stuck her head back around. "Thanks."

"May the Force be with you, Zaella."

"Yeah, you too."

The ramp closed behind her when she was gone, and once it sealed Tirien gasped aloud. Besides adding fixing Zaella's telepathic and spiritual brokenness to his list of burdens—or helping her fix it; that kind of healing had to come from within, whatever outside help might assist it along the way—Tirien's body had not been nearly so resistant to her charms as his mind. He sat right back on the deck for a moment of cleansing meditation, resolving to work with Zaella some place less secluded in the future.

Once he had reoriented himself and put Zaella out of his mind, Tirien worked to remember where he had left off; it came to him only when he saw the two holocrons sitting on the deck. His frustration with Master Kwhuel's unhelpfulness returned, but his memory unfolded from there to his desire to rally more Jedi. He knew See Klees had been on Milagro with Mali; had she answered the Crescentia ' s rallying cry, only to perish at Eriadu with Slejux, and Ayson, and…?

Tirien shook his head, struggling in vain to clear the macabre visions from his mind. He would have to ask Yan about See, but even without the Gran Jedi Knight, there was another Jedi Tirien thought would come at his call—and better still, a Jedi who might see no difficulty in bucking or outright defying the High Council. He hesitated, though; Gasald had to die, but he did not want to subject a friend to mortal danger…

But friends would already be in danger, even without the Kaivalts; Narasi was going, and Tirien would risk—and sacrifice—his own life or any other Jedi's for hers. He had already lost Slejux and failed Ayson and Dorje Sokos; he would not surrender Narasi to Gasald without a fight, nor could he survive looking back on her death without certainty he had done everything in his power to prevent it.

Hardening his face and steeling his heart, Tirien took his beacon transceiver from his belt, plugged it into his datapad, and began to compose a message.