Moments of Truth/Part 7

Narasi made Zaella drink a glass of water before pushing the Twi'lek into her own bunk after Zaella tried and failed to climb up to Tirien's. Zaella passed out almost immediately, leaving Narasi to grumble over the other woman steadily encroaching on her sleeping space. Once she had gotten sufficient muttering out of her system and played with Gizmo for a few minutes, though, she dug out her datapad and started a preliminary report on Guudria, recording her observations of the Guudrians along with what they'd shared about the rogue Jedi. She knew Tirien would write the final report to the Praxeum Council, but there was precious little to do aboard while babysitting a sick Twi'lek, especially since Tirien hadn't let her dig into Master Fane's holocron alone…

She stopped when it occurred to her, leaving her sentence half-finished. That might be a productive use of her time; perhaps the long-dead Jedi might even have some insights about Guudria. Tirien probably wouldn't approve…but then, things were different after Circumtore. She felt stronger, more centered; she hated having let Pavac go, but she could accept it was the right thing to do, at least on an intellectual level, and she thought that had nudged her a little bit farther along the path to Knighthood. Tirien himself had said as much to Zaella, the Twi'lek had shared—he had let her duel Pavac without intervening because it was part of her Jedi development. She had passed the test, but she couldn't just stagnate there; one test did not a Knight make.

Saving her datafile, she glanced at Zaella, saw the Twi'lek still out, and opened a cabinet. There, in the closest thing the Second Chance had to a safe, she opened the concealed compartment and pulled out the cubical holocron. Walking on the toes of her boots so as not to wake Zaella, she crept up the cockpit, sat in her chair, and activated the holocron with a twist of her mind.

The cube produced the blue holo ghost of Giffis Fane, a Jedi Master dead these twenty-two centuries. It wasn't really Fane, Narasi knew, though the simulacrum was so flawless—and reminded her so much of the flesh-and-blood instructors she'd had at the Temple—that it was easy to forget sometimes. She bowed her head. "Hi Master Fane."

"Hello Narasi," the holo responded. Its transparent eyes turned this way and that. "I don't see Tirien. I hope he's unharmed?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine. He's in a meeting with the Guudrians," she added, eager to move off the subject of their first one-on-one conversation. "We came here after Circumtore…did Tirien tell you about that?"

"Circumtore? He did not.  My databanks have a reference to a Circumtore in Hutt Space, but no more than that bare mention."

"That's the one. It was…well…"

There was no way to do that convoluted mission halfway, so she launched into a full description, from the snippets of information the Council had given them all the way to Tirien's acquisition of the bomb, including a segue into her early life on Zygerria and the reason for her vendetta against Pavac. Master Fane was a good listener, never interrupting, his holographic eyes blinking and his head tilting on occasion to show it had not frozen. When she got their narrative selves aboard the Second Chance and paused to catch her breath, Master Fane said, "It sounds like you were very fortunate, Padawan. You strayed into the dark."

"Yeah, I know," she said, embarrassed but resolved not to dwell. "Tirien said it was a trial for me, and I know I squeaked by. But I did pass, right?"

"It sounds that way," Fane agreed. When Narasi smiled, though, the holo added, "Do not let that make you content or take you off your guard, Narasi. You've grown as a Jedi, and you may find your control of the Force deepening as a result, but that very change will make you more appealing prey to the dark.  As your light grows, it casts an ever longer and deeper shadow."

It was not quite the rosy outlook she had hoped for. "But…I mean, I didn't kill the man who killed my parents. How many times am I gonna face a trial like that?"

"The dark side finds ways to try us we could never have foreseen; you didn't know Pavac was your greatest trial until he stood before you."

"But it gets easier at some point, right? I mean, Jedi Knights and Masters—"

"Knights and Masters are as much subject to the dark side's predations as the rawest Padawan," Fane told her gravely. "Often they are strong enough to resist the simpler temptations that might ensnare a Padawan, but that only compels the dark side to be more creative in its seductions. A fully-formed Knight might be expected to resist the temptation you faced—the temptation to personal vengeance, killing for personal gain alone.  But moral compromises for the sake of a shorter path to peace?  Attraction that morphs to disordered affection, such that a Jedi forgets duty for the sake of love?  Compassion for others that leads to despair when those others fail or fall?  These temptations have torn down some of the greatest Jedi of the Order.  The very greatest prize of the dark, and the deepest tragedy of the light, is when a Jedi Master falls."

She winced. "You…did you know some who did?"

Fane sighed. "In life, I bore that burden, yes. Like you, I lived in a time of galactic war with the Sith.  Many of my colleagues died, and I mourned the end of their lives, but some fell, and I mourned all the more that the good beings they were should have died while their bodies lived on and wrought such misery."

Narasi sat back in her chair; she felt for Master Fane, but he had sent her along a different mental path. "When they fell…did any of them ever come back?"

"They did, though none alone. Some Jedi shone such light that they were able to drive away the dark in others; the Barsen'thor of our time redeemed several himself."

"So Jedi can redeem Sith?"

Those knowing eyes looked up at her. "I suspect this question is not academic, and you aren't just interested in a history lesson of bygone Jedi times."

Narasi kept herself from rolling her eyes; Master Fane wasn't Tirien, and even though he was only a digital ghost of the dead Jedi, it probably wasn't the safest habit to get into. Thinking of Master Kadych's reaction sobered her in a hurry, and she picked up her story where she had left off, sparing him no awkward details of the uncomfortable travel arrangements post-Circumtore.

Master Fane still had that keen look of introspection when she was done. "You believe Zaella can be redeemed."

"I…don't we have to try? I mean, we can't just kill her."

"I think you and Tirien have put yourselves in a position in which you're obliged to try, yes. And certainly summary execution is not the Jedi way."

Narasi frowned. "But?"

"But redemption of a dark sider is no easy feat. Failure, or even overconfidence in your success, can drag you down into the darkness with the very being you hope to save.  I am reminded of my colleague on the Jedi Council, Tol Braga—"

Before he could go on, Narasi sensed a wave of pain and illness in the Force, so profound that she knew a few seconds of vertigo herself; a groan echoed down the corridor. "I think Zaella's up, Master Fane. I should check on her."

"Of course. May the Force be with you."

Narasi powered down the holocron, stuck it in her pocket, and jogged back to the hold, where she found her bunk empty and the refresher door open; sounds of dry heaving came through. Realizing she had left the compartment cabinet open, Narasi stuck the holocron back in its hiding place, closed the cabinet, and went to the open door. Knocking on the metal, she said, "Zaella?"

Two wet coughs, a spit, and then, "Kark off."

Narasi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I missed you while you were asleep too. How bad is it?"

"Go to Chaos and die, Jedi."

"That bad, huh?"

Narasi elected not to go to Chaos, die, or move from the wall, though she shooed Gizmo with her fingers when he poked his head out and croaked for her attention. When she heard Zaella stagger over to the sink, she poked her head through the door. "Are you…"

She stopped mid-sentence, and a Zygerrian curse slipped out. In just the couple hours they had been aboard Zaella's red skin had deepened in color, and even through she had stripped down to a tank top, her face, chest, and lekku shone with sweat. Both her hands held the counter in a death grip as if she would fall if she let go, and the glower she gave Narasi in the mirror was half-hearted and lethargic.

"Zaella, you look like death. And not the intimidating, 'I'm a Sith Lord and I've come to destroy you' kind of death."

Zaella chuckled, apparently despite herself, but it dissolved into a coughing fit. When she straightened, she turned—wobbling for balance halfway through—and leaned against the counter. She cocked her head to the side…or at least it seemed like she meant too. Her entire head wound up flopping that way. "I need…to borrow my lightsaber."

Narasi stared. "What?"

Zaella rolled her eyes. "Can I borrow my lightsaber? I'll give it right back."

Narasi cupped the weapon's pommel on her belt with her hand. "Why do you want it?"

"Just trust me."

"…yeah, no."

Zaella groaned and wiped her face with her elbow, apparently forgetting that she didn't have a sleeve; she wiped her arm on her tank top with a look of disgust. "Fine…fine, just…here…"

She took her left lek in her hands, and even as she slid them down the length of the head-tail Narasi saw the pain she labored to suppress. By the time she came within a few centimeters of the bandages the battle was lost; her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth was open, panting. She tugged the bandage away, alternating between hisses and whimpers, until she pulled the last strip off and a tear slid down the crease of her nose.

"Oh, geez, Zaella," Narasi groaned. The tip of her lek had turned several colors where Ghrond had smashed it, none of which was red, except the parts that were inflamed. The whole tip has swollen to twice the thickness of her uninjured lek's; even as Narasi watched it leaked cloudy fluid where the bandage had pulled away skin. "I think it's infected."

"Gee, do you think so?" Zaella growled.

"I can give you a bacta injection to clear it up—"

"It won't…" Zaella blinked and shook her head. "It'll fix the infection, but the…the tissue at the end…it's not getting better…"

Narasi had seen her share of grotesque things in three and a half years of war, but she had to admit the swollen, infected pulp at the end of Zaella's lek was up there. "…no, it's not."

"I need…" Zaella stopped, and Narasi waited, but after a moment Zaella squeezed her eyes shut and gasped. Narasi thought it was pain until she felt the anguish that went along with the sound, and she realized Zaella was crying. "It needs…to be cut off."

Remembering Tirien's words, Narasi realized how much it took for Zaella to admit that. Swallowing, she nodded. "I get it. We have scalpels in the medkit—"

"I don't want a scalpel. I want it over." Zaella opened her watery eyes, and Narasi found them refocused in a startling way. "Do it."

"What?"

"You won't give me my lightsaber back! Fine, you do it.  I'll hold it out for you, just…just don't cut off any extra."

Narasi blanched. "Zaella…Tirien's a much more precise swordsman than I am…"

"I didn't ask Tirien, I asked you." Narasi had to will herself not to retreat under Zaella's glare. "You're a Jedi, right? You know how to use a lightsaber.  Just do it!"

For a moment Narasi was fourteen again in the caves of Toprawa, slicing wrist binders off Tirien as enemies closed on them, terrified that she was about to maim or kill a Jedi Knight. Here she had as much time as she wanted to prepare—and as many seconds for pressure to build. But she knew a Jedi did not hesitate, and as she looked at Zaella's furious face, she saw beneath the intensity something she hadn't expected: trust. For all their issues—for all they had tried to kill one another less than a week before—Zaella trusted her not to do more harm than required. She found herself backing away, reaching for her lightsaber.

"No," Zaella rasped. "Use…use mine. I want it to be my blade."

Narasi had the sense to stretch out with the Force, but there was no duplicity; she thought Zaella was too lost in malaise for much cunning. She ignited the crimson blade; Zaella shuddered a little at the snap-hiss, and Gizmo, who had poked his snout out, hopped back into his cabinet. Zaella's weapon felt different to Narasi, though it was well-constructed and about the size of hers; she didn't like the look of a red blade in her hand, but she tried not to think about it. She swung a few practice cuts, getting a feel for how the blade handled.

Zaella held her lek out with one hand, leaning her head away. "Just get it over with."

It's like our catchphrase, Narasi thought. She held the blade out, leveling it with the infected lek tip. Zaella shuddered and closed her eyes as Narasi took several slow breaths. ''Grant me a steady hand and a true strike. There is no passion, there is serenity…''

But before she could swing, she heard Tirien's voice as his bootsteps rang on the ramp. "I met with the village leaders. They—"

He stopped at the top of the ramp, raising an eyebrow as he took in the scene. After a long moment, he said, "I trust she's done something to deserve it…"

Narasi realized she was holding a lightsaber on an unarmed prisoner, the blade's tip only a few handspans from Zaella's chest. Deactivating the weapon, she said, "She asked me to!"

Tirien looked at Zaella, who had half-opened her eyes. "I did. Do it, Narasi."

"Hold," Tirien countered at once. He crossed the deck, looking at Zaella's lek tip. Narasi thought he understood what was happening, but he shook his head. "You're certain about this, Zaella?"

"Yes."

He nodded and took his lightsaber off his belt. "Then I'll do it."

"I asked Narasi."

"But I am Narasi's master, not you."

They stared each other down while Narasi stood off to the side, feeling both superfluous and frustrated. She had recommended Tirien herself, she knew, but shouldn't Zaella get to choose who cut pieces off her? Besides, Narasi might not be a surgeon with a lightsaber like Tirien, but she could make a cut at point blank range on a willing recipient!

Zaella blinked first. Then she blinked again, and it took her a moment to get her eyes open. She swayed, then rooted herself and moaned, "Fine, just do it already."

Tirien took off his robe, tossing it on a hook. "I'll numb it like—"

"I don't want it numb!" Zaella screamed, and Narasi recoiled from the sudden ferocity. "I don't want it to be your blade, I don't even want it to be you! It's my lek!  You're cutting a piece off me!  Just DO IT!"

Tirien's eyes tightened, but he clipped his lightsaber back to his belt and held out his hand. Narasi placed Zaella's weapon in his grip, and he tried a few swings as well before nodding and measuring his blade against the lek. "On the count of three, then…"

"Wait," Zaella said, a spike of fear shooting into the Force. "Just…just the smashed part. The rest can heal when that's gone."

"I understand."

Tirien measured a cut again, but Zaella blurted out, "It'll be useful in the future.  If…you know, if I became a Jedi.  The more of the lek I have, the easier it is to communicate with other Twi'leks and…and get information for the Republic, or things like that."

Narasi and Tirien both stared at her. Tirien said, "That's…probably true. Now you have to hold still."

Zaella clamped her mouth shut, but she was trembling, and Narasi saw her master's mouth thin; even laser precision was only so helpful on a moving target. "Are you sure you don't want me to numb it first? Zaella?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, but when he said her name, Narasi felt something breaking in Zaella; anger and fear and shame roiled together into a mess of misery in her head. "Please…please don't take off any more than you have to."

Tirien's eyes widened. "Of course not. Why would I?"

"I'm sorry I tried to kill Narasi," she rambled on; Narasi wondered if the fever had made her delirious. "I'm sorry about Izkara. Just please…I need my lekku…"

Tirien stepped forward, holding the lightsaber to one side as he reached up and cupped Zaella's cheek with his other hand. Narasi, who had rarely seen her master show that level of affection to anyone, watched with wide eyes as he said, "Zaella, look at me. The past is the past; we don't want to be your enemies now, and I don't want to hurt you.  I swear to you I can do this, but you have to hold still, and you have to trust me."

Zaella grimaced, but nodded and closed her eyes. Narasi stepped to her other side, taking Zaella's hand; the Twi'lek's fingers squeezed so hard Narasi winced. Tirien leveled his blade, eyes tightening as he scrutinized Zaella. "Hold still now."

Zaella sucked a breath through her teeth; Narasi felt her bracing herself. "Ready."

"On the count of three, then. One…"

The little flick of the blade was so fast, the twist of Tirien's wrist so small, that Narasi only just registered that he had moved; by the time the doppler hum and the sizzle of plasma on flesh registered in her ears, it was over.

The pain hit Zaella, and she drew on it…and Narasi felt it become too much for her, and she shrieked. She started to fall, but even as Narasi tugged on her hand, Tirien sprang forward and caught her. She let go of Narasi's hand only to cling to Tirien with both, sobbing into his chest, her whole body shaking.

"Shhh. It's all right.  You're all right," Tirien said, holding her up with one hand and cradling the back of her head with the other. Narasi could only stare, feeling confusion and the beginning of dislike. She could count on one hand the number of times Tirien had ever hugged her like that—Tirien, who was closer to her than any Jedi, and she to him. She got that this was traumatic for Zaella, but it wasn't like Zaella had suffered some grotesque mutilation. The infected lek tip lay on the deck, still smoking where the lightsaber had burned through; true to his word, Tirien had cut the ruined flesh and not a millimeter more.

"Come on," Tirien said, and he steered Zaella toward the bunks; when she stumbled, he lifted her and carried her the rest of the way, depositing her on Narasi's bunk without asking. "Narasi, get me a bacta shot ready."

"Yes, Master," she grumbled. She tried to trace the source of her frustration, but she had never prepared a bacta shot before, and it demanded most of her concentration. When she had the syringe ready, she passed it to him, and he injected it into her lek a few centimeters above the amputation.

Zaella whimpered, but Tirien said, "That will clear out the lingering infection and heal the cauterization on the tip. Now, rest."

He laid his hand on her forehead, and before Zaella could protest, Tirien's Force powers sent her into unconsciousness. Narasi raised her eyebrows. "That was quick."

"Quicker than I expected…" Narasi recognized his narrow-eyed, analytical look—the look he wore when he had identified a puzzle but had not yet deduced the solution. After a moment, though, he shrugged and sat on the deck. "She'll be out for a while. Let's talk."

Narasi sat opposite him, watching Zaella sleep and grappling with her annoyance. Tirien asked, "What's bothering you?"

Wondering the same thing, Narasi seized the first true answer that came to mind. "I think I could've made that cut."

He nodded. "I think you could've too."

She blinked and stared for a long moment. "Then why didn't you let me?!"

"Because I knew I could make it."

"She asked me to do it!"

"She could ask you to cut off her lek tip, get her a glass of water, or fly to Ryloth and surrender us both to Hadan. She can ask for whatever she wants, Narasi, but you—and only you—decide whether you grant it." He gave her a stern look. "When you draw your blade, thinking isn't enough."

"So this is…what, a self-confidence thing? If I knew I could do it, you'd've let me?"

Tirien sighed. "Narasi, you're a good swordsbeing. For a Padawan your age, you're very good.  I watched you fight Zaella on Circumtore, and she was nothing to sneer at.  Many Padawans your age would have died fighting her, and you are better than she is."

A bit of pleasure broke through Narasi's vexation, but of course he couldn't leave it there. "But your style is still in flux. Makashi is all about pinpoint precision, putting the blade exactly where it needs to go with millimeters of room to spare.  If you had been off, even a little, you could've had to make a second cut, or taken too much with the first and inflicted a needless injury.  Many, many beings are going to call on you to raise your blade for some reason or other throughout your life, but you—and only you—are accountable for every blow with it if you do."

Narasi growled in the back of her throat, but nodded. "Yes, Master."

"What else, Narasi?"

"I dunno." Narasi shrugged. "What'd the Guudrians say?"

She could tell he was not satisfied, but he left it alone for the moment. "The Jedi here gave them some facts from the war. A galactic conflict between Sith and Jedi, with many innocent worlds caught in the crossfire—which is truer than I'd like it to be.  They have some smuggler contacts bringing them supplies, so that man at Runganna's wasn't a fluke.  The Jedi have improved quality of life in some ways; Marekka has running water and indoor plumbing, and it's not even the most developed of the three dozen or so villages the Jedi control.  They're expecting glowpanels in the Big House any month now."

Narasi rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "So are these Jedi the good guys or the bad guys?"

"…I don't think it's that simple."

Of course not. "So…what do we do?"

"For now, we gather more information. Listening to Boss Mukka and the other village elders, I don't think any of them are what we'd traditionally view as collaborationist—not how Mali described Prime Minister Bevrelles on Milagro, for instance.  What was your view of Jebba?"

"He…no, I don't think I'd say 'collaborationist', that seems kinda harsh. It seemed more like he's a true believer…"

Narasi trailed off, a little weirded out by that still, but Tirien took what she had given him. "Then we're of similar minds on the subject. And it begs the question: if these Jedi are oppressing the Guudrians, where are all the collaborators?  Three Jedi can't keep thousands in check forever; they'd have to have local help."

"Maybe they have hostages?" Narasi suggested. "Like the bosses' kids?"

Tirien weighed it for a moment. "Not impossible, I suppose; I'll drop some leading questions to see if I can bait it out. That sort of thing works better in a more structured feudal society, though, or some other form of absolute rule."

"Maybe the village is small enough that everybody's related."

He nodded. "It's worth pursuing. I'll ask around when I head back for lunch."

"What do you want me…oh." Narasi made a face. "Babysitting the sleepy Sith?"

"Yes, and make sure she doesn't do anything foolish or dangerous if and when she wakes. But while she's sleeping, I want you to crunch the data from the ship's sensors.  Get me an estimate on Guudria's orbit."

"Why the orbit?"

"The way Boss Mukka and the others talked, they all remembered when the Jedi queen arrived, and not as if they were children at the time. Sixteen years…it seems like a long while.  Call it a hunch."

Narasi had too much experience with her master's hunches to be a skeptic. "Got it."

He studied her. "What else?"

Realizing too late that her mind had never quite gotten back to level, she thought about it for a moment. She was still a little irked about the entire situation with Zaella, but she couldn't put her finger on why. Resolving to meditate on that, she took a different tack instead. "When we saw the shrine…well, last night with the whole 'worship and praise you, Jedi' thing, I figured it was what you said: a way to keep people controlled, with locals collaborating. But then you started talking about coraes and what all the walls mean like these were normal things, and now I'm…confused."

"Worship of Jedi is not normal; even modern Sith don't usually set themselves up as gods."

"But the shrines and stuff…?"

"For most Jedi a shrine is just a place of particular focus on the Force—a place to remove oneself from the distractions of the outer world and recenter. Like the meditation rooms in the Temple or on the Crescentia.  The senganimie invites special contemplation; usually it's something simple like a stone or a leaf.  A whole tree was something new to me, though I suppose it isn't that outlandish."

"You said for most Jedi," Narasi noticed. "What about the rest?"

"You're learning to pick out details," he said with a faint smile. "Some Jedi have more religious views about the Force—either as divine itself or related to an existing divinity or divinities. And a few still practice whatever faith traditions are native to their homeworlds or species."

"I've never heard any Jedi talk about it."

"Most don't; it's an intensely personal matter, and because many Jedi view traditional religions as…to oversummarize a complex topic, let's say 'primitive'…those who have those views aren't often eager to share."

Which made her wonder… "What about you?"

Tirien did not answer at once, and as he studied her with his deep yellow eyes, Narasi realized, apart from her questions about his family and Suwo's death, it was probably the most personal thing she had ever asked him. "We speak of the will of the Force, and all Jedi believe in that. But what is will if not consciousness, in some form or other?  And what are consciousness and will if not the hallmarks of a sentient…something?  The Force binds all life in the galaxy, it can show past and present and future…that speaks to me of a guiding intelligence greater than mine."

Narasi had never thought about it that way. She had never questioned the majority Jedi view, but now she thought the questions would be inescapable. "Huh."

Tirien's smile twisted. "Oh good, that tells me I've done my job as your master for the day."

Recovering herself, Narasi rolled her eyes. "Thanks a lot, Master."

He stood. "The Guudrians have invited me for lunch. Us, in fact, but they understood the need to care for Zaella.  I'll be a few hours at least; run that orbital data."

"Yes Master."

Once he had sealed the ramp behind him, Narasi went to the cockpit and called up the sensor log, downloading it to her datapad and running simulations. It did not take her long to discover Tirien was right—sixteen Guudrians years were no more than nine standard ones, and barely that. Narasi wondered if she knew any of the Jedi; they would have left the Order after she joined.

She found herself thinking about the nature of the Force; a corner of her mind recognized how proud her contemplative master would be. She began to wonder what Master Fane would have to say on the subject…Zaella would surely be out for hours, and Tirien had said he would be gone…