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Jedi Headquarters, Imperial City, Coruscant
Luke's elation over having been given the Book of Prophecies was short lived. As soon as he opened it, he found it was written in a language he couldn't identify, with thousands of foreign characters. Some he recognized, most he did not. After mentioning this to Leia, Threepio was sent for, and he and Artoo went off to translate. Luke suppressed a disappointed sigh - for once in his life it seemed that something had come easy for him. He should have known better.
Even Kyp was distraught. The wayward Knight looked forward to authenticating his claim of being the Chosen One. If the prophecy was in that book, it would not only be true, but it would also be in its entirety. Luke was pretty sure the first half of it would not point directly to Kyp, hopefully causing him to renounce his claim.
And if it didn't? Luke questioned himself, then shook his head. He'd shoot that target when he had a lock on it.
Shortly after Threepio and Artoo left the room to try translating, Leia had engaged Claria and Richard in a conversation about the change in Naboo's laws concerning how long an elected ruler can reign. Kyp touched Luke's arm, gesturing him aside. Once he felt they were a far enough distance from the others, Kyp faced Luke, speaking in a low voice. "There is more that I must tell you about Mantooine. It used to be the home of a Jedi Hunter by the name of Valdemar. I sent a pair of my Jedi out there to see what they could find out about him and the Jedi he killed. They never came back." A brief flash of pain crossed his face, quickly turning back into his experienced-hardened features. "My apprentice, Anton, followed soon after." He paused. "I think whoever is killing us off there, is trying to emulate Valdemar."
"This Valdemar only went after Masters and Apprentices?" Luke asked, slightly skeptical.
Kyp nodded. "I found a datachip in one of Palpatine's storerooms that had a list of his victims by name, relationship... and an after death holo. It was sent to 'His Imperial Highness, for his enjoyment.'" He pulled an old-fashioned datachip from his robes. "It's a pretty complete list...only one holo was missing."
Luke held his hand out to receive the datachip, holding it almost gingerly as though the dark deeds it told of could taint his skin. Part of him wanted to toss it, while the other part wanted to see what information it held out of morbid curiosity. Also, if the killer on Mantooine was imitating Valdemar, then the more they could learn about the hunter, the better. It felt right. Silently, he led Kyp to his datapad where he inserted the chip and waited for it to load.
***
Soft moonlight poured through the open window of the tiny room, casting eerie shadows about the room. It had been two hours since Master Caine had said she would be back, causing Helaine to pace about the room. Her Master was never late. Because they were in hiding, they had to cloak themselves in the Force, so they could not be detected outside of a three meter radius. Helaine hated being cut off from her Master like this, but it was the only way they could continue hiding. But for how long?
It was inevitable that they would die. The Galaxy had turned against them. In some ways, Helaine felt the Force had as well since the Chosen One was sent by it.
But that didn't mean she'd stand by to watch her Master, or anyone else, die. Deciding she should go after her Master, Helaine stopped in front of the room's vanity, using the light from the moon to guide her hands while she pulled up her hair. Many Padawans had chosen to cut off their braids, since it marked them as Jedi, and marked them for death. Helaine chose to hide hers, pulling it up into her hair while in public. She refused to remove it until she earned the right to do so. Death would probably come before that, even if Master Yoda thought otherwise. Like he said, 'Always in motion is the future.'
A deep chill raised goose bumps on her arms while she tucked her braid beneath a complicated knot at the back of her head. Her danger sense was flaring briefly, though she could feel no other presences in the room. She surveyed the room, her braid coming untucked as a slight breeze fluttered through the window.
"Isn't that a death sentence on most worlds?" a soft voice asked to her right.
Helaine whirled towards the sound, her hand hovering near her hidden lightsaber. She couldn't see or feel anyone else in the room. To draw the intruder out, Helaine asked, "Isn't what a death sentence on most worlds?"
"Your braid, Padawan," the voice replied; it sounded farther away this time, and inexplicably behind her.
Helaine turned again towards the sound of it, fighting back a shiver. She couldn't feel the dark suppression of the Force she'd learned to associate with the Sith. She couldn't feel this being at all. "Who are you?" she asked, stepping towards the...thing.
"Who are any of us?" the voice asked philosophically, coming from the shadows of her nightstand. "Bare wrinkles in time? Grains of sand on an infinite stretch of beach? Threads of life connected by the intangible web of the Force?" It paused. "Or are some of us not part of anything at all?"
"Like you?" Helaine asked, barely able to keep her voice from shaking. Logically she knew that wasn't possible... but this disembodied voice was anything but logical.
The voice laughed, a smooth, almost gentle sound. "I like you, Helaine. Underneath all the hardships of Jedi training, you're just a child. Innocent." It said the last word as though tasting the meaning, and shuddering with delight from the flavor.
Tempted to move away from the thing, Helaine strode purposefully towards it, unwilling to give into fear or the slight anger that had risen in her with its last words. She pulled her lightsaber from her robes, holding it unlit in her right hand. "Show yourself."
"In time," the voice whispered in her ear, pressing a cloth against her face.
Helaine struggled against her assailant, lifting her hands to remove the cloth. Strong hands held the cloth firmly in place, effectively keeping her from breaking free. She felt incredibly tired and weak... and her stomach burned like it was on fire. Wincing and writhing with pain, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh white lights.
"Lainey," a very familiar voice said softly, belonging to the middle aged man who held a breath mask against her face. "Hold still, you're going to be fine."
She looked up into his green eyes, immediately recognizing him as her Master. She wanted to avert her gaze then; there was support and concern there that she wasn't certain she could afford. His left hand now held her right, offering comfort she wished she didn't want. She felt like she was betraying Master Caine even as she squeezed his hand while the Mon Calamari Healer prodded her wound, and when something stung her arm.
She studied her Master's features. There was something very familiar about them. His face fuzzed for a moment as she felt her clarity slip, and her eyes drooped, making her fear she'd fall asleep again.
Slowly, determinedly, she forced her eyes back open. He reminded her of someone... the name he had called her, his features... Valin Halcyon. Maybe that was partly why she'd been so open to him. But his name was Corran Horn. He touched her cheek. "Don't fight the sedative, we'll talk later."
Helaine shook her head, reaching her hand up to remove the breathmask. He grabbed her hand. "Lainey, relax, please. You need bacta treatment. I'll be here when you wake up. Okay?"
She studied his face, noting the slight worry creasing his brow. She nodded. Her muscles were turning leaden anyway. He smiled, squeezed her hand and leaned down, kissing her forehead. "Goodnight, Lainey."
Corran let out a long breath when she finally closed her eyes, completely falling under the influence of the sedative. Cilghal finished prepping her for the tank, then paused to look at Corran. "The Force was definitely with her today. The lightsaber didn't hit any vital organs."
Corran nodded, unable to take his eyes off his apprentice. She'd changed. When she'd first opened her eyes, he'd almost felt like he was seeing into the eyes of a stranger. One who had been through so much, only exhausted acceptance lit her eyes. But when he took her hand, he'd seen a glimmer of Lainey flash across her face. It was then that she desperately wanted to speak to him. It had been hard telling her to wait.
Corran scrubbed his forehead with his left hand. When he had taken her on as an apprentice, he thought all he had to do was console a serial killer victim, show a misguided Jedi apprentice the true path of a Jedi. It certainly wasn't an easy job, but he had felt confident he could do it. He knew she had the strength as well, her strong spirit was incredibly easy to sense, despite her apparent timidity. When she was finally able to touch the Force again, she proved incredibly apt with using it. She had greater control than most of the senior apprentices, and had expressed none of Kyp's ideas concerning "proper" use of the Force. Her views often reflected his and Luke's. Sometimes she seemed to have more to say, but lost it before she had the chance to speak.
That was one of his first clues that she was not whom they assumed her to be. But he'd never imagined she was a Jedi of the Old Republic. It certainly complicated things. He had to help her cope with something he knew very little about, something he never knew would influence his life so much.
He took a step away from the bed as a couple of orderlies moved her to the bacta tank. Cilghal touched his arm. "She'll be in there for a couple of hours for the first treatment." Noticing he hadn't taken his eyes off Lainey, she said, "You're welcome to stay with her, of course."
Shaking his head, he replied, "I can't... someone needs to report to Luke."
"The young man, Armand, has offered to do so."
Corran pursed his lips. Armand was certainly capable enough to do the job, but Corran felt it was his responsibility to do so. He also had a responsibility to his Padawan... he didn't want to leave. He didn't want her to wake up and have him not be there, he couldn't let her feel like she was alone. Finally, he nodded. "I'd appreciate that, I'll have to talk to him about it." He paused. "Have you heard of any side effects or problems that occur with prolonged carbonite encasement?"
Cilghal blinked. "No...how long do you think she was frozen?"
"Over forty years," Corran replied. "Can you run tests to make sure she's okay?"
Cilghal nodded, barely able to mask her surprise at his words. "As soon as her bacta treatment is complete."
***
Armand Naberrie slowly lowered his face into his hands, glad to finally have a moment alone where he could release the tension in his muscles and his emotions. He'd sent Jet to stand guard outside the Infirmary waiting room's door, on the pretense that Jet would be watching for any more of Anton's men. Armand could not let his man see him lower his head as he was, and shake from stress relief. Things had come too close at the Temple - Lainey could have died, he and his second-cousins could have been taken prisoner, and his guards could have been hurt.
He sat with his head in his hands for a few minutes before lifting his head up and put his hand into his pocket, removing a small, velvety box. Almost gingerly, he opened it, allowing a small sigh to escape his lips. An antique necklace lay inside, bearing an azure stone flecked with violet fire, on a white gold base and chain. Armand knew the necklace well; it had been in his family for over a hundred years. Traditionally, it was given as a forget me not to a lover, when a soldier went to war. Armand had planned to give it to Lainey today, before she told him she'd planned on going to the temple.
Soft footsteps caused Armand to raise his head, and he saw Corran Horn enter the room. Standing up, he shoved the necklace case back into his oversized pockets and nodded a greeting to the Jedi Master. Corran returned his nod, closing the distance between them. Armand noticed for the first time then that he was much taller than the other man. He met Corran's green-eyed gaze. "How is she?"
Corran considered him for a moment before answering. "She'll be alright." He frowned. "What were you guys thinking, going there?" He shook his head. "It's to be expected from Anakin and Julie, but Lainey..."
Armand raised a hand, forestalling Corran. "I'm afraid I don't know what Anakin and Julie were doing there. Lainey wanted to go after reading that letter and realizing she had written it. I didn't think she should do so alone."
"I would have gone with her," Corran said, pursing his lips.
The Jedi's face was impassive, but Armand could detect a slight trace of hurt in his tone of voice. "She feared that if she saw you, she'd lose her desire to go, unwilling to let Master Caine take your place."
Corran nodded slowly, his gaze growing intent. "She must trust you a great deal to have admitted something like that." He cocked his head slightly. "Which reinforces my decision to accept your offer of reporting to Luke." He lowered his voice. "I'd appreciate it if you left anything concerning Lainey's history out of it. He may be with people we can't trust. Also, is there anything else I should know about?"
"Yes," Armand replied, his tone of voice matching Corran's. "Anton works for someone named Valdemar. He revealed that to Lainey before they fought."
"Did she recognize the name?" Corran asked.
"It scared her," Armand said softly, clenching his fist.
Corran's lips tightened into a thin line. "I see."
"Is there anything else you need before I go?" Armand inquired, noting a dangerous glint now shining in Corran's eyes.
Corran shook his head. "No." He offered Armand his hand. "But I do want to thank you for your help back there, and for being a friend to Lainey when she needed one."
Armand shook his hand. "It was my pleasure."
"Master Horn," Miranda's voice greeted them as she entered the room, followed closely behind by Pavol. Her eyes fell on Armand, widening slightly at the sight of his bare chest. "Wow," she breathed, then gave him a sly wink. "I mean, hello, Armand."
Armand had to smile. "Hello, Miranda."
Pavol bowed formally to Armand.. "My Prince, Master Jedi." He nodded to Corran. "Miranda was kind enough to guide me here."
"Yes, but you weren't 'kind' enough to tell me the reason you wanted to meet him in the Infirmary," Miranda pointed out. "And if Master Horn is here..." She inhaled sharply. "Lainey's hurt."
Corran stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "She'll be fine."
Clasping his hands behind his back, Pavol faced Armand. "As per your request, I am here to inform you that the prisoners have been released into NR Security's custody."
Armand nodded to him. "Thank you, Pavol." He turned to Corran. "If you don't mind directing me toward Master Skywalker's quarters, I will go speak with him now."
"How about a guide?" Corran asked, then squeezed Miranda's shoulders. "If she's up to it."
Miranda shook her head. "I want to see Lainey."
"She's in bacta right now, you can see her when she's out," Corran said gently. "The best thing you can do right now is take the Prince to Master Skywalker."
"Well..." Miranda set her shoulders, and lifted her chin. "It's certainly not the worst job in the worlds..." She finally relented, a glimmer of the usual sparkle returning to her eyes. "I'll take you now, if you're ready, Armand."
"Thank you, Miranda." He hesitated, as a slight draft in the room reminded him he wasn't wearing a shirt. It certainly wouldn't be appropriate for him to meet with Jedi Master Luke Skywalker without one. He also really shouldn't take the time to go back to the hotel to retrieve one.
Pavol, noticing Armand's hesitation, immediately pulled off his own shirt, handing it to Armand. "Take mine, Sir."
Armand nodded his thanks, pulling the rather tight black shirt over his head. Once he had it on, he raised an eyebrow at Pavol, whose only explanation was a sly grin. Armand had to smile back, then nodded to Miranda, offering her his arm. "Ready now, Miranda."
Grinning, Miranda slid her arm through his. "You might as well have gone shirtless."
Copyright 2002 by Luney.
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