The Weaving Force: Interlude- Year 1 (Patreon)

Interlude 1: Year 1

Rugess

Rugess liked to think he was a simple, good Bith.

As a slave, he liked to help people, though not… very much. He’d never been brave enough to take prods or lashings for others, but he brought bandages and fresh water to help heal them afterwards. Tried to talk with the pit bosses to take an extra hour or two on shifts with the others, to try and rotate the time so the guy or girl that was hurt could rest.

When he was privately owned rather than owned by the Hutts, he did his best work for his Master. Yes, part of that was to avoid beatings or cut rations… but he liked to think he did it out of a desire to simply do the right thing, Master or not.

Shmi was a good person; when he was hurt, she was the first person he’d thought to call. Not many on Tatooine would have helped a crippled Bith. Nevermind that she was a slave with no wealth of her own to speak of.

He… hoped he could act like she did if he were ever in her shoes.

When he fell in with these three others – Hannah, Dennis and… Alexandria – he’d been scared.

Not so much of Hannah and Dennis, of course. They were nice. Kind.

Alexandria was the scary one.

Bith hearing was sharp. Very sharp. Some of his fellow Bith could hear the fall of a person on sand almost half a kilometer away while surrounded on a busy street.

That let them hear much more than humans could. The heart beating, blood pulsing through veins and organs, the way sound left the mouth or air entered the lungs.

It was his hearing that let him know something was very wrong with that woman.

Her body… if he didn’t hear her breathing, he’d suspect he was talking to a droid.

Even when she spoke, the sound was wrong… like it couldn’t quite escape the confines of her voice box, trapped in her chest and mouth.

So yes… Alexandria scared him.

A lot.

But Rugess liked to think he was a good person. He liked to help.

He was no hero, and he doubted he ever would be, but… doing absolutely nothing wasn’t an option either.

He wasn’t blind to the tension that now cut between the team of three, two humans and one possible droid. Dennis and Alexandria weren’t on speaking terms as far as he could tell. Hannah was trying to bridge the divide, but whatever happened between the two must’ve been bad.

So when he caught sight of both of them, standing a ways away by the entrance to the palace hangar bay, he couldn’t help but worry.

He ducked behind the corner, inching closer to listen in. If things started to get out of hand… maybe he could run and find Hannah. She could do something.

“-so unbelievable to you I’d extend an olive branch?” He caught the tail end of Alexandria’s sentence.

“You’re asking that with a straight face? Cause yeah, knowing even half the shit you’ve done, ‘unbelievable’ is a word for it.”

Dennis’s voice wasn’t loud or cutting, but the bite was there, the anger simmering beneath the surface. Rugess wondered just what it is that Alexandria had done that Dennis had found out about.

“We are stuck here for the foreseeable future, Mr. Cook,” the woman explained softly. “Given that we are the only three people from home here, I’d rather not let things remain this way between us.”

“And this is supposed to… what? Balance the scales?” he heard the boy ask.

Risking a peek around the corner, he saw Alexandria turn her head, looking at the boy, reading him in the way he noted she tended to do far more often than he was comfortable with.

“I know far better than you just how tilted those scales are, Mr. Cook… so no. This is as I said, an olive branch.”

Rugess could hear the click of the boy’s teeth inside his mouth from here, the muscles of his face twitching.

Rugess noted, then, something in his hand. An access card?

“And how do I know this isn’t some way to get me killed?” he asked.

Alexandria scoffed. “You vastly overestimate how difficult it would be to kill you.”

It wasn’t the words so much as the tone he heard there that made Rugess flinch, a shiver crawling up his spine.

She said it so casually. So… easily. Like she could very well do it. With little hesitation.

Just how many people had she killed?

…

He’d thought the two of them were friends.

Dennis fingered the object in his hand, fiddling with it quietly.

Alexandria pressed.

“Would you really say no out of spite?” He saw her raise an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t be me you’d be hurting here.”

Her piece said, and whatever offer she’d made over and done with, she turned, marching away.

Rugess listened to the clicking of her heeled shoes, waiting until she was well and truly out of earshot before shuffling forward, towards the still rigid Dennis.

His approach almost went unnoticed. He was all but standing within arms reach before Dennis turned, noticing him at long last.

“Hey, bud,” the young man said in greeting, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

Suddenly, he held up the item in his hand.

“Wanna go do something stupid?”

Rugess was very concerned…

(X)(X)(X)

Bultar Swan:

Jedi Knight Swan was certain when she heard the news that the person telling her simply must’ve been misinformed, that wild rumors and baseless speculation had just gotten incredibly out of hand.

She dismissed it out of hand. Pushed it aside, because there were simply more important things to do and focus on now - with her recent knighthood - than heed ludicrous rumors of her Master taking on two Padawans of ages well beyond the norm.

But then, it was not simply one person asking her for confirmation, but two, then three and four, and before too long she was practically being shoved by her peers into going to seek out Master Plo Koon directly.

So she went, if only so that her Master could tell them all how ridiculous they were being.

When she found her Master, he was in the high balconies overlooking Coruscant, preparing his evening tea as was his custom.

She told him immediately what absurdities were being spread and asked him how she might best dispel this rampant idiocy spreading among her fellows.

Then her Master kept his silence for a long, uncomfortable moment.

“Please, Knight Swan…” he said, gesturing to the seat across from him, “join me.”

That was when she felt the first hint of trepidation.

“Master?” she asked, even as she sat.

Her peers, it turns out, were only partially wrong.

Master Plo Koon wasn’t taking on two Padawans…

Though there were two of them.

And they were much, much older than… anyone should be.

“But why?” she asked, trying not to sound as appalled as she felt. Trying not to feel appalled at all. Master Plo must have a good reason for this. The Council must have a good reason for this. “It goes against all the teachings and foundational principles of the Order’s recruitment selection processes for the last… several centuries at least!”

“It does,” Master Plo Koon nodded. “But these two young women bear exceptional circumstances. Circumstances that warrant special consideration.”

“I cannot fathom what could be so important that we’d breach tradition so brazenly for them,” she protested.

“I understand it’s hard to believe,” her Master conceded. “But I promise, there are good reasons.”

“Of course, I trust you, Master, but-”

“Ms. Dallon. Ms. Hebert,” her Master called, turning his head ever so slightly to look over Swan’s shoulder.

The Knight turned, looking over to find two young women, perhaps only slightly younger than her, coming their way.

She reached out in the Force, attempting to sense their presence; surely if the Council was making such an enormous exception for them they must shine like lighthouses.

She felt like she was touching twin blocks of ice. Their presence in the currents and flows of the Force were jarring and out of place. An iceberg in the ocean. She struggled to hide her wince. She may have fooled the blonde, but the way the dark haired girl’s eyes swiveled to her let her know she hadn’t succeeded, and the blankness of that stare made her shiver where she sat.

“Heeeey,” the blonde one smiled brightly, carrying something in her hands as she approached the table. “We just wanted to say as a thank you for not kicking us out and maybe arresting us for almost blowing everybody up or something-”

Swan nearly choked on her own spit.

What!?

“-Tadah!” She placed whatever she’d been carrying on the table, pulling the cloth back to reveal-

“Dor-masu.” Master Plo chuckled under his breath. “A candy for children. I haven’t had any in years.”

“We kinda went to the cooks and asked them for the best candy-thing they had for Kel Dor,” the blonde girl explained, smiling sheepishly. “Hope I didn’t cause some cultural misstep where I just insulted your ancestry or something.”

“No, no,” her Master laughed again. “If you’d have ordered Malishknm, then perhaps there might have been a blood feud on our hands that would have lasted ten generations,” her Master joked.

“Good thing that was my second choice and not my first then!” came the cheeky reply. “Well, here’s hoping you enjoy.”

“Thank you. Though this can only be eaten without the mask. I will simply have to wait until I return to my room.”

“Ok, then,” Vicky nodded.

“Ms. Dallon, Ms. Hebert-” her Master said abruptly, gesturing towards her. “This is Knight Bultar Swan. My former Padawan.”

“Oh, hey!” The blonde girl brightened. “Normally I’m the one playin’ the Big Sis role. Gonna be a weird change of pace.”

Swan’s mind stuttered for a moment on the word sister.

Jedi had family, of course; Master Plo had a niece, Sha Koon, who was a Knight herself within the Order, but by doctrine and teachings they were taught to not hold those relationships highly. It went against the Jedi Code to place relationships into any sort of hierarchy.

So when the girl, Dallon, said sister, Swan couldn’t help but notice the word carried weight in her voice. Value.

“You have family, then?” she found herself asking. “You’re close to them? Your sister?” The sentences spilled out of her, a jumble of words as she desperately hoped for some sign that she was wrong.

But Miss Dallon smiled. “Yup. Mom, dad and my sis, Amy. How ‘bout you?”

Swan felt something - like an ice pick through her forehead - drilling into her mind when Dallon mentioned 'Amy.' It came, though, not from Dallon, but the one with the dark hair, behind her.

As she answered her question and struggled to keep hold of her composure, Swan was becoming increasingly certain of something.

The Council had made an error.

These two were never meant to be Jedi.

(X)(X)(X)

Obi-Wan

Mandalore was as he remembered.

Far too dry and far too… polished… poised. Like it was trying far too hard to restrain itself. It was a feeling that hung in the very air like a pall.

He was uncomfortable here. Part of it was the planet but… most of it was simple nerves.

Only Satine could make him feel like a fumbling youngling again just by merely being in the room.

When he received her call, asking him for help for some strangers that had arrived on her planet, he hadn’t hesitated. Master Dooku hadn’t approved, commenting that a Jedi’s time was too valuable to waste on lost tourists.

Needless to say, the old Master hadn’t joined them, though that hardly put Obi-Wan’s mind at ease. Because the old man had commented that while they were gone he would investigate the…

“Sith you killed. Because there is another; have no doubt, Kenobi.”

Dooku was a demanding, stringent Master, a man driven in a way that concerned Obi-Wan both for Dooku himself and for Anakin, who was driven to meet the challenge. But despite whatever differences or grievances he might have with the older gentleman, he hardly wanted Dooku to die.

And chasing Sith was not a safe venture, as experience had taught him.

Even so, as concerned as he was for Master Dooku, he didn’t regret his visit. Though it was, perhaps, less fruitful than any of them would have liked.

“Unfortunately, I’m not certain how the Jedi might help you,” he responded carefully, observing the faces of the three in front of him.

Satine looked disappointed. “The Jedi archives are extensive,” she pressed. “Are you certain there wouldn’t be any records of some of their people arriving from the Unknown Regions previously?”

“There may very well be,” he conceded. “I would need to question Mistress Nu when I return, if not search the records myself, for anomalous arrivals in the Jedi’s history.”

“What about their abilities?” Satine asked. “They are… quite unique.”

“I noticed, yes,” he answered, somewhat dryly. Frankly, after standing around them for a time, one couldn’t help but notice their odd… coldness in the Force. It stood out, like pressing your arm against an icy door on a hot day. “But I’m afraid,” he hedged, “unique abilities… are… rather paradoxically somewhat commonplace when the sheer numbers and odds of the galaxy as an aggregate whole are in play,” he explained. “Off the top of my head, the Jedi archives have records of things that have baffled scientists and Jedi Masters at least-”

“Might we go to the Temple and check ourselves?” the woman, Alexandria, interrupted.

“The Temple is open to visitors,” he nodded. “But not all the archives are open to the public. Given the nature of this very specific inquiry, it might be in a sealed or obscure record. A trip might waste your time,” he answered honestly. “If you’d like to come I’ll be more than happy to return with you, hosting you as my guest.”

Alexandria turned, and the woman, who identified herself as “Miss Militia” –  perhaps a code name or alias of some kind – shared a look with her, a conversation passing between them before he received his answer.

“We’ll discuss the specifics privately and tell you soon,” Miss Militia said with a polite nod, smiling. “You’ll be staying until…?”

“For ten days or so,” he said, looking ever so subtly towards Satine for approval. “If there’s some need for me to help, I’d happily be of use while I’m here,” he offered, somewhat pointedly.

“I… believe we have things well in hand. But your offer is appreciated, Master Kenobi,” Satine answered diplomatically. Not an outright refusal, but not a committed answer either. “I was told you have a Padawan of your own now.”

“Yes, Anakin.” In spite of himself he felt a smile tugging at his lips. “He somewhat kidnapped one of your guards to show him the hangar bay. He loves ships.”

“Does he?” Satine asked with a small smile of her own.

“We’ll leave you to catch up,” Alexandria affirmed, standing up, with Miss Militia following her lead. “Master Kenobi, expect our answer before you leave..”

“Of course.”

(X)(X)(X)

Adi Gallia

The Council had decided, some months into this… venture, that perhaps the wisest means of training… Padawans Dallon and Hebert were to cycle through training with willing Masters to aid Master Plo Koon.

One Master, one Padawan. That’s how it was supposed to work.

But, then again, there were a lot of things that were supposed to work a certain way and simply were not applicable, it seemed, when it came to these two young women.

Gallia could understand the idea behind it. The young women, and more specifically the entities with them, were a complete unknown. And it was deemed both prudent and necessary to have as many eyes as possible watching their development to make certain that… deviations weren’t occurring that might corrupt either the young women or the entities with them.

Master Plo Koon was their primary Master, but Masters Yoda, Yaddle, Windu, Poof, Rancicis, and Nu arrived when requested by Master Plo or the Council.

Victoria was a bright young woman, and Gallia meant that in every way. If the Jedi were a gently flowing stream, Victoria was a springtime river, bathed in sunlight and bringing blooming life to the forest that kissed its edges. Gallia worried, for she knew that such unbridled emotion could lead to the dangers of the Dark Side just as quickly, if not as obviously.

But whatever worry she held for Ms. Dallon was far outweighed by Miss Hebert.

If Dallon was a gleaming river… Hebert was an ocean in a storm: its tides churning and roaring; rising high and seeking to drown anything foolish enough to find its way into the waters.

Galia feared, deeply, that Master Mundi was right. Hebert would fall. And that fall might just tear down the entity, Queen Administrator, with her.

It was dangerous.

And yet… others did not raise concerns as she did. Oh, certainly some shared them. Mistress Nu, Master Rancisis and even gentle Master Poof all lamented or commented on the risk, or the lack of improvement…

But Master Yoda? Yaddle? Windu?

They didn’t share these concerns. Or, at the very least, if they did, they remained quiet about it.

She didn’t understand.

Could they not sense it? Feel it?

Master Plo was understandable. He was a gentle soul, and as stridently as the teachings said to not grow attached, one couldn’t help but be attached to those they taught, even for a short while.

But why the tolerance from three of the other Masters? The greatest Masters in the Order, some would argue.

She didn’t understand, and it… it worried her… frightened her.

So she asked.

Master Yaddle looked at her with kind, sad eyes, patting her on the hand before asking her to come here today.

So here she was.

Padawans did not learn and were not taught at the same rate. Individual Masters had almost unlimited autonomy when it came to how they taught their chosen student.

But she was still surprised when Ms. Dallon and Ms. Hebert reached the practice grounds outside the temple with practice sabers in hand, Master Plo Koon entering shortly behind them.

It took years before students were allowed to learn even the most basic forms. From the Creches to their apprenticeship, the younglings spent their entire lives learning Jedi history, philosophy, ethics, politics, sociology, xenobiology and everything else. The saber was the last thing they learned. The last thing they should learn.

To start, or have already started barely a handful of months into it?

Why?

Surely there were far more important lessons that needed to be imparted than combat.

Distantly, she heard Ms. Dallon and Ms. Hebert speaking; or more accurately, Ms. Dallon speaking to Ms. Hebert.

“Do not look,” Master Yaddle advised beside her. “Feel. Sense.”

Gallia turned, looking towards the small green woman that had so often been her own Master, and still was in many ways.

Yaddle’s eyes were closed, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees

Adi followed her example.

She closed her eyes, and expanded her senses out.

As so many times before, she saw the two young women. Dallon, like a sun rising from the horizon, bright and shining. Excitement. Anticipation. Emotions so bright and so all-encompassing that they shrouded everything beneath, even the tentative touch of the Fragile One hiding in the shadow of her presence. Until Victoria was all one could sense.

She felt freely. More so than any Jedi

And then, Hebert.

The storm raged, like whipping winds of turmoil, jagged rocks of pain, and the crackling lightning of fear and self doubt, caging her within its bounds. Tearing at all that she was. All that she could be.

She would fall… if she hadn’t already

Behind her, pulsing like a heart, lurking beneath the tempest like the Fragile One hid behind the sun, Queen Administrator.

She pulled away.

She felt Master Yaddle’s hand over her own.

“No… sense,” the Master whispered, urging her to stay.

So she did.

She didn’t see the sparring match. Though she knew they’d started, she didn’t feel the blows or hear their efforts.

But she did sense it.

Padawan Dallon’s sun still shone, now suffused with the joy and simple exhilaration that came from having fun. Not thrill at  the violence, no, but rather… because she could sense it too on some level.

It was a slow thing, not obvious, but gradually coming into clearer and clearer focus to Master Gallia.

The storm calmed.

The screaming gales ceased their howling, the crashing waves grew still, and the jagged, sharpened rock became polished, smooth marble.

Bent to the mold of her will, transformed through something Galia couldn’t identify.

She felt Hebert master herself. Push away the fear, the pain, the doubt and disquiet of her mind. Existing in the moment. In the next impact of blade upon blade, on the shift of her footwork and the thrum of collision racing up her arm. In the corrections to her stance and the sharp, shouted advice from Master Plo as she learned.

And beneath it, beneath everything, the changes, the sensations, the thrumming power of Queen Administrator; a glimmering spark.

Galia opened her eyes.

“How?”

“Clouded, her thoughts are,” Yaddle said, nodding. “In pain she is. Afraid she is. But in these moments, moments where she allows herself to become something different; see it we do,” she nodded.

“See what?” Galia asked, her physical eyes watching the exchanges. The rapid ripostes and basic forms of the Shii-Cho.

“That better, she chooses to be,” Yaddle asserted, again reaching to pat Galia’s hand like a kindly grandmother. “Doubts we all have. But judge her, we do not. Cannot. So long as she strides as hard as she does to be better…” The small Master turned to her, wide eyes firm even in their understanding. “...then better we must try to be, too, hmm?”

Adi understood.

She wasn’t sure if she agreed. And she was under no illusions that her doubts and concerns were gone for good…

…

But she understood…

She turned her gaze towards the two young women.

“Do you think… I might join you again, Master Yaddle?” she ventured to ask.

She received two small pats along her hand on the bench.

(X)(X)(X)

Anakin:

All in all, Anakin liked Mandalore.

Which was surprising, because Mandalore had sand.

He hated sand.

It’s rough, and coarse, and gets everywhere.

But Mandalore wasn’t like Tatooine; it was almost like a mix of Tatooine and Coruscant. Deserts outside, nice clean buildings that were sand free inside.

But even so, as much as he liked Mandalore, he was pretty excited to return.

Master Dooku had told them that he was going to investigate the Sith while he and Obi-Wan were gone.

When they got back, well… maybe they’d go hunting for the last Sith. That’s what the Jedi did, and sure, he was only a Padawan, but he could still help with it.

So while he’d enjoyed his time on Mandalore… he was honestly more excited to return than anything else.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan called, “are you packed? It’s almost time to leave.”

He nodded. “Of course, Master.” He’d sent his bags ahead towards the ship almost an hour ago. It was Obi-Wan he was waiting on. But best to keep that quiet.

“Master Jedi.”

The presence Anakin became aware of, if not the voice per se, made him flinch.

He didn’t want to have such a negative reaction. From the times he’d spoken to the woman, Miss Militia, gave the impression that she was nice, and though the feeling around her was cold like ice, what he sensed through the cold was… kind, almost warm, as confusing as that was.

In short, she was nice.

Alexandria wasn’t. He didn’t get any particular feelings of… hostility or danger per se, but rather a deep, almost untouchable seed of twisting guilt and conflict within her. Small. Almost smothered. But growing.

Obi-Wan turned towards them, bowing shallowly. “Ahh, Lady Alexandria, Lady Militia.” he heard his Master greet, as a niggling feeling began to tickle the back of Anakin’s mind.

“While we have considered your offer, extensively, at this time it may be necessary to delay our visit to the Temple,” Alexandria stated.

The feeling grew, insistent and prodding.

He turned, looking around the palace halls, the tug becoming stronger as he looked down the southern hall.

“Before we say that, though, we’d like to know if the invitation is open or if it's a one time offer?” he heard Militia ask behind him.

“The invitation is open, of course, and even if you do not come with me now, I will still strive to look for answers.”

“Not to accuse you, but I can tell you have something weighing on your mind,” Alexandria pressed.

“There are… other matters, I must attend to when I arrive, but I am no liar, Lady Alexandria.”

“And we’re not calling you one-”  Anakin started walking as Militia spoke, assured that his Master was occupied at least for a time and he could listen to the urging brought on by his feeling in the Force. ”All we want is to make certain that once this business with the Mandalorian insurgents is… calmer, we can follow up ourselves. That’s all.”

His feet carried him, following the proddings of the Force in his mind.

Down the hall, left, then right, left again. Down two intersections.

He was heading towards the hangar?

Yes. As he rounded the last corner, he was being led towards the hangar bay. He heard the whine of an engine beginning to power down, the yellow safety light indicating a ship was in the process of landing.

The Force urged him on, assuring him he was safe in spite of the security’s insistence he wait til all landing procedures were finished.

The main entry door to the bay itself whooshed open. The arid, dry air of the Mandalorian desert hit him in the face. Dry desert sands that slipped through the temporary breach in the shielding kissed his robes. It reminded him of…

“Mom?”

Anakin opened his eyes, the word ringing with a tangible, almost palpable truth in the Force as he watched a Bith and a young man landing the ship, still securely fastened to the seats in the cockpit.

“Anakin!” he heard Obi-Wan call out somewhere behind him.

He barely noticed. He barely noticed anything beyond that ship.

His mom was on that ship!

The certainty was carried within his thoughts, blooming bright and lighting a fire in his chest

He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

He started running towards the ship.

“Mom!”

The ship touched down before he closed half the distance, his Master shouted after him in startled concern, still standing somewhere in the hallway. The loading ramp was opening too slowly.

He reached out, the Force grabbing hold of the bay door and the supporting hydraulics and yanked the ramp down with a tremendous crash that sent the shaking impact rushing through the floor and up through his whole body. The bulky ship rocked to one side, then back.

Shmi Skywalker stood at the entrance of the ramp, half stumbling with the impact before she caught sight of him.

He couldn’t stop himself from crying, either.

Neither could she as she ran down the ramp to scoop him up into her arms.

How long had it been since his mother carried him?

He clutched at her, hugging with all his strength as a steady rain of kisses fell at the top and sides of his head.

“Ana-” Obi-Wan’s voice died in his throat, and he could just imagine the shock on his Master’s face.

He didn’t care.

“What the hell happened to the ramp?!” A young man called from above the loading bay door.

Anakin was too choked up to apologize. But he promised himself he’d fix the loading bay door before he and Obi-Wan left. He broke it after all… just a bit.

And his mother would scold him if he didn’t.