A Life Not His Own: Chapter 7

Jacen stands in the communication chamber of Sanctuary, a holographic image of Kam Solusar flickering in front of him. Silently the young Knight watches the message again.

“Jedi Solo, Master Skywalker has asked that you return to the Errant Venture. We have a mission for you. As you may have heard, there is a Force user who has donned the armor of Darth Vader. In case you have not seen it, attached is a video from Lorrd detailing his return. We will see you soon. May the Force be with you.”

Then the hologram flickers away, and after a moment a new hologram appears, this one of Darth Vader slaughtering Vong warrior after Vong warrior. Jacen inhales sharply, his breathe a serpentine hiss, and leans in closer to the hologram.

The image of Darth Vader is a powerful one, especially to his family. The specter of that dark figure has haunted his parents’ lives for decades. Jacen almost killed his twin sister due to a holographic shroud of that figure.

And Anakin, Anakin has dreamed of becoming Darth Vader for his entire life.

The video ends, and Jacen stares at the empty air where it had been playing. Something about it bothers him. He taps his chin with a finger, and after a moment, restarts the hologram, playing it through to the end.

His frown grows larger.

He fiddles with the controls, setting up the first two minutes of the video to play on a continuous loop, a sickening feeling appearing in his stomach, a cold knot of hurt and disgust, one which grows larger with each loop.

On the fourth repetition, he feels confidant in his thoughts, he knows that he has seen that lightsaber form before.

He knows that he has dueled against the person wielding that lightsaber.

Even though the blue of the hologram washes away the colors, he has no doubts that the color of that lightsaber blade is purple.

He despairs at what it means for his family, his brother, if his fears are true. If that blade is purple.

He hears a gasp from behind him, and turns to see his mother standing there. He allows a sheepish grin to come to his face. “Hey mom.”

She walks closer to him, her eyes never leaving the video. “Someone is running around as Vader?”

Jacen nods his head, trying to bury the sick feeling and his opinion on the man behind the mask, beneath his shields. “Apparently. I think Uncle Luke is going to assign me to find out who it is.”

Leia turns to Jacen her head cocked to the side slightly as she watches her eldest son. Jacen turns towards her, keeping his face impassive, pushing down his feelings deeper behind a wall, not wanting to hurt her with his suspicions.

His mother is too perceptive. “What do you know about this Jacen.”

Jacen flinches slightly. “I don’t know anything. Did you hear about Yag’dhul?”

A raised eyebrow, and Jacen is once more under the gaze of The Look. He sighs again, knowing that he can not fail to tell her the truth after receiving The Look. It is the same expression she would turn on generals and other politicians, and they would tell her whatever she wished to know.

He turns back towards the hologram as it repeats the slaughter of the Vong warriors again and again, and feels his mother staring at the back of his head.

He turns back towards her, finding her arms crossed over her chest, The Look dangerously close to becoming The Glare. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, wondering for the millionth time how someone so short can be so intimidating.

Her voice intrudes upon the darkness behind his eyelids. “Tell me Jacen.”

He opens his eyes even as he lowers his head slightly, and slows the video. “See this riposte, and how it follows through with a lunge.”

“Yes.”

“Now watch, his next move will be to jump over the attack, then duck, and stab upward into the underarm.”

He turns to Leia, his eyes filled with sorrow and pain, as she nods her head, watching Vader perform the moves which Jacen laid out. “I see it, but I still don’t understand.”

Jacen’s mouth twists down into a frown, still not wanting to give voice to his thoughts on the matter. “I’ve seen those moves before; I’ve seen this fighting style.” Jacen hesitates a moment. “I’ve dueled against him.”

A quirk of an eyebrow. “So this Vader is one of the Jedi.”

Jacen nods his head, and looks down at his hands, refusing to meet his mother’s eyes.

“But who? Who would use Vader’s arm…Oh.” She looks back towards the video, her eyes widening in understanding, filling with pain of their own.

She sees what Jacen had seen, and Jacen has to grab her fast as she begins to collapse to her knees.

“Oh. Oh no. No, not him. It couldn’t be.”

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Anakin steps from the forest, the light of Garqi’s moon plenty for him to see by. His respirator is off, the rhythmic sound silent for his approach on the slave training facility. His eyes scan the horizon, hunting for Vong atmospheric fighters. Seeing none, he creeps forward, Ghrikma and Thrikkes on either side of him, as silent and deadly as any of the Noghri.

He grins as a contingent of Chazrach march past at a trot. Night-time runs. He glances to the right towards Ghrikma, and raises a hand, pointing to a shell-shaped structure. Ghrikma nods his head, and fades into the night. Anakin turns towards Thrikkes, and nods his head. Together they advance forwards, heading towards the grashals strewn around the remains of the capital of Garqi.

In silence they plant the detonators around the various buildings, working fast, before the next training contingent comes jogging by and is able to see them.

Anakin plants the last detonator, and retreats back to the treeline. He kneels by the tree, as Ghrikma and Thrikkes fade in from the jungle on either side of him. He glances at each, receiving a quick nod of their heads.

Smiling behind his mask, he pulls out a small cylinder, and flips up a safety-catch on it. As he watches the buildings, he presses the button, and a red light comes on the device, as every building erupts into flames.

Through the lambent he is able to feel dozens of Yuuzhan Vong lives being snuffed out.

Through the Force he feels thousands of Chazrach’s dying.

His grin stretches the healing burns on his face even wider.

“And now it’s time for the Vong to see me, so that they can fear.”

He glances at either noghri, and finds they have once more disappeared, off to perform their tasks without waiting command. He nods approvingly as he stands.

A flick of a switch on the chest plate, and the rhythmic breathing starts once more. He steps out of the tree line, standing in the middle of the footpath used by the training soldiers. A thud bug flies at him from out of the dark, and Anakin ignites his saber, batting the thing away.

Those arrayed against him come forward, a company of the Chazrach foot soldiers, in their hands holding the stiffened amphistaffs subspecies bred for them. He grins as flashes of red come from the dark woods, vaporizing large chunks of the reptiles.

As the remaining chazrach surround him, he lifts his saber and attacks. He slices through them, devastating their numbers. Minutes later, he is surrounded by dead Chazrach, and Anakin once more takes up his position of waiting and watching for the next group of enemies.

As the sun crests the horizon signaling dawn, Anakin gets a prompt from Nelani through the Force. He flicks his comlink on. “Nelani.”

“Yes Master?”

“It is time.”

The comlink clicks off, and a few minutes later Nelani comes walking out of the forest. She is dressed in a black jumpsuit, custom fitted for her. As she comes to a stop in front of Anakin, she rests her left hand on the grip to her blaster.

In her right hand is her other blaster, poking in the back of the Shamed One she has led from the woods.

The vong drops to his knees. “Are you a Jeedai?”

Anakin looks down at him. “Yes.”

An expression which Anakin can only define as ecstasy crosses the Vong’s face. “At last I get to meet you! I have heard that the Jeedai are the hope for the shamed. Is this true?”

“Define hope.”

“The story is that a Jeedai redeemed a shamed warrior. That Vua Rapuung fought side by side with him, saluting the Jeedai as he died. Is this true?”

Anakin nods his head. “Yes, this is truth.”

“Then you can heal me of the affliction which destroys my body!”

Anakin looks his body over, noticing he lacks the usual implants and scars of the Yuuzhan Vong. “Your body refuses escalation implants?”

The shamed nods his head. “Yes, plus the inks for tattoos burns my flesh, causing boils.”

“What is your name?”

“I am called Lu’ath Raptoq.”

Anakin places his hand on the shamed one’s shoulder. “Lu’ath, I shall tell you this once. There is no shame in not being modified in such a manner. Your leaders tell you that there is, merely as a means to control you. For every warrior there are a hundred shamed. For every shaper a thousand and for every priest a million shamed. This false belief of shame and disgrace is the only way they can keep you subjugated.”

The Shamed One looks at Anakin with a mixture of awe and fear. Anakin leans his mask closer to the Shamed. “If you want redemption, then rebel. Wrest the redemption and the power from those who keep you under their heel.”

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“No!” The old shaper’s shriek causes Nen Yim to jump slightly, startled from her work, she looks up to see Kae Kwaad staring at the newly hatched grutchins.

She turns and takes a step towards him. “Master?”

The Master looks up at her, the dementia flashing brightly in his eyes. “They’re imperfect! Ruined! Someone is out to destroy me! If only the other Masters had restored my hands!”

“I do not understand Master.”

“The grutchins; they are imperfect. Failures!” He glances down into the hatchery and sneers. “Destroy this batch, and kill one of the initiates. I will not tolerate such failure.”

“Yes Master.”

Kae strikes her, spinning her around to the ground. She lifts herself up, aiming an angry glare at the back of the deranged master.

She watches as the disturbed creature leaves the room, her face twisting into a hate-filled sneer. After a moment, she walks to the grutchin hatchery, and looks down, a plan formulating in her mind. Considering the implications, she walks over to a wall, and pressing against a nerve cluser which causes a seam to appear, and a section folds away. She reaches into the opened space and pulls out a small animal. It chirps slightly in her hand as she scratches its head. Then she returns to the hatchery, and drops it in, smiling as the illac proceeds to devour all the infant grutchins.

Her grin turns feral, as she imagines Kae Kwaad’s face on each grutchin as it is consumed by the illac.

As the final animal is consumed, Nen Yim returns to her work of trying to find a solution to the dying ship brain. The moment she has once more become enthralled in her experiment, she hears Kae’s voice behind her.

“Nen Tsup! Come here!”

Suppressing a sigh, Nen Yim turns and faces the Master Shaper. “Yes Master.”

“We shall once more attempt to create the perfect grutchin.”

“Yes Master. If I may ask a question?”

He gives her an odd look. “Ask your question.”

“Why exactly did you not have your hands replaced?”

A frown crosses his face. “The other masters, they fear me, they refused to replace my hands.”

Nen Yim allows a smile to cross her face as she thinks of a plan. “I could shape them new ones for you.”

Kae sneers at her. “You are not a Master! Only a Master can shape master hands.”

Nen Yim nods her head. “I could be your hands.”

Kae pulls back away from her. “Create the grutchins as I have ordered Adept.”

Nen Yim trembles in anger, but merely nods her head. “I obey Master.”

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Anakin watches Nelani as she twists and turns, her saber deflecting the small darts from the seven remotes surrounding her. He allows a smile to twist his lips as he watches her. He has always been drawn to a woman training with the lightsaber; there is something so graceful and deadly about it which attracts him; draws him in.

The movement. The dance.

He reaches out with the Force, feeling how it flows around and through his apprentice and nods his head in approval. She is progressing perfectly, and he thinks she will soon be ready to create her own weapon.

Still smiling, he steps out into the training room, igniting his saber.

The snap-hiss attracts her attention, and she looks towards him as she orders the remotes to halt her training exercise.

He walks closer to her. “It is time for you to begin training against opponents other than training remotes.”

She gives a short bow of the head. “Yes, Master”

Then Anakin strikes. A fast, one-handed strike aimed at her shoulder, which she carefully blocks.

She goes on the offensive, a series of wild strikes, which Anakin easily bats away, noting where she needs to improve, and where her performance is adequate.

He falls back, as her attacks become wilder and less controlled.

Then with a high vertical slice which he ducks under, he steps into her inner ring and grabs her sword arm with his hand, and places his saber next to her neck. He sees the fear appear in her eyes and he savors its taste in the Force.

“You must learn control. Your strikes are wild and uncontrolled. That makes you dead.”

He extinguishes his saber, and spins her around, dumping her to the floor. She looks up at him, anger replacing the fear.

She quickly stands and attacks once more, her blade flickering to the left and right as Anakin once more falls back, easily deflecting her blows and trying his best to not laugh.

He parries one blow, and sends her saber flying, and then quickly steps in close, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her against the wall, pinning her there.

“Anger is good, it gives you power, but letting it control you, that makes you wild, and when you lose control of your anger, of yourself, you lose control of your weapon. That makes you dead.”

He lets her go, and she crumples to the floor, her chest heaving form exertions and the need to breath as she rubs her throat where the precursor to bruises are.

He calls the saber to his hand, staring down at the familiar weapon for a moment. The weapon that the love of his life built, Tahiri’s lightsaber. He can feel that black knot of hate and rage erupts through him once more, at the unfairness of her being ripped away from him.

He takes a deep breath, pushing the hate, anger and grief to the back of his mind.

Then he looks down at Nelani. “Tomorrow we’re going to Yavin 4; it is time for you to create your own lightsaber.” He hands her a datachit. “Gather these materials. We leave at dawn.”

He turns from her and leaves the room, taking Tahiri’s lightsaber with him.