A Life Not His Own: Chapter 12

Anakin is deep within his meditations, the cold, harsh comfort of the Force all around him, off to one side, he can make out Nelani, a beacon of light and strength, with slowly darkening edges.

For a second, he wonders if he should be worried over that, if dragging Nelani into the Dark Side with him is something he should do. If he should sacrifice that light, that joy and happiness on the alter of his revenge. Then he pushes the concern from his mind as he remembers his mission. All other things pale beside the need for revenge. Morality, ethics, compassion, those are things he can have once again after he has destroyed the Vong.

Love he expects to never have again.

Yet here in the cold grip of the Dark Side of the Force, that is fine with him. The Force sustains him and grants him, not peace, but acceptance. Yet he wonders as to the fate of his family. It has been a long time since he has seen them, or heard from them.

He subtly touches his sister, for the first time in almost two months, he can feel the calm, collected attention of Jaina in battle, and withdraws, not wishing to distract her. After all she is killing Vong.

He reaches out to his mother, and feels her concern and worry. With a start he realizes that it is mostly concern and worry for him, about him. Frowning he withdraws, and pushes away the uncomfortable feeling that creeps into his heart at causing his mother such pain.

Then he reaches for his Aunt Mara. He growls as he can feel the sickness battering at her, destroying her cells as she fights with all she is to save her unborn child. That sickness is another thing which the Vong shall pay for, Nom Anor in particular.

Then the pain hits him.

It washes over him, starting in his stomach and flowing through out his body from there. He screams in agony, as the pain fades away.

He finds himself bent over his knees, and Nelani is there, touching his back, whispering questions of concern. Anakin sits up, and looks at her, once more glad the mask hides his fears and features. He takes a deep breath, overriding the breathing mechanism, and exhales. He allows himself to look over his apprentice as she kneels in front of him, her obvious concern for him, unsettling to him somehow.

Also oddly unsettling to him is the demur nature with which she kneels in front of him. The coyness, mixed with brashness, shyness standing before the power she is learning to command. It is an oddly compelling mixture, and he fights an urge to lift her in his arms, and spin her around the room, in one of those ornate Alderaanian Waltzes his mother had him learn while he was growing up.

He can hear a whisper in his mind, telling him that she could be his.

With an effort he waves her concern away, and ignores the whisper. “I am fine Nelani. There is just a disturbance in the Force.”

Nelani cocks her head slightly. “I felt nothing Master.”

Anakin chuckles, pleased at her observation. “That is because the disturbance is from my aunt. She is either giving birth or dying.”

Nelani starts to stand. “Then should we not go to her?”

Anakin waves at her to sit down as pain once more rips through him. As it fades he straightens once more. “No. There is nothing we can do there, and if we did go, we would most likely be detained. The others might not understand what we’re doing out here, why I took up this mask.”

The confusion shows on her face. “I understand Master.”

Anakin places his hand on her shoulder. “I know you don’t often understand why I do things, but I promise, one day you will. Now go, practice your katas, I fear I may be,” Anakin pauses, considering his next word. “Incapacitated for the next few hours.”

In one quick, graceful movement, Nelani stands and bows. “I obey Master.” Then she is walking from the room, and Anakin can’t help but watch how she moves.

Then the pain strikes again; doubling him over as the waves of agony wash over him.

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Nelani dances.

Even though she knows that they are called katas, even though she knows it’s the basics of fighting with her lightsaber, the basics of all fighting with the Jedi arts, that isn’t how she defines it to herself.

To her it’s always a dance. The Dance.

Graceful, powerful, seductive.

She struggles with some of the things which Lord Vader teaches her. Telekinesis, precognition, sending and sharing thoughts with him, they all cause her various amounts of troubles while she learned them, and even afterwards.

She flat out refused to attempt to learn how to absorb blaster bolts.

Yet the katas, the Dance, she has loved from the moment Lord Vader showed them to her. Then when he and the two Noghri taught her more and more fighting techniques, and taught her how to layer them into her katas, she loved it even more.

The hum of the saber, the movement of her body. A twist, a jump, a slash, and a stab. The simple mechanical ability of The Dance enhanced and assisted by the Force. If she practices for one hour or four, she finds a smile on her face more often than not.

She considers the Dance, considers it a simple thing, a remembrance of life before the Yuuzhan Vong, before they decimated Lorrd. When all she had to worry about was her next dance recital, rather than having to learn how to evade Vong patrols, or how to stop blasters on the blade of her lightsaber.

The graceful movements, reminds her of home. When she was surrounded by her mother and father and sister. Not when her only companion was a broken hero, wearing the armor of his dead grandfather.

One of the reasons that she loves this dance is that this dance allows her to protect herself and the galaxy. It allows her to be a line in the sand, protecting those who are unable to protect themselves. She sees it as a step to keep what happened to her family, from happening to other families.

The other reason she loves the Dance, is the simple fact that she can lose herself in the Dance. The demands of the flesh, the simple exertion of muscles, it is that which she can pour her concerns and worries into, her thoughts and dreams, until she is simply the Dance as well.

She can pour her concerns and feelings over and for her Master into the Dance.

Yet even though she knows that the more she practices them, the more she learns, the deadlier she becomes; to her it is still just a dance, The Dance.

Unknown to her, in an earlier, happier time her Master would have called it Meditation in Motion, and would often practice it himself. Doing some exercises over and over again until exhaustion would quiet his mind.

Nelani finishes her katas, and sinks to the mat, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. A quick glance at the chrono reveals that she has been here for a little over an hour already. She allows a smile to come to her face as she stands and heads to her room. As she walks, her muscles settle in, begin contracting, protesting her overuse of them during her training. She allows a smile to come to her face, remembering what her Master said the first time she did the katas, when she complained about her screaming muscles, “If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not doing it right.”

She can feel the pain which still periodically comes off her master, waves of agony coming through him from his aunt. She quickly strips and gets cleaned up in the refresher, allowing the water to wash away the sweat and tension, allowing the water to soothe her tired muscles.

Getting out, she has an idea, and sits down in front of her terminal, a smile on her face. She has a piece of the puzzle of who exactly Lord Vader is. Quickly accessing the holonet, she searches to find out which of the Jedi Knights are pregnant, and most importantly pregnant enough to be going into labor right now, and which of those pregnant Jedi Knights has family.

She leans back in her chair as the system performs her request. Within moments, a result appears on the screen, and Nelani’s eyes widen. Her hand covers her mouth as she leans forward closer to the terminal. As she follows a link to an image, she has to wonder which brother is behind the mask.

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Luke is sitting near Mara’s head, her clammy hand grasped in his, as he stares off into space, wondering how he can fix everything.

Now Farmboy.

Startled he focuses his attention on her face. Her eyes are still closed, and face is immobile. He frowns, certain that he had heard her voice.

It is time.

Opening his mouth slightly, it takes him a second to process that he is feeling and hearing her through the Force. He calls out for Cilghal, and grips Mara’s hand tighter.

“What do you need me to do Mara?”

There is no answer, and Luke probes her with the Force, nearly wailing in despair at how far gone her body has become.

He closes his eyes and plunges into the Force, seeing the darkness which surrounds and consumes his wife. Pain, loneliness, fear, misery, betrayal, jealousy, hate, sickness, death. All the negativity of life pulses out at him.

He forges ahead, fighting her disease, attacking it, pushing against the darkness.

Ultimately, he starts to become overwhelmed by the darkness. He can feel the darkness within him offering him the chance to save her. The chance to avenge her.

No!

The word echoes around in his mind. A command, an imperative, and Luke blinks, stopping his attack.

Not the way.

Luke frowns, confused. He silently wonders what his wife expects from him. He sends his confusion to her through their bond.

Attack. Not the way.

At her simple reply he almost laughs. Then he calms himself, centers his focus, and pushes the darkness away. He gathers the Force to him, and probes her body once more; searching for her, searching for that quality, that essential essence which he has always defined as Mara.

He finds it wrapped tightly around his son.

Walls of armor and shielding represented in the Force by durasteel and barbed wire. He goes up to the shields, and searches for a way inside.

“Mara you have to let me in.”

Her voice is weak. “Skywalker?”

“Yes, let me in.”

A crack appears, and Luke darts in to find himself faced with another set of shields. He searches for another entrance, and just as he is about to give up, finds a small crack which he slips through.

Finally he reaches the center, and finds his wife there with his son.

He caresses his wife, embracing her through the Force. “It is time Mara.”

She nods her head. “I know.”

He pours his strength and love into her, as the first of her labor pains contract around her, mind shattering agony which spreads through the Force.

For hours the waves of agony wash against Luke and the strength he pours down to Mara, then his concentration is shattered by the wailing of a newborn baby, the braying of new lungs exerting themselves. Luke opens his eyes, and sees Cilghal there holding his son. A smile lights up his face, as he turns towards Mara.

When he sees her his smile dies.

Her skin ashen and grey before has gone even paler; her presence in the Force slowly dimming. Screaming her name, he plunges back into the Force, grasping for her. He can feel Anakin reaching out to her as well, his own powerful Force presence, working in conjunction with Luke’s to keep Mara from dying.

He feels her communicating with Anakin, trying to help him understand. Then she focuses on him for a second.

Take care of my son Farmboy. Love you.

“Mara!”

He grabs at her in the Force again, trying to find her, but her presence just slips away. She just slips away. He can hear his scream of her name echoing throughout the med center, drowning out the wails of his son. A sob wracks his body, as he holds Mara’s lifeless hand in his.